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2513FIC: Seven Towers (1/1) L/R (R)

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  • Scary Sare
    Apr 1, 2001
      The only thing worse than realizing you've just
      unintentionally written a sequel to one of your stories is
      realizing you've unintentionally written a prequel to one
      of them. I hate that. And I'm not entirely sure who to
      blame, so feel free to tell me what you think....

      Title: Seven Towers
      Author: Sare Liz, teknovamp@...
      Series: I think this is a prequel to 'Burning Incense',
      which just proves that I can't write a standalone to save
      my life.
      Rating/Codes: R for language. Logan POV, [L/R]
      Archiving: lists, teknovamp
      Disclaimer: They're not mine, of course. Title from U2's
      "Running to Stand Still': "I see seven towers, but I only
      see one way out."
      Dedicated: To Jenn, for the very much appreciated help
      with this little darling, and for the wonderful
      Author's Note: Yet another written with the quadruple
      inspiration of A) Social and Political Theory (see Foucault
      on power) B) Three or Four choice specimens of DeeJay's
      work C) Some crazy ideas of love I gleaned from watching
      'Someone Like You' D) 'Strung out on U2', the string
      ensemble tribute to U2 which I cannot possibly recommend
      enough. No, seriously.


      Somethings just come right out and bite you on the ass.
      There's just no ignoring somethings. Some stuff sneaks up
      on you. And it's not even like there's a definitive line
      between them - you see the important shit, and everything
      else falls by the wayside. Life ain't that easy, which if
      you asks me proves the existence of a higher authority, but
      that's just a whole 'nother pond to fish in. No, even in
      the simplest of lives, there's shit you're going to miss
      the first time around and it's going to be the most
      important shit of your life. If you're lucky - and I mean
      really damn lucky - you'll get another free pass at it and
      hopefully your luck will last long enough for you to
      actually get some mileage out of it, meaning of course that
      you're luck won't run out before you're able to pull your
      head out of you ass and see A - what you missed before, B -
      how damn important it is, and C - have the wherewithal to
      snatch it up while you can because maybe you won't get
      another try at it..

      And now I'm making lists. I'm starting to think in terms
      of lists.

      I'd say I've been here too damn long but then saying it out
      loud would be completely negating items B and C of said
      list. I'm just gonna have to find a way to annoy the hell
      out of Scotty boy that doesn't involve hitting on Jean,
      because let's face it: Jeannie's a good kid and for some
      godforsaken reason she's taken it in her head to stick by
      him and while that makes no sense to me on principle, there
      you are. Not the 'sticking by' part, but the 'him' part.
      That part makes no sense to me. Monogamy's a fine idea, I
      say. Granted, I'm all for orgies and having a woman on
      each arm, but when you've finally realized you can't live
      without someone, the idea of a *different* someone just
      doesn't seem to appeal so much anymore.

      So yea, like I said. Somethings you just don't catch onto
      right away. It's like in a movie when the music is just
      starting to creep up on you, little bit at a time and
      you're so involved with what's on the screen you just take
      the music for granted. Then all the sudden it's the big
      fight scene and you're all worked up and somewhere between
      critiquing the stunts and yelling at the people to do what
      obviously should be done, you realize the music is at a
      crescendo as you're growling and it catches you a little
      off guard because the music just fits it, but who ever
      heard of techno for a fight scene? And you're just not
      sure what to do about that music that's weaseled it's way
      into the feel of the scene so that it's just about perfect
      but there it is and you can't take it out and have the
      scene be the same, not anymore.

      Fuck, that's not it either.

      It's just that� Somethings you don�t see. That's just the
      way life is. You don't see them because you think it's
      normal for life to be acting that way, but it's not. It's
      not the normal run of the mill attitude to a normal run of
      the mill situation but you *just don't see that* at the
      time. It's only later, much later - some may say too late
      - when you realize that shit, if it had been someone else
      instead of one of us, it wouldn't have gone down like that,
      any of the times.

      Some people are particularly happy when these little
      revelations dawn themselves upon them. Some people are
      damn stupid, too. Count me wherever you think I fall.

      It might not have been so bad if I'd figured it all out on
      the road, or back up North. I could have kept in touch a
      little, made sure she had any damn thing she wanted, but I
      would have stayed away. Even if she felt the same, the law
      of averages has got it that she'd find someone else to be
      in love with at some point, someone to make her happy
      because there are just hell and gone too many complications
      to make it work. So, yea. Somewhere outside of New York
      State, or possibly the continental US would have been a
      great place to have my epiphany.

      As fate would have it - that conceited, conniving,
      wonderful bitch that she is - my epiphany dawned while
      sitting on a bench on the grounds of Xavier's mansion with
      her head resting on my leg. One minute everything was
      fine. She had her legs dangling off one of the arm rests
      at the far end and she was reading a book. I was stroking
      her hair, her head, as I watched some kids play basketball,
      not thinking about a hell of a lot, just remembering some
      shit that had gone down and how she'd handled it all so
      damn well and how proud of her I was.

      I remember thinking that I couldn't have been more proud of
      her if she'd been my own daughter, but that thought was all
      mixed up with the idea that if she had been my daughter I'd
      probably have messed up somewhere along the line 'cause I
      probably wouldn't be able to do that sort of thing by
      myself from scratch. Which made me realize that it wasn't
      so much a 'me a father and her a daughter' kind of thought
      but 'me a father *of* her daughters', and if ever there
      were a thought transition to scare the hell right of out of
      you, that would definitely be it. So one minute everything
      was status quo, the next minute my perception of reality
      shifted and shifted good.

      I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't been
      right there, if I hadn't been touching her right then, but
      I was. As I see it, that's the most important thing. Not
      what you would have or could have or should have done, but
      what you did.

      And I didn't know what to do, not at first. I just sort of
      looked at her, as if by just staring I could see something
      magically transform right before my eyes to explain the
      thoughts in my head, give them a basis. I only saw what I
      always saw. Marie.

      It was enough to just look at her then, to absorb all the
      little things I never really noticed, or at least not in
      the ways I was noticing now. And I couldn't get enough of
      her. I don't think I've ever wanted to touch a woman as
      bad as I wanted to touch her right then, on that bench.
      But my hand had stilled from that one minute to the next
      and she apparently took issue with that, because her eyes
      rose from her book and her head shifted a little on my leg
      and there was my basis. Right there, in her eyes, was all
      the proof I'd ever need about any question of who would
      father her children.

      It was the same look she always gave me; one part whatever
      it was the moment called for, one part adoration, but I
      swear I never got it till right then. Until then it was
      just� Just Marie. That's just the way she was. She was
      open and trusting and caring and she could pout among the
      best, at least with me. And right about then I realized
      too that not only was she not quite like that with everyone
      else but she was *distinctly* not like that, even with her
      closest friends. All that was reserved just for me, for
      some reason, and now I knew the reason.

      First among my thoughts was 'how long?' Seriously, how
      dense could I have been? Or was now just the right time
      for me to know, a time when I could deal with it and she
      could deal with it and everyone could deal with it or
      alternately go fuck themselves.

      Chief among my other thoughts was 'how permanent?' And
      that was the easiest to answer; Pretty fucking permanent -
      permanent, stable, commitment-worthy, the whole nine yards.
      Start thinking of names if it's a girl, kind of permanent,
      and please God, while you are it, let the little bugger
      have her temperament because the world just isn't ready for
      a replica of me, kinda permanent.

      And it wasn't even like I was getting ahead of myself. I
      really only felt like I was catching up, and shit if there
      wasn't a lot to catch up on. I still needed a place to
      start though. I needed a way to tell her that I was
      finally on the same page and it was a fine place to be.
      Didn't have the faintest clue how do that, either, so I
      didn't try, not exactly.

      She was looking up at me, waiting, and I suppose she said
      something but I was damned if I knew what. Probably
      wanting to know why I stopped with the caress. Point
      taken, darlin'.

      My gloves were resting on her stomach and I snatched them
      up and put them on without a second thought and she arched
      an eyebrow at me and I couldn't help it. I smiled, just a
      little. Which in turn made her smile, albeit suspiciously.

      I started at her throat, my thumb making gentle circles
      until she sighed and closed her eyes and let the book drop
      onto her stomach where my gloves had lain. I wondered how
      many times she sighed like that when I was touching her
      before, how many times I thought it was just her enjoying
      touch from someone who didn't fear her on some base level.
      And how many times had my mind glossed over the scent of
      her desire after a back rub? Was all of it any different
      from how she'd been right then? I had the distinct feeling
      that the only thing different was me.

      I stroked her neck up and down the sides, just so, then her
      jaw line, then the tip of one finger down her nose and she
      giggled at me. She could flip like that sometimes. One
      minute so� Well, sensual is what I'd say now, but serious I
      probably would have called it then, and the next minute I'd
      have found that ticklish place just on the sides of her
      ribs and she wouldn't be able to breathe she'd be laughing
      so hard, pushing at me and begging me to stop. Sometimes
      she'd cuddle up to me afterwards, like a cat and I'd stroke
      her like one because it was just so natural. I never had
      the faintest clue, not in all that time. It does all make
      a hell of a lot of sense in retrospect, I have to admit.

      Tracing the line of her eyebrow, smoothing away the tension
      in her forehead, soothing the temples and she was sighing
      again, deep things and I could tell the stress was draining
      away little at a time, just like every time I touch her,
      seriously touch her. It had always been the way. If I
      made any sort of serious effort at all of touching her -
      holding her hand, rubbing her arm, stroking her hair, much
      less the rarely missed after workout rubdowns that included
      oil, two towels, a pair of latex gloves and not much else,
      and she was just so much more calm. I really liked the
      brand new knowledge that it was me. It wasn't just about
      getting touch, but getting *my* touch that mattered so much
      to her, that seemed so vital.

      Then, because I couldn't not, her lips. So tender, so
      soft, gently, so gently and she gasped a little and her
      eyes flew open, apparently not expecting that from me.
      Like the first time I came back and she must have known
      when I passed security because wherever she'd been in the
      mansion she'd bolted out from the gardens and met me in the
      drive. I remember seeing her and slowing down and no
      sooner getting my feet on the ground than getting hit full
      force with *her*, my little girl, my Marie. She was a
      bundle of very happy energy just then as she clung to me
      like letting go would mean me leaving again which was an
      idea she apparently wasn't fond of, so I pulled her up and
      over, half on my legs, half on the gas tank so she'd
      realize it was okay to let me breathe again. But the
      surprise in her eyes was the same as on the bench when she
      opened my pack to get her present and found a soft pair of
      brown leather gloves that couldn't possibly go an inch past
      her wrist, if that. It took a look and a growl to get her
      old gloves off. She was afraid but it was bullshit unless
      she decided she wanted to elbow me in the chin and
      afterwards she just glowed. The surprise had been worth it
      then, to see her glow like that.

      Her heart was going faster now that my fingers were on her
      lips and the look was still in her eyes. She had to be
      wondering exactly how I'd meant it because my track record
      hadn't been so great thus far.


      Wouldn't want to keep her in suspense or anything.

      "Yea, baby?"

      That was a new one, and if her heart rate is anything to go
      by, a winner. She just sort of looked at me with a half
      smile, like she was trying to figure it out, maybe
      consulting with her inner me. The point was obvious though
      - something more was needed. Anyone else and I probably
      would have just kissed them by now, but my first thought
      was that kissing Marie - a thought I'd never really
      entertained before - would be a bad idea. With my second
      thought I wondered how she'd feel through that scarf around
      her neck. Not as good as the real thing, definitely, but
      it was something. Maybe it could be something that was
      good in its own right.

      One arm slipping under her head to support her neck and one
      arm reaching over and down under the small of her back,
      lifting her up while I slid under her, bringing her up so
      she was sitting in my lap, her legs still dangling off over
      the arm bar of the bench, and she still had that crazy
      little half smile only now she was a little breathless to
      go along with it. Not bad. Very smooth. A glove came off
      with the aide of the teeth because what better excuse to
      raise the free end of her sheer scarf over my fingers?

      It was good like this, her snug on my lap with her arms
      around my neck and my hand cupping her face with just this
      transparent silk between. So much nicer to trace her lips
      this way. But how would it be to kiss her through it? I
      leaned slightly and found out that it was both a miserable
      replacement and quite possibly the best feeling I've ever

      It sucked because it wasn't her skin, it didn't feel like
      her skin, and under no stretch of the imagination could the
      now all too rough material ever be mistaken for something
      as sensual and ode-worthy as Marie's lips.

      It was the best feeling in the world because I was
      *kissing* her and there was power in that. There was power
      in me doing it and power in her letting me do it. And
      there was certainly power when she started to kiss me back,
      as much as one can kiss between a cloth barrier, which is
      not a hell of a lot, considering a mouth full of cloth
      isn't nearly as intoxicating as a mouth full of your lover,
      but it was something, a great big huge something, right
      there, out in the open just waiting to be taken note of by
      every gossip mongering child in the house, particularly the
      ones over thirty.

      It was nice too when I followed the cloth back down her
      neck and just sort of settled in there, nuzzling and
      nipping and generally enjoying her quiet moaning and the
      feel of her fingers on my shoulder and in my hair. It was
      a little surreal that she was taking it all in stride,
      thought I'm not sure what I would have done if she hadn't,
      but she did. It wasn't really like she'd been waiting
      though. I really hadn't gotten any sense of relief or
      resentment or anything similar off of her. Just earnest.
      Love in earnest. The very thought sent shivers down my
      spine and that sure as hell wasn't something I'd felt in a
      long time.


      the end...

      Have you seen your muse today?
      "To seek is to lose, for seeking presupposes a separation between the seeker and the sought." - Trinh T. Minh-ha

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