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17 June 2008 @ 06:26 pm
another makeout drabble  

Fall is such a foreign thing to a Los Angeles guy. The trees may dry up, but the weather seldom dips below a brisk 50. So here in New York, Matt's cold and complaining. He doesn't like waking up feeling like he's a shriveled pillbug who wants to tuck his head into his knees and hide from the creeping fingers of frost in his own extremeties. It's hard to get out of bed when the floor against his bare feet sucks the early morning energy out of his legs and leaves him shivering and drawing back. He hates the deceitful sun, with its too-bright glare; Mohinder explains that it seems brighter because the atmosphere is so cold that it's not moving, not reflecting as much of the light back into space. He grumbles that it's a poor excuse for acting so inviting and then hitting him with see-your-breath, uncompromising coldness. It's awful. He's dying. Fall is just a long process of dying, and he hates it.

So when the temperature buoys back up to sixty and the air is alive and enticing, he can't wait to get outside. It's the last romp of Papa Bear before the long unplesantness of hibernation, and he's going to enjoy it. He drives Molly upstate to look at the foliage. Mohinder insists on coming along; he doesn't trust Matt, not entirely, but Matt takes it in stride. He's learned that you can't alienate everyone who ever has a hostile thought toward you or you'll end up an island. And it delights Molly that he wants to join them, so join them he does.

It's rollicking in the car with Molly singing her favorite songs and explaining what she learned in school about chlorophyll and the changing of the seasons, and Mohinder urges her along but stays silent, with nothing but a loose and relaxed thread of beautiful beautiful so thankful in his head. They find a place to stop for a picnic lunch and Molly has to have one of everything. She pigs out and promptly falls asleep, hand clutching a crumpled red oak leaf she found on their way out to the spot.

They look at her a moment. It used to be she would fight against even going to sleep. She was afraid of unconsciousness, afraid to sacrifice her control over her world for one moment. In that way she'd proved stronger than they; she'd bounced back so formidably to health and wellness that they had both let out a breath. Neither of them could make the same claim. Even now, with all assurances that the nightmares were at least on hiatus for the both of them, they can't quite stop looking around every corner, distrusting every word, being on constant guard for fear the one moment they are less than vigilant, it will all start again.

Matt hears Mohinder's relief echoing in his brain like a mirror image of his own, and he feels his entire body relax with the knowledge that here, at least, they are on the same page. It's funny how they've lived together so long and yet never learned to bridge this gap, to become partners the way they ought to be. At first there was the excuse of the danger, and then it was habit. Why learn to walk when they'd been stumbling along just fine on all fours? So the frigid wall between them remained as the months wore on. They sniped and sneered and Matt went back to his room at night and tried not to listen to private thoughts, tried not to remember bright eyes.

But this is Indian summer, and here all the cold fronts momentarily break up to provide a warm pocket of respite. And when they turn from gazing at their proud little girl to gaze at each other, something thaws in Matt, and he actually smiles. It's so, so warm here. The trees shield them from the wind, and Mohinder's hand on the picnic blanket is barely touching Matt's. A little fringe of heat at the corner of his body. Matt wants to curl it up next to his heart, just like he wants to curl up on cold mornings to lock in the heat at his center. He wants to put his hand on this warmth and make it part of him.

Mohinder's lips twitch, and he tentatively answers Matt's smile. A little breeze makes its way through the barrier of trees and ruffles his hair. He puts a hand up to straighten it out, grinning ruefully.

Heat crushes Matt through, like an iron pressed to his chest. He's grabbing that hand and pulling it away, don't touch, don't touch that tangled hair! That hair is too perfect as it is. Instead he pulls it to his chest, and Mohinder falls forward onto his knees, suddenly inches away from Matt. The bright eyes are blinking into his face, and for a split second Matt wonders what the hell he's doing. This is wrong and bad and why is Mohinder's face, a moment ago blank with shock, breaking into an even wider smile? Why is the palm of his hand now flat on Matt's chest?

It's just a split second, a fragment of a moment of panic, and then Mohinder is leaning forward and kissing him and the heat is all he can feel. Wild, warm, Indian summer heat, and he's thirsty for more, pulling the man on top of him and leaning back so his head dips into the grass. Tiny blades and fallen leaves tickle his nose; there are probably bugs crawling into his hair and he doesn't care at all. He didn't even realize he wanted this so badly until just now. The wall had been too solid to see through, but now it's utterly melted, and he's melting too, tangling his legs with Mohinder's and exploring his mouth with an eager tongue and wanting nothing but more, nothing but this, nothing but right now.

Molly snores and gives a little murmur, and they're reminded of her presence and sit up again, eyes locked, hands now loosely joined, breathing broken and heavy but smiling.

"I've been waiting," begins Mohinder.

"What took you so long?" asks Matt.

He doesn't wait for an answer, but leans in for another kiss, this one deep, gentle, slow, yearning. Something has just changed fundamentally, like a leaf changing color, and they should fear the falling. But they can't, because the weather is warm and the breeze is still gentle. It's just another changing of the seasons, a natural progression, and Matt agrees with Mohinder's thoughts as they continue to sing gently through his head.

Beautiful, beautiful. So thankful.


(If you liked, could you give Fathers' Day a little look? I fear it has slipped through the virtual cracks.)
A Troop of Rogue Trained Monkeys from LJ's Search: fangirlhanuueshe on June 18th, 2008 02:23 am (UTC)
I love how Matt and Mohinder don't exactly get along, but they both realize that its irrational and want to fix it. The kiss seemed a little rushed- maybe it would have been better to have a time ellapse in there?- but on the whole it was a very beautiful.
Tiptoe39: fumotiptoe39 on June 18th, 2008 02:41 am (UTC)
you may be right. i wanted to go with the indian summer as a brief respite theme , have it be a sort of island in time, but I guess i welshed on that image early on. i appreciate the feedback quite muchly.