Walking in London
Author: Ann
Rating: PG-13. Deals with male/male relationships. Be mature about it, or be gone.
Pairings: Brad x Schu, though no names are mentioned.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz characters and all rights belong to Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss. This is fan fiction and no profit is made from this endeavor.
Notes: AU, no Esset or Rosenkreuz. I think of it as an alternate timeline that could still lead (eventually) to the events in Weiss Kreuz. Well, maybe, especially if you disregard the Schwarz CD’s.
Songfic! “Walking in London” is by Concrete Blonde. It can be found on the 1992 album of the same name. Written by J. Napolitano, lyrics used without permission. Once again, this is fan fiction and no profit is made from this endeavor. Lyrics separated by //.
Feedback: The more I get the more I write. Please don’t take that as a threat. [email protected]
Archive: Ask and you will receive
***
//This deja-vu feeling//
//I know quite well//
//This psychic confusion//
//This living hell//Another night, another country, and nothing’s changed. Hundreds of thoughts, some shallow, few profound, lurk in a corner of my mind. The pressure is growing, and by the end of the night I’ll be dealing with another migraine. For now, the song keeps me centered: the combination of the slow, deep bass groove and the desperate lyrics is my primary focus.
After all, it is *my* song.
//A cosmic connection//
//With someone somewhere//
//Is coming from your direction//
//I swear, I swear//He’s here, I know he’s here: I don’t need to read his mind to sense his presence. How the hell does he do it?
//And I’ve been running all this time,//
//And I’m running out of places to go//I’ve performed in clubs across Europe and into Asia, always using the house band, no advance notice, no publicity. Give him a day, or three, and somehow he’s out there, cold smile on a cold face, those cold burning amber eyes not hidden by those deceptively delicate wire-rimmed glasses.
//And I am oh, so sick and tired of every face that I know//
//Everything I do, everything I say//
//Everything in my head, every night, every day//I don’t deny one of the reasons I tour so often is to stay on the move. A new day brings a new audience, a new set of total strangers who think because they know my music, they know *me.* There may be some truth to that idea, but the fact of the matter is, I know *them.*
I know their thoughts.
I know their secrets.I know their darkest, most primal desires.
The saying is true, familiarity does breed contempt, and I have nothing but contempt for them all. Hypocrites and liars, the lot of them. But the meaningless, sweaty sex is good, and at least they’re predictable.
He’s not. I never see him coming, not until he’s right in front of me.
//I’ve been East, I’ve been West, I’ve been North, I’ve been South//
//I feel your arms, I hear your voice, I feel your hands, I kiss your mouth//I didn’t expect that kiss at all.
//And I am walking in London,//
//And you are watching me walk//
//Talking Italian,//
//And you are hearing me talk//
//Singing in Sydney,//
//And you were sitting right there//Every line is true: he’s followed me through the streets of London, caught up with me at a tiny restaurant in Florence, and on one memorable occasion tossed me roses from the front row of a Sydney nightclub.
//Feeling you in me - everywhere, everywhere//
That hasn’t happened yet, but it will; I can see it in the way he looks at me, possessive and consuming and oh, so sure.
//An invisible touch//
//On the back of my neck//
//Fingerprints lingering,//
//Warm breath//It would be easy to blame the sensations on the thoughts of the crowd, lost in their usual haze of inebriation and lust. Easy, but a lie. I may not be able to read his thoughts, but when he’s near I feel his presence, whether by the sudden chills that run down my spine or the temporary disruption in the ongoing flow of thoughts not mine.
As an added bonus, my migraine symptoms fade away.
//I’m either going insane,//
//Or I’m a human wire//
//Receiving a signal;//
//Desire, desire//Yes, there he is, standing in a corner to my right, revealing his presence at the mention of desire. His eyes fix on me, and I cannot look away.
//And I’ve been running all this time,//
//And I’m running out of places to go//Time’s run out.
//And I am oh, so sick and tired of every face that I know//
//Everything I do, everything I say//
//Everything in my head, every night, every day//No more running, no more wondering what he’ll do next. I’ve never been normal, most certainly never been shy. What is there to be afraid of?
//I’ve been East, I’ve been West, I’ve been North, I’ve been South//
//I feel your arms, I hear your voice, I feel your hands, I kiss your mouth//If I had any sense, I’d be afraid of his kisses. At our last contact, after the concert in Sydney, he had the nerve to be waiting for me as I entered my hotel room. He walked up to me, not a word out of him, and grabbed the roses he gave me from my hands, tossing them to the floor. I opened my mouth to protest, probably to curse a blue streak as well, only to freeze as his lips closed over mine. After it was over, the bastard simply walked out.
I know I’ll never write a song that captures that moment. Words are too weak, too vague to express the alchemy of physical contact and emotional fusion. Lips, carnality, soft, possession, wet, caress, control, breath, craving, surrender: everything I need and everything I *fear.*
//And I am walking in London,//
//And you are watching me walk//
//Talking Italian,//
//And you are hearing me talk//
//Singing in Sydney,//
//And you were sitting right there//And you are standing right there, arrogant and beautiful. Not a problem--so am I.
//Feeling you in me - everywhere, everywhere//
As I sing those final words, I feel as though I’ve made a promise to those demanding, ever-watchful eyes. I simply step off the stage, directly into his waiting arms. His smile changes, becoming as warm as those arms, and we walk out into the night, and into our future.
I may not have seen him coming, but I know I’ll never let him go.