"That you didn't do it for me?" Momentarily lost in thought, he bites his lower lip: it's a bad habit for a sax player and he's had to teach himself over the years not to do it. Is this some kind of test?
Hello, your afterlife is calling. Whether or not you get into heaven or some semblance thereof depends on your response to this statement of Faye's. She's a fairy, after all, and fairies are very powerful beings.
"I know. But I still thought it was okay to thank you. I've... wanted to do that for a long time. Hold you and comfort you."
Again, his hands against his knees are the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "But I didn't want to... oh, I don't know, get you into some situation where you'd be uncomfortable, or ask you to do anything you wouldn't have done in the past or wouldn't do today, or if the situations had been reversed... I don't know. I don't even know what I'm saying."
Helpless: that's how he so often feels around Faye. It's not that he doesn't know what to make of her; he does. It's that he doesn't know what to make of the way she makes him think about himself: about things he thought were cast in stone years ago, right after prison if not while he was on Titan. And so his eyebrows knit together a little bit in self-doubt.
People love to label other people. They love to label themselves. They love to label in terms of sexuality: they're gay or straight or bi or celibate. They're S&M or normal; dominant or submissive. They like to be on top or on the bottom. They're butch or femme. But really... they're all just labels, just artificial ways of describing things that everyone has in common, to varying degrees. Things that are part of everybody's DNA; it's circumstance and conditioning and preference that help people decide whether or not they act on them, that's all.
Psychology insists that there are very few true bisexuals: everyone has a preference one way or another. Maybe it's fitting that his body looks the way it does now, because he's never had a preference one way or the other. He's always liked -- no, loved -- women and men equally.
Apparently, nothing's changed that. Not even what he thinks most days passes for death itself.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 12:40 am (UTC)Hello, your afterlife is calling. Whether or not you get into heaven or some semblance thereof depends on your response to this statement of Faye's. She's a fairy, after all, and fairies are very powerful beings.
"I know. But I still thought it was okay to thank you. I've... wanted to do that for a long time. Hold you and comfort you."
Again, his hands against his knees are the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "But I didn't want to... oh, I don't know, get you into some situation where you'd be uncomfortable, or ask you to do anything you wouldn't have done in the past or wouldn't do today, or if the situations had been reversed... I don't know. I don't even know what I'm saying."
Helpless: that's how he so often feels around Faye. It's not that he doesn't know what to make of her; he does. It's that he doesn't know what to make of the way she makes him think about himself: about things he thought were cast in stone years ago, right after prison if not while he was on Titan. And so his eyebrows knit together a little bit in self-doubt.
People love to label other people. They love to label themselves. They love to label in terms of sexuality: they're gay or straight or bi or celibate. They're S&M or normal; dominant or submissive. They like to be on top or on the bottom. They're butch or femme. But really... they're all just labels, just artificial ways of describing things that everyone has in common, to varying degrees. Things that are part of everybody's DNA; it's circumstance and conditioning and preference that help people decide whether or not they act on them, that's all.
Psychology insists that there are very few true bisexuals: everyone has a preference one way or another. Maybe it's fitting that his body looks the way it does now, because he's never had a preference one way or the other. He's always liked -- no, loved -- women and men equally.
Apparently, nothing's changed that. Not even what he thinks most days passes for death itself.