Post by syrinx on Nov 27, 2009 16:33:32 GMT -5
A Secret Told to the Mouth
Bestow: to present as a gift; give; confer
Rating: R
A/N: post Wonder’s Victory.
He drove straight back to the farm after the race, making the drive in half the time. The house was dark, and he didn’t bother with the lights. No point to it, really. The only thing he was interested in was the liquor cabinet, and it didn’t matter what bottle he found. He just reached in and pulled one out. One was his father’s sixteen-year-old bourbon he’d probably been saving for some special occasion.
Fuck it, he thought. This was special enough. He opened it, aiming to go from sober to drunk in thirty minutes or less. He succeeded wildly.
The liquid was thick on his tongue, and there was almost nothing soothing about it. It burned all the way down, rolled in his stomach, and soaked in. Later, the smell of it would seep through his skin, but he didn’t care about that either. He could only sit on the sweeping porch of the stately, grandiose mansion, and drown in it.
After a moment—and several swigs he took straight from the bottle, a sort of fuck you to his father for being the emotional idiot he was—he was halfway convinced that he hated her. Before, he was sure he thought of her as a passing annoyance. Now he was stuck with her. Forever. The thought was tedious enough that he threw back another swallow and liked the harshness sliding down his throat.
It occurred to him that he wasn’t all that upset over losing the race. It was secondary, and he wanted to take another drink to forget that he wasn’t as angry about that as he should have been, but his stomach rebelled. It was unfortunate, he thought. Part of him wasn’t done yet.
When the horse trailer lumbered down the gravel drive in the distance, he shoved away the bourbon. His motor skills were mostly shot to hell, but he could still stand and walk, which he discovered the moment he was halfway to the stables.
Of course, it took a hell of a lot longer than normal, and by the time he made it to the training barn the trailer was gone. The grooms were gone. The lights were dimmed, but the door was still open and someone was there.
He was there for one reason, and it was mainly the guilt that had him standing in the dark, wanting to see his horse that he’d abandoned on the backside in Louisville. He wasn’t quite sure that the guilt could override the need to not be seen, not like this. For a moment he stood in the crisp autumn night and weighed his options, deciding that guilt trumped his already fucked reputation.
So he eased into the light, and there she was.
Life really wasn’t fair.
Her back was turned to him, giving him an out he should have taken. He would have had he not previously come to the conclusion that his reputation was fucked, and he wanted to see his horse. The Prince, naturally, was stabled right next to Wonder. The horses got along, which seemed endlessly amusing at that moment.
He found himself chuckling as the Prince inserted himself in the scene of filly and girl. The colt refused to be ignored, a fact to make him proud. When she smiled and reached out, the Prince licked her palm, nuzzled Wonder’s neck, and swung his head around to pin Brad with his dark brown gaze.
He’d been spotted.
Then she looked over her shoulder, and the world went still. He wanted to curse. He did, and she frowned.
“Brad?” she asked, as if she was checking to make sure it was really him. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair and down his face. His hands felt numb, which seemed like a nifty trick. Everything felt numb, except for the fact that his pulse was racing much faster than normal.
“Yeah,” he said, his confirmation doing nothing to put her at ease. He could see that much. She looked like a spring coiled to snap.
He eased forward, made it across the aisle, put one hand on the Prince’s forehead and tried to ignore her. She, being the girl she was, didn’t realize what was wrong with him until she was scrunching up her nose.
“What have you been drinking?” she asked, as if she’d never smelled it before. A good Kentucky girl, he thought. He wondered just how innocent she was. It was more than a little pathetic, for more than one reason. He was starting to hate himself for even wondering.
“Bourbon,” he said, and she made a face.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Live a little.”
She just looked at him, and then back at Wonder. The little filly sniffed delicately at Ashleigh’s hands. “I am living,” she said. “What more can I want?”
And, god, he hated her. It was official.
“I guess congratulations are in order.”
She looked up at him, and the barn light was all shiny on her dark hair. He hated that, too. He hated that he even noticed.
“Brad,” she started, and the sentence died in her throat because she really didn’t have anything to say. He knew it as well as she did, and he laughed a little. It probably sounded bitter to her, if the way she inched away from him was any indication.
“You know what?” he suddenly said, more than one form of courage running through his veins. This was recklessness, and he liked it about as much as he liked the alcohol roiling around in his stomach. He would never be that sure on either.
She looked up again, started to open her mouth, and he cut her off before she could say something so painfully idiotic it might make him see sense. He caught her tiny little wrist in one hand and yanked her off balance and into him. It was the easiest way to knock her guard down, because the next step was the ruthless kiss he pressed to her lips.
It wasn’t meant to be nice. He kissed her, took full advantage of her parted lips, and hoped she could taste the bourbon on his tongue. Her hands fisted firmly against his chest, probably trying to extricate herself, and he retaliated by pushing right back. He didn’t stop until he had her well enough memorized, which would horrify him later for two reasons, one of which he’d wind up regretting.
At the moment, he didn’t care. It was just hate. He liked the outrage and shock crossing her face, liked her swollen lips, and he liked the grin that was curling up his mouth.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he said, leaning back into her space. He hadn’t let go of her wrist, a small detail he was late to notice, and she pressed herself back against the Wonder’s stall door. The filly looked bored. Ashleigh, though, was paying attention.
“Nothing,” he told her, looking her in the eye, “is free.”
Bestow: to present as a gift; give; confer
Rating: R
A/N: post Wonder’s Victory.
He drove straight back to the farm after the race, making the drive in half the time. The house was dark, and he didn’t bother with the lights. No point to it, really. The only thing he was interested in was the liquor cabinet, and it didn’t matter what bottle he found. He just reached in and pulled one out. One was his father’s sixteen-year-old bourbon he’d probably been saving for some special occasion.
Fuck it, he thought. This was special enough. He opened it, aiming to go from sober to drunk in thirty minutes or less. He succeeded wildly.
The liquid was thick on his tongue, and there was almost nothing soothing about it. It burned all the way down, rolled in his stomach, and soaked in. Later, the smell of it would seep through his skin, but he didn’t care about that either. He could only sit on the sweeping porch of the stately, grandiose mansion, and drown in it.
After a moment—and several swigs he took straight from the bottle, a sort of fuck you to his father for being the emotional idiot he was—he was halfway convinced that he hated her. Before, he was sure he thought of her as a passing annoyance. Now he was stuck with her. Forever. The thought was tedious enough that he threw back another swallow and liked the harshness sliding down his throat.
It occurred to him that he wasn’t all that upset over losing the race. It was secondary, and he wanted to take another drink to forget that he wasn’t as angry about that as he should have been, but his stomach rebelled. It was unfortunate, he thought. Part of him wasn’t done yet.
When the horse trailer lumbered down the gravel drive in the distance, he shoved away the bourbon. His motor skills were mostly shot to hell, but he could still stand and walk, which he discovered the moment he was halfway to the stables.
Of course, it took a hell of a lot longer than normal, and by the time he made it to the training barn the trailer was gone. The grooms were gone. The lights were dimmed, but the door was still open and someone was there.
He was there for one reason, and it was mainly the guilt that had him standing in the dark, wanting to see his horse that he’d abandoned on the backside in Louisville. He wasn’t quite sure that the guilt could override the need to not be seen, not like this. For a moment he stood in the crisp autumn night and weighed his options, deciding that guilt trumped his already fucked reputation.
So he eased into the light, and there she was.
Life really wasn’t fair.
Her back was turned to him, giving him an out he should have taken. He would have had he not previously come to the conclusion that his reputation was fucked, and he wanted to see his horse. The Prince, naturally, was stabled right next to Wonder. The horses got along, which seemed endlessly amusing at that moment.
He found himself chuckling as the Prince inserted himself in the scene of filly and girl. The colt refused to be ignored, a fact to make him proud. When she smiled and reached out, the Prince licked her palm, nuzzled Wonder’s neck, and swung his head around to pin Brad with his dark brown gaze.
He’d been spotted.
Then she looked over her shoulder, and the world went still. He wanted to curse. He did, and she frowned.
“Brad?” she asked, as if she was checking to make sure it was really him. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair and down his face. His hands felt numb, which seemed like a nifty trick. Everything felt numb, except for the fact that his pulse was racing much faster than normal.
“Yeah,” he said, his confirmation doing nothing to put her at ease. He could see that much. She looked like a spring coiled to snap.
He eased forward, made it across the aisle, put one hand on the Prince’s forehead and tried to ignore her. She, being the girl she was, didn’t realize what was wrong with him until she was scrunching up her nose.
“What have you been drinking?” she asked, as if she’d never smelled it before. A good Kentucky girl, he thought. He wondered just how innocent she was. It was more than a little pathetic, for more than one reason. He was starting to hate himself for even wondering.
“Bourbon,” he said, and she made a face.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Live a little.”
She just looked at him, and then back at Wonder. The little filly sniffed delicately at Ashleigh’s hands. “I am living,” she said. “What more can I want?”
And, god, he hated her. It was official.
“I guess congratulations are in order.”
She looked up at him, and the barn light was all shiny on her dark hair. He hated that, too. He hated that he even noticed.
“Brad,” she started, and the sentence died in her throat because she really didn’t have anything to say. He knew it as well as she did, and he laughed a little. It probably sounded bitter to her, if the way she inched away from him was any indication.
“You know what?” he suddenly said, more than one form of courage running through his veins. This was recklessness, and he liked it about as much as he liked the alcohol roiling around in his stomach. He would never be that sure on either.
She looked up again, started to open her mouth, and he cut her off before she could say something so painfully idiotic it might make him see sense. He caught her tiny little wrist in one hand and yanked her off balance and into him. It was the easiest way to knock her guard down, because the next step was the ruthless kiss he pressed to her lips.
It wasn’t meant to be nice. He kissed her, took full advantage of her parted lips, and hoped she could taste the bourbon on his tongue. Her hands fisted firmly against his chest, probably trying to extricate herself, and he retaliated by pushing right back. He didn’t stop until he had her well enough memorized, which would horrify him later for two reasons, one of which he’d wind up regretting.
At the moment, he didn’t care. It was just hate. He liked the outrage and shock crossing her face, liked her swollen lips, and he liked the grin that was curling up his mouth.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he said, leaning back into her space. He hadn’t let go of her wrist, a small detail he was late to notice, and she pressed herself back against the Wonder’s stall door. The filly looked bored. Ashleigh, though, was paying attention.
“Nothing,” he told her, looking her in the eye, “is free.”