porcelain	 porcelain

 by Colleen

  

 Author's Website: http://www.envy.nu/colleenkane/fiction/ds.htm

 Disclaimer: never ever sue poor people

 Author's Notes: thanks to Becca, badass beta

 Story Notes: this began as a breakup fic, because of Moby's breakup song
of the same name. I'm glad it evolved into this, instead. to be continued
. 

 

 

 I love his skin, the gloss it takes on when he's been sweating under my
hands, under my mouth. He's not especially pale, but he's got a soft tawny
glow, a luminescence. He bruises easily. I have to be careful. 

 Tonight he came home from work and unclipped his holster and kicked off
his boots without saying a word. He dropped into bed, still mostly
dressed, and lay there, with his arm over his eyes, until he fell asleep.
Several hours later he sat up, pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 "I love you," he said, voice hoarse from sleep. 

 I looked at him from where I'd been holding my vigil, my chair in the
corner. "And I you, Ray." 

 "I hate my fucking job." 

 "Would you like to talk about it?" 

 "No." 

 He did talk, eventually, afterward. After he'd held out his hands to me
and I crawled into their grip. After he asked me to use him hard, be
rough, leave marks - which I didn't want to do, flatly refused, and
instead made love to him slowly, deeply, gently. It's not easy to deny Ray
anything, in the face of those pleading eyes. At the moment, I didn't
understand his request. 

 The case was an ugly one, a woman who'd fled her abusive husband was
killed by him as she left a doctor's appointment; he shot her as she was
getting into a taxi to go back to the safe house. Ray's always been
protective of women, as have I. I understand his rage. 

 "It's a fucking head trip," he snarled, pounding his fist against the
mattress. "I'm arresting this guy and he's babbling about how much he
loves her, he did it because he loves her. That is such bullshit. 'Cause
it's not about love, a guy who does that shit! It's all about control." 

 I nodded, rubbed his neck. 

 I have hit Ray twice in the time I have known him, and both times it felt
as if I was the one being struck. His pain is something I cannot bear. I
can't imagine willingly hurting him, striking him in anger. I wonder how
he would have reacted if I'd done as he asked of me, hurt him in bed
tonight. I wonder if he was subconsciously testing to see if I could or
would do it in the name of love. 

 But there's no way. 

 Ray curled into my arms, sighing heavily, rubbing his cheek against my
chest. "You'd never..." he whispered, and the hairs stood up on my arms.
Sometimes I would swear he reads my thoughts. 

 "Never." 

 "I shouldn't have..." 

 "It's all right. I think I understand." 

 "Okay." 

 He pressed a kiss to my collarbone and sighed again, so I drew him down
to the pillows, holding him safe to me. I ran my fingers over that smooth
delicate skin. He bruises easily. One might even call him fragile - and
yet, in his way, he's more durable than anyone I've ever known. 

End