smokingmirror | Fanfic: Shades Of Memory (1/1) (Reply)

Title: Shades Of Memory
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tybalt/Harley
Spoilers: -
Summary: Tybalt dwells on his past.
Word Count: 1295
Date First Posted: 20-11-2001
Date Revised: 21-05-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: Harley POV. AU fic in which Harley hooked up with Tybalt instead of Mikhael. According to a conversation I had with the creator of BMB years ago, she said that when transplanting the cast from TiH to BMB, it was a 50/50 toss-up as to whether it was going to be Mik/Harl or Tybalt/Harl as that primary relationship. Mik/Harl obviously won, but I wondered what the flip-side might've been like. I maintain that the Harley in a relationship with Tybalt would have a few key differences in his makeup, being influenced by a different partner. For one, he'd be a lot better at manipulation.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.

"Babe, I'm home!" I shut the door with a thump, keys jangling. Usually I'd get home before him, but I had a study session with Cya and Skids. And yes, in between the Dr Pepper and Cheetos and Buffy episodes, we did find time to study.

I throw my bag and books over by the sofa and looked around. No sign of my erstwhile lover anywhere. Not in the kitchen, the lounge room or -- to my disappointment -- the bedroom.

It's not a very big house, so with my options severely narrowed, I head for the study-cum-studio.
Sure enough, there he is. Still wearing work clothes, but sexily rumpled. Shirt open... mrow. That frown on his face says it all, though. Standard artistic fervour.

Walking up behind him, I slide my arms around his waist (loving the bare abs... sigh) and stand on my tiptoes, chin just getting onto his shoulder. He sort of leans back into me, frown easing slightly.

"Productive evening?" Tybalt asks, not looking at me yet.

"Mmhm," I answer, planting a kiss on the soft skin of his neck, "lots of study to be had."

He turns then, quirks that damnable eyebrow and reaches up to comb some Cheez Whiz out of my hair with his fingers. "Is that so, Precious?"

"Uhmm..." I blush a little, but I knew it would be okay. It's far away from the stupidest things either of us has ever done.

He turns a little in my grip and gave me that indulgent smile of his. The one that says I can do whatever I like as long as I don't get caught. I love that smile. He follows it up with a kiss that numbs my brain a little. Wet and desperate, laced with something I can't really put my finger on.

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask him once I've got my breath back a little.

"Nothing much," he murmurs against my lips, pulling my hips closer. Mmm, friction.

I pull back a little. It's not really like him to downplay his art -- ever. Tybalt is not someone you can accuse of modesty at the best of times. He likes to show me just how good he is in a variety of different ways every opportunity he gets.

I look up and give him my most-charming-impossible-to-resist smile. "What iiiiss it?" He just shrugs non-committally. Damnit, now I want to know. "Let me see?" I stick the bottom lip out, just slightly. Not too much or it looks fake. Just enough so that I look like the most deprived and saddened 19 year old in existence. He can't stand it because I learnt from the best.

A small sigh, and he steps away, ceasing to block my view.

The first word that falls from my lips is 'Whoa'.

It's... beautiful, and yet even that word doesn't do it justice. I guess you'd call it a portrait -- I'm not all that good with art terms -- even though the subject is barely visible. It's made up of varying swirls of grey and black and brown, and there's a man's head peering out from the darkness. It's dark and moody and... sad, somehow. Like nothing I've ever seen Tybalt draw.

I step to have a closer look, and start to pick out features. Definitely male (and hot), with dark hair. The style is hard to see as it is lost in the torrid swirling background. Long face, straight nose, high cheekbones, but not so prominent. Maybe it's just the colours, but his skin seems to have a slightly darker tint to it -- olive, maybe? Makes him look exotic. Perhaps European. Full-lipped mouth set in a line, slightly turned down at the corners.
It's the eyes that get to me the most, though. They are large and melancholy and dark. And just so sad.

My boyfriend is staring at the picture, lost in thought. The frown is back, creasing his brow, only now it's accompanied by him chewing his bottom lip. Not really a very good sign, seeing as Tybalt has the bad habit of doing that until he tears the flesh and it bleeds. Kind of icky, and not really very attractive.

Okay, I lie. Tybalt is even attractive when he has blood running over his chin. So I'm smitten, so what?

"It's wonderful," I comment, giving him the praise he deserves, and wants to hear. He doesn't answer me, though, and continues to stare.

Something in his posture and expression is just weirding me out, though. I stare intently at the drawing. He looks... I don't know, familiar? Like I should know who he is.

But I don't.

I walk back to my lover and press my body up against his side, interlocking my hands over his far hip. He seems tense and stiff for a second, before relaxing into my embrace, even draping an arm around my back.

"Who is he?" I ask softly, half-waiting, half-dreading the answer.

"Just someone I used to know," he breathes after a long pause, voice thick with memory.

I want to ask more, but suddenly don't feel up to asking who this drop dead handsome guy is, how Tybalt can draw his expression flawlessly by memory, or why this affects him the way it does. Ty is one of those guys that you never see visibly moved by things, unless it's anger, amusement or lust.

His hands become occupied in one of his favourite pastimes -- tracing the covered tattoo on my shoulder blade unconsciously with his fingertips -- as he continues to stare at his drawing. I feel like I'm looking into a piece of his past that he's never bothered to fill me in on. And there's this bubbling of... I don't know... jealousy inside, I guess. That this drawn guy knows stuff about him that I don't.

My arms tighten reflexively around him. I look up into green eyes that finally meet mine. Gradually, the frown dissipates, and the ever-present amusement creeps into his expression. He traces a finger down the side of my face and twirls it in the soft hairs of my goatee.

"I need a shower," he says somewhat cryptically, although the meaning on his face is clear. Crystal, even.
I sniff the air and screw up my nose. "I think so, too. How long have you been holed up in this room? You're kinda ripe."

"I'll give you ripe," he nearly growls, planting his lips on mine with force. Mmm... His tongue touches just about every recess inside my mouth. I swear, if I ever need exploratory oral surgery done, I want him to do it. He's gotta know the inside of my mush better than any doctor.

I don't pick up any strange vibes from him any more. Seems he's got over whatever was bothering him, and is now totally focused on attempting to lick the inside of my throat.

Goodee.

"So, wanna come help me wash my back?" he grins lecherously, as only he can.

"Anything to stop the smell, dude."

Tybalt laughs outrageously. I'm so good. I snag his hand and begin to lead him out when he suddenly stops and digs his heels in. He turns back to his drawing and, after pausing a moment, walks towards it.

I think I've lost him again when he picks it up and deftly rips it in two, and then four, before letting the pieces flutter to the ground.

I raise my eyebrow questioningly and he shrugs. "Eyes too pitiful," he says by way of explanation, before putting his hand in mine once again.

I know it's not the reason, I don't understand what is.

But maybe one day when he trusts me enough, I will.

~finis