Summer Storms
Aoi/Uruha - Uruha/Aoi
(PG15)
They don’t remember who started it. They don’t remember who said the first cross word, who snarled the first angry curse. They don’t remember who broke first and yelled. They don’t remember Ruki making a quick excuse and flying out the door, avoiding the battle. They don’t remember which of them cried first. They don’t remember who might have thrown the first punch.
They don’t remember how the lamp in the living room had gotten broken, or how the picture on the wall was now lying on the floor, the glass shattered. They don’t remember the neighbors yelling through the walls, threatening to call the police.
They don’t remember the chase moving down the hall and into the bedroom. They don’t remember the voices falling to a hushed whisper. They don’t remember how exactly they’d gone from screaming at one another to passionate groping. They don’t remember when loud shouts and obscenities had faded to lust filled moans and passionate whispers.
They don’t remember who topped or who bottomed. They don’t remember if they battled for dominance, or if they simply focused on finding fulfillment in one another. They don’t remember how long the euphoria of passion had lasted before they both collapsed, sated.
Early morning light filters through the open window, drawing lines across the two figures in the bed. Pale, naked limbs tangled beneath rumpled sheets, Aoi’s head resting peacefully on Uruha’s chest, the larger man’s fingers threaded tenderly into the dark hair of his lover. Hands are clasped, fingers twined in a lover’s knot. Soft breathing fills the air, a quiet undertone to the singing birds that greet the dawn.
They won’t remember much of the previous night’s fight, aside from the beginnings of a faint bruise around Aoi’s left wrist. Uruha would apologize profusely for that later, kiss it tenderly and perhaps cry for it, but it would be put away with the rest of it. Such was the way of their fights. Such is the way of any argument between the two strong-willed guitarists.
Anyone on the outside of it all would think that this was an unhealthy relationship. But, to know Aoi and Uruha as intimately as their band mates do, you could be led to understand that this is, perhaps, the healthiest relationship that either man has been in to date. It was the way of things, they all knew that. And no one really worried, because Aoi and Uruha trusted each other with their very lives.
Aoi stirs lightly on the bed, molding himself more firmly against the taller man’s warm body. Uruha’s hand leaves his hair and slides down Aoi’s back, resting lightly against his skin. Neither man wakes completely in this shift, content and safe in one another’s grasp.
No, they won’t put much thought to their fight, but it won’t be forgotten. Each will catalogue the events, stow them away inside their minds. But the battle is over, passed like the storm that had raged through the night. Because that’s what their fights are like: summer storms. They came seemingly out of nowhere, raged loud, full of power and energy, cascading in brilliant displays of emotional lightning and rolling thunder, all leading to a crescendo of passion that fled with the dark clouds, away into the dawn.
Maybe that’s the way things should be. For Uruha and Aoi, it worked. It completed them in one another, helped them to grow together, to test the bounds of their love and go beyond them. No one could honestly say that they were not devoted to one another in every aspect. Even when they fight, they hold the seed of love tight within themselves, never letting go of control, never giving in completely to rage.
Aoi and Uruha are like a summer storm. This one has passed, leaving them to sleep peacefully, locked away in their dreams. Even Ruki, who witnessed the first stages of the fight, will smile when he sees them. He knows, they all know.
They are a summer storm.
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