// Here
Title: Here
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Glinda/Fiyero, Elphaba/Fiyero
Warning: Mentioned and implied sex.
Summary: Glinda's love is loud; worn on the fringes of her elegant dresses for the entire world to gaze upon. Elphaba's love is quiet; so quiet it might not even be there at all. A study of Glinda/Fiyero and Elphaba/Fiyero though the prince's eyes.
Fiyero never knows what to think of Glinda, whose love is loud; worn on the fringes of her elegant dresses for the entire world to gaze upon. Glinda, who cheers with the empty headed crowds, raising her glass in triumph to a sighting of the Witch. Glinda, who clutches his hand once they’ve left, a few tears sliding along the curve of her neck; ghosts in the faint moon. Glinda, who loses herself so often that it’s a wonder she’s ever able to find her way back.
He tries to be happy here with her, in this place where the lights are blinding and the buildings are vast and the men and women dance until the dawn chases them away. After all, Glinda is sweet and kind and beautiful; beautiful in a way that most men only dream of. There are many moments where he finds himself utterly dazzled, completely filled up with nothing but her, her graceful twirls, her startling smile, her soft hands, and for the longest of moments, he can’t even begin to fathom anything else. He isn’t the only one, either; he can’t pretend he doesn’t see the careful way his soldiers glance at her when she sweeps past to take his arm; the way the woman flutter around her, close enough to glimpse the glow of her ringlets in every gasp of light. He is lucky, to have found this woman who loves him. This is his life now, and if, somewhere deep within him, he ever wanted anything else - well, it doesn’t really matter any longer.
He just - perhaps what bothers him the most is that he doesn’t understand how she can live both of these lives so fully; as though she is two separate beliefs cocooned into a single body. How she open her arms to a feeble-minded crowd and fulfills their every fearful thought; how she sits alone on the edge of the bed, buries her face in her hands as though she’s never said a negative word in her life, and for a brief moment, watching from the doorway, he’s ashamed of her, of all these lies that linger on her shoulders, suffocating them both. He’s just like her, though; maybe this is what hurts most of all; he’s just like her, pretending and hiding and following, and there’s no way to escape it.
She looks to him through the darkness, says, I should have gone with her, Fiyero; I shouldn’t have let her do this alone, and as he takes her trembling hand in his, gently kisses every faint line in her palm, something within him melts, and he’s never loved her more.
This must be what he wants, it must be, but his dreams are filled with pointed hats, with trembling fingertips along his face and a splash of green in his hand, and when he wakes, he forgets where he is and can only remember where he isn’t. Glinda stirs, then, her curls tumbling over, tickling his face, and when she smiles in that horribly beautiful way she does, he hates himself, hates himself so much that it nearly destroys him.
He’s engaged now; there’s no more room for quiet, straying thoughts; for reaching out to a woman who is nothing but a name now, who has been gone for so long that’s she merely a hallucination now, a vision that falters at his fingertips. Glinda is here; Glinda is real.
And still, he wonders.
It must sound so, well, strange, but when they’ve stumbled back from the latest party, warm in each other‘s arms, and he carefully, cautiously makes love to her (she reminds him of a doll, easily damaged by the most brief of mistakes), there are these moments where he can’t tell where she ends and begins, where her name is burning the roof of his mouth, and she giggles; the same sudden, brash sound she makes when someone tells a joke, when she humors a clumsy admirer, and for the briefest of moments, he’s jarred out of something he never quite knew he was in. Clarity, so crystal and absolute, overwhelms him, and all he can think, all he can feel is wrong wrong wrong wrong ---
And then he’s back in her arms, back from wherever it is he goes, and all that’s left is a whisper of something more.
- - -
Fiyero isn’t sure what to think of Elphaba, whose love is quiet, so quiet it may not even be there at all. Elphaba, who is here without even being here; who he feels beside him but she never is, she never is. Elphaba, who has flitted in and out of his dreams since his days at Shiz, terrifying and beautiful all at the same time. Elphaba, who suddenly appears without warning, the first time he’s seen her in years, and he almost runs to her before remembering the gun in his hands.
The next few minutes that pass are mere blurs, moments that he can never hope to recollect, where decisions were made and choices tumbled down before him, begging to be selected. He remembers Elphaba’s smile as she realizes he isn’t one of them how she could ever think that how could she ever believe even for a moment and how much he wants to go to her at that moment, take her hands in his and never let them go; the glimmer of Glinda’s gown in the faint light; the words, so hot and sudden and perfect; Glinda’s face, crumbling into a million pieces, and he wants to apologize, for this moment, for all the wasted years, for leaving her here all alone, but he needs this, he needs Elphaba, more than he’s ever needed anything before in his entire life, and, and ----
And then they’re running, through hollow corridors, down winding staircases, across vast gardens and he feels so exhilarated, so shaken that when she holds out her broom, shouts for him to get on, he doesn’t think, merely does what he’s told, and then they’re flying, flying, and his breath is stolen from him so easily that he nearly chokes. Oz is racing by beneath his dangling feet, miles, eternities away; his shoe brushes against the tip of a tree, causes him to waver, clutch his arms around Elphaba’s waist, and when she laughs, sets her own hand on his trembling one, he feels free; he is finally free.
They land, and all he can do is stare as she sets aside her broom, her hat; as lights filters in through the crowded trees, forming pockets of warmth along her skin. It’s been so long, so many hollow days, that he can’t bring himself to believe she’s close enough to touch. Ever since the beginning, she had been like this; this unimaginable presence in his life, who shouted and believed and saw everything; saw right through him in a way no one else ever could. She was so raw, so exposed; so unbelievably mesmerizing in a way that Glinda never was ---- and yet, the name Glinda conjures up images of a broken woman, a woman crying in an empty bed, and he has to push it away before it envelops him. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He didn’t mean it, he tells himself, and almost believes it.
“I found you,” he finally says to a waiting Elphaba, who watches him with the slight twitch of a smile on her lips. It sounds so awkward, but it’s all he can come up with; all that lingers in his thoughts. He’s found her. She’s here. She’s real, and he’s never known a more beautiful word.
“So you have,” she says; he can’t remember ever seeing her so content, so pleased with herself. “I suppose that leaves only one question, then.” She moves fluidly; her nails slide along his palms, frightening him for the briefest of moments. “Now that you’ve found me, Captain; what do you intend to do?”
He tries to control himself, he really does; it’s been years, it’s too soon, it’s too new, it’s too everything, all at once; but then she takes his fingers, presses them to her cold face; closes her eyes, as though she can’t believe it either, as though she needs to know he’s really there, and any hesitation is ripped away. He seizes her in his arms, kisses her; for so long that he imagines the world comes crashing down.
Words fumble in his mouth, quick, gasping; I just - I never knew if you; and she shushes each one, hands wound around his neck. His hands are wriggling under the thick fabric of her sleeves, roaming over the clammy skin of her arms, and his shirt has been lost somewhere, buried under all the dirt, but he couldn’t care less, for she falls over him like a winged figure, like the most solid of shadows - I’m yours, Fiyero - and it begins to all happen at once, one moment on top of another; her dress, pooling around his arms, green hands pulling at his trousers, and it feels like his lips are melting but still he pulls her closer, overwhelmed, euphoric; any thought wiped blank. I’ve always been yours, she hisses into his mouth, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s always been hers, as well; as if he’s been waiting for this his entire life.
Yes, he realizes, her legs unbearably warm against his; her eyes above him, bearing straight through whatever shreds of facade he still struggled to maintain, and the answer is there, so strong, so easy to reach out and touch, and just before he gives in, just before he loses himself in the world of her, he finds it.
He may have loved Glinda once --- but it’s Elphaba who consumes him, and he never believes in anything more.
~
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Glinda/Fiyero, Elphaba/Fiyero
Warning: Mentioned and implied sex.
Summary: Glinda's love is loud; worn on the fringes of her elegant dresses for the entire world to gaze upon. Elphaba's love is quiet; so quiet it might not even be there at all. A study of Glinda/Fiyero and Elphaba/Fiyero though the prince's eyes.
Fiyero never knows what to think of Glinda, whose love is loud; worn on the fringes of her elegant dresses for the entire world to gaze upon. Glinda, who cheers with the empty headed crowds, raising her glass in triumph to a sighting of the Witch. Glinda, who clutches his hand once they’ve left, a few tears sliding along the curve of her neck; ghosts in the faint moon. Glinda, who loses herself so often that it’s a wonder she’s ever able to find her way back.
He tries to be happy here with her, in this place where the lights are blinding and the buildings are vast and the men and women dance until the dawn chases them away. After all, Glinda is sweet and kind and beautiful; beautiful in a way that most men only dream of. There are many moments where he finds himself utterly dazzled, completely filled up with nothing but her, her graceful twirls, her startling smile, her soft hands, and for the longest of moments, he can’t even begin to fathom anything else. He isn’t the only one, either; he can’t pretend he doesn’t see the careful way his soldiers glance at her when she sweeps past to take his arm; the way the woman flutter around her, close enough to glimpse the glow of her ringlets in every gasp of light. He is lucky, to have found this woman who loves him. This is his life now, and if, somewhere deep within him, he ever wanted anything else - well, it doesn’t really matter any longer.
He just - perhaps what bothers him the most is that he doesn’t understand how she can live both of these lives so fully; as though she is two separate beliefs cocooned into a single body. How she open her arms to a feeble-minded crowd and fulfills their every fearful thought; how she sits alone on the edge of the bed, buries her face in her hands as though she’s never said a negative word in her life, and for a brief moment, watching from the doorway, he’s ashamed of her, of all these lies that linger on her shoulders, suffocating them both. He’s just like her, though; maybe this is what hurts most of all; he’s just like her, pretending and hiding and following, and there’s no way to escape it.
She looks to him through the darkness, says, I should have gone with her, Fiyero; I shouldn’t have let her do this alone, and as he takes her trembling hand in his, gently kisses every faint line in her palm, something within him melts, and he’s never loved her more.
This must be what he wants, it must be, but his dreams are filled with pointed hats, with trembling fingertips along his face and a splash of green in his hand, and when he wakes, he forgets where he is and can only remember where he isn’t. Glinda stirs, then, her curls tumbling over, tickling his face, and when she smiles in that horribly beautiful way she does, he hates himself, hates himself so much that it nearly destroys him.
He’s engaged now; there’s no more room for quiet, straying thoughts; for reaching out to a woman who is nothing but a name now, who has been gone for so long that’s she merely a hallucination now, a vision that falters at his fingertips. Glinda is here; Glinda is real.
And still, he wonders.
It must sound so, well, strange, but when they’ve stumbled back from the latest party, warm in each other‘s arms, and he carefully, cautiously makes love to her (she reminds him of a doll, easily damaged by the most brief of mistakes), there are these moments where he can’t tell where she ends and begins, where her name is burning the roof of his mouth, and she giggles; the same sudden, brash sound she makes when someone tells a joke, when she humors a clumsy admirer, and for the briefest of moments, he’s jarred out of something he never quite knew he was in. Clarity, so crystal and absolute, overwhelms him, and all he can think, all he can feel is wrong wrong wrong wrong ---
And then he’s back in her arms, back from wherever it is he goes, and all that’s left is a whisper of something more.
- - -
Fiyero isn’t sure what to think of Elphaba, whose love is quiet, so quiet it may not even be there at all. Elphaba, who is here without even being here; who he feels beside him but she never is, she never is. Elphaba, who has flitted in and out of his dreams since his days at Shiz, terrifying and beautiful all at the same time. Elphaba, who suddenly appears without warning, the first time he’s seen her in years, and he almost runs to her before remembering the gun in his hands.
The next few minutes that pass are mere blurs, moments that he can never hope to recollect, where decisions were made and choices tumbled down before him, begging to be selected. He remembers Elphaba’s smile as she realizes he isn’t one of them how she could ever think that how could she ever believe even for a moment and how much he wants to go to her at that moment, take her hands in his and never let them go; the glimmer of Glinda’s gown in the faint light; the words, so hot and sudden and perfect; Glinda’s face, crumbling into a million pieces, and he wants to apologize, for this moment, for all the wasted years, for leaving her here all alone, but he needs this, he needs Elphaba, more than he’s ever needed anything before in his entire life, and, and ----
And then they’re running, through hollow corridors, down winding staircases, across vast gardens and he feels so exhilarated, so shaken that when she holds out her broom, shouts for him to get on, he doesn’t think, merely does what he’s told, and then they’re flying, flying, and his breath is stolen from him so easily that he nearly chokes. Oz is racing by beneath his dangling feet, miles, eternities away; his shoe brushes against the tip of a tree, causes him to waver, clutch his arms around Elphaba’s waist, and when she laughs, sets her own hand on his trembling one, he feels free; he is finally free.
They land, and all he can do is stare as she sets aside her broom, her hat; as lights filters in through the crowded trees, forming pockets of warmth along her skin. It’s been so long, so many hollow days, that he can’t bring himself to believe she’s close enough to touch. Ever since the beginning, she had been like this; this unimaginable presence in his life, who shouted and believed and saw everything; saw right through him in a way no one else ever could. She was so raw, so exposed; so unbelievably mesmerizing in a way that Glinda never was ---- and yet, the name Glinda conjures up images of a broken woman, a woman crying in an empty bed, and he has to push it away before it envelops him. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He didn’t mean it, he tells himself, and almost believes it.
“I found you,” he finally says to a waiting Elphaba, who watches him with the slight twitch of a smile on her lips. It sounds so awkward, but it’s all he can come up with; all that lingers in his thoughts. He’s found her. She’s here. She’s real, and he’s never known a more beautiful word.
“So you have,” she says; he can’t remember ever seeing her so content, so pleased with herself. “I suppose that leaves only one question, then.” She moves fluidly; her nails slide along his palms, frightening him for the briefest of moments. “Now that you’ve found me, Captain; what do you intend to do?”
He tries to control himself, he really does; it’s been years, it’s too soon, it’s too new, it’s too everything, all at once; but then she takes his fingers, presses them to her cold face; closes her eyes, as though she can’t believe it either, as though she needs to know he’s really there, and any hesitation is ripped away. He seizes her in his arms, kisses her; for so long that he imagines the world comes crashing down.
Words fumble in his mouth, quick, gasping; I just - I never knew if you; and she shushes each one, hands wound around his neck. His hands are wriggling under the thick fabric of her sleeves, roaming over the clammy skin of her arms, and his shirt has been lost somewhere, buried under all the dirt, but he couldn’t care less, for she falls over him like a winged figure, like the most solid of shadows - I’m yours, Fiyero - and it begins to all happen at once, one moment on top of another; her dress, pooling around his arms, green hands pulling at his trousers, and it feels like his lips are melting but still he pulls her closer, overwhelmed, euphoric; any thought wiped blank. I’ve always been yours, she hisses into his mouth, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s always been hers, as well; as if he’s been waiting for this his entire life.
Yes, he realizes, her legs unbearably warm against his; her eyes above him, bearing straight through whatever shreds of facade he still struggled to maintain, and the answer is there, so strong, so easy to reach out and touch, and just before he gives in, just before he loses himself in the world of her, he finds it.
He may have loved Glinda once --- but it’s Elphaba who consumes him, and he never believes in anything more.
~