A Time To Keep Silence
RATING: PG-13, just because it's slash.
FANDOM: Shanghai Noon
SUMMARY: Just Chon's thoughts, watching Roy.
DISTRIBUTION: My site, Starfall, FanFiction.Net, the Shanghai Slash archive, and anywhere else I send it. If you want it, just email me.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, so there's nothing worth suing me for.
NOTES: A response to sockii's challenge: 'Two characters. No dialogue, no conversation. Something other than a smutty PWP. *At least* 750 words.' A tough one for me, I like my dialogue. I suppose having an inner monologue is cheating a bit. Oh well. Chon's POV. I guess that he's really thinking in Chinese, but for simplicity's sake I've used good, somewhat archaic, English. This is how I imagine Chon might speak. One last thing; this is my first fic in this fandom, so I would really appriciate some feedback on my characterization. Thank you :)
It has been a long day. The shadows are lengthening now. Soon it will be dark. Night comes swiftly here. The sand begins to give up the heat it has absorbed over the day, so the temperature remains high, though easier to bear than the scorching midday sun. I do not understand this barren place. But I am growing to love it.
My horse is tired, though she cannot be more tired than I am. It was a hard ride back from the bandit's camp we had cleaned up, though to be truthful I was quite glad of the change of scene. I was raised in the Imperial Court, where every day was monotonously regulated, and there were always tasks to fulfil, training or cleaning or guard duty. None of it very interesting, but it filled up the time. This new-found freedom is difficult for me. Although I am certainly grateful for it, when the days are quiet and there is nothing to do but sit and wait for our work to come to us, I sometimes wish for my old life. Never for very long though. And when there is excitement it certainly compensates for the periods of inaction.
Our eagerness to return home today prevented us from taking the journey at a more leisurely pace, or stopping to shelter from the heat of the day. The back of Roy's neck is badly burned; the sun is crueller to him than it is to me. Perhaps he will allow me to rub some balm into it. Then again, maybe not. He can be very stubborn in his need to rely on no-one but himself. What did he used to tell Falling Leaves? 'I'm a wild horse.' Perhaps there's some truth in that; he needs space, freedom, a degree of independence. But just as much, he needs the security of somebody to be there for him. His partner. Me.
I can still remember the day he approached me, soon after we had become law men. He was very nervous, that much I could tell at once. His eyes played over my face, never quite meeting mine, never looking away. His hands twisted together, and the heel of his left shoe ground against the floor. He had a long speech prepared, and he stumbled through it while I watched him in silence. I didn't understand half of what he said; whether this was because his nerves made him gabble and confuse his words, or simply a result of my own imperfect command of his language, I cannot tell. But I didn't need to listen to him to understand what he was saying. When he finally looked up, his eyes spoke with an eloquence he could only dream of. Poor Roy. He still has not learned that for some things, no words are necessary. I put a finger to his lips........and the rest, only he, I and the moon shall know.
He's looking back at me now, perhaps wondering the reason for the smile I know I must be wearing. He teases me sometimes, for staring at him like a lovesick girl. Sometimes I pretend to take offence, or tease him back, enquiring about the numbers of lovesick girls he has known. But for the most part, I don't need to say anything. I just keep smiling at him, and he blushes and looks away, usually muttering something like 'tease', or 'flirt'. I confess I find his efforts to cast me in a female role rather amusing. I am not beautiful in the way that some of my countrymen are, and even with my long hair I could hardly pass for feminine. But whatever he sees, or pretends to see, if it makes him feel more comfortable I do not mind how he pictures me.
This is a strange country. I cannot understand why some desires are positively provoked, while others, so similar, are brutally repressed. I could feel it in him, in our early days together. The resistance, the inner struggle, something almost akin to revulsion for his own feelings. Even when his body responded, something in his mind was holding him back, reigning him in. And it was the little things - a touch of his hand in public, a comforting embrace when I felt he most needed it - that he seemed to fear the most. It has taken him a very long time to learn to let go, release his feelings and simply be.
We are in sight of home now; a house on the outskirts of the town, which we share. He looks a challenge at me, his eyes dancing, and spurs his horse on. I follow a little way behind him, laughing, not wishing to exhaust my mount to far. Neither of us have the energy for a race.
As I dismount, he has already stabled his horse. He waits as I tie mine securely, and, watching him out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly realise that we have not spoken in hours. I open my mouth, intending to congratulate him on his victory, but to my surprise he stops me with a gentle finger against my lips. Then, with a brief glance over his shoulder, he draws me into a long, lingering kiss. As he leads me towards the house, I have time to reflect on the charms of a man who has learned that there is a time for speech, and a time to keep silence.
The End
ADDITIONAL NOTES: Well, the final word count read 914, which wasn't bad. I do realise that Chon couldn't posibly know the religious quotation I used, but it just fit too nicely for me to ignore it. Now I've got my arm in, I think I'll have to do some more on this pair - they're really growing on me.
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