Disclaimer: not mine, no profit being made
Pre-slash, Rodney's POV
I softly touch the keys but do not press them down afraid to take the risk. Something within me longs to play, the music within me yearns to take flight, but I fight the urge.
I am not good enough.
The notes may be there, on the tips of my fingers, within my mind, but they are not in my soul. If I press the keys down, try to give sound to the music within - it will be empty, soulless, and barren. So I can not not press the keys down. I can only look at them with yearning and caress them softly, while doing my best to resist the longing to play.
Keys of white and black. Lines of zeroes and ones making up computer code. Equations that always lead to answers. Why can't everything be that simple?
I see you everyday. Your smiling eyes of blue, your friendly face, your gentle kindness, and so much more. You are a good and decent man and, beyond all odds, you like me.
You are liked by all, even pony tail hair guy... Kavanny? They all like you because you are a true gentleman. Truly gentle.
You are my friend. The first person I turn to when I need someone and that should be enough. I should not want more and yet I do.
Me plus you should equal just friends, but you are so incredibly special that I cannot help but want more. And I keep thinking that I want you plus me to equal love. But boys are supposed to like girls. Men are supposed to like women. And you like that... that Cadman of all people! So.
It's just... I hear your voice and I tremble with need. Your brogue flows over me, caressing me and I shake. I try to tell myself that it is out of thankfulness that you are my friend, but even I can get myself to believe my lies.
You speak to me with such kindness that I can not help but be touched. Perhaps more than I should allow myself to be. You tilt your head back and laugh and I swallow a gasp of amazement as to how beautiful you are. I sat beside you in the infirmary once, one of the few times you were really sick just to listen to you breathe and reassure myself that you were alive and would recover. I was so thankful for each breath you took, still am.
Your eyes sort of crinkle when you sleep and ... I wish I could tell you that you snore, but then you'd ask me how I knew and I know I'd babble so much about how I know that you'd guess at my secret.
I used to associate the smell of antiseptic with being small, alone and hurt in the hospital. Now I associate it with you. You almost always have a hint of an antisepticy smell about you. (Is antisepticy a word? Oh well, you'd know what I meant if I ever dared to tell you I've noticed the way you smell.) I like the smell of you. The hint of musk, your aftershave, the medicinal scent that follows you everywhere. I take a deep breath everytime I see you and I savor your scent but I will never tell you this for I do not have the words. And I doubt you would appreciate hearing such a thing from me were I ever to take a deep breath and say just how wonderful you smell to me.
I remember our kiss and it was OURS, not Cadman and yours. I remember how daring I felt when I pushed my tongue into your mouth for a taste. I remember the hint of garlic I found there and how I wondered what you had eaten to leave that hint of garlic behind. The kiss we shared had a bit of a kick. A spiciness that thrilled me. A hint of the forbidden and a slight suggestion that the kiss could have become more if we had been alone, if we had time, if..., just if. But then you tensed up on me and I thought it was because it was my lips on yours and you wanted Cadman's.
But even knowing you likely want her and not me, I long to take another taste. I thirst for you. I long to kiss you again. To drink from your lips deeply and often but I dare not take even a sip. However I do not know how long I can resist the urge. I do not know how long I can ignore my thirst for you, my huger for just one more taste.
Yet I know that one more taste will never be enough. That if I ever cave into the urge to kiss you again that I will want to continue doing so, a dozen, hundred, thousand, million times. Perhaps enough more times that I lose count.
I wish I knew if you could ever want a taste of me. I wish I knew if you would welcome another kiss. I wish I knew if you could ever love me the way I fear I love you. But just like I don't dare to press down the keys and let the music within me fly, I do not dare to give voice to my feelings for you. I know the only way I'll ever learn if you could want me is by taking a chance, but I'm not that brave. And yet I am still feeling the urge to tell you more and more every day. But I fight the urge.
I am not good enough. For you.