Genre: MFU - Slash
Word Count: 501
Written for nakeisha after she posted this image:
Nikki - I hope you like it!
It was a bench. Only a bench and not capable of conscious thought, at least not the way most people understand it. But it understood loneness, emptiness and loneliness. Winter was the worst.
In the spring, there would be lovers, stealing away to share the first blossoms of love. They would sit and watch the shore. They would talk of their future, so full of hope and happiness.
In the summer, families would come and visit. The children would race up and down the sand and play tag with the lapping waves. Their parents would sit and watch, comfortable and confident that all was safe and right in their world.
In the autumn, there would older couples, no longer part of the daily race, not chained to a desk. They would come and watch the waves move in and out, restless and lost without a purpose. Perhaps they too lacked a purpose and they spoke of bygone days and years when they had youth on their side.
However, in the winter, no one came. Alone and forgotten, it watched the tides come and go, marking time until the snow receded and the first green sprouts warily poked their heads out. Until then, it waited.
“Okay, I am now officially exhausted.”
“Here’s a bench. Let’s sit down.”
The wood cracked from the unexpected weight of two bodies.
“Sounds like one of us needs to lose weight.”
“That would be you, Napoleon.”
“Me? You’re sporting a few extra pounds, too, partner mine.”
“Baby fat? You’re nearly sixty!”
“In UNCLE years. In human years, I’m still a kid.” There was momentary silence as a kiss was shared. “What was that for?”
“For being my kid, I guess. The ocean is so calm. It looks like you could walk out on it.”
“We were good. We weren’t walking on water good. Are you cold?”
“Me? No. Why do you ask?”
“You are shivering.”
“Am I? I was just wondering how many people had sat here over the years.”
“Many, I suspect. This is a great view.”
“I wonder how many were like us.”
“You mean agents?”
“For a Russian, there is no romance in your soul, Illya. I mean, couples.”
“Here, take my scarf.”
“Thanks. I just wonder how many sat here, pondering great thoughts, dreaming great dreams and where they are now.”
“It’s the off season. I imagine this bench sees plenty of action in the warm months.”
“I can see you are in one of those moods.”
“You are going to be argumentative and contrary. There’s only one recourse open to me.”
“And that is?”
“Take you back to our room and love it out of you.”
“I can live with that.”
The bench groaned as they stood, as if in protest from the loss of its company. Yet as the two men moved away, holding onto each other in the pretense of support in the snow and ice, the bench felt less alone. As long as there was love, it would never be alone.