Schumsy fic that will get slashy soon, based on the book the Velveteen Rabbit




THE VELVETEEN RABBIT - PART ONE

THERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen.

-
There once was a boy. His eyes were dark as black velvet, and lingering in the back of their darkness was a certainty like magic. His dark hair, tickled softly against his ears, and fell about his eyes. He had a heart that was real, and inside it he had a love that was even realer.
When the other boys saw him their eyes would turn an unsightly shade of emerald green, at his handsome face. When the girls saw him they would melt into buttery goodness at his charm.

In the beginning he was adored and admired. He was the brightest boy, and the tallest boy. When Carlos first saw him, on the first day of school, he was his favourite boy in all of the class, for at least two hours he loved him.

But winter came, and with it came football and lemon jelly. The Boy was left to stand alone in the corner of the class, his smile growing tighter and more rarely bestowed. The certainty in the back of his eyes lost it's panache, and his hair grew gaunt and rank.

His days were spent watching Carlos kick and fight and play with all the other 16 year old boys. The love in his heart was all that remained, and this love grew brighter and realer by the day. The love he had, it was short. It was short, and had china blue eyes, and a heart of pure gold. With this heart of pure gold, there was an uncertainty in its mannor.
-

'Carlos?' Peter called his name in what was slightly above a whisper, yet loud enough to draw the china blue eyes onto his person.
'What is it Peter?' Carl asked, barely offering him a second of his time, his eyes wandering, meandering and finally fixing themselves back onto the vigerous football match that was going on on front of his face.
'It's just, I was wondering..I wanted to know, that is...' Peter stuttered. He was a confident boy, but when Carlos was around he felt his heart flutter, as though some sort of magic was trying to release itself from the restraints of his chest.

'What is it Peter?' Carl repeated growing slightly aggitated, flicking his hand through his gleaming brown hair. Peter's chest fluttered again, at the movement, sending electric shocks through his system, and almost crippiling him with a painful sensation in his stomach.

'Well ...Do you want to take a walk or something..I mean, nothing much going on around here is there?' Pete finally said it, his words washing over Carl's features in surprise.

'Eh..' Carl slipped his eyes back to the playing field, with a look of longing. Peter wanted to evaporate into condensation, and slip through the crevace of Carl's lips, into his mind and steel his thoughts. That's what he wanted to do, but Carlos was quite unreadable to him.

_

The day came when once again the boy was loved. Carlos looked at him through nostalgic eyes, and remembered those two hours when he did love. When love was in his palm, a boy of velvet black eyes, and wild brown hair.
The boy again regained his smile, his eyes grew back the magic that time had stolen, and his lips ripened in the summer sun.

The real love in his heart, swollen and proud, once again walked with him in burnt orange of Autumn , that was in fact the snowy white of Winter.
Everybody said it, how his eyes sparkled, and how his hair shone. He was once again the envy of everyone, from all ends of the crystal globe, his hands tied tightly to his heart, his love.

_

Carl looked at Peter silently as his chest rose and fell to the music of his breathing. Peter's eyelids, lay masking himself as he dreamed of lovers and poets. Carl was mesmirised by the rhythm with which he existed. He slept with such beauty and such music. He was some sort of magician, who had enchanted him, bewitched his sences, torn from him everything he had once known, everything he had believed in, and left him naked and empty, but not the kind of empty that left hearts ripped along the seams. Not the kind of empty that spun tears from jaded eyes..not that kind of empty. A kind of empty that made him feel as though he could fly, like time and conscience were no consctrictions. Peter was the one who held him up, told him he had wings, and sent him soaring through oceans of cloudy white matter.

While lying there in Peter's bedroom, while his mother made them dinner downstairs, a feast of kings ( slightly burnt sausages, a spoonfull of beans, and a handful of golden brown chips, heaped like coal on the rim of the ornanted dishes ), Carl wound himself up in Peter's beauty. Something had been tickeling him, for the past few days.

It had once been that when he looked at Pete, he saw a boy, bruised yet eloquent, weathered yet vivacious, so naive yet so full of wisdom.. but now when he looked into those entrancing eyes, he was driven to madness. A feeling of pure lust, love ,adoration (whatever fickle minds were calling it this month), overcame him.

He leaned closely in, breathing the scent of cigarettes and wasted days off Peter's shirt, moving slowly with the current of his breath, and stealing from Peter, the sweet nothing of a kiss, planted on moist parted lips, and taken in the slightest, least significant moment in time.
Peter stirred ever so slightly, a soft groan escaping him, no doubt the turbulent cry of some far away land where he was dancing with pirates, and singing lovesongs to a blackbird.