The Morning After

by Spubba

Voltron: Defender Of The Universe and all associated characters are owned and copyrighted by World Events Productions, Ltd. The contents of this story are intended for entertainment purposes only. No infringement is intended.

Do the dead cry?

Do they remember?

Itís you.

Why do you do this to me? I killed you, for fuckís sake. I killed you, and I killed your fucking friends, and I killed your lover. Canít we just leave it at that? Or do you taunt me just to fling it back in my face, remind me that I was hopelessly in love with you even when I drove my sword into your back?

Oh, Gods. I should lay off the wine. But what in the fuck am I supposed to do with myself, when the dancing girls of my harem no longer bring me pleasure? The wine brings sleep, at least; of course I always forget that sleep brings dreams.

Dreams of you. Memories of the past. I even miss your smarmy friends and their laughable antics every time they came to save you. I should have just let you go, should have fucked you silly and thrown you back out in the street so they could find you. They would yell at me a little bit just to make themselves feel important, maybe smack me around a bit before sending me packing, and we would all live to fight another day. But no, I had to hold on to you, try and keep you for myself just a little bit longer, until your darling Lance and the cavalry came charging over the mountain.

It was jealousy that led me to do it, of course. I couldnít stand the way he looked at you when he saw us naked together.

And now youíre here, in my head, laughing at me.

Do the dead dream?

Do they dance?

Iím crazy. Iím certifiably insane. None of this is news to me. Youíre kissing me now, holding me in those strong arms of yours, and Iím dancing, and the music is moving you too. I press my hips against yours, rolling my sex across your thighs, sobbing with the beauty and the loss of it all. Tell me, Keith, when you lay next to Lance and he did this to you, did you ever think of me? Did I ever cross your mind?

I surrender to your will. Your hot lips on my neck bring a rise of yearning, and I sob with frustration, knowing what will happen, what always happens. I wrench at my own clothing, thinking perhaps if I move quickly enough, it wonít happen this time. I beg for your touch.

And you touch me, with your hands and more, your mouth the moist refuge I seek so earnestly. I cry out, broken sighs shattering the cool stillness of the dreamworld, as you bring me to the edgeÖ

Öand then vanish. I hear your laughter fading away.

Do the dead watch?

I should have known I could never possess you. Some birds were never meant to be caged. After that last intimacy, the last you and I were to ever know, I should have looked the other way, stood up, dressed myself, left you to your thoughts and your silences. That last kiss I savored was not mine to take.

Itís punishment enough, Keith, to be driven mad. Itís bad enough that I canít even look at myself in the mirror anymore, that despite how many times I wash my clothes and the pillows and the bedsheets, I can still smell you on them. You donít have to make it worse with your mockery and your taunts.

I love you, Keith. Didnít you ever see that? Didnít you ever understand why I did the things that I did, that I only wanted to be close to you? I suppose I could have gone about it differently, but you see, I always thought there was a method to my madness. Too bad I was the only one who understood my actions.

Leave me alone, Keith. For fuckís sake, just leave me alone. I donít want to remember anymore.

Do the dead laugh?

Do they love?


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