Le commutateur by PuffyAmiYumi (Dark Side Challenge)

[puffyamiyumi.livejournal.com]

Title: Switch (Translated from "Le commutateur")
Author: François Letendre (puffyamiyumi)
Pairings: Carson/Michael
Rating: R-ish
Word count: ≈1000
Summary: Michael's might be remembering his past and Carson is all too aware.
A/N: I made the mistake of writing this in French and had to translate, so the cadence is gone, but the story remains the same. Mmmm Michael.

Michael awoke with a jolt, covered in cold sweat, the final images of his nightmare fading away from his memory. He promptly sat up, looking around to assure that, yes, he was still in Atlantis. He closed his eyes trying to remember his nightmare. He could only remember a dark room, the walls looked alive, organic, and a creature. Who was this creature? Where was this place?

The green glow from his clock brightened slightly, it had just turned 3:58 A.M. Michael drifted asleep torn between wanting to revisit his dreams and wanting to forget them altogether.

***

Carson refilled his coffee cup and turned around. "Hello," said a voice before he could realize that Michael was behind him. Carson felt his heart jolt in his chest and was prepared to throw the hot coffee at him. Michael laughed nervously, "I'm sorry, did I scare you?"

Carson quickly regained his poise and stammered, "No, you- well, yes. Yeah, you kind of came out of nowhere." He laughed at his own bumbling, cleared his mind, and changed the subject, "How are you feeling today?"

Michael thought for a moment, "I'm well. Tough night, but I feel fine."

"Tough night? Trouble sleeping?"

"A bad dream is all. I don't even remember it." He couldn't even recall what he forced himself to remember at four earlier that morning.

***

"What's wrong with dreaming?" Elizabeth, while interested in what Dr. Becket had to say, lacked the time or energy to dedicate to the matter he was presenting to her.

Carson quickened his pace to keep up with Dr. Weir's long stride, "Nothing's wrong with dreaming, it's the fact that he's having nightmares that concerns us."

"I fail to understand what this has to do with anything, Carson."

"His memory is only a week old."

"Yes," Elizabeth didn't slow down as they made their way around a corner, nearly crashing heads with a guard in green fatigues.

"He has nothing to have nightmares about."

"So he's dreaming about things before the treatment?" Elizabeth finally stopped in front of a room with about six people chatting inside.

"That would make the most sense, yes. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to be able to remember the dreams."

"Well, I don't want to wait until he does, keep trying to find out more. Goodbye, Carson." And with a swift pirouette, she was inside the room.

***

With Michael unable to recall his dreams, it was impossible to properly interpret what his dreams contained or portended. But the fact that these dreams had concerned his psychiatrist and Dr. Becket so much made him both increasingly curious and restless. He feared sleep now and decided to take up Dr. Becket's offer of sleeping pills. And with two guards, he made his way to the infirmary.

People were still roaming the city, many toting computers and intently jotting down notes (while fully capable of winding in and out of bodies), others yawned and were passing him, making their ways to bed. Carson, on the other hand, seemed neither busy nor fatigued. He was sitting at his desk flipping through a notebook, seemingly only reading a sentence from each page. Glad to be given something to do, Carson spun around and stood up (at the same time, creating quite the dramatic effect, Michael thought). "Michael!" He beamed and nodded his head at the guards who made their way just outside the door.

Michael stepped forward and Carson spoke again, "What can I do for you?"

"I- uh- have had some trouble sleeping." Michael replied silently.

Carson replied quite predictably, "Is it the dreams?"

"No," Michael lied. He chose to avoid this conversation again.

Carson caught on quickly, and placed his hand on Michael's right bicep. "Are you sure?" He asked grimly.

Michael looked down his arm at Carson's hand. He was confused at this sudden intimacy. He did not, however, pull away. He looked into Carson's eyes and said, "Yes. I'm sure." Carson's face loosened and so did his grip on Michael's arm. Michael promptly took his left arm and reached for Carson's waist. He couldn't remove his eyes from Carson's.

*

Carson had grabbed Michael's arm spontaneously. No meaning behind it, just a sudden wave of rapport swept over him. And just as quickly as he found himself grasping Michael's muscled arm, he found Michael peering into his eyes, his hand firmly grasping his waist and Michael shuffled closer to Carson and lowered his face to his own.

Carson closed his eyes and didn't move. The second after closing his eyes that he didn't feel Michael's lips, only his breath, he felt as though he had been standing with his eyes closed for no reason, he looked silly. Maybe he knows. Maybe he remembers the dreams. Maybe he's going to feed on him. Maybe he's here to kill.

And just as the ludicrous terror raised in his chest, Michael's lips were on his, Carson felt Michael's tongue work its way into his mouth. His pants stiffened. Michael slid his mouth down Carson's chin, his hot breath caressed Carson's neck- making it impossible to handle the sexual energy he had left bottled up since four months before leaving Earth.

Michael apparently felt similarly. He pushed Carson against the desk, spilling a cup of ball point pens and promptly kissed him madly, struggling to juggle the task of maintaining intimacy and undoing Carson's uniform. Finally (after giving up on kissing Carson for a moment), he succeeded and got to his knees.

I created him. This man is my masterpiece. My best work to date. He moaned as Michael continued. He looked down, gazing at Michael's dark hair. Michael detected his stare and looked up, meeting Carson's eyes. For a moment, he could see Michael before the transformation. He was a creature, he was grotesque and corrupt. And to Carson's own disgust, the thought that he was in this position with a Wraith made his heart beat faster. He tried to attach the Wraith face to the human face, long white hair instead of Michael's short, brown hair. For a moment he swore he was actually being felated by a Wraith.

Comments

[shusu.livejournal.com]

Oooh. I see what you mean about cadence. I think the translation will succeed if you run the last two paragraphs through a beta who can sound out the rhythm of the English. Some of my short pieces are like this -- dependent on the rhythm and word-choice of the last lines. I wish I could be more helpful! It's a very nice piece.

[puffyamiyumi.livejournal.com]

Well, to be honest, I kind of rushed the editing and chopped out certain spots haphazardly. That included an end scene. Glad you like it!

[ametrine0012.livejournal.com]

dandy little story, i enjoyed it. would have been nice if it was a littler longer. (wink)

[puffyamiyumi.livejournal.com]

Thanks! There simply isn't enough Carson slash out there.