EastEnders Not a Victory March

**Not a Victory March**

AN: Aka Therapy pt 2, the remarkably uncathartic attempt at catharsis.

Set after the episode on Friday 16th July and was written a wee while ago but due to lack of internetness have not been able to post it earlier.

Okay, so therapy pt 1 was all snuggles and gooeyness yeah? Well this…isn't. If you want/need happy sex and/or heartfelt conversations then this may not be right for you. Also if you are offended by confused tenses and extended mixed metaphors then yeah, I fail here too.

Title taken from Jeff Buckley's incomparable version of Leonard Cohen's _Hallelujah_.

_Love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

* * *

><p><strong>Now <strong>

Syed stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, watching his fingers trace over his skin, over every mark that decorates his flesh. It's better, much better now. He feels alive again, real. He could feel the rub of his fingers. When he breathes in, he feels his lungs full with air. It's better. He had done the right thing, the only thing he could do. It's for the best. There's no point thinking about the _but what ifs _and the _not sures_. He can hear Christian singing cheerfully, the clatter of cups on work-surfaces and it brings an instinctive, helpless smile to his face. He still has him. It's fine. He can still feel the pull of Christian inside him, the digging of his fingers on his hips. He can feel the evidence of their sex slowly sliding down his leg, sticking to the hairs on his thighs. He can feel. For the first time since he heard the door slam shut behind him, he can _really_ feel. He made his choice, except there wasn't a choice to make. Not really. But it's worked out okay. It has. It's going to be fine.

…

**Then**

The worst thing about it all was the inescapable feeling of familiarity. There should be more of a shock to it, he should be less experienced in it all. He shouldn't be able to think _well this isn't quite as bad as before_. There just shouldn't be a before, and there really shouldn't be a now. Although maybe the real worst, the absolute worst, is that all the familiarity in the world cannot stop it from happening, you can prepare and brace yourself and tell yourself that you have dealt with it before, but when it hits, you still fall tumbling, crashing, hitting the ground.

It had started as he left, no, after he was shouted at to leave, as he was walking down the stairs. It started and he had known it would be bad, rubbing his hand along the wall as he half-walked, half-ran down the stairs, urging his body to feel, for the numbness not to talk over just yet. He had walked for hours afterwards but could barely remember a thing. He didn't know where he had gone, all he knew was that he had walked and walked until his body had finally given in and conceded defeat. At 2am, with feet that surely must have been aching by then and a head that spun with dizzy despair, he called Tam and found himself lying back on a familiar sofa.

It hadn't been too bad this morning, not while he had the touches and looks of people who cared. Jokey songs and soft plush toys all keeping him attached, keeping him present. He could relax for a short while, not have to keep thinking all the time about how to keep it all together. But it wasn't right and he knew it. He could feel the cold edges poking at the corners of his mind, the temptation and the fear of letting the fog take over again. He pressed his nails into his hand and made himself feel.

The first time it had happened had been in a cinema when he was 13. Him sitting with a bucket of popcorn wedged awkwardly between his seat and Sarah MacKenzie. Not a date. They were just kids. Just…a group of school friends at the cinema. Andrew Reynolds sitting on the chair to the other side of him. Nudging Syed with his elbow when Kate Winslet appeared topless and him struggling to find an appropriate grin in reply. And then again, when a single hand hit the steamy window of a car, and Syed didn't know whether to look or to look away and then when he looked, he looked at the wrong thing (always looking where he shouldn't) and saw broad shoulders, wet with sweat, and cheekbones and hair falling into eyes, and before his brain had the chance to clear or remember what to think, he heard the hushed whisper of his mind saying, _oh I like that_. He didn't remember the rest of the film. The thud of confusion and panic came hammering down so hard in his chest and he couldn't breathe and he was gone. He heard swelling music and terrified screams coming from the screen ahead, muffled through the blood that pounded in his ears and meaning nothing. He rubbed his hand on the plush on the seat in front of him, but although his blank eyes could see the movement of his hand, he couldn't feel a thing. He thought maybe he should panic, maybe he was losing his mind (like maybe he was losing his soul) but he couldn't work out what to do. He whispered to Andrew that he felt sick and left, hoping that his feet would automatically find their way home. And they did, and he lay on the sofa at home with his mother bringing him soup and stroking his head. _A touch of flu_, she told him and he nodded weakly, letting her touch and her love bring him back to himself.

But when she was gone, or rather, when he was gone from her, it was harder. Occasionally, (and it was only occasionally, that was something at least), occasionally he would suddenly find himself in streets or rooms, stomach aching from hunger or nausea, and he would need a few moments to remind himself where he was. He could cope, he always nodded in the right places and smiled at the right people. (Sometimes they were the wrong people, he would realise afterwards, and the nausea would grow). He signed documents and patted people on the back, he grabbed drinks and made small talk and he felt himself get lost. His words a mindless blur of senseless syllables, the sound of an automaton who knew what to do while his mind escaped.

It had happened with Amira at times, but he didn't think she'd noticed. It didn't happen with Christian. Ever. He felt only too present when Christian was there. His mind didn't seek to escape, his body was only too eager to feel. Sensations would buzz wildly through him, and when he slept, he slept in peace.

And of course that just made it all the worse later on.

He had made his way to the café, still mostly in turn with the world. In tune enough to want to hide. But he didn't, he wouldn't let himself. He let the coffee scald his mouth and dug his toes into his shoe. He was there, and there he would stay. He had to admit though, that a not small part of him wished he could escape, when he stood in their flat (except it wasn't theirs anymore, and the small nagging voice that he _really_ wanted to block out kept wondering if it ever really had been theirs and not just _his_) hearing angry words pour out of lips he disliked and cold bitter words drip out of lips he adored. He sat in the half empty flat and wanted to escape. Dreamt of the comforting numbness that it would bring.

He made himself rise and made himself leave. Again. And while his body moved, his mind stayed behind.

He forced his feet to follow well-trodden paths, focusing on the fall of each steady step as he walked painstakingly through the square. Distant, he felt an arm fall into his and followed its lead into the pub. He heard Janine speak and heard his own replies, trying to force the attention of his mind back into the present. But yet still it drifted away, it would not be contained. It hung about like an unwanted ghost into the dust-free corners of the flat, begging to hear the lost echoes of the past year, to find proof that he hadn't merely imagined it all. It craned in through the windows of the flat down the street, peering for sights of unpacking, of rearranging, of a new life being arranged and organised with no spaces left for…for someone who sometimes can barely manage to find space for himself within his own mind.

It was tempting, far _too_ tempting he knew, to let himself fall deep into that comfortable numbness; to take solace in the absence of mind, letting thoughts trickle between gaps in synapses like water dripping down through cracks in the pavement. But the still remaining strands of reason didn't let him fall so easily, sparking painful visions dredged up from the recesses where they normally hid. Memories of detachment, of watching hands fill a glass, open a bottle, empty out pills. Memories of nothing.

A phone buzzed, harsh vibrations against his leg, alerting muscles, dragging him back. A message that offered more than it said, that offered peaceful numbness and the ease of distance. But with the tremor of electrical pulses firing their unavoidable messages across a pounding brain, there was nowhere left to hide. He didn't want to hide. He didn't want to escape. It never worked anyway. Not in the long run. There was just this cold emptiness everywhere and he wanted so much to be full again. To feel.

He got up and left, taking the steps, running them really, the clarity of purpose driving him on. There were words spoken, too few and yet too many. He couldn't deal with words then, and their curious attempts to tie down feelings. What was he supposed to say? It wouldn't help anyway. Christian didn't ask and Syed didn't tell and both of them were glad. When strong arms pulled him in, Syed felt the hollow ache start to fill, some of the numbness to fade, the distance to reduce. But it wasn't enough, it was only enough to remind him what he had, what he had nearly lost, what he needed. Enough to leave him shaking and desperate. He knew now what it was like to feel with every cell of your body, to feel so at ease in yourself that you can't remember the disconnect and he couldn't give that up. He needed it, craved it, he couldn't let it go. He couldn't let Christian go. It was that simple.

They walked inside, Syed half shaking, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the tremors. It had been a while since any part of him had sought to hide from Christian, especially at home, but they weren't at home. Every wall, every floor, every step declared its difference.

"So shall I show you round then?" Christian grinned.

"Well I did live here before, so I think I'm probably fine." Syed's answer was instinctive and he cursed himself when Christian pursed his lips and nodded sharply. The hollowness grew. He ran a hand through his hair, making his fingernails scratch the scalp, dragging his mind into gear. _Don't fuck this up again_, he told himself fiercely. _You need this, you need him, more than he needs you_.

"I'd like _you_ to show me round though, of course." He tried again in mollifying tones and felt his stomach unclench slightly when a smile returned onto Christian's face.

"Brilliant."

Syed watched Christian point out features and detail plans, his exuberance and enthusiasm bursting out of his words and his excited gestures. Everything seemed so clear and so easy in Christian's mind, as he chattered on about what they could do, what it would look like in years to come. Syed wasn't sure if he felt more awe or resentment of such clarity of vision and purpose. It was like he could see his future path stretching out clearly in front of him; a single golden path reaching out ahead, requiring only his single-minded enthusiasm and dedication in order to travel happily into that shimmering hue in the distance. With a pang, or maybe a stab, of self-doubt, Syed found himself wondering whether the past day's argument (and the way they had teetered on the edge of some kind of precipice, and that even now they hovered still too close to that dangerous drop) had made any impact at all on that golden path. Was it a bump or a twist? Had Christian started to wonder if the path was as straightforward as he wanted it to be or had it made no difference to the glittering future he saw so clearly? Syed thought his own path couldn't possibly compare, filled instead with dead ends and twisting dark alleys that wandered and turned and headed back on themselves. Ahead lay only a maze of confusion and questions to which he didn't know the answers. But for the past year it hadn't seemed so scary or dangerous anymore, not when he knew he had a golden string tying him together with Christian, not when the exact destination mattered less than their journey together. Maybe he'd taken that for granted. Maybe he'd been too quick to assume that his wanderings and meanderings would fit into that single clear path. Well that was okay. He could fix that.

Some of his muddle of thoughts must have been visible on his face as Christian paused in his estate agent-rivalling banter.

"Sy?" There was a question there, Syed knew, a knock on the door left ajar, the door that maybe threatened to lead nowhere except finally over that cliff or maybe, just maybe, could bring them safely to the pinnacle. He paused, thinking of the risk, the reward, the reminder of the horrific numbness, the emptiness, the hollow caving in of his heart and his mind that he knew lay in wait.

There was no decision to be made.

It only took a single step to reach Christian, and a single movement to find their bodies pressed back together.

"Missed you last night," Syed whispered into open lips and sank into a kind of peace. He was standing in a new flat, in a room in which he dimly remembered smiling politely and talking boldly and lying until the truth made his head ache, but even here Christian still tasted like home, like safety and excitement all bursting through his veins and buzzing in his brain.

There was an air of desperation pervasive in the room, urgent need hanging heavy over the two men. It flooded out of the pores of one and was absorbed easily and simply by the body of the other. It ran out of fingers that gripped and grabbed and scratched. It burst out of a mouth that bit and sucked and tore at acres of perfectly smooth flesh. He couldn't get enough, he couldn't do enough. Every time his lips moved or his hands found another inch, he mourned the loss of the area just caressed. As Sisyphus endlessly rolled his stone, so Syed's unceasing task was to cover his Christian's body, starting anew every time he reached a possible end. And Christian's body lapped it up, receiving the ministrations of adoration as others might accept a drink, with ease, with thanks and without surprise.

Desperation twisted around Syed, cloying and relentless, choking around his throat, tightening along his chest. His need left him shaking, weakened by its demanding ferocity. He couldn't let Christian go, he couldn't let this pass. The very thought stole the breath from his lungs, his body near collapse as he pushed Christian back against the wall. He couldn't. Not Christian, who had not only handed him the key to unlock his stifling gilt-edged cage, but who had rattled the bars and shaken the very foundations with every touch and word and deed. Not Christian, for whom he had walked away from his world and risked not just the earth but the skies and the heavens and the forever. Not Christian, who had driven him insane with love and anger and desire and annoyance and pleasure, every day for the past two years. Not Christian, who had tattooed himself onto every patch of skin, injected himself into every vein, burrowed himself so deep inside that Syed knew he could never be removed. He never wanted him to be removed, to let the numbness and the coldness and the emptiness win out. Syed can fight, with everything he's got. He can do this.

He dropped to his knees, frantic fumbling of zips and hands pulling carelessly at the tight boxers until he dived forward to take Christian in his mouth in one sudden move. He felt the shudder reverberate through his body, the gasp echo through his ears, sensations that drove him on further, deeper, longer. His body knew this well, the muscle memory of the familiar position sending electric bursts of recognition and affection through his alert and active brain. His mouth was full but still line after line of unspeakable thoughts crashed and shouted and begged inside.

_Do you remember the first time? When I first fell to my knees before you? When you first let me do this? When you stood in front of me, bare, bruised and beautiful beyond belief? When you asked not for pity but silently begged for comfort? When you let me be yours and you let yourself seek solace in me? I could do it then. Even when our worlds were falling apart beneath our feet, I could still find your foundations. I could do it again, I could. I can be enough for you, I can. Please. _

Syed begged with unsaid words and fervent, pleading eyes, but Christian's eyes were slammed shut with the ease of pleasure and he didn't see. Christian grinned with joy and didn't think, pushing hands though soft waves of hair and nearly laughing with the sheer delight of it all. Syed dug his knees firmer into the floor, feeling the rub of carpet against his jeans. He gripped Christian's thighs and felt the strength of muscle press against his hands. He was less empty now, every movement made him feel.

But yet.

He moved a hand to rest over Christian's own and urged them silently to push harder, an order that they readily obeyed, twisting curls around fingers, grasping tight against Syed's sensitive scalp. It made Christian start talking, the purr of rough words that melted like honey inside Syed's body.

"Shit Sy, your fucking _mouth_. You're incredible baby, you know that? Nobody can do this like you. Fuck, what you do to me, Syed Masood, shouldn't be fucking legal."

Syed shut his eyes and let the words linger. Yeah. _This _he could do. Everything felt better, good, great. The taste of Christian was now so strong inside his mouth that anything else faded away. All else seemed insipid, bland, tasteless compared to the strong salt and musk that dominated his senses. So fucking good.

But yet.

Still.

There were still small pools of cold inside him, small echoing hollows, small caves of ice, of numbness, of nothing.

Syed pulled off, letting Christian's cock slip reluctantly from his mouth.

"Such a fucking tease," Christian pouted, but his voice was entirely without malice, and his hands twisted softly in Syed hair, tipping his head back to force their eyes to meet.

"Fuck me." The words burst out of Syed's mouth with undisguisable urgency, his eyes wide and wild, flicking frantically over the expanse of Christian's body as it stretched out above him. He was on his knees and it had rarely felt quite so appropriate, pleading for more than sex, far, far more. "I mean," he added hastily, "please…I just…I want you to fuck me."

Christian choked back a half laugh before speaking again, his voice dripping with lust.

"Shit Sy, look at you. Bet you'd fucking _beg_ for it, wouldn't you?"

It's a game, a tease, a familiar loving game and Christian's voice was a melodious mix of light geniality and dark licentiousness. But Syed just shivered below him and dropped his eyes, his fingers kneading unread messages into the taut muscles of Christian's thighs.

"Christian, just…please, fucking…_please_."

Deft thumbs hooked under arms and yanked a slender body onto shaking feet.

"Bedroom," he whispered hotly into Syed's ears and beckoned his head in that direction. But Syed stood firm.

"No Christian, _here_." And he grabbed the back of Christian's head, blunt nails scratching as he sought to find purchase in his hair, pushing their lips together with a clash of teeth.

As they pulled apart again, Christian grinned, licking the edges of his mouth with the tip of a pink tongue.

"Someone's keen," he purred and Syed flushed, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "I'll have to look for some stuff though." And Christian slid his body past Syed, pushing their bodies tight together as he did, leaving Syed standing, lips pressed together, eyes wide, fingers twitching uselessly by his side. He felt the loss of Christian's proximity with immediate effect, his scent drifted away, leaving only hints and promises behind. As his warmth faded completely, Syed felt the chill of abandonment travel from his trembling flesh to his needful heart.

Christian rummaged through boxes, Syed feeling oddly nervous and unsure of himself. Things were different somehow and he didn't know why or what he could do. It was the new flat, the strangeness of it, the reminders of when he'd lived here before. But now there were Christian's boxes and Christian's clothes and Christian's life lying packed and unpacked and half sorted all around them. A life organised into boxes. A life organised without him included. He'd go get his stuff later and they'd be combined again, side by side in wardrobes or on shelves but it had so nearly not been and here, on the floor, lay the evidence. It was disconcerting and painful and he nearly shut his eyes to hide from it all. But he didn't. He kept his eyes wide open and as he watched Christian open more boxes with a seemingly careless touch, he thought for a moment of asking him to stop, asking him, no, _begging _him just to take him now. Preparation be damned. He didn't want the gentle careful slide. He wanted to feel the burn. Maybe if he asked, Christian would just fuck him now, raw, unaided, let no painful feelings go unfelt. Maybe…

"Aha!" Christian cried in triumph, waving aloft a small bottle like a trophy to be displayed and Syed let some part of him feel relieved. "Always like to keep it handy." He grinned with salacious intent as he strolled back over but the relief was only short-lived, to be replaced by new and sickening thoughts and Syed couldn't smile back. He wondered instead with a stomach clenching fear if Christian would have gone out tonight if he hadn't returned in time. If he would have gone out to pull or just gone out to party, if he would have gone to a back room or another house, if he would have brought someone back here, if he would have christened the flat with the willing body of another. The pain was deep, a knife to the gut that twisted and tightened and Syed wouldn't let it win, meeting Christian halfway, kissing him and kissing him and kissing more unspeakable words into the secret depths of his mouth.

_Let me be here for you, in any way and every way. I can't let you go, I can't. I'll fight for us if I have to, I can want it enough for the both of us. Let me please you, let me make you happy. Take me, want me, need me_.

The hush of silent pleading lost weight to the rougher push and pull, the heated mumbles of shared desire. Bodies entwined in a world of their own making, private thoughts locked away for their safety, for the protection of hearts, for fear, for love. Syed pulled Christian down onto the floor, strength found from need as every one of the mass of conflicting unclear thoughts ran twisted and confused, shaking and demanding, echoing through ringing ears until they crystallised into a single undeniable simple need. Actions followed, a clear line of movements that started with Christian flipping Syed onto his front, with teeth digging into the line of muscle on a back, a neck, an arse, with fingers and tongue pressing inside Syed with choked back sobs and breathless gasps.

"It's enough Christian. Please. I want it now."

One hand stilled, another traced light circles over the curve of his back. Syed shivered and itched for more, for firmer touches, rougher, harder, marking him, claiming him, pulling him apart then remoulding him anew.

"You'd better speak up Sy, not sure I can hear you." Christian's voice was as smooth as satin and as rough as brick. Lustful gravelling tones and a purr of satisfaction as he preened and observed his prey. Syed forced his voice not to break.

"Fuck Christian, I want it now."

Christian laughed, happy, content, playful. It still made Syed's toes curl a little, even as he cursed that easy uncomplicated pleasure.

"Want _what _exactly baby? Tell me." The game again, the tease. The push and the pull, the toying and the testing. It's familiar and sends the blood racing to Syed's groin in a way that almost hurts, but right then he feared he genuinely might cry with frustration. Christian slid his body against him, his cock resting so fucking tantalisingly close, brushing against his heated skin. Taunting him, almost, with what he is being denied. Syed struggled to find his last shreds of composure.

"Your cock Christian, I need your cock."

It was true, in that it wasn't a lie. And yet.

_I need _you. _I need to feel you. I need you to fuck me and fuck me hard so that I know that you are in me and with me and part of me. I need to feel every movement, every thrust that you make. I need to taste you. I need to smell you on me afterwards. I need you so much it scares the fucking life out of me sometimes. I need you to fuck me into oblivion, to wipe out the fear and the doubts and let me feel. I need to feel. I need to feel you. _

"Your wish is my command," Christian laughed, Syed gulped back the pain and felt the burning rush of desire set him free. He bent his head down onto his arms, his knees sliding slightly on the floor. He could feel it rubbing, the rasp of carpet burning against his skin. He felt alive.

Strong hands secured grasp on the smooth slick curve of golden hips, fingers digging into muscle, thumbs pressing into bone. With every thrust they dug in tighter, keeping the two bodies close, making Christian moan low and deep and making Syed curse with breathless gasps. Finally, he felt grounded, Christian's hands keeping him steady, fixing him in place. He pushed back against Christian's body and shivered at the sound of his breathy groan.

"Oh yeah. Sy, baby…you're incredible. So fucking amazing." Syed shuddered and pushed back again, faster, fucking himself back on Christian, feeling the ache in his thighs as they tensed and rocked.

"Harder Christian," he urged with a barely there voice.

"Fuck _Sy,_" Christian moaned but obliged, erratic thrusts pounding into him as Syed started to see stars. Carpet rubbing against his arms, his legs, teeth digging into his lips, the low drag and the sudden sharp throb of Christian inside him, pulling him raw, leaving his body a shaking mass of _feelings_. He felt everything. He felt Christian come with a triumphant cry and with a single stroke of Christian's hand on his cock, Syed followed too, wordless, his throat choked and sore. A hot dampness burning behind his eyes. His legs gave way beneath him, buckling under the weight of Christian's boneless mass, and for a brief while they lay beside each other on the floor, sweat cooling as their breathing settled.

"Syed," Christian murmured, pushing damp locks out of Syed's eyes. Syed stared at the beautiful lazy smile stretched across his gorgeous face. He stared at the green eyes and wondered what thoughts were contained behind them, what thoughts had run through them last night or earlier that day. He wanted to ask, he wanted to know, but then again… Maybe it was better just to enjoy this, to wallow in the feel of Christian's hand gently smoothing against his tired brow, the twist of their legs together, the pleasant ache inside him, the incomparable sense of relief that now flooded through his melted limbs.

"Well I think you may have fucked this carpet up beyond repair," Christian remarked finally, not bothering to hide his smirk.

"Oy!" Syed managed a half-hearted rebuke and hoped the heat on his cheeks was not as apparent as he feared. "I hardly did this on my own."

Christian laughed happily and easily and Syed felt his own face break into a smile that finally felt real. Christian was happy, he had done that, _he _had brought that smile to his face. That was worth anything.

…

**Now**

Christian watches Syed rise from the floor, murmuring something about getting cleaned up, eyes half dipped but smile still lingering on the cusp of his lips. He watches him walk out of the room and grins licentiously at the sight of his lean muscles, his golden skin shimmering under a layer of sweat, the unmistakeable red marks of handprints spread across his hips, his thighs, his arse.

Grin still stretching into the corner of his cheeks, Christian rises and attempts a brief hunt for his boxers around all the various boxes littering the floor, before finally giving up and walking into the kitchen stark naked instead. He starts singing cheerily to himself as he fills the kettle and pulls cups and teabags out from the boxes. A brief wince of pain shoots across his face as he bends down, but his singing doesn't pause nor does his smile falter. He thinks of the marks adorning Syed's body and smiles. He doesn't need to look in a mirror himself to know that he has plenty of evidence on his own too, scratches, bites, not to mention the huge bruise he can feel developing on his neck. Tell-tale signs of fabulous, energetic, body-aching sex. That's certainly nothing to be complaining about. It's been a little while, he thinks, since they had had such…well…_bloodthirsty_ sex. Usually invigorating, often energetic, sometimes lazy and slow, always great, but this had been _different_. The last time Sy had been so wild, so demanding, had been back in the closet days and Christian certainly hadn't been expecting it to reoccur again today. Not after last night and this morning. For a moment, Christian's singing begins to quieten as unwelcome and uncomfortable thoughts start to make themselves felt.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Christian chastises himself. It was a blip that's all, a weird kind of cold feet or something. Something not worth worrying about. It's over now, that was the most important thing, there was no point in lingering over the past. Best to move on. Syed is fine, everything is fine. He has a new flat, and he has just fucked his fiancé halfway into next week in said new flat. Focus on that, not...anything else. No point. His voice rises back up in volume and tempo as the kettle boils and he adds the water into the cups. It's all great, they have the rest of their lives in front of them now everything is back on track. Everything is great, it's all going to be fine. He takes out the teabag, splashes in some milk and takes a sip. Perfect. See? Everything is going to be just fine.


End file.

EastEnders, Angst