Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from the Eds, sorry !

So this is the product of a friend of mine's story. We had a little fight and I read one of his stories just to prove I care, and I got inspired…

This really just evolved from I think the first paragraph of his story…if/when he speaks to me again I might post that one inspiring paragraph on here

I've got two chapters ready to go but the third one may take a while, sorries :(

Rated: T, Slash, angst, big words...yep yep!

Define Me:
He sat atop a hillcrest, staring solemnly into the city below him. His knees to his chest, arms about his legs, hair plastered to his face as he watched the lights in that house dim. He could only imagine the look on that face, that round, joyous face, as he dimmed the lights for his new lover.

Leaves sizzled with the first storm of the summer, rain striking the earth in ways only Mother Nature herself would allow. Water pooled about his soaked body, a dent in the muddied dirt where he'd been resting, watching, stalking.

It'd been such a shock, such a letdown. Oh, how he'd surprised them, how they'd surprised him. He'd hidden in that room, so eager to please him. So sure he'd be pleased with that gift. What had seemed such a major piece of his evening, now simply strewn behind him in the mud.

They hadn't even noticed him. His frame silhouetted by the hall light as they stumbled, blindly, into the room, caressing each other, holding each other; he couldn't keep his hands off that stranger, he groped and prodded him like he couldn't have him soon enough. That tall "stranger", so dumbfounded at even the slightest of things, so, seemingly, clueless, groped and prodded back like it was all an act, all planned out. As if he'd sat at home and dreamed of this for so long.

Just as long as he'd planned that night, just as long as that meek little boy had saved up his allowance to buy that desolate gift. It was as if he had been dreaming, dreaming up the nights he'd spent with that strong-willed boy; maybe dreaming this horrific scene so close to him now.

But they were close enough for him to touch, he could hear the breathless moans they exchanged, a gasp springing from his lover's lips, a gasp that he'd never been able to pull out of him, and suddenly, that towering figure saw him. Finally, the rogue opened his eyes and pulled his lips back from his beau's neck to stare in silent shock at that writhing figure at the foot of the bed they were inching so close to.

He didn't notice, that round-faced boy in the arms of that brute, too preoccupied with his Romeo's other actions to worry about why he'd stopped blessing his sun burnt skin with those gentle, wet kisses. But Romeo was terrified. His eyes were wide with embarrassment as he watched that infuriated boy slip from the room without so much as a second glance.

And lust took over again, Romeo forgetting the earlier drama as he proceeded to claim his Juliet.

A bass growl seared the air, hammering through the rain, stubborn like only thunder can be stubborn. Jagged light sliced through the rumbling, barely giving it time to stop before cracking open the world beneath that wretched hillcrest. Revealing what he so longed to be a part of.

He was still, despite the jolting noise following the lightening strike. The storm lashed out like he craved to. It cried for him, it screamed for him, it mimicked his every primal desire. The rage he felt, the terror, the anguish, his confusion; such a new feeling, only adding to all the others he couldn't bring himself to understand, only enraging him more despite his refusal to acknowledge it.

Jealousy spiked inside him, it was such a pain surging through him he felt his digits tingle. His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room behind the window he stared at so longingly. Figures ravished each other, stirring memories of the way he was taken, in that very bedroom, on the very bed they landed on so playfully.

They were playful with each other, what a revelation. So playful…it wasn't love they had for each other, it was lust…desire. His rigid frame loosened as he looked to his bare feet in contemplation, near joy. Had he a chance to reclaim his…love?

He hadn't been an object of lust, but of love. He wondered, was that so bad? Had it been so terrible to be loved instead of needed? Instead of knowing a quick fling in the back of a truck he knew what it was like to be held until dawn, eyes locked into those of his lover. Those eyes that had told him how beautiful he was, how brilliant he was, how special he was, how much he was…loved.

But never needed.
Perhaps, it was better to be needed. If only he'd been an object of pure sexual desire instead of a needy…lover.

So many words tumbled through his mind, so many misleading words.

Love: A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.

Desire: A wish or longing, a request or petition. Sexual appetite; passion.

Definitions, book knowledge, nothing but what he'd ever read or been told. He hadn't any real feelings of his own…only when he was with him.

And now all he could do was watch that darkened window, watch that strong boy dominate the…love of his life. Love? There was that word again, so overused, so misused, what did he know about love? Why had he let himself be taken over so easily? Why had he been so susceptible to that conniving, misleading…monster?