Title: The length of a day on Venus. (Happy Birthday SDQ)

Author: Bernie

Pairing Patrick Lalime / Jason Spezza.

Rating NC-17

Disclaimer: This is all fake

Dedication for SDQ, because I control time it is still your birthday.

A/N’s yes, Sens slash, but if James can say that under the right circumstances he would have lustful thoughts about Patrick Roy, then I can write Sens slash. ::hugs:: have a wonderful year.

 

Jason’s POV

 

 

“Why are you looking so thoughtful?”

 

“I’m trying to remember what planet has a day longer than it’s year.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” I smile at Patrick’s surprise.

 

“One of the planets in our solar system has a day longer than it’s year. I am trying to remember which.”

 

“I beg your pardon.” He repeats. “Explain yourself.” And he pokes my side.

 

I laugh; “it takes a year to travel around the sun, for any planet. It takes a day for a planet to totally rotate on its axis, any planet. This is in earth days though. You see?”

 

“Not really. Mars.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t understand but I want to help. Mars.”

 

“Nope, I don’t think it is Mars.”

 

“I don’t want to make the obvious joke here Jase, try to remember.”

 

I laugh. “It is not Uranus, sorry.”

 

“What is left?”

 

“Venus.”

 

“It’s Venus?”

 

“Yes, I am sure of it.”

 

“That is the love planet,” he grins at me and I smile back. “Why are you thinking of that particular planet?”

 

“It’s a science-geek-love thing.”

 

“Venus? Why?”

 

“Because you can tell someone you love them for a month of Sunday’s on Venus.”

 

Patrick’s brow crinkles up. “How long is that?”

 

“A very long time.” I reply. “It is a couple of life times worth.”

 

“It is a lovely thought.” Patrick smiles at me brightly, taking his hand off the steering wheel to pat my leg.

 

In my mind I think how it is a gay love thing. Venus is the only planet that spins clockwise, the opposite way to every other planet. Venus does not fit in the night sky, it is there but it is a little wrong. I sometimes feel like I should live on Venus.

 

“So I have helped you with your problem, now you must help me with mine.” His voice surprises me.

 

“Ok.” I smile, Patrick never has big problems. “What is your problem?”

 

“I am lost, I think I am navigating through Pluto. I have seen that house before.” He points across the road. “Are we going in circles?”

 

“No. This is Mississauga every thing looks the same; you should have let me drive. This is like Pluto though, you’re right.”

 

“What do you mean?” Patrick looks up at the red light then shrugging his shoulders goes right through it.

 

“And the headline reads; ::Two Senators Beaten to Death in the Don Jail by Leafs Fans – Judge calls it ‘justifiable homicide’.::

 

Patrick cracks up laughing and veers around on the road. “It’s two in the morning Jase, no one is around.”

 

“Yes that is why it is like Pluto.”

 

“I don’t understand?”

 

“Pluto. Frozen, tiny and devoid of life.”

 

Patrick pats my knee. “I think you were not happy here. You should not have let me drag you out.”

 

“I wasn’t unhappy.” I think how to phrase this. “I didn’t feel like I fit in very well. How about I was not unhappy, and I was not unhappy to leave.”

 

“I lived in the suburbs to.”

 

“Yes.” I laugh to lighten the mood. I do not want to bring Patrick down. His happiness is one of the things I like the most about him. “But you lived in the suburbs with a French accent, so it was cooler.”

 

Patrick laughs, “I did not live in old Montreal with the immigrants growing zucchini in their yards, and my Grand-mere smoking on the porch. I lived in a boring sub-division as well.”

 

I laugh briefly and look out the window. “Don’t spoil my story. I want to imagine you with a beret and a neighbour who was a communist-philosopher.

 

“I don’t not think I would have fit-in in that story Jay.”

 

“That’s ok I did not fit-in in my story either.” I reply.

 

“Doesn’t everyone wonder if they really fit in?” Patrick asks softly.

 

“Yes, and if they belong on another planet. But I really didn’t fit in.” I smile. “That sounds so self-pitying. But I was always taller, and faster and talked about in the press. Always knew I didn’t like girls.”

 

“Are you happy?” Patrick touches my knee when I don’t answer him immediately.

 

“Yes I am. Turn left here. You don’t have a nickname.” I abruptly change the subject.

 

Patrick squeals across the centre lane and looks at me. “What do you mean?”

 

“You need a nickname, you never call me Jason.”

 

“But I only call you Jay or Jase.”

 

“What would you call me?” I ask.

 

He smiles, “what would you call me?”

 

I shrug. “Patty?”

 

“No. To much like Roy.”

 

“Limey? Lala?” I laugh as he grimaces. “Fine what would you call me?”

 

He smiles. “Something traditional. ‘Mon petite amour.’” He smiles at me.

 

“My love?” I say back.

 

“Oui. Mon amour.”

 

“You didn’t let me finish, I was going to say, ‘my love pull in here’.” I smile as he laughs at me and pulls into the little parking lot by the park.

 

Patrick shrugs of his seatbelt and grabs me in a bear hug, nibbling at my neck. “That was not funny.” He tries to growl, but he’s too good-natured and laughing so it doesn’t sound frightening at all.

 

“Of course it was funny.” I reply struggling to undo my seatbelt where it has twisted from him jumping on me.

 

Patrick had decided at midnight that I had to show him around my hometown. I thought it would be quick, this is Toronto and we could go back to the hotel and sleep, or better have sex and sleep, but he wanted to see my family’s house and my school. And now we are outside the park I used to play in.

 

We were in town for the NHL awards, not that I was up for anything like say, rookie of the year; I was just here to keep Patrick company.

 

“Jay? Are we getting out of the car?”

 

“Yes.”

 

We step over the chain link fence. “Was it cold enough here to have a rink?” He asks.

 

“Most years, but I only played here when I was really little. My parents new house is further out of town.”

 

“Will we drive past there?” Patrick asks. “I wanted to see where you lived when you were a kid.”

 

“In the house I showed you, they moved to their new place about a year ago.”

 

“It’s weird when parents move. It feels like you don’t have a home.”

 

“That was never really home.” I smile. “I only stayed there for a few weeks between seasons.”

 

“I would still like to see it.”

 

“If you want.” I shrug. “They won’t be awake though.”

 

He stretches beside me and doesn’t quite manage to hide his wince.

 

“Ribs still hurt?” I ask walking into the park, ignoring the path and walking onto the grass.

 

“A bit.”

 

“You should see the doctor, that should have gone away.” I try not to scold.

 

He laughs. “Injuries never go away in hockey they just move around a bit.”

 

I stop and look up. Straight on top of me is the galaxy. I feel very small. But maybe that is because I was very small when I was in this park. And it was always late at night, but I was alone then as well.

 

“It is so quiet.” Patrick says.

 

“It’s two am.” I reply. But I know what he means. It is bright here, from the streetlights around the park, from the lamps that line the path. It is so light you would not know it was so late, or so early but there is no one around, no walkers, no cars, the park is a lunarscape, a weird washed out colour, eerie in it’s stillness.

 

“Come here.” I take his hand and pull him toward the side of the park, away from the swings and jungle gyms I used to hide under.

 

We walk together hand-in-hand to the trees at the side of the park. It is darker here. More private. Even in the heart of a city you can smell the green here. Without realising it I drop his hand and move closer to the trees; and leaning my head back breath it all in.

 

Pine, I remember that, and something summery, some flowers I don’t know what, but there are flowerbeds behind this copse of trees. I jump when he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.

 

It is just Patrick I think. It is ok.

 

“It’s like being the only people alive. Like everyone is in an enchanted sleep in a fairy story.” Patrick kisses the back of my neck.

 

It’s like being the only people left after a bomb I think. But I just say ‘yes’.

 

Patrick goes on; “did you have a favourite fairy story when you were a kid? Or did you read comic books?”

 

“When I was very, very little I used to love ‘So Small.’ It was about a mouse that was so small it could fit in an acorn shell and hide from an eagle. Then I read GI Joe.”

 

“What do you read now?”

 

“The newspaper, minus the sports section.”

 

Patrick laughs and tugs me down so we are sitting on the grass, and tells me a story from when he was a kid, about a Prince and seven golden chalices and some of the words are in French so I don’t wholly understand what he is talking about.

 

I stroke the arm wrapped around my middle and listen to him talk, feeling the trees growing around me and hearing the buds on the flowers pop as they open for the first time, I can feel the dew settling on the grass.

 

“We should have brought a blanket.” Patrick says. “No one can see us from the road can they?”

 

“No.” I reply, “not here is the corner, maybe if we were sitting in the middle of the grass, but these trees shield us from everything.”

 

“Good. What are you thinking?” Patrick asks quietly, kissing my ear.

 

“I feel part of everything.” I laugh. “Connected to everything, from my DNA to the Milky Way, ‘to infinity and beyond, in a galaxy far far away, to boldly go where no man has before…”

 

“Don’t make a joke.” Patrick says tightening his arms. “Why shouldn’t you feel connected and home here, it is where you grew up you should feel safe and happy here.”

 

“Ok.” I reply.

 

“Mon amour? Jason? Are you happy?”

 

“Oui.” I reply.

 

He kisses the back of my neck and I shiver, there must be a breeze coming from somewhere.

 

Patrick pulls me around until I am facing him. “You are very beautiful here.” He says and kisses the side of my face. “You look gorgeous.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He kisses my lips, “mon amour, dear one, mon chere, mon cherie.” I can’t hear him anymore. I tilt my head back so I am looking at the stars. There is Orion, that is his belt, that is Taurus, and there is Gemini, I connect all the star-dots to make constellation-pictures, a hunter, his prey, twins.

 

“What are you thinking?” he asks me, kissing my neck.

 

“I am thinking of you, how good that feels.” I am thinking of life on other planets. I can see the two of us as I float out of my body.

 

It is the only way to describe it. It’s like my Earth body stays where it is and my Venus body travels around among the stars.

 

I always do this. I think that I am cheating Patrick, who I think does genuinely love me, but I can’t help myself. It is not just him; or just being with a guy, it happens at other times as well. When the press ask me a million questions, when we sit down for a family meal. I just kind of, leave my body, go somewhere else.

 

I hover above the two of us, staying long enough to make sure I am reacting the correct way, pulling his shirt from his pants, kissing back, satisfied I fly away.

 

I lied to him. I didn’t just read GI Joe books. I read all kinds of fantasy and science fiction, if I could have the strength of one hundred men, or be invisible, or be able to fly I would choose flying. I think flying makes you free and makes you more aware. I would like to know everything from different angles, like if the noise the wind makes blowing through the trees sounds different in you are at the bottom looking up, or at the top looking down.

 

I wonder if you can hear wind in space. I don’t think so, but there must be something that moves objects around, maybe you are caught up in gravity or in an asteroid belt. It is clouding over. I wonder if there is lightening on Venus and rain on Mars.

 

Nothing really changes in the suburbs. It gets new paint, or gets bigger, gobbles up some grasslands, shiny toys made of plastic instead of metal, but it is really the same as when I was a kid.

 

Patrick says something; I can feel his breath on my face.

 

“Yes, yes, more.” I say back. The ghost of me perches by the sand box. Because it is so artificially bright my shadow is small beside me. I can see it is not really my shadow it is another ghost, and instead of wearing jeans and a t-shirt, not that I am really, I can feel Patrick pulling my shirt off, I am wearing an old Maple Leafs t-shirt and shorts. I can see my baby ghost making sandcastles and waiting for someone to realise I am gone and come and find me.

 

When will they realise I am gone and try to find me? Patrick does not realise that you can walk to my old, old house from here.

 

I must be five, when I was here playing in the sandpit. We had not been in that house very long. We were the first sub-division encroaching on this old part of town, the houses being crammed around this old park. It used to be bigger, now there are houses where the summer flowerbed was.

 

They did not realise I was gone and I woke up in the park. I crept home and snuck past my father who lying on the couch sleeping, with the TV muted and showing static, I did not wake him. My mother could never understand how I got grass stains on my pyjama’s. I could not tell her because surely she knew.

 

I walked past her bedroom door and it was firmly closed and even if the floorboards had been squeaky she would not have heard me come in.

 

Why did I bring him here? I have not been here for years. I was thinking of another park further over when he asked me where I used to play. That one had proper nets and a concrete rink where you could play roller hockey in the summer. It had a proper play area, and a fountain you could run under when it was hot. This is an old, old park where you are not allowed to bring dogs and all the roses in the rose garden have been here for years and all the park benches are dedicated in the memory of someone who died before I was born.

 

“Jason? Do you want this?”

 

“Oui, yes.” I leave my shade playing with the sand and sit on the side of the jungle gym. I bring one leg up so I can rest my head on my knee and watch us.

 

Patrick does not know that I am not really there. I watch him stroke my face and kiss my chest and run his hands across my legs. His hands are very gentle I am sure of that, the first time after we had been together I checked my reflection in the mirror the next morning but he had not left any marks behind to prove what had happened.

 

We were a very formal family, we ate together, and we enquired about each other’s days. I told them what I am.

 

They smiled politely and my mother quoted a platitude that I think she heard on Oprah. My father disappeared to his study; my mother pruned the roses in the back of the house. That was the house I showed Patrick, not their new place, or the old, old place that is near this park.

 

He kisses me lightly, across my cheeks and my eyelids, he is whispering something, if I will be ok, if he can do this, that he has nothing with him.

 

“It’s ok,” I say. “It’s ok, do it anyway.”

 

They did not do anything horrible to me. I wasn’t abused, or tortured or raped, they just, didn’t really care. They aren’t bad, they were not really there; they were always the shadows of people in my house rather than people.

 

It wasn’t the suburbs that made me feel unconnected, but that added to it. My family was a kind of solar system. We spun around each other, but there was nothing central to keep us together, nothing that unified us except our last name and we soon spun out of orbit. Venus is the love planet spinning the wrong way and it the only planet that does not have any satellites. I always felt all alone. I never knew, I never feel like this on the ice, there I am clear and can concentrate; I know what the game revolves around.

 

“It is starting to rain.” I hear Patrick’s voice in my ear and realise that we are done and I have slipped back into my body.

 

“Yes.” I reply. “All the rain that falls on Venus is acid rain.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, the atmosphere of the planet is poisonous, it is sulphuric acid.” We are lying on the grass, drenched from the misty rain and dew and desire.

 

“We could not lie like this on Venus then could we?” Patrick asks.

 

“No the air is acid and carbon dioxide.”

 

“You are so beautiful, Patrick whispers against my neck, “you are so perfect. I love you Jason.”

 

I smile and kiss him back. “The ground is toxic on Venus.”

 

“Is that what you are thinking?” he asks me.

 

“What? No. I love you too.” I can’t imagine living on Venus, the air being poisonous the world spinning around the wrong way. But I can’t really live here either. I wish I could fly, I wish I was invisible; I wish I had the strength of a thousand men.

 

“You think to much.” I feel Patrick’s lips on mine again. I dig my hands into the grass and it is soft so I could sink into it if I wanted to. I try to hold on so I stay here with him, so I am not cheating him, but I feel my soul detach itself, and float away. Further this time, I skim across the surface of the gravel down the alleyway to my old, old house. I pass through the front door and it is as I remember. I am in my old room, and the house is very still and I climb on the bed and curl up and go to sleep.

 

“Am I hurting you? Jason you’re crying.”

 

“I’m not.” I sob back at Patrick, feeling him on me, weighing me down, feeling myself back in my body. “It’s the rain, I am ok, don’t stop.”

 

“Jason what don’t you tell me?” He asks but I kiss to make him stop asking questions.

 

“You think too much.” He tells me.

 

“I don’t.” I feel him pull me up so we are sitting on the grass and I am leaning against his shoulder.

 

“You’re shaking.”

 

“It’s the rain.” I tell him again. “I’m ok, don’t stop.”

 

I sigh against him, he is speaking softly I think he is telling me more of the story with the chalices and the prince.

 

“Now will you tell me what you are thinking? Jason?” He pulls away far enough back to wipe the tears off my face. “Mon amour? What are you thinking?”

 

“What life is like in space.”

 

“And what is it like?” He tugs me over so we are lying down again. He is on his back looking at my stars and I look at the skin on his neck.

 

“It is cold and dark and lonely.”

 

“Then we are lucky we are not there.”

 

“Yes we are very lucky.” And I start giggling hysterically.

 

Patrick doesn’t tell me stop he just strokes my back until I am hiccupping instead of laughing.

 

“Did you know the land used to all be connected? The earth was one big super-continent called Pangaea? All surrounded by one big ocean?”

 

“Yes. I knew that.”

 

“When I was young I used to wonder what it would be like if the world was still like that, like if one day you could get in your car and drive from Montreal to Paris, from Tehran to Taupo.”

 

“I like there being different places, I like there being other places to go.” I tell him.

 

“Yes, I think you would.” Patrick kisses my cheek. “And then everything broke up because of volcanoes blowing up, and earthquakes and floods and everything was different. And that meant that everyone had a place where they were supposed to be, to belong to. Instead to instead of there being one place where everyone was the same.”

 

“Sometimes I feel like I only belong on Venus.” I tell Patrick.

 

“I know.” He says and kisses me again. “You belong here.” He tells me firmly and holds me closer so I can’t breath properly so the pressure is like the pressure of gravity on Venus not on earth.

 

“You belong here,” he repeats. “You just have to find your place.”

 

End

 

Bernie.

 

The below is randomly stolen from various web sites:

 

Venus does not have oceans or human life, and its temperature during the day reaches 484 degrees Celsius. The daytime temperature is so hot it could melt lead. The dense atmosphere is composed of carbon dioxide and sulfuric acid which acts as a greenhouse and traps the heat. Venus revolves around the Sun in a circular orbit once every 225 Earth days. And rotates slowly on its axis in a clockwise direction, which is referred to as a retrograde rotation because it is the opposite of the other eight planets. A rotation takes 243 Earth days, so a Venusian day is longer than a Venusian year. As with the other inner planets, the surface of Venus has been shaped by impact craters, tectonic activity, and volcanoes which scientists believe to be ongoing. The volcanic activity is believed to be the source of the sulfur found in the atmosphere. Venus does not have any naturally occurring satellites.

 

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