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Kink Meme - Round 2
Round 2
IS CLOSED
ALL NEW PROMPTS MUST BE MADE IN
ROUND 3
delicious / flat view
READ THE RULES BEFORE POSTING
!!! if there is another scare like this recent one the meme will be closed again. we ask that you not openly link the meme on twitter or tumblr in order to contain the meme to livejournal. anyone seen posting links to it will be asked to take ( Read more... )
"No!" Harry looked alarmed and Louis frowned.
"Harry - you were attacked! We should really call them."
"No, Louis, please. There's no point anyway."
"What do you mean?"
Harry shrugged. "I never saw his face, did I? I - can't tell them who did this Louis, so what's the point?"
"If you're sure. I just think it would be the right thing to do. What if he attacks someone else?"
Harry looked wretched. "Louis? If the police get involved, they - they'll make me go home," he whispered. "Please Louis, please don’t call them?"
Louis sighed, giving in. "Okay Harry. Whatever you want. Look, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
He helped Harry peel off his coat, trying not to wrinkle his nose, then helped him out to the bathroom. He would have followed him in, but Harry stopped him in the doorway, looking unsettled.
"I don’t want you to watch me?" he protested uncomfortably. Louis hesitated, worried about leaving Harry alone in his current state of mind.
Harry seemed to guess his thoughts and sighed. "I'm not going to top myself, if that's what you're worried about. You can take the razorblades out first if that makes you happier?" Then he relented and added in a whisper, "I wouldn’t do that to you."
Louis shook his head with a tight smile. "As long as you're okay, yeah? Look, I'm just outside, shout if you need me okay?" Saying this despite knowing Harry hadn't managed anything above a croak or a whisper since he'd found him.
Harry nodded, and Louis was halfway to the living room when Harry called out.
"Louis?"
He turned and looked back at the pale, thin, lonely figure standing in the doorway.
Harry hesitated. "Thank you."
Louis smiled. "No problem."
--
Harry shut himself in the bathroom and locked the door. Slowly, painfully, he stripped off his clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. His ribs were bruised from where he'd been kicked, and it hurt to breathe.
He leaned into the shower cubicle and turned on the water, before walking slowly over to the basin.
When he'd first started sleeping rough, Harry had tried to stay clean, washing in public lavatories early in the morning. As time had gone by, he'd slipped out of the habit, finding if he got wet it took too long and too much energy to get warm again. After a few weeks, mercifully he'd stopped being able to smell himself, but he knew how filthy he was with a disgust that bordered on self-loathing.
Harry screwed up his courage and looked up into his reflection. If he was honest, that was another reason he'd stopped using the public conveniences to wash. Afraid of what his reflection would show him, the changes in his face, and his body. The heaviness in his eyes.
It had been weeks since he'd seen himself in anything other than the distorted reflection of a window, and he winced. It didn’t help that he was bruised and cut, and he poked at his swollen cheek tentatively. His hair was too long, and matted. His cheekbones were painfully defined where his face had thinned, and he could see his ribs through almost translucent skin.
Sighing, he walked back to the shower, checking to make sure he hadn’t left dirty footprints on Louis' pristine beige carpet, and stepped into the cubicle. He fiddled with the big chrome dial until the water was a bearable temperature, and then just stood there, letting the water hammer down on his shoulders, praying that if he stood there long enough, it would eventually beat all the feeling out of him.
-(tbc)-
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aslkdjaslk :DDDDDDDDDDD
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wow
can't wait till you finish!
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Glancing down, he suddenly noticed the rivulets of red threading through the soap foam and felt sick. Shakily, he unhooked the shower and held it between his legs, letting the hot water rinse away the dried blood and other, thicker fluids caked on his skin, glad he couldn’t actually see how bad it was.
Abruptly, it was as if he was back there in the alley. Harry hadn't heard his attacker until it was too late. He'd just been seized from behind with no warning and slammed into the wall so hard he almost blacked out. He'd staggered back, blood dripping from his nose and lip, and the same hands had grabbed him again and spun him round.
He'd had a brief view of a figure muffled in a scarf, with hat pulled low over his face, before he was punched in the stomach and then, as he doubled over, in the face.
He'd dropped to the ground, retching, trying to gasp out through swollen lips the fact that he didn’t have any money and wondering if he was the world's unluckiest person to get mugged when he had literally nothing to take.
And then he'd seen the man unbuckling his trousers and gone cold even through the pain, realising it wasn't money he was after at all. Harry had tried to squirm away, but a foot connected with his ribs and he whimpered pitifully.
He was dragged to his feet, glimpsing a thick, veiny cock before he was shoved roughly back against the wall. His fingers scrabbled desperately against the brickwork, grazed and bleeding, as his own trousers were yanked down and the cold air hit his thighs.
Harry was numb, from the beating and from fear, too terrified to even struggle as he felt the man press up against him.
Pain.
The kicks and punches had been nothing compared to this, as the man forced his cock inside him with a grunt, the only sound he'd made the whole time.
Harry couldn't fight, couldn't even scream, there was a hand over his mouth wearing a glove of stinking wool that made him gag. He could do nothing except endure it, pinned in place as he was brutally raped.
Eventually, he felt a disgusting spurting sensation and the cock was pulled painfully out of him. Harry slumped silently to the ground, lying there helpless and violated as footsteps hurried away.
--
Harry opened his eyes. He was huddled in the shower tray with his arms wrapped protectively round his head and tears running down his face.
When his heart had stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest and he could breathe again, Harry forced himself to stand up. It took every last shred of his willpower, but he did it.
He picked up the shower gel and washed himself again, every inch of him, the water turned up almost unbearably hot. When his skin was red-raw clean he turned his attention to his hair. It was too matted to untangle with his fingers, but at least he could stop it smelling.
Three lots of shampoos later, he decided it was the best he could do.
There then came the conundrum of what to do next. He didn’t want to leave the shower, the shower felt safe, but he'd been in here nearly an hour now, and clearly couldn't hide in here all night. If he went out though, he'd have to talk to Louis, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that.
--
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"Harry? You okay in there?"
"Yeah," he managed to reply. "Just - getting out now."
"I've found some clean clothes for you, they're on the spare bed," Louis said, sounding relieved that Harry was at least conscious.
"Thanks," Harry said weakly, but it was another five minutes before he could bring himself to shut off the water.
The mirror was thankfully too steamed up to see himself any more, and he towelled himself dry, having to do everything slowly because of the pain.
Wrapping himself tightly in the towel, he then stood at the door for another few minutes, working up the courage to open it. Finally, he slid back the bolt and cautiously emerged.
The tv was on in the living room at the end of the hall, and he edged into the spare room, grateful that Louis was giving him some space. On the bed he found boxer shorts and socks, a baggy t-shirt, soft jogging bottoms and a warm looking hoodie. Harry pulled them all on, fighting back tears. He had no idea how he'd come to deserve such a delivering angel at his time of greatest need, or what might be expected of him in return later, but right now he was too broken to do anything but accept without question.
There was also a pair of pyjamas and a toothbrush, and Harry shuffled back into the bathroom, cleaning his teeth with such force he spat blood into the basin. He rinsed, then cleaned them again, and then a third time before he managed to get rid of the furry feeling on his teeth from weeks of no brushing.
--
When Harry appeared in the doorway to the living room, Louis leaped to his feet and switched off the television. "Harry! Come on in. How - how are you feeling?"
Harry shrugged, and gave him a look that said he was feeling as well as someone who'd just had the shit kicked out of him could feel.
Louis winced. "Sorry. Stupid question."
Harry sat awkwardly on the sofa and Louis hovered anxiously. "Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"
"I could use a drink of water," Harry whispered.
"Sure." Louis hurried off, glad to have something useful to do, and came back with a glass and a tube of antiseptic cream.
"We should put this on your cuts," Louis said practically, handing him the water and unscrewing the cap.
As he reached out to dab some on Harry's torn knuckles, Harry jerked back, spilling the water over his leg. "No!"
"Harry? It's okay, this stuff won’t sting," Louis said, but Harry curled away from him.
"Don’t - don’t touch me," he begged.
--
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Harry shook his head. "It's not that. Just - please, don’t get my blood on you," he blurted, colouring in shame but knowing Louis had a right to protect himself.
"Harry? Why?" Louis asked, bewildered.
"Why do you think?" Harry whispered. "I might have - I might be infected."
"You haven't - been doing drugs?"
"No!" Harry's indignant denial obviously just confused Louis further, and he sighed, wishing he could just be dead already. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see Louis' expression when he told him.
"Because I was raped, okay?" he said quietly. "The man who did this? He didn’t just beat me up. He raped me. So - it would be a really bad idea for you to mess with my wounds, okay?"
Louis stared at him, stricken. "Oh Harry. Oh, God." Then he shook his head. "It - doesn’t mean you've caught anything though?"
"They're druggies, Louis, pretty much all of them. They share needles and all sorts of shit, I've seen it." Harry opened his eyes, and Louis was frightened by the bleak look in them.
"Still doesn’t mean you're infected," Louis persisted.
"Doesn't mean I'm not."
They stared at each other, Louis desperate to offer comfort and Harry spiky and defensive.
Louis pulled himself together. "We'll sort this out, Harry. It'll be okay. We'll get you tested, and - and it'll just be okay, right? I promise."
He was giving Harry such a desperately hopeful look that Harry sighed and smiled back at him weakly, unable to ruin Louis' naive hope that how he was feeling could somehow be fixed with a hug.
"Harry?" Louis slid an arm round his shoulders cautiously, giving Harry the chance to pull away if he wanted. When he didn't, Louis pulled him gently into his arms, rubbing his back and telling him again that things would be okay.
Somewhere along the line, what started as an uncomfortably tense hug changed, as Louis' careful embrace became a tight squeeze, shattering Harry's last inch of resolve, and he clung to Louis with a desperate need, finally letting himself accept the comfort being offered, and thinking that whether true or not, what he really did need to hear right now was that things would somehow be alright.
Gradually, Harry's death-grip relaxed and Louis stroked his hair soothingly. Feeling the knots under his fingers, he frowned.
"Harry? Can I brush your hair?" he asked. Harry blinked up at him, and Louis flushed. "Sorry. That wasn't meant to sound - I mean, I'm not a weirdo pervert or something. It's just - that must be really uncomfortable to lie on?"
Harry gave a brief laugh. "Nah, you know what's really uncomfortable to lie on? Pavements." Louis'blush deepened, and Harry sighed as he tried to stammer an apology. "I wasn’t having a go, Louis. Don't be so sensitive. And yeah, go on then."
So Louis fetched a comb, and settled back against the arm of the sofa, and Harry curled up against him as Louis gently teased out the knots in his hair, careful not to pull too hard.
By the time he'd finished, Harry's hair was all untangled and fluffy, and Harry was almost asleep.
--
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Almost falling out of bed in his haste, Harry staggered out and into the bathroom, only just making it to the toilet before he was heaving violently. It had been over a day since he'd eaten, so there was nothing to come up, but he bent over the bowl retching miserably, wracked with nausea.
Eventually the dry-heaving stopped and he sat weak-legged on the carpet for a moment. Then he crawled over to the door that he'd managed to slam behind him, and lock it. He lay on the floor for a while, working up the energy and the inclination to move.
Finally he crawled back to the toilet, flushed, then pulled himself up on the basin, washed his hands and face, emptied his bladder, flushed again, washed again. He cleaned his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. His face was half purple, and his bottom lip was so swollen it looked like he was pouting. He stuck his tongue out at his reflection, washed his hands again for good measure, and made himself go and get dressed.
Louis was sitting at the table eating cereal and reading a text book when Harry appeared. He gave him an anxious smile, having heard Harry's desperate rush to the toilet, but not liking to embarrass him.
"Morning," he said instead, figuring as neutral introductions went it took a lot of beating.
"Morning." Harry managed a smile, and sat in the other chair, looking lost.
"You hungry?" Louis offered. "I could make you something."
"Not really." The thought of food made Harry feel sick again, although he knew he should eat something.
Louis thought the same, and frowned. "You should really. When did you last eat?"
Harry shrugged. "Can't remember. At the soup kitchen, I think."
"What? But that was nearly two days ago!" Louis looked aghast. "Come on, you've got to have something. How about some cereal? Some fruit?"
Harry shrugged again, happy to let Louis make the decisions for him, and Louis poured him out some cereal and added milk. Harry just stared at it, too tired to lift the spoon.
Louis bit his lip, then picked it up himself, loaded a spoonful and lifted it encouragingly to Harry's mouth.
"I'm not a kid," Harry muttered.
"How about a baby bird?" Louis smiled. "Come on, open wide, cheep cheep."
Harry's lips twitched and he laughed reluctantly. Parted his lips and let Louis slip the spoon inside.
In this way, Louis fed him half the bowl, before Harry suddenly pushed the spoon away, looking green. "I can't," he gulped, swallowing hard. "I'm gonna be sick."
"Hey, it's alright. It's alright." Louis put the spoon down and wrapped his arms round him, feeling Harry's hot breath against his neck. "You're okay." He rocked Harry slowly, and whispered soothing things, as Harry fought the sudden nausea.
He finally sat back, a little less ashen, and gave a shaky smile. "I can’t eat any more, I'm sorry."
"You're doing fine," Louis assured him, squeezing his hand. "Little bit at a time, yeah?" He took in Harry's tiredness and smiled sympathetically. "Why don’t you get back into bed? Or I could make you one up on the sofa if you like?"
Harry nodded, so Louis dragged spare blankets and pillows into the living room and made him a nest on the sofa. Harry curled up, and as Louis worked on an assignment at the table, drifted back to sleep.
--
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