Effort, Part 7
Title: Effort, Part 7Author: amemeisameme
Rating: R (for violence)
Pairing/Focus: John Cooper/Ben Sherman
Warnings: hurt/comfort, violence
Summary: The important things in life take a lot of effort.
I have no claim to the copyright on SouthLAnd, I'm just a playin', and hope you have fun.
(this is a REPOSTING to my own journal)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ben's feet made soft shuffling noises as he staggered towards his front door. He was barely awake, and it took all his effort to stay upright. But the banging on the door was only getting louder the longer it went on. He passed the mirror in the hall and caught a glimpse of his disheveled sleepy self: white t-shirt stretched and twisted on his frame, dark blue boxers riding up on one leg from hastily flying out of bed. He felt like he'd just hit the bed moments before the banging began, but knew the intensely bright sunlight spilling into the room testified to it being hours later.
He reached the door, and sleepily grabbed the handle. He had barely turned it when the door flew open, knocking him backwards onto the floor. He raised his hand protectively, and saw the looming figure of John through his fingers.
"Where the fuck do you get off?" John yelled down at him.
Ben scrambled to his feet. "Look," he started. But John gave him no time to speak.
"How dare you nose into my life - how dare you fucking follow me!" John was trembling with rage. He stood firmly in place, his face beet red with anger.
Ben shot to his feet. "You don't give me a lot of choice with how fucked up things have been lately!" he shouted back.
John's fists clenched and unclenched. He took a step towards Sherman. "What the fuck would give you the right to spy on me? It's none of your goddamned business what I do outside the job. What makes you think you have the right to do this shit?"
Ben resisted the urge to back away. He stepped forward as well.
"Look, I care about you, and I-"
John threw up his hands and laughed cruelly. "Richie Rich cares about me. Oh, my life is fucking golden now, Ben-fucking-Sherman has my back! He stalks me like a jealous goddamned girlfriend!"
His mocking was cruel, and it fueled Ben into carelessness. He stepped forward until they were nose to nose. There he felt John's angry, ragged breath on his face.
With no bravado, he simply said, "I'm in love with you, John."
He kept his eyes trained on John's, no matter how much he wanted to bolt away.
John's raised his hands to Ben's chest and laid them there, fingers splayed. Ben's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't envisioned this moment, and had no idea what to do. Time stood still, the air quiet, no noise but the pounding of blood in his veins.
It's then he hit the floor again, right on his ass. John had lingered for only a second before he had shoved Ben roughly down to the ground. He strode forward a step and jabbed a finger into the air toward Sherman. His face twisted into some unrecognizable version of anger.
"Look, kid … just because I'm gay, doesn't mean I like you."
He turned angrily and left, slamming the door behind him so hard Ben felt it in his teeth.
Ben Sherman sat on the ground, stunned. He felt a cold chasm rip into his being, and all the excitement, happiness, sadness, anger, and energy of the past 24 hours was sucked deep down into it, leaving him empty and motionless.