Fic: Please (Angel the Series RPS, Cracktrailer Verse)
...
Please
Author: ely_jan
Pairings: Vincent Kartheiser/David Boreanaz (featuring Jason Hall/Seth Green)
Fandom: Angel the Series RPS; Cracked-Out Trailerverse (At least my interpretation as a huge fan of the cracktrailer.)
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2,004
Warnings: Character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Fictional, delusional. All done with lights and mirrors.
The lyrics I was assigned from U2's Yahweh for the atomic_fiction challenge:
Take this shirt
Polyester white-trash made-in-nowhere
Take this shirt and make it clean.
“Gentlemen, are we ready to proceed with testimony?”
The judge’s dragging monotone and the rote answers given in return made it easy to fade back a little. Shrink back until the hard back of the bench stiffens his spine when he can’t and Vincent gasps a little as his numb foot knocks the small partition inches from his knees. Pale cheeks burn flame bright and the noise is gunshot loud in his ears, but dismissed by everyone almost without notice as shadowed blue eyes sneak glances around the almost empty courtroom.
Dismissed by everyone except Dave, of course. David, rather, he’s David here.
David Patrick Boreanaz who looks across the room and pins Vincent down with a dark glance, a subtle lift of his chin. The action covered as he plucks an invisible piece of lint from the shoulder of his navy blazer and flicks it away with a frown before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. His father’s fingers spread wide between David’s shoulders, his arm draped across the back of his son’s chair as if to protect him from the riffraff at their back, and his attorney smiles constantly. Smiles and exchanged sly looks with the bailiff, jokes with the District Attorney and every so often his glittering eyes shift suddenly to look at Vincent as if to make sure he’s not scurried off.
”Please, Vinnie, need you…”
Dave’s voice had seemed to vibrate up his spine, words fed directly into his brain as stubble scraped his belly and fingers twisted deep, opened him up the way only Dave could, and he’d nodded again and again. Hair falling across his eyes and gravel under the blankets leaving little divots in his back as he’d jerked like a fish on a hook, cock held tight in the back of Dave’s throat and that had never fucking happened. He’d never even dreamed it would…and Dave said…please…
The gavel cracks and everyone, every single person jumps. Snaps back from wherever they’ve gone in their heads to simply not be here, and Vincent’s eyes leave David only to widen as he finds himself under scrutiny from another direction.
Another pair of eyes trained on his face, and Vincent can’t look away. He swallows and nearly chokes and flushes crimson, but Jason simply cocks an eyebrow a little, lets his gaze flick over to where Dave sits with his family and friends before sliding back to where Vincent sits alone and the corners of his mouth quirk up a little. Not a smile, nor a smirk. Simply an acknowledgement of sorts and then he turns around to face judgment leaving Vincent with nothing but the view of his shoulder blades winging up under livid prison orange as handcuffs and chains rattle and clink.
There’s a darker patch of orange to the left of the base of Jason’s spine, and Vincent knows that the skin underneath is indigo and scarlet, maybe a little yellow green around the edges by now. That the shape it holds matches the sharp toe of that pair of shit kickers Dave came back with after his dad took him to Lexington for the Derby. He wore them every fucking day after ‘cept for football practice, and near every night. Hell, he wore ‘em once while they were fucking around under the stands out by the old track field.
That night. He’d had ‘em on that night too. The night Dave had come crawling through his window bringing with him the sour blend of beer and cigarette smoke, had covered Vincent’s mouth with a dirty hand until wild blue eyes settled on surprise rather than panic and lips parted under his palm. His hand slid down to press down in the middle of Vincent’s chest, Dave’s eyes glittering too brightly as his mouth came down to bruise Vincent’s lips. Split the bottom one with a press of teeth, too fucked up high to have the sense God gave him and Vincent had pushed him away even as his lips parted at the thick push of Dave’s tongue.
Vincent had tried to keep one eye on the door, half expecting his dad to come crashing through any second while he was dragged out of the bed and tugged in the direction of the window. Walls had always been too fucking thin, and his daddy’s temper was way short after he’d been layed off at the store. Worse still was that it was Dave’s dad that did the deed, and bad blood ran cold but constant.
He’d desperately grabbed jeans from the floor, snatched a shirt off the back of a chair and gave up shoes as a lost cause as Dave’s fingers shoved their way through the opening of his boxers to curl around his cock. It seemed like they’d made enough noise to wake the dead, and Vincent still didn’t know how his parents had slept through it, but at the time, he’d not given a damn. Not when they’d tumbled through the window in a tangle of limbs onto freshly mown grass and Dave was eating the whimpers Vincent couldn’t help like candy.
Barely had time to pull his jeans on much less button his shirt, and the tail ends had snapped behind him as Dave tugged him along like a kite on a string. They’d laughed as soon as it was safe enough and kept laughing as they dove into the van idling at the end of the alley. Jason’s grin had flashed in the dark and Seth had simply raised a finger, nodded a little and Vincent and Dave had collapsed into a giggling heap in the back as they’d sped off into the night.
Party on wheels with cheap beer and loud music. Pot so full of seeds it sounded like a fucking bowl of Rice Krispies each drag, and each of them dropped the joint at least once when fingertips got snapped by sparks. Seth had gotten hold of something he called ‘K’ and Dave couldn’t get enough of it. He or Jason neither one and they were doing hit after hit. Taking turns driving, and Dave had shoved Vincent’s head between his legs while the two of them were going at it in the back and the air was fresh and spring cool. Slipped through cracked windows to run its fingers up and down the curve of Vincent’s spine as Dave spread his legs wide, boots skidding on the floor mat as his hand tightened in sex tangled dirty blonde hair.
That must’ve been when Dave’s foot slipped…Vincent doesn’t know…not for sure…but had to have been…
A sharp cough brings Vincent back the present, and when he looks across the aisle, Dave’s smoothing his tie down over starched white cotton, his eyes like flint through a thick fringe of lashes, and Vincent’s hands mimic his motions without thought. His hands smoothing over the thin material he’d’ve sworn was snow white when he’d lifted it from the Big K yesterday. He shoved the crinkling plastic down the back of his jeans and under his t-shirt, and he’d not been able to breathe until he got home and pulled the sweat slick package out of his pants. Barely had time to hide it before he’d puked his guts inside out in the dingy half bath he shared with his sister every other week when her boyfriend kicked her out.
He’d needed something nice for court…for Dave…didn’t want people to snicker, to stare anymore than they did already, but it wasn’t white. Wasn’t even close and it already looked dirty, as cheap as it was with a five finger discount and you get what you pay for. Daddy always said that and it was true, at least this time. This time Daddy was right.
Vincent’s eyes drop to his lap, look down past the shirt that now seems dingy and grey, too shiny and he threads shaking fingers together. Lets go to pick at bloody scraps of skin around nails that were clean when he left the house, and then forces them still. Knots them as tight as he can and tries to ignore the cramps that threaten to send him running from the courtroom. Dave had called it slumming. Nights like that with Seth and Jason. With Vincent maybe too, but that was…different. Always seemed to be anyway, and so what if none of Dave’s friends knew about the late night visits and the summers down at the lake. He’d not told any of his friends either, only Jason…Seth. Was special, him and Dave.
And Dave had said please.
”…please, baby…need you to back me up on this, Vin…for me…for us…”
Seth had said ‘please’ too, had whispered it through lips flecked with crimson and his fingers had seemed like sticks in Vincent’s hand. Had jerked once before going slack, fingertips rough and callused scraping his palm, and no matter how much he had rubbed and squeezed, cried and begged they’d not moved again. Not once, green eyes still open and when Vincent had scrubbed his cheeks, had swiped the snot from under his nose on his shirt tail, he’d had to let go. Had to let Seth’s hand lay open on the grass while he shuddered and shook, coughed and choked because Seth was already so broken. Seth was already so broken and sticks, his fingers were like sticks so fragile and thin like bird bones and Vincent couldn’t stop shaking as he knelt there staring at the pink bits of bone that weren’t supposed to be on the outside. Not supposed to be bent like that and jagged at the ends.
Broken. Seth’d been broken up so bad there’d been nothing for them to do. Nothing for Vincent to do or say but vaguely pat the air above where he lay like a rag doll and when Dave had yanked Vincent up off the ground he’d screamed so high and loud that Dave had to slap him twice and gut punch him once just to make him stop.
Shut up…shut the fuck up, Vincent or I’ll leave you. Leave you here to scream alone in the dark, swear to fucking god…help me, you’ve got to fucking help, Vinnie…come on now. Sorry I hit you, baby, come on. Cops are coming, see the lights? You gotta listen, gotta help me with Jason. Come on…he’s stuck and no matter how hard I kick, he aint waking up…come on, Vincent…need to move him...his van, his van and he was drivin’…you hear me, Vinnie? Come on, damn it…
The memory of that night - Seth’s small plea wafting up to blend with the crickets’ song, the squeak of a tire spinning without anything under it, Dave’s voice thick with panic, the acid tang of fear and bile sour and vile, the way Jason’s head had rolled so loose and wobbly as they’d tugged and shoved - all of it jerks at Vincent, twists his guts into a tangle and he clenches his ass hard, shifts on unforgiving wood and swallows hard. Locks his thighs together and struggles to look anywhere but at Jason where he sits next to his lawyer then can’t look anywhere else.
Can’t do anything but stare at the boy about to go down south for manslaughter. The boy who looked at him through a wall of glass a few days ago and cried into a phone held in fingers squeezed white, nails practically torn down to nothing. Didn’t ask who or how or what happened, didn’t beg Vincent to talk to Dave or to his lawyer. Didn’t ask him for the truth or question the lie. No, Jason had just wanted to know if Seth’d been alone…if he’d said anything…asked for…anyone…and Vincent had wanted to scream all over again.
”Jason, don’t…I can’t…”
Broken.
”Please, Vinnie, need you…for us…”
Broken up so bad nothing could make it right again, and Vincent’s hand looked too big as he pressed it to the glass between them.
“Please…he just…said…please.”
~Fin
Five hours late, but finished. My apologies.
Please
Author: ely_jan
Pairings: Vincent Kartheiser/David Boreanaz (featuring Jason Hall/Seth Green)
Fandom: Angel the Series RPS; Cracked-Out Trailerverse (At least my interpretation as a huge fan of the cracktrailer.)
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2,004
Warnings: Character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Fictional, delusional. All done with lights and mirrors.
The lyrics I was assigned from U2's Yahweh for the atomic_fiction challenge:
Take this shirt
Polyester white-trash made-in-nowhere
Take this shirt and make it clean.
“Gentlemen, are we ready to proceed with testimony?”
The judge’s dragging monotone and the rote answers given in return made it easy to fade back a little. Shrink back until the hard back of the bench stiffens his spine when he can’t and Vincent gasps a little as his numb foot knocks the small partition inches from his knees. Pale cheeks burn flame bright and the noise is gunshot loud in his ears, but dismissed by everyone almost without notice as shadowed blue eyes sneak glances around the almost empty courtroom.
Dismissed by everyone except Dave, of course. David, rather, he’s David here.
David Patrick Boreanaz who looks across the room and pins Vincent down with a dark glance, a subtle lift of his chin. The action covered as he plucks an invisible piece of lint from the shoulder of his navy blazer and flicks it away with a frown before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. His father’s fingers spread wide between David’s shoulders, his arm draped across the back of his son’s chair as if to protect him from the riffraff at their back, and his attorney smiles constantly. Smiles and exchanged sly looks with the bailiff, jokes with the District Attorney and every so often his glittering eyes shift suddenly to look at Vincent as if to make sure he’s not scurried off.
”Please, Vinnie, need you…”
Dave’s voice had seemed to vibrate up his spine, words fed directly into his brain as stubble scraped his belly and fingers twisted deep, opened him up the way only Dave could, and he’d nodded again and again. Hair falling across his eyes and gravel under the blankets leaving little divots in his back as he’d jerked like a fish on a hook, cock held tight in the back of Dave’s throat and that had never fucking happened. He’d never even dreamed it would…and Dave said…please…
The gavel cracks and everyone, every single person jumps. Snaps back from wherever they’ve gone in their heads to simply not be here, and Vincent’s eyes leave David only to widen as he finds himself under scrutiny from another direction.
Another pair of eyes trained on his face, and Vincent can’t look away. He swallows and nearly chokes and flushes crimson, but Jason simply cocks an eyebrow a little, lets his gaze flick over to where Dave sits with his family and friends before sliding back to where Vincent sits alone and the corners of his mouth quirk up a little. Not a smile, nor a smirk. Simply an acknowledgement of sorts and then he turns around to face judgment leaving Vincent with nothing but the view of his shoulder blades winging up under livid prison orange as handcuffs and chains rattle and clink.
There’s a darker patch of orange to the left of the base of Jason’s spine, and Vincent knows that the skin underneath is indigo and scarlet, maybe a little yellow green around the edges by now. That the shape it holds matches the sharp toe of that pair of shit kickers Dave came back with after his dad took him to Lexington for the Derby. He wore them every fucking day after ‘cept for football practice, and near every night. Hell, he wore ‘em once while they were fucking around under the stands out by the old track field.
That night. He’d had ‘em on that night too. The night Dave had come crawling through his window bringing with him the sour blend of beer and cigarette smoke, had covered Vincent’s mouth with a dirty hand until wild blue eyes settled on surprise rather than panic and lips parted under his palm. His hand slid down to press down in the middle of Vincent’s chest, Dave’s eyes glittering too brightly as his mouth came down to bruise Vincent’s lips. Split the bottom one with a press of teeth, too fucked up high to have the sense God gave him and Vincent had pushed him away even as his lips parted at the thick push of Dave’s tongue.
Vincent had tried to keep one eye on the door, half expecting his dad to come crashing through any second while he was dragged out of the bed and tugged in the direction of the window. Walls had always been too fucking thin, and his daddy’s temper was way short after he’d been layed off at the store. Worse still was that it was Dave’s dad that did the deed, and bad blood ran cold but constant.
He’d desperately grabbed jeans from the floor, snatched a shirt off the back of a chair and gave up shoes as a lost cause as Dave’s fingers shoved their way through the opening of his boxers to curl around his cock. It seemed like they’d made enough noise to wake the dead, and Vincent still didn’t know how his parents had slept through it, but at the time, he’d not given a damn. Not when they’d tumbled through the window in a tangle of limbs onto freshly mown grass and Dave was eating the whimpers Vincent couldn’t help like candy.
Barely had time to pull his jeans on much less button his shirt, and the tail ends had snapped behind him as Dave tugged him along like a kite on a string. They’d laughed as soon as it was safe enough and kept laughing as they dove into the van idling at the end of the alley. Jason’s grin had flashed in the dark and Seth had simply raised a finger, nodded a little and Vincent and Dave had collapsed into a giggling heap in the back as they’d sped off into the night.
Party on wheels with cheap beer and loud music. Pot so full of seeds it sounded like a fucking bowl of Rice Krispies each drag, and each of them dropped the joint at least once when fingertips got snapped by sparks. Seth had gotten hold of something he called ‘K’ and Dave couldn’t get enough of it. He or Jason neither one and they were doing hit after hit. Taking turns driving, and Dave had shoved Vincent’s head between his legs while the two of them were going at it in the back and the air was fresh and spring cool. Slipped through cracked windows to run its fingers up and down the curve of Vincent’s spine as Dave spread his legs wide, boots skidding on the floor mat as his hand tightened in sex tangled dirty blonde hair.
That must’ve been when Dave’s foot slipped…Vincent doesn’t know…not for sure…but had to have been…
A sharp cough brings Vincent back the present, and when he looks across the aisle, Dave’s smoothing his tie down over starched white cotton, his eyes like flint through a thick fringe of lashes, and Vincent’s hands mimic his motions without thought. His hands smoothing over the thin material he’d’ve sworn was snow white when he’d lifted it from the Big K yesterday. He shoved the crinkling plastic down the back of his jeans and under his t-shirt, and he’d not been able to breathe until he got home and pulled the sweat slick package out of his pants. Barely had time to hide it before he’d puked his guts inside out in the dingy half bath he shared with his sister every other week when her boyfriend kicked her out.
He’d needed something nice for court…for Dave…didn’t want people to snicker, to stare anymore than they did already, but it wasn’t white. Wasn’t even close and it already looked dirty, as cheap as it was with a five finger discount and you get what you pay for. Daddy always said that and it was true, at least this time. This time Daddy was right.
Vincent’s eyes drop to his lap, look down past the shirt that now seems dingy and grey, too shiny and he threads shaking fingers together. Lets go to pick at bloody scraps of skin around nails that were clean when he left the house, and then forces them still. Knots them as tight as he can and tries to ignore the cramps that threaten to send him running from the courtroom. Dave had called it slumming. Nights like that with Seth and Jason. With Vincent maybe too, but that was…different. Always seemed to be anyway, and so what if none of Dave’s friends knew about the late night visits and the summers down at the lake. He’d not told any of his friends either, only Jason…Seth. Was special, him and Dave.
And Dave had said please.
”…please, baby…need you to back me up on this, Vin…for me…for us…”
Seth had said ‘please’ too, had whispered it through lips flecked with crimson and his fingers had seemed like sticks in Vincent’s hand. Had jerked once before going slack, fingertips rough and callused scraping his palm, and no matter how much he had rubbed and squeezed, cried and begged they’d not moved again. Not once, green eyes still open and when Vincent had scrubbed his cheeks, had swiped the snot from under his nose on his shirt tail, he’d had to let go. Had to let Seth’s hand lay open on the grass while he shuddered and shook, coughed and choked because Seth was already so broken. Seth was already so broken and sticks, his fingers were like sticks so fragile and thin like bird bones and Vincent couldn’t stop shaking as he knelt there staring at the pink bits of bone that weren’t supposed to be on the outside. Not supposed to be bent like that and jagged at the ends.
Broken. Seth’d been broken up so bad there’d been nothing for them to do. Nothing for Vincent to do or say but vaguely pat the air above where he lay like a rag doll and when Dave had yanked Vincent up off the ground he’d screamed so high and loud that Dave had to slap him twice and gut punch him once just to make him stop.
Shut up…shut the fuck up, Vincent or I’ll leave you. Leave you here to scream alone in the dark, swear to fucking god…help me, you’ve got to fucking help, Vinnie…come on now. Sorry I hit you, baby, come on. Cops are coming, see the lights? You gotta listen, gotta help me with Jason. Come on…he’s stuck and no matter how hard I kick, he aint waking up…come on, Vincent…need to move him...his van, his van and he was drivin’…you hear me, Vinnie? Come on, damn it…
The memory of that night - Seth’s small plea wafting up to blend with the crickets’ song, the squeak of a tire spinning without anything under it, Dave’s voice thick with panic, the acid tang of fear and bile sour and vile, the way Jason’s head had rolled so loose and wobbly as they’d tugged and shoved - all of it jerks at Vincent, twists his guts into a tangle and he clenches his ass hard, shifts on unforgiving wood and swallows hard. Locks his thighs together and struggles to look anywhere but at Jason where he sits next to his lawyer then can’t look anywhere else.
Can’t do anything but stare at the boy about to go down south for manslaughter. The boy who looked at him through a wall of glass a few days ago and cried into a phone held in fingers squeezed white, nails practically torn down to nothing. Didn’t ask who or how or what happened, didn’t beg Vincent to talk to Dave or to his lawyer. Didn’t ask him for the truth or question the lie. No, Jason had just wanted to know if Seth’d been alone…if he’d said anything…asked for…anyone…and Vincent had wanted to scream all over again.
”Jason, don’t…I can’t…”
Broken.
”Please, Vinnie, need you…for us…”
Broken up so bad nothing could make it right again, and Vincent’s hand looked too big as he pressed it to the glass between them.
“Please…he just…said…please.”
~Fin
Five hours late, but finished. My apologies.