(no subject)
pairing prompted by scone and eve. I take no blame, exceptIsortoflikeitpleasedon'tkillmeregan.
Merrick fucking hated everything.
He hated girls for starting the war. He hated the war for causing his injury. He hated his injury for making him weak.
He hated that he knew every inch of the long term care unit at BND Headquarters, and that they'd had to create one because of him.
He hated Andy, for not being there, for still making Merrick want him there, for leaving him. He hated Andy because there were too few other people he knew in this world to lay his hate on, and because Andy got a high percentage of anything Merrick gave out by default.
Of course, he hated Nym. He was always there and fucking smiling, with food or pills or a trip in the fucking wheelchair. He used to fight the visits, snarling and clawing the infuriatingly unaffected Nym.
Once, he'd thrown Nym down, fucking ready to show him a real ride on the crap on wheels. Merrick had come back to himself at Nym's widening eyes, shocked and panting. Exertion, he'd told himself, as he eased off the arm rests he'd been leaning against and definitely not in a way that left Nym pinned and vulnerable.
"I'm not a fucking cripple," he'd stressed before staggering off to the bathroom because he could and not because it was the only place he'd make it to before he collapsed.
He hated that he was getting used to Nym's presence. He began to tolerate the hours of sitting by his bed, book or pie or craft in hand. Nym was ridiculous, like those pansy assed pacifist flower child fakes he and Andy used to chuck free AOL CDs at back when there was a he and Andy.
Merrick had given up kicking Nym out and when he found homemade pins and stickers, forgotten under the bed or wedged into his sandwich, which he couldn't read because he was the most retardedly illiterate thing this side of grade school, he chucked them into his water cup and pretended not to think about Andy and him piled on his bed, making rally posters. He told himself he'd throw away Nym's crap when he could run to the garbage pail.
Merrick hated that Nym was such a goddamn girl. He was all sleek lines and soft touches and seeping idiocy. He's always hated the annoyingly obvious, the frustratingly unbreakable. The perfect smile that used to make Merrick want to punch Gidget in the face, now made Merrick want to scrap his teeth down Nym's throat until he was affected, cried, looked at him.
Merrick hated brain damage.
God, he hated, hated, missed Andy.
Merrick hated that Nym tastes like the day's menu for the mess hall, hated that he knows this; hated that it's like Nym is what he's missing by laying in a fucking hospital bed and not out there doing what needs to be fucking done, what he needs to be fucking doing. He hates that this is the only thing he can control, can take for his own. He hated that having Nym between his legs, sucking his cock, felt so good and guilty and unnngh.
When Nym tucked his spent cock away and curled up amongst the bed clothes, pressing kisses and smiles against Merrick's shaking thigh, Merrick wondered if it's time to start hating himself yet.
Merrick fucking hated everything.
He hated girls for starting the war. He hated the war for causing his injury. He hated his injury for making him weak.
He hated that he knew every inch of the long term care unit at BND Headquarters, and that they'd had to create one because of him.
He hated Andy, for not being there, for still making Merrick want him there, for leaving him. He hated Andy because there were too few other people he knew in this world to lay his hate on, and because Andy got a high percentage of anything Merrick gave out by default.
Of course, he hated Nym. He was always there and fucking smiling, with food or pills or a trip in the fucking wheelchair. He used to fight the visits, snarling and clawing the infuriatingly unaffected Nym.
Once, he'd thrown Nym down, fucking ready to show him a real ride on the crap on wheels. Merrick had come back to himself at Nym's widening eyes, shocked and panting. Exertion, he'd told himself, as he eased off the arm rests he'd been leaning against and definitely not in a way that left Nym pinned and vulnerable.
"I'm not a fucking cripple," he'd stressed before staggering off to the bathroom because he could and not because it was the only place he'd make it to before he collapsed.
He hated that he was getting used to Nym's presence. He began to tolerate the hours of sitting by his bed, book or pie or craft in hand. Nym was ridiculous, like those pansy assed pacifist flower child fakes he and Andy used to chuck free AOL CDs at back when there was a he and Andy.
Merrick had given up kicking Nym out and when he found homemade pins and stickers, forgotten under the bed or wedged into his sandwich, which he couldn't read because he was the most retardedly illiterate thing this side of grade school, he chucked them into his water cup and pretended not to think about Andy and him piled on his bed, making rally posters. He told himself he'd throw away Nym's crap when he could run to the garbage pail.
Merrick hated that Nym was such a goddamn girl. He was all sleek lines and soft touches and seeping idiocy. He's always hated the annoyingly obvious, the frustratingly unbreakable. The perfect smile that used to make Merrick want to punch Gidget in the face, now made Merrick want to scrap his teeth down Nym's throat until he was affected, cried, looked at him.
Merrick hated brain damage.
God, he hated, hated, missed Andy.
Merrick hated that Nym tastes like the day's menu for the mess hall, hated that he knows this; hated that it's like Nym is what he's missing by laying in a fucking hospital bed and not out there doing what needs to be fucking done, what he needs to be fucking doing. He hates that this is the only thing he can control, can take for his own. He hated that having Nym between his legs, sucking his cock, felt so good and guilty and unnngh.
When Nym tucked his spent cock away and curled up amongst the bed clothes, pressing kisses and smiles against Merrick's shaking thigh, Merrick wondered if it's time to start hating himself yet.