For the Challenge....
Ok, I've been lurking and have made comments, but this is the first thing I've posted, so, you know....be brutally honest.
Title: Picture Frame of Rage
Author: billietallent
Rating: R-ish, I think...
Disclaimer: Not mine. Chah, I wish.... Oh, and the title is actually a Headstones song title.
Notes: I started writing this awhile ago, but it fit with the challenge so I decided to finish it for that. Of course, with me being a mad procrastination queen, it got done 15 minutes ago. Thanks ever so much to my beloved beta lizamanynames Enjoy.
It was all too much. He couldn’t contain it longer. It threatened to engulf him, consume him; this seething ball of anger and pain he kept tucked away in the back of his mind. He had to do something before it was too late. Too late for what, he wasn’t sure, but he had a deep ache that told him it wouldn’t be pretty. He’d tried. Nobody would ever know how hard he had tried to ignore it, to make it go away, but in the end it was pointless to try. It would never just go away, and deep down he knew that this moment was inevitable.
Just this once he wished it was possible to burn himself.
However, seeing as he couldn’t, he searched frantically for an alternative. He combed through his stuff, through some of Bobby’s stuff, searching. Bobby continued to work at his computer, pretty much used to St. John rummaging around for something he’d lost. St. John wished it was night, that Bobby was asleep, but it couldn’t wait. It had to be now. He pushed it as far as it could go. There. A penknife on the floor beside the dresser. It would do. St John wasn’t even sure whose it was; he had a fleeting thought that maybe Bobby had given it to him at some point. Wouldn’t that be funny? St. John retrieved the knife and quietly settled back on his bed. A quick glance ensured that Bobby was still occupied. John slipped his shirt off, no sense making to much of a mess, and opened the knife.
A slight intake of breath as the blade slid through the tanned skin of his forearm. And again. Again. Again. The ball of pain inside was easing, being replaced by a physical manifestation. The pain was coming from a visible source now, something tangible. So much simpler. A relief.
Again. Again. Six deep, parallel lines now marred his arm. The blood from them mingled together and oozed slowly in all directions. St. John leaned against the headboard, his eyes closed and struggling to stay quiet. He’d managed six; six and Bobby hadn’t noticed.
It was the seventh that got him caught. The seventh, which was wrenched out of him at an alarming speed. The one he barely knew was coming until he did it. One minute he was resting, the demon under his skin crying for release, and the next the blade was ripping savagely across his arm, fueled by too-long pent up emotions he could no longer control. Against his will he cried out. Anguish, combined with an odd sense of relief, tore from his throat. Startled, Bobby spun around. “John, what the......Oh my God! What the hell are you doing?!”
Instantly, Bobby was on the bed beside him. A brief struggle ensued, but Bobby managed to wrestle the knife from St. John’s hand. Bobby tossed it on the floor, then turned his attention back to St. John. “Johnny, what....what’s going on? Why are you doing this?” Gingerly he held John’s arm in both of his hands. He glanced at it briefly, then met St. John’s eyes again.
John couldn’t stand the fear and concern in Bobby’s eyes, so he closed his. “Just go away, Bobby. It’s nothing.” he sounded tired and a little angry, even to his own ears. It wasn’t what he expected. He hadn’t counted on feeling this drained, nor this upset that Bobby had stopped him. In a way, he almost felt betrayed, though he knew that was stupid.
“No, I’m not just going to go away!” Now Bobby sounded angry, “ I want to know why....I want to know, John.” His anger dissipated back into stunned concern. John’s eyes remained closed, and he said nothing. Maybe if he stayed quiet, Bobby would go away. He still hadn’t let go of John’s arm. When it became apparent that John was choosing to remain mute, Bobby sighed. “Alright, I’m gonna go get some stuff to bandage this, then we’re going to have a talk.” He carefully placed John’s arm in his lap and stood. John listened to his footsteps recede into the bathroom, then he cautiously opened his eyes. Quietly, he reached down and grabbed the knife off the floor. He cleaned it off on the bedspread, which already had some blood on it, closed it up, and slid it under his pillow. This would have to wait until later. The ball of pain had been satiated somewhat, but this wasn’t over yet. He arranged himself back into the proper position just as Bobby returned. Bobby cleaned and bandaged his arm quietly and efficiently as John watched, and when he was done he sat back expectantly. “Well? Tell me, please, what’s up with this? Johnny, what’s wrong?”
Bobby sounded so upset, so concerned, John shifted uncomfortably. He wanted his Zippo, but was sure Bobby wouldn’t let him grab it right now. He sighed. And shrugged. Finally, he met Bobby’s eyes, “ I don’t know, man. Just something I had to do.....I can’t explain it.” Bobby sighed and his gaze dropped to the floor.
“I don’t know, John, maybe I should just take you to the professor. I don’t think I can help you and maybe he.....” Bobby’s voice trailed off and he frowned. He looked back up at John. “Where’s the knife, John? I know I threw it right there.”
John shook his head, “I don’t know, I didn’t touch it.” But he couldn’t meet Bobby’s eyes, and involuntarily he shifted against his pillow. Bobby was quick to pick up it, and before John could stop him, he had retrieved the knife from under the pillow. John watched in horror as his best friend took away the only thing that could help him, and something inside him snapped. He lunged at Bobby, but Bobby was quicker. He threw himself ungracefully off the bed onto the floor, just out of John’s reach. Clutching the knife tightly, he began to stand, but he didn’t get far. He was suddenly covered by a very desperate John, struggling to pry Bobby’s hand open. “Give it up, Bobby! Now!”
Bobby clenched his fist tighter and held it further from John’s seeking hands. “Screw that, John! I’m not giving it to you!”
John’s attack , which had until that point been only flailing limbs, suddenly turned more vicious. He snarled, “Then I’ll make you!” His hands curled into fists and slammed into the body underneath him, blow after blow. Bobby grunted in pain, but kept his fist closed around the knife. His other hand was busy warding of punches while attempting to push John off of him. He didn’t want to hit back; he didn’t want to hurt John anymore tonight than he’d already hurt himself, but when John cracked him a good one across the jaw, Bobby realized he had no choice. The hand pushing at John fisted and slammed into his rib cage. The fist holding the penknife caught John at the shoulder. Rather than snap him out of his desperate rage, the realization that Bobby was fighting back only caused John to double his efforts, punching and twisting, trying to grab Bobby’s wrist. “Come on, Drake.....let go.” John panted harshly, clawing at Bobby’s fist.
“No way, John.....I can’t do that.” Bobby was panting just as badly, but John’s next words nearly stopped his breathing altogether.
“Why, you just planning on doing the damage yourself?
Bobby cringed at the comment designed to hurt, and John managed a grip on Bobby’s wrist. Bobby knew he had to move fast, and his retaliation was swift. His fingers dug into soon-to-be bruised flesh. John flinched at the pain, causing Bobby more stinging regret, but he got his opportunity. He abruptly shifted his whole body and managed to reverse their positions. He quickly lobbed the knife across the room, into the bathroom, and dropped back down to pin John’s wrists with his hands. He didn’t want to put too much weight on John’s bandaged arm; blood had already begun seeping through the bandage, but John was putting up a valiant struggle. John growled in frustration as Bobby leaned down harder. He discovered that no matter how hard he fought, the best he could do was kick Bobby’s shins. Bobby outweighed him and was currently using that well to his advantage.
“Johnny, you gotta calm down. Just calm down, and we can talk about this, ok?” Bobby’s stern, commanding tone was accompanied by an imploring, concerned look in his ice-blue eyes.
John shifted in vain in Bobby’s grasp and spat out, “Fuck off with the talking bullshit, ok? I don’t want to talk! I just gotta do...something.” John was no longer sure what it was he had to do. The knife had helped, but so had the fight. Hurting Bobby had felt good, and Bobby hitting back had felt great. In fact, if he was totally honest with himself, it had felt a lot better than the knife. Sure, that has given him the blood and self-destruction he craved, but the fight......It had added a more...personal...aspect to the violence. One that John decided he liked very much, though he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that he needed more of it. Now.
Bobby was still holding him down, staring at him with that stern, but concerned look. John decided to wipe that look off Bobby’s pretty face. With all of his strength he lunged up and bit deep into the side of Bobby’s neck. Bobby yelped, and in his surprise let go of John’s wrists. John, never one to miss an opportunity, came up swinging again. Bobby flailed through John’s random punches and grabbed a fistful of the boy’s hair. He wrenched John away from his neck. The blood on John’s lips illustrated how deeply he’d bitten and suddenly all of Bobby’s concern for John’s well-being evaporated. “You son of a bitch! You’re gonna pay for that!” Grim determination glowed in Bobby’s eyes, and John answered with a bloody grin.
“Bring it, Drake.”
Bobby sent a fist across John’s smirking face, John answered with one to Bobby’s ribs, and the real fight was on. It was brutal and down-right feral. John thought he’d never felt better in his entire life. Bobby slammed John’s head into the floor, and John dug his fingernails into the bit mark on Bobby’s neck. John managed to role them and he punched Bobby in the stomach. Bobby hit him back, hard, in the chest, and then again on John’s already bruised side. When he could manage it, John cackled maniacally. Bobby was stoically silent, save for the odd grunt or hiss of pain. Along with the punches, John bit into random places he could reach, and eventually Bobby returned the favour, tearing into John’s shoulder with sharp teeth. John cried out and it was Bobby’s turn to grin.
“Told you I’d pay you back, bitch.”
John shook off the pain and sneered, “Bitch, Bobby? Who’s on bottom, huh?”
Bobby growled, “That can be changed,” and rolled them again.
At some point in the fight John had vaguely realized he was hard, but had managed to ignored it. When Bobby landed back on top of him, though, John realized that Bobby was hard too, and that wasn’t as easy to ignore. Something in the back of his mind told him he should really be paying attention to this. He continued to fight, but the next time Bobby bit him, he quickly went over his reactions to it. Sure enough, there was something there that didn’t quite gel with the rest, but, damn, did it feel great. John came to the conclusion that this was a good development and decided to make it even better. He kept throwing punches, but shifted his body surreptitiously under Bobby’s until their jeans-clad erections brushed against each other, then pushed up.
The reaction was electric. John gasped in amazement, and Bobby groaned. John’s eyes met Bobby’s, and John watched shock mixed with pleasure turn into a quiet acknowledgment of what was happening. John grinned wickedly, and Bobby’s answering grin was just as evil. John tried to lunge for Bobby’s neck again, but Bobby grabbed his hair and pulled him into a bruising kiss instead. He licked and bit at John’s lips until John was moaning, his body writhing against Bobby’s, the movement and rough denim creating an incredible friction. Bobby relinquished control of John’s lips to gasp as John slid his hands under Bobby’s torn shirt and raked his nails down his back. John shifted under Bobby until the alignment was perfect, and Bobby groaned again as he rocked against John. John could tell he wasn’t going to last long; it was all too much, too fast, too good. He nipped hard at Bobby’s collarbone, and from the intensity of the moan he got in response, he was pretty sure Bobby was right there with him on the edge. A moment later, Bobby’s movements became hurried and jerky. He suddenly yanked John’s head to the side, his teeth sinking deeply into John’s tender skin, as he began to shudder. The combined sensations of the pain and Bobby coming against him were more than enough to send John over the edge. He cried out, “Oh God, Bobby!” and found his own violent release.
The boys lay together, panting and shaking, until Bobby rolled off John to lay on his back. When he’d caught his breath, he looked over at John. John was laying with his eyes closed, a pleased smile on his face. “Was that....did all of that....help....with whatever it was?” Bobby sounded wary, but curious.
John grinned wider and nodded. “Yeah, it did. A lot, actually.” He was surprised by how much it had helped. He felt.....incredible. Happy. Giddy, even.
Bobby nodded. “Ok, if that’s the case...... I don’t want to ever see that knife in your hand again. You’re having a bad day, you come to me, and we’ll..... work it out....together. Ok?” Bobby’s tone was confident, but his voice shook ever so slightly, as though he wasn’t sure what kind of response he was going to get.
John sat up and looked at Bobby in surprise. “Dude, you really mean that? I mean....are you sure....?”
Bobby looked up at John and grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He reached out and pulled John down to lick at the remaining blood on John’s lips.
John shuddered in response, then pulled back to smirk at his best friend. “Well, then Bobby-boy, what the fuck do I need with that stupid knife?”
Title: Picture Frame of Rage
Author: billietallent
Rating: R-ish, I think...
Disclaimer: Not mine. Chah, I wish.... Oh, and the title is actually a Headstones song title.
Notes: I started writing this awhile ago, but it fit with the challenge so I decided to finish it for that. Of course, with me being a mad procrastination queen, it got done 15 minutes ago. Thanks ever so much to my beloved beta lizamanynames Enjoy.
It was all too much. He couldn’t contain it longer. It threatened to engulf him, consume him; this seething ball of anger and pain he kept tucked away in the back of his mind. He had to do something before it was too late. Too late for what, he wasn’t sure, but he had a deep ache that told him it wouldn’t be pretty. He’d tried. Nobody would ever know how hard he had tried to ignore it, to make it go away, but in the end it was pointless to try. It would never just go away, and deep down he knew that this moment was inevitable.
Just this once he wished it was possible to burn himself.
However, seeing as he couldn’t, he searched frantically for an alternative. He combed through his stuff, through some of Bobby’s stuff, searching. Bobby continued to work at his computer, pretty much used to St. John rummaging around for something he’d lost. St. John wished it was night, that Bobby was asleep, but it couldn’t wait. It had to be now. He pushed it as far as it could go. There. A penknife on the floor beside the dresser. It would do. St John wasn’t even sure whose it was; he had a fleeting thought that maybe Bobby had given it to him at some point. Wouldn’t that be funny? St. John retrieved the knife and quietly settled back on his bed. A quick glance ensured that Bobby was still occupied. John slipped his shirt off, no sense making to much of a mess, and opened the knife.
A slight intake of breath as the blade slid through the tanned skin of his forearm. And again. Again. Again. The ball of pain inside was easing, being replaced by a physical manifestation. The pain was coming from a visible source now, something tangible. So much simpler. A relief.
Again. Again. Six deep, parallel lines now marred his arm. The blood from them mingled together and oozed slowly in all directions. St. John leaned against the headboard, his eyes closed and struggling to stay quiet. He’d managed six; six and Bobby hadn’t noticed.
It was the seventh that got him caught. The seventh, which was wrenched out of him at an alarming speed. The one he barely knew was coming until he did it. One minute he was resting, the demon under his skin crying for release, and the next the blade was ripping savagely across his arm, fueled by too-long pent up emotions he could no longer control. Against his will he cried out. Anguish, combined with an odd sense of relief, tore from his throat. Startled, Bobby spun around. “John, what the......Oh my God! What the hell are you doing?!”
Instantly, Bobby was on the bed beside him. A brief struggle ensued, but Bobby managed to wrestle the knife from St. John’s hand. Bobby tossed it on the floor, then turned his attention back to St. John. “Johnny, what....what’s going on? Why are you doing this?” Gingerly he held John’s arm in both of his hands. He glanced at it briefly, then met St. John’s eyes again.
John couldn’t stand the fear and concern in Bobby’s eyes, so he closed his. “Just go away, Bobby. It’s nothing.” he sounded tired and a little angry, even to his own ears. It wasn’t what he expected. He hadn’t counted on feeling this drained, nor this upset that Bobby had stopped him. In a way, he almost felt betrayed, though he knew that was stupid.
“No, I’m not just going to go away!” Now Bobby sounded angry, “ I want to know why....I want to know, John.” His anger dissipated back into stunned concern. John’s eyes remained closed, and he said nothing. Maybe if he stayed quiet, Bobby would go away. He still hadn’t let go of John’s arm. When it became apparent that John was choosing to remain mute, Bobby sighed. “Alright, I’m gonna go get some stuff to bandage this, then we’re going to have a talk.” He carefully placed John’s arm in his lap and stood. John listened to his footsteps recede into the bathroom, then he cautiously opened his eyes. Quietly, he reached down and grabbed the knife off the floor. He cleaned it off on the bedspread, which already had some blood on it, closed it up, and slid it under his pillow. This would have to wait until later. The ball of pain had been satiated somewhat, but this wasn’t over yet. He arranged himself back into the proper position just as Bobby returned. Bobby cleaned and bandaged his arm quietly and efficiently as John watched, and when he was done he sat back expectantly. “Well? Tell me, please, what’s up with this? Johnny, what’s wrong?”
Bobby sounded so upset, so concerned, John shifted uncomfortably. He wanted his Zippo, but was sure Bobby wouldn’t let him grab it right now. He sighed. And shrugged. Finally, he met Bobby’s eyes, “ I don’t know, man. Just something I had to do.....I can’t explain it.” Bobby sighed and his gaze dropped to the floor.
“I don’t know, John, maybe I should just take you to the professor. I don’t think I can help you and maybe he.....” Bobby’s voice trailed off and he frowned. He looked back up at John. “Where’s the knife, John? I know I threw it right there.”
John shook his head, “I don’t know, I didn’t touch it.” But he couldn’t meet Bobby’s eyes, and involuntarily he shifted against his pillow. Bobby was quick to pick up it, and before John could stop him, he had retrieved the knife from under the pillow. John watched in horror as his best friend took away the only thing that could help him, and something inside him snapped. He lunged at Bobby, but Bobby was quicker. He threw himself ungracefully off the bed onto the floor, just out of John’s reach. Clutching the knife tightly, he began to stand, but he didn’t get far. He was suddenly covered by a very desperate John, struggling to pry Bobby’s hand open. “Give it up, Bobby! Now!”
Bobby clenched his fist tighter and held it further from John’s seeking hands. “Screw that, John! I’m not giving it to you!”
John’s attack , which had until that point been only flailing limbs, suddenly turned more vicious. He snarled, “Then I’ll make you!” His hands curled into fists and slammed into the body underneath him, blow after blow. Bobby grunted in pain, but kept his fist closed around the knife. His other hand was busy warding of punches while attempting to push John off of him. He didn’t want to hit back; he didn’t want to hurt John anymore tonight than he’d already hurt himself, but when John cracked him a good one across the jaw, Bobby realized he had no choice. The hand pushing at John fisted and slammed into his rib cage. The fist holding the penknife caught John at the shoulder. Rather than snap him out of his desperate rage, the realization that Bobby was fighting back only caused John to double his efforts, punching and twisting, trying to grab Bobby’s wrist. “Come on, Drake.....let go.” John panted harshly, clawing at Bobby’s fist.
“No way, John.....I can’t do that.” Bobby was panting just as badly, but John’s next words nearly stopped his breathing altogether.
“Why, you just planning on doing the damage yourself?
Bobby cringed at the comment designed to hurt, and John managed a grip on Bobby’s wrist. Bobby knew he had to move fast, and his retaliation was swift. His fingers dug into soon-to-be bruised flesh. John flinched at the pain, causing Bobby more stinging regret, but he got his opportunity. He abruptly shifted his whole body and managed to reverse their positions. He quickly lobbed the knife across the room, into the bathroom, and dropped back down to pin John’s wrists with his hands. He didn’t want to put too much weight on John’s bandaged arm; blood had already begun seeping through the bandage, but John was putting up a valiant struggle. John growled in frustration as Bobby leaned down harder. He discovered that no matter how hard he fought, the best he could do was kick Bobby’s shins. Bobby outweighed him and was currently using that well to his advantage.
“Johnny, you gotta calm down. Just calm down, and we can talk about this, ok?” Bobby’s stern, commanding tone was accompanied by an imploring, concerned look in his ice-blue eyes.
John shifted in vain in Bobby’s grasp and spat out, “Fuck off with the talking bullshit, ok? I don’t want to talk! I just gotta do...something.” John was no longer sure what it was he had to do. The knife had helped, but so had the fight. Hurting Bobby had felt good, and Bobby hitting back had felt great. In fact, if he was totally honest with himself, it had felt a lot better than the knife. Sure, that has given him the blood and self-destruction he craved, but the fight......It had added a more...personal...aspect to the violence. One that John decided he liked very much, though he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that he needed more of it. Now.
Bobby was still holding him down, staring at him with that stern, but concerned look. John decided to wipe that look off Bobby’s pretty face. With all of his strength he lunged up and bit deep into the side of Bobby’s neck. Bobby yelped, and in his surprise let go of John’s wrists. John, never one to miss an opportunity, came up swinging again. Bobby flailed through John’s random punches and grabbed a fistful of the boy’s hair. He wrenched John away from his neck. The blood on John’s lips illustrated how deeply he’d bitten and suddenly all of Bobby’s concern for John’s well-being evaporated. “You son of a bitch! You’re gonna pay for that!” Grim determination glowed in Bobby’s eyes, and John answered with a bloody grin.
“Bring it, Drake.”
Bobby sent a fist across John’s smirking face, John answered with one to Bobby’s ribs, and the real fight was on. It was brutal and down-right feral. John thought he’d never felt better in his entire life. Bobby slammed John’s head into the floor, and John dug his fingernails into the bit mark on Bobby’s neck. John managed to role them and he punched Bobby in the stomach. Bobby hit him back, hard, in the chest, and then again on John’s already bruised side. When he could manage it, John cackled maniacally. Bobby was stoically silent, save for the odd grunt or hiss of pain. Along with the punches, John bit into random places he could reach, and eventually Bobby returned the favour, tearing into John’s shoulder with sharp teeth. John cried out and it was Bobby’s turn to grin.
“Told you I’d pay you back, bitch.”
John shook off the pain and sneered, “Bitch, Bobby? Who’s on bottom, huh?”
Bobby growled, “That can be changed,” and rolled them again.
At some point in the fight John had vaguely realized he was hard, but had managed to ignored it. When Bobby landed back on top of him, though, John realized that Bobby was hard too, and that wasn’t as easy to ignore. Something in the back of his mind told him he should really be paying attention to this. He continued to fight, but the next time Bobby bit him, he quickly went over his reactions to it. Sure enough, there was something there that didn’t quite gel with the rest, but, damn, did it feel great. John came to the conclusion that this was a good development and decided to make it even better. He kept throwing punches, but shifted his body surreptitiously under Bobby’s until their jeans-clad erections brushed against each other, then pushed up.
The reaction was electric. John gasped in amazement, and Bobby groaned. John’s eyes met Bobby’s, and John watched shock mixed with pleasure turn into a quiet acknowledgment of what was happening. John grinned wickedly, and Bobby’s answering grin was just as evil. John tried to lunge for Bobby’s neck again, but Bobby grabbed his hair and pulled him into a bruising kiss instead. He licked and bit at John’s lips until John was moaning, his body writhing against Bobby’s, the movement and rough denim creating an incredible friction. Bobby relinquished control of John’s lips to gasp as John slid his hands under Bobby’s torn shirt and raked his nails down his back. John shifted under Bobby until the alignment was perfect, and Bobby groaned again as he rocked against John. John could tell he wasn’t going to last long; it was all too much, too fast, too good. He nipped hard at Bobby’s collarbone, and from the intensity of the moan he got in response, he was pretty sure Bobby was right there with him on the edge. A moment later, Bobby’s movements became hurried and jerky. He suddenly yanked John’s head to the side, his teeth sinking deeply into John’s tender skin, as he began to shudder. The combined sensations of the pain and Bobby coming against him were more than enough to send John over the edge. He cried out, “Oh God, Bobby!” and found his own violent release.
The boys lay together, panting and shaking, until Bobby rolled off John to lay on his back. When he’d caught his breath, he looked over at John. John was laying with his eyes closed, a pleased smile on his face. “Was that....did all of that....help....with whatever it was?” Bobby sounded wary, but curious.
John grinned wider and nodded. “Yeah, it did. A lot, actually.” He was surprised by how much it had helped. He felt.....incredible. Happy. Giddy, even.
Bobby nodded. “Ok, if that’s the case...... I don’t want to ever see that knife in your hand again. You’re having a bad day, you come to me, and we’ll..... work it out....together. Ok?” Bobby’s tone was confident, but his voice shook ever so slightly, as though he wasn’t sure what kind of response he was going to get.
John sat up and looked at Bobby in surprise. “Dude, you really mean that? I mean....are you sure....?”
Bobby looked up at John and grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He reached out and pulled John down to lick at the remaining blood on John’s lips.
John shuddered in response, then pulled back to smirk at his best friend. “Well, then Bobby-boy, what the fuck do I need with that stupid knife?”