Join Me [Linkin Park Drabble]
Band: Linkin Park
Rating: NC-17 to be on the safe side.
Pairing: Brad/Mike
Summary: "No-one who truly hates me could kiss me the way you do," [Really AU my friends. Think Romeo and Juliet, with more hate. And love. And blood and things…]
Dedication: walking_paradox Coz she was so enthusiastic about the idea when I told her it, and bugged me to write it. Right then! And hey, Ana’s consistently stalking me wonderful and compliments me when I probably don’t deserve it! And hey, stalkers annoy le girlfriend, and make me feel cool… :)
i.
The gate squeaks, adding to the atmosphere. The death you can feel hanging in the air, the chill. The falling stars, the leaves on the trees that have curled up in the absence of light, as if protecting themselves. Graveyards are thought to be grim places to be, grim places indeed, but you can’t think of a more peaceful place.
You don’t plan to disturb the souls of the dead or the damned.
ii.
You sit up against a large gravestone, it’s ice-cold against your back but instead of chilling you to the bone it simply cools you down and keeps your mind clear. You hear the gate creak when there’s no wind, and twigs cracking and snapping in two under someone’s feet. You’re no longer alone. But you expected that anyway.
“Bradford.” You say with a sardonic smile, looking up at the brunette from where you sit.
“Michael.” He replies coldly, his lip curling in disgust at you. But he sits down beside you on the muddy and wet ground, and you knew that was coming too. Which is why you only nodded in reply.
-
“The moon is so captivating on nights like this.” You said. Brad’s eyes followed yours to glance up at the moon, a beacon in a colourless sky.
“No it’s not.” He said shortly.
“Sometimes I think you say things just to argue with me,” you spoke softly.
“I do not!” Brad exclaimed, and you allowed yourself a small grin and let slip another quiet reply.
“You’re doing it again.”
-
You tilted your watch to see the time on it, holding it at different angles until the light hit it just-so so that you could see the numbers the hands were pointing to. The time was consistent with how much colder it was getting; you coming here so often made you an expert on those sort of facts, and the time was also consistent with the slightly warm hand that brushed yours. You looked up at Brad, in mock-surprise as always, and he dithered between looking at his hand touching yours, and your curious brown eyes.
A bit of give from both sides, and you were taking what the other had to offer. A warm hand on your leg, and soft lip on yours, and suddenly the new change in temperature was consistent with the new time ticking along on your watch.
iii.
"No-one who truly hates me could kiss me the way you do," you spoke into the charged silence. Brad propped himself up on his elbows, looking at you where you laid on the grass, moisture on the ground seeping into your top. His lips were kiss-swollen, making his confused, and perhaps hurt, expression more attractive to your eyes.
“Oh is that so?” He asked, a sly grin on his face. He pulled a dagger from his belt and as he straddled your waist, you bit your lip to keep you from smiling.
-
“No-one who really loved you would get so much pleasure from seeing your blood flow from your body so quickly.” He murmured to you, holding your arm up vertically and licking all the way along the deep cut he’d just made. You were sitting up now, and you threw your head back, closed your eyes and let your mouth fall open. If you’d be capable of speech or noise you may have moaned, or gasped.
You shivered though, which may or may not have been a response to the cold night air, and when you brought your head forward again to kiss him, you could taste your own blood on his lips and tongue. He ran the pad of his thumb down the open wound, curling his fingers around your wrist to dip the tips of his fingers in the spreading blood, and you took hold of his wrist with your free hand and pulled it away, to bring his fingers to your mouth and suck on them, swirling your tongue around to sweep off all the blood.
You kept hold of his hand, holding out your own, silently requesting the blade, which he handed you amiably enough. You turned his hand palm up, and slit straight across, knowing that the gut reaction he had to curl his fingers up would only make it sting worse. You smiled a sick smile, and he covered your mouth with the same hand, taking a deep breath as you ran your tongue over the cut and lapped up the blood.
He pushed you onto your back again, hand over mouth, until you were having trouble breathing. You dropped the dagger and fumbled with his pants, slipping your hand inside them, and making him forget how to breathe. An eye for an eye.
iv.
Soon you were both nude, but you’d started ignoring the chill a long time ago. He cut crazy patterns in your chest, with no explanation or meaning, just line after line of crimson and burning, searing pain. You caught some of the blood on your fingertip and smeared it onto his face like war-paint.
Brad rested on you so that your chests were pressed together; his untainted, and yours becoming permanently stained by blood. Your lips were almost toughing, but not quite, and he spoke in a whisper, as though maybe the decomposing bodies all around could hear him.
“I think I do love you Mike, you know.” He breathed. You blinked slowly and whispered back, “I know,” or, “I knew. I always knew it.”
He hadn’t expected that; he managed to look confused and annoyed in one solitary moment, slipping his hands around your neck and squeezing until you found you couldn’t breathe so well anymore. You adopted a blue luminescence to your tanned skin, and not from the cold this time, either.
He was taking life from you slowly but surely, and though an onlooker would have deemed it an anger-fuelled attack, you knew it was just a crime of passion. That love and hate ran so closely together that sometimes the two of you couldn’t tell which was which.
As you began to see everything darken in front of your eyes, your hand reached out, fumbling for the discarded dagger. Self-defence a bystander would have decreed, but that was not it, either. On your second to last breath, you plunged the blade into his side.
He slumped forward in shock, and weakly lifted his head to touch his lips to yours, and steal your last breath. It wouldn’t help him now.
And the last thing you tasted was his blood, spilling from the inside, out.
Rating: NC-17 to be on the safe side.
Pairing: Brad/Mike
Summary: "No-one who truly hates me could kiss me the way you do," [Really AU my friends. Think Romeo and Juliet, with more hate. And love. And blood and things…]
Dedication: walking_paradox Coz she was so enthusiastic about the idea when I told her it, and bugged me to write it. Right then! And hey, Ana’s consistently stalking me wonderful and compliments me when I probably don’t deserve it! And hey, stalkers annoy le girlfriend, and make me feel cool… :)
i.
The gate squeaks, adding to the atmosphere. The death you can feel hanging in the air, the chill. The falling stars, the leaves on the trees that have curled up in the absence of light, as if protecting themselves. Graveyards are thought to be grim places to be, grim places indeed, but you can’t think of a more peaceful place.
You don’t plan to disturb the souls of the dead or the damned.
ii.
You sit up against a large gravestone, it’s ice-cold against your back but instead of chilling you to the bone it simply cools you down and keeps your mind clear. You hear the gate creak when there’s no wind, and twigs cracking and snapping in two under someone’s feet. You’re no longer alone. But you expected that anyway.
“Bradford.” You say with a sardonic smile, looking up at the brunette from where you sit.
“Michael.” He replies coldly, his lip curling in disgust at you. But he sits down beside you on the muddy and wet ground, and you knew that was coming too. Which is why you only nodded in reply.
-
“The moon is so captivating on nights like this.” You said. Brad’s eyes followed yours to glance up at the moon, a beacon in a colourless sky.
“No it’s not.” He said shortly.
“Sometimes I think you say things just to argue with me,” you spoke softly.
“I do not!” Brad exclaimed, and you allowed yourself a small grin and let slip another quiet reply.
“You’re doing it again.”
-
You tilted your watch to see the time on it, holding it at different angles until the light hit it just-so so that you could see the numbers the hands were pointing to. The time was consistent with how much colder it was getting; you coming here so often made you an expert on those sort of facts, and the time was also consistent with the slightly warm hand that brushed yours. You looked up at Brad, in mock-surprise as always, and he dithered between looking at his hand touching yours, and your curious brown eyes.
A bit of give from both sides, and you were taking what the other had to offer. A warm hand on your leg, and soft lip on yours, and suddenly the new change in temperature was consistent with the new time ticking along on your watch.
iii.
"No-one who truly hates me could kiss me the way you do," you spoke into the charged silence. Brad propped himself up on his elbows, looking at you where you laid on the grass, moisture on the ground seeping into your top. His lips were kiss-swollen, making his confused, and perhaps hurt, expression more attractive to your eyes.
“Oh is that so?” He asked, a sly grin on his face. He pulled a dagger from his belt and as he straddled your waist, you bit your lip to keep you from smiling.
-
“No-one who really loved you would get so much pleasure from seeing your blood flow from your body so quickly.” He murmured to you, holding your arm up vertically and licking all the way along the deep cut he’d just made. You were sitting up now, and you threw your head back, closed your eyes and let your mouth fall open. If you’d be capable of speech or noise you may have moaned, or gasped.
You shivered though, which may or may not have been a response to the cold night air, and when you brought your head forward again to kiss him, you could taste your own blood on his lips and tongue. He ran the pad of his thumb down the open wound, curling his fingers around your wrist to dip the tips of his fingers in the spreading blood, and you took hold of his wrist with your free hand and pulled it away, to bring his fingers to your mouth and suck on them, swirling your tongue around to sweep off all the blood.
You kept hold of his hand, holding out your own, silently requesting the blade, which he handed you amiably enough. You turned his hand palm up, and slit straight across, knowing that the gut reaction he had to curl his fingers up would only make it sting worse. You smiled a sick smile, and he covered your mouth with the same hand, taking a deep breath as you ran your tongue over the cut and lapped up the blood.
He pushed you onto your back again, hand over mouth, until you were having trouble breathing. You dropped the dagger and fumbled with his pants, slipping your hand inside them, and making him forget how to breathe. An eye for an eye.
iv.
Soon you were both nude, but you’d started ignoring the chill a long time ago. He cut crazy patterns in your chest, with no explanation or meaning, just line after line of crimson and burning, searing pain. You caught some of the blood on your fingertip and smeared it onto his face like war-paint.
Brad rested on you so that your chests were pressed together; his untainted, and yours becoming permanently stained by blood. Your lips were almost toughing, but not quite, and he spoke in a whisper, as though maybe the decomposing bodies all around could hear him.
“I think I do love you Mike, you know.” He breathed. You blinked slowly and whispered back, “I know,” or, “I knew. I always knew it.”
He hadn’t expected that; he managed to look confused and annoyed in one solitary moment, slipping his hands around your neck and squeezing until you found you couldn’t breathe so well anymore. You adopted a blue luminescence to your tanned skin, and not from the cold this time, either.
He was taking life from you slowly but surely, and though an onlooker would have deemed it an anger-fuelled attack, you knew it was just a crime of passion. That love and hate ran so closely together that sometimes the two of you couldn’t tell which was which.
As you began to see everything darken in front of your eyes, your hand reached out, fumbling for the discarded dagger. Self-defence a bystander would have decreed, but that was not it, either. On your second to last breath, you plunged the blade into his side.
He slumped forward in shock, and weakly lifted his head to touch his lips to yours, and steal your last breath. It wouldn’t help him now.
And the last thing you tasted was his blood, spilling from the inside, out.