Incomplete: Original Fic
Title: Fae: The story that was not supposed to have to slash in it
Author: faynia
Rating: PG(for now...likely...one day...to be NC-17 *gasp*)
Summary: Damien Bryant liked living a normal and then that blasted plant had to bloom and everything went to hell.
To an outsider the plant would look like any other on a doorstep, however, this one was anything but ordinary. It hadn’t bloomed in over ten years. The bright purple flowers were almost lurid in their newly bloomed state. The strange occurrence could have been justified by any rational explanation but it was the irrational one that came to Damien first.
“Oh God,” he moaned, stumbling backwards off the step. A tanned arm wrapped around his chest steadying him.
“Whoa,” Mark gasped, “Steady. All right there, mate?”
Damien looked at Mark in confusion. “When did you get here?”
“The same time as you, moron, I drove you. Remember?” He took the key to the house out of his jeans pocket and paused. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m all right.” Damien assured shaking himself loose. He ran his hand through his thick blonde hair agitatedly. “Damn plant,” He muttered, glaring at the offending object.
Mark placed a calloused hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. He peered intently at him; a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, “Honestly, Bryant, you get weirder everyday.”
“You’re one to talk,” Damien snapped, grabbing the silver key out of Mark’s hand and roughly jamming it in the key hole. Mark grabbed his hand preventing him from unlocking the wooden door. The black paint was slowly flaking off of it showing its original green color, the doorknob was rusty and looked ready to fall out if pulled at too violently.
Damien glared at Mark angrily, but didn’t struggle, “Let go.”
“What’s wrong with you, Damien? That plant can’t bother you that much…” He trailed off finally getting a better look at the purple flowers. “Is it new? Well, it’s got to be that thing has never flowered.”
“It’s not new,” Damien whispered miserably. He could feel Mark staring at him in disbelief; he just didn’t want to look at him.
“Of course it’s new,” Mark said reassuringly.
“No,” Damien said finally looking at him. “It’s not.”
Mark clapped him on the back with a huge smile. “You really got me going there for a second. You finally replaced it.”
“I didn’t,” he stressed, anxiously peering down the street.
Mark frowned, looking in the same direction. There was no one there, just a lonely rusting blue car, its deflated tires preventing it from moving. He vaguely remembered Damien’s cranky attitude from that morning. At the time he had brushed it off as a hangover. They had been drinking quite heavily the night before; the bin out front was proof of that. Damien’s attitude now was unexplainable. Mark watched his friend carefully noting the rings lining his light blue eyes, and the slight droop to his shoulders. He grimaced once he noticed how badly Damien’s hands were trembling as he tried to get his key to turn in the lock. He stilled Damien’s hand again, wondering how much prodding it would take to get his friend to spill.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asked again.
Damien shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“No you’re not,” Mark countered. “And once we get inside you’re going to tell me what has been going on with you today.”
Damien nodded and shook his head, allowing himself to be led in through the door.
Mark scowled shoving his discontent friend into his own favorite chair, hoping the oddness of the situation would force Damien to open up. The chair had been his since before college and when he and Damien had gotten their own place the chair had followed. Its once deep blue coloring faded now to a slate blue colour and it smelled a bit musty, but it had a perfect indent where he sat and he wouldn’t trade it for any other. He normally wouldn’t allow Damien around it. Today, however, was an exception. Mark sat on the recliner directly across from Damien and clasped his hands together.
“All right, Bryant, spill. What’s been going on with you today? Did you even make it to work today?”
Damien shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing,” Mark snapped. “You drank yourself stupid last night and now…” He
scented the air. “You cleaned the house!”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“You never clean the house,” he pointed out.
Damien shrugged. “Never had a reason to.”
“And you do now?”
“Well,” he started, “yes, yes I do.”
Mark quirked an eyebrow clearly annoyed with the clipped answers. “Elaborate.”
Damien sighed, shifting nervously. He stood up jamming his hands into his pockets in one fluid move. He was restless and couldn’t just sit there any longer. There was a reason he’d kept his family life locked up and now he had about a quarter of an hour to explain it. He sighed again while scratching the back of his neck. Damien began pacing aggressively as he pulled his thoughts together. He wanted Mark to believe what he was about to say but there was no way the black haired man would believe him. He was in major jeopardy of losing his best friend and the more he thought this the more saddened and angry he became. The worst bit, he thought bitterly, was he had no choice in the matter.
Mark watched all this with fascination. He realized he’d never seen the blonde this agitated before it was almost comical. Almost.
“Damien.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like it right now because it’s gotten you all worked up. So spit it out before I make you spit it out.”
Damien quirked an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?”
Mark drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest. Damien watched his friend’s fingers and shook his head. That might have worked before, but he was slowly growing immune to that look. It took more effort than he would have liked to admit to just raise his head to meet Mark’s eyes.
“All right, fine, I surrender.” Mark raised his hands and leaned back in the recliner. “Don’t tell me.”
“Mark.” Damien sighed seeing his own mocking expression being thrown back at him. He wasn’t going to win this argument; he would cave from either the kicked puppy expression or stress. At least he still had time he consoled himself. But time for what? Time moved differently here, slower. For all he knew he could have very precious time to tell Mark what he needed to.
Author: faynia
Rating: PG(for now...likely...one day...to be NC-17 *gasp*)
Summary: Damien Bryant liked living a normal and then that blasted plant had to bloom and everything went to hell.
To an outsider the plant would look like any other on a doorstep, however, this one was anything but ordinary. It hadn’t bloomed in over ten years. The bright purple flowers were almost lurid in their newly bloomed state. The strange occurrence could have been justified by any rational explanation but it was the irrational one that came to Damien first.
“Oh God,” he moaned, stumbling backwards off the step. A tanned arm wrapped around his chest steadying him.
“Whoa,” Mark gasped, “Steady. All right there, mate?”
Damien looked at Mark in confusion. “When did you get here?”
“The same time as you, moron, I drove you. Remember?” He took the key to the house out of his jeans pocket and paused. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m all right.” Damien assured shaking himself loose. He ran his hand through his thick blonde hair agitatedly. “Damn plant,” He muttered, glaring at the offending object.
Mark placed a calloused hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. He peered intently at him; a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, “Honestly, Bryant, you get weirder everyday.”
“You’re one to talk,” Damien snapped, grabbing the silver key out of Mark’s hand and roughly jamming it in the key hole. Mark grabbed his hand preventing him from unlocking the wooden door. The black paint was slowly flaking off of it showing its original green color, the doorknob was rusty and looked ready to fall out if pulled at too violently.
Damien glared at Mark angrily, but didn’t struggle, “Let go.”
“What’s wrong with you, Damien? That plant can’t bother you that much…” He trailed off finally getting a better look at the purple flowers. “Is it new? Well, it’s got to be that thing has never flowered.”
“It’s not new,” Damien whispered miserably. He could feel Mark staring at him in disbelief; he just didn’t want to look at him.
“Of course it’s new,” Mark said reassuringly.
“No,” Damien said finally looking at him. “It’s not.”
Mark clapped him on the back with a huge smile. “You really got me going there for a second. You finally replaced it.”
“I didn’t,” he stressed, anxiously peering down the street.
Mark frowned, looking in the same direction. There was no one there, just a lonely rusting blue car, its deflated tires preventing it from moving. He vaguely remembered Damien’s cranky attitude from that morning. At the time he had brushed it off as a hangover. They had been drinking quite heavily the night before; the bin out front was proof of that. Damien’s attitude now was unexplainable. Mark watched his friend carefully noting the rings lining his light blue eyes, and the slight droop to his shoulders. He grimaced once he noticed how badly Damien’s hands were trembling as he tried to get his key to turn in the lock. He stilled Damien’s hand again, wondering how much prodding it would take to get his friend to spill.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asked again.
Damien shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“No you’re not,” Mark countered. “And once we get inside you’re going to tell me what has been going on with you today.”
Damien nodded and shook his head, allowing himself to be led in through the door.
Mark scowled shoving his discontent friend into his own favorite chair, hoping the oddness of the situation would force Damien to open up. The chair had been his since before college and when he and Damien had gotten their own place the chair had followed. Its once deep blue coloring faded now to a slate blue colour and it smelled a bit musty, but it had a perfect indent where he sat and he wouldn’t trade it for any other. He normally wouldn’t allow Damien around it. Today, however, was an exception. Mark sat on the recliner directly across from Damien and clasped his hands together.
“All right, Bryant, spill. What’s been going on with you today? Did you even make it to work today?”
Damien shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing,” Mark snapped. “You drank yourself stupid last night and now…” He
scented the air. “You cleaned the house!”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“You never clean the house,” he pointed out.
Damien shrugged. “Never had a reason to.”
“And you do now?”
“Well,” he started, “yes, yes I do.”
Mark quirked an eyebrow clearly annoyed with the clipped answers. “Elaborate.”
Damien sighed, shifting nervously. He stood up jamming his hands into his pockets in one fluid move. He was restless and couldn’t just sit there any longer. There was a reason he’d kept his family life locked up and now he had about a quarter of an hour to explain it. He sighed again while scratching the back of his neck. Damien began pacing aggressively as he pulled his thoughts together. He wanted Mark to believe what he was about to say but there was no way the black haired man would believe him. He was in major jeopardy of losing his best friend and the more he thought this the more saddened and angry he became. The worst bit, he thought bitterly, was he had no choice in the matter.
Mark watched all this with fascination. He realized he’d never seen the blonde this agitated before it was almost comical. Almost.
“Damien.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like it right now because it’s gotten you all worked up. So spit it out before I make you spit it out.”
Damien quirked an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?”
Mark drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest. Damien watched his friend’s fingers and shook his head. That might have worked before, but he was slowly growing immune to that look. It took more effort than he would have liked to admit to just raise his head to meet Mark’s eyes.
“All right, fine, I surrender.” Mark raised his hands and leaned back in the recliner. “Don’t tell me.”
“Mark.” Damien sighed seeing his own mocking expression being thrown back at him. He wasn’t going to win this argument; he would cave from either the kicked puppy expression or stress. At least he still had time he consoled himself. But time for what? Time moved differently here, slower. For all he knew he could have very precious time to tell Mark what he needed to.