Fic: Grass Stained Jeans and Incompletes
Title: Grass Stained Jeans and Incompletes
Fandom/Characters: XMFC; Alex/Hank
Rating: R? Drug use and cursing.
Disclaimer: Characters are not originally mine; plot's not really, either.
Summary: Another druggy AU
Word Count: ~640
Author's Note: Title's from "Gold Mine Gutted." I know too much about drugs I've never done than I'm comfortable with.
~~~
"I picked you out
of a crowd and talked to you
Said I liked your shoes
You said "thanks, can I follow you?"
So it's up the stairs and out of view
No prying eyes
I poured some wine
I asked your name, you asked the time."
-- Bright Eyes, "Lover I Don't Have to Love"
~~~
The air’s too stale and hot. He pants but there isn’t enough oxygen and he feels like he’s drowning in it all. A shiver traces his spine, racking through his limbs. He’s cold. He can’t suppress the shivers. His vision fades in and out, presenting the ruined ceiling.
It’s Wednesday. It’s fucking Wednesday and Hank doesn’t return his calls on weekdays.
His fists clench and unclench as he grinds his teeth trying to ignore the itch. The itch that had settled into his joints on Sunday and bore deeper, into his blood, into his bones. He had bought some oxycontin, but it only took the edge off for so long.
He hated weekdays and Hank and Hank’s job and making him wait and making him want to wait until they were together. His tongue feels too big in his mouth as he swallows thickly; trying to slow his heart down to the point it stops hurting. His nails were already chewed down to nubs and he needed more.
The phone rings more than once and Hank picks up.
“Alex?” He asks simply.
“Hank-HankHank, I need to see to see you; I miss you,” he says and it’s a lame excuse, but it’s not a lie.
“It’s Wednesday, Alex,” Hank says, sounding cautious. “You know I only come on weekends.”
“Yeah, but-you picked up. You would of sent to voicemail if you didn’t want to, too.”
The beat of silence that follows makes every cell in his being hang on edge. He’s about to ramble more but he hears the quiet sigh from Hank.
“I-Yeah, okay, let me see what I can do.”
The lines goes dead and Alex sighs, relieved.
Hank comes over and they find each other’s veins before tangling their limbs together, because it was still good right then. Damn near perfect. They would come down, skin damp from fucking, minds floating loftily above them like they had forever and a day to be there.
“Let’s go again,” Alex whispers when they naked and warm, piled in obscenely soft sheets. He couldn’t remember who’s room they’re in, and it doesn’t matter because they were together and the sun was painting shadows on their faces.
“I don’t know if I can,” Hank replies, letting Alex turn in his grasp. “I have to leave soon… Work tomorrow.”
The realization dawns and he moans at the eventual loss. Fucking weekdays.
It turned to shit after that.
Everything was fucked beyond repair and Alex knew it.
It was supposed to be easy and fun, but it wasn’t anymore. They were hurdling downhill faster than they could claw their way back up. They were falling and falling and Alex didn’t know how to make it stop.
“This is all your fault,” Hank had said after he’d been fired and they were low on cash.
“What?” Alex had managed to say.
“This is your fucking fault,” he says and Alex flinches at Hank’s raised tone and how his voice catches on the swear. “If I had never met you my life would have been fine,” he continues. “My friends would still respect me, I could have met a girl and had kids, but no. I fucking met you and you ruined me with this,” he says, yanking on Alex’s arm and revealing the track marks.
Alex shuts his eyes, bracing for the eventual punch. When it doesn’t come he looks, feeling Hank’s bruising hold drop. “I didn’t force it on you,” Alex says quietly. “You asked me to, so don’t you blame me.”
“If I never met you-”
“You did.”
Hank frowns, staring at the floor, all of his anger and venom gone.
“What now?” He asks.
“I-I don’t know. I just don’t,” Hank says and they lay down in the bed, horrendously sober and clothed.