Make It Stop, I'm Getting Off [s/a]
Title: Make It Stop, I'm Getting Off [s/a]
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brencer
POV: 1st, Brendon's
Summary: Brendon's really done it this time.
Word Count: 659
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: ezdeeppornkittn She's offered to beta ALL of my h/c bingo pieces. \o/ Love ya, hon.
Author Notes: For the prompt "falling" on my hc_bingo card.
I felt like Mufasa in that one scene in Lion King.
My hands gripped the edge of the cliff tightly, my fingernails digging into the sun-warmed clay. I was trying to climb back up to the surface, scrabbling for purchase with my feet, but my toes were numb. I called out for help, for someone, anyone, but not even Scar showed up.
I was left there to dangle over a hundred feet in the air, completely naked, with an audience of a thousand.
With the sun beating down fiercely on my bare back, I could feel the sweat pouring out of me, the dust kicked up from my struggling sticking to my skin. I could hear the jeering crowd below me, a mixture of frenzied screams and horrified cries echoing up from the canyon making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
This was just entertainment to them. They always said I was born to be a showman.
Hours later and still no help had come my way, not a single comforting hand, not even a quick shove that would let me drop to my death. The sun was beginning to go down, the air becoming frighteningly cold, but still the sweat rolled down my face, my chest, my back. I had stopped struggling, feeling hopeless in my desperate situation. I was stuck in limbo between holding on for dear life until someone finally came along and just letting go, come what may. I was in a terrible headspace at that point, so close to welcoming the beauty of cold, cold death.
At some point I regained enough strength to throw my arm over the ledge, getting almost my whole right forearm on the surface. Feeling triumphant, I resumed my struggling, doubling my efforts. I managed to find a tiny foothold and carefully hoisted myself partially over the edge of the cliff. Both of my palms came to rest on even ground, and I could have kissed the unforgiving earth in that moment. Searching for a higher foothold, I began to slowly pull my weary torso up and over.
The very edge was jabbing into my stomach when the foothold I was standing on broke off, the tiny clod of clay bouncing down the cliff face with a chock. I slipped several inches but held on with my arms and hands. My sweaty fingers skirted across the damp clay and I continued to slip further off the ledge.
"No, no," I pleaded breathlessly, and I could have cried if I had any energy left to do so.
The crowd roared as I sunk slowly backwards to my doom. My fingertips were raw, my lungs breathing dust and sweat. All I could do was try to hold on as long as possible.
Manic laughter filled my ears as the sun began to rise again, and now I was only hanging by my fingers, weakening by the second. The laughter increased in volume, along with the screaming crowd, and I finally did let out an anguished sob, my fingers finally giving into gravity.
And I fell.
***
I came to slowly, opening my eyes to Spencer's beautiful blue ones, his delicate features offset by his scruffy beard and haloed by his soft auburn hair. I reached out for his face, but he took my hand instead. All I could manage to say, my throat dry and raw, was a barely whispered, "Spen..."
He shushed me, and that was when I felt the damp towel pressed to my face, wiping away the sweat, the dirt, the tears. "I've missed you, B," he sighed, his eyes searching mine.
"Sorry," I rasped, avoiding his gaze.
Once again he shushed me, bringing my hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it sweetly. "It's okay. I've got you."
I gave a weak smile and let my eyes fall closed again, squeezing his hand slightly.
I swore I'd never drink again.
-----------------------------------------
A/N: More of my work here.
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brencer
POV: 1st, Brendon's
Summary: Brendon's really done it this time.
Word Count: 659
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: ezdeeppornkittn She's offered to beta ALL of my h/c bingo pieces. \o/ Love ya, hon.
Author Notes: For the prompt "falling" on my hc_bingo card.
I felt like Mufasa in that one scene in Lion King.
My hands gripped the edge of the cliff tightly, my fingernails digging into the sun-warmed clay. I was trying to climb back up to the surface, scrabbling for purchase with my feet, but my toes were numb. I called out for help, for someone, anyone, but not even Scar showed up.
I was left there to dangle over a hundred feet in the air, completely naked, with an audience of a thousand.
With the sun beating down fiercely on my bare back, I could feel the sweat pouring out of me, the dust kicked up from my struggling sticking to my skin. I could hear the jeering crowd below me, a mixture of frenzied screams and horrified cries echoing up from the canyon making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
This was just entertainment to them. They always said I was born to be a showman.
Hours later and still no help had come my way, not a single comforting hand, not even a quick shove that would let me drop to my death. The sun was beginning to go down, the air becoming frighteningly cold, but still the sweat rolled down my face, my chest, my back. I had stopped struggling, feeling hopeless in my desperate situation. I was stuck in limbo between holding on for dear life until someone finally came along and just letting go, come what may. I was in a terrible headspace at that point, so close to welcoming the beauty of cold, cold death.
At some point I regained enough strength to throw my arm over the ledge, getting almost my whole right forearm on the surface. Feeling triumphant, I resumed my struggling, doubling my efforts. I managed to find a tiny foothold and carefully hoisted myself partially over the edge of the cliff. Both of my palms came to rest on even ground, and I could have kissed the unforgiving earth in that moment. Searching for a higher foothold, I began to slowly pull my weary torso up and over.
The very edge was jabbing into my stomach when the foothold I was standing on broke off, the tiny clod of clay bouncing down the cliff face with a chock. I slipped several inches but held on with my arms and hands. My sweaty fingers skirted across the damp clay and I continued to slip further off the ledge.
"No, no," I pleaded breathlessly, and I could have cried if I had any energy left to do so.
The crowd roared as I sunk slowly backwards to my doom. My fingertips were raw, my lungs breathing dust and sweat. All I could do was try to hold on as long as possible.
Manic laughter filled my ears as the sun began to rise again, and now I was only hanging by my fingers, weakening by the second. The laughter increased in volume, along with the screaming crowd, and I finally did let out an anguished sob, my fingers finally giving into gravity.
And I fell.
***
I came to slowly, opening my eyes to Spencer's beautiful blue ones, his delicate features offset by his scruffy beard and haloed by his soft auburn hair. I reached out for his face, but he took my hand instead. All I could manage to say, my throat dry and raw, was a barely whispered, "Spen..."
He shushed me, and that was when I felt the damp towel pressed to my face, wiping away the sweat, the dirt, the tears. "I've missed you, B," he sighed, his eyes searching mine.
"Sorry," I rasped, avoiding his gaze.
Once again he shushed me, bringing my hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it sweetly. "It's okay. I've got you."
I gave a weak smile and let my eyes fall closed again, squeezing his hand slightly.
I swore I'd never drink again.
-----------------------------------------
A/N: More of my work here.