Another one
I have too much work already. Between my french essai due for next wednesday, my japanese 400 words family presentation due for next thursday (okay, this one is practically done), the height books I have to read for french and the rôle playing convention for this week-end (that means even more work and no time for homework), I shouldn't be spending time writing. And with the hundred things I have going on in both french and english, I certainly shouldn't be writing new things T_T
I don't get why this one shouldn't rot on my computer with the rest since it's not even halfway done but… well I guess that after spending three hours on it yesterday I just wanted to show of a little. So here is another story when I should be finishing Anthony's story.
Title: Consequences
Genre: Slash in everyday, normal, spaceship/magic/elves free world
Rating: until further notice R because of language abuse (my characters always tend to swear awfully) mention of drug use (bad, don't do it, really, DON'T) sexual situations (later on, much later on)
Summary: Jacob knew his best friend would eventually put them both in trouble way over their heads. Stan knew his girlfriend's little brother was a pain in his ass. Well now the shit is hitting the fan and it's time to face the consequences.
Go on to part 2
Consequences Part 1 Jacob's POV
Sometimes, Dorian makes it very difficult to remember why I like him. For example, when you're busy holding his hair out of his face while he is throwing up or when you are trying to convince him that he has had enough and he isn't drinking that umpteen tequila shot, you don't necessarily think of that time when you were really, really down and he brought you on an impromptu camping trip, or that birthday when he came up with the perfect present that wasn't, like other people might have thought, some expensive piece of technology. And though I really appreciate his ability to come up with two hamburgers, a card game and no alcohol for a birthday night, sometimes I just want to call it quit. Only the thought that he would do something stupid, life-threateningly stupid I mean, keep me from dumping his sorry ass in the shit he regularly lay out for himself.
That said. I am not stupid. I've known for a while that I can't spend my life running after him, doing damage control. First it's not helping him on the long-term. I have enough brain to realise the more I help him, the more he will count on it and the worse the situation will get. I got it when Booze and marihuana became harder stuff. Second, I'm not his mum, nor am I his carer. It's just not my job. He's a fucked up teen? I'm just a slightly more balanced one. I can't give him the help he needs because at this point what he needs is a fucking psychologist. I don't have that degree, I don't plan on having one either. I'm bad with people's problems in general. Third… I'm not proud of this one but let's face it. I have other plans for my futur than spending all of my time around Dorian. He's a great guy, I'll admit it without any qualm, unless he's drugged out of his mind that is. But I want a life of my own and I want it involving something else than a best mate who needs me 24/7. Damn, what I'm trying to say is that I want to be the one taken care of sometimes and it's happening les and less.
A sudden shout above the music stopped my internal monologue and reminded me that now was not the time to muse on all that was wrong in this friendship but to save Dorian's ass. Once again.
"Listen buddy," I said reasonably, in a louder variation of the tone I use especially for football players, bullies and other such people who are bigger, stronger and meaner than I am "Things are bad enough as they are and I don't think you want to have any part in it. So I suggest you leave. Now." Despite the loud music and the little light, there were a few people around us who had caught on with what was going on and were watching me and the two threatening blokes I was facing with rapt attention.
Of course, said blokes weren't very impressed. Especially since bloke number one was a mountain of a man with at least a foot and something like forty pounds on me, one hundred percent muscle those forty pounds, and that bloke number two looked just as big, as strong and as mean. If you're under the impression that I don't look particularly big, or strong, or threatening then you've got me figured quiet right. Though I have height on my side, I'm 6', it doesn't come with a very impressive set of shoulders. As for muscle, if a wear baggy enough clothes you can mistakes my limbs for sticks. Even my friend Sally looks stronger than I am, but right now she and some other guy I didn't know were trying to still a trashing Dorian who was having a seriously worrying bad-trip. So yhea, in the mountains twins' shoes I wouldn't be very impressed either.
"You listen." Said bloke number one, while bloke number two tried to glare the rest of the crowd off "They guy owe us. I suggest that you stop meddling I things that don't concern you and fuck off."
There was a very obvious conclusion to deduce from the situation. I wasn't up for the fight. Not because I'm built like a scarecrow, I'm stronger than I look. But Dorian had taken me by surprise earlier with his hallucinations and managed to stick a knife in my thigh while shouting something about monsters -I'm not sure even ten years will be enough to get me to laugh at this one- so now I was losing my blood all over my favourite pair of trousers. If it came to blow I would lose and it would hurt. If I let those guys get their big paws on Dorian I would regret it all my life. I hold my sleep very dear, I'd hate to loose it because of a bad conscience. It was a no win situation. Which is why I finally did the thing I should have done years ago. I fished my phone from my pocket and called for help.
It was a bit of a struggle to give the address to the police lady while trying to keep the thugs away. It won me a black eye and some more bruises, a lot of my blood also took advantage of the situation to desert my body. On the plus side there is nothing better to convince an agent that something is wrong than the noise of a struggle and pained shouts. Halfway through the call I was left panting on the floor with two police cars and an ambulance on the way and my opponents magically gone. So was the rest of the partygoers when they heard who was going to make a guest appearance. By the time I felt good enough to get up and go check on Dorian, the only people left were those too stoned to move, Dorian was one of those now. The unknown guy and Sally had disappeared along with those who could still walk. No surprise there.
The only guy left who wasn't drunk out of his mind was starring daggers at me. Owner of the flat maybe? Anyway all he got from me was to be disdainfully ignored. I was too busy plotting Dorian's punishment. Right now he had stopped trashing, shouting and giving sign of life altogether, but I soon as he woke up I would make sure he understood just angry I was at him. As soon as he woke up. If he didn't stop breathing in the meantime. And if I didn't bleed to death on the carpet first. Right. What a fucked up night
Go on to part 2
I don't get why this one shouldn't rot on my computer with the rest since it's not even halfway done but… well I guess that after spending three hours on it yesterday I just wanted to show of a little. So here is another story when I should be finishing Anthony's story.
Title: Consequences
Genre: Slash in everyday, normal, spaceship/magic/elves free world
Rating: until further notice R because of language abuse (my characters always tend to swear awfully) mention of drug use (bad, don't do it, really, DON'T) sexual situations (later on, much later on)
Summary: Jacob knew his best friend would eventually put them both in trouble way over their heads. Stan knew his girlfriend's little brother was a pain in his ass. Well now the shit is hitting the fan and it's time to face the consequences.
Go on to part 2
Consequences Part 1 Jacob's POV
Sometimes, Dorian makes it very difficult to remember why I like him. For example, when you're busy holding his hair out of his face while he is throwing up or when you are trying to convince him that he has had enough and he isn't drinking that umpteen tequila shot, you don't necessarily think of that time when you were really, really down and he brought you on an impromptu camping trip, or that birthday when he came up with the perfect present that wasn't, like other people might have thought, some expensive piece of technology. And though I really appreciate his ability to come up with two hamburgers, a card game and no alcohol for a birthday night, sometimes I just want to call it quit. Only the thought that he would do something stupid, life-threateningly stupid I mean, keep me from dumping his sorry ass in the shit he regularly lay out for himself.
That said. I am not stupid. I've known for a while that I can't spend my life running after him, doing damage control. First it's not helping him on the long-term. I have enough brain to realise the more I help him, the more he will count on it and the worse the situation will get. I got it when Booze and marihuana became harder stuff. Second, I'm not his mum, nor am I his carer. It's just not my job. He's a fucked up teen? I'm just a slightly more balanced one. I can't give him the help he needs because at this point what he needs is a fucking psychologist. I don't have that degree, I don't plan on having one either. I'm bad with people's problems in general. Third… I'm not proud of this one but let's face it. I have other plans for my futur than spending all of my time around Dorian. He's a great guy, I'll admit it without any qualm, unless he's drugged out of his mind that is. But I want a life of my own and I want it involving something else than a best mate who needs me 24/7. Damn, what I'm trying to say is that I want to be the one taken care of sometimes and it's happening les and less.
A sudden shout above the music stopped my internal monologue and reminded me that now was not the time to muse on all that was wrong in this friendship but to save Dorian's ass. Once again.
"Listen buddy," I said reasonably, in a louder variation of the tone I use especially for football players, bullies and other such people who are bigger, stronger and meaner than I am "Things are bad enough as they are and I don't think you want to have any part in it. So I suggest you leave. Now." Despite the loud music and the little light, there were a few people around us who had caught on with what was going on and were watching me and the two threatening blokes I was facing with rapt attention.
Of course, said blokes weren't very impressed. Especially since bloke number one was a mountain of a man with at least a foot and something like forty pounds on me, one hundred percent muscle those forty pounds, and that bloke number two looked just as big, as strong and as mean. If you're under the impression that I don't look particularly big, or strong, or threatening then you've got me figured quiet right. Though I have height on my side, I'm 6', it doesn't come with a very impressive set of shoulders. As for muscle, if a wear baggy enough clothes you can mistakes my limbs for sticks. Even my friend Sally looks stronger than I am, but right now she and some other guy I didn't know were trying to still a trashing Dorian who was having a seriously worrying bad-trip. So yhea, in the mountains twins' shoes I wouldn't be very impressed either.
"You listen." Said bloke number one, while bloke number two tried to glare the rest of the crowd off "They guy owe us. I suggest that you stop meddling I things that don't concern you and fuck off."
There was a very obvious conclusion to deduce from the situation. I wasn't up for the fight. Not because I'm built like a scarecrow, I'm stronger than I look. But Dorian had taken me by surprise earlier with his hallucinations and managed to stick a knife in my thigh while shouting something about monsters -I'm not sure even ten years will be enough to get me to laugh at this one- so now I was losing my blood all over my favourite pair of trousers. If it came to blow I would lose and it would hurt. If I let those guys get their big paws on Dorian I would regret it all my life. I hold my sleep very dear, I'd hate to loose it because of a bad conscience. It was a no win situation. Which is why I finally did the thing I should have done years ago. I fished my phone from my pocket and called for help.
It was a bit of a struggle to give the address to the police lady while trying to keep the thugs away. It won me a black eye and some more bruises, a lot of my blood also took advantage of the situation to desert my body. On the plus side there is nothing better to convince an agent that something is wrong than the noise of a struggle and pained shouts. Halfway through the call I was left panting on the floor with two police cars and an ambulance on the way and my opponents magically gone. So was the rest of the partygoers when they heard who was going to make a guest appearance. By the time I felt good enough to get up and go check on Dorian, the only people left were those too stoned to move, Dorian was one of those now. The unknown guy and Sally had disappeared along with those who could still walk. No surprise there.
The only guy left who wasn't drunk out of his mind was starring daggers at me. Owner of the flat maybe? Anyway all he got from me was to be disdainfully ignored. I was too busy plotting Dorian's punishment. Right now he had stopped trashing, shouting and giving sign of life altogether, but I soon as he woke up I would make sure he understood just angry I was at him. As soon as he woke up. If he didn't stop breathing in the meantime. And if I didn't bleed to death on the carpet first. Right. What a fucked up night
Go on to part 2