(no subject)
(dream sequence)
"Sorry things had to turn out this way, baby," Paul sneers condesendingly, wiping away the sweat that's beaded on his upper lip, moving slightly to the right. His eyes drift from his destination to Nick, destination to Nick. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. He taught Nicholas that and right now, Nicholas is his enemy.
"Fuck you," Nicholas snarls vehemently, trying to control the trembling of his hands and failing, staring into the barrel of his gun, Paul's icy stare, "fuck you a thousand times over, Ravetto! Promudobl'adsksya pizdopro'ebina!"
"Careful," Paul says mockingly and in one smooth movement, fists a handful of Nick's hair and slams his knuckles into his stomach. Nick doubles over, would fall to his knees if it weren't for Paul's fingers twisted around his scalp and heaves. He barely controls the bile that rises in his throat and wheezes, high-pitched gasps. The most logical thing to do at the moment would be to breathe evenly, but he can't seem to do it at the moment. It's a shuddering ladder that Nick climbs, trying to go up but getting his grip jumped on and falling down the rungs of restraint. Paul's touch brings him back to the present, rough thumb sliding over his lower lip. He tastes of metal, black dark ugly things, and Nick bites down hard on his thumb, hard enough that he brings bright red droplets to the surface of Paul's skin. Paul swears, tears his hand away and slaps Nick so hard that his head twists around. The sound echoes in the apartment. "You're turning me on, Nick. I might just have to fuck you before I kill you."
"Kurite moju trubku," Nick is still gasping, nausea washing over him in cresting waves, "Otsosi." Then his body is bending back like a bow and he's twisting, ripping out of Paul's grasp, more out of instinct than anything else. His fingers curl around the Beretta he has behind the set of shelves near the door, and then he has the pistol in a good two-handed grip and he shoots Paul in the face and his eyes are narrowing from the noise and the blast and he shoots him in the face once more, and Paul falls to his knees and slumps to the ground and he shoots him in the face--
--and then he's falling through the sky, passes a twittering bluejay perched on a floating branch, and then a skyscraper and Paul's body slumped and bloodied and suspended in midair--
"Sorry things had to turn out this way, baby," Paul sneers condesendingly, wiping away the sweat that's beaded on his upper lip, moving slightly to the right. His eyes drift from his destination to Nick, destination to Nick. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. He taught Nicholas that and right now, Nicholas is his enemy.
"Fuck you," Nicholas snarls vehemently, trying to control the trembling of his hands and failing, staring into the barrel of his gun, Paul's icy stare, "fuck you a thousand times over, Ravetto! Promudobl'adsksya pizdopro'ebina!"
"Careful," Paul says mockingly and in one smooth movement, fists a handful of Nick's hair and slams his knuckles into his stomach. Nick doubles over, would fall to his knees if it weren't for Paul's fingers twisted around his scalp and heaves. He barely controls the bile that rises in his throat and wheezes, high-pitched gasps. The most logical thing to do at the moment would be to breathe evenly, but he can't seem to do it at the moment. It's a shuddering ladder that Nick climbs, trying to go up but getting his grip jumped on and falling down the rungs of restraint. Paul's touch brings him back to the present, rough thumb sliding over his lower lip. He tastes of metal, black dark ugly things, and Nick bites down hard on his thumb, hard enough that he brings bright red droplets to the surface of Paul's skin. Paul swears, tears his hand away and slaps Nick so hard that his head twists around. The sound echoes in the apartment. "You're turning me on, Nick. I might just have to fuck you before I kill you."
"Kurite moju trubku," Nick is still gasping, nausea washing over him in cresting waves, "Otsosi." Then his body is bending back like a bow and he's twisting, ripping out of Paul's grasp, more out of instinct than anything else. His fingers curl around the Beretta he has behind the set of shelves near the door, and then he has the pistol in a good two-handed grip and he shoots Paul in the face and his eyes are narrowing from the noise and the blast and he shoots him in the face once more, and Paul falls to his knees and slumps to the ground and he shoots him in the face--
--and then he's falling through the sky, passes a twittering bluejay perched on a floating branch, and then a skyscraper and Paul's body slumped and bloodied and suspended in midair--