[fic post] Pretty, Pretty
Title: Pretty, Pretty
Rating: Hard R
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairings or Characters: Vicious/Gren, implied Vicious/Julia
Warnings: slash, rough sex
Word Count: 677
Summary: On Titan, Gren falls in love. Then he learns why they call him Vicious.
Author Notes: Actually from December, written while I was studying for finals and marathoning Cowboy Bebop as I worked. I absolutely fell in love with Gren and his, what I thought was, obvious love and admiration of Vicious when I watched. I tend to think of Vicious as a manipulative, violent bastard, though, so that's how I wrote him. Kinda wish I hadn't, though, because poor Gren. :( Not a lot of dialogue because I still haven't gotten a hang on the Bebop style yet.
Pretty, Pretty
Gren loves him, he truly does. As a comrade, as a brother in arms, as a friend. And then he gets the music box, and it turns into something else, something more. Something he knows it probably shouldn't be, or at least won't go anywhere, but he follows Vicious around, sticks to him like an annoying piece of gum on his shoe--which, face it, he knows is all Vicious really sees him as--and when he fights beside him, saying he'd die for him, he means it. More than the war, more than the cause, more than his love of his other comrades, he would die for Vicious.
Gren wonders where he got that name. Vicious doesn't talk much, killing when there's killing to be done, and sitting around, staring at something in the palm of his hand when there isn't. He's efficient, but he seems quiet and contemplative instead of bloodthirsty and crazed, as his name implies. When he hands over the music box, Gren knows he's taking it as something more than it is, more than it ever could be, but he's greedy, so he dreams and pretends anyway.
One night, while he's playing the tune on the music box, Vicious finds him. He's on look out, everyone else is sleeping, and Vicious pushes him down into the dirt of Titan and takes what Gren has been offering ever since the exchange for that small treasure that plays a meaningful tune. It's painful and rough, but he enjoys every moment, even as Jupiter moon rocks wreck his back while Vicious bruises his thighs and tries his damnedest to break Gren's hips with his thrusts. Gren's hands aren't pinned, but he knows to keep them on the ground beside his head. If he reaches out and tries to touch, he fears the image of Vicious will burst into pieces and he'll realize he's only fallen asleep on watch.
But the next day, the bruises and the pain and the ache are all real, and he treasures it.
Again and again, Vicious visits him. Gren knows this isn't for him--it's for a woman and the music box--but he isn't a proud man and takes what he's given. As he's fucked hard and fast and merciless, he composes a tune for Vicious that he'll play on his sax when his tour is over. Vicious won't ever hear it, but then again, he had thought Vicious would never touch him, feel him, be with him like this, so he doesn't completely rule it out. Maybe one day he'll hear the tune and know it's for him, if they ever come across each other again once this war is over.
One night, Vicious stops, still hard inside him and Gren aching for completion. He removes a hand from Gren's thigh, covered in dark marks from previous nights, and runs it through silky, dark hair. He pulls a handful of strands up towards his face and inhales. Gren is baffled, no idea what to make of what Vicious is doing, and only stares, not daring to breathe.
"... Pretty, pretty... plaything," Vicious says lowly at last, expression never changing, before his grip tightens and he pulls hard at the hair in his hand, bringing stinging tears to Gren's wide eyes. The music box, the looks, the words, the sex, everything that they had ever exchanged. With three words, they become meaningless, or at least not meaningful in the way Gren had hoped. He had been played better than he could play his own sax, but what's worse is he knows he won't stop being played because he's fallen in too deep. The tune he composed for the man inside him, out of trust and love, is playing tauntingly in his ears, and he closes his eyes and doesn't bother stopping his tears.
His comrade, his friend, his love, starts up again, thrusting faster and harder than usual, but this time it hurts in a way it hadn't before, and Gren finally understands why they call him Vicious.
Rating: Hard R
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairings or Characters: Vicious/Gren, implied Vicious/Julia
Warnings: slash, rough sex
Word Count: 677
Summary: On Titan, Gren falls in love. Then he learns why they call him Vicious.
Author Notes: Actually from December, written while I was studying for finals and marathoning Cowboy Bebop as I worked. I absolutely fell in love with Gren and his, what I thought was, obvious love and admiration of Vicious when I watched. I tend to think of Vicious as a manipulative, violent bastard, though, so that's how I wrote him. Kinda wish I hadn't, though, because poor Gren. :( Not a lot of dialogue because I still haven't gotten a hang on the Bebop style yet.
Pretty, Pretty
Gren loves him, he truly does. As a comrade, as a brother in arms, as a friend. And then he gets the music box, and it turns into something else, something more. Something he knows it probably shouldn't be, or at least won't go anywhere, but he follows Vicious around, sticks to him like an annoying piece of gum on his shoe--which, face it, he knows is all Vicious really sees him as--and when he fights beside him, saying he'd die for him, he means it. More than the war, more than the cause, more than his love of his other comrades, he would die for Vicious.
Gren wonders where he got that name. Vicious doesn't talk much, killing when there's killing to be done, and sitting around, staring at something in the palm of his hand when there isn't. He's efficient, but he seems quiet and contemplative instead of bloodthirsty and crazed, as his name implies. When he hands over the music box, Gren knows he's taking it as something more than it is, more than it ever could be, but he's greedy, so he dreams and pretends anyway.
One night, while he's playing the tune on the music box, Vicious finds him. He's on look out, everyone else is sleeping, and Vicious pushes him down into the dirt of Titan and takes what Gren has been offering ever since the exchange for that small treasure that plays a meaningful tune. It's painful and rough, but he enjoys every moment, even as Jupiter moon rocks wreck his back while Vicious bruises his thighs and tries his damnedest to break Gren's hips with his thrusts. Gren's hands aren't pinned, but he knows to keep them on the ground beside his head. If he reaches out and tries to touch, he fears the image of Vicious will burst into pieces and he'll realize he's only fallen asleep on watch.
But the next day, the bruises and the pain and the ache are all real, and he treasures it.
Again and again, Vicious visits him. Gren knows this isn't for him--it's for a woman and the music box--but he isn't a proud man and takes what he's given. As he's fucked hard and fast and merciless, he composes a tune for Vicious that he'll play on his sax when his tour is over. Vicious won't ever hear it, but then again, he had thought Vicious would never touch him, feel him, be with him like this, so he doesn't completely rule it out. Maybe one day he'll hear the tune and know it's for him, if they ever come across each other again once this war is over.
One night, Vicious stops, still hard inside him and Gren aching for completion. He removes a hand from Gren's thigh, covered in dark marks from previous nights, and runs it through silky, dark hair. He pulls a handful of strands up towards his face and inhales. Gren is baffled, no idea what to make of what Vicious is doing, and only stares, not daring to breathe.
"... Pretty, pretty... plaything," Vicious says lowly at last, expression never changing, before his grip tightens and he pulls hard at the hair in his hand, bringing stinging tears to Gren's wide eyes. The music box, the looks, the words, the sex, everything that they had ever exchanged. With three words, they become meaningless, or at least not meaningful in the way Gren had hoped. He had been played better than he could play his own sax, but what's worse is he knows he won't stop being played because he's fallen in too deep. The tune he composed for the man inside him, out of trust and love, is playing tauntingly in his ears, and he closes his eyes and doesn't bother stopping his tears.
His comrade, his friend, his love, starts up again, thrusting faster and harder than usual, but this time it hurts in a way it hadn't before, and Gren finally understands why they call him Vicious.