slow; rewind, Rain/J.D.; R
Title: slow; rewind
Fandom: Resident Evil (movies)
P/C: Rain/J.D.
Rating: R (language & sexuality)
Spoilers: for most of the first film
Summary: Even as she sits, watching the undead catch drops of her blood in their mouths she remains passive. Written for the Porn Battle at cerebel_fics. The prompt was 'life'.
Even as she sits, watching the undead catch drops of her blood in their mouths she remains passive. Alice, or whatever her name is, is trying to comfort her, as if she knew what the hell was happening. She shoves her off, watching them beg for the little droplets of warm blood. Her warm blood.
She thinks of her mother, wailing over her father’s body after he had been shot. She had only been ten. She couldn’t imagine anything even half as painful as that at the time. But seeing J.D. die…but what was worse was not being able to save him. She could still feel them pulling him away from her, his screams echoing in her ears.
Don’t let go of me! Rain! Don’t leave me!
She winces and Alice looks at her strangely, probably thinking it’s from the sting of the air on her open wounds. Fine. Let her believe what ever she liked.
She thinks back a few hours (had it really been hours? hadn’t it been days? years?) to him asking her for…for what he had asked. It’s too painful to think about without crying and she didn’t need another reason.
Alice and Kaplan are talking about what to do next. Right. she thinks. Next.
*
When they’ve all escaped (for it is all of them, no one has really died, even that prick who turns out to be the cause of all of this, he’s there, smiling like some coked out asshole) she tells J.D. that he was right, that this was hell and that she wants to be with him, really be with him before time runs out on them.
(no no, so sorry, but)
And with that he’s kissing her, and they are in her apartment and she is on top of him, fucking him on the kitchen floor like this will be the last time, hands on her breasts, trying to imagine life without him. She knows that she had a lot of it once, but that’s all over now, that feeling magnified by the kisses he trails down her neck to her chest. She comes, her face pressed into his hair, his back against the cold white tile.
*
But that didn’t happen. She shot him. She killed him. And right before she had pulled the trigger he had told her that he loved her and asked her why, why she was doing this? He promised that he would change; he would do anything for her.
But that hadn’t happened either.
*
She knows that she killed him. She shot him and before that she let him go. She let him go, she let him go.
*
When her vision starts to abandon her, her mind goes as well. It’s confused and muddled, blending reality with fiction.
*
He had been sitting in a chair in her apartment. It was an old leather thing; it had been her father’s. She’s standing in the kitchen and he can see her from there, getting beer to go with the food he’s made, carne asada, frijoles and salad, dressed with lime and salt.
“We should quit.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if stating what team he thought was going to make it to the playoffs. She had turned to him and made a disbelieving noise. “I’m serious.”
(but had it happened?)
She shook her head. “You know how hard it was for me to get this job.”
He kept looking at her, not saying anything. “You know why. I busted my ass to make Ensign. I busted my ass just to be able to join up. I don’t know how you could ask me something like that.”
She slammed the beers down on the kitchen counter. “Goddamit J.D. Why the fuck do you always have to make this so fucking hard?”
He walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He rests his head against her shoulder. “I want to take you to Argentina. I want to marry you. I want to forget all this fucked-up stuff we’ve had to do.” Her body slackened against his. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. She imagined it, for a few seconds. No more. No more dirty, tiny apartment. No more ‘yes sir’s and ‘affirmatives’. No more coming in last just because she was a woman and wasn’t a medic.
A life. A good one.
*
She’s barely conscious when the injection comes. The green stuff. One pill makes you smaller…
She can feel the virus raging through her and imagines the way she and J.D. would fuck on the couch in her apartment, the floor, his face when he came, which was actually pretty funny, his off-handed marriage proposal and the way he would hold her down and tickle her, just for the fuck of it, just to prove he could.
*
She’s sure that she can actually feel her brain boiling in her skull while all these thoughts absorb her, and she’s in Buenos Aires with J.D., living a postcard life. Their trip to New York, when they had seen the polar bears in Central Park and gone dancing every night, sleeping until two the next day.
Two. Something important about that. But she can’t really…something with….what was his name? Goddamit she thinks as she crawls towards a discarded gun on the floor. She’s not to sure where it came from but she knows she needs it for…something.
J.D. she thinks. That’s what was two. Me and J.D. Rain and J.D.
She tries to wrap her fever riddled mind around the idea that she is one now, will always be just one now and as she does she dies. She doesn’t mind the noise around her as it happens.
Fandom: Resident Evil (movies)
P/C: Rain/J.D.
Rating: R (language & sexuality)
Spoilers: for most of the first film
Summary: Even as she sits, watching the undead catch drops of her blood in their mouths she remains passive. Written for the Porn Battle at cerebel_fics. The prompt was 'life'.
Even as she sits, watching the undead catch drops of her blood in their mouths she remains passive. Alice, or whatever her name is, is trying to comfort her, as if she knew what the hell was happening. She shoves her off, watching them beg for the little droplets of warm blood. Her warm blood.
She thinks of her mother, wailing over her father’s body after he had been shot. She had only been ten. She couldn’t imagine anything even half as painful as that at the time. But seeing J.D. die…but what was worse was not being able to save him. She could still feel them pulling him away from her, his screams echoing in her ears.
Don’t let go of me! Rain! Don’t leave me!
She winces and Alice looks at her strangely, probably thinking it’s from the sting of the air on her open wounds. Fine. Let her believe what ever she liked.
She thinks back a few hours (had it really been hours? hadn’t it been days? years?) to him asking her for…for what he had asked. It’s too painful to think about without crying and she didn’t need another reason.
Alice and Kaplan are talking about what to do next. Right. she thinks. Next.
*
When they’ve all escaped (for it is all of them, no one has really died, even that prick who turns out to be the cause of all of this, he’s there, smiling like some coked out asshole) she tells J.D. that he was right, that this was hell and that she wants to be with him, really be with him before time runs out on them.
(no no, so sorry, but)
And with that he’s kissing her, and they are in her apartment and she is on top of him, fucking him on the kitchen floor like this will be the last time, hands on her breasts, trying to imagine life without him. She knows that she had a lot of it once, but that’s all over now, that feeling magnified by the kisses he trails down her neck to her chest. She comes, her face pressed into his hair, his back against the cold white tile.
*
But that didn’t happen. She shot him. She killed him. And right before she had pulled the trigger he had told her that he loved her and asked her why, why she was doing this? He promised that he would change; he would do anything for her.
But that hadn’t happened either.
*
She knows that she killed him. She shot him and before that she let him go. She let him go, she let him go.
*
When her vision starts to abandon her, her mind goes as well. It’s confused and muddled, blending reality with fiction.
*
He had been sitting in a chair in her apartment. It was an old leather thing; it had been her father’s. She’s standing in the kitchen and he can see her from there, getting beer to go with the food he’s made, carne asada, frijoles and salad, dressed with lime and salt.
“We should quit.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if stating what team he thought was going to make it to the playoffs. She had turned to him and made a disbelieving noise. “I’m serious.”
(but had it happened?)
She shook her head. “You know how hard it was for me to get this job.”
He kept looking at her, not saying anything. “You know why. I busted my ass to make Ensign. I busted my ass just to be able to join up. I don’t know how you could ask me something like that.”
She slammed the beers down on the kitchen counter. “Goddamit J.D. Why the fuck do you always have to make this so fucking hard?”
He walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He rests his head against her shoulder. “I want to take you to Argentina. I want to marry you. I want to forget all this fucked-up stuff we’ve had to do.” Her body slackened against his. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. She imagined it, for a few seconds. No more. No more dirty, tiny apartment. No more ‘yes sir’s and ‘affirmatives’. No more coming in last just because she was a woman and wasn’t a medic.
A life. A good one.
*
She’s barely conscious when the injection comes. The green stuff. One pill makes you smaller…
She can feel the virus raging through her and imagines the way she and J.D. would fuck on the couch in her apartment, the floor, his face when he came, which was actually pretty funny, his off-handed marriage proposal and the way he would hold her down and tickle her, just for the fuck of it, just to prove he could.
*
She’s sure that she can actually feel her brain boiling in her skull while all these thoughts absorb her, and she’s in Buenos Aires with J.D., living a postcard life. Their trip to New York, when they had seen the polar bears in Central Park and gone dancing every night, sleeping until two the next day.
Two. Something important about that. But she can’t really…something with….what was his name? Goddamit she thinks as she crawls towards a discarded gun on the floor. She’s not to sure where it came from but she knows she needs it for…something.
J.D. she thinks. That’s what was two. Me and J.D. Rain and J.D.
She tries to wrap her fever riddled mind around the idea that she is one now, will always be just one now and as she does she dies. She doesn’t mind the noise around her as it happens.