(no subject)
Title: Love and Hate
Author: tanzensiemit
Claim: Ryan Wolfe/Kyle Wolfe
10_random prompt: Party
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Only in my mind do I ever entertain the idea that I'm halfway decent enough to write professionally so, sadly, I do not own CSI: Miami nor the characters therein. Though Kyle is mine and I'd appreciate that no one use him unless given permission. Not that anyone besides me would!
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Author Notes: It's an exercise in randomness with a Twin brother. What can I say? I'm weird. ^__^ Set to the tone of my Two's Company, Three's a Crowd-verse - [Past Events]
The music was pounding, drowning, resounding into his very soul. Pumping, pulsating, permeating. It was pouring in through his ears and saturating his blood making him feel as if he'd both died and been jolted to life in the same instant. But above all else, it annoyed him.
Ryan didn't dance. He hated it. He hated it because he wasn't good at it. Even worse, he hated being at a party, listening to ear bleedingly good music, not dancing. And yet Kyle dragged him to every single chaperone-free shindig that anyone ever threw in their hometown and not once let him beg off or sneak away without at least once getting him out among the horde of undulating bodies to dance.
Kyle meant well, he knew, even if he was no better a dancer than Ryan was. And sometimes he even hated his brother, but he never let that thought gain a voice outside his head.
Title: Be at Peace
Author: tanzensiemit
Claim: CSI: Miami - Ryan Wolfe/Kyle Wolfe
10_random prompt: Tragedy
Rating: R/FRA (to be safe)
Disclaimer:Only in my mind do I ever entertain the idea that I'm halfway decent enough to write professionally so, sadly, I do not own CSI: Miami nor the characters therein. Though Kyle is mine and I'd appreciate that no one use him unless given permission. Not that anyone besides me would!
Spoilers/Warnings: Mentions of Rape (not graphic), Violence
Author Notes: Set to the tone of my Two's Company, Three's a Crowd-verse - [Past Events]
His arm snaps and lays limp and useless at his side. Logically he knows there should be pain to go along with the sickening crunch of flesh and bone as undeniable pressure continues to exert itself on the limb but there’s nothing. He’s numb and has been since the first blow connected with the back of his head followed by tainted words of hate. The sound of his blood rushing, gushing, through his veins and seeping from the wounds is his only anchor to the here and now because pain no longer has a means of anchoring him to reality. It washes over him, sure, but his mind refuses to let it rule his body and conveniently flips the switch and apathy takes control.
He’ll remember it though, the pain, even if he doesn’t experience it at this moment. Later it’ll come back to him and remind his body that abuse hurts. But right now he’s thankful, grateful, that he can’t feel what’s happening because he’s pretty sure that the gravel beneath his body is digging tiny blood filled holes into his skin while the lower half - which wasn’t so low at this moment - was being ripped apart from the inside. Kyle had never experienced something like what Andy McFinn was currently subjecting him to, willingly or otherwise, so he only guessed that the trickle of blood making its way down his thighs and the rough spread of his knees must hurt like a bitch, especially without lubrication. But then again, blood was slick before it dried.
Oddly enough the eldest Wolfe wasn’t the least bit concerned about the How’s and Why’s connected to this event. He wasn’t silently pleading with God or whomever was out there controlling the universe for this to stop, to finish him, and to leave him alone. He wasn’t crying out either. Honestly, he wasn’t doing much of anything. Sure he was struggling as best he could but Andy had fifty pounds and a foot of height on him, so really, it was useless.
Kyle knew there would be a time, when this was over and he was recovering - he was going to survive this! -, that he’d probably shut himself off and hate the world right along with himself for what was happening to him, what he’d been made to endure, but he wouldn‘t regret the event. Somewhere, behind the haze of apathy and the screen of underlying agony, he was content in his misfortune. Because his little brother was safe at home, more than likely reading Tolkin again, while he was in some forgotten lot being used by a man that was grunting out Ryan’s name.
Author: tanzensiemit
Claim: Ryan Wolfe/Kyle Wolfe
10_random prompt: Party
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Only in my mind do I ever entertain the idea that I'm halfway decent enough to write professionally so, sadly, I do not own CSI: Miami nor the characters therein. Though Kyle is mine and I'd appreciate that no one use him unless given permission. Not that anyone besides me would!
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Author Notes: It's an exercise in randomness with a Twin brother. What can I say? I'm weird. ^__^ Set to the tone of my Two's Company, Three's a Crowd-verse - [Past Events]
The music was pounding, drowning, resounding into his very soul. Pumping, pulsating, permeating. It was pouring in through his ears and saturating his blood making him feel as if he'd both died and been jolted to life in the same instant. But above all else, it annoyed him.
Ryan didn't dance. He hated it. He hated it because he wasn't good at it. Even worse, he hated being at a party, listening to ear bleedingly good music, not dancing. And yet Kyle dragged him to every single chaperone-free shindig that anyone ever threw in their hometown and not once let him beg off or sneak away without at least once getting him out among the horde of undulating bodies to dance.
Kyle meant well, he knew, even if he was no better a dancer than Ryan was. And sometimes he even hated his brother, but he never let that thought gain a voice outside his head.
Title: Be at Peace
Author: tanzensiemit
Claim: CSI: Miami - Ryan Wolfe/Kyle Wolfe
10_random prompt: Tragedy
Rating: R/FRA (to be safe)
Disclaimer:Only in my mind do I ever entertain the idea that I'm halfway decent enough to write professionally so, sadly, I do not own CSI: Miami nor the characters therein. Though Kyle is mine and I'd appreciate that no one use him unless given permission. Not that anyone besides me would!
Spoilers/Warnings: Mentions of Rape (not graphic), Violence
Author Notes: Set to the tone of my Two's Company, Three's a Crowd-verse - [Past Events]
His arm snaps and lays limp and useless at his side. Logically he knows there should be pain to go along with the sickening crunch of flesh and bone as undeniable pressure continues to exert itself on the limb but there’s nothing. He’s numb and has been since the first blow connected with the back of his head followed by tainted words of hate. The sound of his blood rushing, gushing, through his veins and seeping from the wounds is his only anchor to the here and now because pain no longer has a means of anchoring him to reality. It washes over him, sure, but his mind refuses to let it rule his body and conveniently flips the switch and apathy takes control.
He’ll remember it though, the pain, even if he doesn’t experience it at this moment. Later it’ll come back to him and remind his body that abuse hurts. But right now he’s thankful, grateful, that he can’t feel what’s happening because he’s pretty sure that the gravel beneath his body is digging tiny blood filled holes into his skin while the lower half - which wasn’t so low at this moment - was being ripped apart from the inside. Kyle had never experienced something like what Andy McFinn was currently subjecting him to, willingly or otherwise, so he only guessed that the trickle of blood making its way down his thighs and the rough spread of his knees must hurt like a bitch, especially without lubrication. But then again, blood was slick before it dried.
Oddly enough the eldest Wolfe wasn’t the least bit concerned about the How’s and Why’s connected to this event. He wasn’t silently pleading with God or whomever was out there controlling the universe for this to stop, to finish him, and to leave him alone. He wasn’t crying out either. Honestly, he wasn’t doing much of anything. Sure he was struggling as best he could but Andy had fifty pounds and a foot of height on him, so really, it was useless.
Kyle knew there would be a time, when this was over and he was recovering - he was going to survive this! -, that he’d probably shut himself off and hate the world right along with himself for what was happening to him, what he’d been made to endure, but he wouldn‘t regret the event. Somewhere, behind the haze of apathy and the screen of underlying agony, he was content in his misfortune. Because his little brother was safe at home, more than likely reading Tolkin again, while he was in some forgotten lot being used by a man that was grunting out Ryan’s name.