FIC: Surrender Surrender
Title: Surrender Surrender
Author: Bliss
Rating: R
Word count: 367
Characters: Ben/Charlie
Summary: Scene from a whorehouse.
Warnings: None, really.
Disclaimer: I don't know who they belong to but they sure as hell ain't mine.
A/N: Kind of like a triple drabble, I guess.
Ben liked to hole up in whorehouses whenever he got the chance. For days, he'd sit in the parlor and draw portraits of the women while he made his way through a good bottle of brandy, one sip at a time. The madams knew of his proclivities and would send every green-eyed bitch his way in the hopes that they could add a few more dollars to his bill. Only occasionally would he ever take any of them up on their far-and-wide offers. Up in a suite, he'd run his hands over their naked bodies while they cooed at him, but he never took his own clothes off. He just liked memorizing their bodies, like he was planning to sculpt them later.
Charlie was usually in another suite during all of this. The madam would send girls up, but Charlie always sent them away. He was too busy sharpening knives, cleaning guns, sewing up torn clothing, and doing other busy work to stop himself from thinking about how he'd really like Ben to treat him with such reverence. Instead, Ben usually stumbled into their shared suite, drunk on the rot-gut whiskey he favored after sundown, and fucked Charlie from behind, biting him in the same spot on his neck every time, like an animal marking his territory.
"Goddamn, Charlie," he would grunt as he came, drawing out the name into two, distinct words.
Just the sound of his name rolling of Ben's tongue was usually enough for Charlie to find release, but sometimes he had to jack himself off once Ben had stumbled off to the wash basin to clean up. Either way, Charlie always felt ashamed as the former made him feel like a loyal dog taught a good trick and the latter reminded him that he was too fucking well-succumbed to remind Ben that he wasn't some goddamn whore just there for his pleasure.
The shame ate at his soul, but Charlie wasn't strong enough to tell Ben to go to hell. Ben was the sun, the rain, the moon and the stars and Charlie was just a lowly weed looking for his favor and affection in the hopes that he wouldn't get torn asunder.
Author: Bliss
Rating: R
Word count: 367
Characters: Ben/Charlie
Summary: Scene from a whorehouse.
Warnings: None, really.
Disclaimer: I don't know who they belong to but they sure as hell ain't mine.
A/N: Kind of like a triple drabble, I guess.
Ben liked to hole up in whorehouses whenever he got the chance. For days, he'd sit in the parlor and draw portraits of the women while he made his way through a good bottle of brandy, one sip at a time. The madams knew of his proclivities and would send every green-eyed bitch his way in the hopes that they could add a few more dollars to his bill. Only occasionally would he ever take any of them up on their far-and-wide offers. Up in a suite, he'd run his hands over their naked bodies while they cooed at him, but he never took his own clothes off. He just liked memorizing their bodies, like he was planning to sculpt them later.
Charlie was usually in another suite during all of this. The madam would send girls up, but Charlie always sent them away. He was too busy sharpening knives, cleaning guns, sewing up torn clothing, and doing other busy work to stop himself from thinking about how he'd really like Ben to treat him with such reverence. Instead, Ben usually stumbled into their shared suite, drunk on the rot-gut whiskey he favored after sundown, and fucked Charlie from behind, biting him in the same spot on his neck every time, like an animal marking his territory.
"Goddamn, Charlie," he would grunt as he came, drawing out the name into two, distinct words.
Just the sound of his name rolling of Ben's tongue was usually enough for Charlie to find release, but sometimes he had to jack himself off once Ben had stumbled off to the wash basin to clean up. Either way, Charlie always felt ashamed as the former made him feel like a loyal dog taught a good trick and the latter reminded him that he was too fucking well-succumbed to remind Ben that he wasn't some goddamn whore just there for his pleasure.
The shame ate at his soul, but Charlie wasn't strong enough to tell Ben to go to hell. Ben was the sun, the rain, the moon and the stars and Charlie was just a lowly weed looking for his favor and affection in the hopes that he wouldn't get torn asunder.