smallville fic: night terrors
Ricochet's Epilogue is on end run, my birds! XD Until I post it though, unloading a drabble off my huge pile.
Based off the start of Beast. Davis's nightmares and memories of his past are constant. So is Chloe.
You’re a special boy, Davis. The voice was cultured, fine steel.
The men pushed needles inside him and put him in a green tank that burned like fire. There was the strangest feeling in his head- like something else was in there, gnashing its teeth. Davis wept and clutched at his hair and they would pull him out, thick hands and needle jabs.
He’s not ready yet; it'll be soon. They didn’t look at him.
The guard that left him didn’t look at him, either. No one was coming for him, no one would meet him. It was dark in the alley, and cold. Warrior Angel wouldn’t cry, but his head ached like he was going to.
Davis just couldn’t see and it was there with him, in his head, spearing his thoughts and throbbing and expanding inside his brain. Metal and glass cut him from a far-off place. There was a hot mist in his head-the guard’s stunned face, pierced and gashed- this wasn’t real-this couldn’t be real.
He backpedaled and the spikes on his hands tore sharp into his skin. Blood- the guard’s-too much to be from one body-and he remembered she was out there-somewhere close, more easily torn apart because she looked in his eyes and wanted to save him. There was already a sea of red around him-he couldn’t see.
Davis’s vision was a misty-red when he opened his eyes, threw the door open with a skittering crash. His eyes watered at the brightness, the scents of anything but iron. Friendly light, the muted vanilla scents and the warmer smell of her skin. Chloe was leaning back in the tub, bar of soap paused where it had been gliding across her shoulder. She was alive, unhurt under the water. Her voice broke over him like clarity. “It was just a dream, Davis.”
He had nightmares, memories that reshuffled themselves and left him thrashing at night, lashing out at anything in his immediate vicinity. Chloe had shown up in some of them, face twisted in unfamiliar pleasure until the screams and blood drowned her out. He’d slept on the floor after that.
Yet, she had never locked the bathroom door even before they started running together. She left the basement door open so he could see her from the steps.
Davis closed his eyes, shook his head. “It happened once. I was in there when I turned. It’s me.”
“Not all of you. Come here.” she said, reaching out a dripping hand to him, eyes soft and face flushed, politely staying on his face. This didn’t usually happen; he slept in little more than skin because he would pour out sweat at night. It was better to avoid casual intimacy. When he found a way to die she could remember him as a roommate, a short -lived friend and he wouldn’t hurt her too much.
“I’ll put something on, first.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She told him.
Chloe grabbed at him over the rim of the tub. “I don’t need you to hold yourself back. You’re troubled, now, not later. You said it helped you to be close.” His hand was so clumsy in hers, but it hadn’t always felt that way. He’d pulled her to him before, and her eyes had held his, needing something. Maybe he was flattering himself; he hadn’t exactly been clear up there as of late.
“We don’t have forever. It doesn’t need to be like this.”
“And if it’s a good thing?” She pulled him into a kiss without covering herself, pale breasts and so much forbidden skin, hitched shoulders from the cold; he knew what the courage cost her. The water gently sloshed against the rim of the tub; blood pounded in his ears. She tugged him down to her. Her hands were slippery, but he couldn’t have pulled out of them if he tried. And then he was there, cramped beside her in an entirely too small tub, water spilling onto the tiles.
Her skin was warm against his and she curled up on him like a comma on an ‘i’. He went hard against her, softness and comfort and basic biology he needed to swallow down. She was offering herself as a friend. Davis screwed his eyes closed and breathed a breath out against the skin of her shoulder- so pale, so fragile, he could still remember the dusky color of the blood in the drain.
Davis told himself it was innocent, even when she pulled herself higher against his chest. Small tireless hands and the heady weight of love in his chest. It didn’t have to be sex, but it was more than that. Chloe rested against him, palms against the rim of the tub, the beat of her heart fast and light against his as she brought herself down on him. This was fragile too. Her mouth was avid, swimming, stumbling through the pressure returned by his. Her stomach felt light and fluttery.
Davis anchored his hands, smoothed loosely at her hips. When she had control she was safe; but she terrified him when she made small helpless sounds, threw her head back so he couldn't see if she was hurting. She made hitching movements, snug around him, and quick heat of her gushed away the black place in his mind-filled it with a blind heat, a need to be deeper. He nudged his head up into her shoulder, and bit lightly at her skin. She made a ragged sound and the heat of her clamped down like a clutching embrace. Enough, almost, enough; sometimes it felt like it could never be.
He clasped to her- and there was something else inside him, something that needed to tug her writhing back down, to hear her until he could sooth the sounds away. Each push geysered water on to the rugs and tile, and he lunged up, shaking, to keep from drowning. He could survive it, but she held him like a normal man.
Davis's heart calmed and he cuddled her up higher against him. Chloe struggled for an even breath, and smiled down at the softness in his eyes. She'd haul him through this every night and one day, perhaps, she'd see the guilt and terrors leave him, in trickles, to the same place the beast had been buried long ago.
ENDRUN! PEOPLE! END RUN! *dancing banana*
Then there are all my sequel ideas and poor wronged Lexy though....so...
Based off the start of Beast. Davis's nightmares and memories of his past are constant. So is Chloe.
You’re a special boy, Davis. The voice was cultured, fine steel.
The men pushed needles inside him and put him in a green tank that burned like fire. There was the strangest feeling in his head- like something else was in there, gnashing its teeth. Davis wept and clutched at his hair and they would pull him out, thick hands and needle jabs.
He’s not ready yet; it'll be soon. They didn’t look at him.
The guard that left him didn’t look at him, either. No one was coming for him, no one would meet him. It was dark in the alley, and cold. Warrior Angel wouldn’t cry, but his head ached like he was going to.
Davis just couldn’t see and it was there with him, in his head, spearing his thoughts and throbbing and expanding inside his brain. Metal and glass cut him from a far-off place. There was a hot mist in his head-the guard’s stunned face, pierced and gashed- this wasn’t real-this couldn’t be real.
He backpedaled and the spikes on his hands tore sharp into his skin. Blood- the guard’s-too much to be from one body-and he remembered she was out there-somewhere close, more easily torn apart because she looked in his eyes and wanted to save him. There was already a sea of red around him-he couldn’t see.
Davis’s vision was a misty-red when he opened his eyes, threw the door open with a skittering crash. His eyes watered at the brightness, the scents of anything but iron. Friendly light, the muted vanilla scents and the warmer smell of her skin. Chloe was leaning back in the tub, bar of soap paused where it had been gliding across her shoulder. She was alive, unhurt under the water. Her voice broke over him like clarity. “It was just a dream, Davis.”
He had nightmares, memories that reshuffled themselves and left him thrashing at night, lashing out at anything in his immediate vicinity. Chloe had shown up in some of them, face twisted in unfamiliar pleasure until the screams and blood drowned her out. He’d slept on the floor after that.
Yet, she had never locked the bathroom door even before they started running together. She left the basement door open so he could see her from the steps.
Davis closed his eyes, shook his head. “It happened once. I was in there when I turned. It’s me.”
“Not all of you. Come here.” she said, reaching out a dripping hand to him, eyes soft and face flushed, politely staying on his face. This didn’t usually happen; he slept in little more than skin because he would pour out sweat at night. It was better to avoid casual intimacy. When he found a way to die she could remember him as a roommate, a short -lived friend and he wouldn’t hurt her too much.
“I’ll put something on, first.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She told him.
Chloe grabbed at him over the rim of the tub. “I don’t need you to hold yourself back. You’re troubled, now, not later. You said it helped you to be close.” His hand was so clumsy in hers, but it hadn’t always felt that way. He’d pulled her to him before, and her eyes had held his, needing something. Maybe he was flattering himself; he hadn’t exactly been clear up there as of late.
“We don’t have forever. It doesn’t need to be like this.”
“And if it’s a good thing?” She pulled him into a kiss without covering herself, pale breasts and so much forbidden skin, hitched shoulders from the cold; he knew what the courage cost her. The water gently sloshed against the rim of the tub; blood pounded in his ears. She tugged him down to her. Her hands were slippery, but he couldn’t have pulled out of them if he tried. And then he was there, cramped beside her in an entirely too small tub, water spilling onto the tiles.
Her skin was warm against his and she curled up on him like a comma on an ‘i’. He went hard against her, softness and comfort and basic biology he needed to swallow down. She was offering herself as a friend. Davis screwed his eyes closed and breathed a breath out against the skin of her shoulder- so pale, so fragile, he could still remember the dusky color of the blood in the drain.
Davis told himself it was innocent, even when she pulled herself higher against his chest. Small tireless hands and the heady weight of love in his chest. It didn’t have to be sex, but it was more than that. Chloe rested against him, palms against the rim of the tub, the beat of her heart fast and light against his as she brought herself down on him. This was fragile too. Her mouth was avid, swimming, stumbling through the pressure returned by his. Her stomach felt light and fluttery.
Davis anchored his hands, smoothed loosely at her hips. When she had control she was safe; but she terrified him when she made small helpless sounds, threw her head back so he couldn't see if she was hurting. She made hitching movements, snug around him, and quick heat of her gushed away the black place in his mind-filled it with a blind heat, a need to be deeper. He nudged his head up into her shoulder, and bit lightly at her skin. She made a ragged sound and the heat of her clamped down like a clutching embrace. Enough, almost, enough; sometimes it felt like it could never be.
He clasped to her- and there was something else inside him, something that needed to tug her writhing back down, to hear her until he could sooth the sounds away. Each push geysered water on to the rugs and tile, and he lunged up, shaking, to keep from drowning. He could survive it, but she held him like a normal man.
Davis's heart calmed and he cuddled her up higher against him. Chloe struggled for an even breath, and smiled down at the softness in his eyes. She'd haul him through this every night and one day, perhaps, she'd see the guilt and terrors leave him, in trickles, to the same place the beast had been buried long ago.
ENDRUN! PEOPLE! END RUN! *dancing banana*
Then there are all my sequel ideas and poor wronged Lexy though....so...