[Team Two] Blow Me A Kiss
Churning this out quickly so that yararanger can write over the weekend if she has time! ♥ Follow-on to Lather the Blood on Your Hands, possibly triggery for drug use.
Afterwards, Poison would acknowledge what a bad idea it had been. Reckless and dangerous, even for him, especially when BL/ind had the upper hand, when Korse knew he would be coming. Afterwards, Poison would let them give him all the shit they wanted, let them tell him what an idiot he was, what a tool, what a Drac, he'd let them say whatever they wanted and he wouldn't lash out, he wouldn't. Afterwards.
Right now though, right now he couldn't care less if he was being reckless, playing a dangerous game by breaking into Korse's condo alone. Wentz had gotten what he wanted, given Poison what he wanted, and Poison had left him on the floor of the grimy bathroom, threw the Trans Am into gear and sped through the Zones all the way to the centre Battery City.
Korse's place was at the top of a high rise, narcissistic bastard, surrounded by security, but Poison was nothing if not resourceful, and Draculoids were stupid. It was easy to slip past the cameras and take out the few Dracs still lurking, but Poison didn't let it relax him. He wasn't breaking in so much as being allowed through. He still kept himself pressed against the walls when he could, took out the Dracs with as little fuss as possible, kept his step soft and quiet. His chances at having any element of surprise were minimal, but he'd work with what he had.
Poison took the stairs two and three at a time - no point in drawing any unnecessary attention by calling the elevator - and only had to knock one Drac down a few flights before he found himself at the top. Besides the one he'd just come through, there was one door at the end of a blank white corridor, a single security camera mounted right above it.
So much for surprise.
Never mind. That just meant Poison couldn't afford to waste so much as a second. One hand on his raygun, he marched up to the door and had it open in two well-placed kicks of his boot, lock smashed and hanging from the frame. Korse's rooms were as plain as he'd expected to see, blank walls, standard BL/ind issue carpets and only enough furniture to be functional. Poison took in the space in half a second, already across the room and trying one of the closed doors. He didn't spare any time wondering why Korse wasn't waiting for him out here. Korse would find him when he was ready to find him, not when Poison wanted to be found.
The first door was to a darkened kitchen, and the second what Poison assumed would serve as a bedroom, no sign of life in either. But the third made his breath catch and froze him in the doorway. He knew it would be bad, but he hadn't let himself imagine just how bad it could be.
It was worse.
At first, Poison thought the man strapped to the table was dead. But he made himself look, unblinking, until he could make out the steady rise and fall of his chest underneath all that...
Not dead, but he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. It was something Poison had seen once or twice out in the Zones where emotions were high, but he couldn't even imagine something like that happening here, where everyone was so carefully controlled by the dampeners they were fed on a daily basis you were lucky to get so much as a grimace out of them. Nobody on their meds could have done this, shown this kind of hatred for another person. Either Korse had outside help, or he wasn't as controlled as BL/ind liked to think.
Poison prayed, just for a second, that this wasn't Gerard, that Korse had gotten hold of someone else by mistake. But underneath all that blood and swollen flesh and blood, Poison would know that tangle of black hair anywhere, even matted to his skull as it was. Gerard's face was unrecognisable, eyes swollen shut, mouth torn in both corners, nose definitely broken in more than one place. His arms had both been broken too, left to heal at unnatural angles, and Gerard's hands and fingers were twisted and mangled. Poison choked on vomit and looked away. His hands. Shit. He ached to know what else Korse had done to him, how he'd tried to get Gerard to talk, but there was too much blood.
Poison forced himself to breath through his mouth, fingers clutching reflexively around his weapon, and moved in closer. Gerard didn't so much as stir, but he kept on breathing. Stood over him, Poison could see the dark rings of bruising around his throat underneath the blood, thick from fingers and chafed from rope. He could see the heavy burn marks down Gerard's chest, raised welts covering his stomach and angry slashes across his thighs, blood still seeping from the most recent. More than anything Poison wanted to stop looking, to close his eyes and pretend he could unsee it all, but he couldn't, couldn't do that to Gerard. He had to know.
Slowly, his eyes trailed up and over the bruising around Gerard's neck, trying hard not to think about the time when those were his fingers, when Gerard had asked him for it. Over the spots on Gerard's jaw where Poison's teeth had drawn blood, over lips he'd kissed so many times he'd lost count, and up to Gerard's tiny nose, red and inflamed just like he'd known it would be. Poison ground his teeth and blinked furiously, breath shaky and uneven, but he couldn't stop here. As much as his body didn't want him to, he made himself look back down, down to those sad, broken hands. Over Gerard's wrists - more bruising, more welts - and up his forearms. The blood had been wiped away here, and every cell in Poison's body was screaming at him not to look, not to ask why, but he had to, had to know.
Almost like freckles, tiny pinprincks scattered across the inside of Gerard's elbow. Poison couldn't stop it, vomiting up everything in his stomach and then some, spitting up bile until it burned and choking on his tears.
He couldn't guess how long he stood there, hunched over and gagging, gasping for breath, but when his vision finally cleared and he could stand up straight, he was still alone with Gerard. Poison didn't know what kind of sick game Korse was playing with them, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. Slipping his knife from his boot, he cut away at Gerard's bindings, the blade sliding through the leather like butter, and gently scooped Gerard's prone body up in his arms. He stirred then, a soft sound catching in his throat as one swollen eye blinked half-open, and Poison clutched him tighter, refusing to look at the way it was rolled back in his head, still floating. He moved easily, the little flesh Gerard had carried before gone, leaving him a sack of skin and bone. Poison fumbled his raygun out of its holster and settled it into his hand, partially hidden under the tangle of Gerard's legs slung over his arm. Gerard let out a pained moan, barely audible as his body was jostled. Poison hushed him quietly, tasting copper as he pressed lips to Gerard's bloody temple, and headed for the door.
Game on.
Passing the baton to yararanger!
Afterwards, Poison would acknowledge what a bad idea it had been. Reckless and dangerous, even for him, especially when BL/ind had the upper hand, when Korse knew he would be coming. Afterwards, Poison would let them give him all the shit they wanted, let them tell him what an idiot he was, what a tool, what a Drac, he'd let them say whatever they wanted and he wouldn't lash out, he wouldn't. Afterwards.
Right now though, right now he couldn't care less if he was being reckless, playing a dangerous game by breaking into Korse's condo alone. Wentz had gotten what he wanted, given Poison what he wanted, and Poison had left him on the floor of the grimy bathroom, threw the Trans Am into gear and sped through the Zones all the way to the centre Battery City.
Korse's place was at the top of a high rise, narcissistic bastard, surrounded by security, but Poison was nothing if not resourceful, and Draculoids were stupid. It was easy to slip past the cameras and take out the few Dracs still lurking, but Poison didn't let it relax him. He wasn't breaking in so much as being allowed through. He still kept himself pressed against the walls when he could, took out the Dracs with as little fuss as possible, kept his step soft and quiet. His chances at having any element of surprise were minimal, but he'd work with what he had.
Poison took the stairs two and three at a time - no point in drawing any unnecessary attention by calling the elevator - and only had to knock one Drac down a few flights before he found himself at the top. Besides the one he'd just come through, there was one door at the end of a blank white corridor, a single security camera mounted right above it.
So much for surprise.
Never mind. That just meant Poison couldn't afford to waste so much as a second. One hand on his raygun, he marched up to the door and had it open in two well-placed kicks of his boot, lock smashed and hanging from the frame. Korse's rooms were as plain as he'd expected to see, blank walls, standard BL/ind issue carpets and only enough furniture to be functional. Poison took in the space in half a second, already across the room and trying one of the closed doors. He didn't spare any time wondering why Korse wasn't waiting for him out here. Korse would find him when he was ready to find him, not when Poison wanted to be found.
The first door was to a darkened kitchen, and the second what Poison assumed would serve as a bedroom, no sign of life in either. But the third made his breath catch and froze him in the doorway. He knew it would be bad, but he hadn't let himself imagine just how bad it could be.
It was worse.
At first, Poison thought the man strapped to the table was dead. But he made himself look, unblinking, until he could make out the steady rise and fall of his chest underneath all that...
Not dead, but he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. It was something Poison had seen once or twice out in the Zones where emotions were high, but he couldn't even imagine something like that happening here, where everyone was so carefully controlled by the dampeners they were fed on a daily basis you were lucky to get so much as a grimace out of them. Nobody on their meds could have done this, shown this kind of hatred for another person. Either Korse had outside help, or he wasn't as controlled as BL/ind liked to think.
Poison prayed, just for a second, that this wasn't Gerard, that Korse had gotten hold of someone else by mistake. But underneath all that blood and swollen flesh and blood, Poison would know that tangle of black hair anywhere, even matted to his skull as it was. Gerard's face was unrecognisable, eyes swollen shut, mouth torn in both corners, nose definitely broken in more than one place. His arms had both been broken too, left to heal at unnatural angles, and Gerard's hands and fingers were twisted and mangled. Poison choked on vomit and looked away. His hands. Shit. He ached to know what else Korse had done to him, how he'd tried to get Gerard to talk, but there was too much blood.
Poison forced himself to breath through his mouth, fingers clutching reflexively around his weapon, and moved in closer. Gerard didn't so much as stir, but he kept on breathing. Stood over him, Poison could see the dark rings of bruising around his throat underneath the blood, thick from fingers and chafed from rope. He could see the heavy burn marks down Gerard's chest, raised welts covering his stomach and angry slashes across his thighs, blood still seeping from the most recent. More than anything Poison wanted to stop looking, to close his eyes and pretend he could unsee it all, but he couldn't, couldn't do that to Gerard. He had to know.
Slowly, his eyes trailed up and over the bruising around Gerard's neck, trying hard not to think about the time when those were his fingers, when Gerard had asked him for it. Over the spots on Gerard's jaw where Poison's teeth had drawn blood, over lips he'd kissed so many times he'd lost count, and up to Gerard's tiny nose, red and inflamed just like he'd known it would be. Poison ground his teeth and blinked furiously, breath shaky and uneven, but he couldn't stop here. As much as his body didn't want him to, he made himself look back down, down to those sad, broken hands. Over Gerard's wrists - more bruising, more welts - and up his forearms. The blood had been wiped away here, and every cell in Poison's body was screaming at him not to look, not to ask why, but he had to, had to know.
Almost like freckles, tiny pinprincks scattered across the inside of Gerard's elbow. Poison couldn't stop it, vomiting up everything in his stomach and then some, spitting up bile until it burned and choking on his tears.
He couldn't guess how long he stood there, hunched over and gagging, gasping for breath, but when his vision finally cleared and he could stand up straight, he was still alone with Gerard. Poison didn't know what kind of sick game Korse was playing with them, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. Slipping his knife from his boot, he cut away at Gerard's bindings, the blade sliding through the leather like butter, and gently scooped Gerard's prone body up in his arms. He stirred then, a soft sound catching in his throat as one swollen eye blinked half-open, and Poison clutched him tighter, refusing to look at the way it was rolled back in his head, still floating. He moved easily, the little flesh Gerard had carried before gone, leaving him a sack of skin and bone. Poison fumbled his raygun out of its holster and settled it into his hand, partially hidden under the tangle of Gerard's legs slung over his arm. Gerard let out a pained moan, barely audible as his body was jostled. Poison hushed him quietly, tasting copper as he pressed lips to Gerard's bloody temple, and headed for the door.
Game on.
Passing the baton to yararanger!