Fight Club (intro/?)
Title: Fight Club
Summary: When you wake up in a different place at a different time, can you wake up as a different person? A ticking-time-bomb insomniac and a slippery soap salesman channel primal male aggression into a shocking new form of therapy. Their concept catches on, with underground "fight clubs" forming in every town, until an eccentric gets in the way and ignites an out-of-control spiral toward oblivion.
NC-17
People were always asking me, did I know Pete Wentz.
Pete's weight is barely there, as he balanced in my lap, but I can feel every inch of sliding skin. Every breath he takes, and I have to wonder why he is breathing. He glances at his watch, and I tense. Not that I was really relaxed with the barrel of a gun pressed to the roof of my mouth.
"One minute."
I try and follow Pete's eyes to where he's looking out the window, but the arm around my shoulders, grips tighter.
"This is the beginning. We're at ground zero," Pete says, and smiles a little, but his eyes are cold. "Maybe you should say a few words, to mark the occasion."
My mouth works around the cool metal, the bitter steel gagging me. The words I try and spit out, are distorted. Not that they would do anything anyways.
"With a gun barrel between your teeth, you only speak in vowels," comments Pete, and Jesus this is fucked up.
I tongue the barrel to the side of my mouth, the words still muffled.
"I can't think of anything."
For a second, I forget all about Pete's insane plot, and wonder how clean this gun is.
"It's getting exciting now."
That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well, it works both ways. I just found out the hard way. I loved Pete, and here we are. I shift so I can look down. Look down thirty-one stories to the almost empty street. I run through the plan for Project Mayhem, and know I know this, because Pete knows this.
"Look what we've accomplished." He checks his watch again. "Thirty seconds."
I stare at the once welcome, friendly face, and slump. Somehow, I realize all of this -- the gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is really about Ryan Ross.
Summary: When you wake up in a different place at a different time, can you wake up as a different person? A ticking-time-bomb insomniac and a slippery soap salesman channel primal male aggression into a shocking new form of therapy. Their concept catches on, with underground "fight clubs" forming in every town, until an eccentric gets in the way and ignites an out-of-control spiral toward oblivion.
NC-17
People were always asking me, did I know Pete Wentz.
Pete's weight is barely there, as he balanced in my lap, but I can feel every inch of sliding skin. Every breath he takes, and I have to wonder why he is breathing. He glances at his watch, and I tense. Not that I was really relaxed with the barrel of a gun pressed to the roof of my mouth.
"One minute."
I try and follow Pete's eyes to where he's looking out the window, but the arm around my shoulders, grips tighter.
"This is the beginning. We're at ground zero," Pete says, and smiles a little, but his eyes are cold. "Maybe you should say a few words, to mark the occasion."
My mouth works around the cool metal, the bitter steel gagging me. The words I try and spit out, are distorted. Not that they would do anything anyways.
"With a gun barrel between your teeth, you only speak in vowels," comments Pete, and Jesus this is fucked up.
I tongue the barrel to the side of my mouth, the words still muffled.
"I can't think of anything."
For a second, I forget all about Pete's insane plot, and wonder how clean this gun is.
"It's getting exciting now."
That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well, it works both ways. I just found out the hard way. I loved Pete, and here we are. I shift so I can look down. Look down thirty-one stories to the almost empty street. I run through the plan for Project Mayhem, and know I know this, because Pete knows this.
"Look what we've accomplished." He checks his watch again. "Thirty seconds."
I stare at the once welcome, friendly face, and slump. Somehow, I realize all of this -- the gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is really about Ryan Ross.