whoops. Here, have a fic.
I forgot to post this here, now that the voting over at the comm I wrote it for is over.
Story Title: Stained.
Fandom: Original.
Characters: Alan and Morgan.
Rating: R to be safe.
Warnings: Memories of past violence (and torture) and poor coping methods. Also hints at a male/male relationship.
Notes: I wrote this for originalfic_las last round. I didn't win, but I didn't get any votes against it, so I'm pleased. It's not my best work, but it gave me an excuse to write two characters I adore and have a history with.
jabber_moose, this is for you.
---
The water isn't helping, nor the soap, but he must try regardless. He can still see blood dried into his skin, and he can smell the copper scent of it.
The water is freezing cold, but he's not going to waste hot water on his hands. He instead looks into the mirror and continues scrubbing, staring at his face instead of at the never-fading evidence that he once ended more than a few lives.
His hands hurt. His blonde hair is a mess. His glasses are going to fall off the end of his nose if he doesn't fix them soon. He can't stop washing his hands.
He almost leaps into the sink when he hears his housemate call. "Morgan?"
It's Alan. He should be in bed. Morgan shakily turns off the water. His hands hurt, and as he towels off the water the door opens.
Alan's there, looking sleepy and in only a pair of pants, and if it were any other time Morgan would jump on him and cling.
But his hands hurt. He dries until there is no more water and turns to Alan.
"What are you still doing up?" Alan asks, and he's annoyed, but he's always annoyed with Morgan. It's how they work: Alan is always annoyed with Morgan, but secretly amused or accepting of whatever Morgan is doing. Morgan then tries to get him to admit that he likes whatever Morgan is doing.
Morgan isn't trying to make Alan happy right now. He looks at him, then back at his hands. "The blood won't come out."
Alan frowns, and follows Morgan's gaze to his hands. "The hell - Morgan, you're bleeding!"
Morgan looks back at Alan, remembering a screaming woman under his knife, and when he was required to remove an organ from a still living human. "I can't get it out."
Alan comes over, actual concern showing, and Morgan realizes that Alan has probably figured out what's wrong with him tonight.
"Morgan," Alan says, getting out band-aids and medicine. "Stop thinking about Jack. That's over. He's in jail, remember?"
Morgan closes his eyes, remembering Jack steadying his hands the first time he was made to murder. He remembers Jack dragging him away afterwards, preventing him from escaping, preventing the police from finding them.
He remembers learning the joy in the act, out of a desperate need to escape the guilt. He once was a doctor, a surgeon, years and years ago, and -
Alan slaps him, not hard. He opens his eyes, startled.
"Stop thinking and hold these," Alan says, putting band-aid wrappers into his hands. "I need you to sleep tonight, okay? Tomorrow's omelette day, and you can't make those half asleep."
"Alan," He says, but Alan shakes his head. Alan finishes bandaging his hands, and Morgan wants to protest when Alan hugs him. Alan never hugs him, not unless he's half asleep after sex.
"Don't say anything," Alan says. "Come to bed."
Morgan is still for a long moment, then hugs Alan back. He can feel how tense Alan is. He can see how clean his hands are, wrapped in the white gauze and band-aids.
Then he remembers the kidney that he once gave Alan, back when he was too lost in the pain and guilt to realize what he was doing, and when he blinks there is blood staining his hands again. This time, however, Alan is holding him, and so he closes his eyes and presses close.
---
Story Title: Stained.
Fandom: Original.
Characters: Alan and Morgan.
Rating: R to be safe.
Warnings: Memories of past violence (and torture) and poor coping methods. Also hints at a male/male relationship.
Notes: I wrote this for originalfic_las last round. I didn't win, but I didn't get any votes against it, so I'm pleased. It's not my best work, but it gave me an excuse to write two characters I adore and have a history with.
jabber_moose, this is for you.
---
The water isn't helping, nor the soap, but he must try regardless. He can still see blood dried into his skin, and he can smell the copper scent of it.
The water is freezing cold, but he's not going to waste hot water on his hands. He instead looks into the mirror and continues scrubbing, staring at his face instead of at the never-fading evidence that he once ended more than a few lives.
His hands hurt. His blonde hair is a mess. His glasses are going to fall off the end of his nose if he doesn't fix them soon. He can't stop washing his hands.
He almost leaps into the sink when he hears his housemate call. "Morgan?"
It's Alan. He should be in bed. Morgan shakily turns off the water. His hands hurt, and as he towels off the water the door opens.
Alan's there, looking sleepy and in only a pair of pants, and if it were any other time Morgan would jump on him and cling.
But his hands hurt. He dries until there is no more water and turns to Alan.
"What are you still doing up?" Alan asks, and he's annoyed, but he's always annoyed with Morgan. It's how they work: Alan is always annoyed with Morgan, but secretly amused or accepting of whatever Morgan is doing. Morgan then tries to get him to admit that he likes whatever Morgan is doing.
Morgan isn't trying to make Alan happy right now. He looks at him, then back at his hands. "The blood won't come out."
Alan frowns, and follows Morgan's gaze to his hands. "The hell - Morgan, you're bleeding!"
Morgan looks back at Alan, remembering a screaming woman under his knife, and when he was required to remove an organ from a still living human. "I can't get it out."
Alan comes over, actual concern showing, and Morgan realizes that Alan has probably figured out what's wrong with him tonight.
"Morgan," Alan says, getting out band-aids and medicine. "Stop thinking about Jack. That's over. He's in jail, remember?"
Morgan closes his eyes, remembering Jack steadying his hands the first time he was made to murder. He remembers Jack dragging him away afterwards, preventing him from escaping, preventing the police from finding them.
He remembers learning the joy in the act, out of a desperate need to escape the guilt. He once was a doctor, a surgeon, years and years ago, and -
Alan slaps him, not hard. He opens his eyes, startled.
"Stop thinking and hold these," Alan says, putting band-aid wrappers into his hands. "I need you to sleep tonight, okay? Tomorrow's omelette day, and you can't make those half asleep."
"Alan," He says, but Alan shakes his head. Alan finishes bandaging his hands, and Morgan wants to protest when Alan hugs him. Alan never hugs him, not unless he's half asleep after sex.
"Don't say anything," Alan says. "Come to bed."
Morgan is still for a long moment, then hugs Alan back. He can feel how tense Alan is. He can see how clean his hands are, wrapped in the white gauze and band-aids.
Then he remembers the kidney that he once gave Alan, back when he was too lost in the pain and guilt to realize what he was doing, and when he blinks there is blood staining his hands again. This time, however, Alan is holding him, and so he closes his eyes and presses close.
---