Fic: Collapsing Inwards
Title: Collapsing Inwards
Pairing: Critic/OC
Word Count: 833
Disclaimer: Spencer is mine. Critic isn't. Shame.
A/N: To understand this, put it a few weeks before the Nerd comes back for the first time.
Critic was having a bad night. It was too quiet. Not in the “just the workers and a couple of customers milling around” kind of way, it was much busier than that, but mostly it was straight college guys drinking and that was never good for him and Linkara.
But Linkara was doing just fucking fine, sitting at the bar and occupying the tipsy-steadily-approaching-drunk Chick's attention with talk of X-Men comics. And he knew he was stuck in self-pity, but that's the way it always went, he got left on his own. Ask That Guy would rather be with those assholes at wherever the hell he worked, that older brother would have rather lived among the rats than be with him, he was sure Chick would rather have Linkara, and the Nerd...
He should have forgotten him; his face, the way he sounded when he got angry, the way he tasted, his goofy smile, the way he tried so hard to make their last fuck soft-
Shit, was he crying again? He went as fast as he could to a small table in the corner, hunching down and knowing that nobody was noticing him. Why the hell was he like this? Why was he getting upset over a john who really should have been just a cash cow for a week? Why was he in this ridiculous outfit? Why did he even get up in the mornings?
He was snapped out of his self-obsession by a tall guy standing in his line of vision. He looked kinda slimy, with longish hair, a red jacket, a great big honker of a nose and a smug smile. But more importantly, he had a drink in his hand.
As he slowly put his mask on; fluttering big eyes, smirk and lounging in a “you're the only one who can break me” kinda way, the man put the drink on the table and smiled wider. “Thought you could use a drink. I'm Spencer.”
He leaned forward, pulling him closer and speaking breathily. “D'you really think I'm gonna trust guys who bring me drinks themselves?”
Spencer's expression soured and he made a move to leave, but he clenched a fist in his shirt and held him back, his other hand picking up the drink and downing it. The dizziness hit him like a freight train, but he still tried to talk. He had to get out of here, he had to make a choice. “Ne- never said it was a bad thing. Take... take me home with you.”
He was sure nobody was looking, and he was sure that his... customer had a look of shocked glee. “You sure?”
Hoisting himself up, he put the guy's arm around his waist and grinded into his body. “Don't wanna be here anymore. They won't care.”
It was only fitting that he should end like this, right?
He woke up with his head pounding and his mouth feeling both slimy and dry. It was a ratty apartment, even smaller than his own if that were at all possible, and the sounds of drilling and shouting outside were making him want to kill himself.
Speaking of... oh fuck he was still here. No no no no no no no no no no no no no he wasn't supposed to be still here that wasn't fair he'd got the chance it would have been perfect oh god no-
Amidst his panic, the guy - what was his name? He honestly couldn't remember - stirred happily. “Great night sweetheart.”
He couldn't breathe. His work clothes were still on the floor, no way could he wear them during the day without getting arrested. And what about his phone? Would it be empty or filled up with pissed off messages?
“You were supposed to-”
Spencer laughed, almost good-naturedly. “I did everything to you last night, I honestly can't think of what more I could have done.”
Maybe he should go. Maybe he was in so much trouble the club would kick him out and he'd have no choice but to lie down and.... Maybe he could go to a ditch for some extra-fun irony.
The panic was starting to die as Spencer went to take a shower and he plucked his phone from his jacket. Five messages. One voice mail from Linkara, two from the Chick, one text from Liz and another from Lucy. The first was probably the safest to listen to.
Dude, I have no clue where you are, but if you're still alive, Chick is going to tear. you. apart. And this warning is the only sympathy you'll get from me. Bye.
He stole some sweatpants (he was bleeding though, but right now it didn't matter) put his hat, jacket and tie and stuffed the corset, skirt and boots into a bag. It wouldn't be too hard to find the Chick's place. He actually felt relaxed.
Another chance to end just opened up.
Pairing: Critic/OC
Word Count: 833
Disclaimer: Spencer is mine. Critic isn't. Shame.
A/N: To understand this, put it a few weeks before the Nerd comes back for the first time.
Critic was having a bad night. It was too quiet. Not in the “just the workers and a couple of customers milling around” kind of way, it was much busier than that, but mostly it was straight college guys drinking and that was never good for him and Linkara.
But Linkara was doing just fucking fine, sitting at the bar and occupying the tipsy-steadily-approaching-drunk Chick's attention with talk of X-Men comics. And he knew he was stuck in self-pity, but that's the way it always went, he got left on his own. Ask That Guy would rather be with those assholes at wherever the hell he worked, that older brother would have rather lived among the rats than be with him, he was sure Chick would rather have Linkara, and the Nerd...
He should have forgotten him; his face, the way he sounded when he got angry, the way he tasted, his goofy smile, the way he tried so hard to make their last fuck soft-
Shit, was he crying again? He went as fast as he could to a small table in the corner, hunching down and knowing that nobody was noticing him. Why the hell was he like this? Why was he getting upset over a john who really should have been just a cash cow for a week? Why was he in this ridiculous outfit? Why did he even get up in the mornings?
He was snapped out of his self-obsession by a tall guy standing in his line of vision. He looked kinda slimy, with longish hair, a red jacket, a great big honker of a nose and a smug smile. But more importantly, he had a drink in his hand.
As he slowly put his mask on; fluttering big eyes, smirk and lounging in a “you're the only one who can break me” kinda way, the man put the drink on the table and smiled wider. “Thought you could use a drink. I'm Spencer.”
He leaned forward, pulling him closer and speaking breathily. “D'you really think I'm gonna trust guys who bring me drinks themselves?”
Spencer's expression soured and he made a move to leave, but he clenched a fist in his shirt and held him back, his other hand picking up the drink and downing it. The dizziness hit him like a freight train, but he still tried to talk. He had to get out of here, he had to make a choice. “Ne- never said it was a bad thing. Take... take me home with you.”
He was sure nobody was looking, and he was sure that his... customer had a look of shocked glee. “You sure?”
Hoisting himself up, he put the guy's arm around his waist and grinded into his body. “Don't wanna be here anymore. They won't care.”
It was only fitting that he should end like this, right?
He woke up with his head pounding and his mouth feeling both slimy and dry. It was a ratty apartment, even smaller than his own if that were at all possible, and the sounds of drilling and shouting outside were making him want to kill himself.
Speaking of... oh fuck he was still here. No no no no no no no no no no no no no he wasn't supposed to be still here that wasn't fair he'd got the chance it would have been perfect oh god no-
Amidst his panic, the guy - what was his name? He honestly couldn't remember - stirred happily. “Great night sweetheart.”
He couldn't breathe. His work clothes were still on the floor, no way could he wear them during the day without getting arrested. And what about his phone? Would it be empty or filled up with pissed off messages?
“You were supposed to-”
Spencer laughed, almost good-naturedly. “I did everything to you last night, I honestly can't think of what more I could have done.”
Maybe he should go. Maybe he was in so much trouble the club would kick him out and he'd have no choice but to lie down and.... Maybe he could go to a ditch for some extra-fun irony.
The panic was starting to die as Spencer went to take a shower and he plucked his phone from his jacket. Five messages. One voice mail from Linkara, two from the Chick, one text from Liz and another from Lucy. The first was probably the safest to listen to.
Dude, I have no clue where you are, but if you're still alive, Chick is going to tear. you. apart. And this warning is the only sympathy you'll get from me. Bye.
He stole some sweatpants (he was bleeding though, but right now it didn't matter) put his hat, jacket and tie and stuffed the corset, skirt and boots into a bag. It wouldn't be too hard to find the Chick's place. He actually felt relaxed.
Another chance to end just opened up.