Fic: Sam and the Tree (1/1), dark blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Sam and the Tree
Author: dak
Word Count: 873
Rating: dark blue cortina
Warnings: some inanimate sexin', angst
Summary: Sam feels alone. Very alone.
A/N: This is wrong. This is some demented crack!angst. I should never have even written this. This is
culf's fault for even thinking it up, and
darthfi's fault for hypnotizing me in the pub and making me write it. This is...it's just wrong.
She was just as he remembered from his childhood, tall and straight and beautiful. Thick branches spreading out above him, shading him from intense, late afternoon sun, or protecting him from sudden, soaking showers. She stood at the back of the park, near the tree line but not a part of it. She was separate from the rest, inching ever so gently into the open field which constituted the rest of the park.
He’d often come to her after school, running to greet her while the other children ran home to their mothers or fathers. His mother was always working. His father was long gone. On pleasant days, he’d lean up against her and pull out his workbooks, finishing his homework before running home at dusk and helping a tired Ruth prepare dinner.
When there were too many boys wanting to play football and he was left out again, he’d slouch his shoulders and wander over towards her. He’d focus on climbing up her wide trunk, trying to reach her outstretched branches, instead of watching the other boys shouts and cheer and run round the pitch.
That was what had brought him here today, back to her side. He hadn’t come here intentionally. His feet had wandered as they sometimes did and this was where they had taken him today. It had been another long day of unending, losing battles. It had been another day of Annie distancing herself from his concerns, advising him only to seek help. It had been another day of the Guv punching him, pushing him, then leaving him. Tyler wouldn’t be interested in the darts match. Tyler could stay late and finish the paperwork. Tyler could be left to his own devices. Tyler would be fine.
Sam sighed and gently rested his forehead against her trunk, bracing his hands against the rough bark. He was alone in the park. He was always alone, he though bitterly, even before he had woken up here. He pressed himself closer, wanting to block his body from the increasing wind. A storm was on its way but there was only a dank and dirty flat waiting for him at home. Even in the rain, she could provide more warmth and comfort than that place ever could.
He didn’t know when he’d started running his hands up the sides of her wooden skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. As much time as he spent around others, as many fist fights and punch-ups he found himself in, he always felt isolated, unwanted. He found himself pressing his body closer, gasping slightly as his groin grazed the bark.
At that instant, he knew he should pull away, but he couldn’t. It had been so long since someone, something, had touched him, besides his own hand. He pushed in closer, pressing her tightly against the increasing bulge in his trousers. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began rocking his hips, moving up and down, creating a rhythm.
He closed his eyes, he knew he was alone, and scratched his short fingernails into the trunk, digging into the bark, holding himself up. He wanted to feel. He wanted to know if he was still alive, if he’d ever been alive. Today, no one here had made him feel. He turned his head to the side, not caring as her roughness dug into his soft cheek. No one had cared about his presence, or lack thereof.
He moved faster, unable to choke the breathless moans now escaping from his throat. She gave nothing back but support and right now, it was all he needed. He forgot his rhythm as he rubbed and swelled, losing himself in the sensations created by the friction between pants and jeans and two different types of wood. He clung and scratched and humped and finally came with a relieved cry, then leant, spent, against his close friend.
It wasn’t until his breathing became even and his mind began to function, that he felt the dampness in his crotch and realized, with disgust, what he had just done. He was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic, resorting to frottage with a tree, instead of seeking out a human connection. It was sick, disgusting, wrong. He was sick, disgusting, wrong. The relief his release had brought vanished as the revulsion of what he’d done sunk into his brain, fraying his tangled nerves.
His stomach cramped and he fell to his knees as he vomited what little was in his stomach onto the cold ground. The rain began to fall and even under it leaves and branches, Sam could still feel the sharp sting of the rain against his already clammy skin. Lifting himself onto wobbly legs, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and staggered off into the darkening night.
He would strip himself completely once inside the flat. He would lock himself in the bathroom. He would stand under the hot shower and scrub himself raw, until he could feel clean again. He wouldn’t know that he hadn’t been alone. He wouldn’t know that all he’d done had been seen by a hidden man in a camel coat. He would never know that was why Gene invited him to every darts match since.