Shoot From The Hip [standalone]
Title: Shoot From The Hip [standalone]
Author: my_obsession_xx
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: He lets it fill him, consume him, take over him. Because he’s done with it. He’s done with it all.
Disclaimer: i don't own anything, and this never happened. at all. the title of the story and song lyrics used throughout the story belong to a change of pace.
Author Notes: i couldn't get the image out of my head and i was stressed out, so i decided to relieve some tension. written in about twenty minutes; pretty sure i didn't stop the entire time. self beta'd, so if there are any mistakes, it's my fault. i actually really like how this came out.
The anger builds up, pooling in his stomach, pounding in his head, twitching in his fingers with each passing second. It takes over him, every inch of his body, every cell, muscle, movement, decision, and he likes it. He lets it fill him, consume him, take over him. Because he’s done with it. He’s done with it all.
“Heartbreak is half the fun, isn’t it?” he sneers, his pearly white teeth clenching, the muscles in his jaw tightening under his beautiful tanned skin. Sweat drips down from his raven hair, down the side of his face, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His dark eyes are cold like daggers as they stare down at his delicate neck, the slightly rounded way of his cheeks, his button-like nose.
The wind howls outside the old, metal storage house and the light above sways slightly overhead. The jagged gray and copper coloured steel walls shake, rattling against themselves from time to time. It’s not that loud of a noise, and it fades into the background, easily forgotten.
He watches as the other swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so, and he watches, with keen interest, as the sweat rolls down the other’s neck. It causes him to smirk because he never sweats. Not usually. The other’s skin is white, almost yellow due to the lone light on the ceiling that’s above them. His dark eyes follow the liquid as it trails down, watches until the small droplet reaches the barrel of the gun that’s pressed against the other’s neck and his stomach turns in disgust.
“I don’t understand,” the other chokes, swallowing, and he presses the gun harder into the smaller boy’s neck. “I don’t get what I did, I…”
“Silly me,” he snickers and pushes the hammer of the gun down with a click. “I thought honesty was given for free,” his eyes narrow and his stomach turns in anticipation. His brain shouts, do it, do it, do it, but he hesitates. “But I guess I was wrong.” His lips curl up into a maniacal smirk and his finger tugs gently at the trigger of the pistol. “Turns out it comes with a price.”
“Brendon, please, I-” the other sobs, the tears that had been threatening to fall from his hazel eyes falling, raining down his cheeks, mixing with his sweat. Brendon doesn’t let up.
“Shut up, Ryan.” He hisses. “I make the rules.” His voice lowers, so unlike his normal tone, as he leans in to Ryan’s ear. “You’re just a bad habit,” he muses, “and habits are made to broken.” Because Ryan deserves this.
Ryan tries to pull at the rope around his wrists that hold him to the chair, fear etching across his face, mostly prominent in his eyes. They’re wide and scared, terrified, but Brendon only chuckles, soft, dark, and disturbing into his ear before he bites down lightly. He’s been waiting for this.
“I’m tired of it all,” he takes his other hand and grips it into Ryan’s hair, tugging at the brown locks. He pulls the other’s neck back and exposes more of the sweat-covered skin and licks his lips. “I have no desire to put back together things that just fall apart.”
He feels Ryan’s trembling breath against his lips and he smirks before he crashes his own lips down, harsh and demanding against Ryan’s. He slips his tongue into the other’s mouth before he pulls back and bites down on the other’s bottom lip, almost drawing blood, the taste burning the back of his throat. Ryan tastes like ashes, the bittersweet memories burning out like a candle in the depths of Brendon’s heart and mind. Brendon can’t forgive anymore.
“I’m ready to give you up,” he says as his voice is gentler now, almost sickening in the way he’s trailing his thumb gently over Ryan’s cheek while the gun is still pressed tightly to the smaller boy’s neck. The passion, the love that they had was gone; it never lasted, never would last, never could. “You bring the bullets, I’ll bring the guns, eh?” he chuckles and holds Ryan’s chin in his hands before kissing him again, closed mouthed and brief. His mind screams in agony.
“This is how it ends.” He muses and leans back, staring at the boy tied to the chair under the single light of the abandoned storage house, and he smirks. “Picture perfect turned to worthless.”
Ryan opens his mouth to say something, anything, hazel eyes screaming, pleading, as more tears fall from his eyes. He tugs at his restraints and Brendon turns around and walks ten steps away before he turns back and holds the gun with a smirk on his face. Ryan screams.
Brendon pulls the trigger.
Author: my_obsession_xx
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: He lets it fill him, consume him, take over him. Because he’s done with it. He’s done with it all.
Disclaimer: i don't own anything, and this never happened. at all. the title of the story and song lyrics used throughout the story belong to a change of pace.
Author Notes: i couldn't get the image out of my head and i was stressed out, so i decided to relieve some tension. written in about twenty minutes; pretty sure i didn't stop the entire time. self beta'd, so if there are any mistakes, it's my fault. i actually really like how this came out.
The anger builds up, pooling in his stomach, pounding in his head, twitching in his fingers with each passing second. It takes over him, every inch of his body, every cell, muscle, movement, decision, and he likes it. He lets it fill him, consume him, take over him. Because he’s done with it. He’s done with it all.
“Heartbreak is half the fun, isn’t it?” he sneers, his pearly white teeth clenching, the muscles in his jaw tightening under his beautiful tanned skin. Sweat drips down from his raven hair, down the side of his face, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His dark eyes are cold like daggers as they stare down at his delicate neck, the slightly rounded way of his cheeks, his button-like nose.
The wind howls outside the old, metal storage house and the light above sways slightly overhead. The jagged gray and copper coloured steel walls shake, rattling against themselves from time to time. It’s not that loud of a noise, and it fades into the background, easily forgotten.
He watches as the other swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so, and he watches, with keen interest, as the sweat rolls down the other’s neck. It causes him to smirk because he never sweats. Not usually. The other’s skin is white, almost yellow due to the lone light on the ceiling that’s above them. His dark eyes follow the liquid as it trails down, watches until the small droplet reaches the barrel of the gun that’s pressed against the other’s neck and his stomach turns in disgust.
“I don’t understand,” the other chokes, swallowing, and he presses the gun harder into the smaller boy’s neck. “I don’t get what I did, I…”
“Silly me,” he snickers and pushes the hammer of the gun down with a click. “I thought honesty was given for free,” his eyes narrow and his stomach turns in anticipation. His brain shouts, do it, do it, do it, but he hesitates. “But I guess I was wrong.” His lips curl up into a maniacal smirk and his finger tugs gently at the trigger of the pistol. “Turns out it comes with a price.”
“Brendon, please, I-” the other sobs, the tears that had been threatening to fall from his hazel eyes falling, raining down his cheeks, mixing with his sweat. Brendon doesn’t let up.
“Shut up, Ryan.” He hisses. “I make the rules.” His voice lowers, so unlike his normal tone, as he leans in to Ryan’s ear. “You’re just a bad habit,” he muses, “and habits are made to broken.” Because Ryan deserves this.
Ryan tries to pull at the rope around his wrists that hold him to the chair, fear etching across his face, mostly prominent in his eyes. They’re wide and scared, terrified, but Brendon only chuckles, soft, dark, and disturbing into his ear before he bites down lightly. He’s been waiting for this.
“I’m tired of it all,” he takes his other hand and grips it into Ryan’s hair, tugging at the brown locks. He pulls the other’s neck back and exposes more of the sweat-covered skin and licks his lips. “I have no desire to put back together things that just fall apart.”
He feels Ryan’s trembling breath against his lips and he smirks before he crashes his own lips down, harsh and demanding against Ryan’s. He slips his tongue into the other’s mouth before he pulls back and bites down on the other’s bottom lip, almost drawing blood, the taste burning the back of his throat. Ryan tastes like ashes, the bittersweet memories burning out like a candle in the depths of Brendon’s heart and mind. Brendon can’t forgive anymore.
“I’m ready to give you up,” he says as his voice is gentler now, almost sickening in the way he’s trailing his thumb gently over Ryan’s cheek while the gun is still pressed tightly to the smaller boy’s neck. The passion, the love that they had was gone; it never lasted, never would last, never could. “You bring the bullets, I’ll bring the guns, eh?” he chuckles and holds Ryan’s chin in his hands before kissing him again, closed mouthed and brief. His mind screams in agony.
“This is how it ends.” He muses and leans back, staring at the boy tied to the chair under the single light of the abandoned storage house, and he smirks. “Picture perfect turned to worthless.”
Ryan opens his mouth to say something, anything, hazel eyes screaming, pleading, as more tears fall from his eyes. He tugs at his restraints and Brendon turns around and walks ten steps away before he turns back and holds the gun with a smirk on his face. Ryan screams.
Brendon pulls the trigger.