Living in Torture
Title: Living in Torture
Authors: absinthe_memory & trollsttroll
Chapter: 1
Fandom: Jackass/Viva La Bam/HIM
Rating: R (for now...)
Pairing: Ville/OC, Ville/Bam
Warning: Explicit gore and kink...
Disclaimer: Fiction means this isn’t real... unfortunately...
Word Count: 627 (They will get longer...)
Summary: The antics on the set of Jackass 3 drag Bam into a world unknown...
The trees loom and tower over the yard, casting hideous shadows. Bam's palm is starting to sweat. Why did he have to agree to this? He isn't being a pussy, he reasons. This is just plain fucking scary. Gathering up his wits, aided somewhat by the alcohol in his veins. Bam flicks on his flashlight and looks into the camera lens. "I'm going in..."
Ignoring the catcalls and whistles behind him, he takes each step one by one. Bam lets each breath settle in his lungs until it burns before releasing it out into the cool night air in a cloud of mist and fog.
Once up the front steps, he chances a glance back at the gang. Ryan waves, making him feel a little better about all of this. For some odd reason, he thinks these fuckers are going to play a fucking prank on him, and feeling his cheeks flush.
Keys are still hanging on the rack behind the desk. Letters lay out still addressed and sorted to the room numbers. "This is fucking...cool." Bam is in complete awe as he looks around him. The carpet hasn't been cleaned in ages. When Bam looks behind him he can see his fresh foot prints on the red carpet; his presence in this place, marking itself in this strange world.
Running a finger over the sets of keys, he stops and picks up one. "Yeah, I'll take this room." The plastic is cool and slick under his touch as he ferrets the key away into his pocket.
Fleetingly, he wonders if the guys have had enough, because he isn't fucking scared. Fuck ‘em, let the fuckers stand out there with their asses hanging out in the wind. Sure, they were drinking his beer, but this shit was more than worth it.
Not expecting the elevator to work, Bam takes the stairs right beside it. It's a short climb up to the second floor. A broken table greets him on the landing. He knows that if this place would have been still in its original state… it would have been beautiful. Pushing open the wooden door, he walks into the corridor. Pictures that once hung on the walls were thrown down, shredded to the point that seeing artwork would result in looking at the wall or floor behind the canvas.
Glass crunches under his feet and he realizes that it's from the ceiling lights. They're all broken. Bam rubs the back of his neck while he looks around; the material of his black fingerless glove almost tickles him instead of relieving him. He shines the light down the hall. His breath hitches in his throat. Someone’s down there.
"Hey, man... are you okay?" He steps forward. His eyes sweep over the shadowed form. Hands halo their face; elbows almost at a right angle. Bam, in his burgundy blazer is quite cold and he's shocked they're not shivering without a shirt on. "Man, did you take something?"
Flowing along the hallway, little by little the form approaches him. One shoulder lifting off the wall before curling forward until it slams back onto the hard surface. Head lulling, the figure rose and fell in its own macabre ballet that felt so much more like a wave crashing upon sandy shores than a dance.
Taking a step back, Bam can't believe it. He didn't fucking imagine someone there. No, he didn't. Looking back in front of him, he's horrified to meet transparent green eyes. Pink lips curl into a smile in front of him. Losing all precious air in his lungs, Bam can't even scream. Legs kicking wildly out beneath him, he’s down the hotel stairs out the front door in a matter of seconds and stumbling onto the dewy sidewalk…
Chapter 2
Authors: absinthe_memory & trollsttroll
Chapter: 1
Fandom: Jackass/Viva La Bam/HIM
Rating: R (for now...)
Pairing: Ville/OC, Ville/Bam
Warning: Explicit gore and kink...
Disclaimer: Fiction means this isn’t real... unfortunately...
Word Count: 627 (They will get longer...)
Summary: The antics on the set of Jackass 3 drag Bam into a world unknown...
The trees loom and tower over the yard, casting hideous shadows. Bam's palm is starting to sweat. Why did he have to agree to this? He isn't being a pussy, he reasons. This is just plain fucking scary. Gathering up his wits, aided somewhat by the alcohol in his veins. Bam flicks on his flashlight and looks into the camera lens. "I'm going in..."
Ignoring the catcalls and whistles behind him, he takes each step one by one. Bam lets each breath settle in his lungs until it burns before releasing it out into the cool night air in a cloud of mist and fog.
Once up the front steps, he chances a glance back at the gang. Ryan waves, making him feel a little better about all of this. For some odd reason, he thinks these fuckers are going to play a fucking prank on him, and feeling his cheeks flush.
Keys are still hanging on the rack behind the desk. Letters lay out still addressed and sorted to the room numbers. "This is fucking...cool." Bam is in complete awe as he looks around him. The carpet hasn't been cleaned in ages. When Bam looks behind him he can see his fresh foot prints on the red carpet; his presence in this place, marking itself in this strange world.
Running a finger over the sets of keys, he stops and picks up one. "Yeah, I'll take this room." The plastic is cool and slick under his touch as he ferrets the key away into his pocket.
Fleetingly, he wonders if the guys have had enough, because he isn't fucking scared. Fuck ‘em, let the fuckers stand out there with their asses hanging out in the wind. Sure, they were drinking his beer, but this shit was more than worth it.
Not expecting the elevator to work, Bam takes the stairs right beside it. It's a short climb up to the second floor. A broken table greets him on the landing. He knows that if this place would have been still in its original state… it would have been beautiful. Pushing open the wooden door, he walks into the corridor. Pictures that once hung on the walls were thrown down, shredded to the point that seeing artwork would result in looking at the wall or floor behind the canvas.
Glass crunches under his feet and he realizes that it's from the ceiling lights. They're all broken. Bam rubs the back of his neck while he looks around; the material of his black fingerless glove almost tickles him instead of relieving him. He shines the light down the hall. His breath hitches in his throat. Someone’s down there.
"Hey, man... are you okay?" He steps forward. His eyes sweep over the shadowed form. Hands halo their face; elbows almost at a right angle. Bam, in his burgundy blazer is quite cold and he's shocked they're not shivering without a shirt on. "Man, did you take something?"
Flowing along the hallway, little by little the form approaches him. One shoulder lifting off the wall before curling forward until it slams back onto the hard surface. Head lulling, the figure rose and fell in its own macabre ballet that felt so much more like a wave crashing upon sandy shores than a dance.
Taking a step back, Bam can't believe it. He didn't fucking imagine someone there. No, he didn't. Looking back in front of him, he's horrified to meet transparent green eyes. Pink lips curl into a smile in front of him. Losing all precious air in his lungs, Bam can't even scream. Legs kicking wildly out beneath him, he’s down the hotel stairs out the front door in a matter of seconds and stumbling onto the dewy sidewalk…
Chapter 2