Fandom: Outlast
Characters: Miles Upshur/Waylon Park
Word Count: 505
Warnings: Violence, blood, vague bad sex. Typos/Unedited
Summary: Miles says something. Waylon says something back. Miles laughs. Waylon punches him. Hard
Notes: Title lifted from You're The Same - VAST
They're walking on the beach.
Miles says something. Waylon says something back. Miles laughs. Waylon punches him. Hard. Mile rears back, cursing, and then launches himself at Waylon.
Waylon leaves Miles with a split lip and Miles wraps his hands around Waylon's throat. They are grinning, madly. Blood drips from Miles' lip to Waylon's cheek bone.
Miles is hard, he ruts into the sharp jut of Waylon's hip, too much friction to feel good. Miles moans anyway.
Waylon coughs, bucks his hips back, rough and with the intention to hurt. "Disgusting."
Fingers squeezing tighter, leaves bruises that won't fade for weeks, Miles bares his teeth. "Yeah."
They're on a beach and they are fucking.
Out in the open for everyone to see, but no one does. Waylon scratches open weeping cuts down Miles' arms, his face, his back; wraps his knees around Mile's ribcage, wants to break his bones. Miles is biting Waylon's neck, shoulders, chest, digs bloody imprints of his teeth in the skin. Smiles, lips red rimmed. Waylon scowls and tries to hook his fingers in Miles' eye.
They come, snarling; a mess of sticky cum over their stomachs. They are both sore, rubbed raw, sensitive flesh abraded by have undone zippers and too dry palms. They do not kiss, tearing at each other's mouths with teeth and tongues and built up resentment.
Waylon flips them over, detaching Miles' hands from his throat, the rush of air disorienting, legs still weak from coming, but somehow he manages to get the taller man on his back. Waylon sucks in a deep breath of bitter sea air, acrid with fish guts and rotting seaweed and black smog from boats. Slams his left fist in Miles' jaw, feels his teeth clack together. Slams his right fist into Miles' cheek bone, splits open the delicate skin on his knuckles.
Miles shouts, enraged and resonating. Reaches up with arms too strong to be natural, and hauls Waylon off his chest, sends him hard into the sand. Waylon scrambles to his feet, bad leg giving out and he lands rough on one knee. He bites his lip, blood running fast and thick down his chin.
There are black veins in Miles' eyes, but he's still him, is still laughing and still pissed right the fuck off.
Neither of them remember what started the fight.
A horn blows, booming and vibrating in their bones. The sun has already set, the sky dark and thunderous clouds looming over the moon. The street lamps cast sickly piss yellow light that doesn't reach them. They rush each other and fall into the sand again, Miles landing hard on his shoulder, jarring it.
But Waylon is weaker and soon enough Miles has him pinned again, hands pulling his hair and forcing his nose in the sand. Something cracks. Waylon lashes out with his good leg, catches Miles on his thigh, sends his knee out from under him and back into the sand right next to Waylon.
They don't move.
They're laying on the beach.