A/N: Soo, I just couldn't stay away. This is just a quick oneshot, the things I think about when I should be thinking about more logical stuff. Don't own anything, of course, because William Golding does. And Breaking Benjamin, for the title. Although this is the oneshot that inspired the tattoo I'm getting on my right hip…
Roger stood before the mirror, knuckles white against his skin as he clutched the edge of the bathroom sink. He had dark circles below his lifeless eyes, in which razored black hair hung so carelessly.
Steam spilled out from the hot shower, filling the bathroom, wrapping itself around Roger's skinny body. He was well aware of the way his ribs and hits jutted out of his pale skin. And he knew all too well that a million and one secrets were locked up inside his chest. Oh, they haunted him every fucking second, every fucking day.
"Arent you coming in?"
An amused voice poured out with the heat, raising goosebumps all along Roger's arms, sending shivers down his bare back. Tearing his gaze from the ghost in the mirror, he turned around and stepped inside.
The water was scalding hot, ripping at his flesh as it rolled over his body. Yet Roger kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like letting go would mean falling apart. He was beginning to think that maybe they could invest in a second shower head, but then his gaze was travelling over the boy who stood in front of him, and suddenly thinking wasn't so easy.
Roger admired the angel for some time, his muscled body and red locks that had an annoying habit of falling over his face, concealing his perfectly blue eyes. Like the color of ocean waves, but Roger didn't want to think about that. With a trembling finger he traced the scripted black ink across the boy's shoulders, gliding effortlessly against his skin. Kill the beast, it said. Roger felt a shudder move through him.
"That feels nice," the angel murmured, but still he turned around so that he could face Roger, those damned eyes boring into the darker of the two.
"Jack," Roger started, it was all he got to say before the bigger boy was upon him. Jack clutched to him, pulled on his hair as the kiss danced between passion and aggression. Roger complied happily, their tongues darting and brushing, eliciting a moan from deep within the pair.
Maybe they had lost everything else, left it all behind on that damned island. Maybe they were too damn empty to feel again. But Roger held tightly to Jack like maybe he could find something in the embrace to spill into himself. Tasted each kiss and wondered if the dear agony might let him go.
Jack broke away with a sullen sort of smile. "We should go," he said, because there was a whole world waiting for them and no matter how hard they tried they couldn't run forever. But Roger could tell he didn't really want that.
No, not really.