This was written back in March, after a little convo about something written in Shawn's book (...that has nothing to do with Bret).
I just never intended to post it.
Wrote it to test my writing and for 'fun', mostly, and seriously didn't think the plot through. If you see plotholes, things you've already kind of seen in my other fics, and find the ending abrupt, this is probably why. lol
Therm liked it though, so here you go.
A beautiful sky. No clouds to hide the stars, glowing above. A nice wind. Not cold, caressing his face and moving his hair around. Shawn tries to find the moon and sees none. Would have perfected the picture.
Even up here, his ears are buzzing with the noise of the lockeroom, his heart is aching with the hurtful words, his sanity is fading away. Tries to deny all that. Can't.
He sets a foot on the ledge, silently stares at it, as if learning the steps. Then a push, and both feet have only heels touching the solid ground. Below, only a few cars appear now and then, the streets silent but brightly ligtened. Arm stretched out, hand trying to grasp the invisible air. He's not scared of heights. But the void, the emptiness is impressive. The void is...
Takes a big breathe, closes his eyes. No, inviting is not the word. It shouldn't be. Many things shouldn't be. You shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be champ. His hands come to meet his face and rub, and his balance is shaken. But he's used to it. He can stand on a rope. He can stand on a ledge. He can jump off a rope, better than anyone else. He can jump...
He's suddenly reminded of that dungeon he called a flat, when a gun would have ended it all. It got better then, didn't it? Didn't it?
"But I'm back down." To no one, in his hands.
And he's reminded of how he had wished there was someone. Someone to talk to. His own personal shrink, his own personal Jesus, whatever. Hands away from his face, he looks up at the sky again, with a sigh.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Not, really not the voice he wants to hear right now. Ever again. Doesn't do him the grace to turn his head, still stargazing.
"Well what the hell are you doing up there." Then the smell of tobacco reaches his nostrils. But disappears as quickly.
"Shawn..." Hates that voice, hates it. "There's seriously no reason to do that."
"And how would you know?!" Failed. He turned his head. Quickly fixes that, focusing on a building far away. So angry now, he wishes the weather could be angry along. He can still mumble, "You'd be the first to throw a fucking party."
Then something grabs his wrist, and he instinctively pushes his body forward to escape. Almost leaving the ground for good. Almost leaving for good. But hands are swift and strong, and he's forced back on the roof. Seeing the stars again. He realizes how fast his pulse is and wonders, was he scared? Then that face appears above his, and he just wants to punch him. Then, maybe, punch himself.
Bret just shakes his head, and it's one of those looks, it's one of those looks that make him want to go back on that ledge, and he starts to well up. Only angrier. The back of his head starts to hurt. But he doesn't move.
"You're really an idiot."
Stares. Stares as much as he can. But he's tired. "I know, thanks." Shaking. "Now if you could mind your own fucking business and let that 'idiot'—"
"Kill himself?" A weird look of disgust and disbelief. "I wouldn't throw a fucking party either."
"Someone else would then!" Fuck if he's crying. It should be the last time, anyway. It shouldn't be. Eyes closed, lets the tears flow.
"Really, you'd choose to give them what they want. If they want you to fuck off, don't you just want to do the exact opposite as usual?"
"I'm..." Opens his eyes a little. "I'm fed up with this shit." A sob. How embarrassing.
"You want people to like you." He'll get no answer. "Stop being a jerk, that'll be a start."
He answers, I don't know how, but his throat barely lets any sound out.
Minutes pass by, and behind closed eyes he still feels Bret looming over him, motionless. It's nowhere near silent, though, the noise of the city below reaching their ears faintly, breathing, and soft crying.
Then he suddenly finds strength again, no weakness in his legs, no fear in his mind, he's ready to go back at staring into the void. Jumps towards the ledge.
And the same hands catch him mid-way, arms enclose him, and he can only struggle. "Let me.." Struggle and cry some more. "Let me go!" Until he's too tired again. So he just lets his head rest on the soft fabric behind him. Tries to breathe normally between all the hiccups. Stares at nothing. And goes limp against the larger body. Just wants to fall asleep now.
"...finally ready to go back inside?"
Slowly shakes his head, negatively. An exasperated sigh near his ear. He lets his heavy eyelids drop.
"You're so fucking annoying, Shawn."
Sniffs. "Fuck you." Voice shaky and raspy.
"Yeah. I saved your stupid life and you're welcome."
Turns swiftly in the arms, to face him. "I never asked..I told you I.." For the love of God, he's going to cry again. Does. "I..." Presses his face into the chest before him, quite unconsciously (he tells himself). "I'm sorry." Sounds pathetic.
And he's probably imagining the arms getting tighter, the hearts beating faster.
Lifts up his head, to meet black eyes. Black eyes getting closer. And closer. And closer, until he has to close his own.
And this is not really happening.
Lips did not touch. Mouths did not open. Tongues did not brush. And he's not moaning. And he's not shaking. The hand in his hair is not really here, and if he's falling backward on the ground again, it's not because of someone guiding him. He's dreaming. Shawn fell asleep, in the end.
"Dammit."
And he has to stop ignoring. The word was whispered against his face, he felt it as much as he heard it. Wide eyes look up to squeezed closed ones. His breathing is harsh and it hurts his soar throat. Tentatively, lets a trembling hand against a cold cheek. If this is really happening, he doesn't know what this is. He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know what they're doing.
And then he's kissed again, so he kisses back. It's what he's supposed to do. And it's...it's what he...wants.
Words keep touching his skin. "Come on, let's get out of here, Shawn."
Nods. And doesn't let go. He's going to get carried like a kid or a fucking bride, but he can't. He just can't let go now. Not now. Another exasperated sigh and Bret does lift him up, and he claws at his back.
And mumbles, "you in love with me or something?"
"I hate you."
Closes his eyes yet again. "Same thing." Bret scoffs and Shawn pecks clothed skin. To prove his point, maybe. Doesn't stop until his teeth can nib at a naked neck.
"Stop that." A kick and the metal door opens with a squeak. Readjusts his take on Shawn. "...please."
Chooses to settle for fisfuls of shirt. "If you..if you hate my guts so much why did—"
"For God's sake, just shut up." It's awkward. Uncomfortable. The way they shifted to kiss again. And still. Bret's arms let him go and he hits the nearest wall, is pushed against it (against him) and responds, as much as he can, as passionately as he can, because he just hasn't felt a fire like that in an eternity, and he feels that if he lets go, if he lets go one second, he's going to fall from that ledge for good. He has to tighten his grip. He has to show...he has to show he needs something to clutch onto.
Then his mouth is free, and he's left whimpering, hot breathe puffing on the side of his face.
"I really hate you."
Swallows, with difficulty. "M-me too."
A punch in the wall next to him, startles him.
And his lips are taken again. Can't get enough of it.
Grinding against him, latching his legs around his waist, shakily before hands on his back, on his denim clad ass, keep him steady. As steady as he can be, right now. One hand slips inside the jean, finds its way past the grey boxers, and fuck if he doesn't know what he's doing anymore. Moans, gasps, continuously as he strokes him fast. They stopped kissing, and Shawn just knows. The sounds he's making. They resonate, in the empty hallway, and it's obvious. Bret drinks them up.
And close, so close already. "God, I—" Past that, with a shout and a flow of curses.
Sags against him, numb for a second. Again, arms let him go and he scrumbles to the floor, legs too weak. Hands still clutching black fabric.
He's facing a clear bulge in jeans, and licks his lips. "Shawn, don't—"
"Shut the hell up." Starts to lower the zip.
"I said don't !"
And he's shoved against the wall again. Just not against him. It's back to the start, he stares and stares, he's angry, he's sad, he's fucking desperate. And there's that stupid lower lip of his, wobbling again.
Then the bastard kneels in front of him, dares to pet his hair.
"Don't you..don't you want me to.." Reaches for him.
"No."
"But I..I.."
"This isn't the place."
"But it was the place for that?" Clasps the black clothes. Bret stays silent. And it's probably the worst post-orgasmic moment of his whole life, the first time in high school with that older woman (need to teach you some stuff, she said) was a glorious start compared to this. Whatever this is. "...just let me..let me.."
He's the one leaning in, for the first time. Tries to make his sighs louder. They seem to have such an effect on him. And can't move, arms shackling him to Bret, and they're devouring each other's mouths now.
And is pushed again.
"Dammit !" Panting heavily.
"If it's not the place...where do you want to take me?" Smirks at his own words.
"To the damn next airport." The smirk fades. "You're going to go home and reflect on your fucking stupidity."
Now he's just angry. Stands up too, quickly getting closer to Bret, clutching on his black shirt again. "So what was that? What was that, uh?!"
"What, are you going to cry again?" Probably. "For God's sake, Shawn, grow some balls."
And the punch he thought about minutes (centuries) ago is finally thrown. "Don't think you can jerk me off just because you suddenly feel like it and then just..just.."
The stairs to the roof are so near, still. Looks at them.
And runs them up.
Rain pouring outside. The beautiful sky is now a mess of grey clouds. And he keeps running, running towards the ledge, doesn't think about stopping any time soon. He'll still run in the air.
And, of course, here they are again, arms trapping him. And, of course, he's a wreck again.
"Shawn." Tasteless raindrops rest on their lips and mix in their mouths. "Just stop being an idiot."
He can't move away from him. And he's so weak, right now. Just cries on his shoulder.
"I'll take you home."
"I don't wanna go home."
"God you're such a kid—"
Pushes him away and tries to run again. Gets trapped again. Gets kissed again. Can barely open his eyes anyway, rain hard.
"I'll just take you with me." Almost has to scream to cover the noise of falling raindrops.
"Where."
Sighs. "No fucking idea. A...a place where I can look after your stup—you." Thunder rolls, startes them both. He's just brought closer to Bret. "Just stop thinking about doing that."
And he's still so confused about today, and everything. So, focuses on what he wants, like earlier, whether it makes sense or not. - did anything make sense today anyway? – and traps his face to cover wet lips as forcefully as he can. God, he hates him. For being right on some things, many things, for telling him what to do (the right thing to do), he hates him. With a passion. Passion.
Before Shawn knows it, they're inside again. Soaked to the bone. Joined by hands.
A panicked voice is calling for him, from the floor below. And God help him, he doesn't want to go with anyone else, right now. Looks at him with a worried look, silently asks him to do what he hates him for; guide him, show him the way, tell him what to do. Force him, kick his ass, he just won't have the courage to do anything himself.
His hand is freed, and Hunter appears at the end of the hallway, immediately glaring at Bret.
"What—"
"Your boyfriend got lost on the roof. Next time make him visit the place, or something."
Comes naturally. "Fuck you."
"Doesn't tell me why the hell you're here." The blonde is getting closer, ready to take Shawn with him. Away from the other man.
Breathes. Thinks. "Vince...we both need to have a talk with Vince." Seems to be convincing, despite pauses. "So...you can go your merry way."
"Really, Shawn?"
A nervous nod.
"Okay." Stares a moment. "...I'll be out all night with Joan so...see you at the hotel."
Hunter slowly disappears, Shawn sighs and Bret holds his hand again. "I can't believe that shit."
They start walking, and Shawn crushes the fingers between his. He hates him; he wants to hurt him, of course.
....
They're waiting for a cab, outside. Don't feel like using any limo. Doesn't feel approprate, for some reason. The rain keeps pouring, and Shawn wishes the other man was taller so he could rest his head on his shoulder without twisting his neck painfully, while standing next to him. Simply wants to rest on him. But, then again, he's not even holding his hand anymore. Wouldn't want other people to notice they both went crazy. Doing things they won't believe.
"So where are we going."
"Hotel."
And something passes through Shawn's body.
When the car arrives, he can see them both in the window; distorded reflections, blurred by raindrops – the right way to represent them, now. Still staring at the glass once inside, Shawn feels like tracing shapes with his finger. Does, lazily. A heart, broken in two (of course). Feels warmth creeping up his inner thigh while doing so, and places his cold hand on the one caressing his leg, eyes never leaving the dripping doodle. It's like melting ice, hot skin unfreezing his. And the hand keeps massaging, gently.
"Feelin' alright?"
Finally turns towards him. "Yeah." Sighs. And lets his whole body fall on Bret, like he wanted earlier. Rest on him. Not embarrassed by the little whimper escaping when his cheek hits a chest (firm).
He's pushed away as quickly.
"We're here already."
Makes an annoyed noise. But jumps right out of the car.
....
They've always liked to run their mouths, both of them. Talking, talking, hurting with words. Loving with words.
Here they are, though, tangled in sheets, no words spoken since a glaring clerk handed them the room key. Using mouths for entirely something else, urgent kisses turned slow, rough hands turned gentle and quick sexing against a gray wall turned into, into lovemaking.
Still doesn't know what the fuck is happening.
The ceiling is a nice thing to focus on, Shawn decides, while he listens to deep breathing (and feels it on his ear). Sadly realizes, he might still find the void, the one you can see from the roof on top of the ledge, welcoming; he'd just want to bring Bret with him. And, apparently, his crying wasn't enough for the day.
Chooses to muffle his sobs in the neck beside him.
"It's alright."
It never will be. Shakes his head."Never will be."
"It's alright..."
"Dammit, it's NOT !" And, as usual, realization downs only afterwards. "So—sorry." Goes back to hide his face. Not sobbing anymore.
"I'm as fucking confused as you, you know."
"I know."
"Still hate your guts."
Eyes squeeze shut. "I know."
A whisper now. "But not enough to let you..."
Shawn just nods this time. Then, "sleep with a lot of people you hate?"
Silence, for a few minutes. "I'm not.." Sighs. "I am not going to tell you...'I love you' or something." But arms get tighter around Shawn.
"Ah." Another beat. "I love you."
"What?!"
"You won't say it, I say it." Can barely hear himself. "I love you."
Many exasperated sounds, and "fuck you, Shawn." Arms so tightly wrapped breathing is getting difficult.
"You did that already." Voice even lower.
And he can hear the eyes roll, somehow. "At least you still got that thing you call humor."
"Yeah. Maybe I was joking all along."
A hand in his hair now. "That'd be great."
An eternity passes, and Shawn tries to sit up. "Guess I'm gonna go now." Is dragged back swiflty.
"I said I'd look after your stupid self."
"You said you'd look after me."
Eyes roll again. "Whatever, you're staying." But, tries to sit up again. Only to have his arm caught, fingers digging into it. Like on the roof. Like many times, today. Always to save him. "Shawn."
"Hunt is going to look for me." Doesn't really know why he keeps insisting.
Scoffs. "What kind of excuse is that?"
"What's your excuse for still hating my guts?" Back at his low menacing drawl.
"You're still a crying brat."
Teeth grind against each others. "A crying brat who just let you come int—"
Can't move his lips anymore, thanks to others, and he knows it was just to shut him up. Bret doesn't want to hear that. Only wants to hear lies.
He kisses back.
And, "fuck, Shawn, just—just let me take care of you, alright?"
A chuckle (surprisingly). "That's as good as 'I love you', you know." Gets a stare. "Sorry, I'm a romantic."
"You're a fucking girl."
Eyebrows wiggle, "I'm your fucking girl." And Bret covers his face with two palms. Shawn takes the opportunity to flee from the bed – gracefully, doesn't matter no one's looking. "Shower time." Would like to think he can feel eyes on his naked body.
....
When Bret enters the shower, he's too busy taking care of his hair. Then, realizes he also seems to like drawing on steamed glass with a finger. Looks aside, still massaging his scalp. He's not drawing, he's writing. And is his hand a little shaky?
And doesn't have time to finish, the second word telling Shawn everything.
Pulls him towards him, trying to stay steady. Hesitant kisses shared, and he falls down on his knees. Hands fall down on his hair, gripping fistful of wet locks. And as his head starts to bob, grip tighter. Hips buck forward, he lets them, lets him control the pace. Guided.
And he's whispering, "Shawn... Shawn...", and it's just...fucking wonderful. Shouldn't be.
He's maybe going to wake up, now.
Shouldn't.