[AN: seems i'm writing a lot of these aggro things these days.]


'Don't,' Rick cries. Soft like a newborn pup. His eyes closed like some sort of fucking metaphor except that they are closed, dust down his face, debris in his hair. Hands shaking by his sides and they were in Vyvyan's a moment ago, being pulled from beneath a mass of plaster. Quick enough to pull him before it fell but Vyvyan waited.

He loves Rick, he told himself out loud in the safety of his car, blood in his mouth and darkness without the aid of headlights stoking the thrill of never quite knowing when he'll die. It might be better than spending the rest of his life with Rick, but he finds he wants to. He wants to spend his days with Rick. He wants to die with Rick. He wants to decide when. He hesitates because he's never sure and it burns like fire inside his head. He's so fucking angry all the goddamn time.

Vyvyan's lip shakes and it doesn't stop. His fingers clamped over it and it won't stop. He's going to cut it off. He's going to bite if off, he's going to fucking bite his own fingers off and then he's going to find some grass and lie down and wait to bleed out. It's a slow, slow process but Vyvyan's wants to see the sky. That's all he wanted. Broken ceramic and crushed brick, he just wanted to see the sky.

'Don't,' Rick says again and he might try to stop Vyvyan who is scratching at his knuckles, tearing dead skin and it flakes like scales, like nail, he's digging and Rick might try to stop him but he doesn't know. He knows that they end up in Rick's mouth, pushing to the back and Rick is choking. Gagging with his hands around Vyvyan's wrist and his eyes wide and wet like an exotic animal. There's nothing exotic about Rick. He comes exactly as you see him and he comes exactly as he sees you. Fucking hair-trigger and if Vyvyan is going to die today then he's glad he had a taste.

Sweat on Rick's forehead and it turns the dust to paste. Tribal, ritualistic, like humanity started and how it might end. Vyvyan scratches at it until it's gone, just raw and red and pure like it should be, like Vyvyan needs it to be. Rick bubbles at his mouth and his nose, saliva and mucus and everything that fascinates Vyvyan, gushing from him, twisting around Vyvyan's arm and it's so thick, like placenta, like something disgusting and safe that Vyvyan wants to be inside. Rick sings like a bird, high tribbles and torn inhales. It hits a beat, it's a game. Vyvyan nods in time and pushes until soft warmth turns thinner and he grazes his nails. Tear it down from the inside. Tear it all down. Be under the sky when it ends.