Pavor Nocturnis: Chapter Three
By: Lady Eternal & Psychodelic Barfly
Dried and dressed in a flash, Pietro zipped downstairs to sift through the drawer of ads, snorting in triumph as he located a Domino's advertisement.. one with coupons! Yessss, he giggled, knowing Lance would be pleased with his uncharacteristic thriftiness.
He started to dial when he realized he hadn't asked what kind Lance even wanted... some days were more pepperoni, others total sausage days. Or maybe today... today was probably an "everything" kinda day... he darted back upstairs, calling out as he walked in, "Lance, sweetie, what'd you want on you..r..? Lance?" He stared at Lance, who was busily picking apart a shaving razor.
The intrusion of another human voice almost paused Lance, but not quite. His fingers mechanically removed the blade from the razor, his eyes fixed upon the unused edge. Only when he'd achieved his goal did he pause, setting the razor's carcass in the sink.
"Lance...? What're you doing?" Pietro stepped up to his beau, peering into the sink at the discarded plastic razor casing. Lance was standing perfectly still, the blade pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Pietro's brow furrowed. "Lance," he started quietly, "Tell me you weren't... aren't gonna use that..."
"Don't worry, Pietro," Lance replied softly, turning back to the tub and its still-flowing shower. "You won't hafta clean up after me."
Pietro stood, dumbstruck, staring at Lance's retreating form as it disappeared back into the bath, the shower curtain fluttering somewhat in the aftermath. It took him only a second after that to follow, tearing the damned plastic sheet off the rings and grabbing Lance's arm, mid-slice. Quick fingers snatched the sharp metal away, tossing it in the sink along with it's shell.
Lance was bleeding already. Pietro closed his eyes, a pained expression darkening his beautiful features. He hadn't yet released Lance's bleeding limb. "Lance... you are an idiot. But I love you anyway, damn it," Pietro said, stepping into the tub fully clothed without a second thought. Kneeling in a position of worship before Lance's naked form, he took the arm, faced the injured section out, and slowly trailed his tongue from wrist to mid-forearm, lapping at the blood as it spilled from his lover's body. Hoping for a peace offering of sorts...
Lance watched as Pietro lapped at the gash, not deep enough to threaten his life but deep enough to send a ribbon of bright red blood spilling across his arm and dripping into the water that swirled at their feet. He won't even let me end it... he says he loves me, but he doesn't want me... I don't do anything right, but he won't let me end it... "What do you want from me?" he finally asked, the words driven by nothing short of soul-deep exhaustion, breaking wearily past his lips like an old man forced to wander far longer than was good for him.
Pietro's eyes locked on Lance's as he spanned wrist to forearm, seeing Lance's shudder as well as feeling it. "Want from you? I don't expect anything from you. All I want is you," he confessed, slowly rising from his position of worship and posing demurely before Lance. "And if you loved me even half as much as you claim to, you wouldn't hurt me by taking yourself away from me." His gaze turned to the sink. "You wouldn't want to scar me permanently, would you, Lance? Like the scar that's gonna leave?"
"It's just a scar," Lance replied, his voice faint, almost timid. "It'll fade; they all fade. They tell the story of your life; scars... on the outside and the inside. But you can't see the scars inside, can you, Pie? Can't see how everything you say means something else because of those scars? It's my fault, though... I should know you can't see them, should just be what you want... the pain goes away when I do... it hurts so bad when I fuck up with you, Pie... I don't know what else to do..."
"Then you need to tell me when I say something that bothers you, Lance." Pietro stared at the floor, then up at Lance, eyes pleading. "I don't ever mean to upset you, you have to know that! It just seems like anything I say now is taken and twisted... I don't want to have to walk on eggshells, because that's not a real relationship, Lance... If I can just avoid certain things in the first place, we won't have any problems," Pietro promised, looking at Lance hopefully.
That sweet, innocent, angelic face... tears welled up in Lance's eyes as he reached out, cupping one pale cheek with his un-bloodied hand. "You're so beautiful... they would have eaten you alive where I grew up... had you turning tricks before you even reached puberty... I almost did that, you know? If I hadn't been picked up by my dominant, I woulda been turnin' tricks by the end of the year... Pie, don't you understand? I've never had anything... you tell me you love me but you won't let me keep you... you keep me, but I can't keep you... because you know I won't ever let go. And I try to feel like we belong to each other, just for a minute, but you won't let me, you push me away. You don't know what that means, Pie... it means that someday, you'll go; you'll crush my heart in those dainty hands and leave me... I won't have anything left. Please, Pie... just help me make it go away... if you won't let me end it, then tell me how to make it go away because I can't hurt like this anymore..."
Pietro blinked his surprise. "Well... I always thought it was mutual... ownership, so to speak," Pietro said hesitantly. "I mean, c'mon, now, who else on this earth is able to tell me my ass looks fat in a pair of pants and not get hit but you? That should mean at least something to you..." He giggled softly and looked Lance in the eyes. "You do own me, Lance, the same way I would hope I own you... and if not, maybe someday. I don't want you to feel hurt... especially when there's no reason or logic behind it." Pietro looked around, suddenly aware that he was fully dressed and standing in a running shower, a decidedly chilly running shower.
"I think we have a lot to talk about... let's not do this in here, okay?" he pleaded largely with his eyes, knowing full well Lance had a devil of a time resisting his begging blues. He turned off the water, tugging Lance out and wrapping a towel around his arm, the red liquid seeping through the pristine white cloth at an alarming rate.
Lance acquiesced, letting Pietro lead his shivering form from the tub. It seemed colder than it ought to be... and he felt rather light-headed... Pietro's words swam in his mind as he followed the speedster back into the bedroom, goose-bumps rising all over his body. "It's cold, Pie..."
"Damn right it is," Pietro agreed, his teeth chattering as he took a second to yank off his wet shirt, kicking off his sopping shoes as they headed to Lance's bedroom. Lance sat down slowly on his mattress, peering around as if he'd never seen the place before, much less every day for the past year or so. Pietro trodded across the carpet in nothing but his trousers, not comfortable at the time to undress entirely as he wished to do.
He located a warm fleece sweater hanging precariously from a plastic hanger, and a pair of jeans at the bottom of the closet. He tossed the articles on the bed beside Lance, hunting now for underpants. He rifled through the drawers for drawers, feeling somewhat upset he didn't even know where his boyfriend kept his unmentionables.
Almost unconsciously, cued by Pietro's concern, Lance wrapped his hand tightly around the wound on his wrist, applying pressure to keep the blood from running so freely. His head was feeling a little fuzzy... "Pie? Pie, I... it needs stitches, Pie..."
"You're probably right, but I don't know what hospital's gonna stitch you up for free, and without a legal guardian to sign for it," Pietro muttered, finally finding a pair of boxer briefs in the bottom of a drawer. "And I doubt you want me stitching you up, so, we're having a little bit of a problem, here. Who's gonna take you in anyway? They know who we are now," Pietro warned, sitting down hard on the bed next to Lance, plopping his chin in his hands. "We're... pretty much fucked. Now get dressed before you get sick," he commanded sternly, helping with the sweatshirt as best he could, rolling up the sleeve of the injured side. "You still want pizza? Or I think I saw some coupons for Chinese, if you'd like that better..."
Lance bit his lip, fighting the wooziness of blood loss. He'd done this before... he just needed to concentrate. "I need... the brandy, and the kit under the bed. Just... get 'em for me? Please?"
Pietro turned his head to Lance. "Are you serious?" he asked, shocked. "You're gonna try to do this yourself-- heeeey, why the hell do you have a 'kit'? Is this a... it is! You do this... often?" Pietro asked, horrified. "Don't you ever, ever do this again, or so help me, I will take you over my knee, like it or not! And I can promise you won't like it." Pietro, agitated as he jumped to all his conclusions, managed to find the small black box under the bed, and a brand-new bottle of alcohol. "Here," he said gruffly, sitting down against the headboard, prepared to watch, to make Lance feel guilty for doing such a stupid thing, hoping he'd take the hint and never, never ever do it again.
Lance knew that Pietro was trying to punish him, to make him feel self-conscious about sewing up his own wounds. Little did he know that doing so in front of other people was far from an unusual occurrence in Lance's childhood. Taking a deep swig of the brandy, he then removed the towel and splashed a liberal amount on the gash, a sharply indrawn breath the only indication of the stinging pain that swept up his arm. Opening the black box, he removed the needle and heavy thread from their plastic bag, quickly threading it and using his teeth to hold one end while he knotted it. Breathing deeply through the pain, he ran a quick series of stitches through the wound, able to do so more from past experience than clarity.
"When you've been in as many life and death fights as I have, it's a good idea to know how to take care of your own wounds," he managed softly. Splashing a bit more brandy across the wound, he then poured a bit into the collapsible cup from the kit and dropped the needle into it.
"Jesus," Pietro muttered, sickened by the casual ease of Lance's self-surgery, but unable to look away. He pulled his knees up to his chest self-protectively, startling himself with the cold, wet denim on his naked skin. "It's fucking wrong what you've been through, Lance. I hate that anyone did anything to you... but it kills me more to know I caused you to do something like this to yourself," he finished quietly, peeking at Lance from where his face was partially hidden by his knees. And when I'm not even sure how...
"You've got no idea, Pie. No idea about the things I've done to survive... the things that have been done to me that make me wish I hadn't... You're the only thing in my life that I've really got going for me anymore... and when I screw up with you, it's all over." Curling up, he rolled over to lay on the bed, hoping to quell some of the dizziness he was feeling. "Don't you understand that I'll do whatever you ask, Pie? Anything at all, if it means I can keep you? I've never, ever been loved, Pietro. I've only ever been worth what I can do in bed or on a battleground. If it meant you'd love me, really love me, I'd do anything you asked."
"You... you idiot!" Pietro exploded, bounding across the bed and jumping Lance, straddling his hips and seizing his upper arms, favoring the recently-patched side. "I'm going to rant at you now, just to give you fair warning," Pietro informed the startled brunette pinned beneath him. "First, look at me. Look at me. Do you honestly believe I could dominate you? Do you? I am half your size, Lance. Tell me how that could work." He waited for an answer, but received none. "No, I didn't think so. Next point: you do not need to 'keep' me. I'm here, aren't I? I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. I don't know why you have such a hard time grasping that," he added, dipping down to press his lips quickly to the wine-tinged mouth of his lover, lips responding a moment too late, for Pietro was already pulling away, set to begin a new tirade.
"Do you think it's easy to get over everything, Pie? That I can just shrug it off? My worthlessness has been beaten and battered and ground into me like glass into a wound... And it really wasn't that long ago, either." Lance wanted Pietro to come back, to curl up into his arms and let everything be all right again... he felt so tired...
"No, that's not what I meant," Pietro murmured, sinking down, placing his head alongside Lance's, breathing in the soft shell of his ear. His arms snaked around Lance's neck, one hand cradling the back of his head, fingertips working to massage his damp scalp gently. "I wish I'd gotten to you sooner, somehow... and I coulda really fucked that guy up." Pietro sounded angry, but his tone was quiet and even. "I don't want to 'own' you, Lance... I want us to belong to each other. None of this... funny business," he finished, not entirely certain what to label their little episode earlier.
Lance clutched him tightly, suddenly afraid as the shadows loomed a bit larger. "No... no, you shouldn't ever wish to be or have been within fifty feet of my dominant... I don't even want to think of what he would have done to you..." Curling Pietro close, he rolled back to lie on the bed, snuggling under the blankets. "I don't ever want anything like that to happen to you, Pie... you wouldn't survive it."
"No, he fucking wouldn't... I'd kill him." Pietro's face was deadpan. He loved the feel of Lance's weight on him, warm and safe and... Lanceness, Pietro smiled to be held so securely, with such love and tenderness. He thanked whatever benevolent force out there, be it gods or whomever, that the horrible tyrant who'd kept Lance hadn't managed to break his beautiful spirit along with his youthful pride. "Love you."
"Love you, too." Lance snuggled close, his eyes drooping closed as the warmth of Pietro's body and the soft scent of his hair combined with his blood loss and emotional turmoil. He tried to stay awake, but he could feel himself drifting away, sleep drawing him down... "Pie? Wake me when the pizza gets here? I'm tired..."
"Baby, I never got a chance to order it! Do you want... err... what do you want on it?" Pietro asked quickly, poking Lance's shoulder repeatedly to keep his fluttering eyelids open long enough for him to answer. "...Or did you just wanna find something... later?" he suggested slyly, lips curving into a knowing smirk.
Lance nestled closer, nuzzling Pietro in his drowsy state. "You decide..." he murmured. "I'm sorry, Pie... I'm just... tired..." Those dark eyes drooped closed again, and healing slumber folded Lance into its waiting arms.
"Oh... okay..." Pietro said uncertainly. He opted "Naah" on the ordering of pizza, but "YES!" on the removal of his sopping wet pants. He slipped out of Lance's embrace, his heart breaking at Lance's sorrowful expression even in near-sleep at being abandoned, and shimmied out of his trousers first; next, his briefs.
Hoping Lance wouldn't be startled by the cold, clammy skin sidling up against him in his bed, Pietro slid once more between the sheets, burrowing under the blankets and wrapping his entire body around Lance's absorbing the sweet body heat and loving warmth emanating from the accepting lover beside him. "Mm."
A soft whimper left Lance as the nice, cuddly form disappeared, but then it returned, and Lance gratefully sank back into sleep, the cozy warmth soothing his fears and shadows. "Love Pie... Love my Pie..." he murmured, the words slurred in exhausted slumber.
"Mmyes, love you, too." Pietro curled up as tightly as the space allowed, sneaking partially beneath Lance's body to enjoy the warmth and weight he so enjoyed. Settling down for the long haul, Pietro closed his eyes, cuddled safe in Lance's arms; safe in his home.
* * * * *
A/N: Awww. Phase three, complete. But we ain't done yet, yo. And all the "Pie this" and "Pie that" is making me hungry. .