A/N: Flashbacky bit at first. I seperated it because it's another missing scene, out of sequence with the last one. As the title of this part suggests, it's right after the absinthe scene. (Don't worry, readers of "Philosophers," I shall finish that story soon, like I promised.)
Oh, and for the prudish among the MbN faithful--does such a species of MbNfan exist? (artuta, I know that you and I are not it, my snazzy friend!)--I apologize for the slightly smutty nature of Part Two.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Until This is Over" (a murder by numbers fanfic by SchizoAuthoress)
"Part Two: To the Systematic Derangement of Our Senses"
It was a strange and intense relationship, one of the most strange and intense of all the relationships that Richard Haywood had ever experienced. At times, he was completely convinced that he despised Justin Pendleton, that nothing would make him happier than to see that damnably superior, arrogant bastard suffocating and totally at his mercy. Other times, he desperately craved Justin's presence and Justin's touch, no matter how cold and unfeeling, he ached somewhere deep within himself to coalesce with Justin's beautifully unhuman being. Both of these times were infrequent, surrounded by periods of confusion and ambivalence.
But not tonight. Not tonight, not with jade-green liquid poison flowing through his veins and warping his senses. Not tonight, not as he pinned Justin down to the mattress and kissed him repeatedly, burning with a furious lust and an uncontrollable need.
Justin gasped hungrily for breath each time Richard released his bruised mouth, struggling slightly with the cruel grip that Richard held on his wrists.
"Stop it," Richard rasped, "Don't fight."
"You're /hurting/ me!" Justin cried out in protest, his voice almost childlike in his insistence.
Repentantly, Richard brushed his lips gently to the soft smoothness of Justin's flushed cheek, letting go. "I'm sorry. It's just...you...you and I..." He trailed off, opting instead to blow softly into Justin's ear, hands caressing the blond's bare torso, fingers teasingly sliding below the waistband of Justin's slacks only to linger there and trace lazy invisible swirls on pale flesh.
Justin writhed beneath the nearly crushing weight of Richard's body pressed to his, as though Richard meant to meld their bodies together inextricably by that simple contact. A low moan sounded, whether from Richard's throat or his own Justin couldn't tell, and he was unfastening the designer belt at Richard's waist, shoving the denim fabric away impatiently. Then the hard warmth of Richard's erection was pressed against him, as Richard hastily undid the buttons on his satin shirt.
"Richard..." Justin gasped as he slipped out of his own black pants and briefs, arching his body luxuriously. Using his right elbow to prop himself up, Justin stroked Richard's back with the fingertips of his left hand, creeping slowly up the ridges of muscle and bone beneath fever-hot skin.
Richard closed his eyes. What was it that drove him so inexorably into Justin's embrace? It wasn't lust alone, nor was it love. It wasn't simple manipulation, nor was it any single kind of hate.
Perhaps it could be said to be a compulsion; the compulsion to destroy himself mixed with his inexplicable desire to become a part of the terrifying purity of Justin's essence. To wipe out everything that had come before, everything connected with Justin Pendleton and Richard Haywood. To recreate their seperate selves as one being.
It was insanity.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Justin!" Richard called out, exasperated. He picked his way gingerly down among the jagged rocks littering the rough sand of the beach, grumbling, "If I scuff these boots, you are so dead, Pendleton..."
The sea rumbled ceaselessly, a natural background static. Richard rubbed at his mouth with a fisted hand, irritated by his inability to locate the other boy. Tiny reddish flakes of dried blood came away and stuck to his hand. He spotted an untidy pile of stone, stacked in a large mound that he could climb for a higher vantage point of the beach.
As he made his way slowly up, he called again, "Jus--"
The stone his foot was on slid down, causing him to lose balance and cut off. He scrambled momentarily for a handhold, found one, and decided that it was best to avoid such rock formations in the future. Instead, he sat down and stubbornly resolved to wait for Justin to come back. He had to come back.
Didn't he?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Justin lay on the rocks and stared up into the sky, a sky so blue as to be sickeningly bright and cheerful, with wispy little snow-colored cotton-candy-like clouds. His eyes self-destructively sought out the hot halo of blinding white-yellow sunlight, and he imagined.
Imagined is perhaps the improper word. It speaks of children's games and fantasy worlds. No, Justin envisioned himself falling out of that gorgeous blue sky to lie dashed upon the jagged rocks, bleeding from a twisted, broken body and rising above all that to something greater.
He heard Richard's call of "Justin!" and again later, cut off, "Jus--!"
And for a moment he entertained the thought of going to back to Richard. To see if perhaps the other young man was hurt. The thought was abandoned.
It was cool and, while not comfortable, familiar on this rocky beach. Justin closed his eyes, resolving to push Richard Haywood from his mind for at least a few minutes.
~~End Part Two~~
Further A/N: I've noticed that this is a lot darker and of a 'colder' narration than "Philosophers of Maybe." Hm, more in keeping with the general atmosphere of the category than my usual offerings, I suppose.
(Although, damn, wouldn't you readers get a little bored without me and artuta cranking out the oddballs like "Your Body is A Wonderland," "Justin Gets Hit By a Car," "Lisa in Wonderland," and so on? ^_^ You know you would. And yes, I /have/ sunk to shameless promotion of my favorite authors and myself.)
Oh, and for the prudish among the MbN faithful--does such a species of MbNfan exist? (artuta, I know that you and I are not it, my snazzy friend!)--I apologize for the slightly smutty nature of Part Two.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Until This is Over" (a murder by numbers fanfic by SchizoAuthoress)
"Part Two: To the Systematic Derangement of Our Senses"
It was a strange and intense relationship, one of the most strange and intense of all the relationships that Richard Haywood had ever experienced. At times, he was completely convinced that he despised Justin Pendleton, that nothing would make him happier than to see that damnably superior, arrogant bastard suffocating and totally at his mercy. Other times, he desperately craved Justin's presence and Justin's touch, no matter how cold and unfeeling, he ached somewhere deep within himself to coalesce with Justin's beautifully unhuman being. Both of these times were infrequent, surrounded by periods of confusion and ambivalence.
But not tonight. Not tonight, not with jade-green liquid poison flowing through his veins and warping his senses. Not tonight, not as he pinned Justin down to the mattress and kissed him repeatedly, burning with a furious lust and an uncontrollable need.
Justin gasped hungrily for breath each time Richard released his bruised mouth, struggling slightly with the cruel grip that Richard held on his wrists.
"Stop it," Richard rasped, "Don't fight."
"You're /hurting/ me!" Justin cried out in protest, his voice almost childlike in his insistence.
Repentantly, Richard brushed his lips gently to the soft smoothness of Justin's flushed cheek, letting go. "I'm sorry. It's just...you...you and I..." He trailed off, opting instead to blow softly into Justin's ear, hands caressing the blond's bare torso, fingers teasingly sliding below the waistband of Justin's slacks only to linger there and trace lazy invisible swirls on pale flesh.
Justin writhed beneath the nearly crushing weight of Richard's body pressed to his, as though Richard meant to meld their bodies together inextricably by that simple contact. A low moan sounded, whether from Richard's throat or his own Justin couldn't tell, and he was unfastening the designer belt at Richard's waist, shoving the denim fabric away impatiently. Then the hard warmth of Richard's erection was pressed against him, as Richard hastily undid the buttons on his satin shirt.
"Richard..." Justin gasped as he slipped out of his own black pants and briefs, arching his body luxuriously. Using his right elbow to prop himself up, Justin stroked Richard's back with the fingertips of his left hand, creeping slowly up the ridges of muscle and bone beneath fever-hot skin.
Richard closed his eyes. What was it that drove him so inexorably into Justin's embrace? It wasn't lust alone, nor was it love. It wasn't simple manipulation, nor was it any single kind of hate.
Perhaps it could be said to be a compulsion; the compulsion to destroy himself mixed with his inexplicable desire to become a part of the terrifying purity of Justin's essence. To wipe out everything that had come before, everything connected with Justin Pendleton and Richard Haywood. To recreate their seperate selves as one being.
It was insanity.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Justin!" Richard called out, exasperated. He picked his way gingerly down among the jagged rocks littering the rough sand of the beach, grumbling, "If I scuff these boots, you are so dead, Pendleton..."
The sea rumbled ceaselessly, a natural background static. Richard rubbed at his mouth with a fisted hand, irritated by his inability to locate the other boy. Tiny reddish flakes of dried blood came away and stuck to his hand. He spotted an untidy pile of stone, stacked in a large mound that he could climb for a higher vantage point of the beach.
As he made his way slowly up, he called again, "Jus--"
The stone his foot was on slid down, causing him to lose balance and cut off. He scrambled momentarily for a handhold, found one, and decided that it was best to avoid such rock formations in the future. Instead, he sat down and stubbornly resolved to wait for Justin to come back. He had to come back.
Didn't he?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Justin lay on the rocks and stared up into the sky, a sky so blue as to be sickeningly bright and cheerful, with wispy little snow-colored cotton-candy-like clouds. His eyes self-destructively sought out the hot halo of blinding white-yellow sunlight, and he imagined.
Imagined is perhaps the improper word. It speaks of children's games and fantasy worlds. No, Justin envisioned himself falling out of that gorgeous blue sky to lie dashed upon the jagged rocks, bleeding from a twisted, broken body and rising above all that to something greater.
He heard Richard's call of "Justin!" and again later, cut off, "Jus--!"
And for a moment he entertained the thought of going to back to Richard. To see if perhaps the other young man was hurt. The thought was abandoned.
It was cool and, while not comfortable, familiar on this rocky beach. Justin closed his eyes, resolving to push Richard Haywood from his mind for at least a few minutes.
~~End Part Two~~
Further A/N: I've noticed that this is a lot darker and of a 'colder' narration than "Philosophers of Maybe." Hm, more in keeping with the general atmosphere of the category than my usual offerings, I suppose.
(Although, damn, wouldn't you readers get a little bored without me and artuta cranking out the oddballs like "Your Body is A Wonderland," "Justin Gets Hit By a Car," "Lisa in Wonderland," and so on? ^_^ You know you would. And yes, I /have/ sunk to shameless promotion of my favorite authors and myself.)
