Content: Mature subject matter, m/m slash, non-consensual sexual situations, language, violence, angst.
Character/s: Jim Fullington (Sandman)/Scott Levy (Raven)
Summary: Raven discovers that sometimes too much introspection is a bad thing.
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Quotations from "A Dream Within A Dream" by Edgar Allen Poe used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
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Chapter Three
* * * * * * * * * * * *
That sick, sadistic bastard! I can't even begin to describe the boiling rage that overtook me once I saw what he'd done. After our 'no rope/barbed wire' match was over, I was inspecting myself in the mirror, tallying up the damages, and making a mental note to present the 'bill' to Fullington at my earliest opportunity when I finally turned around to see how badly he'd torn the rest of me up. And that's when I saw what he'd done when he was straddling me in the ring.
He'd carved his fucking INITIALS into my back!
I let fly with a string of curses I didn't even realize I knew. I think I gave one of the EMTs a heart attack as well. To my very great surprise, though, the overall damage wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Don't get me wrong, it was a brutal match, but intense prolonged pain along with a good adrenaline rush will do wonders for your perception. But he left me with this little reminder of our time together. His greatest insult thus far. Oh, the ways I would make him pay for this... But I needed time. Time to formulate a suitable attack plan. Come up with something even more insulting and degrading than what he'd done.
After everything that could be patched up was taken care of, I was left alone in the locker room. The building was already nearly empty, with only the ring crew and the clean-up staff still hanging around. Our match had been the main event, and everyone else had bailed as soon as their own obligations were met to head home for the holidays.
Thanksgiving. Some fucking holiday. What the hell have I got to be thankful for? Sure, I've got a good job that I actually enjoy. Well, most of the time, anyway. But other than that, all I have is this thorn in my side that won't go away. This arrogant, insufferable man who has invaded every aspect of my life ever since he was hired. I feel like the past few weeks have been one long, waking nightmare. I don't WANT to think about him. I really don't. But during times like this, when I'm alone with my thoughts, his is the face I see in my mind. His is the voice I hear in my head. His is the touch I feel upon my skin. His is the fire that makes me burn.
// Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream; \\
But I DON'T want this! I want to be as far away from him as possible. That's the only way. If he's not near me, it's easier to hate him, to despise him, to think up new ways to torment him. And I do love to get under his skin. It's almost like an obsession with me, this need I have to try to aggravate him just as much as he aggravates me. I keep hoping that some day soon it'll drive him to seek employment somewhere else. Somewhere away from here. Away from me.
But if I don't want him near me, what excuse, what reason do I have for what I'm currently feeling? Why do I find myself inexplicably sad that he hasn't come by even once to check on me, as is his habit after our matches together? He ripped me apart out there tonight. He fucking branded me, for God's sake! The only reason I should want him here is to drive a fist into his gut, beat that arrogant smirk off his face, make him pay for what he did to me tonight...
And then my thoughts stray to places they should never go. I see him by my side at the hospital, his eyes so full of worry, flinching while I was getting stitched up, almost as if he could feel my pain. Promising to look after me, take care of me, like he could fix what he'd broken. That's the side of him I never expected, never wanted to see. The human side of him. The side of him I cannot help but admire and possibly even envy. God knows I would never go to such lengths for someone I hate. I would never be that concerned for someone who'd only ever set out to irritate me.
But he has...
// Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone? \\
I don't want to think about the reason behind his concern. I don't. My mind refuses to accept the possibility that he actually cares about me. And me... What excuse can I possibly have for my reaction to him? How can I hate him and yet crave him at the same time? Just hearing him speak, his inflection, his accent... It can be like nails on a chalkboard and all I can think about is hurting him. Hurting him worse than he's ever hurt me.
But then I hear the way he says my name. "Scotty." The way he draws the vowel sound out, adding that unique Philadelphia touch to it. At times it's the most beautiful sound that I've ever heard. My name from his lips...
Dammit, Levy, when are you going to learn your lesson? You start thinking along those lines and before too much longer, you're going to actually admit you're attracted to the guy. You're supposed to be hating him, remember?
I just don't get how he does it. He can walk into a room, open his mouth, and piss off everyone within earshot in under a minute. And then exactly one minute later, every single person he just pissed off is falling all over themselves to get closer to him because he's just that intriguing. The perfect balance of brash confidence and abrasive wit. Something for everyone, I guess.
// All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream. \\
And even after I fall asleep, I cannot rid my brain of him. Dreamland, where he's nothing like he is in person. He's gentle, considerate, and giving. Everything about him is intoxicatingly wonderful. He's the most perfect lover I could ever hope to be with. He ghosts my lips with his own before gently probing my mouth with his tongue. His taste is like that of some exotic liqueur and I can't get enough of him. His hands are warm as they caress every inch of my body. He makes a quiet sound signifying his need, encouraging me to enter him gently, easily, with all the care and consideration I am capable of. His snug warmth welcomes me and all I can think of is how perfectly suited we are for each other.
// I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand \\
And then I wake up, my eyes fly open, and he's on top of me. He's holding my arms tightly above my head, his breath hot against my flesh as he bites roughly at my throat. All thoughts of my perfect lover slip away like sand castles in the tide as he forces himself upon me and inside of me, ripping and tearing. Seeking only to hurt me. He drives into me over and over again, exhibiting nothing but brute force, aggression, and violence. When I don't respond the way he wishes, he releases my arms long enough to strike me across the face before re-focusing himself on the task at hand. On taking me over and over again, with more force than any man should be capable of. Until I am left bleeding and weeping beneath him, more shattered and lost than I've ever been in my entire life.
// How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep, while I weep! \\
And then I sit bolt upright in bed, bathed in a sheen of perspiration, my breath coming fast and furious, my heart about to leap out of my chest. It was all just a dream. Part fantasy, part nightmare, but all thankfully just a figment of my own overactive imagination. An eternity later, my heart finally stops racing and I'm able to think coherently again. Well, as close to coherent as I'm going to be for a long while. I'm completely torn by the two different sides of him that my mind conjured up to infect my dreams with. Such a contrast of who he actually is. He IS both sadistic and considerate. He proved that to me by taking me to the hospital after splitting my scalp open.
He is so much more than I originally thought him to be. He's not just some brash, overly confident bully, much as I may try to delude myself into thinking otherwise. He's more. He's so much more. And I wish I could force my mind to stop dwelling on the two vastly different incarnations of him. The gentle lover and the brutal animal. The very embodiment of Jekyll and Hyde. I try to cling to the image of him compliant and yielding beneath me. Just one pure, untainted fantasy. Is that too much to ask for? To my very great distress, I find that I can't hold onto it for long.
// O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave? \\
As always, the gentle side of him gives way to the beast. The sadistic bastard in him who demands his own release as well, and doesn't care who he has to hurt to get what he wants. And he ALWAYS gets what he wants. So confident, so assertive, so self assured. In spite of myself, I find myself drawn to that side of him as well, and I realize that I can't decide which personality turns me on more. I find that I cannot picture one without the other anymore. I don't really want him to be anything but the combination of his two natures. Surely there's some happy medium to be found, isn't there?
// Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream? \\
Is it the real James Fullington I'm dreaming about, or what I would like him to be? And if the latter is true, then what the hell does that tell me about my own mental state? God, why did he have to come to work here? Nothing about my life has been normal since that fateful day. Even if he were to leave now, I think I'd find myself missing him.
Just face it, Levy. You want him. You may not be ready to admit it to yourself now, but you do. When all the bullshit excuses are ripped away, you'll see the truth eventually. You're still in the locker room not because you want to sit and think but because some part of you is hoping that just maybe you'll hear a knock on the door and it'll be him, checking up on you at last. Like he always has. Except tonight, after he carved his name in your flesh, claiming you for his own as surely as he has done so in your dreams.
God, the irony of the whole thing is unbelievable. All the antagonizing, all the taunting, all the things I said and did to drive him mad have had the exact opposite effect. I'm the one going crazy thinking about him, dreaming about him, just... wishing he'd come to me.
Character/s: Jim Fullington (Sandman)/Scott Levy (Raven)
Summary: Raven discovers that sometimes too much introspection is a bad thing.
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Quotations from "A Dream Within A Dream" by Edgar Allen Poe used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Three
* * * * * * * * * * * *
That sick, sadistic bastard! I can't even begin to describe the boiling rage that overtook me once I saw what he'd done. After our 'no rope/barbed wire' match was over, I was inspecting myself in the mirror, tallying up the damages, and making a mental note to present the 'bill' to Fullington at my earliest opportunity when I finally turned around to see how badly he'd torn the rest of me up. And that's when I saw what he'd done when he was straddling me in the ring.
He'd carved his fucking INITIALS into my back!
I let fly with a string of curses I didn't even realize I knew. I think I gave one of the EMTs a heart attack as well. To my very great surprise, though, the overall damage wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Don't get me wrong, it was a brutal match, but intense prolonged pain along with a good adrenaline rush will do wonders for your perception. But he left me with this little reminder of our time together. His greatest insult thus far. Oh, the ways I would make him pay for this... But I needed time. Time to formulate a suitable attack plan. Come up with something even more insulting and degrading than what he'd done.
After everything that could be patched up was taken care of, I was left alone in the locker room. The building was already nearly empty, with only the ring crew and the clean-up staff still hanging around. Our match had been the main event, and everyone else had bailed as soon as their own obligations were met to head home for the holidays.
Thanksgiving. Some fucking holiday. What the hell have I got to be thankful for? Sure, I've got a good job that I actually enjoy. Well, most of the time, anyway. But other than that, all I have is this thorn in my side that won't go away. This arrogant, insufferable man who has invaded every aspect of my life ever since he was hired. I feel like the past few weeks have been one long, waking nightmare. I don't WANT to think about him. I really don't. But during times like this, when I'm alone with my thoughts, his is the face I see in my mind. His is the voice I hear in my head. His is the touch I feel upon my skin. His is the fire that makes me burn.
// Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream; \\
But I DON'T want this! I want to be as far away from him as possible. That's the only way. If he's not near me, it's easier to hate him, to despise him, to think up new ways to torment him. And I do love to get under his skin. It's almost like an obsession with me, this need I have to try to aggravate him just as much as he aggravates me. I keep hoping that some day soon it'll drive him to seek employment somewhere else. Somewhere away from here. Away from me.
But if I don't want him near me, what excuse, what reason do I have for what I'm currently feeling? Why do I find myself inexplicably sad that he hasn't come by even once to check on me, as is his habit after our matches together? He ripped me apart out there tonight. He fucking branded me, for God's sake! The only reason I should want him here is to drive a fist into his gut, beat that arrogant smirk off his face, make him pay for what he did to me tonight...
And then my thoughts stray to places they should never go. I see him by my side at the hospital, his eyes so full of worry, flinching while I was getting stitched up, almost as if he could feel my pain. Promising to look after me, take care of me, like he could fix what he'd broken. That's the side of him I never expected, never wanted to see. The human side of him. The side of him I cannot help but admire and possibly even envy. God knows I would never go to such lengths for someone I hate. I would never be that concerned for someone who'd only ever set out to irritate me.
But he has...
// Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone? \\
I don't want to think about the reason behind his concern. I don't. My mind refuses to accept the possibility that he actually cares about me. And me... What excuse can I possibly have for my reaction to him? How can I hate him and yet crave him at the same time? Just hearing him speak, his inflection, his accent... It can be like nails on a chalkboard and all I can think about is hurting him. Hurting him worse than he's ever hurt me.
But then I hear the way he says my name. "Scotty." The way he draws the vowel sound out, adding that unique Philadelphia touch to it. At times it's the most beautiful sound that I've ever heard. My name from his lips...
Dammit, Levy, when are you going to learn your lesson? You start thinking along those lines and before too much longer, you're going to actually admit you're attracted to the guy. You're supposed to be hating him, remember?
I just don't get how he does it. He can walk into a room, open his mouth, and piss off everyone within earshot in under a minute. And then exactly one minute later, every single person he just pissed off is falling all over themselves to get closer to him because he's just that intriguing. The perfect balance of brash confidence and abrasive wit. Something for everyone, I guess.
// All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream. \\
And even after I fall asleep, I cannot rid my brain of him. Dreamland, where he's nothing like he is in person. He's gentle, considerate, and giving. Everything about him is intoxicatingly wonderful. He's the most perfect lover I could ever hope to be with. He ghosts my lips with his own before gently probing my mouth with his tongue. His taste is like that of some exotic liqueur and I can't get enough of him. His hands are warm as they caress every inch of my body. He makes a quiet sound signifying his need, encouraging me to enter him gently, easily, with all the care and consideration I am capable of. His snug warmth welcomes me and all I can think of is how perfectly suited we are for each other.
// I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand \\
And then I wake up, my eyes fly open, and he's on top of me. He's holding my arms tightly above my head, his breath hot against my flesh as he bites roughly at my throat. All thoughts of my perfect lover slip away like sand castles in the tide as he forces himself upon me and inside of me, ripping and tearing. Seeking only to hurt me. He drives into me over and over again, exhibiting nothing but brute force, aggression, and violence. When I don't respond the way he wishes, he releases my arms long enough to strike me across the face before re-focusing himself on the task at hand. On taking me over and over again, with more force than any man should be capable of. Until I am left bleeding and weeping beneath him, more shattered and lost than I've ever been in my entire life.
// How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep, while I weep! \\
And then I sit bolt upright in bed, bathed in a sheen of perspiration, my breath coming fast and furious, my heart about to leap out of my chest. It was all just a dream. Part fantasy, part nightmare, but all thankfully just a figment of my own overactive imagination. An eternity later, my heart finally stops racing and I'm able to think coherently again. Well, as close to coherent as I'm going to be for a long while. I'm completely torn by the two different sides of him that my mind conjured up to infect my dreams with. Such a contrast of who he actually is. He IS both sadistic and considerate. He proved that to me by taking me to the hospital after splitting my scalp open.
He is so much more than I originally thought him to be. He's not just some brash, overly confident bully, much as I may try to delude myself into thinking otherwise. He's more. He's so much more. And I wish I could force my mind to stop dwelling on the two vastly different incarnations of him. The gentle lover and the brutal animal. The very embodiment of Jekyll and Hyde. I try to cling to the image of him compliant and yielding beneath me. Just one pure, untainted fantasy. Is that too much to ask for? To my very great distress, I find that I can't hold onto it for long.
// O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave? \\
As always, the gentle side of him gives way to the beast. The sadistic bastard in him who demands his own release as well, and doesn't care who he has to hurt to get what he wants. And he ALWAYS gets what he wants. So confident, so assertive, so self assured. In spite of myself, I find myself drawn to that side of him as well, and I realize that I can't decide which personality turns me on more. I find that I cannot picture one without the other anymore. I don't really want him to be anything but the combination of his two natures. Surely there's some happy medium to be found, isn't there?
// Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream? \\
Is it the real James Fullington I'm dreaming about, or what I would like him to be? And if the latter is true, then what the hell does that tell me about my own mental state? God, why did he have to come to work here? Nothing about my life has been normal since that fateful day. Even if he were to leave now, I think I'd find myself missing him.
Just face it, Levy. You want him. You may not be ready to admit it to yourself now, but you do. When all the bullshit excuses are ripped away, you'll see the truth eventually. You're still in the locker room not because you want to sit and think but because some part of you is hoping that just maybe you'll hear a knock on the door and it'll be him, checking up on you at last. Like he always has. Except tonight, after he carved his name in your flesh, claiming you for his own as surely as he has done so in your dreams.
God, the irony of the whole thing is unbelievable. All the antagonizing, all the taunting, all the things I said and did to drive him mad have had the exact opposite effect. I'm the one going crazy thinking about him, dreaming about him, just... wishing he'd come to me.