Content: Mature subject matter, m/m slash, language.
Character/s: Jim Fullington (Sandman), Scott Levy (Raven)
Summary: After having joined Sandman for the holidays, Raven learns that he's past the point of no return.
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 "TO -- --" by Edgar Allen Poe used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Six
* * * * * * * * * * * *
He's in the other room right now, curled up beneath the sheets, head buried under the pillows. Passed out. If I listen closely enough, I think I can even hear him snoring. Very softly, almost impossible to hear over the radio he insisted on leaving on. Classic rock. The volume just low enough for me to make out what the song is, but apparently not loud enough to keep him awake.
Now me, on the other hand...
I'm so tempted to go in there and lift the pillows from his head and just stare at him while he sleeps. It's one of the few times he actually looks helpless. Alone. Vulnerable. So completely different from how he is around me. How I've been accustomed to thinking of him. I thought I had all the answers. I thought I could predict his actions. I thought....
That's where I fucked up. I thought.
// Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained "the power of words"- denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue: \\
Part of me wants to take advantage of this rare moment and run like hell, just get as far away from him as I can possibly get. Are the ends of the earth far enough? And yet another part of me wants to go dig through his kitchen drawers, find the nearest sharp object, and ram it through his temple, putting an end to this obsession once and for all. And then the part of myself that I shudder to acknowledge wants to go in there, crawl back into bed with him, and hold him in my arms once again.
How the fuck can I love and hate him at the same time?
I didn't come here expecting to end up in bed with him. I really didn't. I was just accepting an invitation to join him for the holidays. I had nowhere better to go, he was obviously bored out of his fucking skull, and I was at least marginally curious about what he might be like away from work. Would he still be the same arrogant bastard who was always trying to one-up me? Or was it all an act, a way of covering up some insecurity or other? Curiosity got the better of me and like an idiot, I showed up on his doorstep, not really looking for anything more than a few answers to my unspoken questions.
Wasn't that morbid fascination reason enough? Why did things have to get so complicated? When did I let my guard down? And why the fuck did I have to kiss him the second I walked in the door? Oh, sure, we both blew it off, I pretended I was three sheets to the wind, and he appeared to accept that excuse. For the time being, anyway. And once that little embarrassment was out of the way, things progressed relatively normally. Well, normal enough where the both of us are concerned, at least.
Not surprisingly, I quickly found out that he was no different in the privacy of his own home. Just quieter. Well, marginally quieter. I think one of the biggest shocks was that he turned out to be not too bad of a cook. Granted, stir-fry isn't exactly the first thing that springs to mind when I think about a holiday meal, but what the fuck? I wasn't the one fixing the meal. Seems all that time he spent in Japan made him develop a taste for Teriyaki. And I guess it IS a holiday meal if you're Japanese.
// And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words - two foreign soft dissyllables -
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought, \\
And why the fuck am I thinking about food right now? It's 3 in the morning and I'm not hungry. And I'm not gonna lie to myself, either. I'm desperately trying to think about anything BUT the man in the other room right now. About the feel of his hands locked in my hair, his mouth bruising mine, his skin sliding against mine, his body pressing me down into the mattress, his intoxicating taste filling my mouth. About how hard I can feel myself growing just thinking about him, to say nothing of the roller coaster of sensations he put my body through tonight.
And I can't deny the strange feeling of completion I have.
I don't even remember when we made the transition from having an after-dinner smoke to me being flat on my back on the living room floor. Did he tackle me? Did I dare him to? Were we both drunk? Well, he's ALWAYS drunk, but that's beside the point. In any event, we'd just barely finished smoking and I think I made some comment or other about wanting another drink. He turned the full force of those ocean-blue eyes of his on me and it was all over. I forgot my conviction, my purpose, my own name, even.
It was like I closed my eyes and got catapulted into some kind of alternate universe. One where he speaks my name and it's the most heavenly sound in the world. One where he is every bit the tender, considerate lover I fantasized about him being. One where he makes sure I've found my own release, his mouth soft, warm and moist upon my shaft. One where he's shoving me over the arm of the sofa and taking me roughly from behind.
And I'm loving every minute of it.
// Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,
I cannot write - I cannot speak or think -
Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling \\
Why did I fight the inevitable for so long? Why did I think there should only be tenderness from him? The brutality that is a part of his makeup blends so seamlessly with the rest that I can't imagine him being anything other than what he is. Crude, giving, controlling, considerate, ruthless, gentle, brutal, relentless. Perfect. All my illusions have been shattered and I don't want him to ever be any other way. Or with anyone else. I want to be his object of affection, his shameless whore, his proving ground...
God, I'm pathetic. I really should go find the nearest blunt instrument and bash his skull in. I'm not a fool. I can see all too clearly now where this is going. He knows I've fallen completely head over heels for him. I think I made that pretty fucking clear earlier tonight. And now that he's got me where he wants me, he's going to set about destroying me, one step at a time.
But what if he doesn't?
// This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams.
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
Upon the left, and all the way along,
Amid empurpled vapors, far away
To where the prospect terminates - \\
Just stop. Don't even go there, Levy. Guys like you never get what you want. You're destined to live a life alone, never mattering enough to one person for them to want you with them for all time. You're only good for a little bedroom recreation and when the newness has worn off, you'll be tossed out on your ass. Isn't that the way it always works? Having your own inadequacies pointed out to you time and time again. Being told all your life how you wouldn't know how to live with yourself if you weren't miserable. Disposable. Forgettable. Nothing special. A martyr sacrificed on an altar of unfulfilled dreams.
But now I have to ask... Can one man's life change so much in the course of a single night? Now that I've learned almost too late in life that there really is one person I don't think I could ever live without.
// Thee only. \\
Him only.
Character/s: Jim Fullington (Sandman), Scott Levy (Raven)
Summary: After having joined Sandman for the holidays, Raven learns that he's past the point of no return.
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 "TO -- --" by Edgar Allen Poe used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter Six
* * * * * * * * * * * *
He's in the other room right now, curled up beneath the sheets, head buried under the pillows. Passed out. If I listen closely enough, I think I can even hear him snoring. Very softly, almost impossible to hear over the radio he insisted on leaving on. Classic rock. The volume just low enough for me to make out what the song is, but apparently not loud enough to keep him awake.
Now me, on the other hand...
I'm so tempted to go in there and lift the pillows from his head and just stare at him while he sleeps. It's one of the few times he actually looks helpless. Alone. Vulnerable. So completely different from how he is around me. How I've been accustomed to thinking of him. I thought I had all the answers. I thought I could predict his actions. I thought....
That's where I fucked up. I thought.
// Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained "the power of words"- denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue: \\
Part of me wants to take advantage of this rare moment and run like hell, just get as far away from him as I can possibly get. Are the ends of the earth far enough? And yet another part of me wants to go dig through his kitchen drawers, find the nearest sharp object, and ram it through his temple, putting an end to this obsession once and for all. And then the part of myself that I shudder to acknowledge wants to go in there, crawl back into bed with him, and hold him in my arms once again.
How the fuck can I love and hate him at the same time?
I didn't come here expecting to end up in bed with him. I really didn't. I was just accepting an invitation to join him for the holidays. I had nowhere better to go, he was obviously bored out of his fucking skull, and I was at least marginally curious about what he might be like away from work. Would he still be the same arrogant bastard who was always trying to one-up me? Or was it all an act, a way of covering up some insecurity or other? Curiosity got the better of me and like an idiot, I showed up on his doorstep, not really looking for anything more than a few answers to my unspoken questions.
Wasn't that morbid fascination reason enough? Why did things have to get so complicated? When did I let my guard down? And why the fuck did I have to kiss him the second I walked in the door? Oh, sure, we both blew it off, I pretended I was three sheets to the wind, and he appeared to accept that excuse. For the time being, anyway. And once that little embarrassment was out of the way, things progressed relatively normally. Well, normal enough where the both of us are concerned, at least.
Not surprisingly, I quickly found out that he was no different in the privacy of his own home. Just quieter. Well, marginally quieter. I think one of the biggest shocks was that he turned out to be not too bad of a cook. Granted, stir-fry isn't exactly the first thing that springs to mind when I think about a holiday meal, but what the fuck? I wasn't the one fixing the meal. Seems all that time he spent in Japan made him develop a taste for Teriyaki. And I guess it IS a holiday meal if you're Japanese.
// And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words - two foreign soft dissyllables -
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought, \\
And why the fuck am I thinking about food right now? It's 3 in the morning and I'm not hungry. And I'm not gonna lie to myself, either. I'm desperately trying to think about anything BUT the man in the other room right now. About the feel of his hands locked in my hair, his mouth bruising mine, his skin sliding against mine, his body pressing me down into the mattress, his intoxicating taste filling my mouth. About how hard I can feel myself growing just thinking about him, to say nothing of the roller coaster of sensations he put my body through tonight.
And I can't deny the strange feeling of completion I have.
I don't even remember when we made the transition from having an after-dinner smoke to me being flat on my back on the living room floor. Did he tackle me? Did I dare him to? Were we both drunk? Well, he's ALWAYS drunk, but that's beside the point. In any event, we'd just barely finished smoking and I think I made some comment or other about wanting another drink. He turned the full force of those ocean-blue eyes of his on me and it was all over. I forgot my conviction, my purpose, my own name, even.
It was like I closed my eyes and got catapulted into some kind of alternate universe. One where he speaks my name and it's the most heavenly sound in the world. One where he is every bit the tender, considerate lover I fantasized about him being. One where he makes sure I've found my own release, his mouth soft, warm and moist upon my shaft. One where he's shoving me over the arm of the sofa and taking me roughly from behind.
And I'm loving every minute of it.
// Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,
I cannot write - I cannot speak or think -
Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling \\
Why did I fight the inevitable for so long? Why did I think there should only be tenderness from him? The brutality that is a part of his makeup blends so seamlessly with the rest that I can't imagine him being anything other than what he is. Crude, giving, controlling, considerate, ruthless, gentle, brutal, relentless. Perfect. All my illusions have been shattered and I don't want him to ever be any other way. Or with anyone else. I want to be his object of affection, his shameless whore, his proving ground...
God, I'm pathetic. I really should go find the nearest blunt instrument and bash his skull in. I'm not a fool. I can see all too clearly now where this is going. He knows I've fallen completely head over heels for him. I think I made that pretty fucking clear earlier tonight. And now that he's got me where he wants me, he's going to set about destroying me, one step at a time.
But what if he doesn't?
// This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams.
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
Upon the left, and all the way along,
Amid empurpled vapors, far away
To where the prospect terminates - \\
Just stop. Don't even go there, Levy. Guys like you never get what you want. You're destined to live a life alone, never mattering enough to one person for them to want you with them for all time. You're only good for a little bedroom recreation and when the newness has worn off, you'll be tossed out on your ass. Isn't that the way it always works? Having your own inadequacies pointed out to you time and time again. Being told all your life how you wouldn't know how to live with yourself if you weren't miserable. Disposable. Forgettable. Nothing special. A martyr sacrificed on an altar of unfulfilled dreams.
But now I have to ask... Can one man's life change so much in the course of a single night? Now that I've learned almost too late in life that there really is one person I don't think I could ever live without.
// Thee only. \\
Him only.