Hey, sorry it took so -damn- long to update.. I really.. ,.. ok.. I hadn't
even been trying to write. Well.. here it is. The hardest thing I ever
wrote x.x uhmmm yeah.. not.. ok.. yeah it was hard to write this. Anyway I
don't care if this chapter seems kinda bad, at this point I needed to
finish and update and move on. Heh, I wouldn't be surprised if people
thought I was dead o.o.. only half dead, don't worry.. I can still write
x.x
Warnings: bondage-ish stuff.. torture.. nothing like.. well.. I don't wanna spoil it.. bad language (?) some religious themes (I don't want to offend, but its my sort of personal belief.. or disbelief as some might say.. *is an atheist* so.. please ~_~ I don't want to offend anyone) and shounen ai(?) Uhm. may be confusing if that's a warning.. Twisted. Very very twisted.. probably due to lack of sleep, overload of caffeine and a uhm. bad mood (and extremely loud music.. nine inch nails none the less yup.. I wont hear for a week ) . Well.. it might not seem too twisted but if you like.. -think- .. its.. esh. I'm confusing myself, you read for yourself. uh... please review .; oh.. and.. warning.
FIRE. (btw, there isn't going to be any 'yaoi' in this .. just shounen ai, so don't expect lemons.. or limes for that matter, I don't write that stuff .) (maybe -slight- lime.. .;;; *very* slight in this chapter) (long warning @_@)
PLOT-oh, and btw, this plot takes place after the series gundam wing, before endless waltz, uhmmm.. lets say that EW never happens, I like working with the g-boys as younger boys .;; its just.. this thing I do, bear with me.
Disclaimer: yeah.. I own the idea.. I think .; and .. uhmmm.. the characters at this point own me.. so.. you cant have me so don't sue them.
Note: beauty is pain. or. pain is beauty?
Chapter ten
I had lost control
Quatre was pinned to the wall, I was holding him. I had him. Right where I wanted him.
I had lost control.
Things were like a dream, a movie, myself watching things happen. Quatre still didn't look scared, more dazed then he was before if anything. I had him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall.
I had lost control, I could feel myself pulled within myself. I wasn't there, I didn't want this to happen, and I couldn't stop it.
I had kept him pinned to the wall with one had while I leaned over and opened a drawer to a little desk that was near my bed. I pulled a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer, slipping the key into my braid.
I stopped pinning Quatre to the wall, he looked like he was still trying to clear his vision, and he was distant before the matter, there was no way he could resist at this point.
I pulled his hands behind his back and put the handcuffs on his wrists, closing them a little tighter then they probably should have been.
He still didn't look scared. Why the hell didn't he look scared?!
Dammit, he's a gundam pilot for crying out loud, he's seen a lot worse then this. Hell, being handcuffed and pinned to a wall is nothing.
Still.. I'm.. shouldn't I be his friend? Isn't it different to see a friend purposely hurting you.
Shouldn't that scare someone?
Why.. why isn't he scared!?
He looks so .. perfect. he's got practically everything, he has money, he has a home, and he has friends. he's got almost everything a person could want.
He's perfect. innocent but not naïve, strong but not dangerous. He's smart, charming, the works.
I'm a piece of trash.
And he still doesn't look scared.
I roughly jerked him from against the wall and shoved him on the bed. I heard him cough, but I didn't see how he landed or what he was doing, as I was too preoccupied with grabbing a lighter out of the draw I took the handcuffs out of.
I turned to face him and he was lying face up on the bed, I noticed a slight grimace of pain grace his soft features. he looked like he might have been trying to move his hands, but with no luck, as they were still handcuffed behind his back.
I slowly got on the bed too, and positioned myself so that I was sitting on his lap with my legs to either side of him. I stare at him for a few moments, and he seems to be laying so still that I could almost mistake him for being asleep. And I think. that if maybe this were a different time.. a different day.. this position might have been something that we both would have agreed too, there wouldn't be any chains.. or lighters, or razors in my life, and that the only thing that would be in my life would be -him-.
But it isn't that day. And I doubt that day will ever happen.
I place my hand on his chest and can feel by the way that he's breathing that he's still conscious, but struggling to stay that way. I slowly run my hand up his chest, leaning over to see him a little better and then I place my hand on the side of his head. I stroke the side of his face and can feel his skin burning underneath my hand.
He really is strong.. to be so sick.. and to have hit his head so hard and still be slightly conscious.
So strong.. yet.. so weak.
His cheeks are slightly pink due to the fever and his brow glistens slightly from being damp. He looks so fragile. almost enough to make me just want to take him in my arms and tell him I'll protect him and tell him that everything will be alright. I caress the side of his face with my hand again and trace the contour of his neck with my finger down until I reach the collar of his shirt. Leaning back so I'm sitting upright, I clench the material of his shirt in my hand and pull sharply on it, forcefully dragging him into a sitting position, his face about six inches from my own.
His eyes were open but I felt him go limp slightly while still holding his shirt and saw in his eyes that his vision was definitely going black. He paled significantly to where he was so fair that he almost looked ethereal. angelic.
Then I remembered the lighter in my other hand. I brought my hand close to his face, and with one quick flick of my thumb the lighter sparked and took flame. I could feel the waves of heat it was producing on my face, and knew that Quatre could too, as it was closer to his face, dangerously close.
The fire shimmered on his face, and against the pallor of his skin only made him look that much more like an ethereal being out of a dream.
"You look like an angel Quatre," I said with a voice much lower then normal, " but you aren't an angel Quatre. angels don't exist, and cant exist. For if an angel existed, then there would have to be a god would there not? And if there was a god. how would he be able to live with himself, knowing what he puts some people through?"
Quatre obviously didn't respond, instead he stared into the tiny flame barely an inch from his face. He stared so intently that I almost thought that the flame would magnify in his eyes and just completely engulf the both of us in it's angry, burning arms, consume the both of us, feed off of our flesh, our anger, our being, and grow. Grow until it destroyed everything, the house, the town, the entire world, just continue growing, feeding off of humans, of human emotions, anger. A fire devised not of a spark and flame, but of the soul, born from the spark of the worldly soul. A fire to signify the burning rage that everyone feels at one time in their life. at least once. A burning rage to suffocate the planet in its flames. the flames of everyone's personal hell.
With a slight puff of air I extinguished the flame, and dropped the lighter on the bed. I almost notice a slightly disappointed look in Quatre's eyes, but quickly brush it off.
Still holding Quatre in the sitting position by his shirt, I place the hand that was holding the lighter on the side of his face and slowly start to repeatedly run my hand through his wispy blond hair.
"Perfect," I sigh heavily and continue talking with a much softer voice then before, "Oh Quatre. you have no idea how perfect you are. Eyes so wise and yet still innocent, words so honest and pure. skin.. so. unmarred. such perfect skin." I softly stroke the side of his face with my fingers. "When compared to me, Quatre. you are an image of perfection, while I am such a hideous monstrosity, I being stained from the inside out. Your so beautiful it hurts Quatre." I hold his head in both my hands and place my forehead against his, feeling his fever, burning. I sigh softly. "So perfect Quatre. So. Fucking. Perfect."
I reach into my braid and take the key to the handcuffs out. Then, with one hand I unlock the handcuffs, freeing his hands. Moving my hands to the collar of his shirt I begin to undo the buttons, thinking back to the razor I have hidden under my pillow on this very bed. Nothing is perfect, nothing can stay perfect.
To mar perfection is a sin, but isn't perfection in itself a greater sin.?
I finish undoing the buttons of his shirt and begin to slide it off his shoulders when my fingers brush against something sickeningly familiar yet frighteningly out of place. I couldn't even begin to fathom what it was until I saw it.
I snapped my head away from his and without any support he fell limply backwards onto the bed.
FUCKING HELL! His arms are covered in scars.
Just like mine.
Just. Like. Mine.
I suddenly felt very cold. I realized I was still sitting on his lap and I sprung up onto my feet and stumbled backwards, bracing myself on the desk by the bed, staring at him.
Staring at him and his scars.
The image of perfection. no.
The lie of perfection.
Those scars weren't accidental, not for a minute could anyone think they were.
Quatre cuts himself. Just like I do.
My first reaction was fear. I tried. oh fuck, I -tried- to scare him. and he was never scared. and one fucking realization and I'm thrown back in shock and fear. Fear of him.
Fear of small 16-year-old boy unconscious and sick, lying on a bed.
I stumble over to the bed and sit next to him, definitely paler then normal, and shaking slightly. I slowly begin to button his shirt back up, my hands shaking noticeably. I finished buttoning his shirt and stared with a blank expression at his sleeping form.
I figured I should get him back to his own bed, and hope to hell that when he wakes up he doesn't remember anything. One thing for sure though, he is going to have one fuck of a headache when he does wake up.
I stood up, taking a deep breath, calming myself a bit. I gathered his body in my arms and, trying not to wake him, I carried him back into the guestroom and laid him down on the bed for him.
I could barely look at him at this point. I turned and nearly fled out of the room, closing the door and going back into my room.
I the door had barely slammed before I was throwing my shirt back on the floor and throwing myself on the bed, reaching under my pillow for the razor.
I stared at my arm for about three seconds, taking in the amount of damage I did earlier this night, the whole part of my arm from my wrist to about my elbow was red with fresh wounds and dried blood. And I didn't give a damn.
I took the razor in my hand and raised it slightly before quickly bringing it down on my lower wrist, in one quick, angry slash.
~~~~
A/n: hey, uhmmm yeah.. FYI, I know that it might have seemed a little corny with everything (razor, handcuffs, and lighter.) all -right- there, but I promise you.. it will be explained ^_^;; and it wasn't all just there for like.. no reason or anything like it sorta seems to be.. yeah.. well.. ok.. I'm tired.. 5 am @_@; goodnight.. Reviews will be greatly appreciated.
Warnings: bondage-ish stuff.. torture.. nothing like.. well.. I don't wanna spoil it.. bad language (?) some religious themes (I don't want to offend, but its my sort of personal belief.. or disbelief as some might say.. *is an atheist* so.. please ~_~ I don't want to offend anyone) and shounen ai(?) Uhm. may be confusing if that's a warning.. Twisted. Very very twisted.. probably due to lack of sleep, overload of caffeine and a uhm. bad mood (and extremely loud music.. nine inch nails none the less yup.. I wont hear for a week ) . Well.. it might not seem too twisted but if you like.. -think- .. its.. esh. I'm confusing myself, you read for yourself. uh... please review .; oh.. and.. warning.
FIRE. (btw, there isn't going to be any 'yaoi' in this .. just shounen ai, so don't expect lemons.. or limes for that matter, I don't write that stuff .) (maybe -slight- lime.. .;;; *very* slight in this chapter) (long warning @_@)
PLOT-oh, and btw, this plot takes place after the series gundam wing, before endless waltz, uhmmm.. lets say that EW never happens, I like working with the g-boys as younger boys .;; its just.. this thing I do, bear with me.
Disclaimer: yeah.. I own the idea.. I think .; and .. uhmmm.. the characters at this point own me.. so.. you cant have me so don't sue them.
Note: beauty is pain. or. pain is beauty?
Chapter ten
I had lost control
Quatre was pinned to the wall, I was holding him. I had him. Right where I wanted him.
I had lost control.
Things were like a dream, a movie, myself watching things happen. Quatre still didn't look scared, more dazed then he was before if anything. I had him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall.
I had lost control, I could feel myself pulled within myself. I wasn't there, I didn't want this to happen, and I couldn't stop it.
I had kept him pinned to the wall with one had while I leaned over and opened a drawer to a little desk that was near my bed. I pulled a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer, slipping the key into my braid.
I stopped pinning Quatre to the wall, he looked like he was still trying to clear his vision, and he was distant before the matter, there was no way he could resist at this point.
I pulled his hands behind his back and put the handcuffs on his wrists, closing them a little tighter then they probably should have been.
He still didn't look scared. Why the hell didn't he look scared?!
Dammit, he's a gundam pilot for crying out loud, he's seen a lot worse then this. Hell, being handcuffed and pinned to a wall is nothing.
Still.. I'm.. shouldn't I be his friend? Isn't it different to see a friend purposely hurting you.
Shouldn't that scare someone?
Why.. why isn't he scared!?
He looks so .. perfect. he's got practically everything, he has money, he has a home, and he has friends. he's got almost everything a person could want.
He's perfect. innocent but not naïve, strong but not dangerous. He's smart, charming, the works.
I'm a piece of trash.
And he still doesn't look scared.
I roughly jerked him from against the wall and shoved him on the bed. I heard him cough, but I didn't see how he landed or what he was doing, as I was too preoccupied with grabbing a lighter out of the draw I took the handcuffs out of.
I turned to face him and he was lying face up on the bed, I noticed a slight grimace of pain grace his soft features. he looked like he might have been trying to move his hands, but with no luck, as they were still handcuffed behind his back.
I slowly got on the bed too, and positioned myself so that I was sitting on his lap with my legs to either side of him. I stare at him for a few moments, and he seems to be laying so still that I could almost mistake him for being asleep. And I think. that if maybe this were a different time.. a different day.. this position might have been something that we both would have agreed too, there wouldn't be any chains.. or lighters, or razors in my life, and that the only thing that would be in my life would be -him-.
But it isn't that day. And I doubt that day will ever happen.
I place my hand on his chest and can feel by the way that he's breathing that he's still conscious, but struggling to stay that way. I slowly run my hand up his chest, leaning over to see him a little better and then I place my hand on the side of his head. I stroke the side of his face and can feel his skin burning underneath my hand.
He really is strong.. to be so sick.. and to have hit his head so hard and still be slightly conscious.
So strong.. yet.. so weak.
His cheeks are slightly pink due to the fever and his brow glistens slightly from being damp. He looks so fragile. almost enough to make me just want to take him in my arms and tell him I'll protect him and tell him that everything will be alright. I caress the side of his face with my hand again and trace the contour of his neck with my finger down until I reach the collar of his shirt. Leaning back so I'm sitting upright, I clench the material of his shirt in my hand and pull sharply on it, forcefully dragging him into a sitting position, his face about six inches from my own.
His eyes were open but I felt him go limp slightly while still holding his shirt and saw in his eyes that his vision was definitely going black. He paled significantly to where he was so fair that he almost looked ethereal. angelic.
Then I remembered the lighter in my other hand. I brought my hand close to his face, and with one quick flick of my thumb the lighter sparked and took flame. I could feel the waves of heat it was producing on my face, and knew that Quatre could too, as it was closer to his face, dangerously close.
The fire shimmered on his face, and against the pallor of his skin only made him look that much more like an ethereal being out of a dream.
"You look like an angel Quatre," I said with a voice much lower then normal, " but you aren't an angel Quatre. angels don't exist, and cant exist. For if an angel existed, then there would have to be a god would there not? And if there was a god. how would he be able to live with himself, knowing what he puts some people through?"
Quatre obviously didn't respond, instead he stared into the tiny flame barely an inch from his face. He stared so intently that I almost thought that the flame would magnify in his eyes and just completely engulf the both of us in it's angry, burning arms, consume the both of us, feed off of our flesh, our anger, our being, and grow. Grow until it destroyed everything, the house, the town, the entire world, just continue growing, feeding off of humans, of human emotions, anger. A fire devised not of a spark and flame, but of the soul, born from the spark of the worldly soul. A fire to signify the burning rage that everyone feels at one time in their life. at least once. A burning rage to suffocate the planet in its flames. the flames of everyone's personal hell.
With a slight puff of air I extinguished the flame, and dropped the lighter on the bed. I almost notice a slightly disappointed look in Quatre's eyes, but quickly brush it off.
Still holding Quatre in the sitting position by his shirt, I place the hand that was holding the lighter on the side of his face and slowly start to repeatedly run my hand through his wispy blond hair.
"Perfect," I sigh heavily and continue talking with a much softer voice then before, "Oh Quatre. you have no idea how perfect you are. Eyes so wise and yet still innocent, words so honest and pure. skin.. so. unmarred. such perfect skin." I softly stroke the side of his face with my fingers. "When compared to me, Quatre. you are an image of perfection, while I am such a hideous monstrosity, I being stained from the inside out. Your so beautiful it hurts Quatre." I hold his head in both my hands and place my forehead against his, feeling his fever, burning. I sigh softly. "So perfect Quatre. So. Fucking. Perfect."
I reach into my braid and take the key to the handcuffs out. Then, with one hand I unlock the handcuffs, freeing his hands. Moving my hands to the collar of his shirt I begin to undo the buttons, thinking back to the razor I have hidden under my pillow on this very bed. Nothing is perfect, nothing can stay perfect.
To mar perfection is a sin, but isn't perfection in itself a greater sin.?
I finish undoing the buttons of his shirt and begin to slide it off his shoulders when my fingers brush against something sickeningly familiar yet frighteningly out of place. I couldn't even begin to fathom what it was until I saw it.
I snapped my head away from his and without any support he fell limply backwards onto the bed.
FUCKING HELL! His arms are covered in scars.
Just like mine.
Just. Like. Mine.
I suddenly felt very cold. I realized I was still sitting on his lap and I sprung up onto my feet and stumbled backwards, bracing myself on the desk by the bed, staring at him.
Staring at him and his scars.
The image of perfection. no.
The lie of perfection.
Those scars weren't accidental, not for a minute could anyone think they were.
Quatre cuts himself. Just like I do.
My first reaction was fear. I tried. oh fuck, I -tried- to scare him. and he was never scared. and one fucking realization and I'm thrown back in shock and fear. Fear of him.
Fear of small 16-year-old boy unconscious and sick, lying on a bed.
I stumble over to the bed and sit next to him, definitely paler then normal, and shaking slightly. I slowly begin to button his shirt back up, my hands shaking noticeably. I finished buttoning his shirt and stared with a blank expression at his sleeping form.
I figured I should get him back to his own bed, and hope to hell that when he wakes up he doesn't remember anything. One thing for sure though, he is going to have one fuck of a headache when he does wake up.
I stood up, taking a deep breath, calming myself a bit. I gathered his body in my arms and, trying not to wake him, I carried him back into the guestroom and laid him down on the bed for him.
I could barely look at him at this point. I turned and nearly fled out of the room, closing the door and going back into my room.
I the door had barely slammed before I was throwing my shirt back on the floor and throwing myself on the bed, reaching under my pillow for the razor.
I stared at my arm for about three seconds, taking in the amount of damage I did earlier this night, the whole part of my arm from my wrist to about my elbow was red with fresh wounds and dried blood. And I didn't give a damn.
I took the razor in my hand and raised it slightly before quickly bringing it down on my lower wrist, in one quick, angry slash.
~~~~
A/n: hey, uhmmm yeah.. FYI, I know that it might have seemed a little corny with everything (razor, handcuffs, and lighter.) all -right- there, but I promise you.. it will be explained ^_^;; and it wasn't all just there for like.. no reason or anything like it sorta seems to be.. yeah.. well.. ok.. I'm tired.. 5 am @_@; goodnight.. Reviews will be greatly appreciated.