Title: As Wrong As It Gets
Author: Whyyy
Rating: R (that's what I intend eventually, but I may wuss out)
Category: Crap
Summary: SpikexVicious, which is...as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.
Disclaimer: This is my first disclaimer. I hope I'm writing it right. Uhh, I don't own Cowboy Bebop, or any of the characters in it, and I don't really want to own them. I mean, it's a good show and all, but I'm not crazy about Spike or Vicious, so what would I do with them? ...make them have hot-lovin'-goose sex in front of my roommate, causing her copious amounts of emotional and sensory pain. Keith Roberts is also apparently a real person, my good friend Jordan's neighbor, and I do not own him either. I am not actually using him, just his name.
Chapter 1 – The Wrong-ness Begins (but we'll ease into it slowly, I hope)
So, it was a bright, sunny day on, let's say, Mars, and Spike Spiegel was sauntering along on a bustling city street dressed in his weird blue suit, just looking cool and all that. And smoking, of course, because Spike liked smoking a lot. He also liked being emotionally-repressed. It made him feel macho or cool or something. Why? Because guys are stupid. It's a universal fact.
Now, Spike wasn't as stupid as most guys, or he would never have lived this long, "this long" being after that last fight with Vicious where he blew up a lot of Red Dragon goons with no aim whatsoever, then collapsed after saying, "Bang", which was very good and dramatic, if he'd been dead. But Spike wasn't, because a deep sword cut was nothing to getting stabbed and shot and tossed out a window from a formidably tall tower, from which he had also survived, so it only goes to reason that he'd be fine with whatever wound Vicious inflicted on him after one little slash. Therefore, after lying with his face buried in the cold concrete rubble for a while, Spike thought perhaps saying, "Bang" was a little silly, so he got back up to say something cooler and maybe limp off to get some medical attention. Then, it was only logical that the remaining Red Dragon goons would prepare to shoot him point-blank. Luckily, Faye and Jet had come to the rescue. And there was a lot of...string cheese. That part, Spike couldn't remember too clearly, what with blood loss and all.
Anyway, the point was, Spike wasn't stupid, so sometimes, he overcame his emotional repression, and relived his past, or usually the most angsty parts of it, in his head and apparently one of his eyes. But Spike wasn't reliving his past now, because it was such a pleasant day, and no one angsts when it's all cheery out, so life was just dandy. He'd recovered nicely, and was now smoking and looking cool and looking for a small-time bounty called Keith Roberts and...oh, now it was raining.
Rain was bad. Spike's thoughts quickly turned into a jumble of words and images: Rain...puddles...that rose in a puddle...Julia...noooooo, JUUULLLIIAAAA!!! The angst was almost too much for Spike to bear, but he couldn't escape the images. His memories kept coming at a breathtaking pace, flashes of color and sometimes sepia. Why? Because sepia is sexy. That is not a universal fact. In fact, it's a singular opinion that most normal people would not concur with.
Spike, however, did not have the presence of mind to contemplate the sexiness of sepia. It had been bad enough when he hadn't known where Julia had gone and could only see her in his mind, her song echoing in his ears. Her memory had tormented him, but now it haunted him. Again, he saw her shot in the back, collapsing amid a flurry of wings beating against a gray sky. They had been together so briefly, not even a day, and the only chance he had to hold her was when she had already left.
Julia...why? The dream we lived...shattered all too soon... Spike closed his eyes, but the splintered images of that day continued to dance behind his eyelids. It was my fault...I should have seen that bullet, shouted something, jumped in front of you...hell, I never should have slept with you. That's what started this whole damn thing. I should have controlled my freaking hormones and not screwed your brains out. I'm the one to blame...I mean, I can't honestly blame Vicious for flipping out...he took it very well for a psycho, actually. And I was his best friend, damnit! I should have told him...or maybe proposed a threesome. Surely he wouldn't have been adverse to that. But now you're dead, Julia, and we can't go back to that time...
Spike glanced at the sky, but it was still raining, so he kept angsting. Julia...these regrets...I'm sorry...I'm a bastard, I killed you and Vicious...you actually suggested that threesome one night, but I wanted you to myself...why didn't I agree?? ...really, why not? I mean, Vicious is good- looking...in shape from all that killing people stint...cute when he's mad...I'd say downright hot and luscious, if I were into man-meat, of course...ohh Julia...Vicious...screwing Julia...screwing Vicious...er, wait a minute...
Spike stopped. The sun was out again. The angsting episode was over. He had a Keith Roberts bounty to catch. Spike lit another cigarette and inhaled softly. Ahh, nicotine. Nothing like risking a little lung cancer to make him forget his horrible memories and some disturbing thoughts there near the end. As he resumed walking, Spike allowed himself to think whimsically: What would it have been like to get it on with Vicious? Of course, he knew it would never happen, Vicious being dead. On the other hand, if Vicious wasn't dead...well, it was too late for a threesome, but maybe a good old session of anal sex would make up for it. Yes, it certainly was a pity Vicious was dead as a doornail. No way he could be alive. Not even if Spike had spent a great deal of his angst episode subtly lusting after Vicious.
~*~*~*~
Elsewhere on Mars, Vicious shivered. He scowled and hugged his precious katana to his chest even tighter. It struck him as strange that he was shivering despite the fact that it was a bright and sunny day. He stuck his hand out the window of the room he'd been pacing in. Not a breeze. How odd indeed.
But Vicious was not one to linger on such lowly thoughts as shivering despite the fact that there was no climatic reason for doing so. After all, he often did things for no reason. Like, looking malnourished and starved and therefore angry all the time. This time, however, he was looking angry for a reason. Where is that damn Keith Roberts? He said he had a new weapon for me, a new creepy bird-thing since I blew that last one up.
As if on cue, a voice broke through his thoughts. "Sorry, Mr. Vicious, but Rikki Tikki here started molting and I needed to give him a tune-up."
Rikki...Tikki...? Vicious blinked and, with an odd sense of unreality, turned around to see a plump cockatoo perched on Roberts's shoulder. The cockatoo was fluffy white, with rather prominent yellow crown feathers. It cocked its head sideways and whistled obnoxiously.
Vicious's eyes narrowed. "Roberts, I cannot have this abomination perched on my shoulder. No one, not even a villainous jackass such as myself, can pull off an aura of menace with a fat parrot squawking into his ear."
Roberts looked apologetic. "But he's so cute!"
"I don't want 'cute'", Vicious snapped coldly. "I want darkness, black like my soul, evil, birds of DOOM, I want—what is it doing? What is it doing?? Shoo! Get off my shoulder, you defective avian! Roberts!"
Before Roberts could rush to Vicious's aid, however, Rikki Tikki had already settled itself quite nicely on Vicious's left shoulder. Actually, not as nicely as Rikki Tikki may have wished, Vicious's shoulder being thin and bony, and Rikki Tikki being just a tad rounder than your average cockatoo, but this was more Vicious's fault for spending all of his time dreaming up plans of power and coups instead of eating a granola bar now and then.
Vicious was seeing red. Bright red. Not brick red, not Indian red, but bright poinsettia red. "Get. Him. Off," he ordered Roberts.
"I can't," Roberts said, looking rather panicked. A poinsetta red- seeing Vicious is frightening. "I programmed him to remain on your shoulder at all times unless you have a particular operative for him. I was only doing my job," he added even more hastily as Vicious reached for his katana.
Vicious gritted his teeth. It was unlike him to lose his temper, but his last fight with Spike had left the Red Dragon syndicate in shambles. He had lost his personnel, power, and explody-bird, which he was missing more with each growing second as Rikki Tikki's claws dug into his shoulder desperately scrabbling for purchase and balance. "It's fine," Vicious finally spat, somewhat reluctantly releasing his white-knuckled grip on his katana. "He'll do for now, but you WILL build me a new bird. I expect him in two weeks. Only then will you receive your payment, is that clear?"
Roberts nodded quickly, and with that, Vicious swept in a malevolent huff out of the room, like the traditional bad guy. With Rikki Tikki on his shoulder, unlike the traditional bad guy.
While the events that had transpired these most recent moments seemed rather mundane albeit odd in a day of the life of Vicious, it's important to note them. This is because Vicious did not, as a matter of fact, note the bad day he was having, dismissing his bad luck as...well, bad luck. He did not notice an ominous trend suggesting that his life might indeed be going, no, accelerating downhill, culminating in a spectacular crash at the bottom of this metaphoric hell where he might possibly be hopelessly compromised into banging Spike. Or having Spike bang him.
Author: Whyyy
Rating: R (that's what I intend eventually, but I may wuss out)
Category: Crap
Summary: SpikexVicious, which is...as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.
Disclaimer: This is my first disclaimer. I hope I'm writing it right. Uhh, I don't own Cowboy Bebop, or any of the characters in it, and I don't really want to own them. I mean, it's a good show and all, but I'm not crazy about Spike or Vicious, so what would I do with them? ...make them have hot-lovin'-goose sex in front of my roommate, causing her copious amounts of emotional and sensory pain. Keith Roberts is also apparently a real person, my good friend Jordan's neighbor, and I do not own him either. I am not actually using him, just his name.
Chapter 1 – The Wrong-ness Begins (but we'll ease into it slowly, I hope)
So, it was a bright, sunny day on, let's say, Mars, and Spike Spiegel was sauntering along on a bustling city street dressed in his weird blue suit, just looking cool and all that. And smoking, of course, because Spike liked smoking a lot. He also liked being emotionally-repressed. It made him feel macho or cool or something. Why? Because guys are stupid. It's a universal fact.
Now, Spike wasn't as stupid as most guys, or he would never have lived this long, "this long" being after that last fight with Vicious where he blew up a lot of Red Dragon goons with no aim whatsoever, then collapsed after saying, "Bang", which was very good and dramatic, if he'd been dead. But Spike wasn't, because a deep sword cut was nothing to getting stabbed and shot and tossed out a window from a formidably tall tower, from which he had also survived, so it only goes to reason that he'd be fine with whatever wound Vicious inflicted on him after one little slash. Therefore, after lying with his face buried in the cold concrete rubble for a while, Spike thought perhaps saying, "Bang" was a little silly, so he got back up to say something cooler and maybe limp off to get some medical attention. Then, it was only logical that the remaining Red Dragon goons would prepare to shoot him point-blank. Luckily, Faye and Jet had come to the rescue. And there was a lot of...string cheese. That part, Spike couldn't remember too clearly, what with blood loss and all.
Anyway, the point was, Spike wasn't stupid, so sometimes, he overcame his emotional repression, and relived his past, or usually the most angsty parts of it, in his head and apparently one of his eyes. But Spike wasn't reliving his past now, because it was such a pleasant day, and no one angsts when it's all cheery out, so life was just dandy. He'd recovered nicely, and was now smoking and looking cool and looking for a small-time bounty called Keith Roberts and...oh, now it was raining.
Rain was bad. Spike's thoughts quickly turned into a jumble of words and images: Rain...puddles...that rose in a puddle...Julia...noooooo, JUUULLLIIAAAA!!! The angst was almost too much for Spike to bear, but he couldn't escape the images. His memories kept coming at a breathtaking pace, flashes of color and sometimes sepia. Why? Because sepia is sexy. That is not a universal fact. In fact, it's a singular opinion that most normal people would not concur with.
Spike, however, did not have the presence of mind to contemplate the sexiness of sepia. It had been bad enough when he hadn't known where Julia had gone and could only see her in his mind, her song echoing in his ears. Her memory had tormented him, but now it haunted him. Again, he saw her shot in the back, collapsing amid a flurry of wings beating against a gray sky. They had been together so briefly, not even a day, and the only chance he had to hold her was when she had already left.
Julia...why? The dream we lived...shattered all too soon... Spike closed his eyes, but the splintered images of that day continued to dance behind his eyelids. It was my fault...I should have seen that bullet, shouted something, jumped in front of you...hell, I never should have slept with you. That's what started this whole damn thing. I should have controlled my freaking hormones and not screwed your brains out. I'm the one to blame...I mean, I can't honestly blame Vicious for flipping out...he took it very well for a psycho, actually. And I was his best friend, damnit! I should have told him...or maybe proposed a threesome. Surely he wouldn't have been adverse to that. But now you're dead, Julia, and we can't go back to that time...
Spike glanced at the sky, but it was still raining, so he kept angsting. Julia...these regrets...I'm sorry...I'm a bastard, I killed you and Vicious...you actually suggested that threesome one night, but I wanted you to myself...why didn't I agree?? ...really, why not? I mean, Vicious is good- looking...in shape from all that killing people stint...cute when he's mad...I'd say downright hot and luscious, if I were into man-meat, of course...ohh Julia...Vicious...screwing Julia...screwing Vicious...er, wait a minute...
Spike stopped. The sun was out again. The angsting episode was over. He had a Keith Roberts bounty to catch. Spike lit another cigarette and inhaled softly. Ahh, nicotine. Nothing like risking a little lung cancer to make him forget his horrible memories and some disturbing thoughts there near the end. As he resumed walking, Spike allowed himself to think whimsically: What would it have been like to get it on with Vicious? Of course, he knew it would never happen, Vicious being dead. On the other hand, if Vicious wasn't dead...well, it was too late for a threesome, but maybe a good old session of anal sex would make up for it. Yes, it certainly was a pity Vicious was dead as a doornail. No way he could be alive. Not even if Spike had spent a great deal of his angst episode subtly lusting after Vicious.
~*~*~*~
Elsewhere on Mars, Vicious shivered. He scowled and hugged his precious katana to his chest even tighter. It struck him as strange that he was shivering despite the fact that it was a bright and sunny day. He stuck his hand out the window of the room he'd been pacing in. Not a breeze. How odd indeed.
But Vicious was not one to linger on such lowly thoughts as shivering despite the fact that there was no climatic reason for doing so. After all, he often did things for no reason. Like, looking malnourished and starved and therefore angry all the time. This time, however, he was looking angry for a reason. Where is that damn Keith Roberts? He said he had a new weapon for me, a new creepy bird-thing since I blew that last one up.
As if on cue, a voice broke through his thoughts. "Sorry, Mr. Vicious, but Rikki Tikki here started molting and I needed to give him a tune-up."
Rikki...Tikki...? Vicious blinked and, with an odd sense of unreality, turned around to see a plump cockatoo perched on Roberts's shoulder. The cockatoo was fluffy white, with rather prominent yellow crown feathers. It cocked its head sideways and whistled obnoxiously.
Vicious's eyes narrowed. "Roberts, I cannot have this abomination perched on my shoulder. No one, not even a villainous jackass such as myself, can pull off an aura of menace with a fat parrot squawking into his ear."
Roberts looked apologetic. "But he's so cute!"
"I don't want 'cute'", Vicious snapped coldly. "I want darkness, black like my soul, evil, birds of DOOM, I want—what is it doing? What is it doing?? Shoo! Get off my shoulder, you defective avian! Roberts!"
Before Roberts could rush to Vicious's aid, however, Rikki Tikki had already settled itself quite nicely on Vicious's left shoulder. Actually, not as nicely as Rikki Tikki may have wished, Vicious's shoulder being thin and bony, and Rikki Tikki being just a tad rounder than your average cockatoo, but this was more Vicious's fault for spending all of his time dreaming up plans of power and coups instead of eating a granola bar now and then.
Vicious was seeing red. Bright red. Not brick red, not Indian red, but bright poinsettia red. "Get. Him. Off," he ordered Roberts.
"I can't," Roberts said, looking rather panicked. A poinsetta red- seeing Vicious is frightening. "I programmed him to remain on your shoulder at all times unless you have a particular operative for him. I was only doing my job," he added even more hastily as Vicious reached for his katana.
Vicious gritted his teeth. It was unlike him to lose his temper, but his last fight with Spike had left the Red Dragon syndicate in shambles. He had lost his personnel, power, and explody-bird, which he was missing more with each growing second as Rikki Tikki's claws dug into his shoulder desperately scrabbling for purchase and balance. "It's fine," Vicious finally spat, somewhat reluctantly releasing his white-knuckled grip on his katana. "He'll do for now, but you WILL build me a new bird. I expect him in two weeks. Only then will you receive your payment, is that clear?"
Roberts nodded quickly, and with that, Vicious swept in a malevolent huff out of the room, like the traditional bad guy. With Rikki Tikki on his shoulder, unlike the traditional bad guy.
While the events that had transpired these most recent moments seemed rather mundane albeit odd in a day of the life of Vicious, it's important to note them. This is because Vicious did not, as a matter of fact, note the bad day he was having, dismissing his bad luck as...well, bad luck. He did not notice an ominous trend suggesting that his life might indeed be going, no, accelerating downhill, culminating in a spectacular crash at the bottom of this metaphoric hell where he might possibly be hopelessly compromised into banging Spike. Or having Spike bang him.