Awayforlunch makes me giggle. Sadomachism is hot…

So I got this story about an hour ago. It goes along with seeing someone in so much pain that they can't sit still, and they can't make it stop, and they don't know what to do.

Pairing: Caleb/Reid

PS - I will work Pogue into one of these, I just need some more ideas that fit him. Thanks for the reviews too J

--

Two weeks. It'd been two weeks since his ascension and the pain hadn't lessened. In the beginning he could shoulder it, push it to the back of his mind until it was nothing more than a dull ache. But he could ignore it and function. It was like his body was being stretched to accommodate something he wasn't quite sure he wanted. More power. But he had no choice. His body was being raped over and over again every day and the longer the rape continued, the worst the pain became. Two weeks.

Caleb shivered violently, moaning softly as the ache sung loudly in his stiff bones. He curled in further on himself beneath the thick blanket. He couldn't function anymore. No, he'd stopped trying four days ago. He just stopped. Stopped talking to people and going to school, stopped leaving his room and eating. Stopped showering and looking after his mother. The pain just made him stop. He supposed he knew he was dying. He could distinguish the soft ache in the pit of his stomach and hear the grind of his empty stomach. He could smell himself and feel the grime laced deep within his hair. He'd stripped down to his boxers four days ago, and he still felt suffocatingly hot. It was killing him, he knew it.

He almost missed the soft, hesitant knock at his door. He knew it wasn't his mother. She hadn't spoken a single word to him in a week, because that's when he stopped talking to her; putting up with her gave him a headache and just made everything worst. The door swung open and he dimly heard something move, someone pad across his room. He knew who it was even before he saw the mop of blonde hair.

"Cay?" His voice sounded different. Had it really been that long? A hand reached out and Caleb instinctively recoiled. He had to remind himself that the pain was trapped within his body. Touching wouldn't hurt him. Nothing could hurt him more than he already was. He relaxed almost simultaneously and leaned into the patiently waiting hand. Reid's skin was warmer than he remembered. "Jesus Christ, Caleb. Why didn't you call one of us?"

"Nothing," he croaked against the soft skin of Reid's hand. "You could do. Nothing." He learned that two weeks ago when the pain developed. There was nothing any them could do. Involving them wouldn't help anyone, only trouble them and that's the last thing Caleb wanted.

"Caleb," Reid murmured sadly. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe the voice Caleb hadn't heard in a week. He had grown up with a persistent blonde, but the blonde's voice had always been somewhat joyful, even when he was being spiteful. The joy was gone now and Caleb had missed it. He didn't know when it had died. He hadn't noticed, until he saw the younger boy kneeling beside his bed, his hand soft against his cheek. The boy looked different too. He looked different and he sounded different. But Caleb didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to even conceive of such a notion. Could his condition really have changed Reid Garwin?

"You should of told me," Reid muttered but his voice was weak and his words lacked bite. Caleb opened his mouth but for what? What could he have done. A particularly violent shudder tore the words from his mouth and they instantly dissolved. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't think. Reid recoiled and Caleb wanted to reach for him but couldn't. Moving hurt. "I should have noticed," the blonde concluded. Any other day, Caleb would have done one of two things. He would have either dismissed the blonde's guilt as ludicrous and told him it wasn't his fault. Or he would have said 'damn right, you should have noticed'. The two statements didn't seem very appealing anymore. He didn't want to exchange words, it all just seemed so insignificant. Words. He didn't want to talk anymore and he didn't want the blonde to express his guilt quite so loudly anymore.

Instead, Caleb shifted, painstakingly slow, and threw a heavy arm forward. His grasp on Reid's arm shocked the boy and he nearly pulled away. And then Caleb was pulling him forward, gently, weakly and Reid let him because he knew he wouldn't have been able to stop the older boy even if he had wanted to, no matter how weak he was. He crawled into the bed and into Caleb's arms and curled up against the broad chest of the older boy He smelt bad and he was all sweaty but this was the touch that Reid had painfully missed and he'd be damned if he were to complain. Caleb's arms around him were weak but tight nonetheless. The boy was inadvertently relieving the stress of his mounting pain on Reid but the younger boy didn't seem to mind. Because it didn't hurt. It felt amazing. To be held so tightly against the brunette's body. It felt amazing.

A sweaty, hot hand, found Reid's hair and gripped it tightly. The hair curled around his thick fingers, soft, clean. Caleb vaguely realized that he smelt nice. His mother's shampoo, Caleb supposed. He couldn't care enough to ask why the boy wasn't showering at the dorms. Instead, he remained content with just cradling Reid's head. Holding the head against his trembling chest and forcing himself to try to keep his body that much more still. He was content just holding Reid. The pain could remain, so long as he never had to let the blonde go. So long as they could just coexist and yet remain as one entity. Together.

Reid's hand, warmer beneath the blanket wound around Caleb's waist and slid beneath the back of his shirt. But for the first time, there wasn't anything sexual about the movement. Just the urge to be closer, to be pressed flesh against flesh. He didn't mind the thick layer of sweat much. He tried to ignore the consistent tremors rippling through Caleb's frame. His withering away frame. "Jesus Christ, Cay," Reid muttered against his sweaty chest. "You're fucking dying."

The laugh tore from Caleb's throat and he grimaced. It hurt. "I try not to," he muttered into the blonde locks. "Seems to be something I can't help."

Reid's hand shifted against his ribs, almost as if he were petting him. "Shit, Caleb. What do you we do? How do we make it stop?"

"I can't. I've tried," Caleb croaked. "I can't."

"But Gorman --"

"He's busy," Caleb interrupted, his weak croak drowning out Reid's more insistent voice.

"Too fucking bad," Reid snapped, jerking his head up to stare at the older boy. "Somebody has to know. This is fucking ridiculous. He's gonna participate." His voice dropped abruptly as he muttered every cuss word he knew regardless of whether they applied to the old man or not. Reid Garwin was frustrated as fuck.

A thumb brushed across the back of the pale neck and Caleb's lips twitched against the crown of his head. "That's a load off my back. Reid Garwin's on the case."

Reid's head jerked up and he pressed his lips firmly against Caleb's sweat soaked neck. "You smell like shit, Cay," he complained in mock disapproval. "I'm gonna give you a shower tomorrow. And I'm gonna feed you, even if I have to shove the food down your throat. I don't go for that manorexia bullshit."

"Okay," Caleb sighed. His grip tightened on Reid as his body shook with a sudden rush of pain. The pain had no beginning, no point at which it started. It didn't end. It just expanded his entire frame and he didn't know where to comfort first. Instead he grasp onto Reid as if he were drowning and Reid were his only life boat. His safety jacket in a hurricane. He crushed the pale body against his chest and swallowed the rising cries of agony.

"I'll fix you, Cay," Reid murmured against his ear. His voice had changed again. An octave higher, distorted and thick. Caleb couldn't see his face. He couldn't see the tears blurring his vision. "I promise."

"I trust you," Caleb muttered. And he did. He really believed the blonde. He really believed something would happen; change. He wanted to believe it, that someone else, not him, some outside force would reach out and drag him out of this dark pit. He wanted to believe that somebody else would fix his problems and his messes. He believed Reid would do that and his grip on the boy tightened that much more. Because he was gripping hope right there. He was gripping it hard and refusing to let it go. Because without it, he was sure he would die.