They woke up early – Maurice made sure of it, he didn't want someone walking in on them. They'd left a trail of wine, so if anyone were to come in and see, it wouldn't be hard at all to find them. Roger wasn't speaking to him. He hadn't even eaten his canned fruit the night before, so Maurice worked on it while he repacked his backpack and finished it just before they headed out.
They left by the same side door, shivering against the cold December wind and wading through ankle-deep snow. It had drifted a little during the night and there was one drift that came nearly to Maurice's knees – it was going to be a long winter, he supposed.
Roger walked as far away from Maurice as the chain would allow, not caring about the people staring at the chain that stretched between the two of them. Maurice smiled awkwardly at all of these people, but Roger glared and they usually hurried on quickly. Maurice figured that they had a few minutes before someone got worried and contacted the authorities. They had to find a place to stay for the day quickly.
Roger drew closer to him and Maurice glanced over and grinned. "Talking to me again?" he asked. Roger glared at him, and Maurice's smile wilted a little. "What do you need?"
"What are we planning on doing?" Roger asked. It almost didn't even sound like a question; more like an order. "We need to have some sort of plan."
"I'll think of something," Maurice said, waving his free hand aimlessly. Roger yanked on the chain, pulling Maurice's arm roughly away from his side. "Ow, Roger! What was that for?"
"Listen to me," Roger said. His dark brown eyes flicked around nervously, like he was expecting someone to suddenly attack. Maurice shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. "We can't stay here."
"Where? This town? This particular bit of sidewalk we're standing on?" Maurice asked, trying to keep the mood light. Roger wasn't in the mood. He pulled at the chain again.
"Out in the open," Roger said. He seemed a bit paranoid, which wasn't like him. Usually he didn't care at all. "And your stupid chain thing doesn't help. It's drawing too much attention."
"It's staying there," Maurice said. "I don't want you running off on me."
"I- I won't," Roger said.
"Promise?" Maurice asked. Roger glanced around once more, then nodded, slightly pinkish. "Fine."
After a good five or so minutes of Maurice digging around for the key, the chain was safely tucked away in his backpack and the two of them were free from each other. Neither of them moved further away from the other, though Maurice had an idea that Roger just wanted to bolt.
"Better?" Maurice asked. Roger glared for a bit, then nodded and began to walk away, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. Maurice followed, grinning. As much as he hated to admit it, Roger was right. Before they'd looked… well, a little weird, but now they were just normal teenage boys. And anyway, he could just put the chain on for when he was asleep, so that Roger didn't run off on him. "So, where do you say we spend the night tonight?"
They spent the day wandering around, stealing some food around lunchtime and breaking into an empty house when it started to get dark. The owners were away on vacation, Maurice figured. Either way, absolutely nobody was there, but it was fully furnished and stocked. Before making some food for their supper, Maurice shoved his backpack full of food.
For supper they had canned soup that he'd found in one of the cupboards. He'd warmed it up over the stove, and it made a decent dinner. Despite his initial trepidations of staying in someone's house when they could come home at any time, Maurice decided that this was definitely better than the church. At least here Roger couldn't spill the blood of Jesus Christ.
Also, he'd done some snooping around, and there was a guest bedroom upstairs that they could sleep in. At least, Maurice assumed that it was a guest bedroom. It was almost completely empty, apart from the bed and bedside table and lamp. They could sleep in there, side by side, maybe curled up close together – hell, maybe Maurice would leave the chain off and just hold Roger so that he couldn't escape. That would sure as hell be more comfortable than the chain.
Supper was awkward – they sat at opposite ends of a long table, Roger just picking at his soup. Maurice wondered if he'd be able to finish off Roger's soup. No use in letting it go to waste, right?
He shook his head, annoyed with himself. He really should be thinking about more than soup right now. He was on the run. Because he'd… well… he'd totally not killed someone to save his mentally unstable friend. Who, in reality, should be in an asylum.
Roger dropped his spoon on the table to get Maurice's attention and Maurice glanced up, meeting Roger's eyes. He looked concerned – well, as concerned as someone like Roger could look – and Maurice offered him a weak smile. "I'm just tired," he said. "Church floor, you know. Not very comfortable when you're damned."
"Not very comfortable no matter what," Roger muttered. "Being damned has nothing to do with it. It's concrete."
"True," Maurice said. "The sheets didn't do much. But we've got a bed tonight!"
It was silent, then Maurice winked at Roger.
"Dad won't be walking in this time."
Roger turned slightly pink and diverted his attention back to his soup. Maurice grinned and finished up his soup as well, carrying his bowl to the kitchen and washing it out of habit. He realized halfway through that, since he had just broken into this person's house and stolen his/her soup, he probably didn't have to wash the bowl, but it was just common courtesy. He could wash Roger's bowl when he was done, too.
There was a crash from the other room, and Maurice jumped. The bowl flew from his hands and shattered on the counter. Maurice sighed and carefully made his way back to the dining room, not wanting to cut his foot.
Roger was sitting calmly in his chair, the bowl of soup upside-down in front of him. Maurice was almost certain that there had still been soup in the bowl when he'd left – ah, there it was, leaking out from the lips of the bowl. Maurice rolled his eyes. "You made me break the bowl," he said. Roger shrugged.
"So? We're already breaking and entering, what's a bit of property damage on top of it?" he asked. Hm. He seemed to be in his 'rebellious teenager' stage. What a great time for him to hit that.
Maurice sighed. "Well, let's head to the guest bedroom. We don't want the neighbors to get suspicious because the lights are on," he said. Roger rolled his eyes and stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. He didn't seem to care. He was in a very destructive mood, apparently.
He left the backpack in the doorway, but Roger kicked it out and pulled the door shut. They were plunged into darkness, their only light being the moon trickling in through the window. Maurice fumbled while trying to get undressed; his shirt getting stuck over his head and him nearly falling over trying to get it off.
Eventually, however, he had stripped down to his underwear and had found the lamp's on switch. The room was bathed in an eerie, yellow light, reflecting off of every available surface and accentuating the shadows. Roger had also taken everything off but his underwear – and his socks, Maurice noted with some amusement – and was kneeling on the bed, peeling the blanket away from the pillows.
Maurice had never been more attracted to someone than in that moment. Even Gwen… no. For all of his joking about it, he couldn't actually… do anything tonight. They were…
Well, the both of them were already going to hell.
Nothing he did would make a difference anymore.
He could do whatever the fuck he wanted.
Hell, he was free.
Before Roger could fall asleep on him, Maurice grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close. Roger wriggled, unsure of what was going on, and Maurice kissed him on the neck, savoring the experience, because God knew how long it would be before they were caught and both sent to an asylum.
Roger stiffened at first; unused to the experience, but after a few more kisses he relaxed, slipping free of Maurice and turning to face him. They were both kneeling on the bed, Maurice a few inches taller than Roger no matter how good his posture was. Maurice let his eyes trail down Roger's body – he was still too skinny, after months of Maurice making sure he ate, but he was beginning to fill out; his ribs and collarbone and hip-bones not jutting out so sharply. They were still there, though, and while that wasn't necessarily bad, it made Maurice feel like he wasn't doing a good enough job taking care of Roger.
That was silly, though. Roger was two years older than Maurice – around seventeen, if Maurice remembered right.
But…
But Roger was mentally unstable.
Maurice should be taking care of him.
Not quite sure why he was doing it, Maurice reached out and cupped Roger's cheek in his hand. Roger's eyes tracked Maurice's hand's movement, and he stiffened a bit. Maurice smiled. Roger really was adorable when he was awkward, which was basically any time he wasn't hurting anyone. He didn't have any people skills. Maurice always had to make up for that flaw of Roger's.
He reached his other hand to Roger and pulled him close, kissing him on the mouth and gripping his face, trying to not be very rough. Roger didn't agree with the 'gentle' thing Maurice was going for, digging his fingers into Maurice's hair and hurting his skull with sharp fingernails. There was no way they were staying upright with the amount of force Roger was putting behind it, and they fell sideways, Maurice barely missing hitting his head on the wall.
They broke apart, Maurice still holding Roger's face and Roger's hands still tangled in Maurice's hair. They stared at each other, illuminated in the yellow light from the lamp, breathing hard. That hadn't been the first time they'd kissed, but God, it had been the best. The mix of risk from the fact that they had broken into the house and the certainty that Maurice's father wouldn't nearly walk in on them this time made the perfect recipe for something like this.
"Are we really gonna do this?" Maurice asked, still a little breathless. Roger's eyes were dark and certain, and he nodded.
"We are going to do whatever the fuck we want," Roger said. His voice was even, but Maurice could feel him quivering slightly. "We are going to do whatever the fuck we want here, and then we are going to go kill the others. Jack. Robert. Percival. Henry. Harold. Johnny. Ralph and that goddam Bill. All of them."
"Aim for something more lethal than the hip next time," Maurice said, and Roger glared at him. Well he certainly didn't know how to take a joke. "I'm kidding, Roger, don't take everything so seriously. You're great at stabbing people."
"I sure as hell am," Roger muttered, pulling Maurice close to kiss him again. Maurice, not expecting the sudden contact, gasped a little, but recovered quickly, slipping his hand from Roger's cheek to the back of his neck, keeping him close. As an extra precaution, he wrapped his legs around Roger's flushing a little at the sudden warmth that rushed through his body.
Roger broke the kiss but stayed close – he had to, Maurice had him trapped – and ducked his head to press his face into Maurice's neck. He didn't seem like he needed comfort, Maurice was a bit confused as to what he was doing –
Oh. Oh. Roger had just started biting Maurice, but it wasn't a bite, really, it didn't hurt in a bad way. It was just a quick nip. Roger's tongue began to work at the soft spot at the base of Maurice's neck, and he bit again. Maurice couldn't stop his back from arching, forcing himself further toward Roger and he bit his tongue to stop from moaning. Roger paused, glancing up at him. Maurice, not knowing what else to do, smiled awkwardly. Roger rolled his eyes.
Roger's fingers untangled themselves from Maurice's hair and ran down Maurice's body, unsure. Maurice rolled over so that he was hovering over Roger, and Roger decided to leave his hands at Maurice's hips, his own trapped by Maurice's legs. Their lower halves were pressed together, Maurice propped up on his elbows so that he wasn't completely crushing Roger.
He kissed Roger on the mouth – Roger liked messing with him elsewhere, but the best thing, Maurice thought, was just kissing. It was simple, and sweet, and ouch, Roger had just bitten his bottom lip, hard. Maurice gasped, his mouth opening. Roger's tongue slipped in like a snake, and then Maurice wasn't so sure that he should be on top by the way Roger's tongue was battling his. It was… if he thought about it, well, it was sort of gross, but he was getting such an intense pleasure from everything about this, even the pain was nice, really, and the taste of blood had always been one of his favorite tastes, he didn't care about the grossness of the situation.
They drew apart, a mixture of blood and spit dripping from Maurice's mouth and landing on Roger's chest. That was also a bit disgusting, Maurice noted. Roger's fingernails dug into Maurice's hips now, most of his fingers on the backside and thumbnails in the front, pulling him toward him, grinding him against him. Maurice went with it, feeling himself harden down there, gasping and losing himself, clenching his fists.
Roger's eyes were half-lidded; Maurice wasn't sure if he was regretting this or extremely enjoying it. Maurice decided to try out a few things himself, he wasn't the most experienced, of course, but neither was Roger, having been locked up in an asylum the past five years. No, both of them were very much operating on instinct, kissing and biting and trying to work up the courage to go past the lower belly. At least, that's what Maurice was trying to do. He wasn't sure if he could hold back much longer, but he wasn't sure what Roger would think-
To hell with it. Roger would do whatever he wanted. Maurice slipped his hand down, down to tug at the band of Roger's underwear, tugging it down and wincing a little as Roger's fingernails dug deeper into his skin.
And then Roger's underwear was around his knees, and it was just Maurice's to go next. Roger took care of this, moving one hand from its assault on Maurice's hips and sliding them off with a quick proficiency that Maurice had been unable to muster.
It felt weird, but it was a good weird, being completely naked on a bed, entangled with Roger, touching him, tasting him, feeling him. Maurice's right hand, the one that had taken off Roger's underwear, was between their hips, rubbing Roger's hipbone, trying to work up the courage. Roger had no such qualms, being insane and all Maurice wouldn't expect him to, losing whatever patience he'd had and shoving Maurice off of him roughly and switching their positions. It was Maurice who was now looking up at Roger, eyes wide and illuminated in the yellow light from the lamp. Roger looked down at him with an expression that was at first his usual apathetic stare, then turned into something savage and terrifying.
Then Roger entered him, and Maurice shrieked, not expecting it to hurt so much, not expecting Roger to be this rough, but oh, who was he kidding, of course Roger was rogue, he was insane, he was savage, he was Roger, and that was what Maurice loved most about him. The danger. The risk. The oh thank God the pain was going away.
Maurice, breathing heavily, could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. That was painful, but he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the pain. He closed his eyes, trying to keep a hold on himself, and when he opened them, Roger was looking a bit curious.
"Did it hurt?" he asked, glancing down at both of their crotches. "I mean… it's not very big. Yours is bigger."
"I…" Maurice was still a bit short of breath. He closed his eyes for a moment more to gain control of himself. He was beginning to calm down. "Yeah. It's like when… when you try to force something, but it doesn't quite fit, and it just really needs something… we need something slippery to make it fit, you know? It seems like it could fit, but it's just so… rough. But… I kind of…"
Maurice turned a bit red.
"You liked it," Roger said. He was grinning a full-on grin, his insane grin (did Roger have any other grin, really?), the one that showed all of his teeth like he was baring them. "You fucking like it when it hurts."
Maurice swallowed and nodded. Roger dragged his fingernail across Maurice's face, and Maurice winced as his skin burned. The tears still pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he wasn't going to let them fall, because Roger… Roger would just think he was weak.
"Perfect pair, the two of us," Roger said. His voice was quieter now, like he wasn't aware that he was talking out loud. "You like being hurt, I like doing the hurting. Perfect… fucking… pair."
"Oh, shut up," Maurice said, wrapping his arms around Roger's neck and pulling him down for a kiss.
That night, Roger pushed himself into Maurice a few more times. They eventually stopped and found the covers – they'd fallen on the floor at some point – curling up beneath them. Maurice was crying freely by this point, his voice almost hoarse from shrieking so much. They were at opposite sides of the bed, partly because Roger wasn't fond of human contact and partly because Maurice didn't want Roger to take notice of the fact that he was crying. He hurt all over, from the points where Roger had dug his fingernails in to the dull, throbbing ache in his ass.
"Are you crying?" Roger asked after a pause. Maurice tried to get a hold of himself.
"N-no," he said. He'd failed miserably. Roger snorted.
"Baby."
i don't know what i'm doing but uh
that's what the outline said
so uh
yeah
"we break into your house, steal your soup, and have sex in your guest bedroom," is maurice and roger's motto
