bandearg_rois (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bandearg_rois) wrote2010-10-23 12:31 am
bandearg_rois) wrote2010-10-23 12:31 am
Entry tags:
Always the Same Thing (RPS) Pt. 2
Title: Always the Same Thing
Disclaimer: Do I own them? Hell no, if I did, this shit would be real life.
Warnings: Angst, lots and lots of angst, possible age!kink (not sure if this counts for it) bad language, and more angst.
Summary: Two Days and One Decision. Life is a bitch.
Music Listened to: Our War - Neon Trees (inspiration, kind of)
A/N: Just read heavy angst... so this gets ended... See how that works out there?
<i>Previously:
"I'll talk," he says suddenly, surprising even himself. "I'll talk."</i>
Chris stepped prudently into his bedroom and he made his way to the door, still pulled open on the chain. The only reason he doesn't open the door is because Chris has a porch, so Christian won't get any wetter than he already is. He leans against the wall next to the door, refusing to look over, refusing to care enough to wonder why.
"Anton..."
"You came to talk," he says, and a small part of him, that same part that wants to pull the door open and leap into the strong arms on the other side balks at how <i>hollow</i> he sounds, and the sharp intake of breath on the other side of that door lets him know that Christian feels it, too. "So talk." And he's drawing on the tensile strength that he had as Ryan, because his body is threatening to revolt, to shake apart with the sobs that he thought he was done with.
"I'm sorry."
"What good does that do for me?" And it's good. His voice has just that edge of anger and bitterness that Ryan carried, and if Sam was here, he'd probably be hugged within an inch of his life before Sam threatened to kill Christian. But Sam wasn't here, and Chris believed in him, and he could do this, have this conversation and not shake apart.
"I don't know what you want!"
"I wanted you to shut your fucking mouth! Why, for once in your life, could you not just be the reticent bastard that you are all the time!" He's not yelling, not yet; his fist is clenched against the wall, though, and he can't seem to open his eyes. "I'd have been fine if you had just kept your stupid beautiful mouth shut! If you would have just walked out and left me alone I was going to be absolutely okay! I'd have smuggled some booze off of Zach or Chris and slept in Zoe's room until i was okay. But you just had to fucking open your mouth!" His voice is louder, and he's aware of the back door opening and closing, and spares a moment to mentally apologize that he's somehow kicked Chris out of his own house.
"Anton, I promise you, I didn't mean to-"
"You don't get to pull that card with me, Christian. You fucking laid me bare, and then had the audacity to laugh at me. That shit just doesn't gel, Bale. You know what? Your flight to NYC is in two hours. You might want to get there before it leaves without you." He pushes away from the wall, and stops dead when he feels Christian's hand, like a brand, wrapped around his wrist. He isn't a small man, not really, but his wrist is swallowed by Christian's hand, and he almost pulls the chain off right then and there, that desperate needy part of him keening to just be held, and cuddled and loved. He crushes that little part, and yanks out. At least, he tries.
"Anton. Please. Goddamnit listen to me." And he's still again, because outside of a role, Christian didn't curse. "I... I didn't mean for it to get this deep. I didn't mean to start it at all."
"Then why? Why did you start it, Chris?" he asked, voice ragged.
"I couldn't help it."
"Is it because I'm young? You have a kink for that sort of thing?"
"No. Look, it's nothing to do with your age, it was you, the whole time, it was just your personality and then you smiled and..."
He laughed. It wasn't a pretty sound, and his smile was too jagged to be anything but ironic. "Sounds suspiciously like love, darling," he said, mimicking Christian's faint accent perfectly. "You might want to get that looked at. Can you let me go?"
"I don't want to." And then they're kissing through the gap in the door and it's desperate and he knows he's crying but he just wants one more, something to take with him when his world is destroyed, before he has to painstakingly build it all back up again. Just like always. But he can't let go, can't get Christian to let go, and he's sobbing and thinking about opening the door.
And then just as suddenly, Christian pulls away, something that could be tears, could be leftover raindrops running down his face, and Anton knows that this is the very last time they'll ever be this close. "I love you," he whispers brokenly, hand on the door, heart in his eyes.
"I love you, too, Bebe," Christian says in return, before stepping backward, off the porch, swallowed by the pounding rain. Anton just watches until he can't see the big man in the darkness of day, before shutting the door with a silent click and sliding down it, true sobs wracking him again. He's barely aware when Chris pulls him into a hug, and he just stays that way, content to purge the pain for now.
Outside
The rain was pelting him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The pain in him was too much, too dark and deep. He couldn't turn around, couldn't go back and shove the bedraggled handful of flowers he'd been carting around for hours into the mail slot. He just couldn't. And it was all his fault. All of it.
-FIN-
Disclaimer: Do I own them? Hell no, if I did, this shit would be real life.
Warnings: Angst, lots and lots of angst, possible age!kink (not sure if this counts for it) bad language, and more angst.
Summary: Two Days and One Decision. Life is a bitch.
Music Listened to: Our War - Neon Trees (inspiration, kind of)
A/N: Just read heavy angst... so this gets ended... See how that works out there?
<i>Previously:
"I'll talk," he says suddenly, surprising even himself. "I'll talk."</i>
Chris stepped prudently into his bedroom and he made his way to the door, still pulled open on the chain. The only reason he doesn't open the door is because Chris has a porch, so Christian won't get any wetter than he already is. He leans against the wall next to the door, refusing to look over, refusing to care enough to wonder why.
"Anton..."
"You came to talk," he says, and a small part of him, that same part that wants to pull the door open and leap into the strong arms on the other side balks at how <i>hollow</i> he sounds, and the sharp intake of breath on the other side of that door lets him know that Christian feels it, too. "So talk." And he's drawing on the tensile strength that he had as Ryan, because his body is threatening to revolt, to shake apart with the sobs that he thought he was done with.
"I'm sorry."
"What good does that do for me?" And it's good. His voice has just that edge of anger and bitterness that Ryan carried, and if Sam was here, he'd probably be hugged within an inch of his life before Sam threatened to kill Christian. But Sam wasn't here, and Chris believed in him, and he could do this, have this conversation and not shake apart.
"I don't know what you want!"
"I wanted you to shut your fucking mouth! Why, for once in your life, could you not just be the reticent bastard that you are all the time!" He's not yelling, not yet; his fist is clenched against the wall, though, and he can't seem to open his eyes. "I'd have been fine if you had just kept your stupid beautiful mouth shut! If you would have just walked out and left me alone I was going to be absolutely okay! I'd have smuggled some booze off of Zach or Chris and slept in Zoe's room until i was okay. But you just had to fucking open your mouth!" His voice is louder, and he's aware of the back door opening and closing, and spares a moment to mentally apologize that he's somehow kicked Chris out of his own house.
"Anton, I promise you, I didn't mean to-"
"You don't get to pull that card with me, Christian. You fucking laid me bare, and then had the audacity to laugh at me. That shit just doesn't gel, Bale. You know what? Your flight to NYC is in two hours. You might want to get there before it leaves without you." He pushes away from the wall, and stops dead when he feels Christian's hand, like a brand, wrapped around his wrist. He isn't a small man, not really, but his wrist is swallowed by Christian's hand, and he almost pulls the chain off right then and there, that desperate needy part of him keening to just be held, and cuddled and loved. He crushes that little part, and yanks out. At least, he tries.
"Anton. Please. Goddamnit listen to me." And he's still again, because outside of a role, Christian didn't curse. "I... I didn't mean for it to get this deep. I didn't mean to start it at all."
"Then why? Why did you start it, Chris?" he asked, voice ragged.
"I couldn't help it."
"Is it because I'm young? You have a kink for that sort of thing?"
"No. Look, it's nothing to do with your age, it was you, the whole time, it was just your personality and then you smiled and..."
He laughed. It wasn't a pretty sound, and his smile was too jagged to be anything but ironic. "Sounds suspiciously like love, darling," he said, mimicking Christian's faint accent perfectly. "You might want to get that looked at. Can you let me go?"
"I don't want to." And then they're kissing through the gap in the door and it's desperate and he knows he's crying but he just wants one more, something to take with him when his world is destroyed, before he has to painstakingly build it all back up again. Just like always. But he can't let go, can't get Christian to let go, and he's sobbing and thinking about opening the door.
And then just as suddenly, Christian pulls away, something that could be tears, could be leftover raindrops running down his face, and Anton knows that this is the very last time they'll ever be this close. "I love you," he whispers brokenly, hand on the door, heart in his eyes.
"I love you, too, Bebe," Christian says in return, before stepping backward, off the porch, swallowed by the pounding rain. Anton just watches until he can't see the big man in the darkness of day, before shutting the door with a silent click and sliding down it, true sobs wracking him again. He's barely aware when Chris pulls him into a hug, and he just stays that way, content to purge the pain for now.
Outside
The rain was pelting him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The pain in him was too much, too dark and deep. He couldn't turn around, couldn't go back and shove the bedraggled handful of flowers he'd been carting around for hours into the mail slot. He just couldn't. And it was all his fault. All of it.
-FIN-
no subject
;_;
How on earth did I miss this when you posted it?
Wow, like, just, yeah. Yeah.
no subject
And the reason you missed it is because I didn't advertise it!