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We'll call this 'Obsession 'verse' because, really - that's what it is. I started writing the next bit off the newest prompt (The Police song titles) and got a little...carried away.
So almost 1500 words later, I'm done, but - ha! - not exactly a drabble *or* even a ficlet. So on the advice of the ever-smrt![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkhavens, I posted a 200 word snippet at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
slashthedrabble, and I'm posting the whole piece *here*.
So. :)
I am so pleased that that comm is back up! I love that i'm writing more. I really really really need to *write more*. On all kinds of things. (Yes, you people who won fic off me, i'm still working on them, you are not abandoned, i just really suck right now!!)
Thanks again,darkhavens for the beta. AND, for finding the only word-count app on the entire Interwebs that counts correctly! G-docs and a host of others count html and all kinds of things, and we could *not* get an accurate word count. (And counting by hand, finally, showed us I was short when online counts showed us I was *over*.) CharacterCountOnline rocks.
Previous installments here and at SlashTheDrabble.
The guy - motherfucking psycho - said his name was Jason. As if Christian gave a shit. And Jason...liked to talk. A lot. All about how he'd found Christian - watched him, followed him, learned him; stalked him like a motherfucking psycho.
Christian was sweating, his wrists aching from the cuffs, trying not to hyperventilate as the the guy - as Jason - went on and on, lying comfortably half-on and half-off Christian, chain smoking and grinning like a...motherfucking psycho. Telling him he'd been in Christian's house before - that he'd read his mail and eaten some of his food and stolen one of his books.
"Sorry about that, Christian. I just...needed to have it. I'll bring it back," Jason said, reaching to drag his fingers down Christian's temple, pushing at his hair.
"I don't...don't fucking...care," Christian said, and Jason's grin lost a little of its edge.
"I said I'd bring it back. You think I'm lyin'?"
"How in fuck would I know?" Christian snapped, and then he felt himself cringe, because Jason wasn't grinning now, he was frowning, digging around in a crumpled pack of cigarettes for a new one, his long, dark hair hanging tangled over his down-pointing face.
"You know, I been watchin' you since that time in St. Louis, that fuckin' rodeo, and you went off with this cowboy…." Jason gave up on the smokes, tossing the pack away and butting out his last one in the coffee cup Christian had left by the bed. "Pretty thing, all big eyes and bow legs, remember him?"
Christian's brain reeled, trying to think, to remember. Rodeo in St. Louis? Fuck, that was in November, that was like eight fucking months ago. Eight months, and Christian hadn't noticed him until January, hadn't even realized…. Christ, this motherfucking psycho'd been lurking and watching and probably jerking off to Christian's empty beer bottles since November.
It made Christian's skin crawl, made his belly go sick and shivery, his whole body shuddering, wracking tremors he couldn't stop.
"Oh, hey, Christian, shhh now, don't be scared. I ain't mad," Jason said, and he was grinning again, hectic-bright, eyes gleaming. "I mean, you shouldn't a'been fuckin' around on me, but...you didn't know." Jason twisted away, reaching for his ankle, and drew a knife from a worn leather sheath. The blade gleamed in the low light of Christian's side-table lamp, and the gut hook at the tip was wickedly curved, almost iridescent with sharpness.
Jason ran the tip of it lightly up Christian's chest, then flipped it neatly and slid the curve of the gut hook under the neck of Christian's tee. Christian craned his chin up frantically away from the blade that was just kissing his skin.
"I ain't mad, but I gotta tell you, Christian, I don't hold with that kinda slutty shit." With a smooth, powerful tug of his hand, the knife slid down, cleanly slicing Christian's shirt open with a faint hiss, ice-cold metal tracing a shivery line, and Christian didn't move, didn't move, didn't dare fucking breathe.
Jason used the knife-tip to flip Christian's tee and flannel wide, baring his chest and belly, and Christian felt his lungs hitch, trying to drag oxygen into a chest seized up tight. The blade danced, skipping from navel to rib to nipple to the notch between Christian's collarbones, and Christian clenched his fists so hard, he could feel his nails digging in, drawing blood.
"Now, I know you didn't know any better, Christian, but I made sure he didn't come bothering you again, that cowboy." Jason laughed softly, and rubbed his leg up, his knee sliding over Christian's groin. "He made some pretty noises, that one; I can see why you were so taken. But - he had to go."
"What-? What d'you mean, go?" Christian asked, and Jason laughed again. Christian thought he just might be sick. That laugh...it was pretty. Flirtatious and amused. Fucking horrifying.
"They never did find all his parts," Jason said, and Christian just couldn't stand it, he couldn't, he couldn't lay here and listen to this. Forgetting the knife - forgetting everything - Christian yelled, a hoarse bellow that hurt his throat. Thrashing and twisting and arching, cursing, he jerked against the cuffs so hard he heard his headboard crack, dry snap.
Jason actually startled away from him, holding the knife wide, frowning again, and Christian yanked on the cuffs with all his might.
"You motherfucking sick fuck! You fucking psycho, fucking asshole, you fucking killed him? For fucking nothing, you killed somebody, you bastard, you fucking cocksucking psychopathic fuck! I will kill you, I will rip your fucking throat out!"
With a growl, Jason flung himself on Christian, knees in Christian's ribs and one hand snaking down to fist Christian's hair. Christian lunged and snapped his teeth and got skin - got blood, hot and salt across his tongue - and Jason hissed like a furious cat.
He did something with the knife and then his fist cracked down, hard, right into Christian's jaw. Once - twice - and then Christian felt himself being yanked up by a fistful of hair, pulled upright so hard his shoulders screamed, and Jason was right there, right in his face, his features twisted in fury.
"Shut up! You shut the fuck up, Christian, you shut up, shut up, shutup!" Jason was panting, and Christian was, and where the fuck was the knife, Jesus Christ, where was the knife?
Jason reached up and yanked the knife out from where he's half-buried it in the plaster of Christian's bedroom wall. He flicked it out, shedding plaster bits and dust, and laid the flat of it on Christian's cheek.
"Don't you fuckin' say that to me, Christian. Don't you dare. I did- did what I had to do. Had to do. You don't fuckin' understand a damn thing, and you don't get to- You don't get to fuckin' say that...say that to me, you don't- don't-" Jason stopped, huffing out hard, hot breaths between clenched teeth. He bowed his head, forehead on Christian's throat, his hair sliding over Christian's mouth.
It tasted like dust.
"Don't, just don't..say that, you need to...understand...you need…I, I…." Jason lifted his head, let Christian slowly back down, sliding his hand free of Christian's hair. Christian whined as his shoulders finally relaxed, a burning throb settling into the joints, his wrists numb, aching down in the bones. His fingers felt...heavy - too thick - and his ankles were burning, too, from the chafe of rope on bare skin, socks and boots dragged off and tossed aside before Jason had even pounced on him.
Jason leaned above Christian, one hand on the bed, the other - hand and knife - on Christian's shoulder; stared straight down at him, his face shadowed and intent, glimmer of teeth and eyes.
"You don't get it. You're mine, Christian. And I'll do anything - anything - for you."
"Let me go," Christian said, and fuck, that hurt, his throat felt like gravel and glass. But he couldn't stop. His heart was pounding so hard and so fast he felt dizzy. He couldn't get enough air, and his brain just kept stuttering and flashing, ragged circles, caught on the murder of some poor, innocent kid. "I'm not yours, you're out of your fucking mind."
Jason's whole body went instantly, completely, still. And then he sat back, his whole weight on Christian's hips, ringed hand coming up to rake back through his disordered hair. His eyes- Fuck, his eyes were wide open, blank and black as a doll's eyes. Utterly empty. He looked down at Christian and Christian looked back, not daring to blink, to breathe. The heavy silence of the room was broken by the rattle of the handcuff chain against wood, as Christian's hands kept shaking, shaking, shaking.
"Sweetheart," Jason said, his voice low and almost breathy. "Honey, I'm just gonna have to show you. I'm sorry, Christian. Didn't wanna mean you, but...you gotta learn. Gotta learn," he said, and the knife glittered, prismatic edge sparkling in the light, coming up and filling all of Christian's vision, gleaming and shining like the sun on ice.
"Try not to move, honey. It'll be over soon."
So almost 1500 words later, I'm done, but - ha! - not exactly a drabble *or* even a ficlet. So on the advice of the ever-smrt
darkhavens, I posted a 200 word snippet at slashthedrabble, and I'm posting the whole piece *here*.So. :)
I am so pleased that that comm is back up! I love that i'm writing more. I really really really need to *write more*. On all kinds of things. (Yes, you people who won fic off me, i'm still working on them, you are not abandoned, i just really suck right now!!)
Thanks again,
darkhavens for the beta. AND, for finding the only word-count app on the entire Interwebs that counts correctly! G-docs and a host of others count html and all kinds of things, and we could *not* get an accurate word count. (And counting by hand, finally, showed us I was short when online counts showed us I was *over*.) CharacterCountOnline rocks.Previous installments here and at SlashTheDrabble.
The guy - motherfucking psycho - said his name was Jason. As if Christian gave a shit. And Jason...liked to talk. A lot. All about how he'd found Christian - watched him, followed him, learned him; stalked him like a motherfucking psycho.
Christian was sweating, his wrists aching from the cuffs, trying not to hyperventilate as the the guy - as Jason - went on and on, lying comfortably half-on and half-off Christian, chain smoking and grinning like a...motherfucking psycho. Telling him he'd been in Christian's house before - that he'd read his mail and eaten some of his food and stolen one of his books.
"Sorry about that, Christian. I just...needed to have it. I'll bring it back," Jason said, reaching to drag his fingers down Christian's temple, pushing at his hair.
"I don't...don't fucking...care," Christian said, and Jason's grin lost a little of its edge.
"I said I'd bring it back. You think I'm lyin'?"
"How in fuck would I know?" Christian snapped, and then he felt himself cringe, because Jason wasn't grinning now, he was frowning, digging around in a crumpled pack of cigarettes for a new one, his long, dark hair hanging tangled over his down-pointing face.
"You know, I been watchin' you since that time in St. Louis, that fuckin' rodeo, and you went off with this cowboy…." Jason gave up on the smokes, tossing the pack away and butting out his last one in the coffee cup Christian had left by the bed. "Pretty thing, all big eyes and bow legs, remember him?"
Christian's brain reeled, trying to think, to remember. Rodeo in St. Louis? Fuck, that was in November, that was like eight fucking months ago. Eight months, and Christian hadn't noticed him until January, hadn't even realized…. Christ, this motherfucking psycho'd been lurking and watching and probably jerking off to Christian's empty beer bottles since November.
It made Christian's skin crawl, made his belly go sick and shivery, his whole body shuddering, wracking tremors he couldn't stop.
"Oh, hey, Christian, shhh now, don't be scared. I ain't mad," Jason said, and he was grinning again, hectic-bright, eyes gleaming. "I mean, you shouldn't a'been fuckin' around on me, but...you didn't know." Jason twisted away, reaching for his ankle, and drew a knife from a worn leather sheath. The blade gleamed in the low light of Christian's side-table lamp, and the gut hook at the tip was wickedly curved, almost iridescent with sharpness.
Jason ran the tip of it lightly up Christian's chest, then flipped it neatly and slid the curve of the gut hook under the neck of Christian's tee. Christian craned his chin up frantically away from the blade that was just kissing his skin.
"I ain't mad, but I gotta tell you, Christian, I don't hold with that kinda slutty shit." With a smooth, powerful tug of his hand, the knife slid down, cleanly slicing Christian's shirt open with a faint hiss, ice-cold metal tracing a shivery line, and Christian didn't move, didn't move, didn't dare fucking breathe.
Jason used the knife-tip to flip Christian's tee and flannel wide, baring his chest and belly, and Christian felt his lungs hitch, trying to drag oxygen into a chest seized up tight. The blade danced, skipping from navel to rib to nipple to the notch between Christian's collarbones, and Christian clenched his fists so hard, he could feel his nails digging in, drawing blood.
"Now, I know you didn't know any better, Christian, but I made sure he didn't come bothering you again, that cowboy." Jason laughed softly, and rubbed his leg up, his knee sliding over Christian's groin. "He made some pretty noises, that one; I can see why you were so taken. But - he had to go."
"What-? What d'you mean, go?" Christian asked, and Jason laughed again. Christian thought he just might be sick. That laugh...it was pretty. Flirtatious and amused. Fucking horrifying.
"They never did find all his parts," Jason said, and Christian just couldn't stand it, he couldn't, he couldn't lay here and listen to this. Forgetting the knife - forgetting everything - Christian yelled, a hoarse bellow that hurt his throat. Thrashing and twisting and arching, cursing, he jerked against the cuffs so hard he heard his headboard crack, dry snap.
Jason actually startled away from him, holding the knife wide, frowning again, and Christian yanked on the cuffs with all his might.
"You motherfucking sick fuck! You fucking psycho, fucking asshole, you fucking killed him? For fucking nothing, you killed somebody, you bastard, you fucking cocksucking psychopathic fuck! I will kill you, I will rip your fucking throat out!"
With a growl, Jason flung himself on Christian, knees in Christian's ribs and one hand snaking down to fist Christian's hair. Christian lunged and snapped his teeth and got skin - got blood, hot and salt across his tongue - and Jason hissed like a furious cat.
He did something with the knife and then his fist cracked down, hard, right into Christian's jaw. Once - twice - and then Christian felt himself being yanked up by a fistful of hair, pulled upright so hard his shoulders screamed, and Jason was right there, right in his face, his features twisted in fury.
"Shut up! You shut the fuck up, Christian, you shut up, shut up, shutup!" Jason was panting, and Christian was, and where the fuck was the knife, Jesus Christ, where was the knife?
Jason reached up and yanked the knife out from where he's half-buried it in the plaster of Christian's bedroom wall. He flicked it out, shedding plaster bits and dust, and laid the flat of it on Christian's cheek.
"Don't you fuckin' say that to me, Christian. Don't you dare. I did- did what I had to do. Had to do. You don't fuckin' understand a damn thing, and you don't get to- You don't get to fuckin' say that...say that to me, you don't- don't-" Jason stopped, huffing out hard, hot breaths between clenched teeth. He bowed his head, forehead on Christian's throat, his hair sliding over Christian's mouth.
It tasted like dust.
"Don't, just don't..say that, you need to...understand...you need…I, I…." Jason lifted his head, let Christian slowly back down, sliding his hand free of Christian's hair. Christian whined as his shoulders finally relaxed, a burning throb settling into the joints, his wrists numb, aching down in the bones. His fingers felt...heavy - too thick - and his ankles were burning, too, from the chafe of rope on bare skin, socks and boots dragged off and tossed aside before Jason had even pounced on him.
Jason leaned above Christian, one hand on the bed, the other - hand and knife - on Christian's shoulder; stared straight down at him, his face shadowed and intent, glimmer of teeth and eyes.
"You don't get it. You're mine, Christian. And I'll do anything - anything - for you."
"Let me go," Christian said, and fuck, that hurt, his throat felt like gravel and glass. But he couldn't stop. His heart was pounding so hard and so fast he felt dizzy. He couldn't get enough air, and his brain just kept stuttering and flashing, ragged circles, caught on the murder of some poor, innocent kid. "I'm not yours, you're out of your fucking mind."
Jason's whole body went instantly, completely, still. And then he sat back, his whole weight on Christian's hips, ringed hand coming up to rake back through his disordered hair. His eyes- Fuck, his eyes were wide open, blank and black as a doll's eyes. Utterly empty. He looked down at Christian and Christian looked back, not daring to blink, to breathe. The heavy silence of the room was broken by the rattle of the handcuff chain against wood, as Christian's hands kept shaking, shaking, shaking.
"Sweetheart," Jason said, his voice low and almost breathy. "Honey, I'm just gonna have to show you. I'm sorry, Christian. Didn't wanna mean you, but...you gotta learn. Gotta learn," he said, and the knife glittered, prismatic edge sparkling in the light, coming up and filling all of Christian's vision, gleaming and shining like the sun on ice.
"Try not to move, honey. It'll be over soon."