The Marquis de All The Knives (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2017-01-07 06:03 am
balsamandash) wrote in rainbowfic2017-01-07 06:03 am
Darling Grey, Halloween Orange, Pearls of Wisdom
Name: August
Title: the feeling of being in motion again
Story: Despite the Abundance
Colors: Darling Grey #11, "I didn’t come looking for love, I didn’t come to pick a fight"; Halloween Orange #15, "A moment and my simple, careless plans were all unmade."; Pearls of Wisdom #6, "Beware of the person who has nothing to lose."
Supplies and Styles: Photography
Word Count: 866
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Non-graphic blood and violence; passing mentions of suicidal feelings; hinted at d/s relationship elements; one scene, while it's not terribly obvious if you don't know the verse and the characters, refers to a recovered addict getting tricked into using drugs.
Notes: I have been meaning to write one of the sections of this story for a while now. None of this is quite what I expected, including that part, but hey, it works.
i.
Time stops when the bullet hits his leg.
It's like there's years between the moment where the bullet first hits him and the moment when he hits the ground. He'd swear he could feel the shot go through him, a million life- and career-ending scenarios going through his head, and he curses the asshole who isn't paying him enough for this job as he feels himself fall in slow motion. The pain doesn't even register until after the impact of his feet against the ground, just the desperate chant of a thought, is this it is this it is this it, terror and relief all at once.
There's blood in his mouth, his teeth sinking into his cheek with the impact of the bad landing; the sharp taste of it speeds time up again, and there's no time to think anything else but get away.
(When Darya asks later, poised and perfect above him as she holds the laptop up out of his reach, he says he didn't even notice. She lets him, which is how he knows she can read it all over his face.)
ii.
Nathan wakes up fast, too hot and too sober, sticky with sweat where there's another body against his, and his hand somehow still firmly gripping Timothy's wrist. He shifts, turning onto his side; Timothy presses closer, barely awake and hiding from the sun against Nathan's forearm, and if he's going to make any kind of choice about this, he's going to have to do it now.
No -- if he's going to stop this, he's going to have to do it now. Nathan doesn't know what'll happen if he turns around and says he was drunk and made a mistake, but it's probably better than what'll happen if he does it even a few more days down the road. Timothy already looks at him like he's got some kind of answer for him, and Nathan's not going to pretend it's love or whatever, but it's some kind of crush that definitely isn't helped by how obviously starved for attention and affection Timothy is in general.
He needs somebody to take care of him, and Nathan won't be very good at it. He can barely take care of himself and he should have moved months ago. But nobody else is doing it, and nobody else is going to do it right if he goes, and knowing that makes something possessive and angry rise in him, something that short-circuits rational logic and cuts straight to no and mine.
He's so fucked, and he won't be able to keep this up, won't be good for Timothy for very long, if he even if now.
But he's been doing what he shouldn't for a long time now, and Nathan makes his choice, and he lets the moment pass without moving.
There'll be time to regret it later, if he's wrong.
iii.
He pulls out his phone, pulls up the text, and his heart stops beating.
It's not too bad, not nearly as bad as it could be. Timothy isn't hurt, isn't bleeding, isn't tied up or passed out. He's just on the floor in front of the couch, his head tilted back, looking at the person who's taking the picture. He's smiling. But he's unfocused, hazy in a way that's too familiar, and Nathan bites down on his tongue to keep back the snarl that wants to come out.
It takes a moment to remember how to breathe.
Nathan doesn't bother to respond. Darya knows how he'll react, can probably see it as clearly as if she was here, and nothing's going to stop her. Threats won't work. Neither will asking. Instead he types in a number he knows by heart, a code he and Billy set months ago, and then turns back to his gun. His hands are steady. His breathing almost is.
He'll get the job done. And then he's going to find Darya, and he's going to kill her, too.
iv.
Time stops when he hears the shot.
It's like there's years between the sound and the realization that it missed. He swears he can feel the path it makes against his shoulder, each millimeter it grazes. A few inches lower and it'd be his lungs. A few inches to the side, his neck. Either one would probably leave him bleeding out here, even if they didn't shoot him again and finish the job. Either one, and he'd never make it home.
He thinks about Timothy, sitting alone, waiting for him and getting a call. He doesn't have to imagine how it would go after that. He can see the path from there as clearly as if it had been laid out for him.
He shoots, and time speeds up again as the target falls. His hand shakes just a little as he puts his gun away, and Nathan wonders when dying became something to be afraid of.
v.
Timothy kisses him, and Nathan doesn't have to think about anything at all, because everything important is at his fingertips, under his hands, under him. The softness of skin, the way Timothy sinks into the couch under him, the soft happy sound he makes when Nathan takes hold of his wrist.
Timothy kisses him, and time doesn't matter, work doesn't matter, nothing matters but him.
Title: the feeling of being in motion again
Story: Despite the Abundance
Colors: Darling Grey #11, "I didn’t come looking for love, I didn’t come to pick a fight"; Halloween Orange #15, "A moment and my simple, careless plans were all unmade."; Pearls of Wisdom #6, "Beware of the person who has nothing to lose."
Supplies and Styles: Photography
Word Count: 866
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Non-graphic blood and violence; passing mentions of suicidal feelings; hinted at d/s relationship elements; one scene, while it's not terribly obvious if you don't know the verse and the characters, refers to a recovered addict getting tricked into using drugs.
Notes: I have been meaning to write one of the sections of this story for a while now. None of this is quite what I expected, including that part, but hey, it works.
i.
Time stops when the bullet hits his leg.
It's like there's years between the moment where the bullet first hits him and the moment when he hits the ground. He'd swear he could feel the shot go through him, a million life- and career-ending scenarios going through his head, and he curses the asshole who isn't paying him enough for this job as he feels himself fall in slow motion. The pain doesn't even register until after the impact of his feet against the ground, just the desperate chant of a thought, is this it is this it is this it, terror and relief all at once.
There's blood in his mouth, his teeth sinking into his cheek with the impact of the bad landing; the sharp taste of it speeds time up again, and there's no time to think anything else but get away.
(When Darya asks later, poised and perfect above him as she holds the laptop up out of his reach, he says he didn't even notice. She lets him, which is how he knows she can read it all over his face.)
ii.
Nathan wakes up fast, too hot and too sober, sticky with sweat where there's another body against his, and his hand somehow still firmly gripping Timothy's wrist. He shifts, turning onto his side; Timothy presses closer, barely awake and hiding from the sun against Nathan's forearm, and if he's going to make any kind of choice about this, he's going to have to do it now.
No -- if he's going to stop this, he's going to have to do it now. Nathan doesn't know what'll happen if he turns around and says he was drunk and made a mistake, but it's probably better than what'll happen if he does it even a few more days down the road. Timothy already looks at him like he's got some kind of answer for him, and Nathan's not going to pretend it's love or whatever, but it's some kind of crush that definitely isn't helped by how obviously starved for attention and affection Timothy is in general.
He needs somebody to take care of him, and Nathan won't be very good at it. He can barely take care of himself and he should have moved months ago. But nobody else is doing it, and nobody else is going to do it right if he goes, and knowing that makes something possessive and angry rise in him, something that short-circuits rational logic and cuts straight to no and mine.
He's so fucked, and he won't be able to keep this up, won't be good for Timothy for very long, if he even if now.
But he's been doing what he shouldn't for a long time now, and Nathan makes his choice, and he lets the moment pass without moving.
There'll be time to regret it later, if he's wrong.
iii.
He pulls out his phone, pulls up the text, and his heart stops beating.
It's not too bad, not nearly as bad as it could be. Timothy isn't hurt, isn't bleeding, isn't tied up or passed out. He's just on the floor in front of the couch, his head tilted back, looking at the person who's taking the picture. He's smiling. But he's unfocused, hazy in a way that's too familiar, and Nathan bites down on his tongue to keep back the snarl that wants to come out.
It takes a moment to remember how to breathe.
Nathan doesn't bother to respond. Darya knows how he'll react, can probably see it as clearly as if she was here, and nothing's going to stop her. Threats won't work. Neither will asking. Instead he types in a number he knows by heart, a code he and Billy set months ago, and then turns back to his gun. His hands are steady. His breathing almost is.
He'll get the job done. And then he's going to find Darya, and he's going to kill her, too.
iv.
Time stops when he hears the shot.
It's like there's years between the sound and the realization that it missed. He swears he can feel the path it makes against his shoulder, each millimeter it grazes. A few inches lower and it'd be his lungs. A few inches to the side, his neck. Either one would probably leave him bleeding out here, even if they didn't shoot him again and finish the job. Either one, and he'd never make it home.
He thinks about Timothy, sitting alone, waiting for him and getting a call. He doesn't have to imagine how it would go after that. He can see the path from there as clearly as if it had been laid out for him.
He shoots, and time speeds up again as the target falls. His hand shakes just a little as he puts his gun away, and Nathan wonders when dying became something to be afraid of.
v.
Timothy kisses him, and Nathan doesn't have to think about anything at all, because everything important is at his fingertips, under his hands, under him. The softness of skin, the way Timothy sinks into the couch under him, the soft happy sound he makes when Nathan takes hold of his wrist.
Timothy kisses him, and time doesn't matter, work doesn't matter, nothing matters but him.
no subject
This really, really made me want to read more about everyone involved. I'm really excited for this verse! ...I think it is new. Forgive me if I am mistaken.
no subject
no subject
Just. Oh wow. This whole thing is amazing.
no subject