Into the Mist, 7 / ?
Mar. 14th, 2006 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raynedanserwritesTitle: Into the Mist 7 / ?
Fandom: popslash AU
Pairing: Lambs
Rating: PG-13
It always surprised Justin how quickly everything could change. How one moment they would be walking down the street, silent and mentally alert, and how the next moment they would be in a finely choreographed dance where one wrong move could cost one or both of them their life. How Lance could go from an easy stroll to the necessary quick and graceful moves that would, ultimately, bring them back to do this again the next night. And the next.
Justin could only step back and watch, his own senses aware as he tried to make sure there would be no more surprises as Lance put his body through moves that he had practiced again and again until his body was sore and tired and remembered the moves as well as his mind did, and still he kept pushing. After all, their lives depended on it.
Tonight, even with Josh and Chris, it was no different. The change in the atmosphere was swift and sudden and Lance’s casual demeanor was gone in a blink. Josh and Chris did their part, but it was still Lance that took the brunt of the attack, still Lance that finished with the most gore on him. Still Lance that was standing in the end with his hand curled over his bicep, a pained expression on his face as blood oozed between his fingers. The expression, the blood, the pain - THOSE weren’t new, he’d seen them often enough, and Justin still didn’t like them.
“Oh shit!” he hissed as he quickly crossed over, on and around bodies to examine Lance’s arm. Justin carefully peeled back the material of Lance’s shirt and examined the wound. It was longer and deeper than Justin would have liked, one of the nastier cuts Lance had received.
“Well now, that’s going to leave a pretty scar,” Lance said quietly.
Justin glared at him, but said nothing as he turned and led Lance back the way that they’d come. He tried not to think about how quickly he’d accepted Josh’s home as their own or how he’d automatically steered them in that direction. Or how on their way back in, his comfort level wasn’t nearly as freaked out as it had been the first time.
In the common area, a first aid kit was thrust towards him and Justin opened it, scanned its contents, and quickly found what he was looking for. Lance straddled the bench and Justin sat in front of him, their knees barely touching as he quickly cut the remains of Lance’s shirt out of the way and began to clean the wound.
“Hey!” Lance protested when Justin cut the fabric.
Justin looked up from his task, but said nothing as he continued cleaning. He felt Joey behind him, but didn’t stop, just carefully cleaned up the blood and debris that had gotten into the cut.
“That’s going to need stitches,” Joey pointed out. “I’ll get the needle and thread for you.”
Justin nodded in acknowledgement and finished his task. When all the blood and debris had been wiped away, in the glaring light of the common area, it was pretty damn nasty looking. About the only thing Lance had going for him was that the edges of the cut were neat and not ragged.
When Joey returned, he plunked the needle and thread and an open bottle of whiskey down on the table within reach and sat down nearby. Justin quickly glanced up, noted the bottle and said, “I need to concentrate, not get drunk, Joe.”
Lance picked up the bottle with his free hand and took a drink. “It’s not for you, Justin,” he said after. “It’s for me.”
Justin looked up and registered Lance’s slight nod and set about his task. When he was finally done, a slightly tipsy Lance had a row of neat stitches in his arm covered by a clean gauze pad. Justin left the mess for now, took Lance’s hand and led him to their room. He shut the door behind them, nudged Lance onto the bed and smiled when Lance stretched out and watched him expectantly.
In the safety of their room, Justin leaned against the door and tipped his head back. Even now, after countless times doing this, the after-effects were always the same. The near hyperventilating, the sweat and chills. He knew the drill by heart, but he still couldn’t stop this before it started. Slowly, he slid down the door, stopping only when he could wrap his arms around his knees and tuck his head down. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths.
“J,” Lance said quietly from the bed.
Justin ignored him, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and kept his head down.
“Justin,” Lance said again. This time, Justin looked up. Lance was watching him from the bed, a serious expression on his face. He lifted his good arm and smoothed the blanket next to him. “C’mere.”
Justin unfolded himself slowly and climbed into bed. He stretched out, resting his head on Lance’s chest. Strong fingers rubbed at the tight muscles between his shoulders.
“Justin, I’m ok.”
“Lance, you could’ve - ”
“But I didn’t. Breathe Justin. That’s it.”
And Justin let him go, let Lance’s quiet murmur sooth him like it had so many times in the past, like it probably would many more times in the future. He still didn’t know what Lance was saying, was pretty sure it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lance was saying something, keeping him here and grounded and keeping his inner monsters at bay like he always did.
Fandom: popslash AU
Pairing: Lambs
Rating: PG-13
It always surprised Justin how quickly everything could change. How one moment they would be walking down the street, silent and mentally alert, and how the next moment they would be in a finely choreographed dance where one wrong move could cost one or both of them their life. How Lance could go from an easy stroll to the necessary quick and graceful moves that would, ultimately, bring them back to do this again the next night. And the next.
Justin could only step back and watch, his own senses aware as he tried to make sure there would be no more surprises as Lance put his body through moves that he had practiced again and again until his body was sore and tired and remembered the moves as well as his mind did, and still he kept pushing. After all, their lives depended on it.
Tonight, even with Josh and Chris, it was no different. The change in the atmosphere was swift and sudden and Lance’s casual demeanor was gone in a blink. Josh and Chris did their part, but it was still Lance that took the brunt of the attack, still Lance that finished with the most gore on him. Still Lance that was standing in the end with his hand curled over his bicep, a pained expression on his face as blood oozed between his fingers. The expression, the blood, the pain - THOSE weren’t new, he’d seen them often enough, and Justin still didn’t like them.
“Oh shit!” he hissed as he quickly crossed over, on and around bodies to examine Lance’s arm. Justin carefully peeled back the material of Lance’s shirt and examined the wound. It was longer and deeper than Justin would have liked, one of the nastier cuts Lance had received.
“Well now, that’s going to leave a pretty scar,” Lance said quietly.
Justin glared at him, but said nothing as he turned and led Lance back the way that they’d come. He tried not to think about how quickly he’d accepted Josh’s home as their own or how he’d automatically steered them in that direction. Or how on their way back in, his comfort level wasn’t nearly as freaked out as it had been the first time.
In the common area, a first aid kit was thrust towards him and Justin opened it, scanned its contents, and quickly found what he was looking for. Lance straddled the bench and Justin sat in front of him, their knees barely touching as he quickly cut the remains of Lance’s shirt out of the way and began to clean the wound.
“Hey!” Lance protested when Justin cut the fabric.
Justin looked up from his task, but said nothing as he continued cleaning. He felt Joey behind him, but didn’t stop, just carefully cleaned up the blood and debris that had gotten into the cut.
“That’s going to need stitches,” Joey pointed out. “I’ll get the needle and thread for you.”
Justin nodded in acknowledgement and finished his task. When all the blood and debris had been wiped away, in the glaring light of the common area, it was pretty damn nasty looking. About the only thing Lance had going for him was that the edges of the cut were neat and not ragged.
When Joey returned, he plunked the needle and thread and an open bottle of whiskey down on the table within reach and sat down nearby. Justin quickly glanced up, noted the bottle and said, “I need to concentrate, not get drunk, Joe.”
Lance picked up the bottle with his free hand and took a drink. “It’s not for you, Justin,” he said after. “It’s for me.”
Justin looked up and registered Lance’s slight nod and set about his task. When he was finally done, a slightly tipsy Lance had a row of neat stitches in his arm covered by a clean gauze pad. Justin left the mess for now, took Lance’s hand and led him to their room. He shut the door behind them, nudged Lance onto the bed and smiled when Lance stretched out and watched him expectantly.
In the safety of their room, Justin leaned against the door and tipped his head back. Even now, after countless times doing this, the after-effects were always the same. The near hyperventilating, the sweat and chills. He knew the drill by heart, but he still couldn’t stop this before it started. Slowly, he slid down the door, stopping only when he could wrap his arms around his knees and tuck his head down. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths.
“J,” Lance said quietly from the bed.
Justin ignored him, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and kept his head down.
“Justin,” Lance said again. This time, Justin looked up. Lance was watching him from the bed, a serious expression on his face. He lifted his good arm and smoothed the blanket next to him. “C’mere.”
Justin unfolded himself slowly and climbed into bed. He stretched out, resting his head on Lance’s chest. Strong fingers rubbed at the tight muscles between his shoulders.
“Justin, I’m ok.”
“Lance, you could’ve - ”
“But I didn’t. Breathe Justin. That’s it.”
And Justin let him go, let Lance’s quiet murmur sooth him like it had so many times in the past, like it probably would many more times in the future. He still didn’t know what Lance was saying, was pretty sure it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lance was saying something, keeping him here and grounded and keeping his inner monsters at bay like he always did.
