Title: a M A L E S b.o.r.e.d.o.m
Description: Open ;;
Asher Black - December 27, 2007 05:41 AM (GMT)
Warning: Male/Male and if you have certain sensebilities, you may not want to read on. That said...
It was a pity really, Asher Black thought as he lay on his bed looking up at the bare ceiling. And what pity was that? Oh, the fact that it was a Friday night and he had nowhere better to be than his bed. And the fact that he was alone in aforementioned bed. Oh, not to say that there wasn't a party going on. There was one. But it was a Royals only party and Asher couldn't stand a majority of the Royals. Partying with them and only them would be a fate worse than death. Not that he didn't like some of them, hell his roommate was one and he liked him well enough. Well, more than enough but that was besides the point. Royals weren't bad. It was just the fact that Royalty at Aura was bad. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the silence of the dorm. Jayme was at the aforementioned party and Matthew was who knows where. That kid did whatever he felt like whenever he felt like and it was hardly ever anything interesting. Hell, when he went to a party, he never did anything but drink the punch. How boring. And most definitely not Ash's forte. Ash's forte wasn't the alcohol either. Alcohol was just not his shtick. Now drugs... Ah... Envelope Ash in a cloud of drugs and he'd be thrilled.
But at that moment, he didn't have any drugs on him. He hardly ever brought anything into the room, primarily out of fear of causing his sensible Nobody of a roommate from having a heart attack at the sight of anything illegal. Not to say that he didn't have cigarettes, since he couldn't live without them, but hey! Since when were cigarettes illegal? Well, sure, he wasn't old enough to obtain them legally but keep quiet about that, kay? Anyway... The cigarette between Asher's lips at that moment was nearly finished and he was bored. Even another cigarette couldn't alleviate boredom. He would take out something to do, but hell... He didn't want to play music! He wanted to talk to someone. How often did he actually take the time to talk to the people? How often did anyone do so? He could hardly remember the last time he just sat down and talked with someone. Most of the time, he or the other person were doing something else at the same time, meaning that only a part of their mind was on the conversation.
Alright... To be honest, only part of Asher wanted someone to talk to. The intellectual part. And yes, there was an intellectual part of Ash Black beneath that sexy exterior. But the other part of him, or rather, the rest of him, wanted someone to come into that room right then and there whom he could jump. Why? Well, to be honest, he was sick and tired of having to pretend that he didn't feel anything for either of his roommates and it got damn embarrassing at times when he imagined them in some ways that he most definitely should not. But he knew if he did anything to either Jayme or Matthew, he would forever regret it. But at that precise moment, he didn't really care. He was bored and hadn't touched anyone in a few days and hell, he was horny. There was no way to avoid it. He was a teenage guy who was very aware of the sexuality of those around him and it was slightly shocking how many of the guys at Aura had some bisexual leanings. If someone walked into his room right then and there, he'd probably have a four in five chance of getting some. And he was perfectly alright with that. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a drag as he turned his head to look at the doorway, willing someone to come in at that precise moment.
Ryence Wolfe - December 27, 2007 06:16 AM (GMT)
Over the past few months, Ryence had grown into himself. Not in a gawky his-nose-finally-fit-his-face-sort-of-way, but in a receding-emotions-and-exceedingly-distant sort of way. Despite the withdrawn appearance, he was a rather social creature. Back at Nimbus Academy he’d always been out—every night of the week if he could manage. School was important, yes, but if he could get by and still make a party of it, he damn sure was going to. Mainly because he was a bit of a lush. Even when he’d been mentally stable and pretty fucking content, he’d been deep down in the bottle. Beltran had teased him for it, and had often tried to monitor him, but, as long as he got his way with Ryence when they made it back to the dormitories, it was all right as rain. Fuck, it was high school—what else were they supposed to do? Study? Play chess? Hardly. Ryence just wanted to drink the handle in his hands dry.
Everclear. It was the strongest thing he could buy commercially so, naturally, he’d bought it. Beer was right and fine—preferred, actually—but hiding that in a dormitory full of alcoholic friends was difficult. Ryence was, by no means, against sharing his liquor, but he wasn’t about to cater to the whole student body. He liked to pick and choose—it was a rule. Ryence never drank alone. And, unfortunately for him, there seemed to be a party going on that night. No one was around; the dormitory was deserted. Disappointed to say the least, Ryence had dragged himself from floor to floor—seeking, searching. All he wanted was a drinking companion—naturally. Drinking alone was for depressed shitheads and the like. Ryence, despite being excessively moody and temperamental at times, was not depressed. He was merely in a funk. Suck on that.
Clearing his head with a shake, Ryence reached his home floor with a grimace. If no one was stuck inside on this one, he’d have one more floor to go before being forced to give up for the night. Quite frankly, that was not on his agenda. He’d stopped drinking every night of the week [if he could have gotten away with it he would have], but not drinking for four days was even a bit much for him. The liquor called to him. Really. Shoved in a backpack and slung over his shoulder, he could hear it whispering his name. Ryence, Ryence, Ryence. It was a lover’s caress. And, since Beltran had been gone, it was all he had to keep him company late at night—when decent students were sleeping. Or at a legitimate party. Which seemed to be the case for tonight. Royals, was it?
Ryence couldn’t keep track of all the social groups—they were organized, he couldn’t argue that, but they seemed pointless. Labels. All they did was confine and suppress creative young minds. The school’s system was rather appalling, but he’d fallen right into it. He hadn’t even put up a fight. Just call him a Nimbus and be on your way. Huh. Nimbus. It didn’t even exist any more and, yet, they were still bound by that painful name. It haunted him. Every time a person asked him about the school, drilled him about the fire, his heart ached. He hadn’t been there—how was he to know the exact details? Fuck. He’d been locked away at home; locked away from everything that had ever been important to him. And now it was all gone—and there was nobody to drown his sorrows with.
Biting back a sigh, Ryence approached an open door with interest. There had to be some one in there. He was positive of it. And, honestly, he didn’t care who it was—he just needed some one to be present as he downed gulp after gulp over the merry liquid in his backpack. It was inappropriate to drink alone. He’d already explained this. Still, as his knuckle rapped lightly on the doorframe, he found himself hoping that the occupant or occupants would be tolerable. And wouldn’t mind the intrusion. It was a rare creature to find, but some students were repulsed by the thought of underage drinking. Well, fuck ‘em. He was going to drink no matter who was in there. Even if he had to tie them down, take his liquor, and leave. It really wasn’t that complicated—and required nothing on the other’s part. Unless they wanted to drink, too. Along with the handle, a few glasses chinked happily inside the backpack. It was music to his ears.
Sufficed that his knocking had alerted any occupants, Ryence stuck his head in—and was, if possible, met with one of the last people he’d wanted to see. Asher Black. Sweet misery. He liked the kid, yeah, but there-in lied the problem. Ryence smiled to keep the frown at bay. There was no turning back now—not without seeming like a complete idiot. Brilliant. A clinking of glass reminded him of the urgency of his search. Suck it up and just do it. “’Ello there, mate. Care for some company?”
Asher Black - December 27, 2007 06:42 AM (GMT)
Huh. Maybe he truly had some powers other than being able to see the true form of people for the moment he thought of some company, company had come knocking at his door. Quite literally. He tilted his hair and removed the cigarette from his mouth as he leaned closer to the edge of the bed in order to see whom was at his door. He knew indistinctly that it was neither Matthew or Jayme. For one thing, neither would knock and for another, Matthew would probably be rambling by now and Jayme would have tripped over the doorway. No, it was neither of his roommates. He sat up, propping his figure up on his elbows as he put his cigarette in the ashtray that he kept on his nightstand. Hey, he was courteous. Most of the time. And he knew that some people at Aura had issues with smoking so he would adhere to their desires and not smoke in their presence.
His ears perked up as he heard the twinkling of glass rubbing against each other and he frowned. And then entered one of the new Nimbus students. Rather, Ryence Wolfe, the most interesting of all of the Nimbus students if he did say so himself. The kid looked lost nine out of ten times of the day and Ash was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with having to switch schools. No, just by looking at him, Asher was able to discern that the kid was mentally broken. His power of revelation ensured, in fact, that Ash was sure of it. Something had happened to Ryence that had caused him to become extraordinarily fragile. Judging by the bandages on Ryence's hands, it wasn't only a mental fragility either. But Ash was never one to say anything about other's emotions or what he saw about a person. He never would stoop low enough to use someone's true form against them. If someone whom he was friendly with asked, he may tell but honestly, who wanted to really know their true selves? Hell, he knew that if he could see his true self he'd probably gouge out his eyes in preference. He wasn't a perfect human being and to be quite honest, he sometimes hated his gift. Who was he to be able to see that a person was a bad person? Some of the people whom he found the biggest connection with at Aura were pure asses and appeared extremly ugly to Ash. Only with time would his power lessen their appearance and then would he be able to see them, without using a camera, how the rest of the world viewed them. As of yet, only his family was completely immune to his ability.
But why was he thinking about his ability when he had nearly literally conjured up someone who was there for his pleasure. If he were a lesser person, Ash probably would have blushed at the thought , for for once he had not meant his thoughts that way. He had desired company and company had come knocking at his door, which perfect with him. The fact that it was Ryence Wolfe was a bit interesting though. You see, Ash was a good judge of character and judging by Ryence's body language and reaction to those around him, he wasn't entirely straight. He seemed, at least in Asher's eyes, to be just as bisexual as Ash was. And how Ash would love to act upon it. His power didn't make him completely blind to the physical appearances of those around him and the moment he had seen Ryence Wolfe, he had loved his blond hair. It was the oppisites attract thing. Ash was most definitely dark haired and Ryence was most definitely not. Damn his power for not letting him see the sexual tendencies of people. Now that power Asher would be most glad to have.
Ash finally sat up from his reclining position and spoke. "I always love company," he said as he stood up from his bed and headed to his desk. He hadn't realized when he had been musing that his music had been playing and he figured that Ryence wasn't one for music. Why he figured that, he had no idea. But he was one for music and the thought of turning it off completely, rather than just lowering the volume, irked him. "Do you mind if I leave this on?" he asked, motioning to his laptop, which was currently playing the latest Cobra Starship album.
Ryence Wolfe - December 27, 2007 07:17 AM (GMT)
"I always love company,"
Relief flooded through every fiber of Ryence’s body as those words tumbled from Asher’s lips. Perfect. Both sarcastically and happily. The latter because, naturally, he’d been craving a little human attention and the former because—well, to be blunt, Asher Black put dirty thoughts into Ryence’s mind. Perhaps that was his power—it made heat rise to Ryence’s cheeks. And other places. Honestly, it made him more than a little uncomfortable and he squirmed as a particularly devious idea drifted into his conscious. Ah, no. That would not do. He’d come here for a drink, something he was cheerfully reminded of as he stepped forward and slung his backpack off his shoulders with a satisfying jingle-jangle. Holding the bag in his hands, for a lack of something better to do with them, he stepped further into the room. Blue eyes briefly glanced over the furnishings before snapping back to focus as Asher spoke.
"Do you mind if I leave this on?"
“So long as you don’t mind if I take these out.” A child-like grin decorated his features as he pulled two glasses and a handle from the zipped mouth of the bag he’d carried. This bag had been through a lot with him. Fuck of a lot of parties, long nights. They’d all been worth it. ‘Specially since he’d gotten it from Beltran. He briefly ran bandaged fingers over the faded fabric before closing it with a swish and tossing it beneath the table he’d thrown the goods onto. The liquor was so close he could practically taste it. Delicious. Kind of. Everclear had a kind of nasty taste to it—but it did the trick. And by “it did the trick” Ryence completely meant that it got him drunk enough to forget his own name. But, hey, at least that’s all it did. Ryence had never been one to take off his clothes and run around. That’s what Beltran had been for—minus the running around part. With what they did after hours, there was no running involved. Fucking, yes. Running, no. Got it? Good.
Casting a glance toward the open door, Ryence poured two shots and beckoned for Asher to join him. If any teacher decided to patrol at the moment, they’d hopefully be convinced that it was just two students drinking water. Out of two shot glasses. Double shot glasses. Ryence rubbed the back of his neck in impatience. Just toast and get it done with. But, still. The door made him nervous. At Nimbus Academy, he’d always had the door shut—the professors were fucking hawks there. Here, however, not so much. He’d take more than a few shots behind open doors, gaping frames. It was like the teachers were asking them to drink. To smoke. To—to do less than savory things. And Ryence was for it. It helped him forget. And, when he was too sober to not forget, it sure as hell didn’t help him remember. Alcohol: mankind’s cure-all. Minus the headaches.
Ryence wasn’t particularly privy to them, but, when he got ‘em, he got ‘em bad. But, he thought with a frown, Beltran had always been there to pick back up the pieces. A brush to the forehead and he was right as rain all over again—and ready for the next night. It was an unhealthy habit, but he was a spoilt, rich brat. What else was to be expected of him? Nothing. People with money didn’t accomplish anything spectacular on their own—not by any means. Money was their crutch; money was their curse. And he’d done nothing to break free. That would change, though—surely it would. His parents hardly approved of what he was—he didn’t blame them. Some kids were bound to be bitter, upset. Ryence was merely a cool display of indifference. His family had rather inappropriate practices, but dealing with a boy who couldn’t even control himself was too much to ask from them. He’d have been better off powerless and engaged to his first cousin. Which wouldn’t have been fun—she had a bit too much breast for his liking.
But, anyway.
Ryence raised any eyebrow in tandem with a glass. “Bottoms up?”
Asher Black - December 27, 2007 07:48 AM (GMT)
Was that a blush? What the hell? Had he been right? Asher turned his head for an instant, pretending to glance at the computer screen. It must have just been the light. Ryence wasn't gay. No guy that good looking wouldn't take advantage of his looks on girls. But then again, perhaps he used those looks on guys too... Afraid that something would happen that would most definitely be inappropriate, Asher stared intently at the computer screen, trying to count the amount of songs on one of his play lists in order to get his mind off of the more base natures of his mind. Literally, base. Ah shit... If he wasn't careful, he'd have to act like some freshman and escape to the bathroom with a magazine. Or just a picture of Ryence. Dear God, he was so screwed. He didn't act this way for most people, mind you. No, he controlled himself, most of the time. It must have just been his mood.
"Huh?" Asher said, oh so eloquently, as he heard Ryence's words and saw him pull out the two shot glasses. Oh. That. He cringed slightly as he turned back to his computer and turned on one of his favorite songs (Prostitution is the Worlds Oldest Profession by Cobra Starship). Alcohol was not his area of expertise. That was Jayme. He liked drugs, as he had been thinking about earlier. Not that he didn't drink. But he cared enough for his self preservation that he tended to try not to mix the two of them. But hell, it wasn't as if he was going to be doing anything that night. Why shouldn't he drink with a friend? It wasn't as if he was going to be driving or anything. Or be doing something stupid like jumping off the roof of Aura. Or seducing a friend or roommate. God. He really was pathetic. So pathetic that he had contemplated getting drunk and getting another person drunk in order to get them into bed. God... Why wasn't a teenager's life so clean cut that he could just ask someone if they wanted to have sex with him.
The brunette spotted the blond's glance at the door and he rolled his eyes. Ah... He recalled when he used to be scared of the hall monitors. The fear had been fleeting, lasting for a week or two of his freshman year at most. But Ryence was new. These type of things could be a bit of shock. Stepping away from his laptop, Ash strolled across the room and closed the door behind Ryence. There was a bit of a laughing look in Ash's eyes, not exactly laughing at Ryence but rather at the situation. Ah... To be new in the ways of Aura. This was Asher's last year and he was becoming a bit sentimental. He still remembered when he had first arrived. He had been oh so innocent. Innocence which had promptly faded, to his delight. Who wants to be innocent when there's sex and cigarettes in the world?
Ash picked up the tumbler as Ryence toasted him and he couldn't help but thinking, why, yes. Bottoms up is just how I like it. Mentally berating himself, he shook his head as he downed the drink. It burned his throat for a moment and it tasted a bit rancid, but that may have just been it mixing with the remains of the cigarette smoke in his mouth. He drank until the shot glass was empty and he placed it down, ready to be filled again. If he couldn't act on any of his urges, he would get as drunk as he could. Smoking hardly did anything for him anymore, it was just a habit at this point.
No, a lifestyle and an addiction.
Ryence Wolfe - December 27, 2007 08:23 AM (GMT)
Before Ryence had tilted his head back and downed the first shot, he noticed that Asher had shut the door. Dastardly. And—had Asher been laughing at him? Huh. As he brought the first drink to his lips and shot it backward down his throat, he realized it didn’t at all matter. Laugh at him, don’t laugh at him—hey, the door was shut, right? Most definitely. Ryence grinned and refilled the shot glasses. Running a hand through his hair, strands of blond ruffling on contact, he threw his gaze over to Asher. “I’m a bit of a drinker, so if I get too lush, you can just tap out and watch me make an arse of myself.” He grinned and tossed another drink down the hatch. That slight acknowledgement allowed Asher to bow out whenever he wanted to—because, quite frankly, Ryence was a drinker. And, as he was taller, heavier, and much more of a lush than the other boy, he could probably take more as well. Maybe. He’d been stupid enough to skip dinner, so running on an empty stomach might not have been best. Though it did get the job done faster. Three cheers to that. Ryence refilled the glasses and took another shot.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again. Just for good measure. By this point, the boys had managed to go through more than half a handle. Well, fuck them, but it was hard not to. For some reason, Ryence couldn’t fathom why, the Everclear just kept getting better tasting. Oh! Maybe that was Asher’s power. Making things taste better. Like alcohol. Though, there were a few other things Ryence would mind Asher manipulating. Beets, maybe? Turnips? Definitely. Even as drunk food they wouldn’t do. They were too healthy. Part of the marvel of being drunk was consuming as much shitty, greasy food as possible. And then waking up and going “hot damn, I need to hit the gym.” Sloth and headaches typically prevented that, however. And, anyway, he’d always gotten enough exercise with Beltran around. Always. But, now, surrounded by friends, wasn’t the time to think of that. Wait. Ryence did a double take. Friends? When had that happened?
“Jesus Christ, Asher. I didn’t know you had a twin.” Ryence reach out tentative fingers to feel if the apparition was real. His hand grasped air and he tilted forward slightly with a laugh. Nope. Nothing but air. Kind of like nothing but net. Wasn’t that something to do with basketball? Be damned if he knew. He was more of a football guy. And not that odd, mundane version of rugby that the Americans called football. He meant legitimate football. Like with your feet. “Hey. Hey.” He tilted slightly to the side and downed another double before voicing his question. “Why don’t you play football with your feet? And you call real football soccer. Why?” He frowned. “You don’t need to wear socks. Maybe. I don’t.” Or shoes. And, indeed, the boy was barefoot. It was unavoidable. Ryence never wore shoes if he could help it. They made him feel gross. Gross gross gross. Like mashed potatoes. He wasn’t particular fond of them, either. Or mashed turnips. Was that possible? Probably. Some one had to chew them, after all. A thought came to him.
“Have you ever had mashed turnips? Sounds right nasty, doesn’t it?” Pause. “I think it’s a baby food. Which would suck. ‘Cause babies can’t really tell their mum to fuck off with the mashed turnips. If I were them, I’d just refuse to eat it. Kind of like a hunger strike, except I’d sneak to the fridge and grab donuts when no one was watching. Like a bobby.” He paused in his tirade of words. “Wait. That’d be a cop to you, mate. With the car. And the siren. And handcuffs.” Oh. Handcuffs. Kinky. Ryence didn’t have much of a grasp on what he was saying, by this point. But it was all in good fun. Another shot down the hatch! Whoa. Wait. When had that happened? Had he really just poured himself more? Like hell he needed it. But, fuck, if he could still pour, he could still drink. It was the golden rule. Followed shortly by don’t drink alone. Which he wasn’t. Cheers to him!
Blinking the drunk out of his eyes with limited success, Ryence cocked his head toward the music that was playing. Dance party? Fuck yeah! “Asher! Dance party!” And, without further ado, Ryence swayed to his feet and just kinda stood there. What was he doing? He couldn’t remember, but it hadn’t been terribly important, anyway. The room moved gently before him. Oh, yes! Dance party! The room lurched again. On the ground. Dance party on the ground. The floor was much kinder than the ceiling. Huh. Whatever that meant. Shakily getting back down to the ground—more like collapsing, really—Ryence gave Asher a grin. To hell with parties with massive amounts of people. Two could make do just fine.
Asher Black - December 27, 2007 08:50 AM (GMT)
Asher watched with amusement as Ryence refilled the glasses and commented about his drinking habits. He was about to comment about how he rarely drank, but deciding that his saying that may make the whole situation awkward, he just said, "huh. Really? I would never ever peg you down to be a drinker." The sarcasm on his voice was clear. He downed the next shot, although with nowhere near the speed the blond had applied to drinking his and he raised a hand and rubbed his eyes. Already it was affecting his vision slightly. There was a halo radiating around Ryence's hair and it took all of Ash's willpower not to reach out and touch it. He may have lost control of his site, but he was still in control enough not to do anything stupid. Yet. And because he didn't want to cause himself to do anything stupid, he just drank the beverage slowly. And watched with a bit of bemusement, and shock, how much the Nimbus was drinking. He would never have expected it from him. But then again, one wouldn't expect Ash to want to jump just about every guy he saw now would they? Then again...
The rebel watched as the new student downed half of the bottle by himself. At this point, he hadn't even finished his third shot. Not because he wasn't a drinker, although that was part of it. But because he was thoroughly enjoying watching the other boy drink. And hoping that the boy would lose all of his inhibitions. And allow Ash to have his evil way with him. But hell... If he continued to drink, Ash thought as he eyed the bottle, he would be having his evil way with a limp form. And he wasn't that pleased with the idea. He was about to suggest taking it slow, to savor the drink but in actuality so that he could start to seduce him, but then Ryence surprised him. And started to reach for him. Ash couldn't help but lean in a bit, edging a bit closer to the blond, hoping that the blond would reach out and really just touch him. And then he started to talk about inane things like football and soccer. Things that Asher never really thought about.
He listened as Ryence rambled and didn't reply. But when the blond mentioned handcuffs, something snapped in Asher Black. He wanted the other student. Handcuffs or not, he would have Ryence Wolfe by the end of the night. Even if he had to rape him. God... This was a strange reaction, but Ash didn't really care. He hadn't had sex with anyone in over a week and that was like a year for Ash. He was horny and he wanted, no, needed some. And this blond attracted him like nobody else had done in a long time. Not his personality, no he was a bit too depressed for Ash, nor his physical appearance, for he appeared broken to Ash. Just the fact that he was there and drunk made him the most delectable person to Ash at that moment.
Asher watched as the other boy stood up and then promptly fell to the ground. He didn't move for a moment and then when Ryence grinned, he couldn't help himself. He reached over and slowly caressed Ryence's cheek. Then, without waiting for a response, he moved his face closer to the blond and kissed him, tentatively. He still had some control and a teeny portion of his mind told him that he had better watch out if he had been wrong about the blond's orientation. The rest of him, however, told that portion to go screw itself. He, however, would screw Ryence Wolfe.
Ryence Wolfe - December 27, 2007 09:32 AM (GMT)
His heart skipped a beat. And then another. What? Wh—he couldn’t even form the question that rose to the surface of his mind. But, for all intents and purposes, he was devilishly wondering how Asher’s lips had ended up against his own and, for the love of God, why he was kissing back. A response. Ryence didn’t understand, hadn’t been able to comprehend what the soft caress of fingers to his cheek had meant before the deed had been done. A kiss. It was soft, gentle—and not what Ryence wanted at the moment. He’d decided, as best as he could in such a circumstance, to think with the Southern head—and not the heart. He would just forget. Forget everything but the pressure against his lips; the heat that radiated from the other’s body. Tentative kisses were for virgins and lovers—of which Ryence was neither. He wanted something more substantial.
He deepened the kiss. Bandaged fingers gripped dark locks of hair as the boy pulled the other student closer. But closer was never close enough. He placed chaste, teasing lips to the left side of Asher’s mouth, working his way across the jaw-line before giving the earlobe a playful tug. Asher tasted like—like a guy. He wasn’t as soft, as beautiful as Beltran had been, but Ryence refused to allow such thoughts to stumble across his mind. Beltran was the only person he’d made love to—and he intended to keep it that way. Asher Black, if anything came of the night, would be a fuck. There was no love, no emotion involved in that. Just pure instinct and raw desire. It was all Ryence could do to keep from throwing the boy down and ripping off his clothing. Which would have been messy considering his reflexes and coordination had seen better days. Thank God for that.
Pulling away after a chaste kiss to Asher’s lips, Ryence considered the boy in front of him. It was no fun if they had their way this early. The night was young. And, despite all the alcohol he’d consumed, he was wide-awake. The pressure against his pants alerted him that something else was wide-awake, as well. Ahem. Waiting for his breathing to calm and his heart to stop pounded, Ryence thought of a number of things he could say. All were bound to come out slurred and unintelligible. If he could even think of something to say—his brain felt like mush at the moment. Mush created out of pure desire and sex drive. Ah, fuck. His loins ached. Rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick magnified with a few rounds of liquor, Ryence gazed at Asher, his teeth troubling his bottom lip. He didn’t need to raise a hand to it to know that it was flushed. Flushed color, bright eyes. He could practically feel the bones stirring beneath the surface, waiting to pounce on his excitement.
Thankfully, however, alcohol was a depressant. They’d stay beneath the surface for a good while. Which meant he could do things without worry. Dirty, filthy, pleasurable things. The thought made him giddy and he grinned again. Of all the things that raced through his mind, none were eloquent. Or elegant. All sounded crude, vulgar. Words most typically found on the tip of his tongue after he’d been taken by a night of too much fun. Such as this one. He hadn’t entirely monitored what he’d been drinking. He’d just shot it down. Drink after drink. It was a genuine wonder he couldn’t actually drown himself in his sorrows. He’d certainly tried hard enough. Though, if at first you don’t succeed, drink more and fuck the closest thing near you. Or get fucked. From the look in Asher’s eyes, it seemed like that latter. How could he say no to that? It’d be rude. And poor etiquette, not to mention.
So, now or never. All he had to do was lean forward a few more centimeters—and those lips would be his. The taste of smoke wasn’t all to his liking, but, with his dulled senses and lack of perception, he couldn’t have cared less. Lips were lips—all that mattered was how a person made use of them. And, by the end of this night, he’d make sure Asher was making good use of his. Looking into eyes that reflected a lesser amount of alcohol than he’d had, Ryence leaned back in slightly and brushed his lips softly across the other’s. He planted a brief kiss on Asher’s cheek before he whispered into his ear. The sound was breathy—and husky. A voice that reflected need and want more than logic and reason. Ryence didn’t care. If the sound of his voice didn’t cue Asher into what he wanted, then his words would. “Fuck me.”
Asher Black - December 27, 2007 05:06 PM (GMT)
When Ryence deepened the kiss, Asher couldn't have been more pleased. So he had been right. As his sisters would say, his gaydar was as attuned as he thought it was. He felt the other boys hands running through his hair and he opened his mouth slightly, deepening the kiss as much as Ryence was. A pleased look formed on his lips when Ryence moved away from his mouth and started to tease him. Interesting... So this blond was a lot more into this than he would have assumed. Well, that was just perfect. And he wasn't being sarcastic. Asher Black was a grade A certified sex fiend. Gentle, tentative kisses weren't his thing. He liked, no, lusted for roughness and being able to do whatever he wanted to the other person. And it seemed that he would most definitely have his way that night.
He was quite sure that Ryence didn't expect anything but a fuck. Well, if he expected love making, it wouldn't happen. That wasn't who Ash was. You know that song 'a better touch, a hotter fuck'? That summed up Asher in a line. All he was in it for was to be touched and to fuck someone. Nothing else. Letting his hands roam a little as Ryence continued to kiss him, Ash found Ryence's pants zipper and unzipped it smoothly and started to play with what he found there. Not wanting to end his fun for the evening prematurely, Ash slipped out his hand and went back to running his hand along Ryence's back. A thought came into his head. Ryence wouldn't grow anything in the middle of sex, right? Oh well. If he did, it'd be an interesting new experience.
He noticed Ryence looking at him, summing him up and he just pulled back and sat still for a moment, tilting his head to a profile, as if he were sitting for a portrait. In essence, he was saying 'you get what you get'. If Ryence didn't want this... Well, Ash was quite sure that he had a pair of handcuffs. But he was too far into this now and his baser instincts wouldn't let him do anything but finish what he had started. And then, damn, there was that stupid soft kiss again. If he had been a sideline observer, Asher may have just rolled his dark eyes at the blond's antics. Hadn't they passed the point of soft kisses? Soft kisses were not on Ash's menu for the evening. Not by a longshot.
Hearing the bone-manipulator's words, a fire filled Ash's eyes suddenly. He then pushed Ryence roughly to the ground and leaned over him, licking, kissing, and nipping at his neck as he did so. "With glee," was Asher's response as he took a moment to breath. And to run his hand through Ryence's blond locks.
And then he did.
((It's a PG-13 site and I feel bad for even posting this without a warning so we should probably just skip ahead or something.))
Ryence Wolfe - December 27, 2007 05:51 PM (GMT)
[Skip skip skip, indeed!]
The clock on the wall swung by at a stroll. Time had never held much meaning for Ryence, but, if the encompassing darkness held any clues, it was relatively late. Two-ish, perhaps? It mattered not, Ryence decided, as warm arms tugged him closer. A sleepy haze shielded his mind and caused him to move closer to the warmth. The warmth of the body, the smooth sheets beneath his bare skin. Sleep and alcohol dimmed the edges of all things. “Bella.” It was a soft mumble, a sleep ridden word that tickled his lips as it passed. Rolling to gaze at a face he knew all too well, Ryence halted with a start. Shock and disgust tumbled wave after wave down his body. “Beltran?” No, no it wasn’t. Confused and—and scared, Ryence untangled himself from the limbs that courted his own and took a step back from the bed. Panic read across his features as a sharp pain flared in his head and then contented itself to dull to a throb.
What the fuck? W-Who and what? Where was he? The room, though dark, offered enough light from the crack under the door to see. To see something that Ryence would try to block out for a very long time. The light illuminated dark hair, shut eyes. And any amount of hoping didn’t change those features into Beltran’s. Asher Black. He’d just fucked Asher Black. Ryence took another step back and was reminded by the pain in his rear that it had been the other way around. But he couldn’t remember. Gaps of black were thrown in with faded images; as if it wasn’t his own life he’d just fucked around with. As if it was somebody else’s. Bile rose to his lips and he dashed to a trashcan he’d noticed earlier. The light let him know he’d hit his mark, but it didn’t help. Nothing would help this.
He wanted to die. And, as he leaned over the trashcan, it truly felt as if he would. His heart beat loudly in his ears and a stunning pain flashed from his palm. The alcohol was wearing off. Blood mixed with vomit as he gripped the trashcan for support, his eyes shut tightly against the offending images. It didn’t at all help with the smell. His nose, acute when panic set in, picked up the mess in the trashcan—but even that wasn’t the overlying scent in the room. It was musky, aggressive. It smelled like sex. And, as his stomach tried to empty what wasn’t there, Ryence realized that it had been sex. With Asher Black. The bone in his palm scooted another few painful inches forward. All he had to do was drive it into his chest.
But, no, that wouldn’t help. Nothing nothing nothing would help. He felt disgusted with himself. Repulsed just by the thought of being in his own skin. Asher’s scent lingered over his own, possessive. Dominant. It was just a reminder of what they’d done. His hands balled into fists, the smooth cool of the bone contrasting with the hot, sticky blood that still issued from the wound. Even his bandages wouldn’t help this. Nothing would, nothing would. It was his mantra by now, as he tripped across the darkened floor in search of clothing. It didn’t matter whose it was. Preferably his own, obviously, but just something—anything—to cover his glaring nudity. Even in the lack of light, his skin was illuminated, glowing. So pale, so pale. Like porcelain, Beltran had told him on more than one occasion.
Beltran. Bella. “Fuck me, fuck me.” The words barely passed his own ears, but he bit his tongue to bar any other tirade that wished for release. At this point, dying wouldn’t be enough. He deserved to suffer—perhaps that’s what the bone sticking out of his palm was telling him. Suffer and die. He bit his lip again to keep from vomiting. He had to find clothes. It took a bit of searching—things appeared to have been torn off, he saw with a grimace—but he found a pair of boxers. He slid into them with more grace than he thought manageable given the circumstances and then grabbed the shirt that was piled next to it. Shoving the shirt against his bloody palm, he sat, comatose in state. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. The silence was all consuming and suffocating. If only he’d died in the fire, died with the one he loved. Everything would have been so much easier. Better.
But, no, he’d lived.
He still lived.
And he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Asher Black - December 28, 2007 03:03 PM (GMT)
Coldness replaced warmth as something moved away from him and even in his sleep, Asher Black frowned. He reached out to pull the warmth back to beside his body. He hated to be cold. It tended to make him cranky. Hence the reason he wore a scarf nearly all of the time during the winter. That and the fact that it made him look good, of course. But then again, everything made him look good. This was Asher Black who we were talking about, not some random Aura Academy student. Hell, his sister was the Queen of the school. Quite literally. If he wasn't good looking well... That would just be disgraceful with a sister such as his, let alone the other two, now wouldn't it? If he had been awake and not in that land that was between awake and asleep, he perhaps would have laughed at the fact that his hair was so much darker than his sisters, but he didn't really care right then and there. All he cared about was that something came to warm the space beside his naked body.
When nothing came, Asher rolled over and his eyes opened wide in search of the blanket. And he spotted some pallid creature sitting across the room from him. Then the hours before came flooding back to him. It had been fun. At least, he had thought so. Alright, perhaps fun wasn't the right word. It had been... Worthwhile. He had found release and that was all that really mattered, after all. He assumed that Ryence had just gotten up in order to go to his own dorm room so he said nothing for a moment. He then sat up and started to feel around for his boxers. And then he smelled a most unpleasant smell. Vomit. What in the world...? He blinked once, then twice. And then he reached over to his nightstand and turned on the lamp beside it before reaching down and pulling his blankets around his freezing nude form. He then just stared at the blond boy for a moment.
If it were possible, in Asher's mind the Nimbus student seemed more broken than before. It was as if his emotions were in constant turmoil and this made Asher uneasy. This had never happened before. He had never seen a person several hours before and then seen their image change, even the slightest. That didn't happen. But it had happened here and damn... Ash wasn't comfortable with that. He usually would make a joke out of sex if the other person wanted to leave before the night was over. But seeing the look on the pale skinned boy, he realized that no joke would easy whatever suffering the kid was going through. Was it his power? He had no idea how bone manipulation worked; he had no desire to know.
He looked up suddenly, as if words were finally just reaching his ears from before and he frowned. "Who the hell is Bella?" Ash demanded. Not in a cruel way, but not in a soft way either. He wanted to know who the hell Ryence had thought he had been with when he had been with Asher. He was nobody's damn replacement and he would never let anyone think that for another moment. But fuck... Bella was a girls name. A girls name! Had he just taken advantage of a drunk teenager? Had he read him that wrong? Oh God. This was going to suck. And not in the good, physical way. No, this was going to suck in the 'oh fuck. You're going to kill me, aren't you?' way.
Ash said nothing else for a moment as he waited for the blond's response as he stared at him. Ryence was in pain, obviously, and Ash was a decent enough human being to not ask anything else of him save the Bella question. But then he realized something. So that was where his boxers had gone... He raised an eyebrow and just motioned with his hand. "You can keep 'em for now, but I would like them back at one point," he said simply.
Ryence Wolfe - December 28, 2007 05:36 PM (GMT)
If Ryence had even heard the slither of fabric as the other stirred, he gave no sign of it. Deaf to the world and oblivious to his surroundings, he simply sat. The pain in his hand had hardly subsided, even after he’d managed to pull the rebel bone back into his body. He bit his lip. It was a pity it hadn’t shot out anywhere else. His chest, his back, his head. He’d have taken any of those without second thought. They’d most likely have sent him home for a bit of medical leave had that been the case. It had happened before, so many times. All he wanted was to go home. Away from this foreign country, this foreign place. But even that wouldn’t do, he supposed. He’d never be able to get far enough away from this place. He pressed the shirt he was holding harder into his hand—satisfied by the hot flare of pain that responded. Pain. There would never be enough pain to make up for what he’d just done.
Biting his lip to the point of blood, Ryence ignored the trickle down his chin only to be shaken from his reverie by a bright light that flooded the room. He blinked. And he blinked again. The boxers he was wearing weren’t his own. The knowledge made his skin crawl unpleasantly, but Ryence was too absorbed with his own self-loathing to really do anything about it. It consumed him and destroyed him, bit by bit. He was so selfish. Every single Nimbus student at Aura Academy had lost loved ones—but Ryence couldn’t have care less about them. His hurt was too raw. No one else mattered to him—he just didn’t understand what a tragedy everyone had gone through that day. He wasn’t alone. But that wasn’t how he felt. Egocentric in his mourning, he felt as if he’d lost the most. And he wasn’t ready to accept that it was far from the truth.
"Who the hell is Bella?"
“None of your fucking business.” His voice was sharp—the force of it actually managed to startle him into movement. Action. He rose, removing his shirt from his palm to see that the bleeding had slowed. His back was to Asher. As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to see that face again. Unfortunate, however, considering it was imprinted in his mind. Mocking him, laughing at his betrayal. His instability made him angry—that’s why he’d snapped at the other boy—but, as the face continued to mock him in his thoughts, he wanted nothing more than to walk over to the boy and pump a few bones through his body. In fact, he probably could have done it from across the room. Ryence was by his backpack now, shoving in glasses and articles of clothing with demonic speed. With enough practice, it made sense that he’d be able to grow a bone out of his palm, and hurl said palm forward while simultaneously disintegrating the base of the bone so that it would fly off. Kind of like a spear. The thought amused him, but brought no smile to his lips, nothing would. Rising from the floor, backpack slung over his shoulder, Ryence, without a backward look, headed toward the door. Only to be brought to a complete stop.
"You can keep 'em for now, but I would like them back at one point,"
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ryence turned around. In ways of a conversation, that was the most Asher had said to him all night. And it was about getting his boxers back. Classy. His gaze was stony as he tugged his own boxers out of his backpack and made the switch. He dropped Asher’s to the floor. “You can have them back now.” He paused by the door to resituate his backpack, his aching hand fumbling with the doorknob. He just wanted out. Out out out. His head was lowering slightly as light from the hallway flooded into the room. Ryence blinked against the brightness and frowned. Without so much as glancing back he spoke. His voice was dead, emotionless. “Just stay the fuck away from me.”
And then he was gone.
Asher Black - December 28, 2007 07:08 PM (GMT)
Hearing the other's tone of voice, Asher recoiled slightly. Huh... So not anyone who could be discussed lightly. Or was Ryence just pissed about the fact that he had slept with him, Asher Black? A guy? Oh, this would be interesting to see the aftermath of this encounter. But then again, he doubted that Ryence would ever want anyone to know the true leanings of his mind if it took him to get drunk to act on his baser instincts. But he hadn't seemed like someone who had been new to being sodomized. In fact, he had hardly heard Ryence complain even once. Then again, that may have been because the foreigner had been most thoroughly wasted. The stench of vomit proved that.
Or had Ryence's purging been a result of his disgust with himself? Or Ash? If it were the latter, Asher would be quite offended. But it didn't seem as if the other boy was in the mood to discuss his preferences at that very moment. In fact, it seemed that the only thing the other boy wanted to do was flee out of Asher's dorm room as fast as he could. Or pummel Asher, a thought of which made the dark haired boy roll his eyes. What had happened was his fault. He had initiated it, after all. But the other boy had supplied the alcohol and had been the one to respond. There had been no rape that evening. At least, not in Asher's dorm room. Asher had never been one for forcing himself onto someone. He may pretend that he would do so, but to date he never had done so. Most people didn't tend to need to be forced. They either wanted to flat out or he could seduce them. This was Asher Black, after all.
Ash wouldn't lie and say that he looked away when Ryence had made the boxer switch because he most definitely hadn't. He'd take anything that he would get and sure, his vision was screwed up but still. Ryence was standing there just as good as nude for a moment and he would take advantage of that. Hey, he was a guy. He may have preferred guys more so than he did girls, but no matter what, he was a guy. A teenage guy. Any nudity turned him on. Unfortunately, it didn't seem that Ryence was going to stay long enough to turn Ash off. What a pity. Asher watched as Ryence retreated and only then did he stand up, walking across the room for his boxers and swiftly putting them on.
He had heard Ryence's last demand. But that didn't mean that he would listen. No, most definitely not. He still had something to pick with Ryence Wolfe. He needed to make sure that Ryence hadn't done anything that he would regret. Well, obviously he regretted it but Ash never let anybody go away from him completely unhappy. If Ryence was going to be a dick about what had gone on in Asher's bedroom, then he would just have to make sure that the boy hadn't been too freaked out out of his bedroom. That decided, Ash turned back to his bed and promptly fell asleep, wondering where one or the other of his roommates were. As he laid his head on his pillow, a thought flashed through his head and he just hoped that neither of them had entered while he was asleep with Ryence. He wouldn't let Ryence's name be put with his. Not unless Ryence wanted it to be put with his, of course.