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clo_again... just realised I didn't say what I meant in the last entry. When I said 'or wait a little longer and get an extract from Datta', I meant yo'd have to wait longer so I could finish the Halcyon epilogue and then write the extract. So you'd get both, just later than you would have if you'd only had the one. Which was what I meant to say and it didn't really come out like that. *blinks*
So here's some fic, the epilogue to Halcyon (I got to type Fin at the end!!! *shrieks and dies*) and a short - sorry - extract from Datta, the first of the trilogy of Halcyon spin-off-sequel-thingys. (Haven't found a good word for them yet. ^__~)
Title: Epilogue(Halcyon 12)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish, implied Federer/Haas, Roddick/Federer, Fish/Haas/Safin
Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite.
Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.)
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Dedications: As always for liroa15,scoobydumblonde and australian_imp for far too much encouragement. :) Despite the death threats. ;)
Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
Part One - The Wasteland
Part Two - Living on Promises
Part Three - If Only
Part Four - Words and...
Part Five - ... Actions
Part Six - Running
Part Seven - Under the Shadow
Part Eight - Playing the Hero
Part Nine - Fallen
Part Ten - ...
Part Eleven - Shantih
(H12) Epilogue
21st October 2011 – valley in the Swiss Mountains, Switzerland
“So I guess you could say the world ended in May 2007 and began again August 2011.” Roger pulls up a blade of grass and tries to tie it in a knot, focusing on it intently. He’s told the whole story without looking up once and although he knows he’ll have to eventually, he’d rather put it off as long as possible. There’s silence all around him, broken by the soft neigh of a horse close by. He ignores it, still concentrating on the blade of grass.
“It is beginning again, sort of,” he says quietly. “Carlos and Marat spent most of last month arguing instead of helping the world but Mardy sorted it out. I’m not sure how, though I heard withholding sex was involved.” The Swiss smiles but it fades as he glances sideways towards the tree where they tethered the horses, just out of hearing distance if he speaks quietly. Andy’s leaning against the trunk, looking half asleep. “Andy still misses him I think.” Roger tugs too hard at the grass-knot and the fragile blade snaps. With a sigh he tosses it aside. “I think he always will.”
Finally he looks up, taking a deep breath. The new headstone hasn’t yet started to tarnish in the weather, no scratches marring the polished surface and the two intertwined ‘G’s as smooth as they were a month ago when they first set it in place. It snowed for the first time this morning and few stubborn flakes still cling to the side of the stone that’s in shadow, warning of the winter just around the corner. Roger sighs again and shifts little, wincing at the dampness of his jeans from the wet grass. He’s been sitting here for almost two hours.
“The house is almost finished,” he continues, smiling as he thinks of the log fire Andy insisted they have and the massive bed that takes up most of the bedroom. “It should be done by the time the snow starts falling properly. It’s not big you know, just the couple of rooms downstairs and upstairs.” A soft chuckle and he shakes his head, tucking his hands into his pockets for warmth. “Andy wanted it to be authentically rustic. I told him we’d freeze in the first snowfall and he agreed to let Carlos pulled some strings for us. We’ve got everything except cable TV and the last I heard, Mardy was working on that.”
He falls silent again, out of things to say. It’s helped to tell the whole story down to the tiniest detail, though admitting that he’ll probably never tell the real Andy whose name the American said when they first had sex was difficult. He still can’t shake the nerves every time they sleep together, even now.
Saying everything out loud has helped get it all straightened out in his head though, except the first few days after he woke up in the hospital which are still blurry and confused. Andy had refused to leave his side until Roger was sitting up and talking clearly, causing a brief panic four days later when he passed out from exhaustion. The entire hospital had heard Mardy yelling at him when he finally woke up.
“I’m still worried about Mardy,” Roger confesses quietly after a moment. “Andy said he’s almost a different person but being more confident doesn’t mean he can keep standing up to Marat like he is. Not to mention he has to take care of Tommy, which can be like taking care of a child that has detailed knowledge of explosives. You know, you were there when he exploded the kitchen that time.” Roger chuckles at the memory but his smile quickly fades. “Mardy’s too busy looking after everyone else to think about himself. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t come to us for help before the end of the winter.” A long moment of silence as Roger closes his eyes, thinking hard. When he speaks the words are soft, barely audible.
“I don’t know what Andy will do if he has to choose between us again.”
“I’d choose you, idiot.” Andy’s voice is soft and affectionate, his arms sliding around Roger from behind and making the Swiss jump. “Ssshhh. Babe, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s you I want before you’ll believe it?”
“At least a few more.” Roger leans back into the American’s arms with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Andy kisses his cheek before resting his chin on the Swiss’ shoulder, eyes fixed on the simple grey headstone. Roger shakes his head before the American can speak.
“Don’t say it’s not my fault because it was,” he murmurs. “I trained him, I sent him. I picked up the pieces.”
He feels Andy wince. “Roger, there’s nothing…” He pauses. “I know you. You wouldn’t have sent him if he didn’t want to go.”
“But did I talk him into it?” Roger sighs and turns in Andy’s arms, burying his face in the American’s shoulder. Andy hugs him tight.
“No,” he says with quiet confidence. “You wouldn’t.”
They stay still for a few minutes, arms wrapped around each other. Andy reaches up to tangle a hand in the Swiss’ hair, sliding his other hand under Roger’s shirt. Roger can feel the American go tense when he realises how cold the Swiss is.
“Roger you’re freezing. Time to go home.”
Roger makes a soft sound of assent but doesn’t move. He loves to cuddle against Andy and he doesn’t want to let go just yet, no matter how cold he is. Andy’s warm and Roger could stay wrapped around him all day. He still can’t quite believe that he’ll be sleeping next to Andy tonight and tomorrow and for the rest of the forseeable future. He still wakes up from dreams of running through empty nothingness and Andy has to hug him tightly until he can stop trembling, but they’re already getting less frequent and he knows eventually they’ll stop entirely. For now it’s just enough to have Andy there to hold on to when he wakes up.
“Rog,” Andy says softly. “C’mon. Time to go home.”
Roger lets himself be turned and gently pushed towards the horses, leaning heavily on Andy as they walk. He’s only gone three steps when he pauses to glance back, watching a few bright leaves drift down around the stone. The double G is in shadow from here but Roger can still faintly make it out.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Andy tightens his grip around the Swiss and kisses his forehead.
“Don’t be Rog,” he says softly. “He wouldn’t want you to be.”
Roger lets himself smile, just a little. “Maybe.”
He lets himself be led up to the horses but turns before Andy can help him mount, pressing a kiss to the American’s mouth. Andy kisses him back after a brief moment of surprise.
“Andy?” Roger leans back enough to see the hazel eyes, bright and narrowed with curiosity as he waits for Roger to finish. “You know I love you right?”
Andy smiles and if there’s relief in his eyes, Roger chooses to ignore it. “Of course I know it. I love you too.”
“Okay then.” Roger kisses him again and Andy’s mouth is warm and wet under his, more than real enough to reassure Roger he’s not dreaming anymore. “Let’s go home.”
~ Fin ~
~~~
Part Eleven|
~~~
Title: Datta (Give) (extract)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Haas/Other
Summary: Tommy, Marat and Mardy each have a history and secrets they want to keep.
Notes: The first of three fics that will be a mix of spin offs of, and sequels to, Halcyon (AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future.) The titles are taken from a line in T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, “Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.” which translate from Sanskrit to ‘Give’ ‘Sympathise’ and ‘Control’.
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves, T.S. Eliot owns ‘The Wasteland’. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Warnings: Abuse, violence, death, mentions of terrorism and drug use both voluntary and involuntary, graphic sex, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more.
Dedications: As always for liroa15, scoobydumblonde and australian_imp for far too much encouragement. :)
Datta
19th December 2009, Berlin, Germany
‘Christmas cheer’ weren’t words that seemed to be on the minds of the people of Berlin that year. Snow was falling but it was wet snow, the kind that turned your feet to blocks of ice and soaked your clothes at the same time, clinging damp and cold to everything that didn’t move and most things that did too. The warmest places in the city were the corporate offices on the outskirts, small skyscrapers with mirrored sides that reflected the ruin and carnage around their shining perfection. People who had nothing better to do, which was most of Berlin, gathered along the sides of the two buildings by day for the warmth that radiated from them from inside, even the scant rise in temperature better than the freezing air and lack of fuel for fires in most of the city. At night everyone with any survival instinct vanished into the hidden corners and crevices of the ruins, huddling close until morning. The only people on the move were ones with nothing left to lose, and a few who didn’t know any better.
The whores who fell somewhere in the middle of the two types, tended to gather along the well-lit new street leading to the corporate offices in hopes of catching the eye of one of the officials who were constantly passing, always in cars with tinted windows, hiding the occupants from view. Every so often one would stop and a door would open, the nearest whore, either male or female, approaching cautiously. Sometimes the ones that got into cars came back. More often they didn’t. For the money the ones who came back had, everyone was willing to take the risk.
Tommy was having a bad night. He wasn’t good at this, his patience too short and his clothes too ragged to attract any but the lower class customers, the ones who walked instead of taking cars and didn’t care what you did as they got their money’s worth. He only whored himself out when he was desperate. Tonight, he was desperate. For no other reason would he let himself be fucked against a rough stone wall by a complete stranger.
“Make a noise, for fuckssake,” the man growled in his ear and Tommy obediently moaned as the man slammed into him harder, letting his mind drift. He hadn’t had a hit in three days and his usual dealer had been hinting that he had something new to try. He might be able to afford it if this guy actually paid up. An especially hard thrust jerked another moan from him, this one more of pain but the trick didn’t seem to care as he leaned harder on Tommy, the rough wall grazing the German’s skin through his ragged shirt as he moved. He was hard but nowhere close to coming and as the other guy came with a gasp, Tommy just leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He’d demand his money in a second, before the guy came down from the high. Some tricks got nasty when you demanded payment before they’d finished.
“What now, does he get a free second ride because you didn’t come too?” a voice enquired from the shadows nearby. Tommy flinched and swore as the movement jerked him away from the guy inside him, the guy swearing too. Scraping the palms of his hands to catch his balance against the wall, Tommy grabbed his jeans, ready to run. Prostitution was technically against the law, though most of the corporate officials were happy to turn a blind eyes for their own benefit, and he’d been almost arrested a couple of times. The guy who had just fucked him was already scrambling away through the slushy snow, sliding as he tried to get to his feet.
“Hey!” Tommy yelled, seeing his payment fast getting away. He took a step to follow before a hand closed around his arm, gripping tight enough to hold him still.
“Let the asshole go,” the same voice murmured. There was an accent to the English, not German and not French. Tommy frowned, trying to place it as he struggled almost on reflex. His bare legs were already starting to freeze and he was too tired to put up much of a fight as the stranger wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him tightly against a tall, strong body. Tommy whimpered as he let himself go limp in the encircling arms. He noted with the part of his mind that was always on the lookout for an opportunity that the hands holding him were encased in expensive leather gloves, that the coat he was pressed against was thick, soft wool and the wallet in the guy’s pocket was probably pleasantly fat and heavy. Tommy smiled.
“Can I help you?” he asked, managing a passable purr despite his aching throat and shivers, rubbing himself back against his capturer. “I can be very… helpful. Anything you want, for the right price.”
“Tommy,” the voice growled in his ear. “Stop that.”
Tommy went cold, even colder than he was already. No one knew his name. It was the only thing he had left that he hadn’t been able to sell and he’d held onto it as if his life depended on it. Turning his head, he blinked in the light of the street lamps at the far end of the alleyway. It was just bright enough for him to make out the face of Marat Safin, expression calm except for his eyes that were wide with disbelief.
“Tommy, what the hell-“
Panic that was almost as good as any drug stabbed through him and Tommy jerked free of Marat’s grip with ease as the big Russian relaxed, slipping and almost falling in the slush as he sprinted down the alleyway, jeans still tucked under his arm. As he rounded the corner and plunged into deeper shadows he heard Marat’s cry of frustration echoing after him but kept running, pure terror carrying him through the twisting back streets of Berlin until even he was almost lost, not sure he could find his way back to that alley if he wanted to. Only when his legs finally gave way so he hit the wet snow with a thud, did he stop to wriggle into his jeans and curl up in a hidden corner to catch his breath. Everything still hurt from the trick and falling, another bruise purpling along his arm as he shivered in the doorway he’d tucked himself into out of sight. He stayed there until his chest stopped heaving and his heart stopped racing, head buried in his folded arms.
“Marat,” he whispered to the empty street, the first patter of fresh snow falling making him shiver harder. “Go away and leave me alone.”
~~~
Sorry to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scoobydumblonde for whore!Tommy clashing with hooker!Andy. It was part of the somewhat complicated backstory... and I thought it'd be a good extract. :) These three fics are going to drive me insane, I can tell already.
And now I'd better go to bed. *sighs* Back to Lancaster tomorrow. I'm going to miss my sofa.
Clo
EDIT: It's half five in the morning and I want to shriek with glee because MY F-LIST RULES!!
*skips gleefully off to read the pretty tennis slash*
EDIT: Ah shit! Continuity! Shit!! I think I can still make it work. Phew. Thank god I gave myself a safety margin.
These fics are going to kill me.
EDIT: Argh, it's light outside. I need to go to bed. Mass comment-answering madness tomorrow, when I can form coherent thoughts.
I still love my f-list. ^___^
So here's some fic, the epilogue to Halcyon (I got to type Fin at the end!!! *shrieks and dies*) and a short - sorry - extract from Datta, the first of the trilogy of Halcyon spin-off-sequel-thingys. (Haven't found a good word for them yet. ^__~)
Title: Epilogue(Halcyon 12)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish, implied Federer/Haas, Roddick/Federer, Fish/Haas/Safin
Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite.
Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.)
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Dedications: As always for liroa15,scoobydumblonde and australian_imp for far too much encouragement. :) Despite the death threats. ;)
Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
Part One - The Wasteland
Part Two - Living on Promises
Part Three - If Only
Part Four - Words and...
Part Five - ... Actions
Part Six - Running
Part Seven - Under the Shadow
Part Eight - Playing the Hero
Part Nine - Fallen
Part Ten - ...
Part Eleven - Shantih
(H12) Epilogue
21st October 2011 – valley in the Swiss Mountains, Switzerland
“So I guess you could say the world ended in May 2007 and began again August 2011.” Roger pulls up a blade of grass and tries to tie it in a knot, focusing on it intently. He’s told the whole story without looking up once and although he knows he’ll have to eventually, he’d rather put it off as long as possible. There’s silence all around him, broken by the soft neigh of a horse close by. He ignores it, still concentrating on the blade of grass.
“It is beginning again, sort of,” he says quietly. “Carlos and Marat spent most of last month arguing instead of helping the world but Mardy sorted it out. I’m not sure how, though I heard withholding sex was involved.” The Swiss smiles but it fades as he glances sideways towards the tree where they tethered the horses, just out of hearing distance if he speaks quietly. Andy’s leaning against the trunk, looking half asleep. “Andy still misses him I think.” Roger tugs too hard at the grass-knot and the fragile blade snaps. With a sigh he tosses it aside. “I think he always will.”
Finally he looks up, taking a deep breath. The new headstone hasn’t yet started to tarnish in the weather, no scratches marring the polished surface and the two intertwined ‘G’s as smooth as they were a month ago when they first set it in place. It snowed for the first time this morning and few stubborn flakes still cling to the side of the stone that’s in shadow, warning of the winter just around the corner. Roger sighs again and shifts little, wincing at the dampness of his jeans from the wet grass. He’s been sitting here for almost two hours.
“The house is almost finished,” he continues, smiling as he thinks of the log fire Andy insisted they have and the massive bed that takes up most of the bedroom. “It should be done by the time the snow starts falling properly. It’s not big you know, just the couple of rooms downstairs and upstairs.” A soft chuckle and he shakes his head, tucking his hands into his pockets for warmth. “Andy wanted it to be authentically rustic. I told him we’d freeze in the first snowfall and he agreed to let Carlos pulled some strings for us. We’ve got everything except cable TV and the last I heard, Mardy was working on that.”
He falls silent again, out of things to say. It’s helped to tell the whole story down to the tiniest detail, though admitting that he’ll probably never tell the real Andy whose name the American said when they first had sex was difficult. He still can’t shake the nerves every time they sleep together, even now.
Saying everything out loud has helped get it all straightened out in his head though, except the first few days after he woke up in the hospital which are still blurry and confused. Andy had refused to leave his side until Roger was sitting up and talking clearly, causing a brief panic four days later when he passed out from exhaustion. The entire hospital had heard Mardy yelling at him when he finally woke up.
“I’m still worried about Mardy,” Roger confesses quietly after a moment. “Andy said he’s almost a different person but being more confident doesn’t mean he can keep standing up to Marat like he is. Not to mention he has to take care of Tommy, which can be like taking care of a child that has detailed knowledge of explosives. You know, you were there when he exploded the kitchen that time.” Roger chuckles at the memory but his smile quickly fades. “Mardy’s too busy looking after everyone else to think about himself. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t come to us for help before the end of the winter.” A long moment of silence as Roger closes his eyes, thinking hard. When he speaks the words are soft, barely audible.
“I don’t know what Andy will do if he has to choose between us again.”
“I’d choose you, idiot.” Andy’s voice is soft and affectionate, his arms sliding around Roger from behind and making the Swiss jump. “Ssshhh. Babe, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s you I want before you’ll believe it?”
“At least a few more.” Roger leans back into the American’s arms with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Andy kisses his cheek before resting his chin on the Swiss’ shoulder, eyes fixed on the simple grey headstone. Roger shakes his head before the American can speak.
“Don’t say it’s not my fault because it was,” he murmurs. “I trained him, I sent him. I picked up the pieces.”
He feels Andy wince. “Roger, there’s nothing…” He pauses. “I know you. You wouldn’t have sent him if he didn’t want to go.”
“But did I talk him into it?” Roger sighs and turns in Andy’s arms, burying his face in the American’s shoulder. Andy hugs him tight.
“No,” he says with quiet confidence. “You wouldn’t.”
They stay still for a few minutes, arms wrapped around each other. Andy reaches up to tangle a hand in the Swiss’ hair, sliding his other hand under Roger’s shirt. Roger can feel the American go tense when he realises how cold the Swiss is.
“Roger you’re freezing. Time to go home.”
Roger makes a soft sound of assent but doesn’t move. He loves to cuddle against Andy and he doesn’t want to let go just yet, no matter how cold he is. Andy’s warm and Roger could stay wrapped around him all day. He still can’t quite believe that he’ll be sleeping next to Andy tonight and tomorrow and for the rest of the forseeable future. He still wakes up from dreams of running through empty nothingness and Andy has to hug him tightly until he can stop trembling, but they’re already getting less frequent and he knows eventually they’ll stop entirely. For now it’s just enough to have Andy there to hold on to when he wakes up.
“Rog,” Andy says softly. “C’mon. Time to go home.”
Roger lets himself be turned and gently pushed towards the horses, leaning heavily on Andy as they walk. He’s only gone three steps when he pauses to glance back, watching a few bright leaves drift down around the stone. The double G is in shadow from here but Roger can still faintly make it out.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Andy tightens his grip around the Swiss and kisses his forehead.
“Don’t be Rog,” he says softly. “He wouldn’t want you to be.”
Roger lets himself smile, just a little. “Maybe.”
He lets himself be led up to the horses but turns before Andy can help him mount, pressing a kiss to the American’s mouth. Andy kisses him back after a brief moment of surprise.
“Andy?” Roger leans back enough to see the hazel eyes, bright and narrowed with curiosity as he waits for Roger to finish. “You know I love you right?”
Andy smiles and if there’s relief in his eyes, Roger chooses to ignore it. “Of course I know it. I love you too.”
“Okay then.” Roger kisses him again and Andy’s mouth is warm and wet under his, more than real enough to reassure Roger he’s not dreaming anymore. “Let’s go home.”
~ Fin ~
Part Eleven|
~~~
Title: Datta (Give) (extract)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Haas/Other
Summary: Tommy, Marat and Mardy each have a history and secrets they want to keep.
Notes: The first of three fics that will be a mix of spin offs of, and sequels to, Halcyon (AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future.) The titles are taken from a line in T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, “Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.” which translate from Sanskrit to ‘Give’ ‘Sympathise’ and ‘Control’.
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves, T.S. Eliot owns ‘The Wasteland’. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Warnings: Abuse, violence, death, mentions of terrorism and drug use both voluntary and involuntary, graphic sex, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more.
Dedications: As always for liroa15, scoobydumblonde and australian_imp for far too much encouragement. :)
19th December 2009, Berlin, Germany
‘Christmas cheer’ weren’t words that seemed to be on the minds of the people of Berlin that year. Snow was falling but it was wet snow, the kind that turned your feet to blocks of ice and soaked your clothes at the same time, clinging damp and cold to everything that didn’t move and most things that did too. The warmest places in the city were the corporate offices on the outskirts, small skyscrapers with mirrored sides that reflected the ruin and carnage around their shining perfection. People who had nothing better to do, which was most of Berlin, gathered along the sides of the two buildings by day for the warmth that radiated from them from inside, even the scant rise in temperature better than the freezing air and lack of fuel for fires in most of the city. At night everyone with any survival instinct vanished into the hidden corners and crevices of the ruins, huddling close until morning. The only people on the move were ones with nothing left to lose, and a few who didn’t know any better.
The whores who fell somewhere in the middle of the two types, tended to gather along the well-lit new street leading to the corporate offices in hopes of catching the eye of one of the officials who were constantly passing, always in cars with tinted windows, hiding the occupants from view. Every so often one would stop and a door would open, the nearest whore, either male or female, approaching cautiously. Sometimes the ones that got into cars came back. More often they didn’t. For the money the ones who came back had, everyone was willing to take the risk.
Tommy was having a bad night. He wasn’t good at this, his patience too short and his clothes too ragged to attract any but the lower class customers, the ones who walked instead of taking cars and didn’t care what you did as they got their money’s worth. He only whored himself out when he was desperate. Tonight, he was desperate. For no other reason would he let himself be fucked against a rough stone wall by a complete stranger.
“Make a noise, for fuckssake,” the man growled in his ear and Tommy obediently moaned as the man slammed into him harder, letting his mind drift. He hadn’t had a hit in three days and his usual dealer had been hinting that he had something new to try. He might be able to afford it if this guy actually paid up. An especially hard thrust jerked another moan from him, this one more of pain but the trick didn’t seem to care as he leaned harder on Tommy, the rough wall grazing the German’s skin through his ragged shirt as he moved. He was hard but nowhere close to coming and as the other guy came with a gasp, Tommy just leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He’d demand his money in a second, before the guy came down from the high. Some tricks got nasty when you demanded payment before they’d finished.
“What now, does he get a free second ride because you didn’t come too?” a voice enquired from the shadows nearby. Tommy flinched and swore as the movement jerked him away from the guy inside him, the guy swearing too. Scraping the palms of his hands to catch his balance against the wall, Tommy grabbed his jeans, ready to run. Prostitution was technically against the law, though most of the corporate officials were happy to turn a blind eyes for their own benefit, and he’d been almost arrested a couple of times. The guy who had just fucked him was already scrambling away through the slushy snow, sliding as he tried to get to his feet.
“Hey!” Tommy yelled, seeing his payment fast getting away. He took a step to follow before a hand closed around his arm, gripping tight enough to hold him still.
“Let the asshole go,” the same voice murmured. There was an accent to the English, not German and not French. Tommy frowned, trying to place it as he struggled almost on reflex. His bare legs were already starting to freeze and he was too tired to put up much of a fight as the stranger wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him tightly against a tall, strong body. Tommy whimpered as he let himself go limp in the encircling arms. He noted with the part of his mind that was always on the lookout for an opportunity that the hands holding him were encased in expensive leather gloves, that the coat he was pressed against was thick, soft wool and the wallet in the guy’s pocket was probably pleasantly fat and heavy. Tommy smiled.
“Can I help you?” he asked, managing a passable purr despite his aching throat and shivers, rubbing himself back against his capturer. “I can be very… helpful. Anything you want, for the right price.”
“Tommy,” the voice growled in his ear. “Stop that.”
Tommy went cold, even colder than he was already. No one knew his name. It was the only thing he had left that he hadn’t been able to sell and he’d held onto it as if his life depended on it. Turning his head, he blinked in the light of the street lamps at the far end of the alleyway. It was just bright enough for him to make out the face of Marat Safin, expression calm except for his eyes that were wide with disbelief.
“Tommy, what the hell-“
Panic that was almost as good as any drug stabbed through him and Tommy jerked free of Marat’s grip with ease as the big Russian relaxed, slipping and almost falling in the slush as he sprinted down the alleyway, jeans still tucked under his arm. As he rounded the corner and plunged into deeper shadows he heard Marat’s cry of frustration echoing after him but kept running, pure terror carrying him through the twisting back streets of Berlin until even he was almost lost, not sure he could find his way back to that alley if he wanted to. Only when his legs finally gave way so he hit the wet snow with a thud, did he stop to wriggle into his jeans and curl up in a hidden corner to catch his breath. Everything still hurt from the trick and falling, another bruise purpling along his arm as he shivered in the doorway he’d tucked himself into out of sight. He stayed there until his chest stopped heaving and his heart stopped racing, head buried in his folded arms.
“Marat,” he whispered to the empty street, the first patter of fresh snow falling making him shiver harder. “Go away and leave me alone.”
~~~
Sorry to
scoobydumblonde for whore!Tommy clashing with hooker!Andy. It was part of the somewhat complicated backstory... and I thought it'd be a good extract. :) These three fics are going to drive me insane, I can tell already.And now I'd better go to bed. *sighs* Back to Lancaster tomorrow. I'm going to miss my sofa.
Clo
EDIT: It's half five in the morning and I want to shriek with glee because MY F-LIST RULES!!
*skips gleefully off to read the pretty tennis slash*
EDIT: Ah shit! Continuity! Shit!! I think I can still make it work. Phew. Thank god I gave myself a safety margin.
These fics are going to kill me.
EDIT: Argh, it's light outside. I need to go to bed. Mass comment-answering madness tomorrow, when I can form coherent thoughts.
I still love my f-list. ^___^
