Bloodsport.
Just a little midday ficlet.
Set in S4 during the Pink Posse days.
Warning: Some violent imagery.
WC: 460
unbeta'd
fuck the copyright Disclaimer: don't own em && they aren't paying the rent. strictly an obsession.
Justin locked himself in the bathroom. Brian wasn’t home yet, but he could be any moment. Justin knew that if Brian stumbled upon the scene in front of him that he’d be in for a fight; correction another fight. Though probably more satisfying than the one he just had, considering fights with Brian ended in fucking.
Justin unclenched the fists he didn’t know he was still making. His hands were half sticky and half crackly; dried and drying blood covering their surface. He stared at his knuckles. Something about them seemed tragically beautiful. Almost like art. He noticed the blood splatters further up his arms and remembered. Remembered the sick wet thumps his fists made. Justin quickly shook any thoughts of art and creation from his head. Gulping down bile when he really realized what he’d just done.
He and Cody had just beaten the shit out of some random man on the street. All because he made a noise while walking past them when they were kissing. Who the fuck even knows if it was meant in a negative fashion? It was small; non committal - hell it could’ve been a sneeze for all he knew. But he and Cody followed the man down the alley and attacked him anyway. After the first two minutes the man stopped crying and making any real noise other than the odd grunt here or there.
Justin rushed toward the toilet and began to vomit violently. After his stomach was empty, he dry-heaved for another few moments. He finally got up and wiped his mouth. Turing on the faucet with shaking hands he started washing the blood off. He scrubbed and scrubbed, lost in thought. The Pink Posse was supposed to be empowerment. It was supposed to help him - make him feel better, give him back control. And while he did feel powerful for a few moments; better about things….it was the after that was a problem. Now he just felt sick and weak. He felt disgusting and worse than ever. Completely impotent to change his current path. Knowing you’re wrong, and knowing you’re wrong but doing things to fix it are two completely different things.
Justin climbed into the bed and curled around the sheets on Brian’s side; inhaling the comforting scent. Times like this, he would usually ask Brian for his opinion - but Brian would not want to talk about it; Justin knows this. It all goes back to the bashing and Justin knows the second he even hints at that, Brian will shut down. No. Justin knows he’s alone on this one, Brian will never understand.
He falls asleep sobbing and hyperventilating into his pillow; knowing that he’s headed somewhere he’s never been before, but unsure how to get back.
Set in S4 during the Pink Posse days.
Warning: Some violent imagery.
WC: 460
unbeta'd
fuck the copyright Disclaimer: don't own em && they aren't paying the rent. strictly an obsession.
Justin locked himself in the bathroom. Brian wasn’t home yet, but he could be any moment. Justin knew that if Brian stumbled upon the scene in front of him that he’d be in for a fight; correction another fight. Though probably more satisfying than the one he just had, considering fights with Brian ended in fucking.
Justin unclenched the fists he didn’t know he was still making. His hands were half sticky and half crackly; dried and drying blood covering their surface. He stared at his knuckles. Something about them seemed tragically beautiful. Almost like art. He noticed the blood splatters further up his arms and remembered. Remembered the sick wet thumps his fists made. Justin quickly shook any thoughts of art and creation from his head. Gulping down bile when he really realized what he’d just done.
He and Cody had just beaten the shit out of some random man on the street. All because he made a noise while walking past them when they were kissing. Who the fuck even knows if it was meant in a negative fashion? It was small; non committal - hell it could’ve been a sneeze for all he knew. But he and Cody followed the man down the alley and attacked him anyway. After the first two minutes the man stopped crying and making any real noise other than the odd grunt here or there.
Justin rushed toward the toilet and began to vomit violently. After his stomach was empty, he dry-heaved for another few moments. He finally got up and wiped his mouth. Turing on the faucet with shaking hands he started washing the blood off. He scrubbed and scrubbed, lost in thought. The Pink Posse was supposed to be empowerment. It was supposed to help him - make him feel better, give him back control. And while he did feel powerful for a few moments; better about things….it was the after that was a problem. Now he just felt sick and weak. He felt disgusting and worse than ever. Completely impotent to change his current path. Knowing you’re wrong, and knowing you’re wrong but doing things to fix it are two completely different things.
Justin climbed into the bed and curled around the sheets on Brian’s side; inhaling the comforting scent. Times like this, he would usually ask Brian for his opinion - but Brian would not want to talk about it; Justin knows this. It all goes back to the bashing and Justin knows the second he even hints at that, Brian will shut down. No. Justin knows he’s alone on this one, Brian will never understand.
He falls asleep sobbing and hyperventilating into his pillow; knowing that he’s headed somewhere he’s never been before, but unsure how to get back.