FIC: don't forget the violence | x-men: first class; sean/alex
Title: Don't Forget The Violence
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sean/Alex
Word Count: 4,131
Warnings: Trigger warning: bloodplay, knife!kink (non-con, then fully consensual), physical violence. Ummmmmm I'm disturbed. Also hhhhhhhhomophobia and vague mentions of past non-con.
Summary: The first time Alex sees Sean bleeding, he knows he has a problem.
A/N: For this prompt at xmen_firstkink. THANK YOU linzeigh THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN, OH WOW.
--
The first time Alex sees Sean bleeding, he knows he has a problem.
Charles and Raven are mother-henning over Sean; Erik is standing to the side glaring daggers at Hank (who kicked him, didn’t mean to but fuck if his feet aren’t ticklish). Alex is the only one actually looking at Sean, and he wonders if everyone else knows what they’re missing.
He’s worried about Sean, sure. Sean’s the only guy Alex can really talk to, the only one who knows what it was like in solitary, the only one he can cut training with and go smoke a blunt by the satellite dish. But Sean is also the one whose skin looks paler when he’s bleeding. Sean’s the one who’s staring at him with eyes wide and black from hurt and shock, his freckles standing out stark. Sean’s the one whose lip is dripping blood through his fingers and onto the grass.
Alex thinks he can feel the thrum of Sean’s blood in his ears. He can’t seem to move in one direction or another. Back to the mansion isn’t an option, because then he wouldn’t be able to see this beautiful shit in front of him, but if he moves forward he’s afraid he’ll dig his fingers into Sean’s bloody lip just to make him wail and to see red on his hands.
Sean is calling him. He forces himself not to go to him. “Sorry,” he says, “I don’t like blood,” and goes back into the mansion. He can feel them staring at his back. He wishes he could have gotten close enough to smell it.
--
Sometimes Alex wonders if his time in prison fucked him up for good. Before he went in he was a normal kid with a secret, doing girls in the backseats of cars at drive-ins and buying them diner milkshakes before never seeing them again. But something in prison shook him up.
It was the fights, maybe. They were different from high school fights, which were all posturing and shoving. Prison fights were about hurting the other guy bad before he hurt you, and about letting off steam, but mostly they were about spit and blood and - Alex had always had trouble keeping sex from seeping into everyday life.
The first time he saw a guy bleeding hard, he swore he’d never take a girl to a drive-in again. It would never measure up to the way blood defines a guy’s jaw when it trickles down his face in rivers, or the way the veins in his neck pulse when he's angry and bleeding. Maybe it's some mystical bullshit about being that close to the life force of somebody, maybe he's just a freaky little fuck. It doesn’t really matter to Alex. Blood makes him want to fuck, that's all.
And Sean bleeds prettier than anybody else.
--
They’re tossing a football around the next day, with the sun a little too high and too bright, making Alex’s throws a little wobbly, Sean a little uncoordinated. Or maybe that’s the pain lingering from his split lip, which draws Alex’s eye more than the game. His mouth is red and swollen, and every so often a little blood spills through the healing skin. Sean laps it up with his tongue before Alex has a chance to get a good look.
Alex has been thinking. It’s not okay to hurt friends, but - if it’s an accident - who’s to blame, really, but the fickle forces of fate? Yeah. So when the sun goes behind a cloud, if he squints and aims a little better than usual, it’s not his fault when it flies right at Sean’s pretty red mouth.
Sean’s hands fly up to shield his face, but he’s not fast enough. Alex misses the impact but he sees the spray of blood like he’s standing right next to Sean. He rushes over, needing to memorize the aftermath in close-up.
Sean’s leaning over, one hand on his knee, the other touching gingerly at his lip. “Don’t fuckin’ believe this week,” he mutters, but Alex just stares, licking his lips. Blood’s trickling down his chin again, and Alex can smell it this time, copper and musk and the inside of Sean’s body. He can taste it in the back of his mouth. He’s salivating.
“Come on,” Sean says, standing upright with a groan, “let’s get us a towel.”
Alex walks right beside him all the way back to the mansion, eyes flickering over to watch him. The bleeding’s slowing down. Alex should have thrown harder. He swallows. Should have hit him in the nose.
Charles is in the kitchen when they come in. Sean’s teeth are stained red when he grins at his shocked expression. “Accident,” he explains, and presses a dishcloth to his lip. It takes a moment for the blood to seep through the cloth. Alex is disappointed. Definitely should have thrown harder.
--
Alex decides that fuck accidents, they never work right. He’s not creative enough to do the right amount of damage in believably accidental situations. So whatever, he’s not a genius. Doesn’t mean he won’t get what he wants.
He slides into less plausibly accidental territory over the next few days and wonders where his moral center went, if he ever had one. Maybe it’s Sean, and that’s the problem. What a douche, why’s he have to be so pretty in red?
Alex punches him in the jaw the next day when they’re practicing hand-to-hand. Charles screams at him about appropriate force and control, and Erik looks like he might hit Alex right back, but Sean’s the only one who actually makes him feel bad. He’s looking at him, fingers pressed to the rising bruise, with blood running from his lip, busted open from the force of the blow, and he has the saddest eyes Alex has ever seen. Like what have I done and how can I fix it.
Plus, he’s not even bleeding that much. Alex has to get better at this.
It’s harder than he expects because, somehow, Sean has become the baby of their freakish little family. Charles is watching Alex suspiciously since the football incident, and Erik seems to be around every corner. Raven, who’s never particularly liked him, whispers in corners with Charles while making sideways eyes at Alex.
Alex thinks she’s a hypocrite. She wants weird shit, too, like Hank’s big feet.
Still, Alex is able to get Sean alone. They still cut training together, because Sean doesn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual about Alex’s behavior, and, Alex suspects, because Sean will light up regardless of possible danger to his person.
The blunt dangles from Sean’s lips over the cut, still healing, and Alex stares at him too hard. Sean notices this time, leaning back against the perfectly maintained mansion wall and looking up at him. “What ya want, Alex?” he says, sun shining on him and making his eyelashes translucent.
Alex wants to hit him again, or bite him, just sink his teeth into that pale collarbone until he tastes blood. But that’s too obvious. There’s a switchblade in his pocket, and he pulls it out, fiddles with it nervously.
“Nothing,” he says, after a long enough pause that Sean will surely know it’s something.
Sean laughs, resting the blunt between two fingers like he’s cool as shit. “Whatever, man,” he says, and eyes the knife. “Nice blade. Always wanted to be one of those badasses who shave with a switchblade, you know?”
“I think you’re thinking of a flat razor,” Alex tells him, “and anyway, you can’t need to shave, I’ve never seen any hair on your fuckin’ baby face.”
Sean swats him, but he’s distracted, the thought of Sean’s fingers over his on the knife at his neck making him tense all over. It would be so easy to just press in a little too hard and then -
Well, he’d have to be careful, obviously, because he likes Sean, he really does, but if he did it right Sean would be a mess, blood all down his white shirt. Alex likes Sean better when he’s a mess.
He finds himself leaning against Sean despite the heat. His knife’s still open, pressing into Sean’s leg. He leans harder.
“Alex?” Sean’s wincing at him. “Alex, that - the knife’s still out, that fucking hurts, would you just - fuck!”
Sean’s sweats give, and Alex looks down to ripped cloth and blood on the blade. Sean’s clutching his leg, glaring up at him.
“You prick, that wasn’t a fucking accident!” he shouts, lips twisting. He pulls his hand away from his leg and stares at it, then shoves it in Alex’s face. He must be bleeding heavily, because his hand is bright crimson and dripping.
“Sorry, Sean - “ Alex backs away slightly, but he can’t go far. He can’t even begin to think about looking away.
“Sorry my ass!” Sean snaps. “All that other shit, that was on purpose, too! You got some kind of problem with me? Spit it out!”
He’s angry like a snake and presses his hand, unthinking, to the side of his head, like he has a headache. Blood is brown against his hair, it slides past his ear, and Alex wants to taste him until it’s all over his tongue, wash his hair until the water is red and cloudy, Sean is clean, and Alex can ruin him again.
“Fuck,” he spits, backing away as he feels himself get hard. “No, man, no, I just - “
“You just what, you son of a bitch, I’ll fucking kill you - “
And Sean’s coming after him, grabbing him hard by the wrist and smearing blood down his arm. Alex lashes out without thinking and Sean’s bleeding from a gash under his cheekbone, wincing as blood pulses color out of his face.
“Shit, Sean, shit - “ Alex is still high, of all fucking things, but he drops the knife in the grass and pulls a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket and presses it to Sean’s face.
Sean slaps his hand away, putting pressure on the cloth with the heel of his hand. There’s pure hate in his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me,” he snarls, and Alex crawls backwards on his hands and knees, pulling the knife away with him.
Then he gets up, knuckles white around the blade, and runs to his room.
--
Sean doesn’t tell anybody, exactly. All he’ll do is shrug and pointedly avoid Alex’s eyes, which is really enough of an admission. Nobody will talk to Alex for the next couple of days, although he does hear them whisper about him, and he knows what they’re saying: they never should have let him out of prison. Hank in particular stares at him like he’s wild, which is fucking rich coming from monkey feet.
Charles sits him down the next morning in his room to give him a Talk. It’s about taking responsibility for your actions and controlling your impulses, and Alex doesn’t even listen because Charles has no idea what he’s talking about. He does get up the energy to roll his eyes when Charles tells him to admit to what he’s done.
“Yeah, I cut Sean,” he says, leaning back as far as he can in this ridiculously luxurious armchair. “So what?” It’s not really so what, because Sean’s mad at him, but he could honestly care less about Charles’s opinions on the issue.
Charles leans forward slightly, pressing two fingers to his temple, and stares at Alex for an uncomfortably long time. Alex readjusts in his chair, crossing his arms. “Are you in my head?” he asks, lips tight.
After a pause, Charles nods.
“I thought you didn’t do that shit.”
“Well, not in ordinary circumstances,” Charles says, placing his hands in his lap, “but I’ll admit to being at a loss in this situation. Things are slightly clearer now, however.”
Alex goes red. “You have no right - “
“To violate you without your consent?” Charles gives him a humorless smile. “I am not here to judge you, only to remind you that your pleasure is not the be-all and end-all of your existence. Please consider finding a willing partner next time you decide to . . . indulge yourself.”
No judgment, my ass, Alex thinks, but he looks away, guilt prickling his spine. Why does Charles have to be right all the time?
“I’d also consider an apology,” Charles adds, standing up, “and perhaps a nice fruit basket. You’d be amazed what fruit baskets will fix.”
Once Charles leaves, Alex pulls out his knife. The blood’s oxidized now. The knife’s probably ruined. Alex thinks he should maybe take better care of his things.
--
He finds Sean sitting under a tree in a little clearing outside the mansion, where, presumably, he thought nobody would be able to find him. He’s smoking a cigarette and looking up at the branches like he’s counting leaves, but he looks down and his eyes narrow at Alex’s approach.
“Before you say anything - “ Alex begins, holding his hands out placatingly.
Sean cuts him off with a “Fuck off” and a dismissive wave of his hand.
Alex can feel his whole body caving in on itself. He got wrapped up in this, somehow, and now it’s hurting. As he turns to go, he mutters, “Maybe I should’ve gotten that fruit basket.”
Sean kicks at his ankle. “Did you say fruit basket?” When Alex turns back around, he’s grinning. “You were gonna get me an apology fruit basket?”
Alex shrugs, kicking the grass. “Charles said it would work.”
“Okay, A: I don’t eat fruit. B: Charles is a fruit, and an idiot, why would you ever take his advice?”
Squinting into the sun, Alex doesn’t answer.
“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Sean adds, and when Alex looks back at him there are sunspots and a mischievous grin dancing on his face. The cut on his cheek looks like it might scar.
“So . . . “ Alex clenches his teeth.
“I know.” Sean shrugs, leaning against the tree trunk. “Or I think I know. You could have just told me you were queer.”
“Oh yeah?” Alex challenges him, putting his hands on his hips. “I could’ve just said, hey Sean, I’m fuckin’ queer, I’m queer for you and I want to make you bleed, and you would’ve been okay with that?”
“Yeah,” Sean says simply. He smirks. “Or you could’ve just stood like that.”
Alex drops his hands to his sides and scoffs. The tension’s broken, though, and he’s glad for it.
Sean cocks his head. “You’re right, you know.”
“About what?”
Putting his cigarette out against the trunk, he says, “It was pretty hot, what you did before.” Alex stares at his busted lip as he continues, “Might be hotter if you asked me first.”
Alex swallows. His hand slides into his pocket, where the knife is a heavy weight against his thigh.
“Um,” he says. “I would really, really like to cut you.”
Sean’s eyes are big and blue under the spotty light that shines through the leaves. “Okay,” he says. “Then cut me."
--
There are technicalities that they need to discuss before they get into it, despite the fact that they’re both impatient and Alex is half-hard and Sean keeps reaching for Alex’s hand and squeezing it, his nails digging into Alex’s palm. For example, it can’t be in either of their rooms, much less on their beds, because Alex assures Sean nervously that he plans to make as much of a mess as possible. They have to be able to clean up, which means taking water and a rag wherever they go. Alex is glad that Sean is curious enough to stick this out.
They end up going into the bunker with a bowl of water and Alex’s handkerchief. They push mannequin parts up against the door, since Charles has a key and there’s always a chance he’ll come snooping. Then they put the water aside and sit cross-legged across from each other. They don’t breathe.
Then Sean takes off his shirt and throws it away, and suddenly there’s a whole new expanse of skin Alex wants to mar. He swallows, managing to meet Sean’s eyes and realizing that Sean is half-messing with him, half completely fucking serious about this. His jeans are tented and he’s squirming. Alex can’t believe his luck.
He pulls his own shirt off, takes the knife from his pocket, and crawls forward on his hands and knees until Sean is forced to fall back against the concrete floor. His hair spills across the floor, eyes widening slightly. His pupils explode when Alex flicks the knife open.
“You ready?” Alex whispers, feeling the heat of Sean’s cock through the unbearably thin layers of their pants as their hips (almost) touch.
“Depends.” Sean’s panting slightly, his breath wafting over Alex’s lips. “Whatcha gonna do?”
Alex runs his finger along the cut on Sean’s cheek. “Right here,” he says, watches Sean shiver.
“’Kay.” Sean’s lips barely move before Alex has the tip of the blade against the top of the cut, pressing in just slightly. His breath catches as blood blooms along the blade; he can tell Sean’s not breathing right either, his eyes squinted shut as he licks his lips frantically.
“How does that feel?” he says, eyes darting between Sean’s lips. Sean’s blood begins to run down his cheek to curve through his hair.
“Ummm. I don’t know yet,” Sean says. “Hurts. Good, I think.” He breathes out slow. “Just keep going.”
So Alex drags the knife down along the line of the cut. It opens easily, welcoming. He shudders, and before he can stop himself he leans down and laps up the blood as it spills, all along the line of Sean’s cheekbone. It tastes like earth and copper and fucking.
“Shit,” he murmurs. He wonders if his lips are red and smeared. He hopes to god they are.
Sean’s whining and pressing up against him. When their cocks press together through their pants, Alex’s lips lock and he sucks blood from the cut, eyes shut tight at the friction and heat. He can’t think anymore and so he doesn’t try, licking a stripe up Sean’s cheek and then slipping down to press a hot, sloppy kiss against his open mouth.
Sean barely responds; his fingers tremble and search out the cut, coming away red. He’s pressing his hips up against Alex so hard that Alex can’t help but bite down on Sean’s bottom lip. He hears a crunch and tastes blood again, lets out a “fuck yes” and pulls away to see red on Sean’s teeth and against his tongue.
Reaching out, Sean presses his fingers to Alex’s mouth. “Clean me off,” he says, almost begging, and Alex obeys eagerly, sucking his fingers one by one into his mouth and tasting sweat and dirt and blood. He thinks he might come in his pants, especially if Sean keeps grinding against him like that.
He leans his head against Sean’s chest, teeth grazing against his nipples, smearing blood along his ribs as he traces them. “Can I . . . ?” he manages, and Sean nods frantically. He presses the knife in the groove between the first and second rib, and leans in to lick against the blade as blood pools and drips to the concrete floor.
“Oh shit,” Sean’s saying, “oh please,” and Alex looks up at him in time to see him mouth the word more. Alex arches his back, pressing their groins together, and presses the knife between the next two ribs. This time he presses his fingers to the wound, then splays his fingers across Sean’s pale, freckled chest, drawing pictures in blood. He writes nonsense words and grunts when Sean reaches down to palm at his dick. That’s it, he’s gone crazy, this isn’t fucking happening.
But suddenly Sean’s got the knife in his hand and he’s pressing it to his side in the groove of the third and fourth ribs, and he’s making himself bleed, and then he reaches for Alex and digs the point of the knife into his palm. There’s a stinging pain and Alex instinctively presses his hand to the sluggishly bleeding wounds on Sean’s side.
Oh man.
He’s sweating, even in the end-of-the-world cool of the bunker, and leaking pre-come into his pants, and he can feel Sean’s blood in him as he uses one awkward hand to work his jeans, then Sean’s, down and off.
“Tell me what you want,” he says at the same time Sean says, “Whatcha wanna do?” They stare at each other, uncomprehending, and then Alex leans down to bite at his bleeding lip and Sean grabs Alex’s ass to press their hips together, and the world is white light and friction. Alex cries out like a girl and makes one more cut, right above Sean’s belly button, watches his cock spasm, feels his hands tighten on his ass.
“Let me fuck you,” Sean demands.
Alex only hesitates for a second, nasty memories stifled for the moment as he reaches to touch the slowly-congealing cut on Sean’s face. With red on his hands he reaches for his entrance, slipping fingers in slowly and feeling wretchedly wonderful. He rides his hand and wraps bloody fingers around Sean’s cock at the same time, drinking in his messy wet red lips opening in a wide O of surprise and yesyesyes.
He’s not ready enough, not yet, but it’s okay because what he gives he can take, too, and Sean deserves to give a little pain, with his eyes wide and blood slipping from the corner of his mouth, pooling by his head. So he lowers himself onto Sean’s cock and only winces a little when Sean starts moving right away, thrusting up into him, tight and a little dry.
It’s worth it, because Sean seems to know what he’s doing, somehow, hitting the right spot and biting his fat lip, trying desperately to keep quiet. Alex wants him to scream and tightens up around him, hands slipping on his hips. Sean’s grunting now, unable to keep his lips all the way shut, a high keening noise escaping from his throat like he has two voices. Alex scratches at his chest desperately, wishing his nails were sharper.
Alex wishes he could think of something clever to say, but everything he thinks sounds stupid in his head, so he just rides, drinking in the sight of Sean, red all over, pale and yowling now. Alex can feel wetness pooling in his ears, trickling down his neck, and he knows as Sean comes in him and he shakes through the heavy drugged feeling of orgasm that Sean’s gotten him back the best way he knows how.
They gravitate towards each other without realizing it, Alex slumping forward and Sean lifting his head slightly. Blood drips from Alex’s ears, and he sighs, shivers, rolls onto his side. He lets out a little groan when Sean’s cock slips out of him. There’s a loud ringing in his ears. He knows it’s probably permanent and he doesn’t give even the slightest shit.
The second he can think coherently, he rolls towards the bowl of water and brings it back to Sean, who is reaching for him without looking in his direction. The first thing he cleans is Sean’s lip. It’s still swollen, he can’t do anything about that, but he wipes away the dry and drying blood, rinses, and puts the rag back in Sean’s mouth.
“Drink,” he says, and Sean sucks at it, his eyes slipping closed.
Alex gets the cloth wet again and dabs gently at the cut on his cheek. He wishes he’d thought to bring bandages as he moves to the cuts between Sean’s ribs and the slash that he made across Sean’s stomach, which is a little too deep for his comfort. His brow furrows in concern, and he focuses hard on cleaning the wound.
“Hey.” Sean grabs his wrist. “Can you hear me?”
Alex looks up at him, nods mutely.
“Stop worrying,” Sean says, shaking his arm slightly. “Seriously.”
And somehow Alex can, just like that. He grins at Sean, who grabs the handkerchief and starts dabbing at Alex’s ears, murmuring apologies when Alex winces.
“I know nobody’s gonna get this,” Sean says, quiet but close to his ear, so Alex can understand ever word with perfect clarity. “But I get it. So we’re doing it again. Don’t stress.”
Alex leans against him. He’s overfull of relief and exhaustion. “Okay,” he says and lets his eyes fall shut as Sean kisses his temple.
They clean the knife last. Sean says it’s salvageable after all.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sean/Alex
Word Count: 4,131
Warnings: Trigger warning: bloodplay, knife!kink (non-con, then fully consensual), physical violence. Ummmmmm I'm disturbed. Also hhhhhhhhomophobia and vague mentions of past non-con.
Summary: The first time Alex sees Sean bleeding, he knows he has a problem.
A/N: For this prompt at xmen_firstkink. THANK YOU linzeigh THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN, OH WOW.
--
The first time Alex sees Sean bleeding, he knows he has a problem.
Charles and Raven are mother-henning over Sean; Erik is standing to the side glaring daggers at Hank (who kicked him, didn’t mean to but fuck if his feet aren’t ticklish). Alex is the only one actually looking at Sean, and he wonders if everyone else knows what they’re missing.
He’s worried about Sean, sure. Sean’s the only guy Alex can really talk to, the only one who knows what it was like in solitary, the only one he can cut training with and go smoke a blunt by the satellite dish. But Sean is also the one whose skin looks paler when he’s bleeding. Sean’s the one who’s staring at him with eyes wide and black from hurt and shock, his freckles standing out stark. Sean’s the one whose lip is dripping blood through his fingers and onto the grass.
Alex thinks he can feel the thrum of Sean’s blood in his ears. He can’t seem to move in one direction or another. Back to the mansion isn’t an option, because then he wouldn’t be able to see this beautiful shit in front of him, but if he moves forward he’s afraid he’ll dig his fingers into Sean’s bloody lip just to make him wail and to see red on his hands.
Sean is calling him. He forces himself not to go to him. “Sorry,” he says, “I don’t like blood,” and goes back into the mansion. He can feel them staring at his back. He wishes he could have gotten close enough to smell it.
--
Sometimes Alex wonders if his time in prison fucked him up for good. Before he went in he was a normal kid with a secret, doing girls in the backseats of cars at drive-ins and buying them diner milkshakes before never seeing them again. But something in prison shook him up.
It was the fights, maybe. They were different from high school fights, which were all posturing and shoving. Prison fights were about hurting the other guy bad before he hurt you, and about letting off steam, but mostly they were about spit and blood and - Alex had always had trouble keeping sex from seeping into everyday life.
The first time he saw a guy bleeding hard, he swore he’d never take a girl to a drive-in again. It would never measure up to the way blood defines a guy’s jaw when it trickles down his face in rivers, or the way the veins in his neck pulse when he's angry and bleeding. Maybe it's some mystical bullshit about being that close to the life force of somebody, maybe he's just a freaky little fuck. It doesn’t really matter to Alex. Blood makes him want to fuck, that's all.
And Sean bleeds prettier than anybody else.
--
They’re tossing a football around the next day, with the sun a little too high and too bright, making Alex’s throws a little wobbly, Sean a little uncoordinated. Or maybe that’s the pain lingering from his split lip, which draws Alex’s eye more than the game. His mouth is red and swollen, and every so often a little blood spills through the healing skin. Sean laps it up with his tongue before Alex has a chance to get a good look.
Alex has been thinking. It’s not okay to hurt friends, but - if it’s an accident - who’s to blame, really, but the fickle forces of fate? Yeah. So when the sun goes behind a cloud, if he squints and aims a little better than usual, it’s not his fault when it flies right at Sean’s pretty red mouth.
Sean’s hands fly up to shield his face, but he’s not fast enough. Alex misses the impact but he sees the spray of blood like he’s standing right next to Sean. He rushes over, needing to memorize the aftermath in close-up.
Sean’s leaning over, one hand on his knee, the other touching gingerly at his lip. “Don’t fuckin’ believe this week,” he mutters, but Alex just stares, licking his lips. Blood’s trickling down his chin again, and Alex can smell it this time, copper and musk and the inside of Sean’s body. He can taste it in the back of his mouth. He’s salivating.
“Come on,” Sean says, standing upright with a groan, “let’s get us a towel.”
Alex walks right beside him all the way back to the mansion, eyes flickering over to watch him. The bleeding’s slowing down. Alex should have thrown harder. He swallows. Should have hit him in the nose.
Charles is in the kitchen when they come in. Sean’s teeth are stained red when he grins at his shocked expression. “Accident,” he explains, and presses a dishcloth to his lip. It takes a moment for the blood to seep through the cloth. Alex is disappointed. Definitely should have thrown harder.
--
Alex decides that fuck accidents, they never work right. He’s not creative enough to do the right amount of damage in believably accidental situations. So whatever, he’s not a genius. Doesn’t mean he won’t get what he wants.
He slides into less plausibly accidental territory over the next few days and wonders where his moral center went, if he ever had one. Maybe it’s Sean, and that’s the problem. What a douche, why’s he have to be so pretty in red?
Alex punches him in the jaw the next day when they’re practicing hand-to-hand. Charles screams at him about appropriate force and control, and Erik looks like he might hit Alex right back, but Sean’s the only one who actually makes him feel bad. He’s looking at him, fingers pressed to the rising bruise, with blood running from his lip, busted open from the force of the blow, and he has the saddest eyes Alex has ever seen. Like what have I done and how can I fix it.
Plus, he’s not even bleeding that much. Alex has to get better at this.
It’s harder than he expects because, somehow, Sean has become the baby of their freakish little family. Charles is watching Alex suspiciously since the football incident, and Erik seems to be around every corner. Raven, who’s never particularly liked him, whispers in corners with Charles while making sideways eyes at Alex.
Alex thinks she’s a hypocrite. She wants weird shit, too, like Hank’s big feet.
Still, Alex is able to get Sean alone. They still cut training together, because Sean doesn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual about Alex’s behavior, and, Alex suspects, because Sean will light up regardless of possible danger to his person.
The blunt dangles from Sean’s lips over the cut, still healing, and Alex stares at him too hard. Sean notices this time, leaning back against the perfectly maintained mansion wall and looking up at him. “What ya want, Alex?” he says, sun shining on him and making his eyelashes translucent.
Alex wants to hit him again, or bite him, just sink his teeth into that pale collarbone until he tastes blood. But that’s too obvious. There’s a switchblade in his pocket, and he pulls it out, fiddles with it nervously.
“Nothing,” he says, after a long enough pause that Sean will surely know it’s something.
Sean laughs, resting the blunt between two fingers like he’s cool as shit. “Whatever, man,” he says, and eyes the knife. “Nice blade. Always wanted to be one of those badasses who shave with a switchblade, you know?”
“I think you’re thinking of a flat razor,” Alex tells him, “and anyway, you can’t need to shave, I’ve never seen any hair on your fuckin’ baby face.”
Sean swats him, but he’s distracted, the thought of Sean’s fingers over his on the knife at his neck making him tense all over. It would be so easy to just press in a little too hard and then -
Well, he’d have to be careful, obviously, because he likes Sean, he really does, but if he did it right Sean would be a mess, blood all down his white shirt. Alex likes Sean better when he’s a mess.
He finds himself leaning against Sean despite the heat. His knife’s still open, pressing into Sean’s leg. He leans harder.
“Alex?” Sean’s wincing at him. “Alex, that - the knife’s still out, that fucking hurts, would you just - fuck!”
Sean’s sweats give, and Alex looks down to ripped cloth and blood on the blade. Sean’s clutching his leg, glaring up at him.
“You prick, that wasn’t a fucking accident!” he shouts, lips twisting. He pulls his hand away from his leg and stares at it, then shoves it in Alex’s face. He must be bleeding heavily, because his hand is bright crimson and dripping.
“Sorry, Sean - “ Alex backs away slightly, but he can’t go far. He can’t even begin to think about looking away.
“Sorry my ass!” Sean snaps. “All that other shit, that was on purpose, too! You got some kind of problem with me? Spit it out!”
He’s angry like a snake and presses his hand, unthinking, to the side of his head, like he has a headache. Blood is brown against his hair, it slides past his ear, and Alex wants to taste him until it’s all over his tongue, wash his hair until the water is red and cloudy, Sean is clean, and Alex can ruin him again.
“Fuck,” he spits, backing away as he feels himself get hard. “No, man, no, I just - “
“You just what, you son of a bitch, I’ll fucking kill you - “
And Sean’s coming after him, grabbing him hard by the wrist and smearing blood down his arm. Alex lashes out without thinking and Sean’s bleeding from a gash under his cheekbone, wincing as blood pulses color out of his face.
“Shit, Sean, shit - “ Alex is still high, of all fucking things, but he drops the knife in the grass and pulls a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket and presses it to Sean’s face.
Sean slaps his hand away, putting pressure on the cloth with the heel of his hand. There’s pure hate in his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me,” he snarls, and Alex crawls backwards on his hands and knees, pulling the knife away with him.
Then he gets up, knuckles white around the blade, and runs to his room.
--
Sean doesn’t tell anybody, exactly. All he’ll do is shrug and pointedly avoid Alex’s eyes, which is really enough of an admission. Nobody will talk to Alex for the next couple of days, although he does hear them whisper about him, and he knows what they’re saying: they never should have let him out of prison. Hank in particular stares at him like he’s wild, which is fucking rich coming from monkey feet.
Charles sits him down the next morning in his room to give him a Talk. It’s about taking responsibility for your actions and controlling your impulses, and Alex doesn’t even listen because Charles has no idea what he’s talking about. He does get up the energy to roll his eyes when Charles tells him to admit to what he’s done.
“Yeah, I cut Sean,” he says, leaning back as far as he can in this ridiculously luxurious armchair. “So what?” It’s not really so what, because Sean’s mad at him, but he could honestly care less about Charles’s opinions on the issue.
Charles leans forward slightly, pressing two fingers to his temple, and stares at Alex for an uncomfortably long time. Alex readjusts in his chair, crossing his arms. “Are you in my head?” he asks, lips tight.
After a pause, Charles nods.
“I thought you didn’t do that shit.”
“Well, not in ordinary circumstances,” Charles says, placing his hands in his lap, “but I’ll admit to being at a loss in this situation. Things are slightly clearer now, however.”
Alex goes red. “You have no right - “
“To violate you without your consent?” Charles gives him a humorless smile. “I am not here to judge you, only to remind you that your pleasure is not the be-all and end-all of your existence. Please consider finding a willing partner next time you decide to . . . indulge yourself.”
No judgment, my ass, Alex thinks, but he looks away, guilt prickling his spine. Why does Charles have to be right all the time?
“I’d also consider an apology,” Charles adds, standing up, “and perhaps a nice fruit basket. You’d be amazed what fruit baskets will fix.”
Once Charles leaves, Alex pulls out his knife. The blood’s oxidized now. The knife’s probably ruined. Alex thinks he should maybe take better care of his things.
--
He finds Sean sitting under a tree in a little clearing outside the mansion, where, presumably, he thought nobody would be able to find him. He’s smoking a cigarette and looking up at the branches like he’s counting leaves, but he looks down and his eyes narrow at Alex’s approach.
“Before you say anything - “ Alex begins, holding his hands out placatingly.
Sean cuts him off with a “Fuck off” and a dismissive wave of his hand.
Alex can feel his whole body caving in on itself. He got wrapped up in this, somehow, and now it’s hurting. As he turns to go, he mutters, “Maybe I should’ve gotten that fruit basket.”
Sean kicks at his ankle. “Did you say fruit basket?” When Alex turns back around, he’s grinning. “You were gonna get me an apology fruit basket?”
Alex shrugs, kicking the grass. “Charles said it would work.”
“Okay, A: I don’t eat fruit. B: Charles is a fruit, and an idiot, why would you ever take his advice?”
Squinting into the sun, Alex doesn’t answer.
“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Sean adds, and when Alex looks back at him there are sunspots and a mischievous grin dancing on his face. The cut on his cheek looks like it might scar.
“So . . . “ Alex clenches his teeth.
“I know.” Sean shrugs, leaning against the tree trunk. “Or I think I know. You could have just told me you were queer.”
“Oh yeah?” Alex challenges him, putting his hands on his hips. “I could’ve just said, hey Sean, I’m fuckin’ queer, I’m queer for you and I want to make you bleed, and you would’ve been okay with that?”
“Yeah,” Sean says simply. He smirks. “Or you could’ve just stood like that.”
Alex drops his hands to his sides and scoffs. The tension’s broken, though, and he’s glad for it.
Sean cocks his head. “You’re right, you know.”
“About what?”
Putting his cigarette out against the trunk, he says, “It was pretty hot, what you did before.” Alex stares at his busted lip as he continues, “Might be hotter if you asked me first.”
Alex swallows. His hand slides into his pocket, where the knife is a heavy weight against his thigh.
“Um,” he says. “I would really, really like to cut you.”
Sean’s eyes are big and blue under the spotty light that shines through the leaves. “Okay,” he says. “Then cut me."
--
There are technicalities that they need to discuss before they get into it, despite the fact that they’re both impatient and Alex is half-hard and Sean keeps reaching for Alex’s hand and squeezing it, his nails digging into Alex’s palm. For example, it can’t be in either of their rooms, much less on their beds, because Alex assures Sean nervously that he plans to make as much of a mess as possible. They have to be able to clean up, which means taking water and a rag wherever they go. Alex is glad that Sean is curious enough to stick this out.
They end up going into the bunker with a bowl of water and Alex’s handkerchief. They push mannequin parts up against the door, since Charles has a key and there’s always a chance he’ll come snooping. Then they put the water aside and sit cross-legged across from each other. They don’t breathe.
Then Sean takes off his shirt and throws it away, and suddenly there’s a whole new expanse of skin Alex wants to mar. He swallows, managing to meet Sean’s eyes and realizing that Sean is half-messing with him, half completely fucking serious about this. His jeans are tented and he’s squirming. Alex can’t believe his luck.
He pulls his own shirt off, takes the knife from his pocket, and crawls forward on his hands and knees until Sean is forced to fall back against the concrete floor. His hair spills across the floor, eyes widening slightly. His pupils explode when Alex flicks the knife open.
“You ready?” Alex whispers, feeling the heat of Sean’s cock through the unbearably thin layers of their pants as their hips (almost) touch.
“Depends.” Sean’s panting slightly, his breath wafting over Alex’s lips. “Whatcha gonna do?”
Alex runs his finger along the cut on Sean’s cheek. “Right here,” he says, watches Sean shiver.
“’Kay.” Sean’s lips barely move before Alex has the tip of the blade against the top of the cut, pressing in just slightly. His breath catches as blood blooms along the blade; he can tell Sean’s not breathing right either, his eyes squinted shut as he licks his lips frantically.
“How does that feel?” he says, eyes darting between Sean’s lips. Sean’s blood begins to run down his cheek to curve through his hair.
“Ummm. I don’t know yet,” Sean says. “Hurts. Good, I think.” He breathes out slow. “Just keep going.”
So Alex drags the knife down along the line of the cut. It opens easily, welcoming. He shudders, and before he can stop himself he leans down and laps up the blood as it spills, all along the line of Sean’s cheekbone. It tastes like earth and copper and fucking.
“Shit,” he murmurs. He wonders if his lips are red and smeared. He hopes to god they are.
Sean’s whining and pressing up against him. When their cocks press together through their pants, Alex’s lips lock and he sucks blood from the cut, eyes shut tight at the friction and heat. He can’t think anymore and so he doesn’t try, licking a stripe up Sean’s cheek and then slipping down to press a hot, sloppy kiss against his open mouth.
Sean barely responds; his fingers tremble and search out the cut, coming away red. He’s pressing his hips up against Alex so hard that Alex can’t help but bite down on Sean’s bottom lip. He hears a crunch and tastes blood again, lets out a “fuck yes” and pulls away to see red on Sean’s teeth and against his tongue.
Reaching out, Sean presses his fingers to Alex’s mouth. “Clean me off,” he says, almost begging, and Alex obeys eagerly, sucking his fingers one by one into his mouth and tasting sweat and dirt and blood. He thinks he might come in his pants, especially if Sean keeps grinding against him like that.
He leans his head against Sean’s chest, teeth grazing against his nipples, smearing blood along his ribs as he traces them. “Can I . . . ?” he manages, and Sean nods frantically. He presses the knife in the groove between the first and second rib, and leans in to lick against the blade as blood pools and drips to the concrete floor.
“Oh shit,” Sean’s saying, “oh please,” and Alex looks up at him in time to see him mouth the word more. Alex arches his back, pressing their groins together, and presses the knife between the next two ribs. This time he presses his fingers to the wound, then splays his fingers across Sean’s pale, freckled chest, drawing pictures in blood. He writes nonsense words and grunts when Sean reaches down to palm at his dick. That’s it, he’s gone crazy, this isn’t fucking happening.
But suddenly Sean’s got the knife in his hand and he’s pressing it to his side in the groove of the third and fourth ribs, and he’s making himself bleed, and then he reaches for Alex and digs the point of the knife into his palm. There’s a stinging pain and Alex instinctively presses his hand to the sluggishly bleeding wounds on Sean’s side.
Oh man.
He’s sweating, even in the end-of-the-world cool of the bunker, and leaking pre-come into his pants, and he can feel Sean’s blood in him as he uses one awkward hand to work his jeans, then Sean’s, down and off.
“Tell me what you want,” he says at the same time Sean says, “Whatcha wanna do?” They stare at each other, uncomprehending, and then Alex leans down to bite at his bleeding lip and Sean grabs Alex’s ass to press their hips together, and the world is white light and friction. Alex cries out like a girl and makes one more cut, right above Sean’s belly button, watches his cock spasm, feels his hands tighten on his ass.
“Let me fuck you,” Sean demands.
Alex only hesitates for a second, nasty memories stifled for the moment as he reaches to touch the slowly-congealing cut on Sean’s face. With red on his hands he reaches for his entrance, slipping fingers in slowly and feeling wretchedly wonderful. He rides his hand and wraps bloody fingers around Sean’s cock at the same time, drinking in his messy wet red lips opening in a wide O of surprise and yesyesyes.
He’s not ready enough, not yet, but it’s okay because what he gives he can take, too, and Sean deserves to give a little pain, with his eyes wide and blood slipping from the corner of his mouth, pooling by his head. So he lowers himself onto Sean’s cock and only winces a little when Sean starts moving right away, thrusting up into him, tight and a little dry.
It’s worth it, because Sean seems to know what he’s doing, somehow, hitting the right spot and biting his fat lip, trying desperately to keep quiet. Alex wants him to scream and tightens up around him, hands slipping on his hips. Sean’s grunting now, unable to keep his lips all the way shut, a high keening noise escaping from his throat like he has two voices. Alex scratches at his chest desperately, wishing his nails were sharper.
Alex wishes he could think of something clever to say, but everything he thinks sounds stupid in his head, so he just rides, drinking in the sight of Sean, red all over, pale and yowling now. Alex can feel wetness pooling in his ears, trickling down his neck, and he knows as Sean comes in him and he shakes through the heavy drugged feeling of orgasm that Sean’s gotten him back the best way he knows how.
They gravitate towards each other without realizing it, Alex slumping forward and Sean lifting his head slightly. Blood drips from Alex’s ears, and he sighs, shivers, rolls onto his side. He lets out a little groan when Sean’s cock slips out of him. There’s a loud ringing in his ears. He knows it’s probably permanent and he doesn’t give even the slightest shit.
The second he can think coherently, he rolls towards the bowl of water and brings it back to Sean, who is reaching for him without looking in his direction. The first thing he cleans is Sean’s lip. It’s still swollen, he can’t do anything about that, but he wipes away the dry and drying blood, rinses, and puts the rag back in Sean’s mouth.
“Drink,” he says, and Sean sucks at it, his eyes slipping closed.
Alex gets the cloth wet again and dabs gently at the cut on his cheek. He wishes he’d thought to bring bandages as he moves to the cuts between Sean’s ribs and the slash that he made across Sean’s stomach, which is a little too deep for his comfort. His brow furrows in concern, and he focuses hard on cleaning the wound.
“Hey.” Sean grabs his wrist. “Can you hear me?”
Alex looks up at him, nods mutely.
“Stop worrying,” Sean says, shaking his arm slightly. “Seriously.”
And somehow Alex can, just like that. He grins at Sean, who grabs the handkerchief and starts dabbing at Alex’s ears, murmuring apologies when Alex winces.
“I know nobody’s gonna get this,” Sean says, quiet but close to his ear, so Alex can understand ever word with perfect clarity. “But I get it. So we’re doing it again. Don’t stress.”
Alex leans against him. He’s overfull of relief and exhaustion. “Okay,” he says and lets his eyes fall shut as Sean kisses his temple.
They clean the knife last. Sean says it’s salvageable after all.