Searching. [trainspotting, Renton/Sickboy]
Title: Searching.
Fandom: trainspotting.
Pairing: Renton/Sickboy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I don't have permission to use them, and no profit is being made.
Summary: The power's off, the puddles are frozen, and Renton needs somewhere to sleep.
A/N: The darkness challenge is still on, right?
The room was dark, so Renton shuffled over to the door to turn the lights on.
After flicking the switch a few times, he figures that the lights were, in fact, not working. He’s technically in a crack den, so this shouldn’t be at all surprising, but he’s cold, and if the power’s going to be off for a while, he’ll need to find himself alternative accomodation.
Can’t go home, because his parents don’t particularly want to see him right now. Can’t stay here, because it’s December, and without heat he’s pretty sure he’ll die from the cold before he gets a chance to die from all the other things competing to finish him off.
Grabbing a blanket from the sofa, he wraps it tightly around himself and leaves Swanney’s flat. His shoes are held together by electrical tape Begbie lifted from his last job (under-the-table, so no complaints) but luckily the sky seems to be clear enough that rain doesn’t look likely. He finds his way, stumbling over the scraps of blanket, to the club where he’s sure Simon will be, holding court over all the sluts and junkies in Edinburgh.
He ditches the blanket round the corner, carefully placed away from likely pukers, just in case he can’t find Simon and needs to get it back before he passes out in a doorway. Keeps his head down entering the club, doesn’t want to call any extra attention to himself.
Spud’s in the bathroom, and he offered Renton a bump of whatever it was he had. He was smiling widly, even in his threadbare shirt, so Renton figured whatever it was was at least keeping him warm, and took up the offer.
“Anyone around?”
“Tommy and Lizzy were, fightin’. She left and his followed. Begbie’s in custody, but it won’t stick. Sick Boy’s… somewhere. With someone.”
He finished off whatever it was he was holding, and slid down the cubicle wall into a tiny heap. Renton stepped over the folded body, leaving the bathroom to search for Simon. Simon always had somewhere to stay. Somewhere with heat, or at least proper blankets and all its windows. If he doesn’t have somewhere of his own, he’ll find someone who does. If Renton has to shag someone’s fat friend to get a bed, he’s pretty sure he can take the hit.
Simon’s in the corner, his eyes wide and fingers drumming staccato against the tabletop. Six girls sat around him, their eyes blank and bored as he talked about something they didn’t care about. Renton shoved his way into the middle of the crowd, elbowing three girls out of the way to sit next to him. Simon’s eyes barely flickered as he sat down.
“D’ya have a couch for a mate?” Renton yelled above the music.
Simon tilted his head slightly, lowering his voice and whispering directly into Renton’s ear. “Ah Rents. You know you’d be more then a couch.”
“So you’ve got somewhere?”
Simon leans in closer still, his breath tickling Renton’s face. “Not tonight. Landlord called in the police. I’ll have to make do with the park, if you’d care to join me.”
“Simon, the puddles are frozen over. We need to find somewhere inside.”
Sick Boy’s eyes wander over the gathered harem. Shrugging his shoulders, he leans into the girl nearest him and started kissing her. She doesn’t protest, much, and as one of his hands creeps swiftly under her skirt, the other stays put on Renton’s leg, his index finger lazily stroking a circle against his knee.
3 am, and the club vomits it’s patrons into the night, and Renton thinks about his hidden blanket as he waits for Simon to seal the deal. Whoever the girl is, her two friends look as disinterested as he feels, and he can see them looking his way, wondering who’s going to be stuck with him if Simon manages to convince the girl to take him home.
In the darkness, Simon's white hair and pale face make him look like a ghost, the club's neon sign reflecting red demoniacally in his eyes.
A slap rings across the car park, and Simon takes a step back in confusion, as the girl yanks his hand out of her shirt and drags her friends to the nearest taxi. Simon turns to him, a handprint already fading on his cheek.
“S’alright. I didn’t want to shag her anyway.” Simon leans into him, their bodies pressing together against the lamppost, and the way his tongue presses against Renton’s neck has his head swimming, before the wind snaps him back.
“Fuck’s sake. Where’re we going to kip now? “
Simon glances around, taking in their surroudings. “Not looking good…” He shrugs it off and returns his attentions to Renton’s neck. Simon’s hands are undoing Renton’s trousers, and he tells himself that if he gives Simon this much, maybe he’ll be more capable of planning somewhere to sleep. So Renton lets his hands slide up Simon’s back, fisting gently in the white shirt as Simon slowly slides his hand into his boxers. Five mintutes later, Renton’s gasping, almost there, when Simon suddenly stops and takes a step back.
“What the fuck?”
“Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit me.”
Renton’s sure this is part of some grand plan, so he pulls his arm back and punches Simon square in the jaw. The other man reels back for a second before punching Renton in the gut, and their fists beginning to fly. He barely manages to land any more punches before he can feel firm hands pulling him back and a few well-aimed hits to his legs.
In the back of the van, he stares at Simon.
“You said you wanted walls.”
“I didn’t mean a fucking cell.”
“I’ll be fine. They’ll let us out tomorrow with a caution and nothing’ll happen. And once it’s light out I can find somewhere proper to sleep tomorrow night.
“You’d fucking better.”
“Calm down Rents. I’ll finish you off yet.”
Fandom: trainspotting.
Pairing: Renton/Sickboy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I don't have permission to use them, and no profit is being made.
Summary: The power's off, the puddles are frozen, and Renton needs somewhere to sleep.
A/N: The darkness challenge is still on, right?
The room was dark, so Renton shuffled over to the door to turn the lights on.
After flicking the switch a few times, he figures that the lights were, in fact, not working. He’s technically in a crack den, so this shouldn’t be at all surprising, but he’s cold, and if the power’s going to be off for a while, he’ll need to find himself alternative accomodation.
Can’t go home, because his parents don’t particularly want to see him right now. Can’t stay here, because it’s December, and without heat he’s pretty sure he’ll die from the cold before he gets a chance to die from all the other things competing to finish him off.
Grabbing a blanket from the sofa, he wraps it tightly around himself and leaves Swanney’s flat. His shoes are held together by electrical tape Begbie lifted from his last job (under-the-table, so no complaints) but luckily the sky seems to be clear enough that rain doesn’t look likely. He finds his way, stumbling over the scraps of blanket, to the club where he’s sure Simon will be, holding court over all the sluts and junkies in Edinburgh.
He ditches the blanket round the corner, carefully placed away from likely pukers, just in case he can’t find Simon and needs to get it back before he passes out in a doorway. Keeps his head down entering the club, doesn’t want to call any extra attention to himself.
Spud’s in the bathroom, and he offered Renton a bump of whatever it was he had. He was smiling widly, even in his threadbare shirt, so Renton figured whatever it was was at least keeping him warm, and took up the offer.
“Anyone around?”
“Tommy and Lizzy were, fightin’. She left and his followed. Begbie’s in custody, but it won’t stick. Sick Boy’s… somewhere. With someone.”
He finished off whatever it was he was holding, and slid down the cubicle wall into a tiny heap. Renton stepped over the folded body, leaving the bathroom to search for Simon. Simon always had somewhere to stay. Somewhere with heat, or at least proper blankets and all its windows. If he doesn’t have somewhere of his own, he’ll find someone who does. If Renton has to shag someone’s fat friend to get a bed, he’s pretty sure he can take the hit.
Simon’s in the corner, his eyes wide and fingers drumming staccato against the tabletop. Six girls sat around him, their eyes blank and bored as he talked about something they didn’t care about. Renton shoved his way into the middle of the crowd, elbowing three girls out of the way to sit next to him. Simon’s eyes barely flickered as he sat down.
“D’ya have a couch for a mate?” Renton yelled above the music.
Simon tilted his head slightly, lowering his voice and whispering directly into Renton’s ear. “Ah Rents. You know you’d be more then a couch.”
“So you’ve got somewhere?”
Simon leans in closer still, his breath tickling Renton’s face. “Not tonight. Landlord called in the police. I’ll have to make do with the park, if you’d care to join me.”
“Simon, the puddles are frozen over. We need to find somewhere inside.”
Sick Boy’s eyes wander over the gathered harem. Shrugging his shoulders, he leans into the girl nearest him and started kissing her. She doesn’t protest, much, and as one of his hands creeps swiftly under her skirt, the other stays put on Renton’s leg, his index finger lazily stroking a circle against his knee.
3 am, and the club vomits it’s patrons into the night, and Renton thinks about his hidden blanket as he waits for Simon to seal the deal. Whoever the girl is, her two friends look as disinterested as he feels, and he can see them looking his way, wondering who’s going to be stuck with him if Simon manages to convince the girl to take him home.
In the darkness, Simon's white hair and pale face make him look like a ghost, the club's neon sign reflecting red demoniacally in his eyes.
A slap rings across the car park, and Simon takes a step back in confusion, as the girl yanks his hand out of her shirt and drags her friends to the nearest taxi. Simon turns to him, a handprint already fading on his cheek.
“S’alright. I didn’t want to shag her anyway.” Simon leans into him, their bodies pressing together against the lamppost, and the way his tongue presses against Renton’s neck has his head swimming, before the wind snaps him back.
“Fuck’s sake. Where’re we going to kip now? “
Simon glances around, taking in their surroudings. “Not looking good…” He shrugs it off and returns his attentions to Renton’s neck. Simon’s hands are undoing Renton’s trousers, and he tells himself that if he gives Simon this much, maybe he’ll be more capable of planning somewhere to sleep. So Renton lets his hands slide up Simon’s back, fisting gently in the white shirt as Simon slowly slides his hand into his boxers. Five mintutes later, Renton’s gasping, almost there, when Simon suddenly stops and takes a step back.
“What the fuck?”
“Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit me.”
Renton’s sure this is part of some grand plan, so he pulls his arm back and punches Simon square in the jaw. The other man reels back for a second before punching Renton in the gut, and their fists beginning to fly. He barely manages to land any more punches before he can feel firm hands pulling him back and a few well-aimed hits to his legs.
In the back of the van, he stares at Simon.
“You said you wanted walls.”
“I didn’t mean a fucking cell.”
“I’ll be fine. They’ll let us out tomorrow with a caution and nothing’ll happen. And once it’s light out I can find somewhere proper to sleep tomorrow night.
“You’d fucking better.”
“Calm down Rents. I’ll finish you off yet.”