FIC: The Monster Within. (1/1)
Title: The Monster Within.
Fandom: Real Person.
Characters: Jared Leto, Shannon Leto.
Prompt: Table 2; # 75 - Disaster.
Word Count: 621.
Rating: R.
Summary: A moment of passion leads to a moment of weakness. What do you do when you've done the one thing you never wanted to and changed things forever.
Author's Notes: This one hit me out of nowhere. It's a different style from what I'm used to so if it sucks, please tell me so I know to never try it again, lol. But seriously, it's very much a mood/moment fic and my usual style just didn't fit it properly. Warnings for vampirism and implied violence/sex. For 100_situations
The alcohol burns but it's not enough, never enough pain, he thinks. A lifetime's worth still wouldn't hold a candle to what he deserves to feel. He's drank a full bottle of Jack already but beneath the burning and the bitterness he can still taste that hint of copper on his tongue, between his teeth. It's like it's staining his lips and he groans and twists open another bottle. There's blood beneath his nails, droplets streaked across the backs of his hands like he imagines raindrops might, and then he's shaking his head and cursing silently at himself because raindrops are innocent and blood is anything but. It's tainted. He's tainted, and broken, and all he wants to do is die.
He can't die though. He's tried. Once down in Savannah when he locked himself out on a balcony and stood with his face upturned to the sky, waiting patiently for the sun to come for him. But there were no flames or smoke or ash, just a hell of a sunburn and intense pain because the blood of his maker was too strong. It was barely dusk when they found him and if the pain hadn't woken him up their fist would have. All his date with the sunrise earned him was a thirst like he'd never known and a wrath that would have killed him if it wouldn’t have defeated the point.
Then there was the hunter he stumbled across in Omaha after a show. For having trained since they were little their reflexes were so slow he laughed once his throat healed. He killed them with their own stake, once he cleaned his blood off of it of course, couldn't accidentally sire someone, and spent the rest of the night watching his body heal self-inflicted wounds.
From the bed he hears rustling but he doesn't look over, can't look over because if he does the sight of all the blood and the splayed body will make his throat tight and his eyes burn. He's an animal, a monster, and he wishes the Devil would come up for him right this moment before he can do any more damage. Finally he has to look because he hears his name and he brings a hand up to bite his nails before he remembers the dried blood that stains them.
Once upon a time the sheets were white but now they're mostly tainted a brownish red, torn and shredded, mixed with clothes that received a similar treatment. The skin makes up for the tainted sheets, paler than he ever knew it could be, could ever have wanted to see. As his eyes travel he notices the lack of blood, of wounds that were red and angry and burning on his mind just hours earlier. But it's their eyes that hurt him most. Bright and liquid like his, fully aware, not accusing, curious if nothing else as a pink tongue slips out to wet pale lips and cautiously run over the new gleaming fangs.
His throat tightens as he watches Shannon shift on the bed; move with that same catlike grace being bitten gave him. He doesn't fight the bottle being taken from his hand, just closes his eyes and turns away and tries to stay silent as his brother's thumb wipes away the singular blood tear slipping down his cheek. Now that he started it he has to finish it and his heart fucking aches at what he knows the next night will bring, at the sheer thought of watching his brother become a killer just like him.
When Jared opens his eyes it's to watch his brother suckle at his wrist, and he feels like he'll never be clean again.
Fandom: Real Person.
Characters: Jared Leto, Shannon Leto.
Prompt: Table 2; # 75 - Disaster.
Word Count: 621.
Rating: R.
Summary: A moment of passion leads to a moment of weakness. What do you do when you've done the one thing you never wanted to and changed things forever.
Author's Notes: This one hit me out of nowhere. It's a different style from what I'm used to so if it sucks, please tell me so I know to never try it again, lol. But seriously, it's very much a mood/moment fic and my usual style just didn't fit it properly. Warnings for vampirism and implied violence/sex. For 100_situations
The alcohol burns but it's not enough, never enough pain, he thinks. A lifetime's worth still wouldn't hold a candle to what he deserves to feel. He's drank a full bottle of Jack already but beneath the burning and the bitterness he can still taste that hint of copper on his tongue, between his teeth. It's like it's staining his lips and he groans and twists open another bottle. There's blood beneath his nails, droplets streaked across the backs of his hands like he imagines raindrops might, and then he's shaking his head and cursing silently at himself because raindrops are innocent and blood is anything but. It's tainted. He's tainted, and broken, and all he wants to do is die.
He can't die though. He's tried. Once down in Savannah when he locked himself out on a balcony and stood with his face upturned to the sky, waiting patiently for the sun to come for him. But there were no flames or smoke or ash, just a hell of a sunburn and intense pain because the blood of his maker was too strong. It was barely dusk when they found him and if the pain hadn't woken him up their fist would have. All his date with the sunrise earned him was a thirst like he'd never known and a wrath that would have killed him if it wouldn’t have defeated the point.
Then there was the hunter he stumbled across in Omaha after a show. For having trained since they were little their reflexes were so slow he laughed once his throat healed. He killed them with their own stake, once he cleaned his blood off of it of course, couldn't accidentally sire someone, and spent the rest of the night watching his body heal self-inflicted wounds.
From the bed he hears rustling but he doesn't look over, can't look over because if he does the sight of all the blood and the splayed body will make his throat tight and his eyes burn. He's an animal, a monster, and he wishes the Devil would come up for him right this moment before he can do any more damage. Finally he has to look because he hears his name and he brings a hand up to bite his nails before he remembers the dried blood that stains them.
Once upon a time the sheets were white but now they're mostly tainted a brownish red, torn and shredded, mixed with clothes that received a similar treatment. The skin makes up for the tainted sheets, paler than he ever knew it could be, could ever have wanted to see. As his eyes travel he notices the lack of blood, of wounds that were red and angry and burning on his mind just hours earlier. But it's their eyes that hurt him most. Bright and liquid like his, fully aware, not accusing, curious if nothing else as a pink tongue slips out to wet pale lips and cautiously run over the new gleaming fangs.
His throat tightens as he watches Shannon shift on the bed; move with that same catlike grace being bitten gave him. He doesn't fight the bottle being taken from his hand, just closes his eyes and turns away and tries to stay silent as his brother's thumb wipes away the singular blood tear slipping down his cheek. Now that he started it he has to finish it and his heart fucking aches at what he knows the next night will bring, at the sheer thought of watching his brother become a killer just like him.
When Jared opens his eyes it's to watch his brother suckle at his wrist, and he feels like he'll never be clean again.