(no subject)
Title: Compromise
Fandom:The Used
Characters:Quinn Allman/Jepha Howard
Prompt: 96. Writer’s choice.
Word Count: 898
Rating: NC 17
Summary: fuck compromise.
Author's Notes:written for fanfic100 Don’t own. Didn’t happen..
Jeph’s POV
I think of compromising as more of an art form than a practice. In principal it’s a beautiful thing, full of hope and trust and all those other $2 romance-worthy things. But in reality, it’s more of an unattainable goal. It looks good on paper, and it sounds nice in your head, but when spoken aloud it seems silly and juvenile, and it makes you almost wish you never said anything to begin with.
Compromising, it’s a joke.
Some couples say it’s necessary for a relationship to function. But what they don’t realize is that in every argument there is a winner, and a loser. Even in this bullshit ‘compromise’, someone get the shorter end of the stick, not matter how subtle.
But maybe I’m the only one who thinks this way.
I think other feelings and thoughts are so much more attainable, more palpable, more honest, more real. There are things that can be brought into an argument that compromise can’t take away.
Like anger. Like spite. Like hate. Like defeat.
I think anger is the most powerful of all these things. It’s the most intense. It can control you, and can destroy you. It will kill you. And it will make you feel more alive than anything else ever will.
It’s pure, unbridled adrenaline, coursing through your veins and making your heart beat just that much faster.
It’s what pushes you to hit that much harder, yell that much louder.
It’s what empowers you to cut that much deeper, load the gun just that much faster.
It cannot be controlled.
And anger’s the reason why he’s dead.
He was beautiful and graceful in everything that he did. He was flawless and amazing, and could hold the attention of the entire room in the palm of his hand, including mine. He knew just how to talk, how to walk, and how to smile to make sure all eyes were on him. He thrived in the attention and was hungry for even more. He would swat his hips and lick his lips, and he just knew that you were watching.
He wasn’t an attention whore by any means, for those words seem too harsh to describe him as. He didn’t need the attention, he craved it. He didn’t have to work hard for it either, it was given to him on a silver platter. It was what he was made for. This was why god put him on this earth. He was a divine creature and he knew it. It wasn’t so much arrogance as it was just a fact. No one hated him for it. Some accepted it and went on with their lives, others hungered after him like he starved for attention.
I was one of those people.
His name was Quinn.
And he was the best I’ll ever have.
The best part? He knew it.
I still remember the look on his face as I fucked him hard into the mattress at his apartment. The room smelled of old french fries and pine sol, and he sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air. He screamed for it harder, faster, deeper, the look in his eyes urging me on. Whispers of my name echoed back to me, pushing me that much further to the edge. We pressed together, exchanged sloppy kisses where our tongues battled for dominance. We came together for that brief moment where we both hit out climax at the same time. We were panting, cuddling, kissing, whispering.
He was mine.
And I was his.
It was the way things should be.
But maybe he didn’t understand this.
When I walked in on him fucking some man in the bathroom at the bar, something inside me snapped. I could hear my heart in my ears and I could feel my feet heavy on the ground. My ears were hot, and my blood was boiling.
I was angry.
I waited in the dark of his empty apartment for him to come hime. And when I was sure he was alone I stepped out of the shadows. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the gun in my hand. Such pretty eyes. Such trusting eyes.
What a shame.
He begged for his life, tears falling from those beautiful eyes. He told me we could work it out. He told me we could compromise.
That pushed me over the edge.
There was no room for that.
The blood pooled around him on the floor. And I smiled, because he wasn’t so pretty anymore.
I had destroyed god’s beautiful creature.
No compromise.
Just anger.
It’s what drives us, it’s what motivates us. It’s what we live for. It’s what I’ll die for.
I still smile when I think of him.
He was beautiful.
He was mine.
He was gone.
No regrets. No hesitations. Just adrenaline, and anger.
But I didn’t kill him. No I’m no monster. I’m not a murderer. I would have put that gun away. I only meant to scare him. I only wanted to show him that he was mine. But he wanted to make a deal. He wanted to compromise. He wanted to end the argument.
He wanted me to get the short end of the stick.
I don’t lose.
I didn’t kill him.
Compromise did.
***************************************
well, that came out of nowhere.
Fandom:The Used
Characters:Quinn Allman/Jepha Howard
Prompt: 96. Writer’s choice.
Word Count: 898
Rating: NC 17
Summary: fuck compromise.
Author's Notes:written for fanfic100 Don’t own. Didn’t happen..
Jeph’s POV
I think of compromising as more of an art form than a practice. In principal it’s a beautiful thing, full of hope and trust and all those other $2 romance-worthy things. But in reality, it’s more of an unattainable goal. It looks good on paper, and it sounds nice in your head, but when spoken aloud it seems silly and juvenile, and it makes you almost wish you never said anything to begin with.
Compromising, it’s a joke.
Some couples say it’s necessary for a relationship to function. But what they don’t realize is that in every argument there is a winner, and a loser. Even in this bullshit ‘compromise’, someone get the shorter end of the stick, not matter how subtle.
But maybe I’m the only one who thinks this way.
I think other feelings and thoughts are so much more attainable, more palpable, more honest, more real. There are things that can be brought into an argument that compromise can’t take away.
Like anger. Like spite. Like hate. Like defeat.
I think anger is the most powerful of all these things. It’s the most intense. It can control you, and can destroy you. It will kill you. And it will make you feel more alive than anything else ever will.
It’s pure, unbridled adrenaline, coursing through your veins and making your heart beat just that much faster.
It’s what pushes you to hit that much harder, yell that much louder.
It’s what empowers you to cut that much deeper, load the gun just that much faster.
It cannot be controlled.
And anger’s the reason why he’s dead.
He was beautiful and graceful in everything that he did. He was flawless and amazing, and could hold the attention of the entire room in the palm of his hand, including mine. He knew just how to talk, how to walk, and how to smile to make sure all eyes were on him. He thrived in the attention and was hungry for even more. He would swat his hips and lick his lips, and he just knew that you were watching.
He wasn’t an attention whore by any means, for those words seem too harsh to describe him as. He didn’t need the attention, he craved it. He didn’t have to work hard for it either, it was given to him on a silver platter. It was what he was made for. This was why god put him on this earth. He was a divine creature and he knew it. It wasn’t so much arrogance as it was just a fact. No one hated him for it. Some accepted it and went on with their lives, others hungered after him like he starved for attention.
I was one of those people.
His name was Quinn.
And he was the best I’ll ever have.
The best part? He knew it.
I still remember the look on his face as I fucked him hard into the mattress at his apartment. The room smelled of old french fries and pine sol, and he sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air. He screamed for it harder, faster, deeper, the look in his eyes urging me on. Whispers of my name echoed back to me, pushing me that much further to the edge. We pressed together, exchanged sloppy kisses where our tongues battled for dominance. We came together for that brief moment where we both hit out climax at the same time. We were panting, cuddling, kissing, whispering.
He was mine.
And I was his.
It was the way things should be.
But maybe he didn’t understand this.
When I walked in on him fucking some man in the bathroom at the bar, something inside me snapped. I could hear my heart in my ears and I could feel my feet heavy on the ground. My ears were hot, and my blood was boiling.
I was angry.
I waited in the dark of his empty apartment for him to come hime. And when I was sure he was alone I stepped out of the shadows. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the gun in my hand. Such pretty eyes. Such trusting eyes.
What a shame.
He begged for his life, tears falling from those beautiful eyes. He told me we could work it out. He told me we could compromise.
That pushed me over the edge.
There was no room for that.
The blood pooled around him on the floor. And I smiled, because he wasn’t so pretty anymore.
I had destroyed god’s beautiful creature.
No compromise.
Just anger.
It’s what drives us, it’s what motivates us. It’s what we live for. It’s what I’ll die for.
I still smile when I think of him.
He was beautiful.
He was mine.
He was gone.
No regrets. No hesitations. Just adrenaline, and anger.
But I didn’t kill him. No I’m no monster. I’m not a murderer. I would have put that gun away. I only meant to scare him. I only wanted to show him that he was mine. But he wanted to make a deal. He wanted to compromise. He wanted to end the argument.
He wanted me to get the short end of the stick.
I don’t lose.
I didn’t kill him.
Compromise did.
***************************************
well, that came out of nowhere.