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 Posted: Fri May 22, 2015 8:20 pm
That was the last ******** straw. Leslie's possessions were more important to him than most people. Things were important: few in number and high in value. Seething, he took the basement stairs two at a time, stalking towards Isaac's room. "You <********>," he hissed through the bars, kicking at rusted metal with a steel-toed boot, lips curled into an ugly snarl. "Don't you <******** dare. That's mine."
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2015 8:35 pm
He needed more time. He had planned on returning the jacket. He had planned on cutting ties. This wasn't the way he was. Isaac was and always had been a lover. A gentle soul. A sweet man, or so he'd been told. The short trip he'd taken with Gretchen had been refreshing. Isaac had felt reinvigorated, in his right mind. He had planned on so many, many things; at the sound of Leslie's voice, the kick to the door, every ounce of good intent drained away. He was left scrabbling to patch the holes. Isaac rose to his feet. The jacket had been kept, safe and sound, on a hook next to the door. He took it up in his hand. "I am sorry," he whispered, and his voice sounded raw. "I should not have taken it." He did not pass it to Leslie. Instead, he clutched it tight in his hand like a lifeline.
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2015 10:21 pm
The door didn't open and Leslie slammed his fist against it, the sound of his palm against metal reverberating throughout the basement. "Don't give me a stupid ******** apology, you weird and bearded <********>." His eyes were bright, and the evidence of Isaac's hands on him had already faded. "Of course you shouldn't have ******** taken it. Because it's mine, and it was a gift." He kicked the door again, harder. He kept his voice down, at least. The last thing he wanted was anyone to hear what they were fighting about. Fighting in general was fine, but not the specificity. That felt...personal. "So open the <********> up or I will break your stupid ******** door."
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2015 11:25 pm
Something inside of him shifted, uncoiled. Isaac opened the door and took a step back. His voice was low, quiet. The basement was not the most private place, and just the sight of the impudent hunter seething at his door was enough to set Isaac's teeth on edge. Come take it, he wanted to whisper, I am not afraid of you, - but he didn't. "Here," he said instead, fingers itching to wrap around Leslie's throat. He held the jacket out. "I will not bother you again."
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2015 11:29 pm
Leslie looked around the hall in disgust-- he didn't miss the basement's lack of privacy, even if the shoddy nature of it was more home to him than any part of the island, save the rundown town itself-- before stepping into Isaac's room. Cautiously, he looked at Isaac, his own fingers aching to snatch it away from. To tear it away then claw at Isaac, peeling back this false veneer of politeness. "Bullshit," he snapped, grabbing for the coat with clever hands, aching to pull it close. "You can fool ******** else if you want, but you're not fooling me."
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 12:12 am
There was something about being accused of fooling everyone - about being two-faced - that really and truly set Isaac's teeth on edge. He'd dealt with the shame, the self-loathing that still lingered like bile in the back of his throat. He hadn't, though, not really. The shame was there, but he blamed Leslie still because blaming Leslie was easier than holding himself accountable for the things that had happened. The familiar itch settled in at the base of his spine, the crooks of his elbows, the palms of his hands. When Leslie reached for the jacket, Isaac let it go. "I <********> mean it," he snarled, "I will not allow you to continue doing this to me."
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 12:39 am
Leslie flung the jack backwards, incsensed. "What I. Do. To you?" he hissed, stepping in closer, ******** incredulous. " I didn't do anything, you retarded ******** it was easier, to displace the blame. That's why he did it in the first place. He jabbed a finger at Isaac's chest, canines bared. "It's a wonder your eyes aren't brown from all the s**t you're full of, you know that? You ******** f*****t."
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 10:08 am
There was no privacy in the basement, and they were playing a dangerous, dangerous game. Isaac knew - he knew - that Leslie could take him down - but he wasn't. He was standing there in front of Isaac spitting fire, and all Isaac wanted him to do was hurt, cry, choke, scream, beg leave. "Be quiet," Isaac's voice was soft but carried with it the harshness that had surfaced at the school, "and take your jacket, and leave. Go. Because even now you are doing the thing you claim not to do." He wrapped his fingers around Leslie's wrist and squeezed, just enough to feel the bones shift and give - and then Isaac was shoving the smaller hunter away from him. "I am done." Despite his words, he took one step, two steps forward; his own teeth were bared now. The ache, oh, that vicious ache. He could not control himself, even now.
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 3:20 pm
Leslie's jaw clicked shut, teeth set to grind immediately. His heart hammered in his chest, the war drums beating in preparation of battle. But there was nothing for him, here. No conflict, no disagreements, no-- Everything Isaac said, his body contradicted. The electricity between them was vast and unkind, a storm surrounding both of them, running through their veins. " Are you?" Leslie mocked, quietly, his back hitting the stone wall. He checked the hall, and there was no one. He tilted his head upwards, baring the narrow column of his neck, throat bobbing, looking at Isaac with nothing but derision. (Isaac wasn't the only liar whose body betrayed words.) His fists clenched so tight that his nails bit into his shield, the pesky reminder that he was something more. "Fine. Deal." He didn't move.
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 3:40 pm
"Fine." Isaac snarled. His hands formed fists, knuckles white as death. "Deal." Instead of feeling as though a weight had been lifted ( he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe), Isaac felt an immediate surge of mine. An instantaneous need to hit that high again, to float in the kind of euphoria that he'd felt before. He took another step closer. He expected Leslie to lash out, to strike him. He wanted him to. Isaac needed a reason, half a reason, no reason at all. Slowly he exhaled, towering over Leslie (his narcotic, his morphine, his opiate, his feel-good) -- just one more high, just one more bump, one more hit. He tangled his fingers in Leslie's collar and lifted until they were eye-to-eye.
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 4:45 pm
His back scraped against the wall as Isaac lifted him nearly a foot off his feet, his body seemingly weightless in Isaac's grip. Leslie's breath hitched, his hands coming up to scrabble against Isaac's arms, teeth still bared.
"Put. Me. Down." Low and hissed, goading. Straining to get closer, get away, get out of Isaac's grasp. One hand shifts up to tangle into thick brown hair and yank, hard. Too hard.
"Or ******** do something."
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 5:45 pm
The pain that shrieks through his scalp is close, but not enough. Stop, something whispers, and he realizes it's Lark, you're better than this.
But he isn't. And he doesn't want to be.
He doesn't ask which Leslie wants because he doesn't care - and he already knows what the answer would be; this is a dance that is familiar to them, and while they're not yet perfect and they have not yet memorized the tempo, it's close enough. It isn't graceful, but it's no longer clumsy.
Isaac pulls against the hand in his hair; the pain gives him focus, brilliant and sharp. He feels Leslie's legs move, circling around his hips, and the tunnel vision kicks in and he's lost, beyond lost.
He strikes, teeth bared, and moves to sink his teeth into Leslie's lower lip.
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 7:01 pm
Aleria says nothing. They know Leslie's hunger, his cravings, his reckless urges. His bad decisions are his to make, and they retreat, leaving a blankness behind.
Leslie says nothing, too. He cannot say the words. He cannot reveal the latent desires, the ones that will ruin him, burn him down into ashes. It burns bright and hot, too intense to be looked at head on.
It's not a kiss. There's no mistaking it for one; no tenderness and no passion, just some ugly act of possession. A sound tears out of him, low and desperate. His legs tighten around Isaac's waist in response to the muted pain.
He hates his ******** shield. Nails dig into Isaac's shoulder, fingers pulling harder, struggling to contain himself. Anyone could hear, anyone could see.
The fear of discovery thrumming in his veins pulsate. He's never been so reckless.
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Posted: Mon May 25, 2015 7:18 pm
“Don’t take my s**t again,” Leslie replies, wiping himself off with his shirt before balling up the stained cloth to shove into his hoodie pocket. “And we won’t have a problem.”
Once the door was closed and safely between them, he kicked the bars again.
“You can get a real ******** door, you know. Just talk to the ******** Quartermaster.” There was a quaver in his voice, the briefest of hesitations.
Don't come here again, Isaac had said, and that was fine.
And then he vanished into the dark, headed back to his room.
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