One - 4/10
Mar. 28th, 2011 07:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sailorstarsunMy original plan of posting a chapter each Friday is obviously not going to work, as those seem to be my busy days. So I'm switching to... whenever I feel like it.
Title: One Last Chance
Genre: drama, romance, mm/yaoi/slash/gay/whatever you want to call it
Rating: R/NC-17 - there are some detailed sex scenes, but it's not a smut story
Warnings: Some of those sex scenes are a bit rough, but everything is consensual. Also, if you're perceptive, spoilers. >3
Chapter Notes: I actually like this chapter - it has one of my favorite side characters, and one of my favorite scenes. Not at the same time, mind you...
But, I'm iffy about some of my word choices in this one.
Chapter 4
”Hey, you.”
The Japanese boy slowly turned his head and looked over, bewildered. Probably because this was only the second time Nicholai had ever spoken to him the whole while they’d been roommates. Akira was a shy boy, so when Nicholai told him to stay out of his way, he was happy to obey.
“If you wanted to fuck someone,” he continued from where he lay on his bed, “how would you go about doing it?”
The other’s eyes grew huge, and he stammered “I- Iya- I- I- Ah- Eh-“
“It’s not you. Damn.”
“I… That is…” He turned his head away, and Nicholai saw him adjust his frameless glasses, then take a deep breath.
“You’re supposed to be some kind of genius, right? So give me your smart-boy input.”
Akira turned his head back to face him, but kept his eyes planted to the ground. “I… I suppose I would… be his friend, and-“
“His?” Nicholai interrupted with a smirk. “I never said it was a guy.”
A blush bloomed over Akira’s cheeks, and he turned his head again.
“Hey, I wasn’t done talking to you.”
“I’m sorry…”
“So? Be his friend, and…” Nicholai prompted him to continue.
Which Akira did, facing him again, eyes downcast even lower. “And… spend time with him… …… And give him M&M’s…” The last part was said very quietly, almost like an afterthought. And then he turned back to the homework on his desk that he had been working on.
“M&M’s? The hell?”
“They’re his favorite.” Said so quietly, it almost went unheard.
Nicholai stared at the Japanese boy’s profile a moment, then asked “Just who are you talking about?”
Akira didn’t respond, but neither did his pencil move to indicate any kind of studying. Instead, he just sat stock-still, eyes cast downward. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to talk about it.
Nicholai didn’t care.
It had briefly occurred to him that Luciano might very well start avoiding him after the attempted rape. That’s what any normal person would do, and Nicholai knew he shouldn’t be surprised if he saw the other less and less, or not at all.
But Luciano wasn’t a normal person, by any stretch.
The very next day, and every day thereafter, he sat in that same seat, still talked to him during class, smiled his bright smile. Actually, Nicholai seemed to be seeing the other even more. Luciano was following him. To the roof, to his dorm, a few times even to the bathroom. The only place he never followed to was the storage room, though Nicholai couldn’t tell if it was out of fear of being alone with him, or to politely not lead him on.
Of course, it wasn’t all the time. Luciano participated in a couple clubs, and was often invited to hang out with others, so there were times Nicholai was left by himself. And he was starting to really need those respites.
He was going crazy, having the other around so much. He just wanted to throw the kid down and take him, wherever they were, but knew he couldn’t. Luciano had obviously been well-trained in defending himself, so all Nicholai could do was think about it, but ultimately hold back. He was starting to believe this was a personalized form of torture.
One thing Luciano seemed to have caught on to by this following him around was that Nicholai never ate in the cafeteria. But food wasn’t allowed around the rest of the pristine school, so it wasn’t like Nicholai could grab something from the lunch line and eat it elsewhere. And he didn’t especially cherish the thought of sitting in the cafeteria by himself, eating alone while everyone else ate with friends. Clay had invited him to eat with him once, but his Honor Society friends put a stop on that offer real quick, so Nicholai declined the invitation before Clay could think about putting up a fight over it.
Instead, he had an acquaintance back home, the same one who kept him supplied with booze and cigarettes, ship along some non-perishable foodstuffs. While it wasn’t exactly healthy, living off of chips and dry cereal, neither was drinking or smoking or a whole lot of other things he did. Health wasn’t really one of Nicholai’s concerns. And every now and then his friend, mostly jokingly, sent him dried fruit, for a “well-balanced meal.”
On really lucky days, Clay would smuggle food past the Nazi who watched the cafeteria doors, but that was only possible depending on what was being served. A sandwich could be wrapped up and slipped into his pocket – mashed potatoes could not. And he didn’t want to do it too often, which Nicholai didn’t blame him, since neither wanted to ruin the boy’s flawless record.
See, it wasn’t that Nicholai didn’t like the cafeteria food, he just didn’t want to eat it in the cafeteria.
So he resisted when, shortly after the first dinner bell rang, Luciano found him and tugged on his jacket, saying “Come eat with me.”
“No.” He had been standing on the roof, and kept his eyes looking upward, staring at the tall bell tower across campus. The bell itself wasn’t used anymore, since now all the bells were electric sounds on timers, and actually the whole tower was locked up tight, off-limits to students. But it gave the school a nice old-timey look.
“You need to eat real food,” the boy persisted.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Now come on.” He pulled at the jacket, but Nicholai was bigger, and didn’t budge.
Until Luciano looked into him with those silver eyes. They searched, finding the resistance, and the weak point. Nicholai could almost feel the gaze rifling through him.
“I won’t leave you alone,” he said after a moment. “You can have a good meal, and won’t end up sitting by yourself. I promise.”
Nicholai had meant to say ‘no’ again, slower, with extended enunciation, since there was obviously a communication problem here. But instead he took a step forward, feet working on their own. And Luciano smiled at him, so his feet took another step, encouraged. With a few more steps and pulls at his jacket, he finally gave up, grunting “Fine,” and walking slightly behind the other boy.
Activity in the cafeteria stopped when they entered. The students’ loud talking and shouting over each other almost instantly transformed into a hum of murmurs and whispers when they saw Nicholai step into the lunchroom for the first time. He caught snippets of their chatter, mostly “What’s he doing here?” and “I thought he only ate souls,” and was about to turn and leave, when Luciano grabbed his jacket again.
“Save us a seat!” he called to a friend, then dragged Nicholai toward the food line.
He figured it was about time he ate from here anyway, considering the cost of food was included with his tuition. But damn if he didn’t feel like a retard, standing there with his little tray, being served by hair-netted lunch ladies. He didn’t know what to get, since food really wasn’t a big part of his life, so he just shuffled along with everyone else, letting Luciano fill his tray for him, not even paying attention to what he was being given. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him.
Coming out of the line, he saw he had been served a real, regular dinner. Meat and potatoes, some bread, even a bowl of jell-o. Lovely. Nicholai rolled his eyes at it, but didn’t comment.
He followed Luciano to his table of friends, who had actually saved two seats for them, one of which was conveniently at the edge of the table. Apparently no one wanted to get stuck sitting next to him. That was just fine; he took that chair.
The other boys talked like normal, but tried to ignore Nicholai for the most part. Except that Luciano would often turn to him, prompting his opinion on whichever topic was being discussed, and he’d reply with stilted, short answers.
They weren’t even halfway through the meal when a shadow washed over Nicholai’s tray. He looked up to see Henri glaring down at him, flanked by a few of his friends, all members of the polo team. He was looking as ridiculous as ever, with his blonde hair in its pageboy cut. Nicholai smirked at him. “Nice cast.”
“You’re a monster!” Henri shouted, waving his broken hand.
Nicholai just laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound.
Henri grabbed his collar with his good hand, bringing their faces close. “You’re not going to be laughing much longer, asshole.”
“Let go.”
“Word is out, it’s open season on your ass.”
Nicholai flew to his feet, knocking his chair back as he stood. He towered over the other, and he used his height to force Henri to step back. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What, are you gonna hit me? Go ahead.” He smirked. “Everyone knows now. You hurt one more person and you’re gone. So go ahead, beast. Hit me. I’d be glad to be the sacrifice if it gets rid of you.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“You think you’ve got this place under your thumb because everyone’s afraid of you, but that’s all about to change. It’s a win-win for us; we can do whatever we want to you, and you can’t hit back. Or you can, and get taken out of here.”
Nicholai stepped closer, making the other step back again. It was a sign of submission on Henri’s part, and a great intimidation tactic. “They can’t blame me for defending myself.”
“We could always lie.” Then Henri cocked his head to the side, as if something had just occurred to him. “Or maybe someone will do that anyway. It’s not like the teachers will take your word over anyone else’s.”
He wanted to hit the little shit so hard. But Henri was right; if he threw the first punch, he’d be in trouble. And even if he didn’t, what would happen if some little priss said he did anyway? It would be more than believable, given his history.
This was why he hated eating in the cafeteria; too many fucking brats around to piss him off.
So he left his meal and everyone behind, storming out of the room after accidentally bumping Henri’s broken hand as he walked by.
A cool bottle of vodka was all the dinner he needed.
His head swam, and he heard a voice. “I figured you’d be here,” he thought it said. “Are you alright?”
Dull gold eyes rolled towards the voice. He hadn’t been this drunk in a while; he’d almost forgotten how long it took to focus on anything. His body was too lethargic to move, and if he moved his head his stomach would protest violently. So he moved only his eyes, while the rest of his long body lay on his side on the concrete floor.
“Really, you should bring a pillow or something for this place,” Luciano said as he squatted by Nicholai’s side. “The hard floor will make your head flat.”
“You came in… here,” was the slurred response.
“Just this once, I’ll interrupt your alone time.”
Luciano stood and stepped over him, then sat on the ground with his back to the wall. He eased Nicholai’s head up, then slid his legs under, using his lap as a pillow.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Nicholai said, even as he pressed his cheek into the warm thigh.
“Why not?”
“Because, I-” His arms slowly came up, one slipping under Luciano’s knee, the other going over, until they rested like that in a loose hug. “Because I still want you.”
The other sighed, but it was a sad sound, not at all exasperated. Then they sat quietly for some time, until after a while Luciano’s fingers found their way into Nicholai’s hair, running through the strands, occasionally giving a tug. “Silver hair,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“Demonic.”
At that, Luciano chuckled softly. “Mm-mm. Papa has silver hair too.” There was a smile in his voice. “It’s pretty.”
Nicholai wanted to respond, but the petting and the alcohol were making him sleepy. With his eyes closed, the room silent, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.
He managed the word “Not…” then passed out.
The room was pitch black when he awoke. His head was still fuzzy, some drunkenness still lingered, but with a few more hours of rest, he’d be ok. Making it to class wouldn’t be a problem.
Something soft pillowed beneath his head, and he reached up, touching familiar cloth. It was Luciano’s uniform jacket. Apparently the boy had left it behind, not wanting Nicholai’s head laying on the floor.
He sat up and pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to orientate himself. He was sore, and hungry, but more than anything he wanted to be in his own bed. So with more than a little effort, he got to his feet, taking the jacket with him.
Walking to the dorms was a laborious process. When he found his room and let himself in, his eyes immediately went to Akira’s bedside alarm. It was three in the morning. He’d been asleep for seven hours, and could get at least four more before he’d have to get up – plenty of time to sleep off the rest of the booze and make it to class.
He didn’t bother changing out of his uniform, didn’t think he could manage it even if he wanted to. He would change in the morning; for now, all he wanted to do was sleep. So he fell into his bed, still clutching the jacket that had been left behind.
Curling onto his side, he fell asleep wrapped in Luciano’s scent.
/chapter 4
Title: One Last Chance
Genre: drama, romance, mm/yaoi/slash/gay/whatever you want to call it
Rating: R/NC-17 - there are some detailed sex scenes, but it's not a smut story
Warnings: Some of those sex scenes are a bit rough, but everything is consensual. Also, if you're perceptive, spoilers. >3
Chapter Notes: I actually like this chapter - it has one of my favorite side characters, and one of my favorite scenes. Not at the same time, mind you...
But, I'm iffy about some of my word choices in this one.
Chapter 4
”Hey, you.”
The Japanese boy slowly turned his head and looked over, bewildered. Probably because this was only the second time Nicholai had ever spoken to him the whole while they’d been roommates. Akira was a shy boy, so when Nicholai told him to stay out of his way, he was happy to obey.
“If you wanted to fuck someone,” he continued from where he lay on his bed, “how would you go about doing it?”
The other’s eyes grew huge, and he stammered “I- Iya- I- I- Ah- Eh-“
“It’s not you. Damn.”
“I… That is…” He turned his head away, and Nicholai saw him adjust his frameless glasses, then take a deep breath.
“You’re supposed to be some kind of genius, right? So give me your smart-boy input.”
Akira turned his head back to face him, but kept his eyes planted to the ground. “I… I suppose I would… be his friend, and-“
“His?” Nicholai interrupted with a smirk. “I never said it was a guy.”
A blush bloomed over Akira’s cheeks, and he turned his head again.
“Hey, I wasn’t done talking to you.”
“I’m sorry…”
“So? Be his friend, and…” Nicholai prompted him to continue.
Which Akira did, facing him again, eyes downcast even lower. “And… spend time with him… …… And give him M&M’s…” The last part was said very quietly, almost like an afterthought. And then he turned back to the homework on his desk that he had been working on.
“M&M’s? The hell?”
“They’re his favorite.” Said so quietly, it almost went unheard.
Nicholai stared at the Japanese boy’s profile a moment, then asked “Just who are you talking about?”
Akira didn’t respond, but neither did his pencil move to indicate any kind of studying. Instead, he just sat stock-still, eyes cast downward. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to talk about it.
Nicholai didn’t care.
It had briefly occurred to him that Luciano might very well start avoiding him after the attempted rape. That’s what any normal person would do, and Nicholai knew he shouldn’t be surprised if he saw the other less and less, or not at all.
But Luciano wasn’t a normal person, by any stretch.
The very next day, and every day thereafter, he sat in that same seat, still talked to him during class, smiled his bright smile. Actually, Nicholai seemed to be seeing the other even more. Luciano was following him. To the roof, to his dorm, a few times even to the bathroom. The only place he never followed to was the storage room, though Nicholai couldn’t tell if it was out of fear of being alone with him, or to politely not lead him on.
Of course, it wasn’t all the time. Luciano participated in a couple clubs, and was often invited to hang out with others, so there were times Nicholai was left by himself. And he was starting to really need those respites.
He was going crazy, having the other around so much. He just wanted to throw the kid down and take him, wherever they were, but knew he couldn’t. Luciano had obviously been well-trained in defending himself, so all Nicholai could do was think about it, but ultimately hold back. He was starting to believe this was a personalized form of torture.
One thing Luciano seemed to have caught on to by this following him around was that Nicholai never ate in the cafeteria. But food wasn’t allowed around the rest of the pristine school, so it wasn’t like Nicholai could grab something from the lunch line and eat it elsewhere. And he didn’t especially cherish the thought of sitting in the cafeteria by himself, eating alone while everyone else ate with friends. Clay had invited him to eat with him once, but his Honor Society friends put a stop on that offer real quick, so Nicholai declined the invitation before Clay could think about putting up a fight over it.
Instead, he had an acquaintance back home, the same one who kept him supplied with booze and cigarettes, ship along some non-perishable foodstuffs. While it wasn’t exactly healthy, living off of chips and dry cereal, neither was drinking or smoking or a whole lot of other things he did. Health wasn’t really one of Nicholai’s concerns. And every now and then his friend, mostly jokingly, sent him dried fruit, for a “well-balanced meal.”
On really lucky days, Clay would smuggle food past the Nazi who watched the cafeteria doors, but that was only possible depending on what was being served. A sandwich could be wrapped up and slipped into his pocket – mashed potatoes could not. And he didn’t want to do it too often, which Nicholai didn’t blame him, since neither wanted to ruin the boy’s flawless record.
See, it wasn’t that Nicholai didn’t like the cafeteria food, he just didn’t want to eat it in the cafeteria.
So he resisted when, shortly after the first dinner bell rang, Luciano found him and tugged on his jacket, saying “Come eat with me.”
“No.” He had been standing on the roof, and kept his eyes looking upward, staring at the tall bell tower across campus. The bell itself wasn’t used anymore, since now all the bells were electric sounds on timers, and actually the whole tower was locked up tight, off-limits to students. But it gave the school a nice old-timey look.
“You need to eat real food,” the boy persisted.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Now come on.” He pulled at the jacket, but Nicholai was bigger, and didn’t budge.
Until Luciano looked into him with those silver eyes. They searched, finding the resistance, and the weak point. Nicholai could almost feel the gaze rifling through him.
“I won’t leave you alone,” he said after a moment. “You can have a good meal, and won’t end up sitting by yourself. I promise.”
Nicholai had meant to say ‘no’ again, slower, with extended enunciation, since there was obviously a communication problem here. But instead he took a step forward, feet working on their own. And Luciano smiled at him, so his feet took another step, encouraged. With a few more steps and pulls at his jacket, he finally gave up, grunting “Fine,” and walking slightly behind the other boy.
Activity in the cafeteria stopped when they entered. The students’ loud talking and shouting over each other almost instantly transformed into a hum of murmurs and whispers when they saw Nicholai step into the lunchroom for the first time. He caught snippets of their chatter, mostly “What’s he doing here?” and “I thought he only ate souls,” and was about to turn and leave, when Luciano grabbed his jacket again.
“Save us a seat!” he called to a friend, then dragged Nicholai toward the food line.
He figured it was about time he ate from here anyway, considering the cost of food was included with his tuition. But damn if he didn’t feel like a retard, standing there with his little tray, being served by hair-netted lunch ladies. He didn’t know what to get, since food really wasn’t a big part of his life, so he just shuffled along with everyone else, letting Luciano fill his tray for him, not even paying attention to what he was being given. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him.
Coming out of the line, he saw he had been served a real, regular dinner. Meat and potatoes, some bread, even a bowl of jell-o. Lovely. Nicholai rolled his eyes at it, but didn’t comment.
He followed Luciano to his table of friends, who had actually saved two seats for them, one of which was conveniently at the edge of the table. Apparently no one wanted to get stuck sitting next to him. That was just fine; he took that chair.
The other boys talked like normal, but tried to ignore Nicholai for the most part. Except that Luciano would often turn to him, prompting his opinion on whichever topic was being discussed, and he’d reply with stilted, short answers.
They weren’t even halfway through the meal when a shadow washed over Nicholai’s tray. He looked up to see Henri glaring down at him, flanked by a few of his friends, all members of the polo team. He was looking as ridiculous as ever, with his blonde hair in its pageboy cut. Nicholai smirked at him. “Nice cast.”
“You’re a monster!” Henri shouted, waving his broken hand.
Nicholai just laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound.
Henri grabbed his collar with his good hand, bringing their faces close. “You’re not going to be laughing much longer, asshole.”
“Let go.”
“Word is out, it’s open season on your ass.”
Nicholai flew to his feet, knocking his chair back as he stood. He towered over the other, and he used his height to force Henri to step back. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What, are you gonna hit me? Go ahead.” He smirked. “Everyone knows now. You hurt one more person and you’re gone. So go ahead, beast. Hit me. I’d be glad to be the sacrifice if it gets rid of you.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“You think you’ve got this place under your thumb because everyone’s afraid of you, but that’s all about to change. It’s a win-win for us; we can do whatever we want to you, and you can’t hit back. Or you can, and get taken out of here.”
Nicholai stepped closer, making the other step back again. It was a sign of submission on Henri’s part, and a great intimidation tactic. “They can’t blame me for defending myself.”
“We could always lie.” Then Henri cocked his head to the side, as if something had just occurred to him. “Or maybe someone will do that anyway. It’s not like the teachers will take your word over anyone else’s.”
He wanted to hit the little shit so hard. But Henri was right; if he threw the first punch, he’d be in trouble. And even if he didn’t, what would happen if some little priss said he did anyway? It would be more than believable, given his history.
This was why he hated eating in the cafeteria; too many fucking brats around to piss him off.
So he left his meal and everyone behind, storming out of the room after accidentally bumping Henri’s broken hand as he walked by.
A cool bottle of vodka was all the dinner he needed.
His head swam, and he heard a voice. “I figured you’d be here,” he thought it said. “Are you alright?”
Dull gold eyes rolled towards the voice. He hadn’t been this drunk in a while; he’d almost forgotten how long it took to focus on anything. His body was too lethargic to move, and if he moved his head his stomach would protest violently. So he moved only his eyes, while the rest of his long body lay on his side on the concrete floor.
“Really, you should bring a pillow or something for this place,” Luciano said as he squatted by Nicholai’s side. “The hard floor will make your head flat.”
“You came in… here,” was the slurred response.
“Just this once, I’ll interrupt your alone time.”
Luciano stood and stepped over him, then sat on the ground with his back to the wall. He eased Nicholai’s head up, then slid his legs under, using his lap as a pillow.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Nicholai said, even as he pressed his cheek into the warm thigh.
“Why not?”
“Because, I-” His arms slowly came up, one slipping under Luciano’s knee, the other going over, until they rested like that in a loose hug. “Because I still want you.”
The other sighed, but it was a sad sound, not at all exasperated. Then they sat quietly for some time, until after a while Luciano’s fingers found their way into Nicholai’s hair, running through the strands, occasionally giving a tug. “Silver hair,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“Demonic.”
At that, Luciano chuckled softly. “Mm-mm. Papa has silver hair too.” There was a smile in his voice. “It’s pretty.”
Nicholai wanted to respond, but the petting and the alcohol were making him sleepy. With his eyes closed, the room silent, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.
He managed the word “Not…” then passed out.
The room was pitch black when he awoke. His head was still fuzzy, some drunkenness still lingered, but with a few more hours of rest, he’d be ok. Making it to class wouldn’t be a problem.
Something soft pillowed beneath his head, and he reached up, touching familiar cloth. It was Luciano’s uniform jacket. Apparently the boy had left it behind, not wanting Nicholai’s head laying on the floor.
He sat up and pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to orientate himself. He was sore, and hungry, but more than anything he wanted to be in his own bed. So with more than a little effort, he got to his feet, taking the jacket with him.
Walking to the dorms was a laborious process. When he found his room and let himself in, his eyes immediately went to Akira’s bedside alarm. It was three in the morning. He’d been asleep for seven hours, and could get at least four more before he’d have to get up – plenty of time to sleep off the rest of the booze and make it to class.
He didn’t bother changing out of his uniform, didn’t think he could manage it even if he wanted to. He would change in the morning; for now, all he wanted to do was sleep. So he fell into his bed, still clutching the jacket that had been left behind.
Curling onto his side, he fell asleep wrapped in Luciano’s scent.
/chapter 4
