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Post by bijuu. on Feb 5, 2009 15:05:02 GMT -5
"You're rooming with Jack until these renovations are over. I don't want any, and I repeat, any reports of problems between the two of you. Do I make myself clear?" he snarled, and I squirmed in my seat, unable to take my eyes off Malcolm as he leaned over his desk, dark, flinty eyes boring into my skull. I knew he was waiting for a positive response from me, but I was fighting down an urge to whimper a request I knew he might find offensive. I both hated and loved being so close to this man, and it became subsequently harder and harder to withhold the reactions his presence made my body experience. "Blair." he finally snapped, and I nearly jolted at the sound of my name; the snarl curling his lips portrayed impatience, and I immediately realized he'd seen my lapse in concentration. I nodded hastily, feeling his black eyes scorching the back of my neck, and got up from my seat, excusing myself and retreating from the room. I nearly flinched at the exasperated hiss that followed me as I left the office. I leaned back against the wall outside Malcolm's room, balling my hands into fists so tightly the tendons in my mutilated wrists stood out in sharp relief. I gathered my breath and calmed myself down, leveling the rough gasps into even breaths, tilting my head back and suppressing the growl in my throat. I'd have to work it out later. There was just no way I was going to get through the day otherwise.
I was just barely acquainted with Jack, and so none the wiser about his nature . I had a feeling I wouldn't like him, though; I didn't care for company as it was unless it included the prospect of a good fuck, and quite frankly, the idea of sharing a room with someone just wasn't something I wanted unless I could be sure there was something in it for me. I snarled, storming toward my old room and kicking the door shut behind me loudly enough to startle any normal peace-loving Pokémon. Wren didn't so much as budge. I must have done something wrong to be punished like this. I wanted to impress Malcolm, not have him disappointed in me. I kicked a plastic box across my room and it struck the opposite wall with a crack, falling to the floor miserably. It didn't do anything to relieve my mood, confused as I was.
I still wasn't sure why exactly I was forced to share a room with this bastard Jack. Sure I'd heard of him. He was a higher-ranking officer, bound to be in Malcolm's favor like I was. I'd known not to cross into an argument with the leader of Nox for several reasons; one, it never paid to piss off your boss. Two, I didn't fancy myself dead anytime soon. Three... fuck, I adored that man, so it wasn't as if I was going to disagree with him about anything. Still, it wasn't exactly a pleasant thing to hear that I was to share a room with this jackass for the next month or so. Renovations? Please. I preferred my old room as it was. It was mine. Wren was lounging on my pillows like he knew I was trying to clear the place up and made no attempt to help. Bloody bastard. I felt a sudden urge to throw something at him, but my thoughts had swerved and were now on a totally different track. Instead, I stepped over to the sleeping Espeon, tugging on his ear roughly and snapping at him. "I know you're not sleeping." I could feel a flicker of annoyance flare up at the back of my mind, and I knew Wren was conscious. I dodged a swipe of his claws and flicked a battered Pokéball at him immediately, withdrawing him and minimizing the sphere to prevent any escape. Let him spend the day in his goddamn ball, then.
Malcolm had given me a day to clear my room. I dragged another box across the hallway, only grudgingly depositing it on the edge of what I claimed as my bed in the larger room. Jack was in there, unfortunately, but he only spared me a glance as I exited again, not bothering to give him even so much as a greeting. I returned with another box, dropping it unceremoniously at the foot of my bed and pausing to tug the edges of my arm warmers over my elbows, scowling at the other male in the room with me as he glared right back uninterestedly. I wouldn't have much of an excuse to leave the room again if I did so now. My possessions were few, consisting mainly of clothes and those oh-so-important arm warmers that covered the bruised injection scars at the crooks of my elbows and the even more hideous, still achy slices across my right wrist. I curled my lip in a snarl of evident disgust at myself as I slipped a finger underneath the thin fabric to run it over the jagged, rough skin on my forearm. It still itched, and I shuddered suddenly, withdrawing my hand so abruptly Jack raised an eyebrow at my actions. I ignored him with a haughty air and turned to leave again, knowing I'd have to stand his company once I returned.
I stood for a long time in the middle of my room, absentmindedly clutching Katsu. The shiny Lugia plush stared cheerily back at me, his expression frozen in a jovial grin though his overall condition screamed many years of tantrums, disappointments and rants vented on this sorry piece of cloth. I hugged him close, tightening my grip around his soft body and letting his wings fall over my arms. I'd have to hide him again. I hated hiding him so much, but I'd sooner stab myself than let anyone see me clinging to a patchy, ragged old pink and white stuffed Lugia. I tucked him inside my backpack, slinging the strap over one shoulder and hoisting the two last boxes precariously in my arms, slipping out of the room and casting a glance back to make sure I forgot nothing. Eventually I was forced to move my sorry self down the hall, back to the room where Jack was surely going to think of some way to drive me up the wall.
He made no move to help, just as I assumed. I silently cursed under my breath, realizing the strap of the backpack on my shoulder was caught on the edge of the box I was carrying. "You've got to be bloody kidding me." I snarled as I tugged at the strap, catching his attention as I struggled with the load in my arms. I could almost sense an air of amusement from him as he watched me silently, and one half of me wanted to hiss an insult in his direction. I was so frustrated, so pent-up with need I was ready to snap. I tore the box away from my body, and a ripping sound proved that my backpack's strap had torn. I shrugged it off angrily, and the bag dropped to the floor. I ignored it for the moment, working on setting the two boxes on the floor, barely even noticing as Jack left his own stuff alone, stepping over to my discarded bag, and stooped to pick something up. I was about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing with my stuff, turning from my boxes to glare at him.
My stomach twisted into a knot rapidly as I watched him inspect the scuffed old stuffed toy with a sort of curious expression on his face. I felt my throat constrict as he finally looked up, catching my eye and raising the Lugia plush in his hand. "Should I even ask what you're doing with this?" he said, a mocking glint in his eyes. I didn't try to deny ownership of the plush; I could barely even talk. I glanced back and forth, between him and the plush in his hand, unsure what to say. "...l-let go of it." I finally managed to force out, my voice barely a whisper. The grin on his face grew wider. "It's yours? What kind of stupid fag are you anyway, carrying something like this around?" he let loose a burst of laughter, and the sound hit me like a dozen bricks.
"...fuck off. Give it back. Now." I swallowed past the harsh lump in my throat and held out a hand toward the plush I'd had since before I was born. That thing was a part of me. Jack held it out of my reach, and I began to feel a burning sensation stinging at my eyes. Arceus, no, I wasn't going to cry. I blinked rapidly to keep my eyes dry, and took a step toward him. What the hell was I doing? There was no way I could physically overpower him in order to get Katsu away from him; even I knew that much. Fuck, anyone could deduce from my scrawny frame that it'd be a cold day in Hell before I could defend myself without being beaten into a bloody mess, and I was sure Jack wouldn't think twice about throwing a punch at me if I so much as thought of trying to assault him. "What's the matter? I thought a queer like you would kill to keep your little ragdoll here safe from bad men like me." he continued with a steel-cold clip to his tone, that hurtful smirk never leaving his lips.
It wasn't the fact that he was calling me a fag, or a queer, that got to me. I heard those names on a regular basis, if not from random passersby, then from people like Jack who found it amusing to see just how much abuse a person could take before breaking. I didn't give a shit about the namecalling, because I'd already come to terms with the fact that humankind would never accept everything in its midst. Hearing him refer to Katsu as a ragdoll was a punch to the gut. I bit through my lip, hardly noticing the skin splitting and the blood trickling down my chin; the burning sensation behind my retinas finally became so intense I blinked rapidly, unwillingly letting the tears go. "J-just give him back. Please.." I choked thickly, despising myself for letting that asshole see me cry over an old stuffed Pokémon, even more so for actually begging the bastard to relinquish his hold on Katsu. An expression I couldn't read flitted across Jack's face; it looked to me like a mixture of surprise and disgust, as if seeing me so upset was something he wanted to swat like a bothersome insect. He considered me for a moment, and finally his lip curled in an almost amused snarl; he shoved the plush into my arms with a snort, shocking me so abruptly that I almost didn't realize to clutch the pink Lugia before it slid to the floor with a soft thud. "You're pathetic. Grow up. You should know what Malcolm does to sad little brats like you. I don't even know why he trusted you with such an important job in the first place. You're fucking useless." he hissed, then returning to unpacking the rest of his things, now conveniently ignoring me.
I stood there for a moment, trembling, a hurt, almost nauseated expression on my face; I felt sick. Silently kneeling, I gathered the crumpled Katsu into my arms, holding him to my chest tightly and staring at the floor blankly. I wanted to scream from the sheer injustice of it all, but my voice had dwindled down to a whimper. Jack paid as much attention to me as he did to the floor, and in a sense I was grateful for that. The scar on my wrist began to burn, and I rubbed my arm against the side of my thigh, putting as much pressure against the fabric of my jeans as I dared. He was right; how could Malcolm ever possibly think highly of me? I passed my tongue along my dry lips, cringing at the sharp, coppery taste of blood that flooded my senses, and touched the tips of my fingers to the injury, unintentionally smearing the blood over my chin. I shifted, pushing myself up from the floor and silently continued to unpack my own belongings, first making sure to hide Katsu under my pillows. Jack's comments stung more than I cared to admit.
For some reason, my mind twisted this feeling of hatred into one mingled with a trace of admiration. He was an ideal member of Nox; tough, harsh, most likely an excellent trainer. And here I was, the social misfit, the pathetic kid that shouldn't even be alive after all the shit he'd done in his life. I clung to Malcolm's words like a needy child, sure that some minute, some hour, some day, week, month, or year, he'd give me a compliment and express his pride at having recruited such a person as myself into his ranks. Deep down I knew I was fumbling for an invisible thread of hope, that Jack was right. I'd seen what Malcolm could do to a failure. I wasn't a grunt, I reminded myself. I was a valuable asset to his cause. He wouldn't kill me. He wouldn't do it without just a tiny shred of regret for losing an ideal spy. I was important, much as I sometimes denied it. A smile finally made the corners of my lips twitch, and I felt the pressure in my chest easing its hold. I was important, important in some other way than providing an easy way for a random horny, drunk-off-his-damn-ass guy to get off without going to the trouble of paying a professional hooker to play with him.
It didn't ease the pain equaling a knife between my ribs when I rewound Jack's words in my head, however. My pale cheeks flushed with color, and I choked back a sudden sob, tightening my grip around the edge of a plastic box I was in the process of emptying; my knuckles turned white, and I stared at them curiously, wondering suddenly whether my skin had changed color so rapidly when I sliced open my wrists, letting the blood pulse out freely. I could feel this sudden change in thought causing Wren to stir in his Pokéball, a weary but curious flicker of emotion prodding at my mind. I pushed it away, knowing my Espeon wasn't in the most stable of moods, and set down the now empty box, kicking it to the foot of my bed and then throwing myself atop the blankets on my bed, curling up almost into a fetal position, and rested my head on my arm, expelling a sigh and closing my eyes.
I resisted the urge to reach for Katsu; I knew that if I did, I'd let loose that torrent of pent-up tears again. Instead, I listened to the sounds of Jack moving about the room, occasionally hearing him let slip a curse or a sharp breath as he lifted a box to probe through it. I barely noticed as my breathing slowed to a steady pace, my mind all but shutting down in order to welcome the embrace of darkness. Wren's voice suddenly reverberated in the back of my mind, an eerie wail that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, before he, too, quieted in order to let me sleep.
"....why, oh why my God above, have you abandoned me?"
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Post by bijuu. on Feb 6, 2009 13:32:34 GMT -5
It's too warm. I can't sleep. I sit up, leaning back against my pillows and rub my face with the palm of my hand, glancing over at the clock between our beds. It's nearing midnight. The thoughts roaming through my mind are anything but clean, and I let loose a frustrated sigh. I can't get my mind off him. He's so perfect in every way, so beautiful, so powerful. He barely acknowledges my infatuation with him, a fact that makes him all the more desirable. The object of my fantasy. The subject of my dreams. It's frustrating in itself. I'm nothing to him, yet he's everything to me. I realize that I'm not alone, but I need relief. I can't sleep unless I do away with these infernal feelings. I let my breathing steady to a calm pace, assuring that Jack is still asleep. There's no movement from the bed on the other side of the room.
I trail my hand experimentally along my stomach, letting my eyelids flutter shut and imagining it's his hand tracing the faint outlines of lean muscle on my body. I shift, urging my hand lower until my fingers meet the waistband of my boxers, and push it aside. I shiver, pausing when Jack moves, and for a moment I'm afraid I've woken him. He settles after a moment, and I continue, rubbing the palm of my hand along the base of my cock, working slowly upward, slowly, so torturously slowly. A brief draft tickles my skin and my mind transforms it immediately into a warm breath on the side of my neck, making my arousal all the more intense. I inhale, finally closing my hand around the shaft, and squeeze ever so gently, not able to hold back the soft gasp that flees my lips. I see him smile, satisfied at my reaction, and he continues to stroke me, pleasuring me in ways no one else ever could. I moan softly as he pushes his thumb against the head, applying pressure to the very tip, and massages it so slowly that I nearly go insane.
I've completely forgotten of any precaution I should have taken as I begin to pant softly, arching my hips into my own hand as it rubs along my needy cock. I can't help it. I need this. It's the only way I can keep myself sane while I'm so close to the man I adore. I tighten my grip a little too much, loosing a much louder moan than I would have liked to, but I find that I no longer even realize that I should keep quiet. I whimper quietly, aching for the attention of the person I was fantasizing doing this to me, but I know it's almost impossible. Malcolm will never love me in the way I desire. To him I am a pawn, and happily so; he uses me in so many ways, yet never in the ways I want him to use me. It'll never happen, but I'm not able to accept that. I can't let that knowledge sink in. There has to be a small chance. Even the tiniest sliver of a chance, though I know there is nothing.
I don't notice my actions have woken Jack; he watches me for a few moments, as if intrigued by the sight, and then silently slips out of his bed; I'm alerted to his presence only when the pressure on my mattress shifts to accommodate his weight. It's too dark for me to determine his expression, but his breathing sounds sharp and labored; I make no protest when he pushes my legs apart roughly, shifting so he's positioned over me. I can feel his hands wander, and tilt my head back when he experimentally pushes up against me. I shiver as the head of his cock brushes against my ass and realize I am nothing more but an outlet for his pent-up lust. To me, it isn't something new. I live for this, to be something to ease frustrations on, to provide a pastime when nothing else seems of importance.
The searing pain of his cock penetrating me nearly causes me to bite my tongue, and I gasp, curling my fingers into the sheets around me. I've learned to deal with the pain. I'm a masochist and know it; it disgusts some and intrigues others, and yet more find it a delightful way of bringing out their sadistic side. I crave the satisfaction of being caused as much pain as I can possibly withstand, and Jack seems to somehow sense this as he pushes deeper into me, grunting softly as I shift to accommodate him; I shudder as he withdraws somewhat and then forces himself right back into me, even deeper now. A high-pitched wail of pleasure flees me and I push against him eagerly, reveling in that red-hot agony his movements cause. I'm an outlet for his lust, I remind myself as he continues to thrust into me, nothing but the ragged, hot breaths he draws breaking the silence. I mewl needily, finding myself unable to find a firm hold on the image of Malcolm as Jack's movements become erratic. What the hell is with that? I clutch at that subtle feeling of wanting it to be Malcolm, but every attempt is crushed by a sharp gasp as he returns into me, and I give up soon enough.
I buck my hips against his suddenly, drawing a sharp growl from his throat as he fucks me, clearly eager to just find relief. I'm distantly aware of the fact that his actions are causing me to bleed, and I try my damnedest to ignore the burning sensation of the muscle tearing, tilting my head back into my pillows as my breath hitches violently; I gasp for breath, whimpering at the aching throb in my cock and writhe against Jack's iron grip. He's pinning my wrists to the mattress on either side of my head, preventing me from even attempting to pleasure myself. I hate that. I know not to protest openly, but the tortured whines fleeing my throat pay no heed to the fact that I'm trying to remain as submissive as possible. I'm not allowed to fight back. My vision begins to blur into a searing, white-hot ocean of bliss when he slams into that tight bundle of nerves, and I cry out in earnest, pleasure now overriding the agony.
I lose all sense of rational thought when he jolts that same spot again, burying himself even deeper inside me. I can't stand it anymore. There's nothing to muffle my strangled, almost feral scream when I'm finally driven over the edge; my back arches almost of its own accord as I shudder from the force of my orgasm. I can hear Jack's breath catch in his throat when I unintentionally clench around him; he continues to push in and out of me until his own climax causes him to empty into me, a guttural grunt the only sound he makes as he relaxes for a moment, catching his breath before he pulls out of me, causing me to let loose a soft gasp at the sudden loss of contact. The stinging burn becomes unbearably intense all too suddenly, and I bite my lip to prevent myself from whimpering from the pain.
The pressure on my wrists vanishes, but I'm too weak to even realize to move. I lay still, my eyes half-lidded, staring at the ceiling as I pant softly, the pain of Jack's forceful penetration catching up to me in droves. I'm afraid to move. It hurts more than I'd like to admit, but I'm accustomed to that pain. He isn't the first to have fucked me raw. I inhale a shaky breath, realizing suddenly that there are tear streaks on my cheeks, drying rapidly. How did those get there? Finally raising a tentative hand, I make a motion as if to swipe the tears from my face, only to find I'm shaking so much I nearly stab myself in the eye. I would've laughed at my own stupidity if I hadn't been so confused. Did he do it because he was curious of how I'd react? Was he just looking for an easy fuck? I have to admit I must have looked like an easy target, pleasuring myself to an impossible fantasy. I turn my head to the side, staring at the wall, thoroughly drained of energy and shivering now that my sweat-slicked body is exposed to the cool air of the room.
I listen to Jack's footsteps as he makes his way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him; minutes pass, and the shower sputters in weak protest as it's turned on. With some effort, I turn to roll over to my side, pulling the thin blanket over myself and whimpering in discomfort. I'll pay for this tomorrow, I know it, but for the moment, I'm satisfied, if not completely exhausted. I fall asleep long before Jack finishes his shower, and for once my dreams aren't blessed by the presence of the one object of my fantasies. They're riddled by the last person I ever think could possibly have done so. I don't hear him when he slips out of the bathroom, his hair still damp, wearing only a pair of boxers. I can't see his expression when he glances at me, an almost self-satisfied smirk making the corners of his mouth twitch so slightly one could think it wasn't even there. No, I don't see or hear him as he lounges on his own bed, tucking one arm behind his head comfortably, and soon drifts off to sleep as I did, now at ease that his hormones have been calmed. I writhe silently on my bed, my features contorting slightly as I re-experience what he did to me in more twisted ways than I could ever care to imagine, his name echoing in my subconscious quietly, just barely there.
Jack.
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