Wicked Soul - B/R Slash Fic
Jun. 20th, 2007 04:15 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sess_satan
Title: Wicked Soul
Chapter: Oneshot
Fandom: Whose Line is it Anyway
Genre: Slash
Pairing(s): Brad/Ryan
Warnings: Some strong language and partial nudity (but nothing bad).
Disclaimer: Don't own Whose Line. Not making money from this.
A/N: A songfic using Wicked Soul by Kubb. Kinda creepy and surreal.
First time posting on this comm...and ZK's doing it for me, because my internet can't handle the site, for some reason...
Anyways, hope you enjoy.
-----
Rubbing his head wearily, Ryan threw his keys on the side and kicked the front door shut. He didn't bother to turn on the lights; he knew his way around the single-bedroom apartment pretty well by now, and some moonlight cracked through the windows to help guide the way. He felt his way around the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water; he was sober enough to know he was drunk enough to need the hydration. He downed a painkiller with the water, getting a head start on the inevitable hangover, then trudged over to the bedroom.
The door opened with a small click. It was pitch black from where he'd neglected to draw the curtains back that morning. He leaned against the door to close it, shutting out any light that may have seeped in from the kitchen, and gently hit the back of his head against it a couple of times. Darkness. Nothingness. That pretty much summed up his life since his wife had left him.
Taking only a moment to scrunch up his eyes and fists in an effort not to cry, he snaked his hands up his body and began to unbutton his shirt. He slipped it past his shoulders and elbows, letting the material gather at his wrists, all the while keeping his eyes firmly closed; there was no point in opening them, as he couldn't see anything either way. As he was about to let the shirt fall to the floor, he thought he heard a sharp, grating noise. He opened his eyes instinctively.
In the far corner of the room, a freshly lit match illuminated a face, pale and ghost-like, with shadowy undertones around the eyes, nose and mouth. Ryan blinked and squinted. The face flashed a grin at Ryan.
"Wicked soul..." it said in a deep, gravelly voice before blowing out the match, briefly leaving a small silvery whisp of smoke lingering in the air. It faded into the darkness.
Ryan mouthed wordlessly. An unnatural silence hung heavily around his addled head.
"Tonight's the night..." the voice said, the harshness being ditched in favour of a creepy whisper.
Another scraping sound, another lit match, another glimpse of those cadaverous features.
"Holy shit," Ryan muttered, "B-Brad?"
The face shook its head, slowly and hypnotically, "I am the weirdo in your bedroom..."
"Brad, stop it," Ryan said with as much authority as he could muster, "This isn't funny."
"I can see you..." Brad breathed as he twirled the diminishing match between his fingers, gazing at the flickering flame with what appeared to be deep concentration, "I can see you...in the dark..."
He brought his other hand up by the match and pressed it between his thumb and forefinger. It extinguished with a small but piercing hiss that made Ryan wince.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked quietly, shrugging his shirt back over his shoulders.
"I don't want to watch The Street on TV," Brad replied with a smirk that coloured his voice, "I don't want to hear about your day."
"Brad..." Ryan held up his hands as Brad lit yet another match, "You're seriously scaring me now."
Brad walked steadily forward, studying the match in his hand, turning it over and over making the flame dance and leave streaky patterns in the darkness. He perched on the edge of the bed, lifting his gaze to lock eye contact with Ryan.
Ryan froze, unable to look away. The flame, Brad's gaze, the musty odour of the lingering smoke trails. He was utterly hypnotised.
Brad continued to stare, his dark eyes standing out in the light of the match.
"Brad..are you high?"
No reply.
"Are you drunk?"
No reply.
"Why the hell are you here!?" Ryan yelled, unable to contain himself any longer. The corners of Brad's mouth twitched into a half-smile and he blew out the match.
"Brad, for fuck's sake!" Ryan screamed, his blood rushing to his head, "Don't make me call the cops! I don't want to do that to you!"
He heard the bedsprings creak as Brad lay down. "I've got no time to hear about how much you care," he said matter-of-factly, sounding almost human for the first time since the whole thing had started.
"And I don't have time for fucking games, Brad!" Ryan said, running both his hands through his hair and turning to face the door, "I will call the police if you don't leave NOW."
"Shut your mouth," Brad whispered, the springs creaking again as he shifted his position, "and come this way."
Ryan clenched his teeth as a scraping sound signified another lit match, "Stop doing that! You're gonna set my apartment on fire!"
"I am the weirdo in your bedroom." Ryan spun round to see Brad lying on his front across the bed, one eyebrow raised, a daring smirk on his face. He shook the match to quell the flame, "And I can see you in the dark."
Ryan put a hand to his abdomen as it began to tense. He could only talk in a whisper, "Stop."
Brad chuckled gently, "Tonight's the night I shed my wicked soul."
The anger welled up. Ryan balled up his fist and smashed it into the wall, imagining it to be Brad's head. He cradled the fist in his other hand, feeling the wet blood trickle down his wrist, "That's it, Brad, I'm calling the cops."
He strode over to the phone by his bed and picked up the reciever. There was nothing. It was dead. He glanced in Brad's directions, and though he couldn't see him, he knew he had that fucking irritating smirk on his face again. He slowly replaced the phone.
"Let's disconnect all communication," came Brad's voice in an unsettlingly diplomatic tone as he stood up and walked over to the door, "I've told your mother not to call."
"My mother..? You sick, son of a-" he strode angrily over to Brad, fully prepared to hit him right in that smug face. But Brad was ready for him, catching Ryan's wrist with his palm and locking his fingers around it.
"So lay down on the bed," there was an aggressive edge to his voice that made Ryan listen, "'Cause now I've locked the door..."
He jerked Ryan close to his body, their foreheads lightly touching, his breath whispering down Ryan's bare neck and chest.
Ryan felt a tear roll down his cheek, "What's happened to you?"
Brad stared enigmatically back and gave an equally enigmatic reply: "We don't live out there no more."
Their lips were pressed firmly together as Brad propelled himself forward, flattening Ryan against the wall. The pressure lingered on Ryan's lips well after Brad withdrew. He swallowed hard, willing away the beginnings of arousal.
Brad smiled a genuine smile.
"I am the weirdo in your bedroom, and I can see you in the dark," he pressed his lips against Ryan's once more, just briefly. "I'll take it out on you," he glanced down, " and watch you lose control."
Ryan swallowed uncomfortably, "You know, don't you?"
Brad trailed a finger down Ryan's cheek, "Tonight's the night I shed my wicked soul."
Ryan tilted his head and left a gentle kiss on Brad's hand, "Wicked soul."
End.
sess_satanTitle: Wicked Soul
Chapter: Oneshot
Fandom: Whose Line is it Anyway
Genre: Slash
Pairing(s): Brad/Ryan
Warnings: Some strong language and partial nudity (but nothing bad).
Disclaimer: Don't own Whose Line. Not making money from this.
A/N: A songfic using Wicked Soul by Kubb. Kinda creepy and surreal.
First time posting on this comm...and ZK's doing it for me, because my internet can't handle the site, for some reason...
Anyways, hope you enjoy.
-----
Rubbing his head wearily, Ryan threw his keys on the side and kicked the front door shut. He didn't bother to turn on the lights; he knew his way around the single-bedroom apartment pretty well by now, and some moonlight cracked through the windows to help guide the way. He felt his way around the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water; he was sober enough to know he was drunk enough to need the hydration. He downed a painkiller with the water, getting a head start on the inevitable hangover, then trudged over to the bedroom.
The door opened with a small click. It was pitch black from where he'd neglected to draw the curtains back that morning. He leaned against the door to close it, shutting out any light that may have seeped in from the kitchen, and gently hit the back of his head against it a couple of times. Darkness. Nothingness. That pretty much summed up his life since his wife had left him.
Taking only a moment to scrunch up his eyes and fists in an effort not to cry, he snaked his hands up his body and began to unbutton his shirt. He slipped it past his shoulders and elbows, letting the material gather at his wrists, all the while keeping his eyes firmly closed; there was no point in opening them, as he couldn't see anything either way. As he was about to let the shirt fall to the floor, he thought he heard a sharp, grating noise. He opened his eyes instinctively.
In the far corner of the room, a freshly lit match illuminated a face, pale and ghost-like, with shadowy undertones around the eyes, nose and mouth. Ryan blinked and squinted. The face flashed a grin at Ryan.
"Wicked soul..." it said in a deep, gravelly voice before blowing out the match, briefly leaving a small silvery whisp of smoke lingering in the air. It faded into the darkness.
Ryan mouthed wordlessly. An unnatural silence hung heavily around his addled head.
"Tonight's the night..." the voice said, the harshness being ditched in favour of a creepy whisper.
Another scraping sound, another lit match, another glimpse of those cadaverous features.
"Holy shit," Ryan muttered, "B-Brad?"
The face shook its head, slowly and hypnotically, "I am the weirdo in your bedroom..."
"Brad, stop it," Ryan said with as much authority as he could muster, "This isn't funny."
"I can see you..." Brad breathed as he twirled the diminishing match between his fingers, gazing at the flickering flame with what appeared to be deep concentration, "I can see you...in the dark..."
He brought his other hand up by the match and pressed it between his thumb and forefinger. It extinguished with a small but piercing hiss that made Ryan wince.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked quietly, shrugging his shirt back over his shoulders.
"I don't want to watch The Street on TV," Brad replied with a smirk that coloured his voice, "I don't want to hear about your day."
"Brad..." Ryan held up his hands as Brad lit yet another match, "You're seriously scaring me now."
Brad walked steadily forward, studying the match in his hand, turning it over and over making the flame dance and leave streaky patterns in the darkness. He perched on the edge of the bed, lifting his gaze to lock eye contact with Ryan.
Ryan froze, unable to look away. The flame, Brad's gaze, the musty odour of the lingering smoke trails. He was utterly hypnotised.
Brad continued to stare, his dark eyes standing out in the light of the match.
"Brad..are you high?"
No reply.
"Are you drunk?"
No reply.
"Why the hell are you here!?" Ryan yelled, unable to contain himself any longer. The corners of Brad's mouth twitched into a half-smile and he blew out the match.
"Brad, for fuck's sake!" Ryan screamed, his blood rushing to his head, "Don't make me call the cops! I don't want to do that to you!"
He heard the bedsprings creak as Brad lay down. "I've got no time to hear about how much you care," he said matter-of-factly, sounding almost human for the first time since the whole thing had started.
"And I don't have time for fucking games, Brad!" Ryan said, running both his hands through his hair and turning to face the door, "I will call the police if you don't leave NOW."
"Shut your mouth," Brad whispered, the springs creaking again as he shifted his position, "and come this way."
Ryan clenched his teeth as a scraping sound signified another lit match, "Stop doing that! You're gonna set my apartment on fire!"
"I am the weirdo in your bedroom." Ryan spun round to see Brad lying on his front across the bed, one eyebrow raised, a daring smirk on his face. He shook the match to quell the flame, "And I can see you in the dark."
Ryan put a hand to his abdomen as it began to tense. He could only talk in a whisper, "Stop."
Brad chuckled gently, "Tonight's the night I shed my wicked soul."
The anger welled up. Ryan balled up his fist and smashed it into the wall, imagining it to be Brad's head. He cradled the fist in his other hand, feeling the wet blood trickle down his wrist, "That's it, Brad, I'm calling the cops."
He strode over to the phone by his bed and picked up the reciever. There was nothing. It was dead. He glanced in Brad's directions, and though he couldn't see him, he knew he had that fucking irritating smirk on his face again. He slowly replaced the phone.
"Let's disconnect all communication," came Brad's voice in an unsettlingly diplomatic tone as he stood up and walked over to the door, "I've told your mother not to call."
"My mother..? You sick, son of a-" he strode angrily over to Brad, fully prepared to hit him right in that smug face. But Brad was ready for him, catching Ryan's wrist with his palm and locking his fingers around it.
"So lay down on the bed," there was an aggressive edge to his voice that made Ryan listen, "'Cause now I've locked the door..."
He jerked Ryan close to his body, their foreheads lightly touching, his breath whispering down Ryan's bare neck and chest.
Ryan felt a tear roll down his cheek, "What's happened to you?"
Brad stared enigmatically back and gave an equally enigmatic reply: "We don't live out there no more."
Their lips were pressed firmly together as Brad propelled himself forward, flattening Ryan against the wall. The pressure lingered on Ryan's lips well after Brad withdrew. He swallowed hard, willing away the beginnings of arousal.
Brad smiled a genuine smile.
"I am the weirdo in your bedroom, and I can see you in the dark," he pressed his lips against Ryan's once more, just briefly. "I'll take it out on you," he glanced down, " and watch you lose control."
Ryan swallowed uncomfortably, "You know, don't you?"
Brad trailed a finger down Ryan's cheek, "Tonight's the night I shed my wicked soul."
Ryan tilted his head and left a gentle kiss on Brad's hand, "Wicked soul."
End.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-20 04:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-20 05:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-20 10:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-21 01:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-22 12:43 am (UTC)"So lay down on the bed," there was an aggressive edge to his voice that made Ryan listen, "'Cause now I've locked the door..."
He jerked Ryan close to his body, their foreheads lightly touching, his breath whispering down Ryan's bare neck and chest.
Ryan felt a tear roll down his cheek, "What's happened to you?"
Brad stared enigmatically back and gave an equally enigmatic reply: "We don't live out there no more."
Yep... Brad has gone buh-bye.
And brava for making Ryan cry.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-06-22 03:34 am (UTC)Damn right! Oooh, this was creepy. I don't know what else to say. I liked it, though... just a little scared right now. :D
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-01-28 12:51 am (UTC)