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wl_fanfictionFive Sins
Title: Break.
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
x_carnivale_x
Rating: NC17, not for kiddies.
Pairing: Chip/Jeff.
Word Count: 1740.
Sins: Pride, Greed/Gluttony, Wrath, and Lust.
Summary: Jeff hungered. Jeff wanted. But he couldn't give in; he absolutely wouldn't.
Author's Notes: To help inspire myself for this one, I spent the majority of it listening to my "Sexy" playlist, set the mood. The one I had on repeat? Black Milk - Massive Attack. Excellent song. Very appropriate.
::
Jeff hungered. Jeff wanted. Jeff wanted fucking badly. It burned sometimes: his insides churned; a pain to which he was completely unaccustomed. He sat on his chair in the middle of his messy living room, pretending to stare at the television screen, holding his video game controller lifelessly in his hands. His fingers didn't bother to move. Game Over had been flashing for at least a couple minutes. He was partially thankful he was alone, glad no one had to witness his moments of disarray. He swallowed thickly; he hadn't had enough water and his saliva was thick and uncomfortable. But he wasn't thirsty. No. He hungered.
He twitched his head slightly, glancing around his office/music room/room where he kept everything. The disastrous array of clothing, boxes, video game cases, movies, and papers for some reason annoyed him today - normally he thought that the clutter defined him, and he enjoyed it that way, but not tonight. But mostly... mostly it was the papers that annoyed him. He tossed his video game controller to the ground. He stood up, walking over to his desk, towards his wall of scratchy portraits and sentiments.
But he didn't look at those, instead he looked at the papers on the floor. Torn. Crumpled. Smudged. Scratchy. Those fucking papers. He couldn't ignore them. That fucking face. He glanced up to his desk at his sketch pad.
Obsession? No. Never.
Charles, Charlie, Chip Fucking Esten.
His face stared up at Jeff from the sketch pad. It was dark, scratchy, heavily shaded from the charcoal he'd used to draw it. He slammed his hand down onto it, smearing the coal slightly in the process, but he found he couldn't smear Chip's face entirely. He let his fingers grip the paper and crumple it, not hesitating to rip it right from the book and drop it to the floor with the rest of those drawings, the rest of those drawings of that fucking face.
Chip hadn't been by the apartment in days. But Jef didn't care. He kicked at the papers on the floor. He could have just thrown them away, but it was easier said than done. The most he could do was to toss them about. Never destroy them or be rid of them completely. Fuck.
Desire? No. Never.
Goddamn Chip Esten.
Goddamn him.
He turned his head back to the screen, it still blinked Game Over brightly. He switched it off aggressively. He knew; mother fucking Game Over. He glanced back around his office space. Papers strewn everywhere. It frustrated him, angered him, made him want, made him fucking yearn. And he hated it. It burned inside and twisted and gripped like a vice around the pit of his stomach. Jeff hungered. Jeff wanted. But he couldn't give in; he absolutely wouldn't.
His attention resorted back to his desk, cluttered, covered in paper, music, lyrics, scratches, scribbles - nonsense, desire, drawings, sketches, wanting. No. He inched towards it again, staring down at the ground around it, seeing the latest drawing of him that, although smeared and crumpled, stared up at him. He sat down gently, tensely, lips firm, body rigid. He fumbled around for his cracking and fragile piece of charcoal and without thinking, without wanting to, his hand found the paper. The eyes first. The nose. His mouth. His cheekbones. The curve of his jaw. He stopped himself. Staring down at the paper, eyes burning, his stomach twisting with famished pain. His hand twitched. A dark, rogue line marked across the paper. He stood up violently, his chair falling over backwards in the process.
He ran his hands over his face, remnants of charcoal still lingering on his hands rubbed off onto his cheeks, his forehead, leaving dark marks across his face until finally the marks were hidden up past his hairline as his fingers threaded through the renegade locks. He groaned loudly. His stomach hurt. But he was stronger than this. He had to be. He always was. He fucking had to be. He hungered, but he would not give in.
Then there he was, him, somehow in the apartment, staring at Jeff in confusion; concern. The eyes. The nose. His mouth. His cheekbones. The curve of his jaw. The curve of those lips. Red. Dark. He'd probably been chewing on them. Jeff released the grip he had on his hair and stared at Chip in return. He tried to speak, tried to toss out some snarky remark, but it wouldn't come. His throat stopped working, his vocal chords temporarily shut down. He turned away from Chip, running his hand over his mouth, letting his other hand thread into the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Jeff?"
"Shut up, bastard."
He was moving, Jeff could hear it, the papers were rustling across the floor. There were pauses. He was looking at the floor, looking at the crumpled sheets of discarded desire. Jeff knew he was. But Jeff could handle this; he knew he could. He was strong. He would not give in. Never show weakness. He couldn't afford to do that. The minute he did, it was over. Pride, reserve, honor - he would lose it all. And most of all his sense of self...
"Jeff..."
"I said shut up!"
"What are these?"
He'd picked one up. Jeff turned around quickly and ripped it from Chip's hand. Chip startled momentarily. The drawing was back on the floor. And Jeff turned away quickly, his shoulders hunching slightly, turning away, hiding. Chip was silent but his hand gripped Jeff's shoulder, tried to pull on him to turn him around; Chip was met with a harsh blow to his arm. The force at which Jeff had knocked his arm off was enough to dully burn a little, to throb.
"Enough, Jeffrey."
Chip grabbed him again. Jeff tried to knock his arm away again, but he wasn't fast enough that time. The shorter man had turned him around, forcing the two of them to look at each other face to face; forcing Jeff to face him, not willing to let the raven back down.
"You won't break me." Jeff muttered bitterly. Chip's brows furrowed.
"I don't want to." That gentleness in his voice - it sent shivers down Jeff's spine.
He felt his stomach pang him. His innards twisted. He felt broken. Defeated. Conquered. But he couldn't... This wasn't... No. Never. He wouldn't give in; he couldn't. The minute he did, they were dead, it was over. He knew that. Chip should know that too.
He stared at Chip, his lips and body quivering. Chip's hand was still on his shoulder. Jeff's arm went up to grab it quickly. Chip thought he would knock him away again, but he didn't. He gripped Chip's wrist tightly, his fingers pressing so hard, so desperately, they could've bruised him. But Chip didn't care.
Jeff's grip loosened. Tightened. Loosened. Tightened again. Jeff stared. Jeff wanted, wanted so badly. Those eyes. Those goddamn lips. That sharp yet gentle jawline. Goddamn him. Jeff's stomach tore at him from the inside out; he wanted, wanted so badly. He let his fingers curl up slightly against Chip's arm, his fingernails scraping across the alabaster skin of Chip's wrist. But Chip didn't flinch nor pull away. And with one final twist of his stomach and Jeff's left hand flung towards Chip, gripping the nape of his neck fiercely and pulling the brunette up to meet him. Their lips slammed together. Jeff broke and he loved it... hated it... loved it more. Their lips crushed and bruised and pressed even harder. Jeff bruised, but he didn't care.
Chip's hand had grabbed his waist tightly, pressing their bodies flush against each other, stretching and reaching up towards Jeff. Desperate. Ravenous. Hungry. Wanting. Now. It hurt; it didn't. Burned, stung, bruised, and beat them together in devouring heat. No time for movement or shuffling. Jeff's guard was down; he wasn't even sure how they got to the bed and yet they had, staying in each others' arms, seeming to jump together in ripping, tearing, seizing electricity. Entities in and of themselves. Tongues darting together - into and out of each other; hot, warm, taking over. Jeff's hands left his companion only to grip his own shirt and remove it. Chip's was somehow gone too. Jeff didn't think. Couldn't think. Wouldn't think. He thought in action, sensation, and glorious burning. Their bodies flush together. Their bodies' twitches and movements were sensations in and of themselves, leaving behind invisible scars in time surrounding them and spanning across and over their bodies, each one a new pulling sensation, tearing, ripping, shredding them together.
Pants were already gone. No time to think about how or when. Chip's legs were around Jeff's waist. And Jeff was moving already, forward into heat, into tension, desire, corruption, and danger. He loved it. His eyes clenched shut and he pressed his forehead against Chip's. Breath moved in between them; life and fire flowing in and out of each others' mouths - into the essence of the other - tearing each other apart, breath by breath, then retaking each other into themselves, to claim the other as their own. Their lips locked, sealing the deed, validating it. Chip's hands gripped Jeff's shoulders; Jeff's own threaded into Chip's hair. Kissing fiercely. Moving forward, backward, together, and apart but only for a moment until they were together again. It burned. Glorious friction, glorious suffering and release. A wave of electricity passed through them. Did they exist separately anymore? Neither knew but they groaned into each other, sharing their pain, their pleasure, their ultimate adoration.
Jeff shuddered. His hair hung over his eyes which he'd forced open to stare down at Chip hazily. Chip stared up; eyes cloudy and yet still burning with fire behind the turbulent blue green. Chip's head pressed back into the bed, his adam's apple protruding. Jeff's mouth fell to it, licking up and down it, nibbling, sucking, loving it. He heard Chip groan, but it was muffled, he felt as if his ears had clouded up. He could hardly hold on; close to the edge, close to falling, close to ultimate collapse. Chip's fingernails dug into his shoulders and they kissed roughly and tenderly. Time sped up and slowed down simultaneously. And it burned. And it shivered and rippled and seized them - brilliant release. And they fell... together... each other's death as they let go and collapsed into the other.
[fin]
REVIEWWWW. Please?
I actually really like how this came out, I hope you guys do too.
So, tell me, how was it?
Title: Break.
Author:
x_carnivale_xRating: NC17, not for kiddies.
Pairing: Chip/Jeff.
Word Count: 1740.
Sins: Pride, Greed/Gluttony, Wrath, and Lust.
Summary: Jeff hungered. Jeff wanted. But he couldn't give in; he absolutely wouldn't.
Author's Notes: To help inspire myself for this one, I spent the majority of it listening to my "Sexy" playlist, set the mood. The one I had on repeat? Black Milk - Massive Attack. Excellent song. Very appropriate.
Jeff hungered. Jeff wanted. Jeff wanted fucking badly. It burned sometimes: his insides churned; a pain to which he was completely unaccustomed. He sat on his chair in the middle of his messy living room, pretending to stare at the television screen, holding his video game controller lifelessly in his hands. His fingers didn't bother to move. Game Over had been flashing for at least a couple minutes. He was partially thankful he was alone, glad no one had to witness his moments of disarray. He swallowed thickly; he hadn't had enough water and his saliva was thick and uncomfortable. But he wasn't thirsty. No. He hungered.
He twitched his head slightly, glancing around his office/music room/room where he kept everything. The disastrous array of clothing, boxes, video game cases, movies, and papers for some reason annoyed him today - normally he thought that the clutter defined him, and he enjoyed it that way, but not tonight. But mostly... mostly it was the papers that annoyed him. He tossed his video game controller to the ground. He stood up, walking over to his desk, towards his wall of scratchy portraits and sentiments.
But he didn't look at those, instead he looked at the papers on the floor. Torn. Crumpled. Smudged. Scratchy. Those fucking papers. He couldn't ignore them. That fucking face. He glanced up to his desk at his sketch pad.
Obsession? No. Never.
Charles, Charlie, Chip Fucking Esten.
His face stared up at Jeff from the sketch pad. It was dark, scratchy, heavily shaded from the charcoal he'd used to draw it. He slammed his hand down onto it, smearing the coal slightly in the process, but he found he couldn't smear Chip's face entirely. He let his fingers grip the paper and crumple it, not hesitating to rip it right from the book and drop it to the floor with the rest of those drawings, the rest of those drawings of that fucking face.
Chip hadn't been by the apartment in days. But Jef didn't care. He kicked at the papers on the floor. He could have just thrown them away, but it was easier said than done. The most he could do was to toss them about. Never destroy them or be rid of them completely. Fuck.
Desire? No. Never.
Goddamn Chip Esten.
Goddamn him.
He turned his head back to the screen, it still blinked Game Over brightly. He switched it off aggressively. He knew; mother fucking Game Over. He glanced back around his office space. Papers strewn everywhere. It frustrated him, angered him, made him want, made him fucking yearn. And he hated it. It burned inside and twisted and gripped like a vice around the pit of his stomach. Jeff hungered. Jeff wanted. But he couldn't give in; he absolutely wouldn't.
His attention resorted back to his desk, cluttered, covered in paper, music, lyrics, scratches, scribbles - nonsense, desire, drawings, sketches, wanting. No. He inched towards it again, staring down at the ground around it, seeing the latest drawing of him that, although smeared and crumpled, stared up at him. He sat down gently, tensely, lips firm, body rigid. He fumbled around for his cracking and fragile piece of charcoal and without thinking, without wanting to, his hand found the paper. The eyes first. The nose. His mouth. His cheekbones. The curve of his jaw. He stopped himself. Staring down at the paper, eyes burning, his stomach twisting with famished pain. His hand twitched. A dark, rogue line marked across the paper. He stood up violently, his chair falling over backwards in the process.
He ran his hands over his face, remnants of charcoal still lingering on his hands rubbed off onto his cheeks, his forehead, leaving dark marks across his face until finally the marks were hidden up past his hairline as his fingers threaded through the renegade locks. He groaned loudly. His stomach hurt. But he was stronger than this. He had to be. He always was. He fucking had to be. He hungered, but he would not give in.
Then there he was, him, somehow in the apartment, staring at Jeff in confusion; concern. The eyes. The nose. His mouth. His cheekbones. The curve of his jaw. The curve of those lips. Red. Dark. He'd probably been chewing on them. Jeff released the grip he had on his hair and stared at Chip in return. He tried to speak, tried to toss out some snarky remark, but it wouldn't come. His throat stopped working, his vocal chords temporarily shut down. He turned away from Chip, running his hand over his mouth, letting his other hand thread into the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Jeff?"
"Shut up, bastard."
He was moving, Jeff could hear it, the papers were rustling across the floor. There were pauses. He was looking at the floor, looking at the crumpled sheets of discarded desire. Jeff knew he was. But Jeff could handle this; he knew he could. He was strong. He would not give in. Never show weakness. He couldn't afford to do that. The minute he did, it was over. Pride, reserve, honor - he would lose it all. And most of all his sense of self...
"Jeff..."
"I said shut up!"
"What are these?"
He'd picked one up. Jeff turned around quickly and ripped it from Chip's hand. Chip startled momentarily. The drawing was back on the floor. And Jeff turned away quickly, his shoulders hunching slightly, turning away, hiding. Chip was silent but his hand gripped Jeff's shoulder, tried to pull on him to turn him around; Chip was met with a harsh blow to his arm. The force at which Jeff had knocked his arm off was enough to dully burn a little, to throb.
"Enough, Jeffrey."
Chip grabbed him again. Jeff tried to knock his arm away again, but he wasn't fast enough that time. The shorter man had turned him around, forcing the two of them to look at each other face to face; forcing Jeff to face him, not willing to let the raven back down.
"You won't break me." Jeff muttered bitterly. Chip's brows furrowed.
"I don't want to." That gentleness in his voice - it sent shivers down Jeff's spine.
He felt his stomach pang him. His innards twisted. He felt broken. Defeated. Conquered. But he couldn't... This wasn't... No. Never. He wouldn't give in; he couldn't. The minute he did, they were dead, it was over. He knew that. Chip should know that too.
He stared at Chip, his lips and body quivering. Chip's hand was still on his shoulder. Jeff's arm went up to grab it quickly. Chip thought he would knock him away again, but he didn't. He gripped Chip's wrist tightly, his fingers pressing so hard, so desperately, they could've bruised him. But Chip didn't care.
Jeff's grip loosened. Tightened. Loosened. Tightened again. Jeff stared. Jeff wanted, wanted so badly. Those eyes. Those goddamn lips. That sharp yet gentle jawline. Goddamn him. Jeff's stomach tore at him from the inside out; he wanted, wanted so badly. He let his fingers curl up slightly against Chip's arm, his fingernails scraping across the alabaster skin of Chip's wrist. But Chip didn't flinch nor pull away. And with one final twist of his stomach and Jeff's left hand flung towards Chip, gripping the nape of his neck fiercely and pulling the brunette up to meet him. Their lips slammed together. Jeff broke and he loved it... hated it... loved it more. Their lips crushed and bruised and pressed even harder. Jeff bruised, but he didn't care.
Chip's hand had grabbed his waist tightly, pressing their bodies flush against each other, stretching and reaching up towards Jeff. Desperate. Ravenous. Hungry. Wanting. Now. It hurt; it didn't. Burned, stung, bruised, and beat them together in devouring heat. No time for movement or shuffling. Jeff's guard was down; he wasn't even sure how they got to the bed and yet they had, staying in each others' arms, seeming to jump together in ripping, tearing, seizing electricity. Entities in and of themselves. Tongues darting together - into and out of each other; hot, warm, taking over. Jeff's hands left his companion only to grip his own shirt and remove it. Chip's was somehow gone too. Jeff didn't think. Couldn't think. Wouldn't think. He thought in action, sensation, and glorious burning. Their bodies flush together. Their bodies' twitches and movements were sensations in and of themselves, leaving behind invisible scars in time surrounding them and spanning across and over their bodies, each one a new pulling sensation, tearing, ripping, shredding them together.
Pants were already gone. No time to think about how or when. Chip's legs were around Jeff's waist. And Jeff was moving already, forward into heat, into tension, desire, corruption, and danger. He loved it. His eyes clenched shut and he pressed his forehead against Chip's. Breath moved in between them; life and fire flowing in and out of each others' mouths - into the essence of the other - tearing each other apart, breath by breath, then retaking each other into themselves, to claim the other as their own. Their lips locked, sealing the deed, validating it. Chip's hands gripped Jeff's shoulders; Jeff's own threaded into Chip's hair. Kissing fiercely. Moving forward, backward, together, and apart but only for a moment until they were together again. It burned. Glorious friction, glorious suffering and release. A wave of electricity passed through them. Did they exist separately anymore? Neither knew but they groaned into each other, sharing their pain, their pleasure, their ultimate adoration.
Jeff shuddered. His hair hung over his eyes which he'd forced open to stare down at Chip hazily. Chip stared up; eyes cloudy and yet still burning with fire behind the turbulent blue green. Chip's head pressed back into the bed, his adam's apple protruding. Jeff's mouth fell to it, licking up and down it, nibbling, sucking, loving it. He heard Chip groan, but it was muffled, he felt as if his ears had clouded up. He could hardly hold on; close to the edge, close to falling, close to ultimate collapse. Chip's fingernails dug into his shoulders and they kissed roughly and tenderly. Time sped up and slowed down simultaneously. And it burned. And it shivered and rippled and seized them - brilliant release. And they fell... together... each other's death as they let go and collapsed into the other.
REVIEWWWW. Please?
I actually really like how this came out, I hope you guys do too.
So, tell me, how was it?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-01-21 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-22 07:36 am (UTC)I really appreciate it. I'm so glad you liked it. And I even got a fave. Not bad for my second fic in this fandom. :) Again, thank you SO much. Also, I love the thorough review.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-28 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-17 06:47 pm (UTC)This is so gorgeous and sexy and mildly twisted in a way that just makes it feel so real. ^_^