January Meme: Day Five
Jan. 7th, 2017 06:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
balsamandashDay Five: Time Stands Still (from silveradept)
(Prompt list.)
the feeling of being in motion again
Despite the Abundance, 866 words, five times time stopped for Nathan
Content notes: Non-graphic blood and violence; passing mentions of suicidal feelings; hinted at d/s relationship elements; one scene, while it's not terribly obvious if you don't know the verse and the characters, refers to a recovered addict getting tricked into using drugs.
This is another verse people who followthebonesofferalletters' writing are more likely to be familiar with, especially if you follow rainbowfic. In a nutshell: Nathan is a contract killer, Timothy is an editor, they end up roommates, and then fall into a (poorly negotiated, but as healthy as it can be for that) sort-of-d/s relationship. It's maybe not the healthiest thing in the world, but it works for them, considering they're both pretty bad off in their own ways before they find each other.
Also posted at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic.
i.
Time stops when the bullet hits his leg.
It's like there's years between the moment where the bullet first hits him and the moment when he hits the ground. He'd swear he could feel the shot go through him, a million life- and career-ending scenarios going through his head, and he curses the asshole who isn't paying him enough for this job as he feels himself fall in slow motion. The pain doesn't even register until after the impact of his feet against the ground, just the desperate chant of a thought, is this it is this it is this it, terror and relief all at once.
There's blood in his mouth, his teeth sinking into his cheek with the impact of the bad landing; the sharp taste of it speeds time up again, and there's no time to think anything else but get away.
(When Darya asks later, poised and perfect above him as she holds the laptop up out of his reach, he says he didn't even notice. She lets him, which is how he knows she can read it all over his face.)
ii.
Nathan wakes up fast, too hot and too sober, sticky with sweat where there's another body against his, and his hand somehow still firmly gripping Timothy's wrist. He shifts, turning onto his side; Timothy presses closer, barely awake and hiding from the sun against Nathan's forearm, and if he's going to make any kind of choice about this, he's going to have to do it now.
No -- if he's going to stop this, he's going to have to do it now. Nathan doesn't know what'll happen if he turns around and says he was drunk and made a mistake, but it's probably better than what'll happen if he does it even a few more days down the road. Timothy already looks at him like he's got some kind of answer for him, and Nathan's not going to pretend it's love or whatever, but it's some kind of crush that definitely isn't helped by how obviously starved for attention and affection Timothy is in general.
He needs somebody to take care of him, and Nathan won't be very good at it. He can barely take care of himself and he should have moved months ago. But nobody else is doing it, and nobody else is going to do it right if he goes, and knowing that makes something possessive and angry rise in him, something that short-circuits rational logic and cuts straight to no and mine.
He's so fucked, and he won't be able to keep this up, won't be good for Timothy for very long, if he even if now.
But he's been doing what he shouldn't for a long time now, and Nathan makes his choice, and he lets the moment pass without moving.
There'll be time to regret it later, if he's wrong.
iii.
He pulls out his phone, pulls up the text, and his heart stops beating.
It's not too bad, not nearly as bad as it could be. Timothy isn't hurt, isn't bleeding, isn't tied up or passed out. He's just on the floor in front of the couch, his head tilted back, looking at the person who's taking the picture. He's smiling. But he's unfocused, hazy in a way that's too familiar, and Nathan bites down on his tongue to keep back the snarl that wants to come out.
It takes a moment to remember how to breathe.
Nathan doesn't bother to respond. Darya knows how he'll react, can probably see it as clearly as if she was here, and nothing's going to stop her. Threats won't work. Neither will asking. Instead he types in a number he knows by heart, a code he and Billy set months ago, and then turns back to his gun. His hands are steady. His breathing almost is.
He'll get the job done. And then he's going to find Darya, and he's going to kill her, too.
iv.
Time stops when he hears the shot.
It's like there's years between the sound and the realization that it missed. He swears he can feel the path it makes against his shoulder, each millimeter it grazes. A few inches lower and it'd be his lungs. A few inches to the side, his neck. Either one would probably leave him bleeding out here, even if they didn't shoot him again and finish the job. Either one, and he'd never make it home.
He thinks about Timothy, sitting alone, waiting for him and getting a call. He doesn't have to imagine how it would go after that. He can see the path from there as clearly as if it had been laid out for him.
He shoots, and time speeds up again as the target falls. His hand shakes just a little as he puts his gun away, and Nathan wonders when dying became something to be afraid of.
v.
Timothy kisses him, and Nathan doesn't have to think about anything at all, because everything important is at his fingertips, under his hands, under him. The softness of skin, the way Timothy sinks into the couch under him, the soft happy sound he makes when Nathan takes hold of his wrist.
Timothy kisses him, and time doesn't matter, work doesn't matter, nothing matters but him.
silveradept)(Prompt list.)
the feeling of being in motion again
Despite the Abundance, 866 words, five times time stopped for Nathan
Content notes: Non-graphic blood and violence; passing mentions of suicidal feelings; hinted at d/s relationship elements; one scene, while it's not terribly obvious if you don't know the verse and the characters, refers to a recovered addict getting tricked into using drugs.
This is another verse people who follow
thebonesofferalletters' writing are more likely to be familiar with, especially if you follow rainbowfic. In a nutshell: Nathan is a contract killer, Timothy is an editor, they end up roommates, and then fall into a (poorly negotiated, but as healthy as it can be for that) sort-of-d/s relationship. It's maybe not the healthiest thing in the world, but it works for them, considering they're both pretty bad off in their own ways before they find each other.Also posted at
rainbowfic.i.
Time stops when the bullet hits his leg.
It's like there's years between the moment where the bullet first hits him and the moment when he hits the ground. He'd swear he could feel the shot go through him, a million life- and career-ending scenarios going through his head, and he curses the asshole who isn't paying him enough for this job as he feels himself fall in slow motion. The pain doesn't even register until after the impact of his feet against the ground, just the desperate chant of a thought, is this it is this it is this it, terror and relief all at once.
There's blood in his mouth, his teeth sinking into his cheek with the impact of the bad landing; the sharp taste of it speeds time up again, and there's no time to think anything else but get away.
(When Darya asks later, poised and perfect above him as she holds the laptop up out of his reach, he says he didn't even notice. She lets him, which is how he knows she can read it all over his face.)
ii.
Nathan wakes up fast, too hot and too sober, sticky with sweat where there's another body against his, and his hand somehow still firmly gripping Timothy's wrist. He shifts, turning onto his side; Timothy presses closer, barely awake and hiding from the sun against Nathan's forearm, and if he's going to make any kind of choice about this, he's going to have to do it now.
No -- if he's going to stop this, he's going to have to do it now. Nathan doesn't know what'll happen if he turns around and says he was drunk and made a mistake, but it's probably better than what'll happen if he does it even a few more days down the road. Timothy already looks at him like he's got some kind of answer for him, and Nathan's not going to pretend it's love or whatever, but it's some kind of crush that definitely isn't helped by how obviously starved for attention and affection Timothy is in general.
He needs somebody to take care of him, and Nathan won't be very good at it. He can barely take care of himself and he should have moved months ago. But nobody else is doing it, and nobody else is going to do it right if he goes, and knowing that makes something possessive and angry rise in him, something that short-circuits rational logic and cuts straight to no and mine.
He's so fucked, and he won't be able to keep this up, won't be good for Timothy for very long, if he even if now.
But he's been doing what he shouldn't for a long time now, and Nathan makes his choice, and he lets the moment pass without moving.
There'll be time to regret it later, if he's wrong.
iii.
He pulls out his phone, pulls up the text, and his heart stops beating.
It's not too bad, not nearly as bad as it could be. Timothy isn't hurt, isn't bleeding, isn't tied up or passed out. He's just on the floor in front of the couch, his head tilted back, looking at the person who's taking the picture. He's smiling. But he's unfocused, hazy in a way that's too familiar, and Nathan bites down on his tongue to keep back the snarl that wants to come out.
It takes a moment to remember how to breathe.
Nathan doesn't bother to respond. Darya knows how he'll react, can probably see it as clearly as if she was here, and nothing's going to stop her. Threats won't work. Neither will asking. Instead he types in a number he knows by heart, a code he and Billy set months ago, and then turns back to his gun. His hands are steady. His breathing almost is.
He'll get the job done. And then he's going to find Darya, and he's going to kill her, too.
iv.
Time stops when he hears the shot.
It's like there's years between the sound and the realization that it missed. He swears he can feel the path it makes against his shoulder, each millimeter it grazes. A few inches lower and it'd be his lungs. A few inches to the side, his neck. Either one would probably leave him bleeding out here, even if they didn't shoot him again and finish the job. Either one, and he'd never make it home.
He thinks about Timothy, sitting alone, waiting for him and getting a call. He doesn't have to imagine how it would go after that. He can see the path from there as clearly as if it had been laid out for him.
He shoots, and time speeds up again as the target falls. His hand shakes just a little as he puts his gun away, and Nathan wonders when dying became something to be afraid of.
v.
Timothy kisses him, and Nathan doesn't have to think about anything at all, because everything important is at his fingertips, under his hands, under him. The softness of skin, the way Timothy sinks into the couch under him, the soft happy sound he makes when Nathan takes hold of his wrist.
Timothy kisses him, and time doesn't matter, work doesn't matter, nothing matters but him.
no subject
Date: 2017-01-07 11:25 am (UTC)(Also I love you. So much)
This message brought to you by tacos.
Seriously though, I love this. I love how you write Nathan and him warming up to...Well, how he Stray Italian Greyhound's all over the place. I hope you know what I mean.