Blue Looks So Good On You
This was written for the 'Enter Your Hell' challenge on boyskissingfic. The guidelines were:
- It must somehow relate to the title, theme, whatever "Enter Your Hell".
- It can be anything as long as it includes two men (boys, whatever your fancy) in a relationship going through what would be their "personal hell".
- It can end anyway you would like, but myself preferring a happy ending just because I'm a sap.
- The two's relationship can be as vague or clear as you like, and they can be any age as long as it isn't like...really young, cause that's just odd. (at least for me)
- The fic can also be based on real life problems, or if you like, a fantasy world.
- I really have no limitations for it, as long as the people who do it have fun.
And I wrote this…
Blue has always looked so good on you.
You weren't the kind to daub yourself in make-up, but your nails were never any other colour. Whether it was petrol blue, grey blue, denim or steel, glittered or plain, your nails were always dark blue chips like a dead magpie buried in the sheets of snow in winter.
Your near colourless skin seemed so thin, the blue veins under it always easily traceable, especially in the soft open book page of the crook of your inner elbow. I used to map them out, the little rivers and tributaries that carried life round your body, while you lay languid across my chest after we'd had sex. Completely naked and bare against me. Except for the nail polish.
I remembered looking through the little bottles on your bedside cabinet, the different colours of blue, and I looked down at you, brushed back slick chunks of black hair and asked you 'they don't do vein blue?'
You looked at me weirdly. 'Veins aren't blue.'
'They are on you.'
Mostly. In some areas they were red and aggravated where you'd pierced the skin to let something in, letting the red inside out in small amounts. Even then you were blue around the edges, bruising that softly turned violet but never had the chance to fade away.
I'd brush over the track marks and you'd look away like it was something you couldn't bear to see, although you had no problem in studying it up close when searching for the right place to push the silvered needle in, after you'd called those blue threads up with the help of a tourniquet.
'Why don't you stop.'
Your eyes weren't blue, but dark. So green-dark they were black and as much as I tried, I could never see you looking back out of them at me.
'Why don't you?'
You spoke in sighs and vaguely lilting sleeping tones, sometimes smoke roughened. You pulled yourself up and off me like your arms didn't belong to you, like your head was weighted with the blackness of your irises and turned away to dance your blue capped fingers over the spoon, over the discarded condom packet to pick up a cigarette. You didn't look at me as you smoked, waiting for me to leave so you could be alone with your true lover.
I knew you weren't waiting for an answer.
But I gave you one anyway after I'd dressed and left the bedroom, after turning to watch as the smoke-blue plumes from the cigarette caressed your tumbled locks of hair like an exotic dancer lover, after I had left the apartment.
oo Because I can't seduce you alone. Because I can't touch you without the agreement that I give you what you really want afterwards. Because if you ever stopped you wouldn't need me to come to you anymore. Because to stop supplying you would mean I would never see you again. Because. I was too selfish.oo
The next time I came to you I saw the signs but I didn't want to believe them.
'You've been cheating on me.'
Accusatory, hurt under the nonchalance that you HAD to have caught. Of course you did. Laughing at me, you laughing at me, although you were the more pitiful one in that room. I think.
'Come now...' you murmured, stroking your hand through your own black locks and letting them splash back down. 'I could never cheat on you.' You laughed like dripping oil, light and broken and coloured in dirty swirls.
Of course you couldn't cheat on me. That presupposed a relationship.
I sat by your head on the bed and took your hand in mine.
I showed you your own hand, the fingernails painted so red it looked like your hands were painted over them. They looked more real than you did.
'Oh baby...' you pouted. 'I'm sorry. But it was the end...' you giggled. '... of an era.'
I felt disgusted as I threw your hand back down and left again to the music of your laughing at me. Disgusted that I'd ever fallen in love with a heroin whore like you.
I should have stayed away (not in your interests of course, cause you were already scoring from somebody else, but in my own interests) but I couldn't. Not with the call you sent me, your words fractured as your breathing shook more than mine did at hearing your voice so desperate and needy.
I came over fast, but even with your whole narrow frame trembling, your hair like a broken wing and your eyes rimmed red to match your chipping red-light fingernails I still wouldn't give you anything until you'd paid.
I made you pay hard for not wanting me. Took you twice because I knew you were too far gone, needed it too damn bad to do anything about it. The first time when I fucked you down into the mattress, vicious, crimson in my head and flashing like your nails as your hands flailed out, caught the wall and dragged down it like you were trying to climb out, I screamed at you,
'Say it, say it, this is why you called, this is why you begged, fucking say it...'
'I love you, I love you, I love, love, love you...'
And the second time, fucking you as if you wanted me, watching you dance and gasp and thrash on my cock as you rode an orgasm out of me, whispering to you like a lover,
'I hate you, I despise you, I don't want you as more than a dirty fuck and will never fucking want you as anything else'
As if saying the words would make them true.
And then I held you, still shaking and sobbing, wide-eyed, your knuckles white as if the bone showed through, this little piece of torture to punish you for the crime of not loving me back.
You demanded twice the usual amount because I'd fucked you twice. I was wrong about you not caring; of course you'd care about this.
I'd say it was your life, but I'm not fond of the blood-heavy taste of irony in my mouth.
I made you speak as you cooked up, not watching what you did, but watching your face as you did it, how you bit your shredded lip harder as the time to shoot edged nearer. I learnt things about you that I'd never heard before, and I wondered if it was the flaking armour of scarlet nail polish that made your mind as unguarded and vulnerable as the naked nail under it; decided that it was the single-minded attention on what you were doing that made your tongue loose.
I tied the tourniquet for you as you mainlined and leant you back to enjoy the only high you had left in your life. I picked up both empty plastic baggies that had held the junk to bin as I left your divey little apartment.
I later realised that I had been holding two empty baggies where even one shouldn't have been shot in one go.
I rushed back into the bedroom baby... Blue has always looked so good on you.