Fighters

Hm, I thought, feeling my tongue grow numb as it explored the little bit of ice that was left. Melting. I wasn't so sure that I wanted to melt. I think I wanted something a bit more dramatic than that.

I shifted the cube to my teeth and bit down, feeling it crumble under the strength of my jaws. Me too, little cube. Me too.

I sat there for a moment more before I remembered that I didn't have to be there anymore. I could feel Chad hovering behind me, so I made a little wave for his benefit.

"Alright." I slipped down off the stool and had to grab the bar to steady myself - shit, when had the world gone and got so goddamn wobbly. Rude. "I'm outie."

Chad didn't make a comment at that, but I could feel him watching me as I made my way to the door, stumbling through the shifts the world wouldn't stop throwing at me. Fuckin ungrateful.

But, on the bright side, I managed to make it outside before I threw up.

***

CH 3

***

Me and Bren took down everyone who was willing to be taken down, which turned into very few people once the brawlers realized they were up against two professionals, one of whom just wanted to end this as quickly as possible, and the other of whom was fucking nuts. We saved a few chairs in the process, too, which might have won us back the points Bren lost when a particularly persistent idiot called Bren a "sissy bitch" and Bren had smashed a chair over his back while screaming, "Sissy this, bitch!"

Shockingly, Bren's bear still wanted to go home with him after all that. I shrugged when Bren told me I could take his car. I had the keys anyway - Bren knew I wasn't going to drink enough to put me over the legal limit.

I think the disappointment showed on my face when I got back to the bar and found it deserted, because the bartender immediately shook his head. "He was never going to stay, mate."

I didn't have anything to say to that. I'd known it, Theodore Xavier John Baby Roosevelt had known it, the bartender had known it from the moment he'd walked in the door. But I'd still had to try.

"He finished the ice cube, though."

"Really?" I was genuinely surprised, and totally forgot to be embarrassed that this man had overheard my instructions.

"Don't know if he chewed it or swallowed it or what, but when he left." He shrugged. "Nothin' to keep him from talking."

Something told me there wasn't much that could. I thought about that, then sighed. There was nothing to do about it now. "How much do I owe you?" I meant for the drinks, for the damage, for putting up with Bren in rampage mode, but the guy just laughed.

"Please. It's on the house. You cleared out that mess in record time." I wasn't sure if he was talking about John or the brawl, and decided not to ask. Then he looked at me, eyes twinkling. "You don't want a job, do you?"

"I hate this place," I said truthfully, and he laughed.

The cold air felt good on my face after the surprising exertion I'd made my body go through. It was only August but already crisp at night, and I loved that. I took a second to just exist, trying to get that stupid guy out of my head. He was gone, and that was that. Why did it matter that he'd finished the ice cube? Why did it matter that I'd wanted him to stay longer, that I hadn't been fast enough? What was it to me if he'd smelled so good I'd wanted to just keep him with me all the time, to just be around, one hand in those stupid fucking dark curls?

Fuck, whatever. He was high as shit anyway. It's not like he knew what he was doing. And it's not like I needed that shit in my life anyway. I took a deep breath and headed in the direction of Bren's car.

"Oh, fuck," I heard a voice say behind me and I froze.

Don't you do it, I told myself. Don't you dare. He is quickly becoming dangerous for you - you'll fall, and you'll like it, but it can't last forever. You fucking know this.

I heard the jingle of keys and passed my hand over my eyes. Shit, was he trying to drive?

"Fucking world," he said, and he sounded so angry, so annoyed, so completelyhim that I found myself turning without thinking.

I found him propped up against a green Golf, keys in hand but nowhere near the keyhole. "So," I said quietly, and he froze. Then he dropped the keys with a sigh.

"Fuck," he stated, turning around. He didn't sound surprised, or shocked, or even angry. Honestly, if I had to put an emotion to it, he just sounded resigned. He took me in, really gave me a hard look, or at least it would have been hard if his edges hadn't seemed so blurred. "Don't make me melt again."

I frowned. "You shouldn't be driving."

"I'm not." He looked down at the keys on the ground and made a face. "I'm fine."

"You're high as shit." It was true, but I wasn't really sure where to go from there. I mean, what was I going to do, call the police? I came closer as I thought about it, watched him watch me with some sort of trepidation and anticipation and, man, this guy was far gone.

"The fuck are you going to do about it," he slurred, echoing my thoughts. I sighed and bent down to retrieve his keys and found that he followed me down, sliding down the car to sit on the cool pavement. I stayed at his level, holding his keys, chewing over my options.

"You made everything so fucking melty," he accused.

"Pretty sure that's the drugs."

He shook his head. "You. And your fingers. And your ice cube. And then the world. It wasn't very nice."

"No," I agreed, my voice quiet in the face of the guilt he was stirring up in my stomach. I should have known it would all be too much for him. I should have never touched him like that, not when he was like this. "It wasn't."

He shifted, his eyes dropping closed for just a second before they burst open with a gasp. "Shit," he muttered. I gave him a hard look. He had been messed up in the bar, yeah, but this was some serious shit. Jesus. X wouldn't do this.

"What did you take?" I asked, but he just laughed and responded with, "What didn't I take?"

I didn't find that very encouraging. "Okay, what didn't you take?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Donno. I thought." Those eyes were closing again, and I was starting to get worried, actually worried about him. Was he overdosing, right in front of my eyes? Fuck, it'd been awhile since I'd had to worry about that. It didn't feel good in all the same places, places I'd hoped to leave behind.

"Yo," I said, snapping my fingers to bring him back. "Stay with me here."

"Yeah, uh." He looked around us. "Everything is just so melty." He tried to run his hand through his hair but it got stuck, and I had a momentary moral quandary of if I should be reaching out to help him or if he would be better without my touch, but in the end he managed to get it untangled. "I think I just took too much K."

"Special K?" Great, I thought. Horse tranqs. Fucking great.

"Takes the edge off the whites."

"Whites," I repeated blandly. What the fuck are whites? I thought. I don't remember anyone talking about whites when I was part of the scene. A bit of anxiety was building in me. "Did you take X?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "I'm always on X. I live on X. I am E-X-tra, triple X rated, baby." He seemed to look past my shoulder for a moment before focusing in on me. "But I don't think I mixed them right today."

"Mixed what?"

"The." He waved a hand. "Any of them."

"Do you think you might have had too much?" I asked, trying to be gentle but genuinely worried. Horse tranqs, ecstasy, some other mystery shit, this kid didn't even seem to know what he'd taken.

But he was shaking his head. "No, just." Then he pointed at me. "And it's your fault I went melty instead of stayed punchy."

I had noticed that he'd been much more - melty - when I put him on the barstool than I remembered seeing him just moments ago in the fight. But, when he'd been thrown into me he'd felt like a ragdoll. I shook my head and decided it didn't matter.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" He flipped me off. I sighed. "Do you want to go home?"

He thought about that for a moment before nodding.

"Alright." I stood, trying to check his key ring for any clues. "Where do you live?"

"Your dick."

"Helpful." I didn't find any clues - it didn't even look like he had house keys, just the fob for his car, the car keys, and then a small key that looked like. Maybe a safety deposit box?

"No," he said, and I looked down to find his eyes so full of something that I nearly took a step back. Oh, I thought, remembering the way he'd stepped away from me in the club. Something where you expect nothing. That'll do it. "Give me your dick." His hands began questing towards me, but I fended him off easily enough. He was making these noises, half frustration and half just too turned on from the X and whatever goddamn else he'd put in his system. I scrubbed at my face.

"Shit," I muttered. I needed to search his pockets, maybe find an ID to tell me where he lived. It just seemed like a really, really bad idea to touch him like that right then. Plus, I hadn't seen any pockets. There certainly weren't any on those pants, so tight I could see every muscle in his leg, every definition in his pocketless thighs. Plus how likely was it that his ID was updated with his current address? Mine wasn't. And if the bartender didn't even know his name...

He reached for me again and I captured his wrists, causing him to freeze instantly. I looked down at him, surprised, and saw a mix of fear and complete sexual desire on his face.

Fuck, I thought, as my body reacted to that, my hands tightening on his wrists. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Don't make me melt again," he whispered.

"I won't," I told him, although I honestly wasn't sure that was true anymore. God, he was so fucking tempting. And so fucking high, and drunk, and just. Fuck.

"Take me home with you," he continued, and I thought about that for a second. I mean, what else was I going to do with him?

Wait. Shit. What was I thinking? But it was too late, because I'd let myself think it, and he couldn't stay here like this and I didn't know where else to take him.

"Yeah," I finally said, more a symbol of resignation to myself than in response to his entreaty. He moaned at the word all the same, and I had to close my eyes tight against the idea of making him make that noise for real, for me. Sober, I reminded myself. Sober. "Let's get you up."

***

Fuck it, I thought as this guy, this melty man whose fingers turned me into putty and who had somehow made the world go so soft, as he touched me again. Fuck it, because I was going home with him even if it killed me. I kind of hoped it did - what a way to go, melting everything right off your bones and dribbling into storm drains and then you got to be - oops.

I'd tripped and fallen, or I would have if this man wasn't holding my arm. I liked him holding me. I liked him. I smiled, because I was going home with him, because I was going home with someone, and settled my weight against his.

***

I managed to get us most of the way home before what's his dick started getting antsy. His hand made it to my leg, skimming up and down the outside of my thigh, and I gritted my teeth and kept driving. Then it was on top of my leg, moving further and further up my thigh, in between my legs. It was fucking distracting.

At the next red light I put the car in park and turned to him, angry, and found his other hand skittering over his own skin, his eyes hooded with pleasure. I wanted to hate him in that moment, wanted to be mad at his actions, but he was on X and who knew what else and he didn't know what he was doing. Also, a bit of my brain mentioned, watching his fingers trace over his collarbone, he looked fucking hot.

Shut up, brain, I told myself, and pushed his hand away. "Stop it."

He just moaned and reached out again, his own hand dropping towards his lap.

Shit, I thought. I don't have time for this. Horny jittery drug user was no good to me. I need him to go back to melty drug user, now. Instantaneously I understood how to make that happen, could feel the plan sitting in my chest but god was it a bad one, but his hand was back on my leg and I needed this not to happen here, not to happen at all, so I reached over, grabbed his chin, and kissed him.

I didn't kiss him like I wanted to, with all the things he was making me feel and all the things I wanted to do to him dripping from my lips into his. I thought - no, I knew - that if I had done that, he would have right about died. Way too much for him to handle, and then there was me, because if I expressed any of that out loud even in actions I did not know, did not think I could be responsible for what would happen next. So instead I kissed him soft, and gentle. Not chaste, or innocent; I hate those words, and they don't apply to me anyway, so instead I kissed him with the knowledge and trust that I wasn't going to go farther than a kiss, that all I wanted from him was this, that this was the end of it and that was enough for me.

It was the truth, at least for that night, and I wanted him to know it.

I think my action surprised him. He was frozen for a moment, and then I felt it. Felt him melt against me. It took a second, and then he kissed me back, his lips opening before mine and his breath shuddering as I scraped my teeth against them, gently traced his mouth with my tongue. I pressed all the truths and trust and knowledge I wanted into his mouth and then I let it sit, tried to let it dissolve, before I pulled back and rested my forehead against his.

The light was turning yellow - we must have kissed through it being green. That was fine. He needed time to process this. I needed time to process this. "Okay?" I asked quietly.

He nodded. When I let his head go he all but sunk into the seat, a dazed expression on his face. His dark hair clung to his face and slipped down his shoulders; his tight clothes were in disarray. He looked a mess.

Fuck, I thought. Shit. Too much for him. But at least he wasn't distracting me anymore.

The light turned green and I jumped, then put the car back in drive and started towards home.

***

Melted.

And the kiss. It wasn't a kiss, it had been a promise, or a conversation. Or maybe an entire world inside his mouth, a universe and I'd just gotten the smallest glimpse. Warm and soft and everything, when had a kiss become everything? Kisses were boring, kisses were nothing, kisses were something people did to pass the time but that, him, time had ended, when had time started again? I didn't think it had. I didn't think time would ever start back up, not after that. I thought I might be dead. Who knew that a kiss could be like that? I had always thought, had always felt. No one had ever told me, and his lips, and the way he had tasted.

Shit, I thought as I closed my eyes, leaning against the cool seat. I must be really fucking high.

***

He'd passed out sometime on the way back. I'd carried him the the stairs, a little surprised at how light he was, a little worried at how unresponsive, a lot worried about what the neighbors would think about me carrying a scantily clad man into my apartment. But I shouldn't have been - Mrs. Kovacs from down the hall took one look at my face and sighed, helping me to open the door.

As she turned away, she patted my arm. "You make a good friend, Mr. Cooper," she told me in her lilting accent.

I smiled at her, feeling uncomfortable at all the thoughts that had swirled in my head about this man I had over my shoulder. "Thanks, Mrs. Kovacs."

"Have a good sleep, now."

"You as well."

As soon as the door was closed I slung my burden down on the couch. He mumbled and turned over, seeming cross or at least semi-aware of what was going on. I checked his pulse, but it didn't seem too slow, and his breathing was at a normal rate for what he was probably on. So. Not dying then. I sighed and leaned back and tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do with him.

The first thing I did was text Bren. "man sleeping on couch. high as shit."

Then I realized what I sent and sent another text - "him, not me"

That would have to do until Bren got home and I could explain the whole situation. Then I filled a glass of water and put it on the table next to him. There was an extra blanket in the closet, and I grabbed it out. While I was grabbing it my eye caught on our mop bucket and I grabbed that too, putting it beside his head.

I stood there for a moment, watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful. Nothing like the guy I'd seen voluntarily run into another man's fist. Or stare at me with a hunger that wasn't for me, but the kind of damage I could bring to his soul. Or dance with a kind of violence I didn't want in my life anymore.

"Jesus fucking christ," I finally said out loud, and turned and headed to bed.

***

CH 4

***

I woke up with a start, gasping for air out of the dream I'd been in but keeping my body completely still. I learned a long time ago how to wake up panicked and not panic the person you're with - punching the guy who brought you home is a one way ticket out the door. I let my body calm down, feeling the familiar drain that E puts on my system. The emptiness after being everything. I loved it, loved this feeling. Especially when it was coupled with being completely banged out.

I let myself enjoy the sensation for another moment before deciding to face the morning. I stretched, wondering if whoever had brought me home last night was watching, and opened my eyes slowly.

I was alone.

More than alone, I was clothed. And on a couch. And did I fucking mention clothed?

What the shit had happened last night?

I sat up, groaning, and pressed a hand to my head. I remember I had been dancing and then. And there had been a fight, okay, that's why I had the bruise on my shoulder, and why my ribs felt like fire, and probably why my jaw hurt so bad, but then.

"You're up."

I turned around and saw that stupid, fucking man. Not fucking, apparently, not with the way I'd woken up, but stupid, so fucking stupid. He was leaning in the doorway of what must have been his bedroom, green eyes soft from sleep and wearing nothing but his boxers. I watched him yawn, saw muscles and scars and the quiet way he grinned through his body forcing his mouth open as he hid those lips, fuck, I remembered those lips, they had been so soft and kind and they had held so much more than I'd wanted them to and I hated him, hated him so much for not touching me, hated him so much for making me want him to.

And yet, here I was, clothed. I had thought he had wanted me. I had fucking seen it all over his goddamn face.

Had I been wrong? Why did that thought make me feel so. So.

"Fuck," I groaned, and leaned over to throw up in a strategically placed bucket.

He didn't say anything. I heard water running somewhere, and then heard him coming closer. Don't you dare, I wanted to scream. Not now. Now when I'm so fucking empty. If you touch me now the only thing inside of me will be you and I can't, I won't.

But he didn't touch me, just placed the a glass of water down next to the bucket in my vision. I didn't look up but I could tell he was still there, but I couldn't tell what he wanted.

"Your jaw," he said quietly, and I raised my hand to it and winced. There must be a bruise there with how it felt, the way even the smallest touch made my skin pulse with pain. Just in time I caught sight of his hand reaching out to do the same and I ducked away, unwilling to let this stranger press on a bruise that was fucking sensitive as hell, unwilling to have his touch like that after he'd kept it from me in all the ways I'd wanted.

His hand froze. "I'm sorry," he started, and I immediately turned away, rolling my eyes. I didn't need his pity, and I didn't need his guilt. I'd needed him to fuck me, and for some goddamn reason he couldn't be bothered to do that. I never learned what he was sorry for, though, because just then the door slammed open.