Hematoma Fanfiction Ch. 01-02

The tone deepened with the furniture. The worn couch facing the flatscreen is made of black leather. A small wrought iron table sits snugly with a cramped kitchen, which has black cabinets with appliances to match.

In a attempt to brighten up the place, pops of color floated around the loft. All the blankets and accessories, including the ones in the kitchen, were crimson with some shy blues, sunny yellows, and lime greens added in.

The biggest accent had to be the kitchen wall, painted with black chalkboard paint. It displayed a large, vivid mural of a bouquet of red roses, daisies, and wildflowers. The critic in me notices it's drawn by a talented hand.

On the opposite side of the room sits a cheap entertainment system. The flatscreen has wall mounts on either side of it, each cradling a couple mountain bikes. To top it all off, a rack holds up two unicycles above the couch.

Rush stands in the kitchen barefoot. The aroma of already brewed Java pours out from a coffee maker, but it's quickly dwarfed by the Espresso machine I see Rush preparing. The machine's not nearly as high end as my own but it would do.

I place my boots and knapsack by the door, next to a pair of urban riding shoes and little sneakers that have to be Wendy's.

Rush glances over his shoulder at me when he hears the door close. "Want a cup?"

"Espresso me," Wendy says immediately.

Rush's laugher overflows with his love for her. "Yeah, no."

Wendy hangs her head. "Figures."

"Who's gotta be up and out the door by eight o'clock?"

"I do," Wendy groans.

"And who needs to take a shower in the morning and eat breakfast?"

Wendy rolls her eyes. "Me."

"Off to Neverland with you, then."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

With a air of routine, Wendy skates on the slick floor with her slippers, sliding to the trash can. She spits out her gum, shooting it in with a soft ping. She then glides back to the couch and plops down, shaking her slippers off.

I lean my lower back against the kitchen counter, captivated by the girl's ritual.

"Does she do this nightly?"

Rush nods. "Coffee, Yorick?"

"Espresso, if you would."

Rush complies and presses a few buttons. He sits on the counter top, watching his sister send one of her slippers across the room.

She pulls a well used sky blue pillow and three blankets towards her with just muscle memory alone. Finally, she rolls around, wrapping herself in a colorful makeshift cocoon.

"Night, Captain!" her muffled voice yells out through the three layers of covers.

"Night, Little Rocker."

She snuggles deeper. After a moment I hear her heart beat slow.

An alarm goes off and Rush fills two small cups, handing one to me.

I swirl the cup and take a sip.

He downs his like a shot.

I blink up at him. "Did you just...you can't...You're not drinking a shot of Vodka!"

His brows pull upward. "It's my coffee. I'll drink it how I want it."

I frown, narrowing my eyes with a growing suspicion. "You don't drink it like that in public do you?"

He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, unintentionally stretching the muscles in his neck and down his abdomen. My eyes focus on his jugular, to the large veins in his arm that curl around his elbow and river up his forearm.

"Maybe," he says playfully.

At this moment, I realize something. I like the boy. I like him enough to want to hurt him. Not just physically but mentally. I want to see him fall hard, then drag his broken body to my feet and offer his heart for me to devour. I want it as much as I want that car. In fact, they're now a package deal.

My laugh comes out a purr. "You're supposed to saver it. If you just kill it instantly you ruin the fun."

He looks down at the small cup quizzically. "Savor it...how?"

I smile. "I'll show you in the morning, if you want." I swirl the last of the liquid before downing the rest. I look up at him to find he's already staring at me, a mug of freshly poured coffee cradled in his hands. "If you want, I'll show you many things."

His eyes widen. His face and neck flush with color. To his credit he doesn't look away. We stare at each other, him and I. The act is timeless, a moment that evaporates everything and everyone. I can tell he's drowning. Choking on the pheromones I've released through the air.

I let him choke. I like seeing him drown in me.

He takes a sip of coffee from his mug, a small grin playing on his lips. "I've...I've never had that happen before."

"What?" I knew, but I wanted to hear it from him.

His grin broadens. "I've never...you now, been hit on by a guy."

"And," I raise myself up on the counter, sitting eye level with him, "...do you like it?"

He blinks his heavy lidded eyes. "Being hit on by a guy?"

I nod, leaning in closer, my unrestrained bangs spilling down my face.

He frowns down at his untainted coffee, contemplating his sexuality probably for the first time in his life. He looks up at me after a few heartbeats. "Maybe."

I chuckle. "Maybe?" I shake my head. "Maybe isn't good enough for me, Rush." I grab his coffee cup out from his hands, and take a drink before setting it down away from him. "How about we have a little experiment?"

Bewildered and not knowing what else to do, he shrugs. "What do you have in-"

I pull him to me by the front of his shirt, pressing my lips into his.

His surprise lasts no more than a second before he abandons himself into my mouth. The embrace starts off slow, but once my teeth nip at his bottom lip a vicious war begins. Our weapons of choice are a mix of clawing hands, teeth, and tongue.

I suck his bloody bottom lip before I make myself pull back.

Rush is winded, his chest heaving. He opens his eyes, they look impossibly blue. "I could never be that rough with a girl." He smiles, licking his bloody lip. "I-I like it."

"You like it rough in bed." It wasn't a question.

"You too, it seems." His voice comes out a soft hiss as he puts a paper towel to his lip. "God damn, your teeth are sharp."

I lean closer to him, my voice comes out quiet, my words heavy, as if we're sharing a secret. "Lance thinks they're sharp too."

The reaction to me mentioning his brother is immediate, and within seconds he's not mine anymore. His slack back stiffens. The drunken look in his eyes slips away, returning to their usual sharpness.

He frowns, frustrated with himself for what just transpired. He looks about ready to punch me, to warn me not to try anything like that again. Instead he reaches over for his coffee cup and takes a drink. A splash of blood smears at the rim, he doesn't notice.

A moment passes before he allows himself to glance my way. "So, I guess you want to take a shower?" He tries to sound indifferent. As if his whole world didn't just flip over on its side.

I nod, accepting his attempt to be a good but neutral host. "Yes, please."

He runs his hands through his hair, his nervous heart thumping faster with each raking of his fingers. His hair quickly resembles an angry wolf's hackles. "You...um, you'll have to take it up in my room." At my amused expression he hastily adds, "A shower! Not...not that. It's the only one, you see."

"That's fine, Rush." I slip off the counter to grab my knapsack and head for the stairs. I glance up to the suspended bedroom from the bottom of the steps, a sly smile escaping my lips. My voice comes out a low thunder. "Will I be using your bed too?"

He coughs mid-swig. Coffee splashes on his shirt and down his jeans. "Fuck!" He glances fearfully over at Wendy's snoring form. He has nothing to worry about, her heart beat is slow, still fast asleep. "No." He wipes the coffee from his chin then looks at the mess down his shirt. "Damn. I-I'll set you up on my futon, Yori."

I pause from my ascension and look over my shoulder at him. Blood is still blooming from his lip, coffee pooling down his shirt. "Yori?"

He shrugs. "Or Yorick. Whatever you want."

'Whatever I want, huh?'

He reads my thoughts, his gaze slides away, cursing himself and his word choices.

"Rush." His eyes cut back to mine. "As long as it's coming from your delicious lips. Yori is perfect."

I walk up the last couple steps to his room, leaving him sitting there, lips parted in surprise, with a noticeable bulge in his jeans.

-

I walk out of the bathroom, towel dried hair draping my back and shoulders. I notice my knapsack is moved to rest next to a dangerously unstable futon. I glance over at the bed a few feet away, but there's no heartbeat and no one under the soft grey comforter.

I frown, fearing the boy decided to sleep cramped next to his sister, then I hear the soft murmur of voices.

I peer down. The lights have been turned off besides the one in the kitchen. It shines on Rush like a spot light as he sits at the little round wrought iron table. He's wearing sweatpants, with a walkie-talkie in hand. He's staring blankly at the mural, his bare back facing my way.

"I thought it'd be a great surprise," he says sincerely.

A soft chuckle comes through the static. "Well, opening my sister's door to find my naked brother was definitely a surprise, not particularly a great one."

The acoustics of the loft carried the conversation easily, even though the two speak gently. My curiosity brings me closer. I sit on the top step of the stairs, crossing my legs in my loose fitting flannel pants.

"Yeah, sorry." He sighs, resting his fist on his chin. He sounds regretful, pained. "I didn't think it through very well. I just thought...Pop would enjoy seeing him, ya know?"

"I know, Rush. Hey, it wouldn't hurt for us to see him more. Visit Philly."

"Yes it would," he says the words softly but the tone is final.

"Rush," the woman's voice comes through the radio with a quiver. "He's our brother."

"No, Poet. He's not." I'm surprised at how cold his voice is, a timbre unnatural to the smooth whiskey tone I know it to be. "You go see him, I don't care."

There's a long silence before the static returns. "Earlier, he said you're holding him and his boyfriend hostage?"

"Just his car, really. He can take a cab, hitchhike if he wants to. A few hours with the family won't kill him, Poet."

"Your treating his boyfriend well, I hope?" She sounds amused. "Lance said he's allergic to the sun?"

He sets the walkie down with a groan, rubbing his hands up his face and through his hair, cheeks flush.

His silence lasts too long, before he can pick up the walkie she's whispering harshly over at him. "Rush Ira Hotchkiss, what have you done? You have him sleeping on that damn futon, don't you?"

He groans loader and picks up the walkie, looking up at the ceiling. His words come out in a almost inaudible whisper. "He kissed me."

There was slight pause. "Come again?"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "He kissed me, Poet."

"What? Like...like a Grandma Georgia kiss, or..."

"Or." The word snaps out like a whip.

"Oh my god," she says, voice bubbling with laughter. "Where's he now, the morgue?"

He props his legs on the opposite chair, leaning back. "He's taking a shower."

"He's definitely sleeping on the futon." She giggles. "Or is he sleeping in your bed?"

He doesn't answer.

"Sorry, it was a bad joke."

Another pause.

"Rush...?"

"I liked it, Poet. I liked 'or' with him."

"What are you talking about?"

"I kissed him back," he murmurs.

"W-what?" Her voice comes out skeptical, as if he just told her that he believes the Earth is flat. "Rush, you're straight. You're beyond straight."

"Poet, he melted me." The confession seeps through the air, spilling over thick and desperate, begging me to walk down the stairs.

I wait. He needs to beg a little better than that.

"Melted you?" She sounds almost jealous.

"Yes." The word comes out a whimper. "Yes, he melted me. He melts me by just...being. I don't know what's wrong with me, Poet. Ever since we met I can't keep my eyes off of him."

"Oh my god. Oh my god! My boob obsessed brother fell in love at first sight, like in the movies, with a guy!"

"Keep your voice down!" Rush whispers harshly.

"Shit, sorry." Her voice is back to a soft murmur. "What the fuck are you going to do, Rush? He's a man, with balls and a dick. And he's Lance's boyfriend. What are you going to do?"

"Nothing!" he snaps. "I'm going to do nothing. I'll have the two of them back on the road by tomorrow." After a moment he adds, "And love's a strong word, Poet. I'm not in love with the guy."

"Yeah, okay, whatever."

He sighs and looks at his watch. "We should get to bed, Po."

"As if! How am I going to sleep now?"

"About as good as I am, I'm afraid. Over and out."

"Oh wait! I know you're busy and all with your new found bisexuality, but are you taking Wendy to camp?"

He downs the rest of his coffee. "Figured so, why?"

"Erin's Ma called and asked if we could carpool."

"Wendy says Erin eats her boogers."

Poet sighs. "She also says you're a god and the Easter Bunny steals her socks."

"Of course he steals her socks." He frowns up at the ceiling. "I'm planning to take her in the truck so I can just get the moron's car after. I'll just put the booger muncher in the cargo bed."

"Absolutely not. I'll take her. Fix up something with four doors for once, will ya?"

"Wilco. Over and out."

"Bye, love you."

Rush gives the walkie a evil look. "You don't say 'bye, love you' on a walkie."

She moans. "You and Wendy both are ridiculous. When you two talk on these things we can't understand a word you're saying."

"We know."

She laughs. "Over and out, loser."

He smiles and sets the walkie in its charging station.

I pick up his mug.

He flinches and stares at my hand, mesmerized by my long pale fingers. He follows them as I raise the mug to my face.

"Refill?"

-

I look down at him, stretched out, his sweatpants barely holstering the pistols that define his sharp v line. The pale light above glistens off his torso with each ripple of muscle. I can hear every vein, every artery pulsing the blood from his heart. His eyes blink up at me. His lips part, but through his shock he can't string a sentence together.

Like most humans his thoughts are transparent; He's wondering how long I've been there. How much I've heard. If he should just play it cool or panic for talking about our intimacy with his sister. But then his brain cycles back to the question of how long I've been out of the shower.

He glances that direction before sitting up straighter, setting his feet back on the ground.

"You...you didn't use the hair dryer?"

I shake my head and ask again. "Do you want more coffee?"

He fidgets, uncomfortable being offered coffee in his own home. "Uh, no. I've had enough. But you can have as much as you want, Yori."

I smile at the nickname. One, surprisingly enough, no one has ever called me before.

"You're a good host." I pour myself a cup, using his mug, no point wasting dishes, and sit at the table.

I take a sip, making sure to get the remnants of blood smeared at the rim from earlier. I watch him as I do this, he doesn't notice, his mind and body still tense and overwhelmed by my sudden presence.

I glance over my shoulder at the mural. "It's lovely. Did you draw it?"

His body relaxes, mistaking my choice of conversation as ignorance to the one before. His eyes leave mine to smile at the artwork. "Hell no. Poet, my sister, she's the artist in the family, not me."

I blink, turning my eyes his way, surprised at his humility. "You don't think yourself an artist?"

He cocks his head to the side, thinking about it. "No, not really. I can draw up a blueprint, build bikes, sure. But me, an artist? Na, no way." He shrugs. "I'm just a grease monkey."

I examine him closely. He's not lying. He genuinely thinks what he's saying is true.

"Rush," I purr. My influence boils through my throat, his name turning into a hiss of steam as it rolls off my tongue. "Will you take me to your garage?"

He blinks as my influence seeps into his being. He smirks, all thoughts of sleep and of the world melt away. He says what he must say. What he needs to say. Because he's mine.

"Of course, Yori."

-

I walk down the stairs as he flicks on a light switch.

I slither through his bobbers, touching them with care. In my peripheral I can see him watching me.

I straddle one. A fierce custom Nightster with broomstick handlebars and a fat rear tire. Its sleek black paint job contrasts with my skin. "This," I adjust my position and lock eyes with him, "all this, is art, Rush."

"You're exaggerating a tad." He's leaning on Sleipnir's hood, arms crossed, blank expression, he's doing a good job of keeping his word, ignoring my influence as best he can. His focused eyes and the aroma of his arousal betray him to me.

"No," I shake my head, "No, I'm not. You put every ounce of yourself into your work. You live for it."

I watch my voice caress him; His body shudders with its embrace. His heart thrums as the syllables pluck at its strings. Those piercing eyes close heavily with the overwhelming feeling of warmth I'm strangling him with.

I take that chance to walk up to him, as I'm meant to. No human can track my steps hypnotized or sober. I wrap my hands around his shoulders and push him back so he's resting against the hood.

My lips brush his ear. "Sleipnir, is you personified."

His breath hitches. Feeling my hips grind his through the loose cloth of our clothing. "What..." he wants to ask how we got this way, with his back pressed tightly against the car and my hands roaming his pecs and down his torso. Instead he focuses on the words reverberating through his mind. "...What do you mean?"

"He is everything you are. He's your self portrait. You built him, designed him, didn't you?" He nods, but I want an answer, I want details. "Didn't you?"

"Yes. The Mustangs are Pop's. But Sleipnir..." His words fall apart as he grasps my arms with trembling hands. "...I-I think we should stop."

"Why?" I ask softly. "Don't you like it?"

"I shouldn't..." He clenches his jaw, trying to think clearly through the fog and failing. "Maybe? I don't know."

I brush my hand through his hair. "How do you feel?"

His frown deepens. "I feel...warm?" He nods, looking into my eyes. A mistake on his part. I see him lose himself completely in their depths. "I feel good."

I smile victoriously. "I promise I'll make you feel better, so much better. Just...keep talking. Tell me about the car." His frown seeps away as he begins to relax at my touch. I kiss down his neck, running my tongue over his large pulsing jugular. "Go on," I coax.

"I-I always wanted to build cars, especially a muscle car." He can't keep his breathing under control as my right hand travels ever so slowly down his treasure trail to the hem of his sweatpants. My left hand keeps him still, gripping his chest as it rises and falls. "I worked on it all through school, selling my soul, my very existence into making the dream a reality. Once the design was finalized people went ape shit over it. Major Companies offered me scholarships and a internship after." He pauses, shuddering as my hand finds its way under his pants and wraps around his hardening sex. "I-I sold myself to Dodge and the dream came true. The Dodge Sleipnir was born."

We hold each other in silence. The only sound coming from the intimate connection between my hand and him.

I hold his carotid between my teeth, flicking it with my tongue. I let it go with a sigh, I have to be patient. I descend, kissing his Aurtic Arch before going down to his heart. I bite just above the organ, hard enough to where he'll have a bruise in the morning.

He tries to follow me as I continue, but I press him back down. He doesn't understand, and continues to try and take control, wrapping his fingers in my hair, pushing me downward.