The Chumscrubber: Anger Issues (Rated R)
Jun. 30th, 2008 05:24 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
udontknoowme.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rareslashTitle: Anger Issues
Fandom: The Chumscrubber
Rating: R
Pairing: Billy/Dean
Warnings: Language, sexual situations, slash
Disclaimer: No, I do not own the boys, names, places, blah, blah used in this fic. They belong to their respective creators.
Dean wakes up when two strong hands shake his shoulders. He opens his eyes drowsily, mouth open and ready to yell at whoever woke him.
Dean is scared shitless.
He doesn’t know why the hell Billy is in his room, but he’s there, standing motionlessly over his bed.
“Billy?! What the fuck?!” he whispers. Dean’s eyes shoot to the open window and the curtains flapping in the breeze. The screen had been cut, leaving a misshapen hole down the middle. He should have closed that window. Should have closed it and turned on the damn air conditioner. He shouldn't have taken so many goddamn pills that he couldn't hear someone breaking into his fucking room. He shouldn't have-
"Hello, Dean," Billy greets in a way not unlike a serial killer. Playful with a malicious subtext.
“Get the hell out,” Dean hisses and reaches up to turn on the lamp beside his bed. Both he and Billy wince at the sudden invasion of light.
Billy shakes his head and kneels on his bed. “Do you know how long I was in there?”
Dean scrambles away from him and hits the shelves at the head of his bed hard, rattling the items on it. Three hundred and fifty-two days, but who’s counting? “No.”
“They let me out on good behavior. Probation,” Billy continues. His voice is lower and rougher than before prison. Like he’s lost it on more than one occasion from screaming.
“That’s nice,” Dean responds hesitantly. Billy went to prison. Who knows what kind of man he is now? He jumps when Billy plants both hands on the bed, the movement startling him like some kind of neurotic squirrel. He should scream. He should yell for his fucking mother.
“Yeah,” and Billy’s leaning closer…
Dean’s stare is drawn to Billy’s eye. In the yellow light, he can see the white of a scar at both ends of it. There’s a white line running through his iris and pupil and it almost looks like he has a cataract.
It is incredibly disturbing.
Billy pulls away, suddenly self-conscious. “Don’t look at it.”
“Sorry,” Dean blanches at the sudden apology. It wasn’t his fault Billy decided to try and fucking kidnap his brother, only to end up with some other kid who sliced his eye in half. Why the hell is he apologizing?
“They called me Cyclops,” Billy starts after a period of awkward silence.
Dean feels a stab of sympathy. Billy is too pretty for prison. Even with his injured eye, Billy retains the boyish good looks that brought him hordes of girls in high school (and one, in particular). God knows what they do to guys like him in those kinds of places. The thought of it is enough to scare Dean away from crime for life.
“You,” Billy growls. His hand whips out fast as a snake and clenches Dean’s shirt front.
Dean braces himself for the punch that’s sure to come. He squeezes his eyes shut and steels his jaw, awaiting the sting of a fist on his cheek.
“I saw you.”
Dean feels Billy’s breath on his cheek and tips his head back to get away from it. He smells like liquor and pot. It gives Dean a small feeling of reassurance that Billy is not in a right state of mind and probably doesn’t know what he’s doing. That feeling is replaced in a split second by the dire realization that Billy isn’t in a right state of mind and doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“In the prison courtyard. Lying on the other bunk. In the showers…” Billy’s hand releases the death grip on Dean’s shirt and rests on his chest for a beat. “Everywhere.”
Dean cracks open an eye, confused. “Eh?”
“You kept me from killing myself. I vowed to come find you. To make you pay for what you did to me.”
Oh God, Dean stays frozen.
“But I can’t. I can’t,” Billy shakes his head. “I hate you so fucking much. I thought about everything I could do to hurt you. When some guy fucked me in the showers, I thought about strangling you.” Billy’s gaze drops down to Dean’s neck and his fingers reach out, but stop. “When I was forced to suck some guy off, I thought of you. On your knees.” His blue eyes travel up slowly and settle on Dean’s lips. He flicks his tongue out to wet his bottom lip and Dean finds the movement distracting him in a way that was definitely not normal.
Dean shifts uncomfortably and tries to press himself harder into the shelves, but for every try, Billy inches forward. He’s trembling but he doesn’t exactly know why. Billy is so close and he hasn’t had sex since Crystal disappeared six months ago… That is a train of thought Dean just wants to stop right there.
Billy’s hand rests on Dean’s ankle and slides up over a strong calf, pulling the loose pajama pant leg up with it. It sets Dean’s nerve endings on fire and…
“When my cellmate bottomed for me…,” Billy’s whisper is like the gravel he used to shove Dean’s face into when they were younger.
Don’t you dare finish that goddamn sentence, Dean lets out a strangled groan when the questing hand palms at the bulge beneath his pants. “Don’t…”
“It was you.”
“God, this is so fucked up,” Dean mutters before wrapping a hand around Billy’s neck and slamming their mouths together. “Fucking hate you,” Dean growls when Billy pulls him away from the headboard and shoves him back onto the bed.
Billy follows and knocks the wind out of Dean’s lungs when he lands on top of him heavily, each trying to climb into the other’s skin by ripping off clothes and shoving tongues down throats. Dean’s short nails scratch into all the areas of Billy’s body they have access to. Billy’s fingers leave small round bruises on Dean’s hips when he thrusts into him. Dean howls in pain, but doesn’t stop him. The thought doesn’t even cross his mind. Billy stops and stares down at the boy beneath him. Dean can see his good eye roam his face and it makes him nervous.
“Stop staring,” Dean shifts, causing Billy to gasp.
”Stop moving,” Billy accentuates his point with a short thrust.
“Fuck!” Dean grunts and anchors his hands in the bedsheet. “Do that again and I’ll…”
“What? Kill me?” Another thrust.
Dean’s hand snaps up to snag in Billy’s short black hair. “Bastard,” he gives it a quick tug, making Billy hiss lowly.
”You took away my perfect vision. My girlfriend. My life.” A hard thrust.
Dean’s back arches off the bed. He pulls Billy’s head down for a hard kiss, teeth sinking into a chapped bottom lip. Billy closes his eyes and moans.
“You might as well have killed me.”
“Fuck you,” Dean growls and tightens his legs around Billy’s waist, reveling in the drawn out moan it causes.
Billy leans down and bites Dean’s ear. “I’m the one fucking you here.”
Dean shudders.
Fandom: The Chumscrubber
Rating: R
Pairing: Billy/Dean
Warnings: Language, sexual situations, slash
Disclaimer: No, I do not own the boys, names, places, blah, blah used in this fic. They belong to their respective creators.
Dean wakes up when two strong hands shake his shoulders. He opens his eyes drowsily, mouth open and ready to yell at whoever woke him.
Dean is scared shitless.
He doesn’t know why the hell Billy is in his room, but he’s there, standing motionlessly over his bed.
“Billy?! What the fuck?!” he whispers. Dean’s eyes shoot to the open window and the curtains flapping in the breeze. The screen had been cut, leaving a misshapen hole down the middle. He should have closed that window. Should have closed it and turned on the damn air conditioner. He shouldn't have taken so many goddamn pills that he couldn't hear someone breaking into his fucking room. He shouldn't have-
"Hello, Dean," Billy greets in a way not unlike a serial killer. Playful with a malicious subtext.
“Get the hell out,” Dean hisses and reaches up to turn on the lamp beside his bed. Both he and Billy wince at the sudden invasion of light.
Billy shakes his head and kneels on his bed. “Do you know how long I was in there?”
Dean scrambles away from him and hits the shelves at the head of his bed hard, rattling the items on it. Three hundred and fifty-two days, but who’s counting? “No.”
“They let me out on good behavior. Probation,” Billy continues. His voice is lower and rougher than before prison. Like he’s lost it on more than one occasion from screaming.
“That’s nice,” Dean responds hesitantly. Billy went to prison. Who knows what kind of man he is now? He jumps when Billy plants both hands on the bed, the movement startling him like some kind of neurotic squirrel. He should scream. He should yell for his fucking mother.
“Yeah,” and Billy’s leaning closer…
Dean’s stare is drawn to Billy’s eye. In the yellow light, he can see the white of a scar at both ends of it. There’s a white line running through his iris and pupil and it almost looks like he has a cataract.
It is incredibly disturbing.
Billy pulls away, suddenly self-conscious. “Don’t look at it.”
“Sorry,” Dean blanches at the sudden apology. It wasn’t his fault Billy decided to try and fucking kidnap his brother, only to end up with some other kid who sliced his eye in half. Why the hell is he apologizing?
“They called me Cyclops,” Billy starts after a period of awkward silence.
Dean feels a stab of sympathy. Billy is too pretty for prison. Even with his injured eye, Billy retains the boyish good looks that brought him hordes of girls in high school (and one, in particular). God knows what they do to guys like him in those kinds of places. The thought of it is enough to scare Dean away from crime for life.
“You,” Billy growls. His hand whips out fast as a snake and clenches Dean’s shirt front.
Dean braces himself for the punch that’s sure to come. He squeezes his eyes shut and steels his jaw, awaiting the sting of a fist on his cheek.
“I saw you.”
Dean feels Billy’s breath on his cheek and tips his head back to get away from it. He smells like liquor and pot. It gives Dean a small feeling of reassurance that Billy is not in a right state of mind and probably doesn’t know what he’s doing. That feeling is replaced in a split second by the dire realization that Billy isn’t in a right state of mind and doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“In the prison courtyard. Lying on the other bunk. In the showers…” Billy’s hand releases the death grip on Dean’s shirt and rests on his chest for a beat. “Everywhere.”
Dean cracks open an eye, confused. “Eh?”
“You kept me from killing myself. I vowed to come find you. To make you pay for what you did to me.”
Oh God, Dean stays frozen.
“But I can’t. I can’t,” Billy shakes his head. “I hate you so fucking much. I thought about everything I could do to hurt you. When some guy fucked me in the showers, I thought about strangling you.” Billy’s gaze drops down to Dean’s neck and his fingers reach out, but stop. “When I was forced to suck some guy off, I thought of you. On your knees.” His blue eyes travel up slowly and settle on Dean’s lips. He flicks his tongue out to wet his bottom lip and Dean finds the movement distracting him in a way that was definitely not normal.
Dean shifts uncomfortably and tries to press himself harder into the shelves, but for every try, Billy inches forward. He’s trembling but he doesn’t exactly know why. Billy is so close and he hasn’t had sex since Crystal disappeared six months ago… That is a train of thought Dean just wants to stop right there.
Billy’s hand rests on Dean’s ankle and slides up over a strong calf, pulling the loose pajama pant leg up with it. It sets Dean’s nerve endings on fire and…
“When my cellmate bottomed for me…,” Billy’s whisper is like the gravel he used to shove Dean’s face into when they were younger.
Don’t you dare finish that goddamn sentence, Dean lets out a strangled groan when the questing hand palms at the bulge beneath his pants. “Don’t…”
“It was you.”
“God, this is so fucked up,” Dean mutters before wrapping a hand around Billy’s neck and slamming their mouths together. “Fucking hate you,” Dean growls when Billy pulls him away from the headboard and shoves him back onto the bed.
Billy follows and knocks the wind out of Dean’s lungs when he lands on top of him heavily, each trying to climb into the other’s skin by ripping off clothes and shoving tongues down throats. Dean’s short nails scratch into all the areas of Billy’s body they have access to. Billy’s fingers leave small round bruises on Dean’s hips when he thrusts into him. Dean howls in pain, but doesn’t stop him. The thought doesn’t even cross his mind. Billy stops and stares down at the boy beneath him. Dean can see his good eye roam his face and it makes him nervous.
“Stop staring,” Dean shifts, causing Billy to gasp.
”Stop moving,” Billy accentuates his point with a short thrust.
“Fuck!” Dean grunts and anchors his hands in the bedsheet. “Do that again and I’ll…”
“What? Kill me?” Another thrust.
Dean’s hand snaps up to snag in Billy’s short black hair. “Bastard,” he gives it a quick tug, making Billy hiss lowly.
”You took away my perfect vision. My girlfriend. My life.” A hard thrust.
Dean’s back arches off the bed. He pulls Billy’s head down for a hard kiss, teeth sinking into a chapped bottom lip. Billy closes his eyes and moans.
“You might as well have killed me.”
“Fuck you,” Dean growls and tightens his legs around Billy’s waist, reveling in the drawn out moan it causes.
Billy leans down and bites Dean’s ear. “I’m the one fucking you here.”
Dean shudders.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Yay!!!
Date: 2008-07-07 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-08 06:14 pm (UTC)