The Sound of Drums
May. 9th, 2013 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ayascytheAuthor: ![[info]](../../img/userinfo.gif?v=87.4)
ayascythe
Fandom: Les Misérables (mostly 2012 movie-verse)
Pairings, Characters: Marius Pontmercy/OC, implied Marius Pontmercy/Enjolras
Rating: R
Language: English
Categories/Warnings: Slash, sex, roleplay, PTSD, infidelity, angstangstangstangst
Beta: not beta-ed
Disclaimer: I don't own Les Misérables. I'm just borrowing some of its characters to play a little bit with them. In no way do I intend to claim them as mine or make any money with this.
Summary: The sound of drums and cannons is always with you and the cries of dying friends lulls you into your sleep. It's only moments like this when you finally, finally forget.
A/N: I wrote this when I was angry and with the intention of breaking Marius. I think I did. (No, I really like him, I'm just a huge sucker for angst.) Also, this is not beta-ed so any mistakes pointed out to me will be gladly corrected.
The Sound of Drums
I hurt myself today,
To see if I still feel
He pushes you up against the wall and the impact takes your breath away – whether out of longing or out of pain is hard to tell. Your wounds are fully healed by now, but sometimes you still feel the ache of your twisted knee or the pang of a gunshot in your shoulder. Then again, you feel and see a lot of things that are not there anymore.
„Pay attention,“ he snaps and it is so … characteristic you almost laugh. Your amusement seems to anger him, because the grip in your hair becomes almost painful.
„I'm sorry“, you whisper, clearly not meaning it. He pulls your head back to expose your throat, licking along the soft skin over your collarbone and making you whimper.
„You should be.“
„I am. I am. Can we- I-“, you mutter, red-faced and breathless. His smile is cruelly beautiful, beautifully cruel, and his hair is golden.
He drags you over to the bed and it should shame you, the little amount of time it takes him to make you beg for more, the way you yearn for him to enter you and push you into the untidy sheets. It should shame you, but the truth is: you need this. The sound of drums and cannons is always with you and the cries of dying friends lulls you into your sleep. It's only moments like this when you finally, finally forget.
Cosette is an angel, gentle and kind and understanding, and that is why she can never know. Not when you finally learn to smile at her and to sleep through the night again. (Mostly, you just learn to muffle the screams after you awake with a start. Cosette is a light sleeper, but even she doesn't stir at your silent whimpers anymore. You take a twisted kind of pride in this.)
So you sneak out into the night and look for houses like this one, where there are boys and men like you. You always pick the blond ones – blond and blue-eyed and achingly young –, even though only a few have that special kind of curls to make it perfect. Some of them are even willing to play along with your strange requests.
“But what do you want me to do, Monsieur?“ they ask, „who shall I be?“ (Sometimes you make a jest and say „Apollo“, but the looks of confusion on their faces always make you regret it.)
You think of him and all the words that come to your mind – passionate, driven, merciless, invincible, full of expectations and disappointment – but none of it even begins to describe what he was to you. So you just huff out a little laugh and say: „a man of ice and fire.“
This one, he almost gets it right.
„Would you die for our cause?“, he groans close to your ear. He is harsh and fragile at the same time and he touches you with a tender roughness that makes you close your eyes and just imagine.
„Yes,“ you sob, as he fucks into you, hard and deep and relentless. But then he goes on, saying: „and would you die for me?“
… and it almost makes your heart stop. Because Enjolras would never have asked that, never would have wanted it. Such declarations never meant anything to him. Not even from you. Especially not from you. You were just the dreamer who never realised what was truly important. (But that is not true, isn't it? You just had different priorities.)
„Yes, yes I would die“, you breathe and let yourself be pushed over the edge. You laugh quietly and cling to the boy a little harder, but all you can think is: God, I wish I had.
Somewhere in your head, the drums start beating again.
ayascythe Fandom: Les Misérables (mostly 2012 movie-verse)
Pairings, Characters: Marius Pontmercy/OC, implied Marius Pontmercy/Enjolras
Rating: R
Language: English
Categories/Warnings: Slash, sex, roleplay, PTSD, infidelity, angstangstangstangst
Beta: not beta-ed
Disclaimer: I don't own Les Misérables. I'm just borrowing some of its characters to play a little bit with them. In no way do I intend to claim them as mine or make any money with this.
Summary: The sound of drums and cannons is always with you and the cries of dying friends lulls you into your sleep. It's only moments like this when you finally, finally forget.
A/N: I wrote this when I was angry and with the intention of breaking Marius. I think I did. (No, I really like him, I'm just a huge sucker for angst.) Also, this is not beta-ed so any mistakes pointed out to me will be gladly corrected.
The Sound of Drums
I hurt myself today,
To see if I still feel
He pushes you up against the wall and the impact takes your breath away – whether out of longing or out of pain is hard to tell. Your wounds are fully healed by now, but sometimes you still feel the ache of your twisted knee or the pang of a gunshot in your shoulder. Then again, you feel and see a lot of things that are not there anymore.
„Pay attention,“ he snaps and it is so … characteristic you almost laugh. Your amusement seems to anger him, because the grip in your hair becomes almost painful.
„I'm sorry“, you whisper, clearly not meaning it. He pulls your head back to expose your throat, licking along the soft skin over your collarbone and making you whimper.
„You should be.“
„I am. I am. Can we- I-“, you mutter, red-faced and breathless. His smile is cruelly beautiful, beautifully cruel, and his hair is golden.
He drags you over to the bed and it should shame you, the little amount of time it takes him to make you beg for more, the way you yearn for him to enter you and push you into the untidy sheets. It should shame you, but the truth is: you need this. The sound of drums and cannons is always with you and the cries of dying friends lulls you into your sleep. It's only moments like this when you finally, finally forget.
Cosette is an angel, gentle and kind and understanding, and that is why she can never know. Not when you finally learn to smile at her and to sleep through the night again. (Mostly, you just learn to muffle the screams after you awake with a start. Cosette is a light sleeper, but even she doesn't stir at your silent whimpers anymore. You take a twisted kind of pride in this.)
So you sneak out into the night and look for houses like this one, where there are boys and men like you. You always pick the blond ones – blond and blue-eyed and achingly young –, even though only a few have that special kind of curls to make it perfect. Some of them are even willing to play along with your strange requests.
“But what do you want me to do, Monsieur?“ they ask, „who shall I be?“ (Sometimes you make a jest and say „Apollo“, but the looks of confusion on their faces always make you regret it.)
You think of him and all the words that come to your mind – passionate, driven, merciless, invincible, full of expectations and disappointment – but none of it even begins to describe what he was to you. So you just huff out a little laugh and say: „a man of ice and fire.“
This one, he almost gets it right.
„Would you die for our cause?“, he groans close to your ear. He is harsh and fragile at the same time and he touches you with a tender roughness that makes you close your eyes and just imagine.
„Yes,“ you sob, as he fucks into you, hard and deep and relentless. But then he goes on, saying: „and would you die for me?“
… and it almost makes your heart stop. Because Enjolras would never have asked that, never would have wanted it. Such declarations never meant anything to him. Not even from you. Especially not from you. You were just the dreamer who never realised what was truly important. (But that is not true, isn't it? You just had different priorities.)
„Yes, yes I would die“, you breathe and let yourself be pushed over the edge. You laugh quietly and cling to the boy a little harder, but all you can think is: God, I wish I had.
Somewhere in your head, the drums start beating again.
