druffine | FIC: Nothing Ever Changes - S/X

I was at work and I was bored and frustrated that I had to be there. I started writing and this came out of it:

Title:
Pairing: S/X
Warnings: kinda dark
Length: about 800 words

A biiiig teddy bear hug to my beta

joolzmp7!

Nothing Ever Changes

The knife against his skin whispers of oblivion. Peace. Calm.
Soothing and mocking him with the cold sharpness that does not bite - yet.

"Xander?"

His voice is like the knife, cold and sharp and always just a tad amused.
He longs for both, yearns for the casual pain each offers. So different and not the same, but still equal. Not enough is what he hears from both.

It's like birthday and Christmas at once - if those were good things for him - now he gets both of them at the same time.

He presses the razor-like edge against his skin, just enjoying the increasing pressure, waiting for the moment when the skin will gave way and part, welcoming and embracing the metal and the pain it brings. The peace, the calm, the oblivion.
Eyes dilate and slide half closed in anticipation of the nothingness.

"Stop. It. Right. Now. WHELP."

Low angry growl under the cold voice, demanding – no: commanding, but for him it's a husky whisper. "Yes whelp, right now, right there."

He moans and presses harder - deeper. Eventually, he feels the warm liquid running down his collarbone, pooling in the dent under his adam's apple and then slickly leaking down along his breastbone, until it soaks into the white wifebeater's collar.

"Bloody Hell!"

And then there is movement, slow but determined. Boots, knees and finally black clad erection fill his vision, because he doesn't look up when the other kneels in front of him.

"No, boy, you'll not end like this. Come on, lemme take care 'f you."

The voice is smooth now, like dark red velvet, but even the softest fabric hurts when you rub it into open wounds.

There is a hand now around both of his and the knife. Cool, strong fingers are guiding his own down to his lap, like fragile Chinese porcelain.

He feels the wound pulsing now the knife and the pressure is gone, spewing out new blood with every heartbeat, increasing the emptiness inside himself as expected.

"Fuck, whelp!"

There is pressure again at his neck, cool, silk encased bones gliding through precious liquid.

"This is not working. You stupid boy, you…"

Light-headed and dizzy, the world spirals out of his grasp and words blur to a low humming. Oblivion is nearing.

"Just trust me on this, whelp, k?"

Nothing makes sense anymore and that feels good. No responsibility. Not even for his own mind or body anymore. Free and light. And coolness is embracing him now, holding him and consuming him, through the wound in his neck.

Something changes and the blood inside his veins stops the race to discover the outside world, stops leaving him, unlike everybody before who has left him and he just can't understand it.
Nothing left to stay for, but not allowed to go, …what? …where?
Feeling returns, and dizzy is a state he is used to now and can still think.

The mouth on his neck isn't sucking, isn't taking what he offers and he sobs because this is the final rejection.
Not enough.
Not good enough.
Not good enough for anything.
This is like the knife being rammed inside his heart and it's twisting around wildly, shredding his last hopes and taking his courage away.

Tears are flowing freely now and he whimpers and whines and tries to get away from the one who took his last decision out of his hands, robbed him of the last freedom and dignity a human possesses, the decision whether to go on or not.

"You're okay now, whelp. The gash has closed. Vampire saliva and all. You're okay now. You're safe. You hear me?"

If he didn't know for sure before this, he is sure now. This world is the real hell. The cruelty is that nobody knows, but everybody suspects it.
Life doesn't need monsters, doesn't need pain and suffering.
He is laid on the bed.

The other's words - okay, safe - a mockery in the face of true enlightenment, when the darkness comes crawling closer with every pounding heartbeat and takes away his breath until it's black around him and a perverse, fake oblivion claims him into a darkness that will not last forever, and isn't waking up scarier than ever before?

"That was close, whelp. God, nearly lost you. …
Sleep now. Tomorrow will better, you'll see."

Better? How can this ever get better? He turns away from the other, the other that is one of those monsters, that aren't monsters but angels or saviours, now as the world turned to hell and death to salvation. No, not this one, this one isn't an angel, it kept him here instead of helping him out of this hell.

This monster should be an angel but is a monster and nothing ever changes.
Nothing ever changes.

The End

I would really like to hear some opinions about it...

FIC: Nothing Ever Changes - S/X - (kinda) dark

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