TW: Slight sexual content

Title: ~My Mind Is A Broken Record~

You hope the stubble on your face cuts him like his does to you. Neither of you have shaved in days, preoccupied by countless other tasks. At least you’ve had the decency to brush your teeth every night. His breath smells like the trail of death he creates.

Even with his countless unending nights of work, his hands are still soft like back in the days when he was purely a slacker. A small part of you still wishes to come home and see his feet up on your priceless wooden tables instead of it being empty while he still toils.

It used to be you. You were the one spending hours upon hours trying to improve the home, create automation and make life simpler in the end for the two of you. He would be there, giving you endless nights of entertainment. His songs used to be something of comfort, a moment of star gazing as his lyrics pushed you to drift. Now he only sings to affirm his presence as practically demonic. He wants to have power and he finds it easiest to drum it up through fear.

Though you could never be afraid of him. He can take you by surprise, sure, but fear him, never.  He still has a raised voice when asking for things. A master bloodmage he calls himself and yet he still forgets to pack a lunch. A bit of you always hopes he does forget when he springs trips out of the blue. Just so you can have a moment where his fingers are under your chin when he thanks you. It has become so hard to slow him down when he gets something stuck in his one track mind. Lunch has become a time where you can bring it to a halt luckily. Lucky, lucky, how lucky you are when he sits with you again, like nothing has changed since he first walked into your home.

At a single moment, a second in your day such as that, you want it all to go back. The poorly planned jokes and pranks on one another. How he would cackle and sprint as you chased him across the yard. His long legs always moving him like a gazelle, but you never minded being slower. Having the fluttering promise of grabbing the back of his shirt always seeming to be in your reach was good enough. A chance to catch him and pull him into your body. Ruffle his hair, laugh as you’re both heaving breathlessly. A moment of spurred intimacy as you both sunk into the damp grass.

The separation you experienced, he experienced, the solo survival. Praying he was eating enough, sleeping somewhere safe, was not being misused by evils that could find him. Your motives were automatic, embedded into your mind since years back. Security, strength, stability by yourself, but you could never look up at the sky and not think of him.

You kept that static filled radio on day and night just to have background noise again. You would catch yourself making two of everything. Even as he was not with you there was still the need to prepare for when he returned. One for you, one for him. One for you, one for him. You were alone. All alone, so alone. You needed to find him.

Not being able to hold it in, you took off in a frantic terror filled night. The darkness around you, it reminded you of his hair, but it wasn’t smooth like his. The pale moon, his skin, and you could not reach it. He was all around in the night, covering you and boiling your memories to the surface, and one more night you could not handle. Out of bed, out the door and out into the night. You called his name and prayed.

It was like he was waiting for you, expecting you all along. You wondered when he would ask what took you so long. You wanted to run into his arms. Use your weight to knock him down and keep him still, keep him from moving so you would know for more than a second exactly where he was again.

He showed you his creations and his discoveries. You almost couldn’t believe it to be true, he had accomplished so much without you, and it was almost painful. Painful, so painful. You feared he wouldn’t need you anymore. That your help was no longer suited for him and he would fly off on his own, but he told you of his secret.

You remember how excited you were when you felt included again, that he needed you there to show off. At the very least, you were needed for something.

Out of everything you could think of, those orbs, you didn’t want them to reflect your eyes back to you. Feel it almost demand for you to use it. Trade energy for power. The orb made it seem so simple, and he fell for it.

“One for both of us Will!” You can still hear the excitement in his voice.

Now you’re here, your back pressed into the alter, his hands in your pockets. You don’t know the exact day he traded instruments, his guitar for his knife, but it happened so naturally for him.

The magic, it gives him power. Your machines, metallic creations, give you power. You often wonder if you’re an equal match or if one outweighs the other. The thought of testing a theory such as that cuts at your very core. You don’t want to see the same face that spits out childish whines and poorly constructed jokes to stare you down with a raised hand. Nor would you ever want him to see you do the same.

You know he does magic for both of you. Not just him, it’s for you both. He’s not just saying it either, you know this. How his voice jumps when he thinks you’re hurt. How he throws himself into the battle, between you and the foe. Sometimes you remind yourself he’s always been reckless in fights, but when he turns to you and asks if you’re alright, that’s when his eyes become bottomless again.

You don’t like it when he gets visitors, when the attention is away from you. How helets them look at him. They are not allowed to look. The thought of comparing you and others is not allowed to enter into his head. You instruct yourself of this over and over, he cannot compare, cannot compare… No one can compare to Parv.

Ridge, why did he have to appear? You ask that question every second you’re forced to smell his overused cologne. You ask it once, twice and it’s set on repeat. It comes out in your breath and you wish he could hear you. You want his crooked smile to turn to you and drop, but he’s far too distracted with your student. How dare he. How dare he. HOW DARE HE.

You are still the teacher, and he is simply on the wrong path. Mislead, mislead, mislead. By tempting forces, ugly faces that make promises you know will fail. You need to remind him of that. You will protect him from those that want to use him.

The thoughts that constantly echo, you almost doubted your senses. They might have been too severe, too controlling. You thought that, until you caught him. That one day, sixteen days ago from this exact moment, you saw his face. The smile he had; How he showed his teeth when you finally broke and threatened Ridge, forcing his leave. The way his eyebrows slanted, he liked your show. He was pleased with your possessive display.

Coming close to telling him to stop his studies, end it all and come with you as you felt his breath on your ear. You came close to telling him to stop, but not his hand. You wanted that to keep going.

His wink after, like it was all a game he was far too skilled in, it was another piece to it all. It made your mind stop, for those lost hazy seconds. You didn’t mind the ringing words at that moment. It all seemed so natural even as he walked away with mixing liquids on his hands.

Worry is hard to suppress. His practice, it is energy he uses, sometimes his very own. Life energy, it gets used and reused and let go. You could call him an over eager recycler, perhaps.

You pocket the earth’s materials, and those cannot return once taken. But he is the one who is wrong, he does wrong, right? But you too are wrong. So, so, wrong. You wonder if that’s how you have stayed together for so long.

Worry again. He takes risks you are unsure about. You don’t want his exercise to steal his life. It demands so much, you don’t want it to turn on him. You try to laugh it off, laugh it all off, but God he feels so warm. And when he turns his blade to others, away from himself, your hunger wants to encourage the action.

You are both wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This is wrong you would tell yourself, but you know that this is so right as he pushes you further. You can feel your hair soak into the pool of blood. He tastes right, healthy, one of your five a day.

You cannot lose him. Lost, lost, you would be lost. So you grip harder.

His hair is too thin and too long. Too thin… and too long. It’s the reason why you pull it. You swear there’s poison in his veins, luring you. There has to be, and an antidote is in yours. That’s why he bites your skin like he has no seconds to spare. 

He marks your neck and you love how he craves you so much to continue, unrelenting. His filthy leaching mind, it warms your body, thirsting for him to thrust his hips into yours again. You absorb the sigh he pushes into your hair. When did his lips get there so fast?

Your mind dismisses the question. The whispers he breathes distract you, just enough for him to break your buttons. He can give you more, and you want more, so much more.

“So growly aren’t you Will?”

His words stick out with his playful tongue and something stirs you to snap your teeth at him. He likes this action and you try to keep your face from overheating as he laughs.

“And so possessive…”

Your face is stuffed into the crook of his neck before your brain can catch up. A little lick and you turn his laugh into a moan. There is no time for self-congratulation; he’s already muffling his words into your skin again. Grab, suck, tease, his entire key words shake you and you let him take control.

Blood pumps so loudly, it’s rushing in your ears and somehow the metallic taste is on his tongue. You keep your hold as he lifts you up. Hold on, hold on you tell yourself. The agonizingly slow massacre below the stone you’re both on, it falls out of your circle of concern. You want the man enfolding you to steal their power. Such capacity, wanting to please you and be pleased by you. You can’t worry anymore. You want everything, all of it. Take it all, all of it.

You tell the echoes to shut up.

“You’re mine Parvis.”