.Which Guy-on-Guy Couple Is Your Favorite Slash Pairing?
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~TWOODKRO~ (Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej)
Two years. It’s been two years since that damned virus got loose and the world hasn’t been the same since. At first, he was disbelieving, but now looking outside from where the slope of the mountain tumbles into the fog and darkness below in the early light of day, he finds himself unable to be sceptical anymore.It sucks balls, more than anything and it almost swallows him up some days, lest he manages to fight his demons off for another hour, but now it’s personal.Too personal.The house they’ve been living in the last six months was obviously abandoned a long time ago, some rich folk most likely clutching their pearls and wealth thinking it would save them in a fucking pandemic as they packed up their Bently or Chevolt’s or whatever and fled.He doesn’t mean to hope they’re dead and they’ve somehow learnt their lesson, but it happens to wash over him right now as he pulls together a collection of shitty sandwiches with the bread and canned goods and such he’s managed to scour from the abandoned bodega down the road from where he’s dragged them to hide from the authorities.He knows that they’re looking for them, as well as probably others who have somehow ended up in the same boat, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t find them up here, or so he hopes.It’s not much of a place to be, in the hills of California, but it’s safe. It’s hidden.Perhaps if they were back home, well in his home, in the Midwest, things would be different.But they aren’t in Chicago and they have no family to rely on, no friends either as most have died or hidden themselves away under curfew and curtains, so they just have to go with it.Plus if anyone did know where they are, it’s safe to stay they wouldn’t be alive for very long.Picking up the plate of food in the present, he trudges from the kitchen, through the living room and down an unlocked door that leads to a basement, as dark and wide as the city below them and he stands there, heart-pounding and mouth dry.He doesn’t mean to flinch, when he sees a movement out the corner of his eye, but turns towards it fast, biting his lip as he watches, swallowing.“How are you doing today?”The dark corner is practically calling him as he stands at the door, hoping, praying that he’ll hear a response back still, that this won’t be the day he has to run for his life and-“How the fuck do you think I’m doing?”The voice he gets in return is soft, croaky and sad, but it makes his shoulders ease and his breath wheeze as it leaves his chest, relieved.“Just thought I’d ask.” “It doesn’t matter, Shane. Nothing does anymore.”It hits him like a slap in the face and he takes almost 3 strides forward, soothing words about to spill from his lips before there’s a hiss and he stops, hesitant.“I thought I told you to stay away from me.”“Yeah, well, I’m hungry and I don’t exactly think that my boyfriend, whom I love very much, should be sitting alone in a basement while I eat without him.”“I’m not the one who is hiding my boyfriend from law enforcement.”“I’m not the one trying to save my boyfriend from-” It’s slightly angry, but it dies out as soon as there’s a movement and he’s in the light, seething mad.“You can’t save me, so fucking stop it!”God, it’s spread and he hates having to admit that. It’s fucking spread. His arm is a haze of blackened and tanned skin, the bandage that he’d tied around the bite wound he’d gotten while they were on patrol worn and grubby.One of his eyes has gone, it must have happened during the night as they were both there yesterday morning, the dark brown eclipsed by cloudy solid whiteness drowning in the black smudges around it. It makes him swallow, once again, but he’s not afraid. Not yet.“I know that, but I’m trying to.” Shane’s voice is quiet and in front of him, he sees the despair on his lover’s face, the shards of himself trying desperately not to crack more in front of him as he knows Shane will try to pick up the pieces, but it’s too dangerous now.“You can’t.” His voice is raw as he tries not to lose it in front of him. “It’s...it’s almost to my brain, you can’t save me now. Why won’t you just throw me outside and let me go?”“Because I fucking love you!” It’s explosive, he doesn’t mean it to be, but it’s like a fire roaring through his veins. “I told you, 3 fucking weeks ago, that I would be with you until the end!”“Not like this!” His voice is screaming at him, heartbroken. “I didn’t want this, I just want it to be over, Shane, I can’t do this anymore! I can’t watch you try anymore!”“Then has this been all for nothing!?” Shane’s pissed, but his voice comes out so uncharacteristically quiet. “Has this-me, finding this place, fighting off the police, killing a guy in cold blood who was going to report us, been all for nothing, Ryan?”He watches, listens as his boyfriend just stands there, ragged breathing stark in the cold quiet of the place, before it turns into a quiet sob and Shane steps forward, wrapping him up in his arms despite the possibility he could be bitten at any moment or worse.He can feel the hands clutching at his shirt on his back and the weeping in the collar, but he doesn’t move, he just kisses a kiss to the black hair underneath his nose and rocks him slowly, eyes closed as the sun starts slipping down into the haze of fog below.Todays not the day, no. Thankfully not.But he can’t say the same about tomorrow.
IMACOCBYG,OTPO (Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej)
He knows it’s been a while, since he’s been here. Fair play, the /look/ that most of his old coworkers had given him the day of really made it so much harder. He was always a stickler for emotions and that day….that fucking day, it was like a goddamn ocean.Swallowed him up and then cruelly, spat him out without so much as an oar or a map or clue of what the hell to do or where the hell to go from here. He supposes that despite having been there through everything, it’s also as if he was never there at all, or worse, a spectator, watching and thinking and feeling and unable to stop what was coming.He hasn’t been fully back in his own head since it happened, it’s been three months, maybe longer if he really analyses the time passing between the last time he heard gravel as fine and grayscale as the stuff he’s currently walking to his destination on flicking his jeans and shoes to-~walking, no, /running/ on LA’s sun-drenched shores, Steven five steps behind him when he outright tackles him, the salt and the sand and the water mingling with the tears on his face as he keeps pushing at him, screaming at him to ‘let him go’, struggling as he pleads with him to just let go of him-~His own voice, despite, pained, broken, haunts him, but only when he’s alone.Maybe Steven as well, if he’s honest with himself. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to keep him from doing worse this long.Wasn’t like he didn’t have a reason for doing anything anymore, despite that being the truth.~“Hey.” His head turns to look distantly at the figure on the bed that calls him, big brown eyes drawing him in like a rope being pulled, even if it’s weaker than it once was before and his own eyes are a thousand miles away in a past that doesn’t matter now. “You better not be beating yourself up over there. I know you. All too well.”“All too well.” The sentiment is echoed, covered over by a warm smile as fake as the denial that rises up in his chest at the way the look that’s given in return get under his skin and goes straight to the moneymaker in his chest, making it ache.~Fuck. Fuck, why did it have to be him, of all people? Of all people that could possibly get sick, in Los Angeles, in California, in the whole of the goddamn United States and the world, was he picked out of everyone to get sick?~“You don’t have to do this, you know.” There’s a buzz in his left ear as the voice, shaky and full of ache and exhaustion, speaks by his side as the arm around his neck twitches.“I want to.” It comes out as a whisper, but that’s all they need between them, a kiss exchanged form one to the other’s forehead in stark protest.“I’ll all limbs, I’m surprised you even got this far with me.”“I told you 6 years ago that you were stuck with me, can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m like a demon that’s possessing your lanky ass.”“Demons aren’t real, sweetheart.”“Fucking bite me, asshole.”~It wasn’t fair.He remembers saying that to Steven, when he wakes up later in his apartment after their beach romp. It isn’t fair. It’s obvious that he’s seen everything, given he’s been changed into sleep clothing and can barely see thanks to how swollen his eyes are from crying, but the scars martyring his wrists for the last 2 weeks aren’t invisible, as much as he wishes they would be for both their sakes.Steven suggests, quite gently despite his usual nature, along with Andrew (bastards, the both of them, at least you have who you fucking love, his mind seethes venomously) that he get help, go see someone who can fix him up, patch up the clear holes he’s made for himself in the wake of everything.It’s not that fucking easy.~“It’s not that fucking easy to forget, you know!” His voice bellows across the room, disarray surrounding him and chaos, anger, sadness, the whole works practically jumping off of him as he just stands there, breathless.“Forget what? What do you mean? I thought you were like, in a coma or something being you were sick and all and Steven was jumping on my ass cause you didn’t call this morning and no one’s seen you in the last like, 3 days-”“I’m dying, Ryan. Fucking- goddamnit, I’m dying, okay? That stupid doctor I went to called me back and told me I’m dying. Congratulations.”The blood is suddenly so loud in his ears that he doesn’t hear his heart start to break.~It’s still a bitter pill to swallow. That revelation. The diagnosis. His heart was failing, something wrong with the way it looked and sounded and more. They didn’t know what at first, only that it was bad and progressing rapidly. They eventually figured it out. Viral Cardiomyopathy. Caused indirectly by the flu. One in a million chance of it happening. The fucking flu killed his best friend.~“What the hell do you mean you won’t get a transplant?!” He can’t fathom, no, cannot believe what he’s hearing right now. Only a few days ago, he’d just found out his best friend was fucking dying and now, as soon as a viable option popped up, he said no!?“There’s no point, Ry.” There’s that damned pensive smile again, the one that made him fall head over heels for him almost 4 years ago now and want to kick himself in the shin since.“The only thing they can do is put me on the transplant list, there’s no one around who has a heart. Go figure. So what’s the point of signing my life to a series of statistics and numbers?”He fucking hates that he has a point and the anger burning his veins proves that. He wants to say something, hell, he wants to raise a fuss, holler and smack some /sense/ into him, but he knows that he’s already making sense and the exhaustion is evident in his voice as he finally speaks, teeth clenched and eyes suspiciously wet, but rapidly drying.“Fine. I trust you. I always trust you.”Trust is a very stupid thing to cry over at 12:00 am in your apartment’s bathroom, he found.~37 days. 37 days after that appointment, he was gone. 4 days later, his funeral was held and now, 93 days after that, here he finally was.Just as he promised he would be, a little late, but...it didn’t matter.Heart hammering in his chest, he finally makes it to the west side of the cemetery, squinting to make out the words on the grave as the sun splinters its rays through the trees covered around the patch of land like bodyguards of the dead.SHANE ALEXANDER MADEJ 16th of May, 1986 - 4th February, 2023A friend to all and a heart bigger than most. Beloved son of Mark and Sherry, brother to Scott, loving husband of Ryan and father of Obi REST IN PEACEOh yeah. That.~He knew that he didn’t have long to go now. He’d been carrying him in and out of bed lately, practically living in his apartment, yet still paying the rent on his own, his best friend’s body seemingly too exhausted to be bothered to work properly anymore.Stubbornly, he wanted to will his body into working, to fighting his heart and fixing him and keeping him here with him and Obi, but he knew that was selfish on them both, no matter how either felt about the impending death lingering in the distance.It’s in the middle of the afternoon, fittingly, where this stupid, mad idea comes up.“Marry me.” He suddenly blurts out, as he watches him watching the TV.There’s a hitch of breath and a weak stare from his bed as he just looks at him. “W-What?”“Marry me.” His tone is more serious now and he’s somehow ended up on his knees beside him on the bed, dark eyes staring straight at him. “Please.” It’s begging now.He doesn’t know just how, but something falls over his face, like he’s going to burst into tears before that smile, that damn smile, is back and it’s weak like the rest of him, but it’s there and it’s tangible as he rasps out. “Okay.”Ultimately, against any and all advice from any medical professional on the planet, Sara (who is an angel, literally and figuratively) is coerced into driving as they lie in the back of the car, the smell of the metallic-like synthetic oxygen puffing from the nasal cannula in Shane’s nose stark in the new car smell that Sara’s vehicle seems to always have, but they couldn’t care less.4 hours later, there’s a heap of missed calls from Steven and Andrew and Curly and so many fucking people, but he only cares from the tears running down both his and Shane’s cheeks and the feeling of cold metal both on his finger and resting against his leg, the dizzying lights of Vegas almost sending them into a spiral if it weren’t for Sara bringing them to their senses.The rings aren’t perfect, just some basic gold bands that he shelled out practically his entire savings account for, but the look on his now husband’s face made it all stop hurting.If only for a moment.~Gingerly, he stands there for almost 5 minutes before he walks over to the now slightly older looking soil, to the stone marked with Shane’s name and drops a wreath of Sampaguita* onto the stone, the pure white of the petals almost making the whole dark and deary feel of the place somehow brighter, but he’s not quite finished yet.Ever the believer, from the pockets of his coat, he produces a spirit box and settles it onto the stone’s ledge where the wealth lies against it, the wind trickling though a little as he switches it on, stepping back with his hands shaking.“Hey, big guy.” There’s a beat and the noise that both are familiar with suddenly dies down, it’s quiet, too quiet, before-“...Hey, little guy.”
It's something the crawls up his spine-a prickling sensation-a reminder.
And Chris smiles in response-eyes bright and all Zach has to do is close his eyes to see them, to picture them.
"You really think so?" He nods his head in response, voice caught in his throat before he realizes that Chris can't see him-that he's miles away and they are just talking on the phone.
"Yeah-I watched it, you did great." The older man swallows-tries not to let his mind wander, to keep it focused on the conversation at hand.
"I was so nervous too, with everyone staring at me..." Zach gives a slight chuckle at this-ignores the look Milo is giving him from the car. He turns away, takes a few steps and stops. "But you were great, and you looked good to."
"Thanks..." Chirs's response is soft, a tone that sends chills up Zach's spine and out to his finger tips, one that makes him tingly and giddy all at once. "How are you doing?" The younger man's voice is laced with a contented sigh, one that says so m
They are lying in bed, and it's late-really late.
Zach is propped up against the wall, staring at the curtains on the other side of the room. Chris is lying on the bed next to him, face buried in the pillow, a low hum in the back of his throat. Zach's fingers are running though his short hair-over it really, in something akin to a petting motion.
It is in moments like this-between the filming of movies-between the hustle and bustle of day to day life that Zach loves the most.
"You should get to...bed..." Chris's voice is dulled and low-a mere rumble in his throat. Blue eyes are pulled open-glow brightly in the dark room.
"I will in a moment." Zach slips farther down in the sheets, turns his eyes from the ceiling towards Chris.
And they smile-because they know, because Chris understands. They shift on the bed, the younger man rolls onto his side and Zach scoots up behind him, wraps his arms around him.
"Any plans for tomorrow?" The blonds voice is still dulled-half asleep.
Poison -Peter and Sylar-
Poison: a substance with an inherent property that tends to destroy life or impair health, something harmful or pernicious, as to happiness or well-being.
Peter's eyes snapped open, going from content sleep to wide awake almost instantly. Sweat covered his forehead, and his breaths came out in pants as he pushed himself up in bed, leaning against the headboard. "Damn it not again," Peter muttered, banging his head against the wall. He had thought, had hoped that when the dreams had stopped a month ago, that they were gone for good, apparently not. At least this time, it hadn't been one of the more interesting dreams. They ranged in content from the cute stuff that would be right out of a 'chick flick,' to the ones that involved pain and blood, to the ones that would send him straight to hell. It was those nights that nearly made Peter want
Comforting Embrace -CasGabe-The faintest hint of a frown passed over Castiel's lips his eyes staring at the light coming through the motel window, as the wind bit at what bare skin was visible. He could not understand how the brothers could fight like that, not with everything that was at risk. How it was possible that Dean and Sam could fight like that, and, when Castiel had tried to get them to stop and calm down, turn around and blame Castiel for everything. It was not his fault the situation they were in, or at least he hoped it wasn't.
The brothers were currently fighting about Dean's drinking, something that seemed trivial to Castiel, but apparently was cause enough for Sam to finally confront Dean which ended in them fighting. When it had looked like Dean was about to strike Sam, was when Castiel had stepped in and received a right hook to his jaw. That was when Dean turned on Castiel, saying that he was on Sam's side and that if it wasn't for the whole damn apocalypse then maybe he wouldn't have this prob
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