bloodyrockgod: (self-absorbed drug addict by mediocrechi)

Charlie's on the couch with his guitar, and there's tea on the coffee table.

There's also a Darien around here somewhere . . . hm . . . where could he be?
bloodyrockgod: (weight of the world by mediocrechick)
He lays Darien carefully on the bed and goes back to the bar for ice, returning in moments. He gets a towel from the bathroom and fills it with ice, and sits on the edge of the bed, stroking Darien's hair a moment.

bloodyrockgod: (happy by anniesj)
There are swans in Hyde Park, both black and white. There are trees to sit under and white chairs by the river, and most days, even at its busiest, it's peaceful and green.

Charlie and Darien sit on the grass under a large oak, far away enough from the river that their picnic is not a temptation to the swans. It's warm out--for Britain--and Charlie is soaking up the sun.

It's good to be home.

[ooc: mun's memories of London are fuzzy, woe. obviously she needs to go back.]
bloodyrockgod: (angst by mediocrechick)
[ooc: Post getting rid of Simon and recovery.]

The funny part is, he knows he should know he's dreaming.

He's walking down the aisle at the church in Manchester, a schoolboy again, an alter boy, and the priest is saying St. Sebastian brought food and comfort to imprisioned Christians during Diocletian's reign . . . and there's a portrait of St. Sebastian, pierced with a hundred arrows, on the wall. Charlie looks away.

Look! the priest orders and his voice sounds like Charlie's father's. You have to look!

Don't want to, Charlie protests but looks anyway, and the portrait is terrifying--the artist took great glee in portraying the saint's pain, and the arrows keep on flying and flying and Charlie exclaims I know that face! and he tries to climb up the wall and the priest--or his father dressed as a priest--says That's what you get, that's what you get, that's what you get over and over--

And then there's no more church and no more priest, but there's still St. Sebastian tied to a tree.

Only it's a tree in the forest of Milliways and it's not the saint, it's Darien, and his blood is silvery as it runs down his skin. And Charlie babbles I'll help you, I'll untie you and Darien whispers save me and the arrows never stop coming, never stop piercing him, and there's so much blood.

And his father says you can't save him, Charlie and Charlie's weeping and his hands are fumbling at the knots and Darien's dying and the arrows never stop.

Give up, Charlie, you've never saved anyone says his father and Charlie shakes him and shakes him and shakes him--only it's not his father anymore, it's Charlie, Charlie with silver eyes--

--and then he's awake.

In Darien's apartment, in his sweatpants, his hands wrapped around the edges of Darien's mirror. His body is dripping with sweat and it takes him a moment to realize that it's only his reflection.

He lets go of the mirror and sinks down to the floor a moment, and wipes his face with shaking hands.

When he's got his breath back he makes his way to Darien's bed and crawls beneath the sheets, wrapping himself around Darien's warm body.

Only after he's checked Darien for wounds can he relax enough to sleep.
bloodyrockgod: (heart hurts by cincodemaygirl)
[ooc: millitimed to last week]

There's an armchair by the window of the small room that Charlie particularly likes. It's overstuffed and comfortable and just big enough for two, if one is on the smallish side.

He's curled up there now, a photograph of a blonde forty-something man on his knee.

Someone is not a happy boy.
bloodyrockgod: (body is a wonderland)
Clothing appears in silvery piles on the bedroom floor and there's the soft sound of laughter. Pasta can wait.

"Bed's that way," says Charlie from nowhere.

[ooc: blah blah blah boysmutcakes.]
bloodyrockgod: (passion by frightened_eyes)
Charlie is composing--not down in the bar, for once, just sitting on the floor in his room with guitar and open notebook.

He's still sneezing periodically.
bloodyrockgod: (i love las vegas by miggy)
Las Vegas.

At certain times of day the Strip appears nearly deserted; at others, cars move a crawl and the sidewalks are packed with people looking for an endless variety of a good time.

It's never cold in Las Vegas--it's just varying degrees of hot. The grand hotels cast shadows and there are fountains up and down the Strip, though few are intended to cool off the tourists as much as amuse them. There are few places to just sit and watch the city go past: the intention is to bring you inside, to gamble and shop and take in a show or two.

It's a strange city, of long nights and slow days, and there's a nervy sort of energy brought by vast amounts of money changing hands, of celebrities getting away for a wild night, of lives changing with a roll of the dice.

It's a perfect city, though, for a pair of dreamers to celebrate each other. Whether they take the High Octane option of Charlie's plans or the Lazy Day option, it's good just to be here, together.
bloodyrockgod: (guitar by blimey_icons)
Charlie has both his guitars out on the bed, as well as his excercise book for beginning guitar. He's tuning the Gibson, eyes closed.

"Dar?" he calls. "Ready when you are."
bloodyrockgod: (body is a wonderland)
[ooc: millitimed to morning. boysmut. YAYPR0N!]

Mornings are becoming Charlie's favorite time of day.

He wakes up slowly, warm to his bones, his nose pressed to Darien's back. He moves his lips slowly across Darien's shoulders and kisses his arm. "Y'awake?"
bloodyrockgod: (ocean Charlie)

If you come back before I do, wait for me. I'll be home soon.

I love you,
bloodyrockgod: (bw sex by apoetneedspain)
It's never goodbye sex.

It's "don't forget me" sex. "Believe I need you" sex. "You matter to me" sex.

"Make me glad I'm alive" sex.

[ooc: yup. smut.]
bloodyrockgod: (precious)
Clothing abuse is a terrible thing. Buttons flying, collars tearing, shirts and jeans crumpled in piles on the floor--it's a disgrace.

But sometimes a bloke just wants to get his lover naked, you know?

[ooc: boysmut. yuppers.]


bloodyrockgod: (Default)
Charlie Pace

July 2007

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