8Author's Note: It's a long one, folks. The song "Darkest of Kin" does not belong to me, it's by an awesome band called Maylene and the Sons of Disaster. Also note: This is just a standalone/one-shot. Please send feedback, I really do appreciate so very very much.
Mayhem, Meet Your Match.
"Alright man, I really don't feel like playing any of our own songs, how about some Maylene?"
Brandon nodded noncommittally to Jordan's suggestion, cheeks flushed and clothes sticking due to exertion and just so-fucking-ready for this practice to be over.
"'K then, 'Darkest of Kin' on three – ONE, TWO, THREE –"
As 'three' ripped from Jordan's throat over the static and discharge of his amp, Brandon bellowed into his microphone on cue.
"All of you, go about your day, never truly livingf
Walking so close to death lets me know what it means to be alive.
It's where I find my high
Terror like this world has never seen
Look in my eyes, see what I've done
Always on the move, hell comes along."
Brandon flicked faded brown bangs to the side, muscles rippling in his scrawny arms as he gripped onto the mic stand, bare feet tapping rhythmically and energy buzzing beneath tight jeans.
Jordan looked almost bored with the monotonous chords, his irksome, standard I'm-too-badass-for-the-world-to-handle expression drawn about his mouth, contempt sparkling in his citric blue eyes.
"Stand up, fists out – I wouldn't have it any other way!
fStand up, fists out – This is the real thing!"
Jordan threw down his guitar (gently though, gently) and flipped off the microphone power, throwing the empty drum set a glare. Brandon's last scream still hung in the air, echoing throughout the empty practice space, as he shot Jordan a look clearly screaming 'What the fuck?' but strained vocal chords protested to actually speak the words.
Jordan kicked an amp, bitch-fit a'brewin'. "Hey, fuck this shit, man. This fucking drummer better get his sorry ass over here now, or we're talking serious consequ-"
Jordan was cut short. The blue double doors at the end of the theatre had slipped open with hesitation, accompanied by a thin shadow, quickly followed by a foot, and a slight silhouette. Jordan narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the figure, who was slowly making his way down the aisle. Brandon had already left; he wasn't in the mood for one of Jordan's infamous bitch fits.
"Hey – hey man, we're kind of practicing here –"
Jordan's attempts at proper speech dribbled into incoherency as they kid finally fell into light. Words died on his lips; hell, his lungs nearly collapsed.
This kid was pretty.
A straight mop of caramel brown hair lay in complete disarray atop his lovely little head, falling to his shoulders. He had a girl-face – delicate bone structure, eyelashes for miles, pink pouty lips, and just a certain soft, sweet something that boys just did not have. The way the light fell about him, he looked something ethereal. He was porcelain-pale – like a doll, a porcelain doll. There was a frailty about him – his bone-thin arms and legs resembling twigs and he had this fragile awkwardness. The boy's teeth sunk nervously into his full bottom lip, enhancing the aura of innocence scrawled in bold red ink across every inch of his pretty little face.
The boy rubbed nervously at his elbow, peering up at Jordan from beneath lowered eyelashes. "Um, hi. I-I'm Evan. Uh, Evan Lennox."
Jordan just stared blankly, wet his lips, stared some more.
And Evan Lennox? Well, he looked terrified out of his mind. "Um, I-I wanted to audition to be the um, drummer…I t-talked to uh, Brandon, I think – on the phone on M-Monday and he said to come here, so…" He stuttered, cracking voice eventually sinking to a whisper as the nerves creeped in, encouraged by Jordan's relentless, monotone stare.
"Well, um…b-bye then, I guess…" He stammered, still terrified, and now kind of humiliated too, his cheeks stained an endearing shade of pink. Was this some kind of joke?
Jordan blinked profusely as Evan spun on his heel and started shuffling towards the exit. God, his fucking ass. It was tiny and adorable and oh my god. Love at first sight? Well now, Jordan was a realist. But lust at first sight? Oh fuck yes, and Jordan was a big fan, a big, big fan. Oh no, this Evan kid wasn't going anywhere. Jordan planned on keeping this pretty boy.
"I don't think so, Mister Lennox – get your ass back here," Jordan ordered, rising to his feet, thoughts finally organizing themselves into some semblance of normalcy, accompanied by the ability to actually form words.
"Oh, um –"
"Sit."
Evan sat.
"…in a chair, dipshit."
Evan's cheeks colored and he scrambled back up to his feet, plopping himself down in a folded chair.
"My name's Jordan, by the way," he said smoothly, swinging his legs over the side of the stage, propped his chin on his palm, and studied Evan closely for a good two minutes, as the boy blushed and squirmed before him.
"Tell me how bad you want this." Jordan's voice emerged from silence so suddenly that Evan nearly jumped in his skin. He bit his lip again, peering up at Jordan through his bangs and flaming cheeks.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
Jordan stared at him like he was slow, for purely intimidation purposes. Evan squirmed, squirmed some more, trembled in his colored-on Converse and youth-sized Bring Me the Horizon shirt.
"I mean, how fucking far are you willing to go to land this spot?"
Evan curled a pencil-thin leg to his chest, resting his chin on his knee. Jordan noticed how his upper lip was just as full as the bottom. And they were really pink and they looked so soft and god, dear fucking god, in that moment, Jordan wanted nothing more than to rape that god-sent mouth.
"I-I guess I'll do anything..."
"Anything?" It was the perfect answer, perfect perfect perfect.
Evan nodded to his lap, no longer able to meet those terrifying, icy blue-green eyes.
"Follow me."
Evan couldn't disobey. Jordan was sultry yet scary yet dropdeadgorgeous yet so fucking intimidating, and gay, so very very gay. He said nothing, simply did exactly as he was told, standing up on those twiggy legs of his and following Jordan behind the stage, down a dimly lit hallway with grey-tiled floors and pencil-graffiti on white-cement walls.
Evan kind of liked this view. Jordan's ass was pretty wow. And his hair was really pretty – standard scene hair: almost-black, dead straight, ultra shiny. And he was tan but not too tan – just right – with a hefty sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his straight nose, pink bow-shaped lips, and those almond-shaped eyes, the color between sky blue and grass. He was stocky, not tall but not short, not stick-thin but not chub. Just right.
Jordan stopped at a bathroom, sweeping his hair across his forehead, looking at Evan with just an eye to reassure his presence. Then he shoved the door open, ushering the boy inside.
The door came to a close behind him, and with a twist of fingers the door was locked. Evan chewed on his bottom lip, eyes resting on the locked door instead of Jordan's face. Fuck. This was starting to seem really sketch.
"Um –"
Jordan slammed Evan against the door of the bathroom stall, eliciting a choked whimper from the helpless boy. Evan hands curled loosely into fists, struggling weakly against Jordan's chest, but to no avail. Jordan spun him around, so his forehead was pressed painfully against the filthy wall, the harsh cement digging painfully into his bony collarbone. "Wh-what –" he whimpered, but was cut off by the suffocation of Jordan's fingernails, digging red crescent moons into his lithe little hipbones, and a thumb and forefinger gripping his chin, turning his head so he was forced to look Jordan in the eye (those maddening blue eyes).
"So, Evan," Jordan whispered, hot hot breath gracing the delicate shell of Evan's ear, and a ripple of goosebumps erupted across Evan's pale, soft skin. "How far exactly are you willing to go to be in this band?"
Evan struggled weakly against the wall, pale skin illuminated by the harsh bathroom lighting. He glowed from within, the fucking angel-boy. His eyes screwed shut, forcing back tears, swallowing hard, swallow, swallow again.
"I – I don't know, just please –" He whispered (please get off me, please get off me, you're hurting me, please).
"Please what, Evan? Please fuck me?" Jordan whispered, sharp hips bruising the small of Evan's back, fingertips drawing soft patterns along the sweet curve of Evan's tiny, tiny hips.
"N-no, I just – I just wanna drum, I just wanted to play drums, I don't –"
"You a faggot?" Jordan's interruption carried a rougher note now, something dark. A shadow invaded Evan's feeble mind, trickling down to quicken his already-racing heartbeat. Jordan's callused fingertips pressed white-hot into Evan's hips, spinning him around face-front again.
Evan's thin cry pierced the quiet air as he was roughly spun to face Jordan again. "I have a girlfriend," he whispered to his scuffed Converse.
"That doesn't answer my question. You a faggot?" Jordan's breath disturbed his neat fan of eyelashes, ghosted over his nose, his cheeks, the seam of Evan's trembling lips.
"St-stop it…" A grey tear glittered in the corner of Evan's eye, eyes that shone a bright caramel brown in this light, Jordan could finally see.
"'Cause I am, Evan. I don't really care if you are or not, but y'know what? If you were," Jordan leaned in real close (too close), "it will make all of this so much easier. So. Tell me."
His lips barely brushed against Evan's, lingering just long enough to bring both hearts to a stutter. "Are you a faggot?"
Jordan's forefinger hooked beneath Evan's chin, forcing the trembling boy to meet his eyes. "Y-yes," he whispered timidly, brokenly. The tear fell to the cliff of his jaw, snaking down his porcelain-pale cheek as quick as rain. The apples of his cheeks dusted carnation-pink.
"Good boy." Jordan's voice was quiet, soothing, and his hands were so soft and caring as they crawled down Evan's scrawny chest, trailing down to graze over his hips, the waistband of his skin-tight jeans, and they brushed right over his crotch. "So. You wanna be our drummer?"
Evan lowered his eyes, but found himself nodding. "Yes," he breathed, "so badly."
"Well, beautiful, the formula's easy: cooperate. You do everything I say, follow my every command, and you're in."
It was his dream to play in this band. They were only famous locally, but that would soon be done with: they were already being chased by record labels – lots of them. The music was fantastic, the members were gorgeous, and every wanted to be them. Be with them or be them. And there was something magnetic about Jordan's eyes, something off-white about the way they pierced Evan's soul, something unfathomable in the way they made Evan feel so right. He wanted this. He loved that stare, he wanted this.
Evan found himself nodding, eyes still connected – caramel-brown versus citric-blue – and Jordan smiled. Evan's teeth sunk into his bottom lip, staring up at Jordan with those ever-so-innocent eyes.
"Strip."
He didn't obey immediately this time. A mystery-noise crawled up his throat, low and pleading, but his lips (those gorgeous, perfect lips) were sewn shut. Slowly the command reached his brain and his fingers found his waistband but he wasn't in any hurry until Jordan's harsh "Faster!"
He shimmied out of his tight, light wash Abercrombie (girl's) jeans as Jordan tore off his black and blue Bring Me the Horizon tee. He was left shivering naked under Jordan's leering, sneering gaze, in just his boxer-briefs. "Let me help you with those, love," Jordan whispered, his still-clothed chest pressed hard against Evan's bare torso, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband, scratching at his hips, and sliding down down down his slender, white thighs until the fabric was bunched at his ankles. ("Step," Jordan ordered, quiet still, and Evan obeyed.)
"You're so beautiful, little Evan, do you know that?" Jordan whispered against the silken flesh of Evan's bare neck, teeth snagging the smooth surface as he spoke. "So delicate and pale…long frail limbs and porcelain-pale skin, a perfect white canvas…you might as well be a doll," Jordan bit into Evan's collarbone, and a single tear glittered in the confines of Evan's eyelashes. "My own little china doll."
"Please…" Evan whispered. "Please stop it…isn't there another way?" His eyes stared imploringly into Jordan's, teeth grasping at reddening lips, blush staining baby-soft cheeks.
Jordan just smiled, dragging a long, callused finger along the curves of Evan's face. "Oh, Evan. You really don't know how beautiful you are, do you?"
Does that answer your question, doll-face?
"Now on your knees, girlie, let's not make this hurt too bad."
Evan's jaw tightened and his heart purpled a little but he did as he was told, with new tears and new heartbreak, slipping to his knees on the grey-tiled bathroom floor. He was the portrait of despondency, of vulnerability, eyelashes licking at the shadows gracing humiliated-red cheeks, his bottom lip swollen and wine-red from the bite of his own teeth, his neck marred with navy-marks and burgundy. Jordan had never seen anything quite this pretty.
Evan heard the unzipping of jeans, the shuffle of material as it bunched round his knees, he felt the cruel smile contorting Jordan's pretty face, the lust-driven stare burning into the crown of his head. Two familiar fingers hooked under his chin once again, and his lips were parted by Jordan's smooth, hot tongue, ensnaring with his own, grazing the roof of his mouth, and biting his lips. Then Jordan's lips were replaced by the wide tip of his cock, and Evan stopped completely. His hands clasped together weakly, pleadingly, and his gaze on Jordan's was so helpless and imploring (please don't make me do this, please don't, no, please). A last ditch effort to no avail. Jordan was taking this.
"Open those pretty lips of yours, bitch, or I'll take you dry. This is your prepping y'know, so you're really only hurting yourself."
Evan opened his mouth, accommodating his throat to make room for Jordan's dick (and not gonna lie, it was pretty fuckin' big). He choked on the length, slowly taking more and more in, and his fist curled at the base to get more grip. Jordan smacked his hand away, pinning Evan's arms behind his back. Jordan's fingers snaked into Evan's silky amber brown hair, pulling tightly, yanking him closer, dragging that submissive mouth wherever he pleased. He could feel the tip hitting the back of the boy's throat. He watched Evan's eyes as he fucked his mouth, watched the light die from their honey-brown depths, watch the tears race each other down the tracks of his cheeks, watched his lips turn cherry-red in the wake of his dick. When he felt his peak nearing closer, he pulled out with a rough 'pop', thumbs brushing away Evan's tears.
Evan remained kneeling on the dirty floor until Jordan's order to rise to his feet (which he obeyed, of course, he always fucking obeys). And now he was right back where he started, pinned face-first to the filthy sea-green stall wall, his tears scrubbing against the sick surface, washing away the dirt and replacing it with a new kind of sick.
Jordan was completely in the nude now, which was comforting to Evan somehow, and he pressed tight against Evan's back, kissing along the frame of his narrow, skinny little shoulders. "So soft…" he murmured, lips pressed hard against Evan's sweet skin, and it was so soft. Soft like a new-born, soft like a virgin.
"Ever done this before, Evan?" His lips dragged along the white column of his neck, meeting the succulent tip of his ear and biting, gently.
Evan cried against the wall, he pressed himself tighter and tighter against it, (maybe it would swallow him up, made this would all disappear) biting back a sob so violently that a thin stream of blood trickled from his lip, but his tears washed the stain from his chin. He shook his head.
"You ready to be my bitch? I'll go easy on you, baby, I swear. I don't want you to break. Really." Jordan kissed his wet cheek, he kissed those tears away. Evan sniffled at the wall, he wanted this all to be done (so hurry up and fuck me).
"It's a damn good thing you got my cock so nice and wet," Jordan whispered against Evan's shoulder, large hands finding their place in the sharp groove of Evan's crescent moon-ridden hips. "It makes this part hurt so much less."
"Less" sounded more like "fuck" and a new torrent of tears flooded Evan's cheeks and the wall he was pressed against as Jordan thrust inside of him in one hit (he's so tight, he's so tight, holy fuck, there is a God, I'm a believer).
Evan could. Not. Breathe. Every ounce of breath left his body in one swoosh, in one thrust, and he was dying. His face felt numb, he could just feel the wet and taste the metallic, and everything else was on fire. He was dying he was dying he was dying. Jordan kissed his shoulder over and over (it's okay, sweetheart, it's okay, it gets better love, I swear).
Jordan lied. Jordan lied for about five, long minutes until he angled his hips something extraordinary and touched upon something Evan didn't even know existed. Fuck, it still hurt, but suddenly he could breathe again, a racing breath it was, and his heartbeat was shifting sporadically between thumping and a slow drag. Jordan held his hips, pulled out, slammed in and ohfuckohfuckohfuck. There it fucking was again, that sweet spot inside him. ("Hush, baby, there we go, see? All better now. I told you so.")
Evan couldn't help himself, dear God he wished he possessed just one miniscule thread of self-control, but no. His cock disobeyed his brain, springing up like a jack-in-the-box, hard as diamond and wedged tight between his stomach and the wall. Jordan hit the spot again, and again, and he moaned softly, whimpered softly.
Jordan could spray a load just off those delicious noises alone.
"You're kind of a slut for this, eh boy?"
Evan couldn't speak, couldn't think, just pleaded in his head, whatever that is, hit it – hit it again. And Jordan somehow heard and oh my did he deliver. The back of Evan's head rested wantonly on Jordan's shoulder, a mop of silky caramel brown draped across Jordan's collarbone. Jordan suckled gently at the sores his teeth created on Evan's neck, soothing the tortured skin. Jordan's fingers left white fingerprints all over, and Evan sort of liked this.
A hand curled in his hair, Jordan sunk in deeper, and yanked on the helpless boy's head. Evan was riding the border where pain and pleasure intermingled, everything hurt, but everything was alive. He whimpered again, and more tears came (it still hurt so bad), and it fed Jordan's unquenchable sadism.
"Say it. Say you're my slut."
A bolt of fire shot up Evan's spine every time Jordan thrusted. Jordan's fingers curled around the boy's chin, forcing them to meet each other's gaze. Evan looked so thoroughly abused, his white canvas had been painted (tainted), his eyes were red, yet somehow, he still looked so innocent. Jordan tightened his grip. "Say it," he spat, thrusting once more.
"Please…please…" What was he even begging for?
"Say it."
"I-I'm a sl-slut," Evan choked, tears crawling through the part of his lips.
"You're a whore."
"…I-I'm a whore."
"Whose whore, baby, whose whore?"
Evan closed his eyes, he tore his face away from Jordan's iron grip, his eyelashes fluttered against the wall, and he breathed (inhale, exhale, keep going, you can make it) until the ache stopped. "Yours."
Jordan thrust, the thrust to end them all, slamming into Evan's prostate with shocking accuracy. A gasp spilled unbidden from Evan's lips, his knuckles whitened, fists curling loosely against the wall, bracing himself. He wanted so badly to just sink to his knees, but Jordan's dick in his ass kind of prevented that. Plus the callused fingers digging with bruising force into his hipbones. He could feel the release inside him, Jordan's heavy panting against his shoulder, the crawl of breath that ghosted from his lips and along Evan's throat.
"Oh fuck. Oh fuck." Jordan threw his head back in pure ecstasy. "Bliss," he murmured, kissing Evan's shoulder one last time before pulling out. Evan was not granted a release. He fell to his knees.
Jordan grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by the sink and wiped away all the sweat that had collected from his forehead and the junction between his neck and shoulders. He stared at his reflection. Looking further, he saw Evan, kneeling on the floor, just as he'd left him, nursing bruised wrists in his lap and red-stamped cheeks stained with tears and Jordan's sweat.
He walked over, cupping his hands beneath the boy's arm and heaving the fragile boy to his feet. Evan didn't struggle, no will power remained. Jordan helped him to the sink, wet some more paper towels, and washed the memories from his pretty face, carded his fingers through silken, honey-brown hair, and kissed his temple. "All better," he whispered, and their eyes met in the mirror.
"So that's it?" Evan's voice was hoarse and colored with angst.
"That's it." Jordan kissed his cheek. "You're in."
"You never even heard me play."
"Oh yes I did…Brandon showed me your MySpace page and all those vids you posted. I could never see your face, but damn, you're a good fucking drummer. But not as good a drummer as you are a good fuck."
Evan looked away, biting his lip and examining the discoloration of his wrists. "Can - can you get my clothes, please?"
Jordan bit back a smile and paid heed to his request, gathering his clothes from the floor and handed them to Evan with a pat on the cheek. Evan dressed silently and Jordan followed his example.
"Come on, let me introduce you to Brandon," Jordan muttered, taking Evan by the wrist and pulling him back into the theatre's basement hallway and through the side door onto the stage.
Brandon was sitting cross-legged on the floor by a broken amp, half-heartedly poking cords into various outlets.
"Hey Brandon, come meet our new drummer," Jordan called out, and Brandon spun around, alarmed, before shaking his head like a dog and rising to his feet, hand outstretched.
"Hey man, I'm Brandon, nice to meet you," he said coolly, examining the boy before him. Red eyes, scrubbed cheeks, disheveled hair, yeah, this kid looked thoroughly fucked.
Evan took his hand timidly. "I-I'm Evan," he said softly. Jordan smiled, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Yeah, we talked on the phone," Brandon smiled at Evan, then turned to address Jordan. "So, is he any good?"
Evan fidgeted in discomfort, lowering his eyes, fingers twisting with stray locks of hair. A grin crawled across Jordan's face, and he squeezed Evan's shoulder, just hard enough to elicit a soft whimper.
"He's perfect."
Brandon knew he'd be a good one. "Excellent. Well, why don't we get started? Just a quick song, then we'll let you go…we'll have our first real practice on Sunday."
Evan nodded in agreement, shrugging Jordan's hand off his shoulder, but Jordan grabbed him by his frail little bicep before he could retreat, and his fingers lingered on Evan's soft cheek. "Be a good boy," he whispered.
Evan nodded again and shuffled off to sit behind the drum set. It was beautiful, and it looked brand new. He grabbed two sticks from a canister behind the stool and set his foot on the pedal.
"Let's go where we left off," Brandon nodded to Jordan, then turned to face Evan. "You know 'Darkest of Kin'"?
"Yeah," he answered quietly, nerves settling in the pit of his stomach.
"Perfect - alright, 'Darkest of Kin' on three, where we left off – ONE, TWO, THREE –"
Brandon bellowed into the microphone, keeling over with a swoop of straight hair as he clutched onto the stand like his life depended on it. His energy was contagious, and Evan felt it himself as he picked up the beat and ran with it.
"Been to the midwestern lights, fed on the fear in her eyes.
Family's begging for their lives but, giving in's no trait or mine.
Hit your knees and pray, pray you never see this face
I've been called the hypocrite to bring down."
Evan's head rose and fell with his sticks, beads of sweat already forming at his temples. He glanced over at Jordan, who had slowly migrated over to his set, fingers dancing along the frets, lightening quick. He was good.
"Stand up, fists out – This is the real thing!
Stand up, fists out – I wouldn't have it any other way!"
Jordan's eyes were alight with that fire again, and Evan found himself enraptured. The song was in his veins and the tips of his fingers tingled. He still hurt, he still felt something broken, but he just knew. This was where he belonged, behind this set, in this band, this band with Jordan.
Jordan winked at Evan, fingers never ceasing movement and neither did his eyes, following the tracks of sweat trickling from Evan's forehead, the sweet something in his eyes. The words fit so perfectly.
"Baby, I'm bad! I'm the fear in your eyes.
That hate in your heart has been branded with my name."
He wouldn't have it any other way.
Fin.