hardlydead | (( them gods gonna hurt you son; when you play with a loaded gun ))

[ evan goes down, because even if the alcohol isn't reaching his face, it's submerged his brain at this point.

they hit the floor together and immediately it's a fight to not end up on the bottom. on his back. vulnerable to the same flurry of rage and punching he wants to dole out. he tries to get david pinned, but drunk as he is, the best he can do is try and kick out, grab at him, grip hard, and try to hit his head with his own. but it goes badly, because, again, he's drunk. he can't maintain enough focus to use only the crown of his skull.

if it hits, it'll stun him as much as it does david. and hurt just as much, too. ]

[ the headbutt has david reeling, cursing at the impact and the way it blurs his vision for a second. for a moment he can't even do anything, but when that initial stun starts to wear off, he's grabbing at evan again. shoving and punching, unable to make a decision on whether he wants to try and push evan onto his back or pull him in to punch him in the face, so david ends up split between the two. ]

[ he's blinded by his own stupid actions just long enough for david to land a hit square in the face and then stumble as he's shoved, finally landing on the floor fully, managing to avoid being flat on his back just by right of how small the room is.

he snarls something unintelligible and snatches at what should be david's shirt, but there's no shirt. fingers claw at david's skin, across the scars, and then his hand recoils like it's been burned and he grabs for david's head instead. at his hair, maybe. something to drag him down. try to bash his face against the wall, the floor. anything.

now's the time the drunkenness settles in, and he can feel it dragging him down. he's better than this. he has to be. has to be. evan tries to lunge off the floor to tackle david one more time. ]

[ david's halfway up when evan lunges him and sends him back to the floor, just barely managing to avoid smashing his head into a cabinet on the way down. it knocks the breath out of him, but he doesn't have time to waste on that. ]

[ both hands shoot out to grab at evan, one for his throat, the other aiming for his face — ideally to shove his thumb into his eye, but he'll push against his face with his palm if that's all he can do. trying to hurt him, push him away. get him on his back if he can. ]

[ between the alcohol, neither of them gets exactly what they want. evan gets david down, but david's smashing a hand into his face, the other wrapped around his throat, and now evan's realizing that unless he tries to do the same and let david claw at his face and throat even more in the process, his only other option is to get his hands on david's bare chest.

no. he thought about this. if he just punches him -

but trying to avoid getting his eyes gouged out makes that a problem. he claws at david's arms instead, trying to force them away, get him back. it probably looks pathetic. it feels pathetic. he's drunk and fighting like an idiot. with a person he hates, who's shirtless, who he kissed before, who he's alone in an apartment with.

that line of thinking isn't helping anything. ]

[ there's a brief look of confusion that flits across david's face at the way evan claws at his arms. this isn't how evan fights. this feels like someone who doesn't know what they're doing, who got in over their head. none of the ferocity and brutality he's used to from evan. ]

[ the confusion makes his grip slip, enough for evan to push back the hand david had at his face. ]

Fuck is this?

[ david snarls, shoves against evan angrily, trying to get a rise out of him. he's fought drunk off his ass too many times to think that's all this is, but he can't figure out what it could be. all david knows is it's only making him angrier. ]

You gonna fight or what?

[ evan falls back, catches himself, stays half-crouched on the floor as the alcohol and confusion and anger roil in him like they're about to make him sick. why did he bring david back here to fight? why not just go out back behind the bar and throw down?

even if he was capable of verbalizing the problem, he wouldn't. instead: ]

No fucking room.

[ his own stupid decision. and it's a good justification. they're both going to get their skulls cracked open fighting in a space like this. right? ]

[ david doesn't buy it, it's obvious in the look he gives evan, but if there's something else going on, david has no idea what it is. and it's true, there's not enough room in here to properly throw down. ]

[ once again, david finds himself wondering why he did this. why he did any of what he's done today. he stays where he is on the floor, looking up at evan with a frown on his face. ]

That's not it.

[ he speaks before he even manages to spare a thought for whether it's worth pushing evan, for whether or not he's even right. ]

You weren't fightin' like you.

How would you know?

[ counterpoint: how wouldn't he? david's the one person most likely to know exactly how evan fights. after all these years. ]

No space. Didn't think this through. [ because he's drunk. that makes sense. yes. ] Someone'll call the cops. Get us both arrested. Don't need that.

[ he sits back down on the floor, as if the weight of everything is crushing him. which, in a way, it is. ]

Sure.

[ david's not gonna argue with him, not when he has no idea what the fuck is going on. he pushes himself up enough to sit too instead, back against a cabinet, rubs his face with both hands and drags one up through his hair. ]

Well, cheers for the blue balls then.

[ mm. not his greatest choice of words, but whatever. he's busy reaching up to see if he can snag one of those bottles off the counter. ]

[ david's comment really doesn't help as evan puts his palms against his forehead, fingers curled tight in his hair, trying to sober himself up by force so he can fix whatever the hell he just started. he could have fought david if he just kept his fucking shirt on, but here he is, shirtless, sitting sprawled in the kitchen, reaching up to grab a bottle. pissed off and still smug, or maybe evan's just reading into things badly.

he doesn't know what to say. if only he could go back and delete that stupid text before he ever sent it. prevent this all.

but he can't. not after what happened the last time he was here. ]

Shoulda kept your fucking shirt on.

[ it's mumbled, only half-audible, but spoken nonetheless. drunk and thoughtless. he doesn't even regret saying it, at least not right away. ]

[ that little comment makes david stop reaching for a bottle and look at evan with a new frown. ]

This again?

[ he pulls a face, drags a hand through his hair. there's something there that would make it make sense, he's sure. just at the edge of his mind, a kind of niggling discomfort that he's becoming frustratingly familiar with yet can't pinpoint the source of. ]

Why's it bother you so much all of a sudden?

[ evan can't remember if he's fought david shirtless before. he doubts it. their fights are spontaneous. abrupt. no time to get ready, just a rabid attack like the dogs they are. would he have gotten this upset about it before they'd -

he stares at the cabinets, not looking at david, not looking at anything at all, really. trying to think and not think through the haze of alcohol. ]

Just ... stupid. Never done it before. Never cared if I fucked up your shit before.

[ unfortunately, the phrase you wanna rip it off yourself or something? is echoing through his skull. ]

Never exactly had a moment to think about it before either.

[ he looks evan's way and huffs a tired laugh. ]

Ruined a lot of shit I would've liked to keep.

[ a lot of bloody and torn clothes courtesy of evan, and david wears nice clothes. it's always a shame to say goodbye to one of those shirts or jackets or whatever, but what's he gonna do? only wear durable clothes just in case he bumps into evan? ]

[ david doesn't question it, but that doesn't make evan feel any better. he keeps staring at nothing, wanting to kick david out but knowing it'll just make him look even stupider. even less like the man he's supposed to be. but letting him stay is almost as bad. every passing second makes him angrier, and he doesn't want to realize why.

he tries to focus on the basic shit. ruined clothes. because of him. fuck. ]

Don't spend so much cash on that shit if it's so important. Not like you can't buy more.

[ he's already said that. but it's true, isn't it? both of them have more money than they know what to do with. evan just doesn't spend his often, because he has no life outside what his father wants.

well. not much of one, anyway. ]

[ david rolls his eyes, reaches for the edge of the counter to pull himself up onto his feet with a quiet noise of complaint. the adrenaline's wearing off, the tiredness (and alcohol) is catching up. but he's putting pieces together, slowly. things about the way he's been acting that have been off and poorly explained. ]

[ he stares down at a bottle of vodka, wondering if more booze is a good idea. ]

... Can you come here a sec?

[ for a few long seconds, evan doesn't move, watching david suspiciously but only looking at his face - and even then, not for very long. he thinks that maybe david's going to try and brain him with the vodka bottle, and slowly pushes himself up, nearly hitting the floor again as he goes.

his approach is unsteady, and he keeps more distance than he might otherwise, glancing at the whiskey in case he needs a weapon. he won't be able to dodge great, but david probably won't be able to swing well, either. ]

[ admittedly it's curiosity more than desire (because of course there's none of that, that would be crazy,) as things slowly start to slot into place. things he might've noticed sooner if he wasn't drunk, things he definitely would've picked up on straight away if evan wasn't a man. the way he practically recoiled at accidentally touching david's chest, little flare ups of anger that made no sense, even for him. his absolutely insane rage over david taking his shirt off. ]

[ either he's wrong and evan tries to kick his shit in, or he's right and... well, he's right. either way that's a win, surely. ]

[ the distance is a little frustrating, but it's still a small room and david is quick. mostly for his own benefit, because god forbid he take a moment to think about what he's doing before he snaps an arm out to try and grab evan by the front of his shirt and pull him into a rough kiss. ]

[ david's so casual about it - about everything - that evan doesn't realize he was still paying attention. he thought he'd deflected. maybe that's the alcohol, making him stupid. maybe he's just stupid.

either way, he doesn't expect it at all when david grabs his shirt and drags him in - not for a punch, which he's about five seconds behind on defending himself against, but a kiss, which he's got no defenses for.

he's frozen for a long few seconds, everything in him grinding to a halt. then he grabs david's arm, his shoulder, ready to throw him on the floor and beat the shit out of him. but he never quite gets that far. this time it probably is the alcohol holding him back, because it's not the kiss he was expecting, not what he's ever gotten.

his grip shudders against david, and then he's returning the kiss. badly, inexpertly, like the last time he kissed someone was a decade ago, but it's not the instant violence half of him wants to dish out. it's not what any part of him expected.

it's not bad. and that's what gets him in the end. that he wants more of it. ]

[ violence is what david expects, braces himself for when he feels evan's hand on his shoulder, but it never comes. and david didn't really... think that far ahead. didn't think at all if he's really honest about it. so he was right? what now? ]

[ maybe it's the fact that there's something oddly charming about the way evan kisses him back, maybe it's the alcohol making him soft. easily taken in by something that even halfway approaches affection, even if he's the one who initiated it. ]

[ fuck it. he'll just go with it. if evan's not complaining, what's the harm, right? he lets go of evan's shirt, lets that hand move to the side of evan's neck, the other he brings to evan's hip as he tries to turn them and push evan back against the counter. ]

[ for a few brief seconds there's no world outside what he can feel, which is small, strangely comforting, close to something he never thought he'd get. he doesn't argue with david or push him back when his grip moves, or when he's moved - right up until his lower back hits the counter and wakes him up.

the panic slams into him in an instant and he shoves david back suddenly, not letting him go but breaking the kiss abruptly. for the first time maybe ever, the terror, the panic, is clear on his face for longer than a split second as he realizes even through the alcohol just what he's doing.

his fingers stay curled against david's skin, but he can't find the words for a while. long enough that it might be weird. he could blame david, but he also didn't punch him out right away. ]

The fuck are you doing?

[ it sounds weak even to him. ]

[ david moves with the shove, but it doesn't put any real distance between them. evan's hands are still on him, so david keeps his where they are in turn. ]

[ it's far enough for him to see the panic in evan's expression. the terror and the weak way he asks what he's doing that feels much too familiar because how many times has that been him? abruptly pulling his hand away in the park, dodging a quick kiss in the dark. ]

[ last week on evan's couch. ]

[ years and years of dancing around this shit until he decided it was better not to even try indulging at all. it makes something in him twist until it just about snaps. he's given up so much, cut away so many pieces of himself for this life because that's what was asked. what was needed. why can't he have something he might actually fucking enjoy? even if it's with someone he hates and who hates him, at least they'll have something in common other than misery and anger and bloodshed, right? ]

[ of course, david is much too drunk to even try articulating any of that, and what comes out is a confused: ] Ain't this what you want?

[ there hasn't been much room in evan's life for actual emotional maturity. it makes it hard to grasp this. especially given that by now the alcohol has taken hold, as if he forgot his own limits for once.

the panic closes off because david's expression doesn't change except to be a little more confused, and because he can't show weakness, right? he can't let that panic be obvious. even though it's been obvious from the start, probably.

anger is so much easier. anger and rage and offense, all the things he can let his fists take control of.

is this what he wants? yes. that's the heart of the problem. but is anybody else here? anybody else watching? how is david going to try and blackmail him with this when it'll get him at the same time?

evan's confused and angry and drunk, and he wants to let this keep going. so instead of responding, which would be difficult for him even if he wasn't smashed, he shoves david back, follows as he goes, shoves him against the far wall and starts the kiss again, as hard and rough as before but this time his hands aren't allergic to david's bare chest. ]

[ david has some complaints about being shoved like this, but that falls by the wayside a little when his back hits the wall and suddenly evan's kissing him again. touching him, which david has significantly less complaints about. ]

[ he leans into it, kissing evan back just as hard and rough, the hand at evan's hip sliding under his shirt, around to his back. he's not exactly a fan of being pinned against the wall like this-- well, that's not exactly true, but either way it can wait a little, he decides, using that hand to pull evan closer instead. ]

[ he shouldn't be doing this and he knows it, even drunk as he is. but that's the point of getting drunk, isn't it? the actual point. doing stupid shit. losing control in a more socially acceptable way than beating someone to death. he hates david and he hates this, but that gives it all a more desperate edge.

he snarls something wordless into the kiss when david gets a hand on his back but doesn't do anything else, except keep his hands moving across the scars on david's chest, the tattoos where they are, the muscles, anything. whatever he can get his hands on.

he pushes david back harder against the wall, a knee finding its way between his, grinding against him to get any kind of sensation going. it's not going to take long. even drunk as he is, he knows that, and the alcohol leaves a haze that makes that just a slight hurdle instead of something embarrassing to realize. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject