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FIC: Six Pomegranate Seeds (1/1)
Title: Six Pomegranate Seeds
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: R for graphic violence
A/N: Hookerverse. Betaed by the fantabulouspoisontaster. Happy birthday, mona1347!
Beneath the high-rise window, the traffic flowed in gold and red. Rain blurred the lights until it looked like liquid fire, destruction that would melt and remake the world.
Some part of Jensen wanted to break the window and see how fast he fell. It was better than waiting on his knees at Yuri's feet.
Tuesday. He hadn't eaten or slept since that dream with Belle. He hurt. He wanted out of this room, where cigar smoke ghosts made his eyes burn. Yuri had rented the hotel room where Jensen had first fucked Jeff. He was sitting now in that same chair, still and watchful, turning the whiskey bottle in his hands. The room where he'd almost begged for more. By the end of tonight, he'd probably be begging for it to stop.
The room felt colder than Jensen remembered. Smaller. From where he knelt, he could see the elevator, a taunting reminder that he couldn't leave. The claustrophobia clawed at his insides, the itching driving need to run. But he wouldn't make it, dizzy as he was from hunger and fatigue. They wouldn't be gentle about taking him down.
A whore didn't need to be able to walk.
Jensen remembered Jeff's hands in his hair, Jeff's arms around him. It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, since that job was over. But he remembered it anyway, as Yuri dropped ash onto his shoulder and yanked his hair to keep him from drifting.
Yuri's men weren't nearly as quiet. They shoved at each other, snapped and fought and drank. One man trilled a parody of a Chechen lullaby as he told stories of the villages he'd slaughtered for Moscow. Yuri's girls weren't here, no other whores. The building violence was all Jensen's, to channel or soothe or be devoured by. Already the bold ones were drifting close, jostling Jensen until Yuri bared teeth and they retreated again. Every retreat left them closer than they had been, and the glittering hunger in their eyes made Jensen's stomach roll.
The golden cage lay on its chain at Yuri's throat. The kitchen knife Jensen taped to the inside of his shirt felt cool and heavy.
Abruptly, Yuri leaned down. The leather creaked beneath him. Yuri's breath smelled sweet with fruit and smoke. "Are you thirsty, whore?"
Shit. No flattery, no manipulation; Yuri was never this blunt. Jensen felt anger as a heat along his bared nape, like waiting for the guillotine. "If you want me to be."
"Ha!" Yuri grabbed a handful of hair and jerked Jensen's head back, making the world swerve. Yuri bared teeth at his men, who fell into quiet attention. "Now he cares what I want. Now he's afraid." Lifting the bottle of whiskey in his other hand, Yuri said, "You're thirsty. Open your fucking mouth."
Looking at Yuri's face, Jensen knew his other option was to have his jaw broken. He opened his mouth. The bottle's lip clicked against his teeth as the whiskey poured down his throat. It burned, nearly gagging him, spilling down his chin and up his nose. He couldn't breathe, couldn't help swallowing some of it as he choked.
The bottle emptied. Through fumes too thick to breathe, Jensen wrenched out of Yuri's hand and retched. Even that hurt. Yuri planted a foot in his back and tried to shove his face in it. Everywhere, they were laughing. Fury burned in Jensen's chest, eating away another chunk of him. He bit back his snarl, swallowed it and choked. The knife bruised his ribs, dull as hate.
"What's the matter, boy? You swallow." Yuri leaned his weight onto Jensen's back. "You think I'm some fool, to let you slide the collar. You think I'll let you come to me stinking of the seed of the enemy."
Panting, Jensen rested his forehead on the floor. Abasement, pretending to be pliant as his mind scrambled. The enemy. I can smell him on you, Jeff had said. He couldn't think. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry," Yuri whined, then spat. "You're nothing. And you will return to nothing. I know how to make you go where I lead."
On cue, one of the men came forward. Jensen glanced up and saw the syringe being passed to Yuri's hand. He didn't think; he moved, stumbling as he tried to run and rip free the knife at the same time. The knife came free of the tape with a jagged, tearing sound. One of the men, grinning, stepped in front of him and shoved him back into Yuri. "Where you going, boy?"
Jensen slashed blindly at him. He couldn't see the door anymore, and they were pressing in. Had to cut his way out, get a gun, something--
"Jensen, Jensen," Yuri sighed, and his hand fell heavy on Jensen's shoulder.
Jensen spun, and the momentum carved a red gash across Yuri's throat.
Yuri stared at him, stunned, blood raining down over the blade and onto Jensen's hands. Onto the golden cage. In his eyes, Jensen saw himself reflected.
The blood was hotter than the come Yuri had spewed onto his back. Hotter than cigarette ashes, hotter than grief, messy and endless, a fierce joy that burned everything away. He saw dark muscle, white bone, death pouring over his fingers. Yuri's death.
Every humiliation, every rough fuck, every deal, every bag of heroin tossed casually his way... Jensen saw it all. And he kept cutting. The hilt was slick-wet in his fingers like every cock he'd sucked for Yuri. The smell was rich metal in his nose, another better drug.
Yuri's eyes turned lazy, and it lit a fire in Jensen's head. He snarled, throwing his weight into the blade, slicing through thicker things than skin, and nobody moved to stop him until the bent and gory knife emerged out the other side. All the force he'd put behind it, every hour of filth and darkness, sent the suddenly free knife flying from his wet hands. Jensen heard it hit the wall, but he only had eyes for Yuri's death.
Die. A war cry in his head. Die. Die.
Yuri choked, bubbles forming within the cut. His knees didn't cave. He didn't fall as he choked again, again, again, until the wet noises gave way to a harsh cawing laugh.
He didn't fall. He laughed, red pouring down until it stained his khaki pants and wet the carpet under his shoes, and the men laughed with him. And then he took a halting step towards Jensen, his shoes squishing on the floor.
Jensen backed up, and collided with the man who had blocked him in the first place. His voice locked up; he couldn't scream, even if anyone would listen.
Yuri tilted his head, the quick sideways motion of a carrion bird. His throat began to foam and boil like peroxide on a wound, obscuring the bone glint of his spine. His larynx should've been ruined, but he spoke. "The meat bites. Hold it still."
And they were on Jensen. His knees were kicked out from under him. From there, they rode him to the floor like he weighed nothing. The blood that soaked his clothes was still hot. He fought, bit, wrenched his shoulder out with a wet pop, but nothing yielded. Yuri pushed his head down, baring the back of his neck, and the pain jolting down his arm turned the world to humming darkness.
This was wrong, everything was wrong, he couldn't... no. No, God, this wasn't happening. This was a dream, like Belle, like the meathook in his chest. He would wake up. He had to wake up.
When he could see again, Yuri stood above him.
No dream. The world was sharp with adrenaline, a brutal clarity that sang like the edge of a blade. The room stank of blood, whiskey, vomit. The stars shined pitiless from the window, like the death Jensen saw in Yuri's eyes. Life had twisted around his neck and now he waited for the drop.
Jensen smelled metal burning. Yuri smiled down at Jensen. There was something wrong with his face. "They never see their death coming," Yuri said, sounding almost sympathetic.
Behind Yuri, Jensen saw one of the men holding the spoon above a lighter. He saw the scorched bowl, and the needle filling with the brown sludge of heroin.
"Yuri," Jensen said, "Yuri, shoot me. Just fucking shoot me, anything, but don't-- don't. Don't."
Yuri met his eyes and slowly shook his head, still smiling.
He couldn't get away. They wouldn't let him get away, and the syringe was full now, too full, full enough to kill him. Some awful noise came up his throat, a whining animal noise, as he tried to back away and couldn't.
Yuri took the syringe, knelt, and gestured at Jensen's dislocated arm. They pulled it forward for Yuri, exposed Jensen's veins, and all the fighting in the world couldn't get his arm free. The pain was sickening. He smelled something else now, the dusty scent of a rabid coyote he'd seen dying in the desert. The man behind him panted and licked Jensen's dislocated shoulder as the syringe bit into him.
Jensen tried to scream, tried to find rage, but he was drowning. Yuri's eyes were black and empty. There was no air. Yuri crooned and stroked the plunger with his thumb.
"Yuri!" The snarl cut through the fog in Jensen's head. "Stop."
Everything went still, even Yuri, whose eyes ticked up to someone in the doorway behind Jensen's back.
"Careful," Yuri said. "He means more to you."
"Let him up." And God, Jensen knew that voice. Knew Jeff from a few words and a growl. Confusion and relief swamped him in waves that made him shake. He watched blood well up around the needle. Not safe. Not yet. "Mine."
"Yes? Then why is he here?" Yuri rubbed his thumb lewdly against the syringe. "You'll tear him to pieces, you know. He'll suffer."
Yuri's throat looked raw and seeping, but not fatal. Things were closing. As Yuri tilted his chin to show how much he'd been wronged, Jensen caught the glittering swing of the pendant.
"You don't touch what I own." Jeff's voice rubbed over Jensen's skin. There had to have been something in the whiskey. The grip on Jensen's arms were easing away. He smelled fear."If you want this war--"
Yuri shoved the plunger down.
Jensen wrenched his arm free and grabbed the cage, yanking the cord across Yuri's wound. The new skin tore like tissue paper; Yuri yowled and skittered back, releasing the syringe and dragging Jensen and his captors forward a few inches with his desperation. The dislocated shoulder got tugged before Yuri's men quickly let him go. Jensen gagged on the pain but didn't let the cage slip out of his hands. People were howling, Yuri was screaming, and in the chaos somebody grabbed him around the stomach and dragged him backwards. Jeff's arm, Jeff's hand splayed on his hip, Jeff trying to take him away. Jensen kicked wildly, because he couldn't let the bastard go, he wasn't going to until he tore Yuri's fucking head off with the chain.
Yuri twisted, head thrown back as he bellowed through his too-wide mouth. Jensen felt the watery gray fingers of the heroin, pulling him down. The men were cowering close, whining and belly-scraping at Yuri's feet, but they were watching now. They would tear into whichever one of them dropped first.
"Jen," Jeff said in his ear, his arm sturdy around Jensen's belly, "come on, baby, come on, we've got to go. Let go, we'll find him, I'll kill him, but for now just let go."
The edges were fuzzy. Jensen tightened his numbing fingers around the cage and jerked it once, hard, deep into the wound until it hit bone. Then he let Jeff pull him away, the chain sliding through his fingers.
"Good," Jeff murmured. "So good for me. Hold on now. Don't fall."
Fall, and they were both dead. Jensen could see it in the men's eyes, the steady jackal stare that followed them as they backed towards the elevator. It was open, thank God and Jeff and everyone who looked after whores in hell. By the time they got there, Jensen was watching his feet drag across the floor while Jeff more or less carried him. He knew this high, this awful poisoned honey that would close up his mouth and his eyes and his ears. He knew it because he had wanted it, and he had feared it, and it was on him now.
The elevator doors closed.
The second they did, Jeff was sliding to the floor with Jensen on his lap. His voice was a steady wall of sound. "What did they do? Why didn't you take my fucking calls? I could've--" did Jeff's voice break? Jensen didn't want it to, couldn't take that.
Jensen said, "Heroin. Too much." Or tried to. His mouth wasn't working.
"That's right. Talk to me, sweetheart." Grabbing Jensen's arm, Jeff started to lift it and stopped when Jensen couldn't hold in a pained noise. "I have to. I'm sorry."
Jeff'd lied; he'd known Yuri all along, he'd said he owned Jensen. There was no reason to yield, except that Jeff sounded like he really was sorry. Like he really gave a fuck that Jensen was dying.
Did it matter now?
Letting out a breath that sounded like a hiccup, Jensen put his head back against Jeff's shoulder. The warmth was good. It hurt when Jeff raised his arm above his heart, slowing the poison too late, but the slow gold shine lapped the hurt away.
Jeff sighed and rested his cheek against Jensen's. "It'll be okay. We'll take care of it."
"'M clean." Important that Jeff knew. "I was..."
"I know."
"Sorry." It slurred off his tongue.
"Don't you fucking be sorry. You don't get to do that." Jeff reached out, hit the lobby button again. "Jesus Christ, come on!"
Jeff's heartbeat was warm. Steady. Clock ticking.
"Jen," Jeff said. "Please."
Gone.
Author:
nilchanceRating: R for graphic violence
A/N: Hookerverse. Betaed by the fantabulous
poisontaster. Happy birthday, mona1347!Beneath the high-rise window, the traffic flowed in gold and red. Rain blurred the lights until it looked like liquid fire, destruction that would melt and remake the world.
Some part of Jensen wanted to break the window and see how fast he fell. It was better than waiting on his knees at Yuri's feet.
Tuesday. He hadn't eaten or slept since that dream with Belle. He hurt. He wanted out of this room, where cigar smoke ghosts made his eyes burn. Yuri had rented the hotel room where Jensen had first fucked Jeff. He was sitting now in that same chair, still and watchful, turning the whiskey bottle in his hands. The room where he'd almost begged for more. By the end of tonight, he'd probably be begging for it to stop.
The room felt colder than Jensen remembered. Smaller. From where he knelt, he could see the elevator, a taunting reminder that he couldn't leave. The claustrophobia clawed at his insides, the itching driving need to run. But he wouldn't make it, dizzy as he was from hunger and fatigue. They wouldn't be gentle about taking him down.
A whore didn't need to be able to walk.
Jensen remembered Jeff's hands in his hair, Jeff's arms around him. It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, since that job was over. But he remembered it anyway, as Yuri dropped ash onto his shoulder and yanked his hair to keep him from drifting.
Yuri's men weren't nearly as quiet. They shoved at each other, snapped and fought and drank. One man trilled a parody of a Chechen lullaby as he told stories of the villages he'd slaughtered for Moscow. Yuri's girls weren't here, no other whores. The building violence was all Jensen's, to channel or soothe or be devoured by. Already the bold ones were drifting close, jostling Jensen until Yuri bared teeth and they retreated again. Every retreat left them closer than they had been, and the glittering hunger in their eyes made Jensen's stomach roll.
The golden cage lay on its chain at Yuri's throat. The kitchen knife Jensen taped to the inside of his shirt felt cool and heavy.
Abruptly, Yuri leaned down. The leather creaked beneath him. Yuri's breath smelled sweet with fruit and smoke. "Are you thirsty, whore?"
Shit. No flattery, no manipulation; Yuri was never this blunt. Jensen felt anger as a heat along his bared nape, like waiting for the guillotine. "If you want me to be."
"Ha!" Yuri grabbed a handful of hair and jerked Jensen's head back, making the world swerve. Yuri bared teeth at his men, who fell into quiet attention. "Now he cares what I want. Now he's afraid." Lifting the bottle of whiskey in his other hand, Yuri said, "You're thirsty. Open your fucking mouth."
Looking at Yuri's face, Jensen knew his other option was to have his jaw broken. He opened his mouth. The bottle's lip clicked against his teeth as the whiskey poured down his throat. It burned, nearly gagging him, spilling down his chin and up his nose. He couldn't breathe, couldn't help swallowing some of it as he choked.
The bottle emptied. Through fumes too thick to breathe, Jensen wrenched out of Yuri's hand and retched. Even that hurt. Yuri planted a foot in his back and tried to shove his face in it. Everywhere, they were laughing. Fury burned in Jensen's chest, eating away another chunk of him. He bit back his snarl, swallowed it and choked. The knife bruised his ribs, dull as hate.
"What's the matter, boy? You swallow." Yuri leaned his weight onto Jensen's back. "You think I'm some fool, to let you slide the collar. You think I'll let you come to me stinking of the seed of the enemy."
Panting, Jensen rested his forehead on the floor. Abasement, pretending to be pliant as his mind scrambled. The enemy. I can smell him on you, Jeff had said. He couldn't think. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry," Yuri whined, then spat. "You're nothing. And you will return to nothing. I know how to make you go where I lead."
On cue, one of the men came forward. Jensen glanced up and saw the syringe being passed to Yuri's hand. He didn't think; he moved, stumbling as he tried to run and rip free the knife at the same time. The knife came free of the tape with a jagged, tearing sound. One of the men, grinning, stepped in front of him and shoved him back into Yuri. "Where you going, boy?"
Jensen slashed blindly at him. He couldn't see the door anymore, and they were pressing in. Had to cut his way out, get a gun, something--
"Jensen, Jensen," Yuri sighed, and his hand fell heavy on Jensen's shoulder.
Jensen spun, and the momentum carved a red gash across Yuri's throat.
Yuri stared at him, stunned, blood raining down over the blade and onto Jensen's hands. Onto the golden cage. In his eyes, Jensen saw himself reflected.
The blood was hotter than the come Yuri had spewed onto his back. Hotter than cigarette ashes, hotter than grief, messy and endless, a fierce joy that burned everything away. He saw dark muscle, white bone, death pouring over his fingers. Yuri's death.
Every humiliation, every rough fuck, every deal, every bag of heroin tossed casually his way... Jensen saw it all. And he kept cutting. The hilt was slick-wet in his fingers like every cock he'd sucked for Yuri. The smell was rich metal in his nose, another better drug.
Yuri's eyes turned lazy, and it lit a fire in Jensen's head. He snarled, throwing his weight into the blade, slicing through thicker things than skin, and nobody moved to stop him until the bent and gory knife emerged out the other side. All the force he'd put behind it, every hour of filth and darkness, sent the suddenly free knife flying from his wet hands. Jensen heard it hit the wall, but he only had eyes for Yuri's death.
Die. A war cry in his head. Die. Die.
Yuri choked, bubbles forming within the cut. His knees didn't cave. He didn't fall as he choked again, again, again, until the wet noises gave way to a harsh cawing laugh.
He didn't fall. He laughed, red pouring down until it stained his khaki pants and wet the carpet under his shoes, and the men laughed with him. And then he took a halting step towards Jensen, his shoes squishing on the floor.
Jensen backed up, and collided with the man who had blocked him in the first place. His voice locked up; he couldn't scream, even if anyone would listen.
Yuri tilted his head, the quick sideways motion of a carrion bird. His throat began to foam and boil like peroxide on a wound, obscuring the bone glint of his spine. His larynx should've been ruined, but he spoke. "The meat bites. Hold it still."
And they were on Jensen. His knees were kicked out from under him. From there, they rode him to the floor like he weighed nothing. The blood that soaked his clothes was still hot. He fought, bit, wrenched his shoulder out with a wet pop, but nothing yielded. Yuri pushed his head down, baring the back of his neck, and the pain jolting down his arm turned the world to humming darkness.
This was wrong, everything was wrong, he couldn't... no. No, God, this wasn't happening. This was a dream, like Belle, like the meathook in his chest. He would wake up. He had to wake up.
When he could see again, Yuri stood above him.
No dream. The world was sharp with adrenaline, a brutal clarity that sang like the edge of a blade. The room stank of blood, whiskey, vomit. The stars shined pitiless from the window, like the death Jensen saw in Yuri's eyes. Life had twisted around his neck and now he waited for the drop.
Jensen smelled metal burning. Yuri smiled down at Jensen. There was something wrong with his face. "They never see their death coming," Yuri said, sounding almost sympathetic.
Behind Yuri, Jensen saw one of the men holding the spoon above a lighter. He saw the scorched bowl, and the needle filling with the brown sludge of heroin.
"Yuri," Jensen said, "Yuri, shoot me. Just fucking shoot me, anything, but don't-- don't. Don't."
Yuri met his eyes and slowly shook his head, still smiling.
He couldn't get away. They wouldn't let him get away, and the syringe was full now, too full, full enough to kill him. Some awful noise came up his throat, a whining animal noise, as he tried to back away and couldn't.
Yuri took the syringe, knelt, and gestured at Jensen's dislocated arm. They pulled it forward for Yuri, exposed Jensen's veins, and all the fighting in the world couldn't get his arm free. The pain was sickening. He smelled something else now, the dusty scent of a rabid coyote he'd seen dying in the desert. The man behind him panted and licked Jensen's dislocated shoulder as the syringe bit into him.
Jensen tried to scream, tried to find rage, but he was drowning. Yuri's eyes were black and empty. There was no air. Yuri crooned and stroked the plunger with his thumb.
"Yuri!" The snarl cut through the fog in Jensen's head. "Stop."
Everything went still, even Yuri, whose eyes ticked up to someone in the doorway behind Jensen's back.
"Careful," Yuri said. "He means more to you."
"Let him up." And God, Jensen knew that voice. Knew Jeff from a few words and a growl. Confusion and relief swamped him in waves that made him shake. He watched blood well up around the needle. Not safe. Not yet. "Mine."
"Yes? Then why is he here?" Yuri rubbed his thumb lewdly against the syringe. "You'll tear him to pieces, you know. He'll suffer."
Yuri's throat looked raw and seeping, but not fatal. Things were closing. As Yuri tilted his chin to show how much he'd been wronged, Jensen caught the glittering swing of the pendant.
"You don't touch what I own." Jeff's voice rubbed over Jensen's skin. There had to have been something in the whiskey. The grip on Jensen's arms were easing away. He smelled fear."If you want this war--"
Yuri shoved the plunger down.
Jensen wrenched his arm free and grabbed the cage, yanking the cord across Yuri's wound. The new skin tore like tissue paper; Yuri yowled and skittered back, releasing the syringe and dragging Jensen and his captors forward a few inches with his desperation. The dislocated shoulder got tugged before Yuri's men quickly let him go. Jensen gagged on the pain but didn't let the cage slip out of his hands. People were howling, Yuri was screaming, and in the chaos somebody grabbed him around the stomach and dragged him backwards. Jeff's arm, Jeff's hand splayed on his hip, Jeff trying to take him away. Jensen kicked wildly, because he couldn't let the bastard go, he wasn't going to until he tore Yuri's fucking head off with the chain.
Yuri twisted, head thrown back as he bellowed through his too-wide mouth. Jensen felt the watery gray fingers of the heroin, pulling him down. The men were cowering close, whining and belly-scraping at Yuri's feet, but they were watching now. They would tear into whichever one of them dropped first.
"Jen," Jeff said in his ear, his arm sturdy around Jensen's belly, "come on, baby, come on, we've got to go. Let go, we'll find him, I'll kill him, but for now just let go."
The edges were fuzzy. Jensen tightened his numbing fingers around the cage and jerked it once, hard, deep into the wound until it hit bone. Then he let Jeff pull him away, the chain sliding through his fingers.
"Good," Jeff murmured. "So good for me. Hold on now. Don't fall."
Fall, and they were both dead. Jensen could see it in the men's eyes, the steady jackal stare that followed them as they backed towards the elevator. It was open, thank God and Jeff and everyone who looked after whores in hell. By the time they got there, Jensen was watching his feet drag across the floor while Jeff more or less carried him. He knew this high, this awful poisoned honey that would close up his mouth and his eyes and his ears. He knew it because he had wanted it, and he had feared it, and it was on him now.
The elevator doors closed.
The second they did, Jeff was sliding to the floor with Jensen on his lap. His voice was a steady wall of sound. "What did they do? Why didn't you take my fucking calls? I could've--" did Jeff's voice break? Jensen didn't want it to, couldn't take that.
Jensen said, "Heroin. Too much." Or tried to. His mouth wasn't working.
"That's right. Talk to me, sweetheart." Grabbing Jensen's arm, Jeff started to lift it and stopped when Jensen couldn't hold in a pained noise. "I have to. I'm sorry."
Jeff'd lied; he'd known Yuri all along, he'd said he owned Jensen. There was no reason to yield, except that Jeff sounded like he really was sorry. Like he really gave a fuck that Jensen was dying.
Did it matter now?
Letting out a breath that sounded like a hiccup, Jensen put his head back against Jeff's shoulder. The warmth was good. It hurt when Jeff raised his arm above his heart, slowing the poison too late, but the slow gold shine lapped the hurt away.
Jeff sighed and rested his cheek against Jensen's. "It'll be okay. We'll take care of it."
"'M clean." Important that Jeff knew. "I was..."
"I know."
"Sorry." It slurred off his tongue.
"Don't you fucking be sorry. You don't get to do that." Jeff reached out, hit the lobby button again. "Jesus Christ, come on!"
Jeff's heartbeat was warm. Steady. Clock ticking.
"Jen," Jeff said. "Please."
Gone.
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