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 A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE , [M], ST EMERY SEXY TIME.
BUSTER EMERY
Posted: Apr 21 2012, 05:27 PM


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Heart beating right out of his chest, Buster let his legs carry him right through the thickets of bushes and tree branches, hurling himself forward as fast as he could. He didn't have any concern for the scrapes and scratches provided by the snagging twigs, and he certainly didn't care that he didn't know where the hell he was going - all that drove him forward was what was behind him. Perhaps, though, he should have been a little more concerned. He hadn't stopped until his foot had carelessly snagged on an exposed root, sending Buster face-first into the brush of the forest and his baseball bat flying from his grip. What could he do but roll onto his back and let out a laugh? He didn't want to run anymore.

For a long moment he just stayed put, flat in the grass and staring up at the blue tearing through the overhang of the trees - or maybe it was the other way around. The light was speckled with the late summer sunset filtering through the trees, the air still and sweating. Buster let his breath calm, waiting for the sound of feet trampling through the brush to come ringing into his ears and, after it dawned on him that it wasn't coming, he scrambled to sit up, staring around the clearing. Off in the tree line he could have sworn he'd seen a flash of red, and his stomach lurched. They hadn't been wearing red, and they sure as hell hadn't been coming from that direction. Angling his head, he got a better look this time, spotting the red ringer-tee that caused a knot to form in the pit of his stomach that was threatening to be pulled right out of his throat.

Four and a half months and he had hardly allowed himself to think the name, never mind sitting and dwelling on the fact that he had been completely and utterly abandoned. What else would you call it? But that familiar flash of red sent his mind reeling and tumbling into the pit he'd carelessly shoved all those useless feelings into. It was like those springs that had been coiled for the past few months were finally ready to spring, sending Buster's hands into a steady tremble and his eyes as wide as saucers. He couldn't do anything but stare as it finally broke carelessly into the clearing.

It didn't have a face. Regardless of any wardrobe there was no indication that this ghoul was anyone, let alone someone and, surely, a better part of Buster's mind knew that. It's no one, he told himself. It's not him. What once was a cheek bone had been ripped clean off by teeth and claws, taking an ear with it and the better half of its face, leaving the mug a bloody, unrecognizable mess that dripped (and in the case of an eye, hung) down to that stained shirt. Buster had caught its attention and with its one good eye on him, it started forward - he, meanwhile, did absolutely nothing but stare. His bat had been tossed aside and he was being pressed into the ground by the weight of his own grief, letting it washing it over him in waves and fill his lungs. It stung his eyes and left his arms shaking under his weight, breath coming out in ragged gasps.

With a shout, the boy broke through the brush and into the clearing at long last, raising his shovel like some kind of savage and taking an unceremonious swing at the walker Buster had spent the last eternity staring at. He was a good head taller than Buster, with a head of blond hair and the kind of complexion that turned beet red in this kind of heat - he might as well have been a ginger. "What the hell was that?" Buster shook his his head clear, rubbing a hand at the hair on his head that had gotten just a bit too long for his tastes and, quite frankly, felt foreign. All he could do was watch as the corpse hit the ground, letting the other boy grab him by the arm and pull him to his feet. The question was repeated. "Huh?" Finally, Buster snapped his eyes from the ground, completely ignoring the glaze of tears he was looking through and that still steady shake of his hand.

"Are you oka--"

He nodded his head quickly, forcing a grin and turning to grab his bat from the grass. "Yeah, totally." Just like that, Buster had slipped back into his usual chipper mood, keeping his eyes ​off the body on the ground as he grinned. "Let's just get the hell out of here, yeah?"

Tired, spent, and sticking with sweat and the slightest bit of mingled semen, Buster could do nothing but sink down into the grass under their weight, body still wracking with the last waves of his orgasm that shot up from his lungs with moans muffled by the earth under him. His knees were pressed into the ground still, though just barely, hips inches from the ground and chest no doubt patterned with the grass imprinted into the skin. It was hardly comfortable, with his hips still at that angle and Etienne still resting inside him with the slightest movements, his own hands grabbing at dirt and grass and fire in his lungs, but he hardly seemed to mind his predicament.

His eyes were stuck half-lidded while his brain was clouded with God-knows-what, turning that ache into a dull throb of the bliss that lingered and slowly but surely aiding in causing his breathing to slow. No more gasps for air came, just steady breaths as his body worked to get a grip on reality once again. Buster could only melt into the grass as his heart slowed, looking ahead and seeing absolutely nothing as the boy on top of him held his ground, leaning to lap at the salt gathered along the skin at the nape of his neck.

Finally, he lifted his head just enough to steal a look over his shoulder with a small, tired smile. He couldn't quite remember how the hell this had happened, and in the second he had taken to linger on that thought, his smile had grown. His head tipped back with the quietest laugh tumbling from his lips.

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ETIENNE ST CLAIR
Posted: Apr 22 2012, 08:05 AM


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THIS IS ONLY BRINGING ME DOWN
There was sweat stinging his eyes, dirt clinging to his fingers and toes, and the residue of Buster’s semen still fresh on his fingers, but Etienne couldn’t remember the last time he felt this satisfied. Maybe it was five years ago when he first landed his first backflip off a wall eight feet off the ground - but no, that had been pure adrenaline and a heady endorphins, whereas this...this had to be more than that. This was the feeling of elation and satisfaction at finally being able to touch and hold the guy who, in the span of a single month, had managed to become his best friend. This was also the guy who he’d spent the past five months trying to wipe completely from his mind, but the only thing he had managed to do completely was fail, pathetically.

And yet, this was still the guy who, dipshit behaviour and all, he could still never get enough of.

Maybe it was just the post-sex rush talking, but Etienne knew that Buster Emery was more to him than just a friend, or a partner, or a companion. He was so, so much more, and surely that was obvious with what had just passed between them?

Etienne tilted his head, eyes only lazily open halfway as he let his tongue flick out between his teeth to savour the musty saltiness of Buster’s sweat and skin. In all honesty, Etienne could claim that he had never been the type to put his tongue to work outside of anyone’s mouth (because that’s what it was to him: work), but with Buster it didn’t seem that way at all. Instead, the taste of Buster’s skin lingered heavily on his tongue and at the back of his mouth, and it seemed that no matter how much surface he covered with that muscle in his mouth, he was only filled with an incessant greed for more - a craving which he was eagerly and shamelessly indulging in at the moment as his lips crept up to the bone behind Buster’s ear.

He had good reason to be there, though, because there was something gnawing at him that he felt he had to say. Now that he was actually capable - if only just capable - of forming a coherent thought, the weight of their situation was starting to make itself felt upon his back. Not only that, but the knowledge that Buster was the one holding him up right now hadn’t been lost on him, and whether literally or metaphorically, Etienne knew that the sooner they could get rid of that damned weight, the better - not that he particularly wanted to change his position, because it was surprisingly comfortable being on top; then again, wasn’t it always?

But Buster’s glance back at him unsettled him, causing those words on the tip of his tongue to tumble back down his throat. His smile was genuine, but fatigued, and Etienne felt that familiar tugging down at the corners of his lips as he wondered whether he had been too hard on the guy. What was he thinking? Of course he had - they hadn’t even used lube, for chrissakes. So he opened his mouth, about to say those two words that he desperately hoped would patch up everything from Buster’s undoubtedly aching ass to the events that stretched back to five months ago - and then the bastard laughed.

He laughed, and Etienne felt his blood run cold as contentment flitted from his mind and (over)rationality replaced it, hammered in place by Buster’s sudden laugh. The last time Buster had laughed in his presence, it had been a laugh that was meant to have the same effect as a slap, and in spite of the change in circumstances, it felt the same as it had that day by the lake. Without his meaning to, his hands slipped away from the body he had been about to curl his arms around and refuse to let go of, finding the dirt and grass again so he could push off and out of Buster. It was done rather unceremoniously, with him grimacing as he sat back on his heels at the loss of that comforting warmth around his shaft; really, though, it hardly mattered now with the ice that seeped into his veins.

What had he been thinking leaving the city again? Granted, he hadn’t really been trying to find Buster again, so he couldn’t be blamed for that, but how could he have forgotten about what had made him return to the city in the first place? And what the hell had he been hoping would happen in the five months that they had spent in the absence of each other’s company? Well, the answer to that one was easy, if impossible - he had been hoping that Buster would have changed somehow, but there was that laugh again (or so he thought). Honestly, what had possessed him to want to apologize as if it was all his fault and not Buster’s behaviour that had chased him away in the first place? I’m sorry - Etienne wanted to laugh, bitterly, but he’d had more than enough of that before he’d left.

Eyes no longer drawn to Buster - quite the opposite - Etienne reached for his boxers in the grass, expression as unreadable as the day he’d left.
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BUSTER EMERY
Posted: Apr 22 2012, 01:16 PM


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There were still steady shivers tingling up and down his spine, every adjustment he made in his position pressed into the grass feeling like a strenuous task with his friend still on top of (and inside of) him and keeping him face down in the grass. He could hardly brig himself to mind, though. His body ached in the best possible way, from the cramp in his foot to the searing heat of Etienne still resting inside him. A good ache - one that left him satisfied and content to stay exactly where he was, regardless of the discomfort that would have been present if it were... well, anyone else, probably. Dwelling over the present situation seemed like a much better idea, though, and with his eyes lulling shut he let himself melt away under Etienne's lips.

The world was a fog and Buster had let himself slip deeper into that haze, trapped pressed between the Earth and the Sun and hardly minding a bit. The beads of sweat gathered on the back of his neck were licked away, delicately and tenderly while Etienne's weight continued to crush down on him. He merely tipped his head forward to make his neck more readily available - a motion he'd hardly been aware of doing. It was just the slightest move, with the faintest sigh of content slipping from Buster's lips and getting lost in thee blades of grass.

The last five months had been spent keeping himself busy - no, keeping himself distracted, and from thinking about anything that cause that unnamed hole in his chest to twist and ache like a fresh wound all over again. While it might have had a name, it wasn't one Buster had allowed to pass through his brain - not if he could help it. He convinced himself those stray dreams had been about someone else, and that those times he'd woken up with his own hand around his dick and that damned name falling from his lips had never even happened. And they would never happen, so why dwell?

Now though, the damn had broken and Buster was helpless to repress any of those damned emotions that had been plaguing him for the past several months. What had surprised him was that it wasn't a sudden flood of tears that came to rush to his eyes (as he had so expected it to, seeing as that had been the theme of the past several months), but instead a grin that, try as he might, he just couldn't shake. And who would want to? Looking over his shoulder had been the final straw, as it were - the thing that had finally sent him tipping over the edge and letting out that tinkle of a laugh.

It was a far cry from his usual ruckus laughter, careless and loud and reckless as all hell. No - this was much quieter, softer, almost like there was a secret to be had. And in fact, there was - it was a laugh meant for privacy and, in this case, for Etienne's ears only, ringing out with the reminder of what it was they had just done. Despite the absurdity of it, Buster simply couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh of joy, with just the slightest bit of relief mingled in.

Etienne hadn't heard the same laugh, however.

Before he could process a damn thing, Etienne had pushed up and off of him, and more importantly, out of, leaving Buster to drop flat onto the ground with a look resembling that of a deer in the headlights. His breath had caught in his throat from the sudden emptiness, leaving behind not but a void and a steady ache - though not where it ought to have been, but in his chest. What had just happened? Buster pushed himself up on trembling arms, hardly daring to turn and look over his shoulder but forcing himself to do so anyway. He'd turned just in time to catch Etienne snagging his boxers from the grass, wearing a look that struck Buster deeper than anything else he'd delivered in the past moments. He just stared, eyes wide and lost and completely and utterly, hopelessly confused, as his mouth threw out words his brain wasn't keeping up with. "Wh-what?"

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ETIENNE ST CLAIR
Posted: Apr 22 2012, 06:15 PM


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THIS IS ONLY BRINGING ME DOWN
The need to escape was suffocating. It towered over him and reached out with clawed hands, choking him in a tight embrace that felt nothing like the one he had shared with his friend, but what could he do? The five months they had been separated for had certainly been more painful than he was willing to admit, but Buster’s laugh had reminded him that these past few weeks were easier to get through than any of the earlier ones had been. Finally, he had been able to make it through a whole day without stopping to think about how much everything hurt - from his head, with with all its weighted memories and terrifying nightmares, to that invisible, gaping wound beneath his ribs.

More than ever, that latter injury hurt right now, sending throbbing protests through his chest even as kept his eyes carefully directed at the blades of grass just in front of his knees. When he’d first seen Buster across that clearing, he hadn’t been prepared for the excitement that flooded over him - a tsunami all on its own that swept him towards the boy that haunted his dreams. There simply hadn’t been time to think about what had transgressed between them in the past and the consequences of his barrelling across the clearing because, before he knew it, he was ontop of him - joking around like old times, teasing like old times, and slipping his hand down Buster’s pants...not quite like old times, but achingly familiar anyway thanks to an imagination that had a tendency to run off on him when he spent long nights staring up at the sky.

His fingers trembled visibly as they landed on his discarded boxers, and Etienne was forced to turn his back on Buster so he wouldn’t see that or the cracks that were beginning to run through his carefully placid expression. Jaw wound tight as a spring, Etienne stared down at his hands with a knitted brow, trying his best to shake off the look of innocent confusion that had just managed to sneak into his periphery before he turned to face the trees. Without a doubt, he resented Buster for his damned ability to always look like the one who had been wronged and taken advantage of, but a smaller, whining part of him seemed to say that he was right to look the way he did because Etienne had been the one to tackle and provoke him. Any bystander would have pointed a finger at him as the guilty culprit, and that kind of reasoning had him caught between wanting to bolt and wanting to go through with the overdue apology he had been about to whisper in his friend’s ear. Etienne closed his eyes instead, taking a deep breath because no matter how he looked at it, there wasn’t anyone (or anything) capable of fitting the jagged remnants of their friendship back together.

Besides, he wasn’t looking to fix anything, so why should he feel obligated to? He didn’t - no, not at all - and he opened his eyes again, getting to his feet and pulling his underwear slowly back on to buy him some time to regain his confidence. Off on his own, Etienne had thought for sure that the hard times had made his determination stronger and not weaker, but based on the whitened shine of his knuckles as he gripped the hem of his boxers and tugged them up his legs, it hadn’t gotten any easier to deal with what they had been reduced to; if anything, it had only gotten harder.

It was too late to undo what they had just done, and the realization caused his aggravation to spark up. What caused it to flare and catch as anger, however, was the stammered word the came from over his shoulder. Etienne spun on his heel to face him again, his lips that had been ravishing Buster’s neck only moments ago now pulled back into a vicious sneer.

”God, you haven’t changed at all - you’re still the fucking retard you’ve always been.” Etienne threw the words at him like handheld grenades with the pins pulled, ready to blow the both of them sky-high in a stark contrast to their earlier tumble to the ground. ”Don’t act like you don’t know what, Buster. I left. I chose to leave, and we both knew I wasn’t going to come back, so why the hell are you screwing with me again? You must get a real kick out of it, don’t you?” He hardly knew what he was saying anymore, but he couldn't be bothered to figure it out; just like old times, things were falling apart before they’d even had a chance to be whole again.
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BUSTER EMERY
Posted: Apr 22 2012, 10:08 PM


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There it was again - that gaping hole in his chest throbbing away with that sensation of not-quite-numb-enough-ness. That hole had been dug in, left to fester, and scabbed over again in those five months, and for a good long what - week? day? hour, maybe? - Buster had managed to go without thinking of Etienne. He ignored the little things that sparked his memory and he pushed all those bubbling feelings deep down into the never-reaches of his soul where they would never have to trouble him again. At least, not if he had anything to say about it. He had done such a good job of stifling it for all those months, and there it was, just like new - fresh as the day it was torn into him. You know, the day Etienne had left in the first place. It was like tearing a scab off and Buster could do nothing but sit and let it bleed. All the control in the world couldn't have helped him to repair that wound in that moment, torn open and bleeding just as fresh as ever.

What was he supposed to have done? After so many months left on his own, left to watch that wound fester, he had finally come to the conclusion - no, to the acceptance that he would never be seeing Etienne again. He could give up paying special attention when they went on trips into the city, just in case and he could give up with his feeble turning through the walkie talkie stations every evening in hopes that just maybe a familiar voice would ring through over the air waves. They never came, and they never would, and Buster was finally starting to accept that fact. Just starting - and that was as far as he would get. All those months of hard work and progress, shattered in seconds as Etienne had spotted him clear across the clearing. It was that damned shirt of his, he knew, and while turning and running had seemed like the thing to do (he had, in fact, panicked and thought to do just that before he'd been tackled), he never got the chance. Turning and running would have been better, because turning and running would have meant avoiding all of this in the first place - and he'd been avoiding this for months.

Suddenly that pleasant and tender aching in his bones was anything but - more like a dull throb that served as a reminder of everything that had just happened. All those bandaids he had been patching himself up with for the past few months had been pulled off in one swift motion, and for what? For a few fleeting moments of bliss in which he could forget there had been a problem? Or maybe by throwing himself at the feet of the other boy, like some sad, desperate whore would fix everything all of a sudden? He could only assume that he hadn't been thinking - even less than he usually did, even. His emotions had gotten the better of him and, blasted by the shock that he was even seeing Etienne in the first place, he had taken it upon himself to do what he could and to savor the moment. If that meant having to sacrifice his pride in the process then so be it... Though that was before the thought that any of it could have the oposite effect had sunk in.

It was just so much easier to believe it could be fixed by something so simple than face the reality. In reality, he had probably just made things worse, and beaten that poor dead horse beyond all recognition. But reality was setting in, and digging its way into Buster's brain. All he could do was let that parasite worm its way through as he glared up at Etienne. He dressed, keeping his eyes averted while Buster was left on the ground, stark naked with his arms around his middle and his knees pulled up like they might provide some sort of sense of security. Not a damn thing could have done that, though. No, he could only glare up at the other with his mouth formed into a straight line, brows furrowed, and absolutely seething as Etienne went about with his latest and greatest accusation.

"Fuck you!" He spat out the words before his brain even knew what to do with them, the irony of the phrase completely lost on him at the moment. His jaw cracked as he gritted his teeth, fingers once again gripping at the earth, though this time for an entirely different reason. He felt like a cobra coiled and ready to strike at any given moment. "You left!" Buster had all but shouted out the words, his voice cracking in the process and ringing with emotions he couldn't've hid even if he had bothered. "You left - you! - and you came back!" The damn was slowly breaking, water springing through the cracks and ready to burst. Likewise, the familiar​ sting of tears tore at his eyes again. Worse yet, he didn't give a damn. "Now who's screwing with who?!"​

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ETIENNE ST CLAIR
Posted: Apr 23 2012, 04:39 PM


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THIS IS ONLY BRINGING ME DOWN
Buster was trouble. Etienne should’ve known that it wasn’t possible for things to go smoothly between them, but how could it considering the circumstances? Maybe if they had met without a zombie apocalypse looming over them, they could’ve hit it off normally like friends usually do - you know, substitute memories of rocking house parties and video games for looting of ‘abandoned’ grocery stores and bashed in zombie heads. Without a doubt, they still would have pissed each other off with the amount of dicking around they did, but it would’ve been over stupid, harmless things like who had to ride shotgun while the other drove, or who had to shell out for the next six pack to bring to some baseball game that Etienne would’ve spent checking out the girls with pom poms and too-short skirts – it would’ve been nothing like this. Nothing like the kind of self-torture they’d put themselves through by turning their backs on each other when the going got tough, and certainly nothing like the way they had come together again. Hell, in another time and another place, maybe they would’ve had half a chance to figure out what was going on before they’d fucked the living daylights out of each other. Yes, in reflection, that definitely would’ve been appreciated.

Well, it felt good, didn’t it? The stray thought of reason brushed through the thick cloud of anger that had hazed over what little sense of good judgment Etienne had left, causing his scowl to waver for a fraction of a second. It was true – he hadn’t felt this good in months, and it wasn’t just because he’d managed to get hot and heavy with an actual person instead of his own hand (although that was, admittedly, some small factor in their tangled equation). Neither was it solely the fact that his frustration and confusion had diminished after finally realizing that it was Buster he wanted more than he knew, and Buster he had actually got – no, it wasn’t just that either. More than anything, it had to do with the awareness that he was here in person, right now, with his best friend.

Months had crawled by and he hadn’t had a single glimpse of his friend’s face outside of their shared memories and his overactive imagination – both of which he irritably swatted away. When they’d finally come into contact again, Etienne would’ve been content enough just to see Buster’s cocky as hell smile again, but he’d gotten so much more than that. He’d been able to peel off that plaid shirt his friend always wore to feel the smooth skin underneath press against his own; he’d been able to explore the shadows in his mouth and taste the salt of his sweat; he’d been able to do more than his imagination had ever done for him, and for what? To reassure himself that his friend was still alive and well? HAH!

His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, forming fists even as Buster rightfully threw his words back into his face. Who the Hell was he to sound so accusing and self-righteous? There he was again, looking naked, vulnerable and defenseless on the grass as if Etienne was some kind of (sexual) predator when all his life he’d been seen as the guy who could do no wrong. As such, his Golden Boy pride smarted painfully with every syllable that left Buster’s lips, and by the time he’d finished with his little outburst, Etienne was literally shaking with rage.

”And who do you think was the sole reason for me leaving?!” He made an angry gesture with his hands, the fingers uncurled although the crescent-shaped markings of his nails had already made deep impressions on his palms. ”You think I wanted to leave you behind? Because I didn’t, but we both know I wouldn’t have lasted here – you knew and yet you didn’t offer to come with me!” Etienne shouted these words even as he stepped towards Buster, standing directly in front of him and not caring in the least how awkward it must’ve been to look up at him from that angle. Unfortunately, from his position, he could clearly see tears gathering in Buster’s eyes, and the painful remorse that stabbed him right between the ribs was almost enough to leech the venom entirely from his veins. Almost, but not quite.

”What, did I hurt you?” His tone was soft and almost deceptively gentle as he reached down and took Buster by the sides of his arms, pulling him to his feet so that they could see eye to eye. ”Because you have no idea how much you hurt me," his voice trembled a little, although the anger he felt at Buster's lack of understanding (or unwillingness to understand) smoothed it out easily enough. Suddenly, out of the blue, he smirked, his steely expression shattering as his lips tugged back to reveal his teeth.

"But I can show you.” And with that, he tugged his right hand back, fingers balling easily into a fist that he launched directly at Buster’s face.
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BUSTER EMERY
Posted: Apr 24 2012, 09:35 AM


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Of course it was all his goddamn fault - after five months, you think he hadn't thought of that? Oh, sure, he'd spent plenty of time not thinking, and plenty of time repressing thoughts he'd rather not deal with, but even a master of denial like Buster would crack sooner or later. And crack he had, eventually - after one too many sleepless nights and just a bit too much time on his hands, he found himself thinking of that day at the lake, time and time again, and the few days prior that had lead up to it. There were things he could have done better, he figured, and though he tried to ignore all personal blame and put the weight onto Etienne's shoulders (as he had done to him), he just couldn't but resist the urge to reach up and smack himself clean across the face from time to time. Idiot. There were any number of things he could have done to keep it from happening, or to save the last shreds of it, or God knows what, but with every word that dripped from Etienne's tongue and rolled over Buster, he found that he cared less and less.

Sure, things could have been easier, once upon a time in some other world free of zombies and fueled by text messages and songs on the radio - but that was a world Buster had done his best to forget. That world was dead, and this, he told himself, was just another undead problem. It just needed dealing with, that was all. Still, as he stared down into the grass, it was getting more and more difficult to deal with anything. "Of course it's my fault!" The words tore from his throat like they belonged to someone else, echoing with a hint of words he dare not say: Because it's always my fault. Not unlike Etienne, he found his limbs stuck in a steady tremble of rage, though his surely had something to do with his palms pressed into the grass and shaking like rubber under his weight. His usual smart-mouthed remarks were failing him - no, words were failing him. That didn't keep him from tossing them out oh-so-carelessly though. "If you wanted me to go so bad you should have--" Fought for it? "You should've said something..."

His voice had tapered off to a near whisper, eyes cast down as Etienne stalked forwards with a look like that of a wolf about to strike. Or worse. Tongue to cheek, Buster tried to press those words back out of his ears, ignoring the other boy as best he could - at least until he'd reached down to grab at his arms. Half torn between dropping back to the ground and tearing away completely, Buster could only stagger to his feet, trying desperately to swallow the lump of nerves in the back of his throat. It wasn't working. He didn't pick up on any traces of concern or sympathy in Etienne's voice, if there were any to be heard in the first place, but between his fried nerves, exhaustion, and his nails digging into his arms, how could he have? It was nothing but spite and malice and five months being tossed right back into his face.

He should have seen it coming, really.

Hell, part of him probably had. Surely, a small part of his brain had registered the moment Etienne pulled his fist back like a lead weight on a spring. In any other circumstance he'd have taken the hit with a laugh because really, what was one little swing? In this case, however, it was something he had convinced himself he deserved. That fist cranked back and with his teeth gritting, he turned his cheek to take it. The blow sent Buster staggering back in the moment the pain flooded right to his cheek and away from... everything else. It was like a fleeting moment of numbing relief. And as he glared up at Etienne, there it was again - a flash of relief. It hadn't fixed anything and he knew better than to think it would, but he didn't care.

All he cared about was getting to hit him back. If it was a fight he had wanted him to put up, it was a fight he was going to get. Buster brought a hand up to dab at the corner of his mouth, a small, inevitable smirk tugging across his lips at the small smear of blood across his fingers. It was all he'd needed, really. Letting out a shout, he lunged himself forward and into the other boy, completely intent on tackling him to the ground and leaving him looking every bit as bad as he felt.

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ETIENNE ST CLAIR
Posted: Apr 24 2012, 06:25 PM


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THIS IS ONLY BRINGING ME DOWN
In general, hitting someone probably wasn’t the best way to solve a problem - especially when their problem(s) had resulted from poor communication right off the bat. However, at this point in time, Etienne wasn’t at all interested in weighing the pros and cons of punching Buster in the face. The only thing he was aware of was that he wanted to make him hurt in the same way that he had over the past couple of months, and his rage-filled mind told him that the simplest way of doing that would be through a physical means.

In other words, nevermind regretting the lack of lube - he should’ve fucked him harder - or at least, hard enough to ensure that the bastard couldn’t even get to his feet right now to take another blow. Logic had long flown out the window, you could say, and any of Buster’s admissions and/or denials of wrongdoing bounced went completely unacknowledged because the only thing he could hear right now was the drum beat of his own bloodthirst in his ears. When he pulled back that weighted fist, it didn’t even cross his mind that he could’ve broken Buster’s nose if the guy hadn’t turned his head to the side just before his knuckles cracked on flesh. Since there was no momentum behind it, it should’ve fallen weaker than he wanted, but because Buster hadn’t tried to avoid the blow, it ended up hitting much harder than he had expected.

Etienne blinked away momentary surprise when Buster staggered backwards, his eyes drifting over to look at his extended fist as if he could hardly believe he had hit him as hard as he had. The blow had come with its own tingling sensation running up his knuckles which, while uncomfortable, was familiar and left no room for confusion or misinterpretation - something that he had only just come to appreciate because, really, fists made communicating so much easier. The key there, of course, was to know how to use them. For half a second, Etienne gloated over his hit, looking up just in time to register Buster plowing towards him with his stance and shoulders lowered as if he meant to tackle him.

Suddenly, the world was off balance. Given the heady rush of adrenaline that kicked into his bloodstream the moment Buster knocked him off his feet, Etienne wasn’t particularly upset at the shift in perspective; that is, until they landed on the grass in a tangle of limbs and he felt a harsh jolt of pain up his spine from the impact. He’d raised his arms half-heartedly to stop Buster, but it had been a lost cause from the start and he only managed to hook his arms around his shoulders before the both of them went sprawling onto the ground. Between the two of them, Etienne was usually the one knocking Buster over without a moment of hesitation, but based on the pain of landing alone, he’d have to think twice before tackling him to the ground in the future.

If they ever saw each other again, that is.

Etienne twisted in the grass underneath Buster’s weight, the air in his lungs knocked clean out of his lungs from the collision and making it difficult for him to put up a good struggle. Hands sliding into position at Buster’s shoulders, Etienne tried to shove him off - failing, but taking enough weight off his middle to suck in a quick breath between parted lips. He must’ve bitten himself in the fall too, because the metallic tang of blood laced the inside of his mouth, and he would’ve spat it right into Buster’s damn face if he wasn’t already yelling ”get the fuck off me!” and lobbing a right hook at his jaw. Without bothering to register whether it had landed or not, he gripped Buster’s shoulders and pushed, one heel digging into the grass as he tried to throw him onto his side and reclaim the position on top - really, it was the only position he found half acceptable anyway.

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BUSTER EMERY
Posted: Apr 28 2012, 01:58 PM


19 | VENTURE
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Oh sure, getting physical and hitting the guy was savage - it was wrong. Or, it would have been, you know, back before the collapse of society and all that unpleasantness. Buster couldn't much bring himself to care in that moment. He was burning with rage, naked, raw (in all sense of the word), and by God, the fucker had hit him first. Frankly, Etienne was lucky the boy hadn't decided to bite him - as he had been known to do once or twice or maybe just a few times more as a kid. Five months of wanting to tear his own face off had lead up to this: getting the chance to do the same to his friend. They had crossed that line though, there was no denying it. Though it was, undeniably, something they had been inching towards, on, and around for months. The line had been crossed somewhere in his own imagination months ago, when it had gotten just a little too far away from him and his hand had strayed. Sure, blame it on your inability to focus on anything else - that's the ticket! Let's face it: all those imaginings had been pretty deliberate, and how could he possibly deny the opportunity once it had, uh, risen? Exactly - he couldn't've, not after so many stray thoughts he could never quite shake and nights that had never happened yet, somehow, he'd already convinced himself were memories. Surely, it was a battle he had lost before it had even begun.

There he was, throwing the first punch after five months - after taking Buster on his knees with little to ease the way aside from spit and some good old fashioned elbow grease - and what was Etienne's excuse? He wanted to make him hurt. The notion flooded Buster's brain with every little pent up feeling and thought and stifled cry into his blanket at night, every thing Buster had been doing oh so well to smother for the past few months. If it was to make him hurt then, hey, congratulations - that had been accomplished months ago. Five months in which Buster had kept himself restrained, caught between fantasies of doing just what had been done, and of doing just this - but what was there to restrain him anymore? Etienne had hit first.

He was only human. He had hurled himself forward without a second thought and, damn, did it feel good. There was a satisfaction that came with knocking Etienne down to the ground, one that nearly rivaled the flood of endorphines that still lingered from their recent scuffle in the dirt. Inevitably, Etienne dragged him down to the ground with him, once again forcing Buster onto his knees - though this time, it was Buster that had the advantage. Being on top came with certain advantages, turns out - like the freedom to swing his fist at that perfectly chiseled cheek. Or, he had sure made an attempt to before Etienne had set his sights on getting back to his rightful place on top. With a shout, Etienne's fist had made contact with Buster's jaw, knocking him from a top his throne.

"Why don't you make me?!" he spat out the words, childish and stubborn as ever as he braced his knees in the grass, grabbing a hand blindly for Etienne in an attempt to keep his balance, if not just for a moment. Just a moment was all it would take to land another swing, in any case, and though it had done little but cause his knuckles to come into contact with the side of Etienne's head, the pain that shot through his hand meant that he had at least done something right. It didn't make him feel any better about being thrown down sideways into the grass. With a snarl, there was little he could think think to do aside from bracing his hands against Etienne's chest, fingers tensed and nails pressing in as he tried to put off the inevitability of his being pinned to the ground once more.

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ETIENNE ST CLAIR
Posted: Apr 29 2012, 09:16 PM


21 | VOGUE
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THIS IS ONLY BRINGING ME DOWN
So this was what they had been reduced to after mind-blowing sex – mindless knocking of heads with fists (and not the kind that counted). Neither of the two boys could really be blamed for dropping several rungs down on the evolutionary ladder in the face of, well, the end of humanity, but with each additional punch exchanged and every pained grunt coughed up under each blow, it was clear that the two of them still had a long ways to fall. In a way, now that they were stripped down to nothing but their birthday suits (with the exception of his boxers), it seemed only natural that they would fall back onto their primal instincts for survival.

Of course, anybody with half a brain would wonder if throwing sloppy punches at one another was really necessary for their survival, but the answer to that would be a resounding yes. Fuck yes", in Etienne’s words, which shot out as a breathless crow of glory the moment he felt Buster lose his balance under his shoving hands, toppling over to the side and giving him the momentum he needed to reverse their positions. Moments ago, Etienne had been readying himself to pound into the other guy with a red haze of greedy desire driving him on, but now? Now it wasn’t that much different, only his hard-as-rock dick was replaced with hard-as-rock fists, and those were meant to hurt, not to pleasure. Oh, and he didn’t hesitate for a second before mounting Buster this time around because, really, what concern did he have left for the other guy’s wellbeing?

Knees clenching at either sides of Buster’s hips, Etienne locked his fingers around Buster’s wrists, eyes flashing with irritation as those nails dug deeper into the sensitive skin of his chest and drew pinpricks of blood to the surface. Letting out a hiss of pain between his teeth, Etienne wrenched those clawed hands away and slammed them against the ground above Buster’s head, the muscles in his shoulders bunching and coiling under his sweat-slicked skin as he tried to keep him in as vulnerable a position as possible. After all, it was only fair – no, it was only right considering what a sorry mess Buster had turned him into after bringing him to that stupid campsite with all his stupid friends, stupid classmates, and stupid former flings – none of which were his - but of course they weren’t, because without Buster, all he had was a pile of shit called ‘you-don’t-have-another-fucking-soul-left’, and it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that it wasn’t the kind of daily reminder that he could cope with.

Etienne’s grip on Buster’s wrists tightened, his bunched up brow casting a dark shadow over his eyes – or maybe that was just the swelling kicking in – as they roamed casually over the familiar face turned up to him. He told himself that he was looking for the next place to strike, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because nobody had to know that even now, he couldn’t get enough; even now, he could feel his vicious need to beat that face to pulp threatening to slip away as his eyes lingered on the smear of blood at the corner of Buster’s chapped lips. He’d done that. Attention drifting over to run up the sleek line of Buster’s jaw, Etienne noticed some faint swelling there – he’d done that too. Without thinking, his eyes tracked over to the other side to inspect for further damage, and Etienne felt the air in his lungs rush up to catch in his chest as their gazes tripped over one another, clicking together like lock and key - that is, until Etienne blinked.

And God, he wish he hadn’t, because by the time he had his eyes open again, there was a droplet of moisture splattered on Buster’s cheek and there was no denying from where it had fallen – no, there was no denying it at all - not when a second and a third tear threatened to slip from his backstabbing eyes and that air in his throat quivered on the edge of a sob. Not knowing what else to do, he turned his face into his own shoulder, pressing his eyes tightly together and ignoring the wetness seeping out of the corners because in his mind, nothing mattered anymore - they were far beyond the point of ruin.
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