hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-07-14 11:40 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-07-14 11:40 am
Entry tags:
Fuck me. Hard. Is this week over yet?
Yesterday ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serialkarma suggested crack-fic with Summer Roberts and Ray Kowalski. After I took her crack-pipe away, I insisted that such a pairing was beyond my capabilities. Luckily, it wasn't beyond hers.
Also, an excerpt from an e-mail to said crackhead about writing more of that damn stray fandom.
I feel like I should write some other fandom [besides Spider-Man], because really, I have a lot of fandoms and I don't want to neglect anybody, but then I'm like, well it's summer break and my kids work really hard during the year, death, angst, killing people, sex, it wears on you, you know?
So.
Spider-Man 2
The Bed You Made
The slight breeze from the balcony lifts his damp hair away from his forehead when Harry didn’t even realize he was sweating; and he sits there long after Peter -- Spider-Man’s left the penthouse, running his hands along the surface of the ottoman, feeling the recently trapped body heat escape. The velvet nap of the ottoman goes from light to dark with a twist of Harry’s wrist, and when he inhales he can smell furniture and sweat and the metallic stench of Dr. Octavius. When Harry contorts his body along the ottoman, he can smell him. Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. His Peter. His friend, Peter.
Peter is the person that Harry trusts, correction: trusted, most in the world. He's the only person Harry hates in the entire world, and Harry just let him go. He let the man who killed his father jump, swing, fly off his fucking balcony. Harry let the guy he loves go, too. They’re one and the same, and Harry’s head is going to explode any minute with the horror of it all. His head is going - he’s going - he’s going to kill him.
He can hear his father’s voice saying that Harry’s going to kill Peter.
*
Harry dreams that both of his arms are broken, mangled and useless they hang from their sockets bonelessly, and he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming that he’s dying. He wakes up screaming for Peter only to realize that he’s alone and tangled up in blankets and sheets, because his father’s bed is this enormous monstrosity, entirely too big for one person and for a split second Harry feels like he’s never going to stop screaming.
He hasn’t lived with Peter for fifteen months now, and Peter is Spider-Man. Peter is never going to be the one to comfort Harry after his nightmares again, and his throat is scratchy and tight; it feels as though it’s in danger of closing up permanently without notice. His fingers tangle in his hair as he pushes it back, and he scratches at his scalp as though his nails can bleach his memory clean. Peter and Spider-Man and Spider-Man and Peter. He thought Spider-Man was going to take Peter away from him; he thought at the NASA function that Peter was already gone, but this is so much worse.
He only realizes he’s stopped yelling after he’s finally untangled himself from the sheets. It was like being stuck in a huge web, and he’s never going to fall back asleep now. Instead he goes downstairs to the study and stands before the newly replaced mirror, studying the picture he makes on the reflective surface. He doesn’t have to go back to the room hidden behind the mirror - but then he rolls his arms in their sockets and a distinctive voice reminds him that this is not his choice.
*
Harry’s not prepared when Peter comes back; he’s not prepared for Peter at all. Harry wants Spider-Man; he doesn’t want Peter. Or he wants Peter, but just not like this and the confusion makes him irrational and angry, and he throws a perfectly good drink at Peter’s head, and he gets even more angry when Peter dodges it because Harry knows Peter could’ve caught it if he really wanted to. Just as he knows that when he launches himself across the room and punches Peter in the jaw that it doesn’t really hurt. Slapping is for people you love; punching is for people you hate, and Harry has no idea what to do now, and he doesn’t mean to kiss Peter. Really. It’s not cowardice; it’s not resignation; Harry’s just - he doesn’t know what to do.
Peter’s not supposed to kiss him back.
This is not how it’s supposed to go.
*
The first night that Harry puts on the neon green costume, he falls off the glider eight blocks from the penthouse. Spider-Man is there before Harry’s had a chance to regroup and for a very brief second, Harry’s almost happy to see Peter. And then he remembers where he is and where they are, and he launches three pumpkins at Spider-Man’s head almost hoping that they do some damage.
*
He’s three blocks away from the penthouse and moving pretty fast considering he’s on foot, when Spider-Man catches up with him again. Harry objects to literally being swept off of his feet and when he struggles to get away, Peter almost drops him.
He scowls underneath his mask when Peter snaps, “Hold still, Harry.”
“That’s the Green Goblin to you, Parker.”
*
Peter drops Harry on the balcony and perches on one of the gargoyles as Harry yanks off his mask and stomps inside the study. His fingers shake as he pours himself three fingers full of whiskey, and he can sense Peter behind him long before red-knit fingers touch his shoulder. Out the corner of his eye, he catches Peter licking his bottom lip, and when Harry’s armor clad elbow connects with Peter’s jaw, Harry knows it hurts.
He’s glad.
*
That night Harry dreams of standing graveside at Peter’s funeral, comforting Mary Jane while nursing a nagging feeling that he should be the one inside the coffin. It’s hard for him to concentrate on the lies the preacher is selling though, with Peter’s Aunt May laughing that her boy isn’t dead; and when the gravediggers open the casket the only thing they find are a Physics book and a pair of really thick glasses with a broken earpiece.
When Harry wakes up his face is wet and his nose is running - and he can’t get control of his anger for all the tears he’s shedding. There’s nothing comforting about suffering and betrayal, and Harry wipes the snot away with the back of his arm wondering how much longer they’re going to keep up this charade they’ve created. This impasse isn’t getting them anywhere, and when he eventually falls back asleep he dreams that he’s figured out a way to kill Spider-Man without killing Peter.
*
Peter Parker doesn’t come to visit his best friend, Harry Osborn, anymore, but Spider-Man comes to visit the Green Goblin with an alarming regularity. When they’re together the walls of the penthouse shake and countless antiques meet a messy end. Sometimes the violence has nothing to do with sex, but Harry is starting to think that all good foreplay should have a little violent edge to it.
This is by far the most fucked up relationship Harry has ever had – and for him that's saying a lot, but if this is the only way he can have Peter, then it’s better than nothing at all.
*
Harry knows that exposing Spider-Man to the world would be too easy and quick; he wants Spider-Man to hurt for a very long time. The problem with this, however, is that hurting Spider-Man is the same as hurting Peter, and hurting Peter kills little parts of Harry, too. Every time the Hobgoblin attacks a certain aunt or a certain redheaded woman, Harry hurts Spider-Man, but he kills himself a little more.
-end-
Notes:
1. Inspired by Turin Brakes ‘Rain City.’
2. Beta and improv (dice, bone, bleach, canvas, neon, velvet) byserialkarma
3. Look,ladyvyola! Spider-Man!
*lassiterfics made Ocean’s Eleven icons, bitches! C’mon! Write some stories for a struggling fandom.
*oxoniensis made Multi-fandom pretties and everyone should just go stare. *nods* Yes.
serialkarma suggested crack-fic with Summer Roberts and Ray Kowalski. After I took her crack-pipe away, I insisted that such a pairing was beyond my capabilities. Luckily, it wasn't beyond hers.Also, an excerpt from an e-mail to said crackhead about writing more of that damn stray fandom.
I feel like I should write some other fandom [besides Spider-Man], because really, I have a lot of fandoms and I don't want to neglect anybody, but then I'm like, well it's summer break and my kids work really hard during the year, death, angst, killing people, sex, it wears on you, you know?
So.
Spider-Man 2
The slight breeze from the balcony lifts his damp hair away from his forehead when Harry didn’t even realize he was sweating; and he sits there long after Peter -- Spider-Man’s left the penthouse, running his hands along the surface of the ottoman, feeling the recently trapped body heat escape. The velvet nap of the ottoman goes from light to dark with a twist of Harry’s wrist, and when he inhales he can smell furniture and sweat and the metallic stench of Dr. Octavius. When Harry contorts his body along the ottoman, he can smell him. Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. His Peter. His friend, Peter.
Peter is the person that Harry trusts, correction: trusted, most in the world. He's the only person Harry hates in the entire world, and Harry just let him go. He let the man who killed his father jump, swing, fly off his fucking balcony. Harry let the guy he loves go, too. They’re one and the same, and Harry’s head is going to explode any minute with the horror of it all. His head is going - he’s going - he’s going to kill him.
He can hear his father’s voice saying that Harry’s going to kill Peter.
Harry dreams that both of his arms are broken, mangled and useless they hang from their sockets bonelessly, and he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming that he’s dying. He wakes up screaming for Peter only to realize that he’s alone and tangled up in blankets and sheets, because his father’s bed is this enormous monstrosity, entirely too big for one person and for a split second Harry feels like he’s never going to stop screaming.
He hasn’t lived with Peter for fifteen months now, and Peter is Spider-Man. Peter is never going to be the one to comfort Harry after his nightmares again, and his throat is scratchy and tight; it feels as though it’s in danger of closing up permanently without notice. His fingers tangle in his hair as he pushes it back, and he scratches at his scalp as though his nails can bleach his memory clean. Peter and Spider-Man and Spider-Man and Peter. He thought Spider-Man was going to take Peter away from him; he thought at the NASA function that Peter was already gone, but this is so much worse.
He only realizes he’s stopped yelling after he’s finally untangled himself from the sheets. It was like being stuck in a huge web, and he’s never going to fall back asleep now. Instead he goes downstairs to the study and stands before the newly replaced mirror, studying the picture he makes on the reflective surface. He doesn’t have to go back to the room hidden behind the mirror - but then he rolls his arms in their sockets and a distinctive voice reminds him that this is not his choice.
Harry’s not prepared when Peter comes back; he’s not prepared for Peter at all. Harry wants Spider-Man; he doesn’t want Peter. Or he wants Peter, but just not like this and the confusion makes him irrational and angry, and he throws a perfectly good drink at Peter’s head, and he gets even more angry when Peter dodges it because Harry knows Peter could’ve caught it if he really wanted to. Just as he knows that when he launches himself across the room and punches Peter in the jaw that it doesn’t really hurt. Slapping is for people you love; punching is for people you hate, and Harry has no idea what to do now, and he doesn’t mean to kiss Peter. Really. It’s not cowardice; it’s not resignation; Harry’s just - he doesn’t know what to do.
Peter’s not supposed to kiss him back.
This is not how it’s supposed to go.
The first night that Harry puts on the neon green costume, he falls off the glider eight blocks from the penthouse. Spider-Man is there before Harry’s had a chance to regroup and for a very brief second, Harry’s almost happy to see Peter. And then he remembers where he is and where they are, and he launches three pumpkins at Spider-Man’s head almost hoping that they do some damage.
He’s three blocks away from the penthouse and moving pretty fast considering he’s on foot, when Spider-Man catches up with him again. Harry objects to literally being swept off of his feet and when he struggles to get away, Peter almost drops him.
He scowls underneath his mask when Peter snaps, “Hold still, Harry.”
“That’s the Green Goblin to you, Parker.”
Peter drops Harry on the balcony and perches on one of the gargoyles as Harry yanks off his mask and stomps inside the study. His fingers shake as he pours himself three fingers full of whiskey, and he can sense Peter behind him long before red-knit fingers touch his shoulder. Out the corner of his eye, he catches Peter licking his bottom lip, and when Harry’s armor clad elbow connects with Peter’s jaw, Harry knows it hurts.
He’s glad.
That night Harry dreams of standing graveside at Peter’s funeral, comforting Mary Jane while nursing a nagging feeling that he should be the one inside the coffin. It’s hard for him to concentrate on the lies the preacher is selling though, with Peter’s Aunt May laughing that her boy isn’t dead; and when the gravediggers open the casket the only thing they find are a Physics book and a pair of really thick glasses with a broken earpiece.
When Harry wakes up his face is wet and his nose is running - and he can’t get control of his anger for all the tears he’s shedding. There’s nothing comforting about suffering and betrayal, and Harry wipes the snot away with the back of his arm wondering how much longer they’re going to keep up this charade they’ve created. This impasse isn’t getting them anywhere, and when he eventually falls back asleep he dreams that he’s figured out a way to kill Spider-Man without killing Peter.
Peter Parker doesn’t come to visit his best friend, Harry Osborn, anymore, but Spider-Man comes to visit the Green Goblin with an alarming regularity. When they’re together the walls of the penthouse shake and countless antiques meet a messy end. Sometimes the violence has nothing to do with sex, but Harry is starting to think that all good foreplay should have a little violent edge to it.
This is by far the most fucked up relationship Harry has ever had – and for him that's saying a lot, but if this is the only way he can have Peter, then it’s better than nothing at all.
Harry knows that exposing Spider-Man to the world would be too easy and quick; he wants Spider-Man to hurt for a very long time. The problem with this, however, is that hurting Spider-Man is the same as hurting Peter, and hurting Peter kills little parts of Harry, too. Every time the Hobgoblin attacks a certain aunt or a certain redheaded woman, Harry hurts Spider-Man, but he kills himself a little more.
-end-
Notes:
1. Inspired by Turin Brakes ‘Rain City.’
2. Beta and improv (dice, bone, bleach, canvas, neon, velvet) by
serialkarma3. Look,
ladyvyola! Spider-Man!*
lassiterfics made Ocean’s Eleven icons, bitches! C’mon! Write some stories for a struggling fandom. *
oxoniensis made Multi-fandom pretties and everyone should just go stare. *nods* Yes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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