Lyrics © Polaris "Masochist"
Chris stood out like a sore thumb and yet blended into the background better than anyone else there. He stayed by the far side, away from the small stage, away from the small crowd bumping against each other because some dudes in tight pants with coloring books on their arms were screaming into their ears. He could only make out about every third word anyway. And from that, he decided, he didn't care what the other words were anyway. Grown men crying over hurt feelings like children.
At the switch of the band, he could hear the distinct shift of sound. The guitars were deeper, growly, grumbling. Chris's eyes swept to the side, noticing a rat off to the side of the stage: Fang. Looked like he had been swapped to a bass guitar and out of the limelight. Finally, someone with brains put him where he belonged; anywhere away from a lead position.
The opening lines to their song were softer than Chris had expected. But looking at the lead singer, he didn't look like he had the vocal chords to match the grit of the guitars. He was building up and up into a growl, something about hearts? Machines? Whatever. Chris braced for a wail to pierce his ear drums-
The singer dropped out, stepping back, and gesturing to his side where Fang unloaded a howl, grabbing the mic and leaning into it. He just about went to his knees, draining every bit of himself into that one moment. Raw. Unexplained emotion. Every single feeling, frustration, misunderstanding, yearning, numbness, everything all at once. And every single person heard a different meaning through that one scream.
What did Chris hear…?
This is a place I know too well
Been down here a while, if you can't tell
And I have analysed and tried my best to justify
The sorrow I have brought upon myself
"Why didn't you come in your pony suit, eh, bitch boy? I like a boy in leather," he teased. Fang's voice was scratchier than usual, just coming off the stage moments ago. What a delightful surprise to see Chris hanging near the offstage area where Fang made a gesture to security it was fine for him to come back. At this point, no questions had to be asked between the two of them as they both stepped into the small storage room backstage.
Chris turned his head to the side, avoiding Fang's nasty lips on his. The smell of smoke was suffocating. Just another ingredient to his stench: musky sweat, old beer, and weed. Probably other various substances that Chris didn't particularly want to hear about either.
He caught the metal of Fang's piercings on the side of his neck, scoffing because he knew he didn't like that. He pushed Fang's face away, glowering at him. "Why do you smell like ass?"
Fang grinned like the devil he shouted about in his songs. He trailed his hands down Chris's jeans, around and over his butt, "It reminds me of you. I'm a dirty boy and you can't change me." He pushed himself up against Chris, pulling a kiss from his lips. What Chris said and what Chris meant were rarely the same meaning. He didn't move away, he inhaled his deep kiss anyway, despite the thick taste of smoky booze.
Am I addicted to the misery, is this how I'll always be?
Grinding the salt into every wound?
Am I in love with all my ailments, glutton for punishment?
You can't trust me to be there for you
Chris scowled, running a hand through Fang's hair and getting a fistful. He pulled his head back, gasping for fresh(er) air. Hard to find in the cramped room.
Fang seethed with pleasure, looking down at Chris. He could see the glazed over lust in those icy blues. He couldn't resist them. They couldn't resist looking back at Fang and turning a shade darker. Fang's grin widened, pushing a hand up Chris's shirt, "What are ya gonna tell them this time, hm? You came here by accident? You have amnesia and don't remember me? You've got a magnet in your ass and can't stay away from me?"
Chris let his hair go, shoving his hand away from his chest. He could play with his body when he said he could. He smirked, "I don't have to say anything. Nobody cares about a redundant story, Fang. You're old news and nobody cares to read the same story twice."
Fang dipped his hand into Chris's back pockets, rooting past his wallet and nabbing the pack of lube. This is why he loved Chris. Acted all snotty and uninterested, but brought the ammunition. "Dirty slut," he muttered on Chris's lips. "So, you're saying I can do whatever the fuck I want with you?"
There was a pause, Chris just stared back at Fang, not an expression to be found. That didn't necessarily answer the question. And perhaps it did at the same time.
Fang got his answer when he felt Chris jerk on his belt. He smirked and peeled his sweaty shirt off, tossing it aside. Fang thought it was the blood rushing in his ears but it was the sound of another band starting their gig. That distinctive drop from silence to screaming their guts out just...orgasmic.
The pull into a realm that didn't exist in this plane of reality rammed Chris up against the wall, tugging his shirt up. It wasn't a force Chris was fully prepared to face, getting his breath stolen right from his lips. Fuck. This was Fang in his truest environment. He still had all of the adrenaline from being before the crowd, screaming his throat raw (because who needs vocal training…), the high from weed and euphoria with a fuck like Chris in his grasp. Toxic.
I thought I had this, I thought I had this all figured out
You'd think I'd learned from all the shit I fucking screamed about
Chris liked to think he could handle someone like Fang. In the beginning, it was easy. Now...Chris scoffed as Fang tugged his shirt off over his head, nearly catching his diamond studs. Could have ripped his ear off. "Would you n-nmmph-"
Fang shut him up, kissing him again. He couldn't hear him over the steady rhythm of a bicycle kick on a drum, guitars' rippling riffs, and the muffled screams of the band on stage. He bit Chris's lip, undoing his belt. God, he had to have him.
Chris felt a pull in his gut. He didn't know if it was the usual need for something exciting or legitimate concern. And not having that distinction was enough to warrant shoving Fang off him and smacking his hands away from him. He glared hard, scowling cold and angrily, "I'm not a chew toy, fucker."
Fang staggered backwards, bumping into a wooden crate. He flailed and caught himself before falling over it backwards. His attention was drawn back to Chris huffing at him. He giggled like it was no big deal. What Chris said and what Chris meant were rarely the same. He flipped his hair, looking smug, "You came to me, bitch boy. You know damn well what I'm like." He stepped closer, "You either came here for my music which would be fucking cute or you came here for my dick up your ass which would be fucking hot. Or…" He stepped right up against Chris again, slipping his thumbs through the loops of Chris's pants, giving him a pull closer, wriggling them loose around his hip, "...both?" He smirked.
Chris sneered at his crude comments. Disgusting. "Nobody came here for your dead-end band, Fang." He rolled his eyes, pulling Fang's belt out of its loops.
Fang's grin remained unaltered, pushing Chris's pants down, taking a grip of his dick while he could. Not but a second later, he had his hand swatted away as he expected. "Bitch." He leaned closer to Chris, wrapping his arms around him, pressing close to him, waiting for his own pants to hit the floor. "You're wrong, dickhead. We've been on the up and up for weeks now."
Chris smirked and scoffed, "Riding the coattails of better bands isn't proof that you're actually wanted anywhere." He shoved Fang's pants down.
Fang wriggled them down further, losing his balance momentarily catching the wall beside Chris. While he was down there, he grabbed a thigh and gave him a playful nip. Hearing Chris vocally protest made him chuckle. He couldn't tell if his head was spinning from fatigue, the drugs, or what Chris's presence did to his state of mind when he was near. "Wrong again, Christo-fucker," he teased. "You're gonna have to try harder if you're trying to hurt my feelings that don't exist."
Chris glared down at him around his knees. He wasn't impressed with Fang pushing his bounds- Chris jerked back into the wall, covering a gasp with his hand, not that it would have been heard over the dull drone of the music. He grabbed Fang by his hair and jerked him back, "Don't you ever-"
Fang grabbed Chris's wrist with enough force to make him release his grip. He got back to his feet, pressing another kiss into Chris's lips. He was fucking proud of himself. He had snuck in a quick lip service on Chris's dick, the bitchy prude. "You like the taste of your own dick, don't you?"
Chris growled, giving Fang a hateful look. He felt compelled to spit that kiss right back on Fang's chest. Fang's unfazed smirk sent a tingle down Chris's spine. None of his insults and backhands were fazing Fang in the slightest. His cheeks felt warmer, thinking back to the things Fang had said to him. About not caring how shitty he treated Fang. Why the hell did he put up with it…
When there was sun I couldn't see for the clouds
Still climbing the walls of this well just to dive back down
Until I reached my rock bottom
Down to the marrow, bringing up the bad blood I'd forgotten
Is it me that's making me sick?
Fang wiped the spit from his chest, hooking his chin on Chris's shoulder. He'd grab the lube in a moment, but for now, he teased Chris's ass with his own spit. "You're being extra fussy today, Bitch Boy. It's alright, bitching at me is your kink. I get it. Ya want some more ammo, fucker? Cause there ain't a damn thing you can say to me that I haven't heard already, you fucking hateful shit."
Chris grabbed Fang's biceps to balance himself on. Fuck. He tightened his abs, taking a deep breath. Fuck. What Fang said was goddamn stupid but Chris knew he couldn't say anything without sounding strained as Fang pushed a hot finger into him.
Fang had the upper hand now (or bottom hand? ;D). He knew his games and learned to play them better. He turned his head to Chris, talking low into his ear. "Where's your fuckin' bitch-ass remarks now, Chris? You need some help there, shithead? You gonna tell me how pointless my existence is? Too late, I already know," he laughed. "My family told me that everyday of my fucking life. Tell me how unsurprised you are, asshole. Aren't I just a role model lost cause?" He grazed his teeth on Chris's neck, getting deeper and deeper into him.
Chris grit his teeth, catching himself grabbing too hard on Fang's arms. A little strained breath escaped him. Shit. "They weren't wrong," Chris growled, hating the husky overlay that squeezed out of his throat.
"And when they beat me? Or pretended I didn't exist when I wouldn't conform to their beliefs? Told their god he could go fuck himself?"
Chris grit his teeth, cringing when Fang got a bit more aggressive. Why the fuck was he spouting nonsense? Who cared about his stereotypical, same sad little boy story? If he thought he was going to get pity, he was looking at the wrong source. He rolled his eyes, "And here you are, still fucking crying over it. Ugh, grow up."
Fang slapped Chris's ass, "And you listened to every word of it," Fang growled against his lips. The shouting, the lyrics; some poetic, some blunt and straight to the point of suffering mixed with the grind of the riffs, the thunder of the drums, and driving bass. No one came to a heavy metal concert for a casual lo-fi jam. The kind of music of this scene was only for those that sought after it. It wasn't an accident.
Chris honestly had very little interest in the music, itself. It was loud, the lyrics written by fourteen year olds, and just as whiny sounding as fourteen year olds. But there was something raw about it. Just raw emotion. Not coherent feelings. Not a specific feeling. Just everything pent up and spit out all at once. Belted out into the air for anyone to hear. A vulnerability someone else took upon themself and dozens of people gathered around to saturate themselves in. A mutual understanding of "fuck yea I have feelings I don't understand either, here they are, to hell with it". He glowered, pulling on a cocky smirk, "Maybe I just hate myself that much to sit through your shitty music."
Am I addicted to the misery, is this how I'll always be?
Grinding the salt into every wound?
Am I in love with all my ailments, glutton for punishment?
You can't trust me to be there for you
Fang tipped back a touch, analyzing the look on Chris's face. Sometimes Chris didn't mean what he actually said. Sometimes… he meant exactly what he said. He was...touched… "I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you choke on my dick."
Chris pulled a horribly disgusted face, catching a mouthful of Fang. He grumbled, shoving him away, watching him go for the condom. At least he was broken into that habit. "You're disgusting…" Chris growled at him, stepping away from the door. He looked at the little sofa in the storage room, grimacing at it. How many asses had been on it, the last time it was cleaned…?
He didn't have to make a choice on it, Fang glommed onto his back side, shuffling him up against the wooden crate. "You're no better than me, you dirty piece of shit." Fang pressed his body weight down on Chris, doubling him over the crate. He slapped a hand between his thighs, lube splattering between his legs.
Chris grunted, hanging his head and bracing as Fang shoved his dick at him just a little too hard. Passion was one thing, but being an insensitive cunt wasn't called for. He butted a firm fist into Fang's forearm as his warning.
Fang dismissed it, leaning his chest over Chris's shoulders. "You shared your feelers, Chrissy Poo," Fang teased. He kissed the nape of his neck, pushing further into him. Searing hot just like his personality. He groaned, reveling in the feeling of tight ass. "I don't think you know what hate even means, you spoiled shit."
Chris's cheeks felt hot, glaring at the surface of the crate. He had let his words slip. He had spat out truth he thought would be dismissed as sarcasm. But he was called out. And...yet… it felt...good? Was it pride? Jealousy? Anger?
Chris gasped, dropping to his elbows as Fang dove into him. His body was getting so used to the sensation, knowing how this would end with a wave of relief and satisfaction. He had to convince himself less and less. Where he thought he'd get desensitized to the sensation, no, it only got harder to resist.
He heard the band on stage let loose a loud shout into the audience, followed by heavy beats of the drum and the scream of a guitar. Raw emotion. Shit. "You…" he growled in a disdainful voice, "would never be able to comprehend what I feel."
Fang giggled, leaning in, taking a nibble at his ear, "Okay, edgelord. Share your diary with me." He wrapped an arm around Chris's chest, pulling him into his hips as he thrust into him. Apparently, Chris felt like bitching to him. It was cute.
Just as the vocalists on stage, Chris felt the slider tip and the raw emotion start to spill out. To hell with it. "You're a fucking toy to me, Fang. You'll drag me under so fucking far but if you so much as let me go even for a moment, I'll drop you off a cliff so high, you won't survive the landing." Chris tipped his head to the side, panting softly, "And I'll watch the buzzards eat your carcass."
It took me longer than I'd care to admit
This life is only what I choose to make of it
And the only thing standing in-between happiness and myself
Was this depression I held so close to my chest
A tingle buzzed from head to toe, making Fang shiver and grin. Hot. He hummed hoarsely, closing his eyes over, "Is that a threat or a promise? Sounds like a fuckin' party." This was taking a turn to a dark side. A side of Chris that Fang already knew existed. A side he'd been yearning to see. He needed to hear how fucked up he was. He needed to hear the echoes of his own monsters. Someone like him. Someone who understood how deep the claws were sunk in and how heavy it was.
Fang felt a twinge in his chest. An odd sensation, given the circumstance. But from one masochist to another, this was something only they could understand. Fuck, it was hot. He fucked into Chris hard, hooking his chin on his shoulder, tugging him back. "I won't let you get there. You're staying right here with me, right where we belong. In hell. You're gonna burn with me, bitch."
Chris shuddered, feeling his hair stand up all over his body. He felt like he was already there. The screams and shouts from the concert, the banging beat reverberating on every surface. The small room was so hot and stuffy from their bodies. He could smell the smoke rolling off Fang. Bent over a crate getting fucked by an embarrassment to society. This was hell. He had finally found it.
And God, did he love it.
Just a sick, sad, sorry mess, living like a masochist
Your worst impressions were right about me
Chris gripped the edge of the crate, picking himself back up, panting in rhythm with Fang. He barged into him with a stiff shoulder. It wasn't a request, it was a demand as Chris turned around to face Fang.
Fang's grin smoldered, following the incubus down, hooking his knees over his shoulders. Damn, how the tables had turned. It seemed the worse he was, the more honest and real he spat at Chris, the more Chris let him in. Fang was addicted. He wanted his spite and anger. He wanted his sharp remarks. God, the sting he left felt like salt over a burn. Incredible. The destruction was intoxicating.
Fang drove into him, making right on his promise to let him have it hard. Even the crate was shaking underneath him. Before, Chris surely would have bitched at him. But now, he was looking back up at him with the coldest dead inside look. He watched it all happen: Chris's abs tense in intervals, his eyebrows quiver, about to break from the flat emotion, his eyelids drooping down, his li
ps parting. Fang leaned on his hands, fucking harder, "You're so fucked up and I love it."
Chris jerked himself off a little quicker, feeling the swell coming on. There was a monster hung over him. And he didn't care that Chris was a manipulative piece of shit. They really were...a lot alike. Chris's cheeks burned from such a disdainful thought. But his drive reached up and grabbed the back of Fang's neck and pulled him down. He inhaled the smoke from his lungs, suffocating himself in a sweltering kiss. His toes curled, everything tensed and-
Fang thought he was going to yank on his piercings again(almost wanted him to, it was kinky) but hadn't expected such a passionate response. Fire spread through his gut, lighting every sense ablaze! For that moment, it was just heat, hot, roaring in his ears. Too hot to think, too hot to react, too hot to escape. Were his eyes shut or did he black out, he didn't know. Probably because he couldn't breathe. If he was dead, he never felt so alive.
Wasting a waning youth
Waiting for something to help me pull through
I never saw the sun through the clouds
I lost faith when the skies were falling down
Fang finally shuddered a heavy sigh, catching himself on his elbow. He leaned his forehead on Chris's collarbone panting just as hard as he was. It was like both of them had nearly choked to death just then. He dropped to his knees, pulling out of Chris. Whoops, he was probably going to hear a bitch about that too. Fussy. Fuck it. He couldn't hear anything but the blissful silence. Maybe the gig ended. Maybe his eardrums burst. He didn't care. Everything was quiet. Finally.
Chris laid his head back on the crate. He wasn't quite sure how to process what had come over him. He felt spent like he had just gotten into a fight and yet who...who won?
Leave it to Fang to snort and be the first to ruin the mood by opening his mouth, "Heh, your cum shot looks like a pair of leaky tits. Nice."
With an impatient sigh, Chris rolled Fang off of him, letting him tumble to the floor. Fucking idiot. Chris ignored his snickers and scanned the floor. He swiped Fang's sweaty shirt and used it as a rag. Fitting.
"Eeey," Fang saw what he was doing as he was peeling the condom off, "I ain't your spunk dumpster, asshole. That's your job," Fang giggled, tossing the condom at Chris like it was a water balloon.
Chris sidestepped the nasty condom. It narrowly landed in his shoe. He gave Fang a look like he would have actually strangled him. In fact...
Fang made a little heart with his fingers as Chris stormed over to him. Should he make a peace offering? He smiled innocently. Uh oh. Here came the big bad bitch to stomp his balls out.
Fang made the first strike, grabbing Chris's knee and pulling him off balance. He caught him in a tangle of arms, "You won't get a sorry out of me, bitch! You had fuck me eyes that made me do it!"
Chris grumbled, resisting against Fang. "What the fuck are you even talking about?
Fang giggled, hunkering down to avoid any piercings getting yanked off his face (again). "If you want me for my dick, you're just gonna have to accept the fact it's a territorial fucker! It's a compliment! It likes you!"
Chris shoved and clambered his way out of Fang's arms, totally bewildered by what he was saying. He glared hard, trying to understand his words… "Did you...you did not..."
Fang came to realize apparently he had fucked Chris into one of those dazes where he probably didn't even register… shit, he had told on himself. Fang grabbed him by his reddening cheeks, probably a mix of rage and embarrassment, and pulled him in for a kiss. He grunted, feeling Chris shift like he might swing his arm at him.
Chris jerked his wrist out of Fang's hand, swatting his hand away. Much to Fang's surprise, Chris hadn't intended to box him on the ears at all. Instead, he grabbed onto the nape of Fang's neck and pulled him tighter, closer.
Fair to say, Fang was the one left dazed now. And it was all over his face, staring at Chris's somber expression like he had been put on an alien planet. How much weed did he smoke? He didn't have the right drugs to feel this high. What?
Chris stared back at him with an emotion that just couldn't be deciphered. And he didn't have to scream it into a microphone. A jumbled mess of emotions. He glanced across the room, hearing a phone vibrate. Didn't sound like his. He looked back to Fang, "I will hold this against you. I promise you that."
Fang smirked, watching him get up, "Give me your best shot, fucker." He followed soon after to get dressed too, checking his phone, seeing it was from his bandmates' chat about getting things packed up. He left the shirt where it lay, bumping into the back of Chris, "Ya know, I get it. What you're doing. Why you keep coming back to me." He rested his chin on his shoulder for a brief moment of silence between the two. So quiet. He turned his head to Chris's neck to murmur, "You can watch me die if you're the one to kill me." He smirked, "I'm gonna put that in a song just for you."
Chris rolled his eyes, "Careful what you wish for." Uck. He stepped away from Fang and left the room without another hold up. He was starting to get a headache. Or maybe he had one all night. He couldn't even tell. What the hell… his face scrunched up, his eyes immediately watering. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. For fuck's sake…
Chris took a breather when he got to his car to get the surge of disgusting feelings under control. He had other things to think about like a job offer- he looked to his side, hearing a rap on his window. He grumbled and sighed, cracking the window, "What."
"Hey," Fang peered in, motioning for him to roll the window down a little more. "Wait, didn't you have a Lambo?" Not some Mercedes...
Chris looked so uninterested, "That was a rental, dumbass. Do you really think I can afford- what do you want?"
Fang pulled his cigarette off to the side, talking through the smoke, "Hey, you wanna be my boyfriend?"
…....
Chris had a blank look like Fang spoke in tongue. His eyes drifted slightly like there was some kind of logical explanation for such a stupid question. But there was none. "Uh, no. How high are you?"
Fang snorted and chuckled, gesturing he was about four feet high. Whatever that meant. "Why the fuck not? Scared your dick will fall off?"
Chris raise a sharp brow, "Are you stupid?"
Fang shrugged, "Are you stuck in your closet-"
"I've had boyfriends before, dumbass."
"Great, problem solved-"
"You don't meet my standards," Chris cut him off sharply, starting the car.
Fang followed up with a scoff, leaning on the car, "Bullshit. You don't have standards if you let my shit ass come bangin' on your back doors."
"Yea, I'm not putting anything of mine anywhere near your garbage dump. I told you, I have standards." Chris smirked, rolling up the window.
Fang kept his fingers in the cracks until he started smashing them and pulled them out while the wires in his brain started to spark. "Wait...are you saying you wouldn't fuck me? Wait, what kind of pussy ass guys would let you top? Ey!" Fang walked alongside the car as Chris started pulling away. Hell no, he didn't get to just run away now! "Where you running to, Mr. Big Dick Energy?? Eeeyyy!"
Fang couldn't keep up and Chris wasn't slowing down. Fang wasn't done with him! He huffed and called after him, "I'm still telling everyone you're my boyfriend and you can't stop me! Biiitch!!" Fang stopped in the road, watching him turn a corner and he was gone. He took a long drag on his smoke, a smile tickling his lips.
How long? How long did he have this time? Until the voices would creep back in. He subconsciously scratched at an old scar underneath a tattoo. He narrowed his eyes, sucking in the smoke. It didn't calm the tinge of unease in his gut. He stuffed a hand in his pocket, feeling for the pack of cigarettes. In it, a few regulars left, a joint he planned on finishing tonight and a card he kept in there with a number from someone that tried to give him a chance many years ago. Just a reminder that not everyone was a total dick head.
He looked in the direction Chris had left one more time, almost hoping he'd turn the corner again. There it was. He could hear the whisper. Fuck. He flicked his spent cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. It was time to hit that blunt before he lost his buzz-
You're going to kill him.
Fang froze, joint in hand, lighter in the other. ...what...was that-
You'll kill him. It'll be your fault. Again.
Fang squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his tired eyes. Not this. Anything but this. His thoughts, the monsters, they knew. They knew he had felt happiness even for the short time Chris had been near. Fuck.
Kill your-
He sighed and lit the joint. At least it was back to the same old garbage on repeat. He dragged himself back to the venue. "Fuck off," he grumbled to himself: the intended target.
"I will hold this against you. I promise you that."
Fang smirked through his depression settling back in. It was times like that where he couldn't wait to find out what his favorite bitch was going to do to him. It was a promise.
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