Hazardous Craving (Ashe/Frederick)
May. 16th, 2013 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kkscatnip
Title: Hazardous Craving
Prompt: Word: Want.
Word Count: 1,331
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: Fandom! (The Story of a Modern Thief)
Pairings: Ashe/Frederick
Warnings: Recreational drug use, references to sex.
Summary: Ashe wants certain things, and discovers that one of them is Frederick, in spite of everything.
Author's Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse's Table of Doom challenge, for the Word: Want space, and also for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo's gift basket thing, the "danger" space. It's going to be part of a larger arc of stories, which will be posted as they're written/edited.
Just as Ashe finishes pressing the plunger on the injector down, someone knocks on the door. Probably Frederick, who is almost the last person Ashe wants to know that he sometimes does hardcore drugs in his free time but is also one of the only people he'd trust not to take advantage of him.
He gets to the end of that thought, the joy hits him, and he giggles and forgets all about the reasons why answering the door is a horrible idea.
"Red!" Ashe says, opening the door wide and holding his arms just the same, for the inevitable hug. Well, maybe not inevitable, but he wants a hug and Frederick gives him one and kicks the door shut behind him.
The only thing to do after the hug is pick Frederick up and twirl him around, so Ashe does, only slipping a little as he sets Frederick back down. He's all muscle and Ashe is, well, he's part muscle, so he feels this kind of boundless excitement that he's even able to do it at all, like the happiness is just thrumming under his skin. Except it's not under his skin, in the places that are still touching Frederick: his hands, the inside of one wrist, which Frederick is stroking lightly.
"What's that look for?" Ashe asks, because he knows it can't be anything bad but he wants to know what good thing has made Frederick look so concerned.
Frederick frowns, but in a glorious way. He looks glorious doing it. The world is fantastic. "What are you on, Ashe?"
No, nothing can be wrong; that's not anger in his voice. One of Ashe's hands drops away and he takes a step back, but Frederick catches his wrist and pulls him close and kisses him.
Right, nothing is wrong; Ashe should've known better. He kisses back happily, but lazily; joy doesn't make you feel particularly sexual. Just, you know. Happy. And he is very, very happy to have Frederick like this, wrapping Ashe up in his arms, nuzzling his face against Ashe's.
"It's joy," Ashe says when Frederick begins to steer Ashe toward the couch. "I--we completed that database project so I wanted to celebrate."
"Don't worry about it right now," Frederick returns, his long-fingered hands making warmth everywhere. Bubbly, happy, wonderful warmth that ends up with Ashe curled up mostly on Frederick's lap, his head against Frederick's chest, and Frederick petting Ashe's ridiculously floppy hair.
It's the best way to be, really. He doesn't even know how long he spends like that in a haze of, well, of joy, reveling in how fantastic life is and how nice Frederick is and how nothing can go wrong right now.
A couple hours, surely, since Frederick shifts under Ashe at one point and says "gotta piss" and Ashe lets him up and when he comes back, he brings water with him. And, honestly, it's the best fucking water that Ashe has ever tasted. It's not even cold, but it's still delicious, and the sensation of swallowing water is amazing too.
But even better than that is the way Frederick just sits back down the same way he was before, opens his arms, and lets Ashe crawl into his lap again. Ashe does so happily, and closes his eyes and listens to Frederick's heartbeat and his own heartbeat, counterpoint at first and then matching, their breathing too, like both of their bodies are becoming one the longer Ashe stays in Frederick's lap.
Even though the conviction that that is what's happening lessens by degrees as they stay like that--shifting every so often so their body parts don't fall asleep--the happiness at the idea of both of them as one doesn't go away. It stays long past when Ashe realizes that they're different people, that they can't possibly become the same person and, really, it's a good thing they aren't.
"Coming down?" Frederick asks, his voice a little gruff.
Ashe hums, low and pleased. He tends to shoot things so they don't last as long--the only drug that defies science that way is rush, and that's because rush is one of those miracle drugs anyway. But yes, he's coming down. He's never done joy before, and it feels--sad. Sad to open his eyes and look up at Frederick and not get the same kick of happiness that he did before.
Still, what the fuck else was he expecting? "Yeah," he answers, after what's probably too long.
"Good. I'm not an advocate for shooting up drugs, especially fucking joy. It's safer to just take rush if you want to be that much of an idiot."
Oh. Ashe pulls away all at once, brows furrowing as the last tail end of the high fucks right off at facing the stormy expression on Frederick's face. "I didn't realize I needed your fucking approval."
Frederick sighs, like Ashe is being ridiculous. "Ashe--"
"No," Ashe growls at him. "You don't get to be all righteous over what drugs I use or how I use them. Joy's mostly legal, for fuck's sake, why do you even care?"
"Because," Frederick all but shouts. "'cause when I am having trouble breaking someone who I can't leave lots of physical marks on, I'm going to tell you what I do--"
"This should be--"
"Shut up for a goddamned minute, Ashe, or I'm going to fucking gag you, I swear."
Ashe hasn't ever seen that look in Frederick's eyes before. It's more frightening than any threat Frederick could've made. "Okay."
Frederick sighs, all anger and lost patience. "When I'm having trouble and I can't cause injury, I get out the joy. Put it in an injector, inject the poor fucker, and leave him alone for a few hours and let him enjoy his high. Nine times out of ten, if I come in just as he hits the part where he gets all sad and wave an injector in his face, he'll tell me just so he can get more." Frederick stops, takes a few breaths, looks at Ashe. It's a hard look. "And that other one time? I wait another couple hours, and the fucker gets withdrawal symptoms, and then he'll spill all just to make that shit stop."
Just in case Ashe forgot who and what Frederick is. That tone, that anger, did a good job of reminding Ashe, putting him on high alert.
Though, the main thing that Ashe hears is that Frederick gives a shit about Ashe and Ashe's health and is willing to risk their--this thing they have--to keep Ashe from being an idiot. Ashe gets up, though, over to the little zip case in his bedroom, where he shot up. He fishes out the empty tube of magic powder--it keeps the body from getting physically addicted to anything, but it costs way too much for druggies to use regularly--and heads back to show Frederick.
"I don't do anything physically addictive without this," he says, simply.
Frederick just heaves this sigh of relief as big as a dome and wraps Ashe up in a hug, kissing his cheek, his forehead, and whispering, "I'm so fucking glad, you don't even know. I thought--I thought I'd have to haul you into work and strap you down and--I couldn't fucking take it, Ashe. I couldn't do it, but I couldn't let you go through the withdrawal here, either."
He's just so honest. It's one of the things Ashe likes, maybe even loves, about him. How Ashe ended up with someone like him, he'll never fucking figure out, beyond knowing that it has to do with a fantastic pair of underwear and ratty, torn, comfortable as fuck jeans.
Even now, when he should be freaking the fuck out at mention of Frederick and interrogation, he thinks it's sweet. Sweet. Something's wrong with him, yeah, but he can't bring himself to care about anything but Frederick.
Prompt: Word: Want.
Word Count: 1,331
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: Fandom! (The Story of a Modern Thief)
Pairings: Ashe/Frederick
Warnings: Recreational drug use, references to sex.
Summary: Ashe wants certain things, and discovers that one of them is Frederick, in spite of everything.
Author's Notes: This was written for
writerverse's Table of Doom challenge, for the Word: Want space, and also for kink_bingo's gift basket thing, the "danger" space. It's going to be part of a larger arc of stories, which will be posted as they're written/edited.Just as Ashe finishes pressing the plunger on the injector down, someone knocks on the door. Probably Frederick, who is almost the last person Ashe wants to know that he sometimes does hardcore drugs in his free time but is also one of the only people he'd trust not to take advantage of him.
He gets to the end of that thought, the joy hits him, and he giggles and forgets all about the reasons why answering the door is a horrible idea.
"Red!" Ashe says, opening the door wide and holding his arms just the same, for the inevitable hug. Well, maybe not inevitable, but he wants a hug and Frederick gives him one and kicks the door shut behind him.
The only thing to do after the hug is pick Frederick up and twirl him around, so Ashe does, only slipping a little as he sets Frederick back down. He's all muscle and Ashe is, well, he's part muscle, so he feels this kind of boundless excitement that he's even able to do it at all, like the happiness is just thrumming under his skin. Except it's not under his skin, in the places that are still touching Frederick: his hands, the inside of one wrist, which Frederick is stroking lightly.
"What's that look for?" Ashe asks, because he knows it can't be anything bad but he wants to know what good thing has made Frederick look so concerned.
Frederick frowns, but in a glorious way. He looks glorious doing it. The world is fantastic. "What are you on, Ashe?"
No, nothing can be wrong; that's not anger in his voice. One of Ashe's hands drops away and he takes a step back, but Frederick catches his wrist and pulls him close and kisses him.
Right, nothing is wrong; Ashe should've known better. He kisses back happily, but lazily; joy doesn't make you feel particularly sexual. Just, you know. Happy. And he is very, very happy to have Frederick like this, wrapping Ashe up in his arms, nuzzling his face against Ashe's.
"It's joy," Ashe says when Frederick begins to steer Ashe toward the couch. "I--we completed that database project so I wanted to celebrate."
"Don't worry about it right now," Frederick returns, his long-fingered hands making warmth everywhere. Bubbly, happy, wonderful warmth that ends up with Ashe curled up mostly on Frederick's lap, his head against Frederick's chest, and Frederick petting Ashe's ridiculously floppy hair.
It's the best way to be, really. He doesn't even know how long he spends like that in a haze of, well, of joy, reveling in how fantastic life is and how nice Frederick is and how nothing can go wrong right now.
A couple hours, surely, since Frederick shifts under Ashe at one point and says "gotta piss" and Ashe lets him up and when he comes back, he brings water with him. And, honestly, it's the best fucking water that Ashe has ever tasted. It's not even cold, but it's still delicious, and the sensation of swallowing water is amazing too.
But even better than that is the way Frederick just sits back down the same way he was before, opens his arms, and lets Ashe crawl into his lap again. Ashe does so happily, and closes his eyes and listens to Frederick's heartbeat and his own heartbeat, counterpoint at first and then matching, their breathing too, like both of their bodies are becoming one the longer Ashe stays in Frederick's lap.
Even though the conviction that that is what's happening lessens by degrees as they stay like that--shifting every so often so their body parts don't fall asleep--the happiness at the idea of both of them as one doesn't go away. It stays long past when Ashe realizes that they're different people, that they can't possibly become the same person and, really, it's a good thing they aren't.
"Coming down?" Frederick asks, his voice a little gruff.
Ashe hums, low and pleased. He tends to shoot things so they don't last as long--the only drug that defies science that way is rush, and that's because rush is one of those miracle drugs anyway. But yes, he's coming down. He's never done joy before, and it feels--sad. Sad to open his eyes and look up at Frederick and not get the same kick of happiness that he did before.
Still, what the fuck else was he expecting? "Yeah," he answers, after what's probably too long.
"Good. I'm not an advocate for shooting up drugs, especially fucking joy. It's safer to just take rush if you want to be that much of an idiot."
Oh. Ashe pulls away all at once, brows furrowing as the last tail end of the high fucks right off at facing the stormy expression on Frederick's face. "I didn't realize I needed your fucking approval."
Frederick sighs, like Ashe is being ridiculous. "Ashe--"
"No," Ashe growls at him. "You don't get to be all righteous over what drugs I use or how I use them. Joy's mostly legal, for fuck's sake, why do you even care?"
"Because," Frederick all but shouts. "'cause when I am having trouble breaking someone who I can't leave lots of physical marks on, I'm going to tell you what I do--"
"This should be--"
"Shut up for a goddamned minute, Ashe, or I'm going to fucking gag you, I swear."
Ashe hasn't ever seen that look in Frederick's eyes before. It's more frightening than any threat Frederick could've made. "Okay."
Frederick sighs, all anger and lost patience. "When I'm having trouble and I can't cause injury, I get out the joy. Put it in an injector, inject the poor fucker, and leave him alone for a few hours and let him enjoy his high. Nine times out of ten, if I come in just as he hits the part where he gets all sad and wave an injector in his face, he'll tell me just so he can get more." Frederick stops, takes a few breaths, looks at Ashe. It's a hard look. "And that other one time? I wait another couple hours, and the fucker gets withdrawal symptoms, and then he'll spill all just to make that shit stop."
Just in case Ashe forgot who and what Frederick is. That tone, that anger, did a good job of reminding Ashe, putting him on high alert.
Though, the main thing that Ashe hears is that Frederick gives a shit about Ashe and Ashe's health and is willing to risk their--this thing they have--to keep Ashe from being an idiot. Ashe gets up, though, over to the little zip case in his bedroom, where he shot up. He fishes out the empty tube of magic powder--it keeps the body from getting physically addicted to anything, but it costs way too much for druggies to use regularly--and heads back to show Frederick.
"I don't do anything physically addictive without this," he says, simply.
Frederick just heaves this sigh of relief as big as a dome and wraps Ashe up in a hug, kissing his cheek, his forehead, and whispering, "I'm so fucking glad, you don't even know. I thought--I thought I'd have to haul you into work and strap you down and--I couldn't fucking take it, Ashe. I couldn't do it, but I couldn't let you go through the withdrawal here, either."
He's just so honest. It's one of the things Ashe likes, maybe even loves, about him. How Ashe ended up with someone like him, he'll never fucking figure out, beyond knowing that it has to do with a fantastic pair of underwear and ratty, torn, comfortable as fuck jeans.
Even now, when he should be freaking the fuck out at mention of Frederick and interrogation, he thinks it's sweet. Sweet. Something's wrong with him, yeah, but he can't bring himself to care about anything but Frederick.
