Dear Sonia, you are extremely shiny person to whom I can show all the porn I like without fear of punishment. Treasure this day in your heart, young grasshopper.I bear 2 gifts.
1: A sparkle motion and completely inappropriate HCL picture
And a fic! In the apocalypse!
This is Curtis(twitch City)/Darren (Slings and Arrows)in the Last Night world. Got that? 977 words, R rated
They don’t tell him the world’s ended. He assumes the panic’s street theatre, ignores the broadcasts, doesn’t watch the television. He wakes up one day and it’s relentlessly light and profoundly empty, and he understands with a peculiar sort of satisfaction that ignorance has saved him, that simply being above petty concerns has kept him isolated from them.A denial so complete it doesn’t even allow for death. For the end of everything.
He gets drunk on cheap wine and is sick on his own shoes. He goes barefoot, wandering the streets for a day. He even skips a little, looking around sheepishly when he remembers that-
No. No one here to be shocked. He puts a plant pot on his head and pushes a bicycle down a hill, into a shop window then gets down a street by jumping on cars.
He destroys as much as he can in a week. Then wonders why it feels hollow now, to be in a wrecked city, in his own destruction. He decides he needs a change of scenery, drives a car along the highway until it runs out of gas then hotwires another, leapfrogs across the country, stealing food when he needs to. The radio doesn’t work, but one car has a cassette player. He steals a cassette- The Best of Country Music, Vol. 5. The only thing he learns from this theft is that he genuinely doesn’t give a sideways shitting fuck about the fact that Jimmy cracks corn. It is the music of the people. Fuck the people.
He builds up a collection of tapes he steals from gas stations:
1) Swing is the Thing
2) Abba: The Panpipes Tribute Album
3) ...oops I did it again (he learns the words in a surprisingly short amount of time)
4) Mahler: Das Lied von der Erde
5) Hello Children Everywhere
6) Vanilla Ice: Greatest Hits
He steals books, but doesn’t read them. If it’s a mystery, he tears out the last chapter, if it’s a romance, he skim reads until the first kiss and tears out that page. One of the characters in one of the romances reminds him of Geoffrey. He tears out the page describing him, and puts it in his pocket. If it were Geoffrey here, he’d make a gesture. Stab someone, or strangle a swan. There are no gestures left to make- there’s no one here to see them.
He reaches Toronto. Then he throws plant pots at shop windows until he’s out of breath. A man sits at his window and watches him. He stands still. Stares.
“Don’t stop. I want to watch,” the man says, in something like a monotone. “It’s like looking at myself, only outside my reality.”
“Do you have any swans?” Darren asks. “Also, what can I call you?”
“I don’t know about swans. Not in my room. You can come up, check. And anything, we’re the only ones here.”
It feels like he’s the punchline to a joke no one wanted to hear. Or Adam, back to name some more things. He climbs up the stairs to the man’s apartment. If he’s murdered...well, the man will have nothing to watch.
He finds out four things in the first hour he’s there.
1) The man’s insane, in a selfishly amiable sort of way.
2) He doesn’t like the outside
3) The electricity’s gone off. He wants something to watch.
4) He eats nothing but fucking froot loops.
He can’t work out what he can tell him- tell Curtis. He tells him lies, and Curtis looks at him with a patient expression. He talks himself out of lies, and they sit together in silence, and eat froot loops in silence, just looking at each other. Then Curtis kisses him, traps his wrists above his head and jerks him off efficiently, as if cataloguing his responses. He listens to Darren begging, but doesn’t change his pace or technique. “I want to see what you do,” he murmurs, and kisses Darren as he comes with a helpless jerk and gasp. When they pull apart, he sees that the front of Curtis’s pants is wet too. He feels cheated, and doesn’t want to examine why.
They fuck on the couch. Curtis seems to stop watching him at a certain time, fits his days into hours and half past the hour, of ninety minutes and kisses caught in the two minute snatches between watching him. He leaves the house most days, and makes sure he comes back at irregular times. They fuck. Curtis has a battered, ancient looking tube of lube he painstakingly squeezes onto his hand. His movements are precise and controlled, and his eyes stay open- Darren knows they’re open, even when his own are shut. He fucks Darren with his knees up over his shoulders, with long deep movements that are slow, the sensation spread out until it feel as if they’re suspended in time. It’s always light here; the clocks might as well have stopped.
He tells Curtis this. Curtis frowns. “We’d stop moving if time stopped. It’s like pressing pause on the video,” he says with something like wonder. Curtis explains as they lie together on the couch, his voice soft, stumbling over some words and then tripping to catch up. Darren listens, because...because he needs to, perhaps, in this world which was a perfect one before it existed, a world of anarchy without people. He could leave. He sits up and looks at Curtis, clasping his hands on his lap.
“You don’t go out as much as you used to,” Curtis tells him, idly tracing a pattern on his skin, eyes intent on the path of his fingers.
“I want to see what you do too,” he tells him. They stop moving. Each watches the play of time across the other’s face as the world stands still.