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Untitled - written 6-25-01

Reply to Lucy

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive September 6, 2001

Title: Untitled
Author/pseudonym: Lucy
Fandom: The Forsaken.
Pairing: Sean/Nick.
Rating: R.
Status: Ficlet.
E-mail address for feedback: lucy_fur1@yahoo.ca
Other website: http://members.tripod.ca/~angelspace/Lucy.html
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: This is a dark fic, not for the faint of heart.



        Nick hesitated. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. It wasn't the first time he'd asked, tonight; it wouldn't be the last.

        The thin, cold bit of metal glinted in his hand. Sean nodded, surprised at the feelings that curled around inside him. He was on the bed, fully clothed; they were both clothed, still, even though he was on his back and Nick was straddling him, and it felt - intimate, to be like this. It felt like sex, but more.

        He shivered when Nick dragged the tip of the razorblade over his chest, even though Nick didn't press down hard enough to do more than leave a blunt pattern on the cloth of his shirt. He wondered if Nick was planning on cutting the clothing from him - or, perhaps, only cutting away the parts he really wanted to see: two square blocks around his nipples, a triangle over his groin, a rectangle on his ass. He arched up against the touch of the steel, even though he couldn't really feel it.

        Nick put the blade down on the mattress and tugged at the hem of Sean's wifebeater, pulling it over his head when Sean half-sat up, lifting his arms. His hands hovered at Sean's belt, but he didn't undo it, after all. Instead, he picked up the razor, again, and once again traced a swirling pattern into Sean's chest. He didn't press any harder than he had before, and Sean thought it was another tease until the last second, when he gasped against the sharp pain.

        It wasn't even really like pain, not really - it was more of a reaction to the tiny drops of blood that he could see, rather than actually feel. Nick looked as startled as Sean felt, as if he hadn't really meant to do it - even though they were lying together in the bed with a razorblade, even though they'd been discussing it for the better part of a week. The need was there, there was no denying it, even though Nick kept taking the meds in vain hope that they would somehow miraculously start to work again. They both knew instinctively that it was too late, though, and despite their calm and rational decision - made months ago one night in bed, after sex and before sleep - to have Sean stake Nick out if he ever turned, neither one of them had so much as brought up the possibility once it actually happened.

        It was too late for a lot of things.

        Nick seemed mesmerized by the blood on Sean's chest - as mesmerized as Sean himself was. A coil of panic slithered down his spine when he saw the bright glitter in Nick's eyes - that hunger that was so familiar, almost like lust, and yet different. Nick wanted to taste him, to feed from him. He wanted the blood.

        He didn't move. It was Sean who took Nick's head in two hands and brought his mouth down, first to his own, and then to the tiny wound on his chest. Nick's tongue lapped out, licking the few drops of blood away from the cut that had almost healed already, it was so small.

        When he groaned, deep in his throat, and Sean felt the hardness that pressed down against his own groin, he knew with absolute certainty that it was too late to go back. He closed his eyes when Nick picked up the razor once again, and tried to remember to breathe as the sharp metal cut into his chest. . .

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