InsaneJournal

He wished they would go away, be gone like the headache that would vanish once one would take a painkiller, but they wouldn’t. The dreams, the memories-- they remained like a bloodstain on a white surface. He could recall them, recall Luther’s deep voice that made him shiver in need. He could recall the way Luther had caressed him, deft fingers trailing on his sensitive skin, going down his naked body, and then the fingers wrapped around his hardness, stroking him oh-so softly, slowly...

He shook his head, blinked his eyes and stared at the large white board of the classroom. He blinked again and looked around. Everybody was taking notes, keeping their heads low, while he had his head up. He sighed softly and looked at his own notes. Messy. Simplistic. This wasn’t like him. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything. He bit his lips and tried to listen to the instructor go on about physics. Yes, Luther was interested in that and other things as well.

It had been two weeks since the incident, but he still couldn’t forget about him. Why? He didn’t know. Maybe this was his punishment for doing the unthinkable, and he still had those dreams and memories. All he had done in those two weeks was clean up his dorm and catch up with friends and school. His friends hadn’t asked about Luther, which was a good thing in his case.

He felt himself stiffen, the grip on his pencil tightening. He took a breath and sighed, his mind a little bit distracted again. He glanced to his left and remembered that Luther had sat there, that he and Luther had even worked together in some problems, always raising their hands to answer the complicated questions in this class. After all, advanced physics wasn’t an easy subject; he and Luther understood what was really going on in this class. Others didn’t.

He rose to his feet, took his backpack and left without making a sound. He strolled the empty hallways, passing by Sophia’s locker. He frowned at the thought of her; he didn’t even know what he felt for her anymore. Even through all this time, all he could think about was Luther. He went to the bathroom to calm himself of these strange anxious feelings, looking at the rectangular mirror of the bathroom. He glanced at the pale wall and it triggered another memory that he didn’t want to remember.

Many times Luther had taken him there, had slammed him against the wall with such a force that didn’t allow his body to retaliate, pinning his hands above his head and kissing him passionately. His body shivered at the thought of it, a finger on his lips. It was as though Luther was still touching him, but this time with a ghostly touch, teasing the skin of his body, and making Fayt harden. He frowned in disgust and wondered why he was like this. What a stupid question.

He exited the bathroom and decided to go to his dorm. The nearer he was to his dorm, the emptier he felt. By the time he was there, he opened the door and came in, closing it behind him. He glanced at his surroundings; the dorm was completely clean now. He had hidden most of Luther’s possessions as though Luther hadn’t existed in this room in the first place. And yet…

He owed it to Albel; he owed him a lot. He didn’t know where Albel had dropped off the body and even though he didn’t care right now, he was bound to care soon. One of these days, he’d ask his eccentric friend; for now, he supposed that he wasn’t numb anymore. For now, he was going to mourn and he did, going to his bedroom and lying on the bed. He closed his eyes, sighed and began to dream.

----

“Why do you hate me?”

Fayt stiffened and pulled the cell phone back, glaring at it. What kind of a fucking question was that? It should have been obvious as to why he hated Luther. Was Luther trying to mock him again?

“Why do I hate you?” he inquired with a shake of his head. “I hate you because of you. Doesn’t that answer your question?” He waited in silence, feeling the said emotion rise. He had never hated somebody so passionately and now he did. Funny how things worked that way.

“If you hate me because of what I do, it would have made more sense,” Luther said thoughtfully over the phone line, and Fayt could have sworn Luther was smiling even though he couldn’t see him. He frowned at that and tried to focus on his work. Chemistry was quite similar to physics, another subject that he and Luther had together, but they didn’t sit together in this class. Luther had seated himself at the back while Fayt was at the front. God knew why.

“Why are we talking about this now?” Fayt inquired in a whisper. “Is this when you start to care? Haven’t you ever had any enemies that hate you? Or are you too blind by how people worship you?” He cut himself off, because he knew that if he continued, his voice would rise and he’d regret it. Luther would punish him for this, and as always his body betrayed what he had felt, shivering in anticipation.

Luther didn’t reply to that and Fayt frowned again. “I guess I’ll call you back later,” Fayt muttered with a sigh. There was a subtle click and he picked up his pencil, scribbling down notes. He remembered what Luther had said, that he was bound to him. Just how was he bound to him? His recent relationship with him was based on sex. There wasn’t any true love, only twisted affection. There wasn’t any kind of friendship because he couldn’t get himself to relax around Luther. If anything, there really was nothing genuine between them, so he didn’t understand.

He understood nothing.

----

Fayt woke up, sweat dripping down his forehead. He panted heavily, fingers slipping past the hem of his pants. Another dream of want. Another dream of wishing. Every time he had those dreams it was like he was put on a spell of seduction, a spell of arousal. He stood up stiffly and went to the bathroom. What he needed was a shower that would purify him of this. He turned it on, pealed his clothes off and entered the shower.

The moment the waters were sprayed on his back, he allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes and letting his hand wander down his body, imagining it as Luther’s. Luther’s hands were so skillful, so meticulous in what they did, whether they were used for the labs or used for an activity like this. He fingered with the tip of his member, letting out a soft groan. Yes, Luther had often teased him, had brought him closer and closer to the edge, and then paused to look at his face.

And he’d want more, he’d want Luther to continue, to finish, to do something, but Luther’d chuckle with that voice of his, that voice that could be so kind yet so cruel. He grunted, dragging his fingers down his shaft and then back up again. He remembered the outcome of that memory; Luther had punished him by marking him with a golden collar. The surface of it had shined, the texture of it was cold against his skin. He still had that collar; he should get rid of it.

He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he came. He blinked idly and felt even emptier, leaning against the wall. The waters were cold now, just like he was, and he tried to close his eyes again. In his vision, he could see Luther with that smirk of his. He could imagine Luther laughing at him, laughing at his pain and his self-indulgence. He knew right then, as he turned off the shower and wrapped a dry towel around his waist that Luther was haunting him with these dreams and memories.

How could he easily believe in this?

Then again, it made twisted sense.

He rummaged through his cabinets and pulled out a razor. The little blades shined under the lights and he frowned. He took the blades out, pressing one of them against his wrist. As long as he lived, he’d live in regret, in shame, and guilt that would swallow him whole. There was nothing that would truly save him except his own death.

He closed his eyes once more and pressed harder, biting his lip so hard that it bled. The darkness began to cloud his vision and he could vaguely hear himself dropping to his knees unceremoniously. The pain would be gone. This would be his true painkiller.

And he realized just what Luther had meant by how they were bound. He’d probably see him in the next life if he believed in such things.

Fin.

----

A/n: I wrote this from 1 am to 3 am. Edited it at 3. I couldn’t get to sleep. Wtf, insomnia?