maybe one day we'll have dreams too. (gilgrado) wrote in star_in_a_box,
maybe one day we'll have dreams too.
gilgrado
star_in_a_box

HNNNNGH

Title: Mourning Air
Fandom: Dogs
Rating/s: so very MATURE
Warning/s Giovanni, violence, and some awkward English usage. Yes, Giovanni's his own warning.
Word Count: roughly 1,730 words
Author's Notes: So shoot me, but Giovanni consumes. HNNGH SOMEONE WRITE HIM TOO


The first blush of envy was rather like the first taste of salt a child experiences in his young life. The saline texture spreads painfully across his tongue, sweeps his senses with strong taste that his mouth, as if burned, alarms the mind so harshly that one seeks out water to soothe the offended sense. Likewise, envy evokes a similar feeling, though more creeping a manner than salt rubbed onto the unwilling tongue of children by particularly vengeful older siblings. It slithers down the throat's constrictions, tightens the belly with a peculiarly pleasant burn, and when envy is consummated it's a feeling like no other. The first blush of envy is much like a first kiss done right, But that little untruth makes the world a dire place to live in, wouldn't it? only degrees more visceral, and several notches more personal.

It's a perfectly natural reaction people experience twice as many times as they experience any form of intercourse in their lives.

Giovanni ran his tongue over the sharp ends of his upper teeth, the taste of roast and dinner-bread spread delicately over his tongue, blanketed by the sour-sweet synthetics of cultured grapes. It had been an expensive meal, by most means, but it was a delightful evening, and he'd been feeling restless.

Haine Rammsteiner He's your bad habit, isn't he? had been simply boorish in their most recent encounter.

Just a soft touch on the shoulder. A simple gesture of seeming affection, a little "how have you been?". Giovanni could, and had, place the red-eyed man in his throes. Rather, make him freeze, locking joints together despite the other's conscious effort, because for all that Haine could heal himself faster than any of their flock ever could and Mother always pointed that out always always, Giovanni could creep his way into the other's subconscious willingly, and make him bleed in his head.

But rarely does he get the chance, rarely does Haine exhaust himself to sheer apathy that he wouldn't - couldn't - care where he slept, be it train carriage or church pew, Chronic insomniac, or just misery personified. yet be tense enough that he couldn't find the purchase of sleep despite utmost effort.

Giovanni could understand. When his tapered fingers brushed over skin deathly pale, he felt the understanding seep into the back of his skull like mercury slowly poured into frame. When Haine's eyes dilated to mere pinpricks Giovanni felt warm sympathy I know how you feel, and doesn't that make you glad you're not alone? stab him through, like the scent of burning plastic.

Stomach hollow. Gnawing itself empty. Haine provoked a unique kind of hunger.

salt sweat bitter taste

So tonight Giovanni sought him out.

Haine's routine comprised of lying down for hours, from five in the morning to four in the afternoon, in some approximation of sleep, then he'd shower, maybe eat, walk about until his legs felt a little ached, or he'd visit his little pet bird Funny, she doesn't even chirp. at his little church, and when full evening came it was his time to truly prowl, maybe bark a little, make a show.

And he walked the same paths always, always.

Just a little timing, a little stalking, just little effort to catch up with a man so blatantly against the norm He wouldn't get so much stares if he dyed his hair, and did that ever cross his mind yet? that even the most stupid would recognize him.

Giovanni ran his tongue over teeth. And it bled a little, but that's alright.

*

Unsuspecting.

Haine walked, for all the world to know, with a sense of disregard for everything around him. Giovanni had heard, from a really loud redhead at the Buon Viaggo once, that Haine's comprehensions were plainly divided between "doesn't care", "doesn't get it", and "it's none of your fucking business, so back off". Giovanni had smiled behind the ceramic he held, beyond amused for many reasons, and had allowed the owner a reasonable tip as indirect thanks for his entertainment.

Giovanni agreed, really. And he knew of Haine's fatally off-beat humor, as well.

But that's for another day, because Haine is walking into his line of sight and he wears

hideous

leather and silver jewelry better suited on the motorcycle crowds, and Giovanni swallows the snort he feels urged to commit

"And shut up, you fucking piece of shit."

It was a simple murmur, inflected with enough heartfelt disapproval, like a boy reprimanding his pet while the animal simply grins and cocks it head to side, taking its master for a fool, or so Giovanni would like to think.

Two steps, one, two, and Haine was fully in his space

click shk clickclick

"Good evening."

*

It had been a quick draw, swift hand reflexively reaching behind him to grasp and pull silver and black, metal chains whooshing in a cartoonish sound as Haine take perfect aim between plastic frames and fringes, at that ridge between the eyebrows, except Giovanni is so much faster when all he has to do is touch one lovely cheek He's unusually warm for his skin color, isn't he? and Haine is bearing him down with sight, because it's all he could do-

"You're really awful at social events, I'll assume," the blond man says blithely, inflecting every syllable with languorous amusement. "I'd invite you to dinner, but you'd be a social disaster by the time dessert is rolled in."

"Fuck you, Giovanni." Haine's expression intensified, ohsogladlymad Why do you pleasure me so, Haine? and Giovanni couldn't resist. He laughed at Haine's face.

"Now, don't make me take speech from you, as well." Giovanni flexed fingers minutely, nails making small indents on Haine's smooth cheek, and without warning dug the fingertips deep. "I'm not the one with recurring nightmares, though, am I? So I should return your sentiment."

"What do you want, Giovanni?" Haine spat. What do you want that's worth my time and Giovanni could here the last few words left unsaid more clearly than he should. And the skin, it bled so slowly. Trickling down perfectly manicured nails and seeping into the nail-beds, and Giovanni thought

This is very nice.

"You should go home."

And he lets the albino go, and gently sucks on the tip of his index finger where Haine had bled Already the wound's healing, oh look it's almost gone, and that's so unfair. and Giovanni just had to grin at the revulsion on Haine's face. "...Salty."

"Of course it is," Haine utters, and Giovanni knows he didn't mean to say it, but he did because it's common sense that blood is salty, isn't it? Really.

"I wasn't asking."

"I wasn't answering."

"Well, what are we doing?" Giovanni prompted. "You haven't shot me-"

*bang*

"Now I have," Haine deadpanned.

And red blossomed from Giovanni's shoulder, right through cream-teal and red dress shirt and through the bone, and he frowns, displeased, because it as such a nice suit and what did it do to deserve getting shot? "You've no manners at all."

"I will shoot you, I fucking swear. I had a long day."

And he's too tired to play around so he's just amusing me, and that's really really

Guns out for Giovanni, too, BANGBANGBANGBANG-

And Haine erupts, lunging forward with the muzzles aimed at various degrees of pain and he succeeds, shooting Giovanni at the shoulder - again - and at his upper arm, before aiming at Giovanni's thigh, only now they're too close and Giovanni has a clear shot of his head - he wouldn't take it, the voice in Haine's head whispered gleefully, wouldn't take it he's a damned coward who hates you to pieces too much - and Haine could kill him, it'd be so simple--

But they just stood there, luger to blond-covered forehead, Ingram to stippling-covered cheekbone, triggers frozen to that annoying click click of empty magazines.

"Bow."

And Giovanni shifted, twisted, and changed his footing, swinging his arm in a swift arc that butt of the gun crushing into Haine's windpipe so quickly that he actually heard the trachea cave in with a squelching sound before he saw the wince on Haine's face. Like a wet balloon dipped in petroleum, then dropped on the floor as someone's foot stepped and slipped on it. Haine backed away, choking, and he dropped his Mauser in favor of clutching at his throat. Wet sucking sounds, Giovanni listened to Haine attempt to carve the broken bits of bone embedded in his throat as he bled into his airways.

"Didn't like that, did you."

Haine coughed. Badly.

Giovanni walked forward, idle steps forward, and he hetook his leisure in shoving Haine up, against the wall with his back straight. He cupped Haine's face with both hands, gently, in a tender loving hold, and as he tipped Haine's head back, as he froze Haine in place the same way he'd forced Haine not to move that night he rescued his little dove, Giovanni closed in and bared his teeth, like a dog snarling but not quite.

"All throughout, you were always favored," Giovanni worded carefully against the curve of Haine's jaw. "You aren't even very special. Just very persistent. But I still admire you, and it won't change, I promise."

Haine gurgled, but Giovanni could hear the repairs on his throat. It won't take much longer.

"And we miss you."

A growl.

"Come home already, Haine," Giovanni whined, plaintively. "Come home so I can envy you better."

"--fucking kill you, you fucked-up faggot I'll rip you apart--"

Giovanni pressed a quick, chaste kiss on Haine's cheek. "I'll ask you again, sometime, so be safe."

And he let go.

And Haine lifted the luger up and fired, finger locked on the trigger until nothing but smoke and clicking would come, and his arm was trembling, shoulders trembling and fuck his throat still hurts with the cold metal squealing against the leather collar and the bandage as the screws on his neck twisted and grated against his bones.

Giovanni was just a wisp of disintegrating petals before his eyes, and Haine's mouth tasted brackish.

A little like gunpowder and ash.

I's only when you envy someone so completely that you understand fully what love could be, and what hate is capable of.

Envy draws the line between both, because then you don't really have much of a choice, do you

Haine?

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