"6:15pm - 7:04pm"
by Christine Belmont ([email protected])
Renton:
The first thing I thought was - I need a fix.
I don't know how long I'd been lying in the dark. It would seem that Mother Superior had forgotten I was there. Unconscious bodies tend to blend into the furniture.
It was his voice that woke me. It was the contradictory familiarity and peculiarity of hearing his voice that dragged me from my half-sleep back into the world. I lay there for a few moments, simply hearing the voice, not understanding the words. As words emerged from the sounds I could not be surprised by the desperation in the tone. "I'm strapped at the moment - it's been a rough patch, like. But I'm good for it. You know that, Swanny, you know that, eh?"
I'd heard things had gone badly after I'd left. The scag deal of the century had not gone as planned. Begbie was in gaol, and yeah, he was a mate and all, but frankly I was relieved to hear it. I wouldn't be too confident of my chances if Begbie was on the outside.
Sick Boy was not in gaol, but I'd heard rumours and the stories said that perhaps Begbie was better off. I'd been told he was in a bad way, that his days of 'making contacts', networking, planning and dreaming of the one scam that would make him rich - had ended. And I guess I ended them. I should feel guilty; I know that would be the decent thing. But I don't. Sick Boy would have done the same to me, if only he'd thought of it first.
I hadn't seen him since getting back. It hadn't seemed like a good idea - since I'd ripped him off and all. So I'd avoided the confrontation, stayed out of his stomping ground.
I'd known eventually, inevitably, we would run across one another and although I hadn't looked forward to the reunion, though in many ways I had dreaded the very prospect of it, I had not been frightened of it either.
The possibility of running into Begbie would have kept me deep in hiding. I was scared of Begbie. Scared shitless. But who wasn't scared of Begbie? Begbie would kill me if he got half a chance. Mate or no mate, he'd fucking kill me. A pesky thing like friendship wouldn't stand in his way. But Begbie was locked away and Sick Boy pissed as he no doubt would be, well, he just wasn't the killing type. That would involve getting his hands dirty. So I wasn't scared of him - not physically anyway.
Sick Boy's cruelties were far more indirect, discreet even. His cruelties had always lain in not what he did to you - like Begbie's physical and verbal assaults - but that which he didn't say, that which he didn't do. The smile he wouldn't return, the joke he refused to make, the insinuation or reference that he refused to acknowledge. And although not life threatening, these subtle cruelties were, perhaps, longer lasting. I'd dreaded his cold indifference. He'd been a mate once. Strange to think he wasn't one now. Strange.
And you've probably caught the contradiction. What the fuck am I doing at Mother Superior's if I am so dead set on avoiding Sick Boy? Good bloody question. What can I tell you? Nostalgia? Sentiment? An urge to escape the domesticity of morning talk shows, daytime soap operas, and mid-afternoon game shows with my mother? Or maybe I wanted to see him. Maybe I missed him a bit. Maybe I missed the whole thing, having mates, fucking around with them, fucking them over...
It was his voice that woke me from the strange half sleep. I looked at him. It was strange to see him after so many months had passed. It was strange to watch him now. To just watch, without him knowing I was there. It was a good feeling.
...
6:15pm
Alison answered the door. Alison. His ex-girlfriend. Typical that she'd be here - you would think she lived at Mother Superior's - maybe she did now. "I'm here to see, Swanny," he told her, sneer in tact, tone of disinterest applied.
"Well, Sick Boy, I didn't think ya were here to see me." Her tone matched his. She had never quite patented his arrogance but she matched his distain. She still stood in the doorway blocking his entrance. "I don't have anything you'd be looking for, eh?"
Simon pushed past her - he wasn't up to this. His head hurt and his mind was on one single thing. Alison didn't figure in the important equation. Then again, she never had, really.
"Ahhhh, Simon." Mother Superior smiled. It made Sick Boy decidedly nervous. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Ahhhh. You know, eh Swanny? Can't a mate drop in on another mate, in the neighbourhood and all of that."
Alison laughed.
Sick Boy swallowed; this was only more degrading with an audience. "And I was hoping you could fix me up, Swanny."
Alison laughed again. Louder than ever. It sent a flush of embarrassment to his ashen cheeks.
Mother Superior smiled at him. His smile was worse than her laugh. "Ally, " he said without removing his gaze from Sick Boy, "Sick Boy and I have business to discuss, my dear. I think it's time for you to leave."
Alison stopped laughing.
"Swanny - " she began and then thought better of it. Swanny was not to be argued with, she had learnt that lesson. "I'll be seeing you then. See ya around, Simon."
Then she was gone.
"Your credit's no good, Simon - you've exceeded the limit, my boy."
Sick Boy attempted to hide his anxiety and desperation, a valiant attempt to little avail. "I'm strapped at the moment - it's been a rough patch, like. But I'm good for it. You know that, Swanny, you know that, eh?" Too many words were coming out of his mouth, too many words. Sick Boy shut his mouth.
"I'm sorry Simon, I'm not running a charity here - you know that, mate." Swanny smiled at him and raised his palms in the air, an irritating gesture of mock despair.
Sick Boy willed his body still. It wouldn't stop moving. It was if the constant shuffle of his feet was an involuntary action and his hands had a life of their own. They darted from his hips, to the pockets of his jeans, to his face, through his hair. They tugged at his T-shirt, they itched at his neck, but no single movement would gratify them and so they kept dancing all over his body, refusing to settle down in a single spot, refusing to remain content with one singular motion or position.
And they were distracting him. He couldn't think, he couldn't think.
"You're in a wee state, eh Simon?" Mother Superior was smiling at him. "Perhaps I can help you out - we can come to an arrangement mutually beneficial to our interests."
Simon knew what he was referring to. He'd promised himself he wouldn't do that again. He'd promised himself that whatever it came to he wouldn't do that. Then again, he'd never been too successful at keeping promises. And besides, he couldn't be expected to make rational decisions at this moment. He needed a fix, and then he could make decisions and worry about things like integrity.
"An arrangement?" Sick Boy echoed. His bravado was definitely crumbling now; there was no doubt in that.
...
Renton:
The scene unfolded before me, like a film being written and executed for my personal amusement, for my pleasure alone. And I, like any audience member, was concealed within darkness, watching people who could not look back at me, who could not see where I was looking or what my reaction was. People who did not even know that I was there.
I didn't quite recognise the characters - I was supposed to - but I didn't. It was like the American soaps my mother watched - you know, where the character walks in and it's this woman wearing the same costume, speaking the same lines and trying to do that with the same gestures and tone and effect - but the actors changed. And the phrase flashes on the screen, sometimes accompanied by a deep masculine voice, 'So-and-so is now played by so-and-so' and life goes on but we all know that this person can never really be Roman or Jack or Ashley or whoever. They'll just be this actor that took over.
It was like that, like Sick Boy was being played by a completely different actor - a person who wore the right clothes and said the right things but try as he might he could not quite pull it off. He wasn't quite Sick Boy. Life would go on as if nothing had changed, but it was disconcerting.
Mother Superior seemed different also. Harder, colder, nastier. He was the same actor though, but here it was another scenario coming into play that any devoted consumer of daytime television will be sure to recognise. Mother Superior was that same actor, playing another character. A character that looks and sounds exactly like the character we are used to, but in actual fact is his evil; twin or doppelganger or in particularly creative circumstances Satan or an evil spirit in that character's body.
What can I say? I'm a sick bastard who has spent far too much time since his return watching television with his mother. It's enough to drive a man to drink, drugs and a life of crime, I tell you.
Sick Boy's hands could not stay still. I had never seen him quite so nervous. "An arrangement?" I heard him echo. He looked as if he was about to be ill. A thick layer of sweat had broken out across his face. The beads of water reflected against that skin that was unnaturally pale, the pallor only disturbed by the dark shadows under his eyes and the lips that were just a shade too red. Those lips had always fascinated me - the unnatural depth of their tone.
Swanny traced those lips with his large filthy fingers. I couldn't see Mother Superior's face, but I imagined that he was smiling - "It wouldn't be the first time, Simon."
"I'm not doing that again. " Sick Boy's voice sounded hollow and empty. He stepped back from Swanny, his voice raised slightly, "I said - I don't want to."
...
6:20pm
"I'm not doing that again. " Sick Boy attempted to fill his voice with force and determination. He wanted to sound convincing. He wanted Swanny to understand that there was no way this was happening again. It was not an option. It was not an option. Mother Superior ignored him reaching for the fly on his jeans.
Sick Boy stepped back, "I said I don't want to."
Swanny's cock was free now. "You want the scag don't you?"
Sick Boy just stared at him. His hands had stopped moving now. His heart that had been beating with increasing intensity, felt as if it stopped still. "Let's get it done with, then," he said, his tone flat. The frightening thing was that this had started to seem ordinary. Strange how anything could become normal given the required prerequisites of possibility. Anything.
He hadn't been surprised by Mother Superior's demands. Not in the least. He'd been expecting it, waiting for it, even. He wasn't even disgusted at the prospect anymore. He played at the hesitation, the indecision, the disgust, the distaste. He played at it partially from habit, partially from expectation and partially because he suspected that they were the normal and decent reactions an individual was supposed to muster when asked to suck cock in exchange for heroin.
He knelt in front of Swanny. For some strange reason he hated the idea of kneeling in front of the man far more than he despised the feeling of the cock in his mouth or the warm liquid rushing down his throat. To kneel in front of this man made him sick. To feel his hands in his hair. He hated that those hands would touch his hair. It was demeaning, humiliating.
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Renton:
Now what you have to understand, or else you'll accuse the poor author of all types of ills, (the least of which will doubtless be poor 'characterisation'), is that Mother Superior has always had a thing for Sick Boy. It had been obvious to us all in that subtle kind of way, but we'd paid little attention. We'd had more important matters at hand - like scag, to provide you with an obvious example. But we'd all known it and it had been part of the dynamic between the lot of us for as long as we could remember that 'us' existing. And although it had never been acknowledged, although Sick Boy may have appeared oblivious, there seemed to have been some understanding between them. A contract that was neither written nor verbal but in its own way was just as binding.
The way he would kneel beside Sick Boy, finding his vein, holding his arm lightly as the needle entered. And then as the waves of pleasure passed through Sick Boy, Mother Superior, who would still be crouched by his side holding his arm, would lean even closer - as if to somehow capture part of his joy, as if in some strange way the pleasure of touching Sick Boy while he lay on the floor in ecstasy was comparable to the sensation of his own fix.
This scene, then, this scene that played before me now, was not as peculiar as it might be assumed. One needed to only read between the lines, to examine the peripheries, the sub-text, in order to understand this as a logical progression.
They were playing a game, and from the expert way that they manoeuvred within their designated roles, I suspected that it was a game that they'd played many times before.
It made me think of Sick Boy's 'unifying theory of life'. "It's certainly a phenomenon in all walks of life," he had told me. "At one point you've got it, and then you've lost it - and it's gone forever." He had illustrated his point with the many films of Sean Connery. He knew a lot about Sean Connery, Sick Boy. You could say that about him at the very least.
As Sick Boy knelt in front of Mother Superior it was as if this moment was proving his 'unifying theory of life', once and for all. Sick Boy had had the elusive 'it' at one point, but that moment had passed, and it seemed from here on in it was simply the 'downward trajectory' he had once warned me of.
I crawled towards the open doorway for a better view, watching as Sick Boy took Swanny in his mouth.
I was hard, so hard it was unbearable.
...
6:25pm
Sick Boy pulled away and stood up quickly. He was far too conscious of his own body. It was that awful ache that spread through him, making every limb, every muscle obvious. It was funny the way you never noticed your body until it began to hurt. And now his throat burnt as well, reminding him of what he'd done, what he was.
He wanted to just get the shit and get the fuck out of this place, to go anywhere - away from Swanny.
"It's done then, Swanny." He worked to keep the voice even, controlled, to seem unaffected. "If you give the scag I'll be on my way then."
"I don't know, Simon." Mother Superior smiled. "I'm not quite satisfied. I just don't feel I'm getting my money's worth."
He moved towards Sick Boy who slowly edged back in turn. The wall stopped him. They can be annoying like that.
"That's not how it seemed a moment ago, Swanny." It was difficult to sound casual when backed up against a wall by a man with a distinct physical and pharmaceutical advantage. "You seemed more than satisfied, I would of said."
Mother Superior laughed as he leaned in to kiss him, "Do ya think so?"
The breath stank, the smell of the other man made Sick Boy want to retch. He shifted his face to the right in an attempt to avoid the other man's embrace. "Get off it, Swanny." He raised his arms in an attempt to push the larger man away from him. "Just leave it, okay? I'm not interested and I'm not doing it."
It was embarrassing the ease with which Mother Superior caught both Sick Boy's arms and pinned them above his head with just one of his own. His free hand finding its way around Sick Boy's neck he pulled him closer to him and this time forced their lips together.
He pulled back. "I think we should play another game," he said. "An even better one."
...
Renton:
I was stroking my own erection through my jeans. It amazed me that my reaction was so intense. I had thought nothing short of a fix could make me feel like this - and admittedly a fix was perhaps preferable - but this would be a close second.
Mother Superior was a distinctly unattractive figure - particularly in comparison to Sick Boy. Large. Solid. Unclean. Unkempt. He had never had the thing we refer to as natural beauty but what little aesthetic talents he had been born with had been mutated into a body that seemed to represent the worst that masculinity had to offer.
Sick Boy, in contrast, was still handsome, his body had worn well despite the years of abuse and neglect. He possessed that contemporary montage of classic beauty and junkie chic. He had that androgyny too. Not that gendered androgyny in which the lines between masculinity and femininity are blurred, but a sexual androgyny in which the very meaning of those labels becomes irrelevant.
Mother Superior pulled away from Sick Boy. "I think we should play another game," he told him. "An even better one."
"That's not fair." Sick Boy sounded so indignant. So outraged. The words of a five year old choir boy from the mouth of a twenty something junkie whore. And he believed the words, which made it all the more amusing. Mother Superior was laughing and I realised that so was I.
He pushed past Mother Superior and this time, Swanny made no attempt to stop him. "That wasn't the arrangement, Swanny. That wasn't part of the deal."
Did Sick Boy really think he could talk his way out of this situation? Then again, if any one could it would be Sick Boy. However it seemed that tonight his powers of persuasion were not as captivating as they had always been. Swanny did not seem swayed at all.
Sick Boy turned and walked from the room suddenly and Mother Superior followed him. They had moved out of the frame, leaving nothing but the empty set for me to consider. I could hear their voices, the conversation continuing, but I could not quite understand the words - I could decipher the tones though. Sick Boy angry at first. Mother Superior smug and confident in response. Then Sick Boy's tone turned to a more whining pitch. Mother Superior seemed amused. Sick Boy now sounded as if he must be pleading and I could hear Mother Superior laughing at him.
My mind was racing, filling in blanks and gaps in a conversation that I could not hear and a scene I could not see. The greatest possibilities lie in what you cannot see and I was more excited than ever.
I was growing harder just thinking about what Mother Superior wanted from him - and even harder thinking about Sick Boy's reluctance to give it.
...
6:30pm
"I'm leaving, Swanny." Sick Boy moved towards the door hoping Swanny would stop him, offer an alternative, suggest other options. "I'm not into that, I'm not doing it."
Mother Superior did not attempt to stop him. Why would he? Sick Boy wouldn't leave - and if he did, somehow, muster the integrity to keep walking, it would only be a matter of time till he retraced his steps and walked straight back through it again. And the longer it took him to come crawling back, the more desperate he would be.
Either way Mother Superior got what he wanted - and so did Simon, really.
Everyone was happy. Or happy-ish.
...
Renton:
Sick Boy had entered the frame again and was moving swiftly through it heading for the front door. I held my breath, waiting for Swanny to stop him, hoping Swanny would stop him.
"I'm leaving, Swanny," he was snarling. "I'm not into that, I'm not doing that, I'm leaving."
He opened the door, his hand lingered on the handle, but he didn't exit.
"I'll be seeing you, Sick Boy." Swanny's voice was calm, free from stress or anxiety.
Sick Boy turned to him. "If I play along then we're clear, right? Paid in full?"
"Certainly."
"This would be a once off, right? You'd understand that, eh?"
Swanny walked towards him now and pulled him back inside the flat closing the door as he did so.
"Whatever you want. It's up to you, Simon. Its all up to you." They were cruel words, cruel and perfect.
Sick Boy just stared at him. I couldn't read the look.
Swanny gripped Sick Boy in his arms and said softly, "You knew this would happen, Sick Boy. You knew this would happen at some point, eh?"
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6:45pm
Mother Superior had him in this strange embrace. He was holding Sick Boy with an intense grip upon his upper arms, holding him close to his body, but not pressed against it. It was impossible to distinguish if the embrace was passionate or violent. Perhaps there was no distinction. "You knew this would happen, Sick Boy. You knew this would happen at some point, eh?"
Sick Boy stared at him. He knew Swanny was right. Sick Boy had known that this would escalate, that the natural progression of events would lead him to this time and place. He just hadn't known that he would submit, how desperate he would be.
"I want the junk first, Swanny."
Swanny tightened his already intense grip upon Sick Boy's arms, making him wince. "I don't think so, Simon. We want to enjoy this."
...
Renton:
I wondered what thoughts were running through Sick Boy's head. I'd been his best mate once but I'd never been able to read his thoughts. I guess I'd never had that much interest either, though.
No one could be close to Sick Boy, not really. He had this detachment that kept everything he did, everything he said, everything he was, a step away from him - removed. A theory for everything, theorising himself, and it kept everything at that abstract level. He didn't exist as a collection of experiences like the rest of us. Experiences were filthy, complicated things. Sick Boy was a collection of theories and philosophies about experiences that he would never quite own, but rather he simply named and controlled. They were nice and neat and manageable and told you nothing about Sick Boy himself. And yet they told us everything about him. Everything.
Perhaps the closest you could get to Sick Boy was by fucking him and even then, it wouldn't be much. There was the impression that Sick Boy fucked more due to expectation than desire. It wasn't just the heroin dulling his libido, either; he'd always been like that. Fucking seemed to be a mark of status to him, that he was desirable, desired, wanted. That he was superior to the rest of us poor losers that he bestowed his company upon.
And wasn't this, in a perverse way, proof - proof undeniable - of how desirable he was?
However the other crucial aspect of Sick Boy was his desire to be in control. In control of situations, of people, of himself. A strange desire for a junkie, but he was a person more filled with contradictions that most.
...
6:55pm Mother Superior was as heavy as he looked. Heavier perhaps. And his entire weight was pressing down on Sick Boy, crushing him into the hard surface beneath his own body.
But it wasn't the weight that repulsed Sick Boy as much as the smell. He felt as if the rancid smell that belonged to the other man would rub off upon him, permanently scarring his body, marking him, and tainting him forever.
"Get off me." Sick Boy was surprised at the sound of his own voice. He sounded scared.
Mother Superior made no response except to undo the fly of his jeans.
"I said get off me, Swanny." He worked to make his voice hard and loud. He seemed to achieve the desired pitch and tone but it had no effect upon the body lying on top of him.
Simon attempted to push backwards, away from the table with his hands, but he was trapped beneath the larger man.
"Get the fuck off!" He was shouting now but it had no effect upon Mother Superior. Sick Boy could feel the other man's now free erection hard against his back. He began to feel ill, literally ill, with bile rising in his throat. He didn't trust himself to speak, fearing that vomit and not words would emerge.
Mother Superior fumbled with Sick Boy's fly, undoing it. The body beneath him was struggling, but the movements were like feeble protests underneath his superior weight. He could hear the body beneath him talking, or was it pleading, or was it screaming? He couldn't tell. He couldn't care.
He yanked down the jeans, enjoying the very sensation of this small and perhaps insignificant action. The feeling of his hands against the other man's arse and hips as he dragged the jeans over them. The touching of skin, the symbolism of the movement, the promise of things to come.
The arse was covered in little white briefs. Like an adult version of the kind that young boys wear. There was something infinitely sexy in those little white briefs - they seemed so very inappropriate. They made the body beneath him appear small, childlike, vulnerable, pure. His erection became even harder at the sight of them.
...
Renton:
Sick Boy was completely hysterical now. It was an amazing sight to behold. I had never seen his emotion rise to the surface like this. Or perhaps I had, once before, when they found baby Dawn. When baby Dawn had died. But even then his hysteria had been contained, controlled. It was different now.
He was screaming and it didn't even seem to be words. Or not words that made any kind of sense to any being other than Sick Boy.
Mother Superior seemed completely indifferent. I watched as he yanked down Sick Boy's jeans revealing plain cotton undies - there was something unbelievably sexy about those undies. I was harder than ever at the sight of them.
My hand had found my own erection and was relieving it of the burden.
...
6:57pm
Sick Boy could feel Swanny's cock hard against him. He could feel his panic as it mutated into a physical sickness. He heard the own beating of his heart inside his ears.
He looked sideways at where Mother Superior's arm rested on the table beside his head. If there is such a thing as instinct, it overtook Sick Boy at that very moment as his lunged towards the arm and clamped his teeth around it. He felt the sensation of his teeth moving through live flesh and the warmth of the other man's blood within his mouth and upon his face.
The shock as much as the pain forced Mother Superior back from the body beneath him. He stared down at his arm in horror. There was a not insubstantial stream of blood running down it. The little cunt had drawn blood. He'd fucking drawn blood.
Mother Superior had not expected such vicious resistance. A small symbol of protest that could be later replayed within Sick Boy's memory as proof of an adequate defence - that would not have been unexpected. Not a deep bite that gushed blood. So much fucking blood.
It took Sick Boy only moments to take advantage of this surprise. Pushing himself up he made to escape. He could only think of one thing - getting the hell out of there.
His jeans were still gathered around his knees, however, and in his growing hysteria he had not the presence of mind to pull them up. In his dash for the closest door he tripped over his own jeans and fell, hard, to the floor.
It was as he attempted to pull his jeans to his waist that he felt the hand in his hair pulling him upright. ...
Renton:
The scream from Swanny startled me. He had moved backwards and was holding his arm, which seemed to have blood streaming down it.
Mother Superior seemed so shocked, like he'd never seen the sight of blood before. He moved back from where Sick Boy had been confined under his body and just stood frozen staring at his arm. I had to stifle a laugh. His shock struck me as absurd - what had he expected?
Sick Boy was upon his feet within the same instant. For a moment it seemed he had forgotten where the exit was, and I feared he would dash straight towards me, towards the dark room I sat watching him from, but his movement was hindered by his own clothing and as his jeans gathered at his ankles he fell over himself. He fell to the ground with a thud that I felt from where I sat on the floor in the next room and that seemed to wake Mother Superior from his trance.
...
6:59pm
Sick Boy tried to pull away from Mother Superior's grip but he was held firm. He was being hit across the head with great force, slapped across the face, the blows seemed to come from every direction and hit every part of his body. He couldn't stop them or protect himself from the onslaught.
He fell to the ground, but still the onslaught continued. As he scrambled to his knees he felt the impact of a boot in his side, heard the crack of bone. The second kick was just as harsh and sent him flying into the wall.
He raised his arms to protect his face and then ribs and the stomach in turn. Hands were in his hair again. He was yanked over to the table and thrown down upon it. There were all types of screaming in the room and Sick Boy could not tell where it was coming from. Was he screaming? Was Mother Superior? Were they both? He couldn't tell. It sounded as if it was coming from every direction at once.
"Get off me, get off me."/"You motherfucking little prick."/ "You're hurting me"/I'll fucking kill you."/"Get the fuck off me you fucking cunt."/"If you try that again."/"I'll kill you, get off me, I'll kill you."/"You fucking cunt."/"Stop, fucking, stop."/"I'm going to kill you."
And so it continued, a mess of words that spun around the room like a fierce storm, a whirlwind of abuse coming from every direction.
...
Renton:
"Get off me, get the fucking hell off me you motherfucking cunt. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to fucking kill you if I get the chance. I'll fucking kill you." I was surprised that Sick Boy still had the energy to scream these obscenities. I would have thought he'd be unconscious or on his way there at the very least.
And then his screaming just stopped and the room was strangely silent.
...
7:00pm
His jeans were yanked to the floor and his legs kicked apart. The screaming had stopped now and there was an intense silence. He could only hear the heavy breathing from the man on top of him and his own voice, strangely thin, squealing and begging - "Please don't, don't, please stop" - over and over as if on some eternal loop.
"Shut the fuck up, just shut the fuck up," Mother Superior said, but the words didn't register in Sick Boys mind. He couldn't stop the loop.
"Please don't, don't, please stop. Please don't, don't, please stop. Please don't, don't, please stop - "
Grabbing his head by the hair, Mother Superior smashed it against the table. In quick succession his head was smashed against the table two or three more times. It was harder, harsher than Mother Superior had intended. Sick Boy had pissed him off. It was one thing to put up a fight - that was understandable, desirable even - it certainly made things more interesting. But he'd drawn blood.
The stupid cunt had drawn fucking blood.
Mother Superior looked down at his hand, which was covered in blood. Not his blood. Sick Boy's. His head was bleeding, it was hard to see from where, but the blood was stark against the platinum hair and pale skin. He was incredibly beautiful.
The body beneath him had ceased its incessant movements now.
Mother Superior ran his hand through that thick blond hair that was now shot with streaks of redness. "I don't want to hurt you, Simon. Don't make me hurt you." He yanked the briefs down without ceremony, and freed his own erection.
He pushed into the body beneath him. The docile body barely shifted even as his thrusts intensified. The only sound in the room was his groans and a slight whimpering from the body below him.
After the intensity of the scene just before this felt less like a victory and more like an anti-climax. There had only been the slightest moan, as he'd entered the body and no resistance or struggle whatsoever.
...
Renton:
The force made me jump, the sound as Sick Boy's skull hit the hard wood echoed in the room. I thought he was unconscious, dead maybe. For a moment I was almost sure he was. Then I heard it, a slight whimpering. The only sign of life was this awful whimpering.
I was impressed with his restraint. Almost respected him. The rest of us, Begbie, Spud, me, Mother Superior himself, we'd be howling at this point. But Sick Boy managed to lie in a pool of his own blood with a little dignity. Not much, mind you. But in these situations a little can go a long way.
I was painfully hard now. I moved my hand swiftly up and down the shaft of my cock, slowly at first and then as Mother Superior's thrusts gained in momentum I increased my own speed to match his. It was as if we were in perfect harmony with each other, our movements synchronised, unified.
I closed my eyes and visualised the scene playing in front of me, changing details, changing specifics. I imagined I was lying on top of Sick Boy, I imagined that he was pleading with me, begging. I kissed his neck softly at first, and then I would bite him - not with enough pressure to draw blood but he would cry out anyway. My hand moved faster and faster. Then he would start to enjoy my attention, he would move towards my touch rather than away from it, he would be groaning and moaning no longer with pain but with intense desire and pleasure. As I came it was with relief I realised that the sounds of Mother Superiors orgasm concealed my own.
7:04pm
Mother Superiors body went as limp as Sick Boy's beneath him. He lay still for a moment and then, suddenly stood up and left the room.
Sick Boy lay still for a further moment. The taste of Mother Superior's blood mixed with his own lingered in his mouth. He stared at the pool of his own blood that seemed to swim around him. He couldn't help but wonder at how calm he felt. The hysteria that had hit him earlier was gone. He didn't even feel particularly emotional. Actually, he was utterly calm. He stood up, marvelling that he could stand, and pulled on his jeans. Then he sat on the couch, legs pulled up to his chest, head resting on his knees.
He sat and waited. Waited for Mother Superior to come back. Waited to feel something. Waited for something to happen.
...
Renton:
He was just sitting.
I could creep towards him now. Pretend that I hadn't seen. That I hadn't been watching. That I was shocked and appalled at his current state.
I could creep towards him. Comfort him. Nurture him. And then he would decide he was in desperate love with me. I would take him in my arms like the hero from a romantic melodrama and we would 'make love'. I closed my eyes and smiled at the thoughts that came rushing through my brain.
Or I could creep up on him and fuck him without a word. Fuck him when he was still too weak and tired to put up any defence.
But I didn't do either thing.
It seemed for a moment that he turned towards the doorway, looked straight at me, and smiled. Maybe he hadn't forgotten. Maybe he had known the whole time that I was there. That I was watching.
And that I wouldn't do a thing.
I wouldn't do a fucking thing.
I needed a hit.
THE END