Title: Waiting
Author: Lizzie
E-Mail: [email protected]
Rating: R
Content: m/m (like that�s unexpected), blood, a little violence, some language. And strangely, some sap.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, and unless by some bizarre accident of nature I suddenly become Vince McMahon, I never will. Not saying this happened in any way, shape or form.
Distribution: I have a very simple philosophy - want, take, have. Just let me know where it is.
Summary: Kurt does a little, uh, waiting. If you know me, you know for whom.
Notes: My first WWF fic in months, partially inspired by the cover of the Andrew WK album. For Gabi and Ravenette - hope you enjoy.

***
Waiting
***

I�ve bitten my lip so hard it�s bloody. Dumb mistake, huh. I bit right into the front, into the bottom edge of my bottom lip. Now I�m bleeding and my lip�s throbbing and sore.

I had no idea my teeth were sharp enough to do that, but I guess they must be if I bite hard enough. At least my left incisor apparently is, since I chipped it last week, �cause there�s this thin trail of blood running down slow over my chin and down my neck, soaking into the collar of my bright white t-shirt. Bad choice of colour, Kurt. Then again, I didn�t know I was gonna be bleeding today. Wasn�t exactly planned, not like usual. I just bit my lip. Hard. Weird how sometimes you don�t realise you�re doing something that really hurts �til after you�ve done it. I don�t think I even knew I was biting �til after there was blood running down my chin.

And I know that if I try to rub it away I�ll just get it all over my hand and wind up with blood smeared all over my throat and probably all over my chin too, then I�ll probably wipe it down the front of my shirt and let�s face it, blood and white shirts don�t mix too good. And that�d just make things worse. As if it�s not bad enough that I�m sitting here with blood running down my face, I�d have bloody handprints on my new white shirt, too. I just need to get to the bathroom and wash it off properly.

Except I can�t. I can�t go anywhere. I�m waiting. Like I always wait. So I�ll just have to let myself bleed.

There�s a scar on the back of my wrist that I can�t take my eyes off. That bled once. I�m sitting here running my fingers over it, feeling it slightly raised, a thin pale line slightly out of place there. I keep wondering if anyone can see it. Sometimes I like the idea that people can, like I�m proud of it or something, and sometimes all I want to do is hide it away. Tonight I wanna hide it. I wish my shirt had longer sleeves. I almost feel naked in this thing. Why do I have to buy things so tight? Why doesn�t anything reach down past my biceps? I have to stop tugging at my sleeves like some kinda awkward fool. They�re not gonna stretch any and they�re really not gonna reach my wrist. So I�ll just cross my arms over my chest and pinch my bicep. I don�t care that it kinda hurts. It�s just nice to feel the muscle under my skin, press my fingers hard into it. It�s almost calming.

But I don�t know if I want to be calm, not that I could be even if I wanted to. Not right now. Not when I�ve just seen him. I don�t think I could be calm if my life depended on it. My heart�s beating too fast and I feel sorta cold even though it�s hot in here, like someone�s just blown cool air across my skin. My shoulders and the back of my neck are kinda tight and tingly and I move around a little to try to make the feeling go away though I know it won�t. It�s anticipation. It doesn�t ever lessen any, even knowing what might happen.

I think it�s the waiting that does it. The waiting for him. Because I always wait. Even when he doesn�t come, I wait. I�ll wait here for him and I�ll just have to let myself bleed.

***

It wasn�t always like this. In the beginning, it was all me. I chased him, made him want me. I made him mad on purpose just to get a reaction out of him. It was things I said more than things I did, I think � little comments on his performance, about missed spots, all seemingly innocent but I knew what I was doing to him. He was getting all riled up, seething at me inside. He didn�t like me. In fact, he really, really disliked me. And I didn�t need him to because all I wanted was a reaction. I just wanted him to hit me.

And one day he did. But after that he couldn�t stop. I�d made him so mad, taunted him so long, that it all just came out. But I�d made him want me. It was the way I was around him, every little motion while we were together, even while I was taking aim with those little insults. If I hadn�t talked it would�ve been pure flirtation. I think some of the guys thought it was, even with the insults. And in a way it was. The way I touched him, tugging playfully at his hair, hands lingering on his arm or his shoulder. The looks I gave him, the tone of my voice. If he hadn�t have been so caught up in disliking me he would�ve understood. But that first time he hit me I think he got it. I wanted him and I�d made him want me in a weird way. I�d made him want to hurt me, beat me, put me in my place. I�d made him want to fuck me. And he did.

We did it more than once just that night. He fucked me and I sucked him and he fucked me again. Then he left me there lying on the locker room floor, bruised and breathless. I don�t doubt he thought that would be the first and last time. But I knew it wasn�t.

I went to him again. I didn�t stop. I played on his emotions and everything I knew he felt about me, using that dislike, that contempt, that desire. I made him dislike me even more. Really all it took was a few cocky grins and slaps on the ass before he was fucking me through the floor. I made it good for him. He got off on hurting me, hearing me moan or scream or yell as he hit me and fucked me. He�d yank my hair and bite my shoulder, thrust into me so hard I�d feel it for days.

He knew it was what I wanted and that just infuriated him, made him do it harder, faster, like he was taking his frustrations out on me when really that was all I wanted. I�d tell him things while he did it, that I loved what he was doing, that I wanted it harder, wanted it to hurt more, wanted *him* to hurt more, that I loved him. Because I did. And because that made him hate me more, made him want to hurt me more because he didn�t want me to feel anything for him. It made him angry that I loved him for what he did to me out of contempt. And it made him angry that he couldn�t stop.

He really couldn�t stop. In the beginning it was always me that went to him, made him want me against his will, irritated him and grated on his nerves �til he just wanted to pound my face into the wall and fuck me stupid. But then one night he came to me. It was weird. I�d never expected him to come to me. He came to my room and made me let him in, then stood there yelling at me about how it wasn�t fair to make him want me like that when all he wanted to do was hate me. It was like he didn�t really know what to do or why he was there, like if he told me all that then maybe I�d stop. I didn�t. I told him it was okay to hate me and want me at the same time. He laughed this tight laugh at that and leaned back against the wall with his head in his hands, right before he walked over and kissed me.

It wasn�t like he�d never kissed me before, but every time before it was me that made him; I made it so that if he�d kiss me or hold me or something he�d get a reward. But that time, he actually strode across the room, took my head in his hands and kissed me. He was so angry and it showed, but there was something else. He was desperate and confused, and he wanted me. Bad.

I stopped trying to make him mad after that. I�d had a change of heart and I think so had he. I loved him and I wanted him to love me. I decided I was gonna do my damnedest to make that happen.

***

Sometimes I think it�s a good thing he got injured when he did. Maybe not physically �cause I know it must�ve hurt him like hell, and in some ways not mentally �cause it must�ve been so tough on him. But for us, whatever �us� means. There was something weird going on with him right before he got injured. I wasn�t really sure what he was gonna do next.

That�s not to say I haven�t missed him, �cause I have. It�s been hell being here without him. It�s like a huge and vital part of my life was just carved out and I was expected to carry on like everything was fine. But I thought it was for the best. He was having problems coming to terms with what was going on between us and right after he went out I thought it was the best thing that could possibly have happened. It kinda was. It got me away from him and him away from me, gave us some time apart for him to do some thinking.

But then I realised that I didn�t want to be there without him. I wanted to see him every day like I used to. But I couldn�t visit him. I couldn�t even pick up the phone and call him. I was dreading what he�d say.

And then he came back. All healed up and ready to go, he came back. I could see him again. Emphasis on �see� there �cause I haven�t talked to him since he went out. And he�s barely said a word to me, and never when there was anyone around. Seemed he wanted nothing to do with me, and that hurt. I mean, how do you get over the man you love deciding he doesn�t want to see you anymore? I had no idea.

But, tonight, as he was leaving� he gave me that look. *That* look. The one he always used to give me. That smouldering look, the one that told me he wanted me, the one that told me not to move a muscle because he�d be coming for me. That�s the way he got after that night he kissed me. He could tell me to wait for him with just a look. And I�d wait.

He�d come to me later. It could be five minutes or an hour, but he�d come. Mostly, �cause a couple of times he never came back. But I�d wait. Because I wanted him and because I knew then that he wanted me. He�d basically admitted as much to me with that kiss, that he wasn�t trying so hard to hate me anymore and he was just concentrating on wanting me. Not that that made a difference to his wanting to hurt me, �cause it didn�t for a second. If anything it made that need worse. He wanted to hurt me as much as he could every time we were together, and he didn�t just use his fists.

He pulled out a razorblade one night, and I didn�t say no. I wanted him to do it. He took my hand and cut me across the back of my wrist, licked away the blood. He always liked the look of my blood against my skin. It hurt but I wanted it to hurt. I remember moaning low in my throat as I felt his tongue brush over the wound he�d just opened, and he looked up at me with this amazing look in his eyes. That was when I knew he loved me. It couldn�t have meant anything else.

And that was the problem. He was in love with me. After all those months of hating me, he�d gone and fallen in love. Completely against his will, struggling the whole way, he�d fallen for me. And it didn�t look like he was gonna be able to handle it.

We started rooming together. It wasn�t because we needed to or because we wanted to be together necessarily, but sorta through self-defence, keeping everyone else from hitting on us. We got into so many fights after that, over really dumb stuff. I could tell he was blaming me for how he was feeling. He got really irritable, shoved me away a few times when I told him I loved him. Stormed out a couple of times and wouldn�t talk to me. Went out and picked up girls. I think he was trying to rebel, show me I didn�t really matter to him, and really all he showed me was that he hated being in love with me. I didn�t care about the women. I cared that he hated me for the way I made him feel.

I think he might�ve been planning to leave me. And I couldn�t have handled that, so I guess that�s why I thought the injury was a good thing. He couldn�t leave me. But y�know, I realised that really doesn�t matter. It�s just prolonging the agony. I spent so much time wondering what was gonna happen when he got back and missing him like hell. I almost wish he�d finished it and not just left me hanging.

But now he�s back. And for two weeks he�s ignored me. Now I think he wants to talk. Or something else. And I�ll wait. I have to find out if this is the end.

***

The walls backstage here are painted that bright mental asylum white and with the neon lights there�s this horrible headache-inducing glare. And the blood trickling down over my neck�s starting to tickle. The place is getting cold, too. And all I can think about is him, how much I want him, how much I just want things back the way they were. I wanna feel his hands on me, digging into my muscles, his skin and his lips warm on mine. I want to see my blood on his knuckles, on a razorblade, on his lips. I want to taste him, feel him moving inside me, lie in his arms like I did those last few weeks. I want to lie there bloody and aching in his bed and feeling like he loves me. Maybe that�s too much to ask, but it�s what I want.

�Hey, ouch!�

Sprawled out across the cold floor, forehead pressed to the linoleum, arms twisted up behind my back. He presses his weight down on the small of my back, leans down over me, breath hot on the back of my neck. I twist my wrists, my arms, feeling the familiar burn in my muscles when I can�t get free. I don�t really want to, but I�ll strain against him anyway. He likes it when I struggle. I like it when he likes it when I struggle. I�ve missed this so much.

�You didn�t come to me�, he hisses. �I thought you would. I�ve been back three weeks now Kurt, and you haven�t come to me. So I had to come to you�.

He bites down on the back of my neck, hard, and I yelp. Then he�s yanking me up, over, by my wrists, shoulders, wrenching muscles �til I�m on my back under him as he straddles my hips. He pins my hands above my head, caresses my cheek with the other, that strange little contended smile he hardly ever smiles on his face.

�What took you so long?�

He smirks for a second. And the backhand he gives me makes my cheek sting and glow hot.

�I missed you, Kurt�.

I smile as he says it, as he strokes the back of his hand over my burning cheek. He leans down, pressed his lips to my forehead, my cheek, over the pulse in my neck� His lips are so hot, so soft� Oh God it�s just like I remember.

�God, Hunter, I missed you too�.

He yanks me up suddenly, shoulders wrenching painfully, and he shoves me back hard against the wall. My head hits hard and I wince, then he�s right up by me, crushing me back against the cold wall, my back suddenly icy though my chest�s so hot with him pressing against me� He holds me back by my shoulders, his thumbs pressing against my collarbone and palms flat against muscle. He leans back, cocks his head, looks at me with those intense hazel eyes. And then he dips his head and out flickers his tongue. I can feel the heat of his mouth as he kisses away the blood from my neck.

He traces the line up from the collar of my t-shirt in hot little kisses, swirling licks, up over my neck, my chin, and when he reaches my lips I can taste my blood in his mouth. And when he draws back I can see it on his lips. He smiles, runs his thumb over my bottom lip and I can�t resist nipping at it, while I tug at his shirt, pull it up out of his jeans so I can run my hands over the small of his back and round over his stomach. He grins, leans in and kisses my neck.

�I love you�, I tell him, before I can stop myself. I panic. I look for some sign as he pulls back - wait for it, expect the damn thing - that he wants out. I�m looking for some sign that he�s panicking too. But I don�t find it. I don�t find it.

�I love you too�, he says. And somehow I know he means it. He really means it.

He pulls me forward, into his warm arms and away from the wall. And he kisses me, hard, deep, almost painful with my lip but what do I care? I�m just clinging to him like I never wanna let him go, and I don�t think I do. He�s all I want. It�s that simple.

But the kiss has to end. He draws back, slow, leans his forehead down against mine, strokes his thumb over the nape of my neck.

�Let�s get going�, he says. �I wanna watch you bleed some more. You�re so pretty when you�re bloody�. He smiles, tugging me toward the door. �And Kurt��

�Yeah, Hunter?�

�Next time I�m injured, you�re coming with me. No more of this bullshit waiting�.

I smile. �No more waiting�, I say.

***
End
***