|You Might Get Run Over
Author: TarynWanderer PM
SLASH. Life's too short so love the one you've got, 'cause you might get run over and you might get shot.Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance - Words: 3,506 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 17 - Follows: 2 - Published: 02-02-05 - id: 2246361
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: You Might Get Run Over
Author: L0C- Taryn Wander'r
Summary: Life's too short, so love the one you got- 'cause you might get run over and you might get shot.
Spoilers: None. Takes place sometime (a few years?) before the movie starts.
Content Warning: Drugs, swearing, and sex- more of an advertisement than a warning, really. Maybe too much intro and not enough pay off, but that's the way it goes.
Series: Not related to my other Snatch stories, but there may be a sequel.
Disclaimer: Snatch and all recognizable characters belong to Guy Ritchie.
"You Might Get Run Over"
We're lying on the floor of my flat, staring up at peeling wallpaper,
right, and there's this beetle right, and it's hanging bicariously-
vicariously, um, it's hanging by like a thread on the side of this
lamp, right, and then all of a sudden it takes off and lands with this
crazy loud thud right by my head and scares the shit out of me.
Tommy is lying next to me, sort of snuggled in for some reason but I
think he's too stoned to move, because I know I'm too stoned to move, and
I've spent entire nights with my head in strangers' laps giggling
about stuff and I remember how the first time Tommy and me got stoned
together he ended up fucken lying on the floor in this 24 hour shop
freaking out and I had to fucken carry him home and that was the best
I jerk around when this beetle hits the dirt, and Tommy clutches at me
and says something but I'm too busy freaking right the fuck out. Holy
shit it's a fucken beetle, I say, right, holy shit I hate fucken bugs,
holy shit holy shit it's right near my face this is horrible.
Tommy leans over me and just fucken stamps it with his fist and I lay
there all wide-eyed, because that was kind of gross and Tommy never
kills things. He wipes it off on the ends of his jeans and it's really
gross, right, and then he just starts giggling and I start laughing
too, and he slumps down on top of me and I can't fucken move im.
I try to think of what I was talking about but I can't remember, I
think it was Nirvana and Kurt Cobain but I can't remember, I have no
idea what's going on. I can feel the hardwood beneath me, right, and
it's digging into my head, and the only light that's on is this lamp
and it's fucken burning a hole in my goddamned eye. And there's this
music on, right, but it's this horrible new age rock crap whatever and
what the fuck were we talking about?
I try to piece together a sentence out of this thought at the back of
my head, about Kurt Cobain being too stoned to pick up a gun because
holy crap I'm too fucken stoned to pick up a gun, much less write a
goddamned suicide note, and the bastard had everything in the world
why the fuck would he kill himself, the dick? I would've been a great
rock star, I tell Tommy, if I had more hair and knew how to play an
instrument and liked rock music. Tommy just giggles into my chest and
clutches at my shirt and fuck you've got a strong grip. I try to say
something about Courtney Love and I think Tommy may or may not have
called me ugly, I'm not sure, but I try to punch him just in case,
because that kind of aggression cannot stand. This aggression cannot
stand, I say, this aggression cannot stand.
What the hell are you talking about? Tommy groans and rolls over so
he's got his head pillowed on my chest and stares up at the ceiling.
He makes this kind of humming noise, tunelessly, but he's really going
into it. It's weird that they would say that about me, he says,
because I'm not like that. You know I'm not like that.
I don't know what he's on about. I thought we were talking about
Nirvana but maybe we weren't. That could've been this running
commentary, um, this running monologue in my head alone just to
myself, and I wasn't listening to Tommy. What? I ask.
They were so upset, just so upset, he says, and he rolls over and
looks at me a bit with his cute little red eyes and his cute little
black curls and you're so cute Tommy. It's weird they said that, he
says, cause I'm not like that. I'm not like, like, camp, I'm not
like, like, poofy, I'm like, I like guy things. I'm a man. He clutches
at my shirt again, I'm a man!
What are you...
I forget what I was going to say. There's still this joint in my hand,
I just remembered it, I've been holding on to it and it's burnt out
and dammit we probably wasted some. There's a lighter lying near me
and I strike it up again and it's all I can see. I have no idea what's
going on. My head is full of cotton, right, and my sight blurs out on
the side and I almost expect the scene to shift to something new like
we're in a film. I breathe in some of the weed and I hold it there and
I can feel my brain, right, I can feel it absorb it and this is proper
and not cut with tobacco because then why don't you just smoke
cigarettes? My brain is expanding, right, it like expands until it
hits the insides of my skull and my head is all full of this brain and
it's whoa and whoa oh my god I'm freaking out. I can't move my body I
can't move my arms and suddenly one of them is around Tommy's waist
and he's clutching my shirt, I'm a man, I'm a man!
Of course you are, I say. Come and have some more of this. If you want
more of this, I'll have the rest of it I don't care.
Tommy stumbles around and I can't see anything for a while because
it's all blurry and bright and I can't really hear because there's
this music in my ears and my head feels weird lying on the hardwood
but then Tommy's there leaning over me and he looks so tired, and he
takes the joint away from me. I look up at him and he's so cute and
I'm so tired and you don't have anything to worry about Tommy, you're
not a poof, you're just gay, you'll get over it, it'll be okay.
I don't really know why I said that but it just sort of came out and
Tommy is kind of glaring at me now but not really, I can't tell. Whoa
easy now Tommy, I say, because he's taking like the longest drag
you've ever seen. Leave some for me, but he doesn't and wow for such a
little guy you have a big lung capacit, um, capacity. He holds his
breath for a while and I have no idea what's going on and then he
leans down and kisses me, or something.
He puts his mouth on mine and forces me open and breathes out and I
get a lungful of secondhand weed except a lot of it is leaking out.
It's kind of weird.
Then oh my god I'm choking now and I cough and roll over and Tommy is
giggling there on his knees next to me. Stop that, I say, I almost
died I almost fucken died you almost killed me you bastard.
I'm not gonna get over it, I can't get over it, I'm not, I'm not, and
Tommy sort of kind of punches me in the gut OW! You're such a mean
bastard sometimes Turkish he says and I say stop hurting me you dick I
almost died you asshole you killed me!
You're not dead. Tommy says. I roll over and grab his hands and the
flat is spinning, this blurry mess of white light and yellow hard
wood, and sharp cute Tommy, fuck me you almost killed me, fuck me you
almost killed me, fuck me, fuck me, I almost died.
Tommy can't stop giggling, stop saying fuck me, he says, you're not
dead, and he pushes me over so I'm back where I was. He lays his head
on my chest and we're still holding hands, you're not dead he says.
I almost died, I almost died. I was almost dead. You're not dead, if
you died I would die because that would be too scary, maybe we're both
dead, we're not dead. We're not dead. Tommy looks up at me and tells
me we're not dead and then he leans up and kisses me again and it
tastes nice. He kisses me again and again and then he reaches his
hands up and touches my face and I touch his and he's so cute.
I almost died, I say, you could die so easily, you could die in the
shower, you could get run over. Don't go home tonight Tommy because
you might die, you might get run over, you might fall down, don't go
home. Tommy giggles and says okay, and he brushes his lips against
mine softly and it's so nice and we're not dead because when you're
dead you can't feel anything.
His lips are soft and sticky against mine, except for a little bit of
stubble that we both have, and I can feel the littlest scrape of his
teeth across my tongue. He catches onto my bottom lip with his mouth
and sort of laps at it, sucking and teasing and biting, and I don't
know how long we're going to lie here doing this but I don't care
because it's so nice. I've never kissed Tommy or any boy before but
it's so nice, it's rough and sticky and stubbly and he's so near to me.
Tommy pauses a little and bites his lip, and then he leans back down
to me and dips his tongue into my mouth, up against my teeth, and it's
the closest I've ever been to him, so close we're almost the same. I
slide my tongue across his and past, and up against the roof of his
mouth, rough and cratered and we're moving so much and not at all,
nuzzling our faces together like we're trying to be the same person,
and I have no idea what's going on but it's like I've wanted this a
long time even if I never knew I did.
Tommy runs his hands up my neck and around my ears and it's so nice
and I can feel it so much, I can feel his hands there and his mouth on
mine more than the the music in my ears or the hardwood behind my head
and he's so nice and soft and his hands are callused and scratch at my
I'm lying there with Tommy on top of me and I reach up to tangle my
hands in his hair, because his hair is so nice and black and curly and
makes me miss my own hair, except I couldn't pull his look off. I'm
trying to tell him this but he's still sucking on my mouth so I settle
for just pulling him closer and running my hands in his hair, feeling
it all soft and clean and nice between my fingers.
I move now and start kissing his cheek and his eyelids because his
face is so nice, he's so cute and I just never noticed it before. Two
years I've known Tommy, a couple of years, like three or four years,
I've known him well. I knew him before just from around because we
were from the same manor and our families knew each other but I didn't
know him, not like now, he came to work for me a few years ago and his
family doesn't talk to him and I never realized how cute he was until
he was this close to me, until we were almost the same. I'm running
one hand around the back of his neck and he leans into it and his eyes
are closed and he looks so happy and peaceful. I feel around his face,
run my fingers down his face and across his forehead, softly under his
almond shaped reddened black eyes, his long long lashes and I push his
hair out of the way. I have no idea what's going on and I can barely
make him out but I can feel him, feel him under my fingers and in my
mouth and I wouldn't give this up for anything.
I'm rubbing his neck and he apparently really likes it, and I run one
thumb across his lips, tugging his bottom lip down into a little pout,
and he's so cute like that and he's looking at me shyly and I don't
know how long I've wanted this but I'm so chuffed it's happening now.
I've got one thumb on the corner of his mouth and he turns a little
and bites it gently, sucking it, and it's so nice and his mouth is wet
and hot and it feels so good. Two years I've known Tommy, like three
or four years, and he's never sucked on my fingers, this is sort of
weird. Fuck me, I say, you're so beautiful Tommy, what are you doing,
why are you, and he doesn't answer but just looks at me shyly and he's
got his hand over mine on his face.
Suddenly I don't want to be lying on the floor anymore, I just have to
move. I sit up and pull Tommy closer to me, my hand splayed across his
face, kissing his neck roughly and harshly and he makes this panicky
little sound. I grab him and sort of stumble towards where I think the
bed is, and I'm holding his hand and he's just giggling because
Tommy's one of those guys who can pull off giggling. Only when he's
stoned, when he's drunk he has this all-out laugh that takes over a
whole room and when he's sober it's always like he's trying to hide
his laugh and is embarrassed but I like it when he giggles and I sit
down on the bed and pull him into my lap and bury my teeth into his
neck because I can't get enough of him.
I want more and I want to be nearer but I'm too stoned to do anything
but just touch him, which is okay because touching is good and he lets
me suck on his neck and put my hands up his shirt and move them
around, and his skin is so nice and soft and he sighs and squirms when
I touch him. I run my hands across his back and his chest, his lovely
chest, and his stomach and keep sucking on his neck and kissing him
around his face, fuck me, he's so nice.
He lets me undo the belt on his jeans and just looks up at me as I
reach my hands in there, across his thighs which are so firm and nice
and he sighs and rests his head on my shoulder, leaving his neck open
to me for more kissing and biting and sucking because I want to so
bad, I want him to be mine and I want everyone to know it and I want
him to move in with me, I don't want him to go home because he might
get run over and die and I would be gutted. I run my hands across his
thighs, and over the top of his little bum and I never thought I'd be
here feeling it but I'm chuffed as hell that it's happened this way.
I reach in there and start feeling his dick and he moves against me,
burying his face in my chest and wrapping his arms around me, gripping
my shoulders and kissing me through my shirt. I feel my hands around
it and I've only ever done this to myself or had girls do it to me but
I want to do this for him, I want him to feel good because I want him
to be mine and let me do this.
Easy now Tommy, he's getting really worked up, squirming around like
that with his jeans around his ankles, gripping my shoulders and
sighing and moaning and kissing my neck as I touch him and kiss him
and try to get closer than I already am, as close as I can because I
never want to come down and I never want this to end, I like it up here.
I can feel him against me more than anything, more than the music in
my ears or the bed beneath me or even my hands on him, I can feel him
on top of me and gripping me and looking up at me like I'm the only
person in the world.
So I'm kissing him hard and bringing him off and he starts to calm
down, and we're hot and sticky and we just sit there kissing.
I'm probably far too stoned to properly lay him out tonight but I
don't care because I have my hands down his pants and my tongue in
this throat, and I feel so high like I'll never come down, I feel like
I've been run over by this whole Tommy and me thing and I never want
him to leave and fuck me, Tommy, I love you.
I woke up the next day with puffy eyes and a pasty mouth. The thing
about weed is that you don't get sick, you don't get hung over, but
you do get mealy mouthed and depending on where your munchies left
you, you can spend all day burping horrible little hash burps that
taste like death. I shut my eyes against the bright white light and he
wasn't there. I buried my head in the sheets and felt around and he
still wasn't there. I hadn't lost him, him had run away.
The sheets were soiled and the flat reeked of pot, a tingling mucusy
smell that teases at the back of your throat. I opened a window and it
was raining. There was traffic, a lot for this time of the morning,
skidding in the rain and the fog and he had run off in that, probably
not looking both ways and dodging at the last minute, like he always
The spot where he had left his trousers was clear, the tall lamp was
upright again, after he knocked it over in a fit of hysterical giggles
throwing off his clothes. An empty mug with light brown tea stains; he
hadn't even made me a cup.
I eventually went down to the lot and he was pushing papers in the
office, and he said hello and flashed a smile. His shirt collar was up
higher than he usually wears it, hiding the bruises I know I left on
his neck. His eyes were still puffy like mine and his skin looked pale
and drawn out, not the rosy rich complexion he always used to have.
His dark curls were greasy and uncombed and framed his eyes just so.
He didn't talk about it and he gave me a look like he was asking me to
forget it. Pleading, even.
So I pretended I did. And we got on with our lives. And now, later, it
seems to the rest of the world like it never happened. But it did.
Fuck me, Tommy, I miss you.