dedication: to someone who's already dead and gone.
title: a throne for those without
summary: A bunch of bad habits to wear like a crown. — Humanstuck AU; Sollux/Eridan.
my hands around your throat;
and i think i hate you.
He held him against the fence, one hand around his throat and the other clenched around the chain links. Skin bit red with cold against the metal, the two boys fought in too-close combat—heaven for the weather, hell for the princess inside the school that they both would have claimed, had they been able to.
They fell apart together, pieces scattered across the concrete—two boys who really just couldn't stand each other, the colour of lovers gone sour.
"Get off of me, peasant," Eridan snarled. His larynx clenched underneath the neat lines of Sollux's finger-bones, and they both fought to breathe.
"You want thith," Sollux bore down. Nails dug into flesh, crescents of dark liquid welling up where they broke the skin. He could have leaned forward to lick them away, and the urge took hold because this was hatred; this was possession, depression, aggression.
"Sol—get off. Do you know how much this scarf cost?!"
And it was sick, this thing between them.
But the sickness was in the little things, and Eridan couldn't stop the helpless groan that ripped its way out of his throat. The sickness was in the little things, and Eridan's hips bruised with fingermarks. The sickness was in the little things, and they both knew that their princess was watching, wincing, waiting.
They both knew, and yet neither moved away.
Sollux bent his head. "Thee knowth. Fef knowth we do thith."
"She doesn't," Eridan hissed.
But of course she did.
"You don't want her t'thee uth."
It was almost a question. Eridan punched blindly, glasses slipping down his nose and Sollux bit at his clavicle in retaliation.
The grip on his throat tightened.
Eridan's vision started to blink.
"I hate you—"
"Thut your mouth. I don't wanna hear it."
Lips against the corner of his mouth; not quite a kiss, but almost there, though neither would ever admit it. There was a crackling sound that might have been his ribs breaking. Eridan couldn't bring himself to care. He was drowning in it.
He could have spilled his guts, and the end result would have been the same.
Eridan shoved him away, breathing hard.
Sollux smirked, thumb pressed against Eridan's wildly-beating pulse. "You louthe." Then he turned and ambled away, hands tucked into his pockets, blood still thick underneath his nails.
Not the first time. Not the last. They wore it like a mantle; bad habits fit for the open ocean and a storm still brewing.
Eridan sank down the fence, and absolutely hated himself.