The first of two requests for Hairul The Nightrage Beast. It's actually the second one he asked for, but it's the first one that got finished. With any luck, the other piece will be finished and posted soon. I was asked to write a dark songfic based on Sweating Bullets by Megadeth with some special attention to the Beast and Rage. Please enjoy!

I hope you enjoy it Hairul! I did my best. : ) Thank you for the request!

I officially do not own the lyrics to the song or the characters shown in this story.


Sometimes she becomes the only thing he can think of. Suddenly, she is the only thing in focus in a world with hazy edges. It's a struggle to comprehend anything other than her or anything that doesn't involve her. Nothing in the world is ever going to be right again if he can't resolve the problem she poses him. She ignites something in him.

Something deep, dangerous, and impossibly old. Something he doesn't always like understanding.


Hello me, meet the real me
In my misfit's way of life


It's similar to the feeling he sometimes gets in the middle of battle. Only when they are so hopelessly outnumbered, every breath has the potential to be his last. There isn't enough time to really comprehend anything he's doing. The only option is to act and fight with everything he has.

And so he does.

The rush of adrenaline and endorphins blur the world until he finds perfect clarity. Everything becomes so simple. Finally he can just let go and exist. He can release the chains he keeps locked so tightly around that darker nature. He doesn't need to think any more. Instinct and logic come together flawlessly. Regulated bloodlust driving flawless precision.


A dark black past is my most valued possession
Hindsight is always 20-20


There's a reason he eventually ends up challenging every leader he has every followed. The fault belongs to the corner of his psyche that wants things his way. That needs to feared and respected. It's one of the many needs he sometimes feels as strongly as physical pain. It's the part of him that hates being ordered around by anyone.

The part that demands he fights to win. It is his ability to almost exclusively focus on a goal in the middle of confusing and hectic situations. It's responsible for the shivers of precognition down his spine moments before an attack occurs. He probably would have died long ago without the subconscious survival instincts.


But looking back, it's still a bit fuzzy


The pure unadulterated fury that he always scares himself with can be traced back to that same source. Literal bloodlust he has to make a point to ignore comes from the same place. That deeper, older part of his mind wants nothing more than to ascend to his rightful place on the food chain. That part of him knows exactly who he could be.

He has all the potential to become the ultimate predator, in charge and unchallenged. He could discard the rules of this boring, tame society and shape the world to fit his liking, into his territory.


Speak of mutually assured destruction?
Nice story, tell it to Reader's Digest!


The rest of him agrees. He could easily be that dangerous thing his instincts wish he was. It's exactly why he refuses them so strongly. He fights so hard against the darkest suggestions of that primal nature. He does his best to live normally with the itching of whispered ideas and half understood implications.

His primal instincts aren't very complicated. It is simply the essence of who he is and what he wants, unrestrained by any real morals or ethics. That deep part of him only knows how to want, survive, and protect his own. Sometimes those simple drives may conflict with the rules of polite society. At the very worst, the animal within him is violent and selfish.

He's accepted it. The reality of his duality is something that can't be ignored or talked through. Banishing those blended needs and wants from his being isn't possible. It would be like chopping off his arm to keep himself from picking dangerous things up.

Learning to control those instincts though, that's something he whole heartedly agrees with. It was that same imagined control that shattered the moment Raven came into his world.


Feeling paranoid: true enemy of false friend?
Anxiety's attacking me and my air is getting thin


When she appeared in his life, that deep primal part of him came alive in a way he had never experienced. From the moment they met, he was completely at her mercy. She doesn't even have to do anything or even breathe a word to do it. But he can't bring himself to box away what she inspires in him. Sometimes he thinks she knows how powerless he is against her.

At first, it was slow. But the greatest avalanches start off with a single falling stone. A spare thought there, a comment here. He started looking forward to seeing her, then he needed to see her. Before he really understood what had happened, he needed to be near her as long as possible. He doesn't just annoy her because it's funny. He stays in her face so she has to pay attention to him. It's only fair to make her spend just as much time focused on him.


I'm in trouble for the things I haven't got to yet
I'm chomping at the bit and my palms are getting wet
SWEATING BULLETS!


He can't explain the control she holds over him. It's in the way her eyes seem to see straight into the deepest part of him. How her voice resonates inside his head even when she isn't speaking to him. The confidence of her stride and stance speak volumes to him. The control she always always possesses.

She is a predator too. And she most certainly knows it. He can tell by the way she smirks when victory is eminent. It's lit up with the same smoldering flame of satisfaction he sometimes wants to drown in.


Hello me, it's me again
You can subdue but never never tame me


If they are both predators, who is at the top of the food chain?

The very real and inevitable question flits through his mind every once in a while before being soundly dismissed. In the long run, it doesn't matter either way. If it's him, that's great. And if it isn't him, he doesn't mind.

Odds are he probably wouldn't survive long enough to be disappointed.

She makes him want to simultaneously hide and stand his ground. She sets his nerves on edge in anticipation. Makes him hungry in a way he prays he never has to explain. His chest will get tight, every breath harder and harder to take. There is no way he can stay still from all the adrenaline. But nothing he can imagine compares to simply being near her. He feels completely capable of anything, but so helpless all at the same time.

He feels so completely alive, it hurts.


It gives me a migraine headache sinking down to your level
Yea, just keep thinking it's my fault


He's tried to forget her, tried to put her out of his mind. But she keeps reappearing, drifting through his dreams and thoughts like a ghost. This is something he can't just ignore or wish away. The thought of her is like a terminal infection. It spreads through his entire being, setting his blood on fire as it goes. Every system falling prey, no defense he could create would be strong enough to withstand her. But there are no real barriers raised against her. Honestly, he has never attempted resisting.

He has always fought against becoming a monster, but he wants her even more.


I stay an inch or two out of kicking distance
Mankind has got to know his limitations


All of his dedication belongs to her. She is what he swears his allegiance to. That dark and dangerous part of him would gladly conquer nations for her. The animal inside him wants nothing more than her happy and far more importantly, his. There is no limit to the lengths he'd go to make that happen.

That fact alone should be enough to scare him senseless. But even more frightening, it doesn't faze him in the least. He'd do anything and everything without batting an eyelash, as long as she belongs completely to him and vice versa.


Feeling claustrophobia like the walls are closing in
Blood stains on my hands and I don't know where I've been


He knows exactly what she is capable of. She's destroyed the minds of far brighter men with ease. He can bend the rules of matter, but the laws of space are like putty in her hands. She's halted the passage of time, caused and reversed the end of the world. He has yet to find something her powers can't turn into a weapon. Powers he has experienced firsthand when she effortlessly took charge of his own ability. She made rearranging his molecules look simpler than building a tower out of children's building blocks.

The potential of what she could do to him is terrifying. It should probably scare him to death. Matter of fact, she literally could do that too. But he doesn't care.

The fact he doesn't give any of those possibilities a second thought drives her crazy.


I'm in trouble for the things I haven't got to yet
I'm sharpening the ax and my palms are getting wet
SWEATING BULLETS!


He's not really a confrontational person. There is no instinctual reason to maim and hurt needlessly. Fighting should only be to defend what is his (and what he deserves!) from those who try and take it from him. He likes to stir up trouble on occasion, but there is a vast difference between mischievousness and malevolence.

Contrary to popular belief, they don't fight about everything. It isn't a matter of a hundred separate disagreements. They only have one argument a hundred times. Over and over again they collide over the same unchangeable facts.

They scream and shout long enough to pretend they've worked something out. A new way to coexist that satisfies them both. Nothing will be fixed, just acknowledged and reaffirmed problems. A too small bandage on a deep wound. They both know it's only a matter of time until the pretty new wrapping paper falls away. Then they'll have to start the cycle all over again.

He doesn't exactly like fighting with her. But the beast coiled up in his heart most certainly does.


Well me, it's nice talking to myself
A credit to dementia


It likes the way her face lights up from pure fury. The way his name snaps off her tongue when she shouts at him. The aura of power that rolls from her in waves is sometimes enough to make him dizzy. Every time she screams at him in anger, the animal inside his head howls with primal pleasure.

Her tense frame while they face each other down calls to him. Pupils dilated from the adrenaline. The near invisible sheen of sweat glistening across her brow. Her carefully maintained hair drifting slowly out of place. The slight panting breaths she takes as the argument comes to a close. He's got the decency to feel ashamed when he succeeds at angering her. But he's too weak to keep from pushing all of her buttons. Especially since her fury makes her face go that certain shade of red.

She has this habit of biting her lip when she's trying to stifle her rage. He wants nothing more desperately to be the one doing the biting.

So no, he doesn't like fighting with her. In all honesty, he loves it when she's mad at him.


Some day you too will know my pain
And smile it's blacktooth grin
.


He wants her so badly. There is no nice way to say it.

His palms itch with the need to trace the curves of her. He can already imagine how she'd feel under his hands, skin and muscle taut against wandering fingers. He's spent a hundred restless nights imagining exactly how he plans on memorizing her, exploring her, learning her. Every little accidental brush is just fuel to the fire. He's had to sit on his hands before, just to keep himself under control.

Because he won't be able to just touch. He has always been too impulsive to just stop. He has to experience completely. Once he has her, all bets will be completely off.

Finally, he's going to learn what she tastes like. He'll know what her scent smells when blended with his. He'll see exactly what colors a kiss turns against her pale skin. He already knows the sound of her voice, but he's aching to hear it gasping his name against his neck.


If the war inside my head won't take a day off, I'll be dead.


He hopes and prays that he's reading the signs correctly. He doesn't know how he's going to survive if he's wrong. Everything within him wants her, to be hers. So he has to be right. He has to be.

Sometimes he's almost certain he's right. He's felt her gaze linger on him. Her eyes will trace the lines of his shoulders, up and down his back. She looks for him first in a room. He's certainly noticed how he never manages to escape her sight. If she was anyone else, he would have been discouraged. But she isn't, and so her gaze is more than enough to keep him going. He's known her long enough to understand.

His need to feel on every possible level is borderline compulsive. She doesn't trust herself enough to touch. She's learned to live with just observing.


My icy fingers claw your back
Here I come again


There have been a handful of times when the way she watches him changes. She will stare him down in a way that is far more than just observation or (he prays) admiration. Sometimes it's downright predatory. There's a gleam of malevolence present that makes him slightly concerned. It also sets his teeth on edge with anticipation and desire.

He knows that look. It has one very clear and unmistakable message:

MINE

It's possessive. It's dangerous. It makes the animal inside him cringe slightly at being claimed. Yet it still makes him unexplainably happy. Because it's proof that she wants him. That's all he needs to know. Though it may take time, she usually gets exactly what she wants.


Feeling paranoid: true enemy or false friend?
Anxiety's attacking me and my air is getting thin


He's far less patient than she is. Especially when he knows what he wants is barely out of reach. It only gets worse when he knows exactly how to get it.

He's almost certain that if he tried to kiss her, she wouldn't stop him. She doesn't fully understand how important she is to him. But at the very least, she knows that he cares for her. She'd let him kiss her in respect of that. A token of gratitude in exchange for his companionship.

He wants to kiss her. He could do it. But he won't. At least, he won't kiss her yet.

Someday he's going to do far more than just kiss her. He's going to give her all he has to offer without hesitation. And she is going to take it. Not out of respect or because she doesn't want to offend him. She's going to take everything he is because she wants it.

He can already taste how sweet that moment will be. Some days it's the only thing that keeps him from giving up the chase too soon.


Feeling claustrophobia like the walls are closing in
Blood stains on my hands and I don't know where I've been


The animal inside him doesn't always understand. He could catch her and take her for his own. There is no need for waiting. She'd learn what was expected of her soon enough. If he catches her, she'll know exactly who is in charge. It would be far simpler.

No more waiting. No more being overlooked. The loneliness of his past would be permanently banished. He'd finally have something to call his own.

But it isn't what he wants.

Just having her isn't good enough. He wants her to love him. For that, he is willing to wait.


Once you committed me, now you've acquitted me
Claiming validity for your stupidity


It could take years before she is ready. He hopes it won't come to that, but he knows it could. Either way, he will keep watching over her. Stalking after his prey, waiting patiently for the perfect moment.

It doesn't matter how long he would have to wait. He'd become a monster if it meant that he could make her happy. There is nothing he wouldn't do.

He would die for her without a second thought. Even more frightening, he'd kill for her just as happily. All of those years of control would be thrown away without hesitation.

The animal he is at the core would do anything for her. The man he is can't help but do everything for her.


I'm chomping at the bit, I'm sharpening the ax
Here I come again.