Narrative of Soul Against Soul

hello there! 'tis that time again... SLASH!! dont like it?? dont read it. this fic contains some smut along with cross dressing, sub/dom play, and reference to various illicit substances used for the betterment of consciousness. Confused? Ask a hooker or befriend a dictionary.

AFI's title, my characters. enjoy!

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CH 3 : To Breakthroughs

Joshua


“Hey, bro!” a voice screamed entirely too loud for being in the resonant bathroom. “You gonna ask Render out? Or just stalk behind him for the next two years?” I heard her systematically kicking in every stall door.

I couldn’t care about the state she’d find me in. I groaned. What had I just done? Had I really just came to the thought of being dominated? By two dudes? I stupidly groaned louder, mumbling, “gross.”

A black army boot with six inch elevation ended up close to my face as the girl smashed the door in. I think she was called Trauma, and rightfully so. She looked like a rave kid, anime villain love child. Her purple and blue dreadlocks looped into knots on her head that aligned well with her blue silk kimono. Though I doubted it was an original, seeing as it only reached the tops of her thighs. Matched with huge platform boots and white fishnets, this girl was obviously unbalanced.

She let out a triumphant laugh of her own before grabbing my arm. “This way, dearie,” she giggled like the wicked witch. She shoved me in front of the mirrors. I admitted I looked half as crazy as her.

I couldn’t convince myself to care. “Who are you? What do you want?”

She leaned in so her chin rested on my shoulder. “I’m Trauma, though you may have already known. I want truth, painful honesty, and strange fun,” she giggled again. It was more frightening every time she did it, “And you’re Joshua Matthews—tech theatre major, acting minor—and everyone knows what you want. Except you of course, so let’s try the truth thing. What was all that moaning about?”

Though her diatribe Trauma had held my gaze in the mirror, but at the final question, I suddenly adored the grooves of the water knobs. “No one.”

“Not nothing? No one? So maybe it’s not about Render. Maybe it’s Rage. Is it? Were your boy infested fantasies centered on Rage’s sexual prowess. He is the strongest dom—”

“Enough!” I sunk my face into my hands.

“So which is it?” She prodded, perched on the sink next to me.

“Neither,” I grunted through my fingers.

“Lies!” Trauma screeched bouncing down from her perch. She gripped my chin in long thin fingers, giggling even more, as she forced me to face her. “Every person in varying degrees either wants to dominate or submit. For some it’s a momentary whim in either direction. For others, like us, it’s a prominent sexual inclination. So which do you prefer?”

She phrased it all so simply that I finally met her gaze and replied, “Submit.” As soon as I said it, I clapped my hand to my mouth and turned away.

Trauma let out a full laugh, which was possibly more frightening than her psychotic giggles. “You may not want to mouth your hand. Bodily fluids and all.”

I blanched, flung myself at the sink and began furiously scrubbing my hands. After realizing how dumb of a reaction that was, I stopped. I sagged against the sink. I liked men. I repeated that thought over and over, becoming engulfed in the revelation, but it was worse than that. I lusted after dark, intimidating men. I glared at Trauma as if it was her fault. Again, she giggled and effectively sucked any vehemence from me.

“Don’t throw your pissy affectations at me.” Again the faucet knobs become excruciatingly fascinating. Trauma resumed her perch on the sink. “You gonna go kneel before Rage? Or you more for licking Renny’s spike heels?” Trauma inquired like she was speaking of time and weather. I yearned to swiftly deny, but the image of debasing myself for Render’s pleasure made my core tighten and my cock jump. I shivered at the fantasy before being ripped from it by the lunch bell.

Trauma hopped down from the sink, “Look, I’m off to visual with Renny. You want me to let him know he’s got a knew sub?”

I turned so suddenly I almost fell. “NO!” I shouted before realizing she was already gone.

I stumbled from the bathroom to the theater for tech class. My teacher, a six-foot, round 23-year-old with dark eyes and a darker scruffy beard, sat in the back row yelling orders at various groups of workers on the stage and in the rafters. I flopped down in the seat next to him. I’d worked with him even before I’d come to this school, so he knew my talent, and I got away with a lot.

“Josh, my man, up for some programming?” He chuckled as he said it. He knew my answer.

“After school,” I muttered pulling my blue fat rim over my eyes. He put a thick stack of requests on my leg before standing to help some incompetent freshman.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, my hat was pulled off, and some hand was scratching at my short hair. I almost purred before wondering briefly who it could be, but the thought came and went instantaneously. The mystery person pulled my head to their shoulder, and I reveled in their scent—musk, pine and wild flowers. As they began to hum in my ear, I almost fell into a coma. I had not been this relaxed in about two months. Abruptly, the euphoria ended as I felt a sharp nip on the shell of my ear. My body jolted upright as did my penis. I loved a good dose of pain, and my ears were practically an on-button.

I turned my head as the hand tried to stop me. It gripped my short hair strands so tightly, that instead of cursing furiously at the sight of Render Koln, I moaned breathily. At least, that’s why I tell myself I moaned.

Render smirked, “You look like a dolly when you sleep.” The softness in his voice was such that I could only take the statement as a compliment. I couldn’t handle it. Render was about to say something else, but I darted. I vaulted over the row we sat in and sprinted for the stairwell to the light booth. I slammed the door and slid down it. Seems I been doing a lot of running today. My heart pounded as I heard clicks approaching the door.

Render tapped on the door once. “Dolly,” he whispered, “Come out and play.” Maybe he expected me to laugh, but my breathing only sped up. I knew he could hear me so I didn’t respond. “Dolly?” He tried again. “I guess I’ll leave this here.” I heard something drop to the floor, and Render’s heels start to retreat only to return. This time he crouched so his smooth voice as at my ear level. “Please come out, Dolly. I know how you feel. I’ll be nice. I won’t let Rage touch you.” An imploring pause followed each statement. When I responded to none of them, I heard Render sigh and his clicking footfalls fading away. My stomach clenched at the images that sound evoked.

I let out the breath I’d been holding while shakily standing. I had admitted my desires to myself, but I definitely wasn’t ready to face them in any live arena. Hesitantly, I reached for the doorknob, only to jump back as if it bit me. The loud pounding that startled me could only come from one person. I slowly pulled the door open to find a displeased Pansy on the other side.

“Told you,” she huffed, slapping my notebooks to my chest.

I stared dumbly as Pansy stormed up the steps to the light booth. “What? Told me what?” I followed, feeling like my whole world had flipped.

“Told you that you want that goth.” Pansy dropped onto the dirty couch and began ruffling through her huge designer purse. She produced a stack of papers and waved them poignantly at me, “And don’t even try to deny it. Every line of those two notebooks are full of sketches and poems about him.” I stared. Pansy just rolled her eyes and placed the thick packet of the table next to the light board. “Also, I was sent my Cohen and the big man to make you sure you got all that done.” Pansy was a dance/drama double major. Cohen was her dance teacher and big man was my tech teacher, Mr. Michaels.

“Will do.” I said dutifully as I set down my notebooks, but Pansy launched for htem. I stood waiting for her obnoxious announcement because I knew fighting for them was no use.

“I envy any eyes that may fall on thee. An envy so grave it rival thine eyes’ green. For I would, given the time, dote on thine every whim. Adore every line of such graceful limb.”

“Shut up!” I screamed as Pansy continued on reading my poem. “What do you want me to say, Pans?!” I screamed over her embarrassing recitation.

She stopped mid-line, “What got you to this point? I mean, I know you were never interested in any girls, but really? a goth cross-dresser? Are you trying to push the envelope?”

“No, if you read the beginning of that notebook, it started with me hating him. I wanted to fit in by beating him up. Those started as plans to get him and the kind of—”

“Changed into this sick bullshit. I mean, fuck, you talk about his cock! That’s so gross.”

Ashamed, I looked anywhere but Pansy’s disgusted face. Despite her appalled reaction, I couldn’t find any real shame in myself. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Pansy tossed the notebook to the dusty floor like she had been hold warm shit. “Promise me you won’t touch that freak.”

I mumbled some accent. I couldn’t help but thinking that maybe Pansy had assimilated too much. Over the last summer for the first time since we start high school, she had been around the jocks and cheerleaders instead of my brothers and me. She was losing herself and not caring. It terrified me. Pansy settled in for a nap like she hadn’t just slandered me. I propped myself on the uncomfortable rolling chair in front the board. I worked quickly and thoughtlessly.

For the upcoming dance showcase, the dancer had designed their lighting, and it showed. No one had every taught the dancers anything about lighting or its effects on a performance, so I had nothing complicated or interesting to program. I barely noticed when Pansy stood to leave as the final bell rang. My double period of tech theater was over, but I promised Mr. Mike over time. I continued working. About forty minutes later as I neared the end of the stack, I heard heavy steps coming up the stairwell. I assumed it was Michaels coming to ask whether I wanted come of the food he was ordering. As I heard the door open, I turned instinctively.

“No, I’m—” I stopped because instead of seeing a tall round man, I saw Rage. His messy chin-length hair was pulled up in a small bun with only a few strands falling around his face. His high cheekbones and square jaw stood out starkly in the dim.

He licked his lips and the metal glinted. I couldn’t hold back my violent shudder as Rage’s voice came out almost a growl, “So we starting the ‘no mean yes’ game already? Works for me.”

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