This story is an AU (Alternative Universe) and Out of Character fanfiction written for YasminBJD, containing mostly her characters (see Credits and The Stories for details) and a couple of familiar faces.
It is my own interpretation of Les liaisons dangereuses/Dangerous Liaisons and contains scenes of a very sexual and sometimes upsetting nature, and strong adult language and themes. Please keep this is mind if you choose to read on!
And now... on to the story! Enjoy...
My lip is bleeding. Profusely. Fuck... Ana is lifting me off the concrete and dragging me away from the broken glass. I can hear voices in the distance... angry voices. Ana is swearing at them.
"Fuck you, assholes!" she screams back at them.
Adrenaline, slowly bringing me back from the brink of Extremely Wasted. "What did..."
"You hit on one of their girlfriends... in front of them, you wanker!"
Sounds like something I would do... I remember. The redhead. Damn, she was hot. "Oh..."
"I can't take you anywhere without you getting in to bother... Milo, how are you going to explain your bust-up face to the headmasters?"
She's slurring a bit. I'm more worried about how the hell I'm gonna get over the fence with these skinny jeans on. We bundle ourselves into a taxi, and Ana tells the driver the address of Harringly Manor, the student dorm for Harringly Boys Academy.
"I really am so sick of looking after you..." Ana mumbles, handing the taxi driver five quid as we roll up in front of the halls. The car stops, and she pushes me out of the door. She asks him to wait for a little.
"Help me over the gate..." I slur. She's grabbing my waist and lifting me a bit so I can get my feet through the bars. She's surprisingly strong for her tiny shape. I manage to climb to the top and jump over without breaking anything like I do most nights, but not without tearing the inside seam of my jeans. God-freaking-damn.
She whispers a quick "Be careful" before running back to the taxi and leaving me to run (I use the word loosely, given the amount of alcohol in my system; it's more like stumbling with a bit more speed) across the dark grassy grounds. It's so late that even the sensor lights don't come on when I approach the door, which works better for me. I edge around to the back of the building, not needing to count the windows to find the right drain pipe to climb; I've done this so many times now.
Risking death for the third time this week, I teeter on the edge of my window, two floors up, grateful that Sober Milo didn't completely close the window before leaving earlier. It wouldn't have been the first time, I think to myself as I push it the rest of the way open with ease and slide through.
All of Tom's stuff is gone. He must have moved everything to his new room while I was out. He was the third one this semester... I smirk a little. Tom was high-grade; he knew what to do with his tongue.
These boys really don't know what to do with themselves when I bring out The Thing in them. A new boy will come in, and all I want to do is help them. Well, that's what I tell them. Really, I just love their innocence so much I have to destroy it, before consuming them from the inside out. They think moving rooms will help, but often they sneak back for more. Though, by then, I've usually moved on to my next pupil. Stupid boys...
I barely even scraped Tom's surface before he gave himself over to guilt. I managed to convince him to give me a few blow jobs, but I guess the whole 'being the son of a Catholic priest' thing kind of quickened the death a bit. But really, who sends their son to an all-boys school and expects him not to suck a few dicks?
As I fall into bed, still fully clothed, I begin to wonder... Do the other students dread the day they'll get called to swap rooms with whatever sorry-excuse-for-a-cock-sock has gone running to the headmaster begging to move to a different block after discovering he likes it up the ass a bit too much?
Light streams through the open curtains, hitting my face at full force. My sore eyes flicker open, and the hangover barrels over me like a train. Sweet Jesus... I realise I've pulled my jeans off at some point in the night as I roll from the bed, landing painfully on the floor and crawl to the small en suite. I feel like something from a Japanese horror film, croaks and all.
I somehow make it to the toilet before I spill whatever is left in my stomach after last night's drunken debauchery, memories slowly coming to. The redhead, the flying fist, the blood... I would have laughed if it had been anyone else. I feel a sharp sting on my lip as stomach acid pours from my mouth.
Just as I'm inwardly about to proclaim my permanent withdrawal from alcohol (something like "I'm never drinking again!", a false statement, always) I hear keys in the front door. Shit, that must be the new roommate already.
"Jones! You awake yet?"
It's Mister Foress, thank god; the one teacher who doesn't think I was a complete waste of perfectly good sperm (as accidental as I was).
"Uh... yeah, I'm just in the bathroom..." I run to the sink, quickly splashing my face with water and rinsing my disgusting mouth out. Apparently, I ate a dead dog last night that didn't quite sit right with me.
I slowly unlock the door, excited to see who my new victim is but also a little gutted I didn't get to enjoy the empty room for longer. I poke my head out.
"You can just put your stuff there..." Foress says, gesturing towards the other corner of the room. I still can't see the boy, but I hear a quiet mumble in response. "Right, well... I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I'm sure you know each other already..."
Foress walks past me, a look of warning in his eye. "Try not to torture this one, yeah?" he says snarkily before letting himself out.
I smile weakly, mainly because I literally feel weak from all the vomiting, but also because I'm a bit scared of him. I stumble a little towards the central part of the room, in time to see my new roommate opening a box of items.
Well, this day just keeps getting better...
"Kikuchi..." My voice cracks a little. I can't even try to mask my disappointment.
He turns to peer at me, his eyes a permanent glare of disapproval. He looks me up and down with disdain. "Charmed, I'm sure," he says, his posh voice not fitting the sarcasm lacing his tone.
I sigh abruptly and stumble back to the bathroom to wallow in despair.
Theodore Kikuchi; He Who Cannot Be Fucked.
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