ao3 obsessed

Love was what pushed you in the middle of the night to leave your house. Love was what made you wander empty streets elated in previously unfound assurance.

Love was a body lying on the ground, chains chafing red marks onto perfect uncharted wrists. Love was fear, excitement, life shining from behind glossing over eyes. Love was a body laid out for one to consume, to appreciate, adore, the only way one could truly reveer.

Love was laid out on hardboard floors, moulding wooden planks dampening from distress-borne sweat, an elixir Sebastian couldn't await to rake his tongue across.

Love was Kimi Räikkönen, in the very way Sebastian dreamed up every night, sleep sweet and enchanting in the images it provided him. Love was a living dream; a living dream for Sebastian's taste buds to devour.

"Oh how I have wanted this, my love."

Kimi's eyes recentered, focusing on the source of the noise. A futile task, really, Sebastian had spent months searching, rebuilding, perfecting this place for his voice to ring out from every corner of every room. Kimi deserved the wonders of being consumed by Sebastian in the way Sebastian couldn't help but feel consumed by him.

"Love?"

"Yes. Aeons I have waited, but our souls can now converge. You're here. I'm there. We can now be one."

Sebastian's step echoed on the creaking floors. Each step a new promise whispered to Kimi's ear drum.

"Who are you?"

"You know me, you know me well, Kimi. I am who haunts your dreams, your days, your forevers."

Sebastian's face finally came into the scene. Backlit, warm light like a halo around his angelic features. Kimi's gaze fixed him, searching exactly who, what, why he was. Futile questions to ask so early, Sebastian's excitement wouldn't allow him to stay cryptic very long.

"Who are you?"

Each word was punctuated firmer than a man in his position should have the possibility to. Every syllable clear, far from the mumbled half words Kimi usually turned to using. The confusion on his face faded with Sebastian's next step, face in full view of his love.

"Seb?" A sigh of relief became the soundtrack to Kimi's liquefying body, "you scared me for a second."

"I knew you'd come around."

"Did you? With a stunt like this?"

"No power comes greater than love."

A laugh, decorated by the jingle of chains on wood, "are you planning to unchain me?"

"And refuse my prize?"

"Good point."

Kimi's words found themselves muffled by the weight of Sebastian's body sitting over his hips. Straddled. Restrained.

"What are you planning?"

Sebastian leaned down, back arching as his ear found its resting spot on Kimi's chest, "to devour you."

Badum. Badum. Badum. A rhythmic tune far removed from any stress. When had Kimi ever felt such an emotion anyway?

"How much do want to leave of me?"

"Nothing if you'll allow it."

Kimi blew into Sebastian's ear, curling up his torso as far as the chains would allow. Sebastian looked up.

"A lot of talking, all chatter. When do you plan to get your lips on me?"

The buzzing of orange lights stopped for a minute, light flickering, casting handsome shadows on a perfect face. Sebastian complied, leaning down, starving.

"Right about now."

The kiss was anything but. A pledge of alliegance. Sebastian's hand went frantic, palping up and down Kimi's torso, looking, feeling, searching for every detail he had to offer. Every sigh, moan, whisper, to suck up and taste like a sommelier would fine wine. Kimi's hips were oh so responsive to his. So had been his skin when he pulled his knife out.

Sheathed at first, handle pushing against the hard surface of Kimi's stomach. A pained grunt tasted like a beg for more. So Sebastian complied. Pushing, pushing, pushing, feeling resitance increase, inscreas, increase, then give. Giddiness filled Sebastian's limbs at the thought of the bruise blooming on the white canvas of Kimi's skin.

Kimi screamed, a sound between harrowing pain and unrelenting pleasure, teeth gnawing at Sebastian's splitting lips. Every lap into Kimi's mouth tingled his taste buds, swollen, raw. It didn't take long for Sebastian to smile into the metalic taste it had to offer. A cough into his mouth, a distinct wetness against his trousers.

The sheath came off within seconds.

Sebastian stepped back, a web of blood and saliva connecting the two, as though fates never wanted them to part. Sebastian made sure to not disappoint them.

Eyes looked back at him, boring deep in an unforgiving blend of want and a slight hue of fear. Kimi's mouth was bloodied over, choking ever so slightly on viscous fluids, body barely able to respond. The man was everywhere at once. Neither here, nor away. Kimi was his.

Sebastian's left hand gave into curiosity, lifting up the soiled white fabric of his t-shirt up to his chest, shifting oh so sweetly into such a new position. The blooming of purples and blues on tender organs warranted the constellations of kisses and shooting stars trailed with his tongue.

All Sebastian craved to do was decorate them.

Logan had lost count of the days he'd spent in this cold arena. He couldn't remember how many nights he'd slept in trees, how many nights he'd spent walking with Oscar, wondering which would be their last.

It was something they all knew no teenager should have to endure. Being thrown into this place and forced to kill for the Capitol's entertainment.

What did anyone even truly get out of it?

They called it Survival. The Victor would return to their home in the Victor's Village, reuniting with their families to live in what the Capitol called "Peace". But Logan had heard stories of the past "winners".

How to this day, they would wake up in a cold sweat, shaking, their minds still locked in the arena they'd escaped years ago. So was it really worth it?

No.

It couldn't be. The entire process was sickening.

He knew that now as he moved silently through the trees, Oscar walking a few short steps behind, keeping watch of the forest that they'd both learned could be deadly if you let your guard down.

"So what's five like?" Logan asked, trying to fill the haunting silence between the two.

Oscar paused.

"It's fine." He replied, "Big. Lots of... electricity."

Logan raised a brow at that response, a disbelieved chuckle escaping him. "So not very interesting?"

"Wouldn't say so."

They found a suitable spot to set up a moment later, Oscar making quick work of scaling a tree and tying himself off, eyes fixated on the setting sun while Logan followed behind.

He slung their bag around one of the branches, hanging off by the strap as he tied himself off.

"How about your family?" Logan said through a grunt while he hoisted himself up to a higher branch.

"Um. Big as well, I guess." He replied, "I have three sisters, and my parents. Full house. Still feels a little lonely though."

"Wish I could make it less lonely." Logan blurted out, and grimaced immediately after as if his words had an aftertaste.

Oscar snorted a laugh, looking up at him with that familiar glint in his eyes that would normally make his heart jump.

But instead, it sank.

"Hey, did you ever... figure out how many tributes are left?" He questioned.

"Four. Us, and the kids from District 1."

Logan's chest tightened, but he tried to play it off.

"Maybe they'll take each other out." He shrugged.

He didn't want to think about what would happen if they did, though.

Logan would rather die at the hands of a snarky career than those of the man he'd grown far too fond of.

He knew it was stupid. But his heart had a different way of working, even when his head knew that one of them wouldn't make it out of there.

As if on cue, the sound of a cannon echoed through the forest, making Logan flinch.

Three.

Only three remained.

Logan almost wondered what had happened.

Maybe they'd driven a spear through their heart, stabbing their district mate in the back like so many others had done. Maybe they'd shot them with an arrow, or maybe it'd just been an unfortunate accident.

They may never know.

The Capitol's anthem echoed across the arena as Logan shifted his tired gaze to the sky.

District 1, Charles Leclerc.

The hologram made him feel almost sick to his stomach, a living picture of a dead man.

But that was the game.

Oscar's expression caught his eye a moment later. How his eyes widened ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"You know him?" Logan asked quietly.

"We spoke." Oscar shrugged. "Back in group training, he... seemed like a good guy."

Logan didn't respond.

Everyone seemed good if you spoke to them long enough.

That's why he'd kept to himself in training, he didn't want to see the other tributes. Fearing that seeing their humanity would stop him from doing what he needed to survive.

Ironic, wasn't it?

He'd kept his distance to avoid caring. Only to find himself sharing food, stories, and too much vulnerability with the one person he could never afford to love.

"This place isn't built for sympathy." Logan said. "The more you feel for someone, the harder it is to pull the trigger."

Oscar nodded.

"Sounds philosophical."

"I'm serious."

"I know." Oscar huffed.

Logan looked away, "I just... wish things could've been different."

"We all do." The other man finally met his eyes, "But there's nothing we can do now."

Logan let out a shaky breath, trying to swallow back the words that he'd been holding for days.

But he couldn't hold them anymore.

"I don't mean the games. Like sure, it sucks and I hate it here," He laughed weakly, shaking his head. "But I mean us."

His voice cracked.

"I wish I could've met you somewhere else. Where we weren't given weapons and told to kill each other." He rested his head against the tree.

"I wish I'd gotten to know you before we both knew one of us wasn't going to make it out of here. I wish I could— I could care about you without thinking about which one of us is going to leave with the other's blood on our hands."

And then he stopped, trying to calm himself as tears threatened to escape. It was almost embarrassing.

Oscar was staring directly at him, his expression full of... something. It was hard to place.

He feared he'd ruined everything.

Then Oscar opened his mouth to speak, closing it for a moment in hesitation before the words came.

"I've been trying to ignore that." He murmured, "I don't want to think about that day, but when it comes..."

A pause, thinking his next words out carefully.

"I don't want you to be afraid to make the move." He stated. "I mean, from the start you seemed more bound for survival than I have. I want you to go home to your family."

Oscar shifted slightly on the branch he'd perched on, reaching up to pat Logan's leg.

"I really do care about you. More than I thought I could have, and even though we can't change the present... I'm happy I've been able to work with you."

Those words struck Logan straight in the heart.

He rested his hand on top of Oscar's, because he knew the words wouldn't come to him.

There was nothing he could say to make anything about this hurt less.

But the silence felt a little less terrifying with him.

For a moment, it truly did feel like tomorrow didn't exist. Because right now they weren't fighting for survival, they were just two boys sitting in a tree, pretending they had more time than they did.

Logan drifted off first, head lulled to the side as his breathing steadied.

Oscar followed him into rest, their hands staying interlocked until his arm eventually came back to his side.

Tomorrow was a new story.

Alas the smell of piss wafting up to his nose was a far cry from the salty ocean breeze stinging scratch marks. The sight of red tinged blues drowning in murkied water were in turn no more than a reminder of his own shortcomings.

There was something cathartic about it all, he supposed. Slumped there, only thing ringing in his head a loathing so passionate he could never come back from. Actually, scratch that. Loathing would hurt a million times less than the realisation it'd never love him back. That they'd never love him back.

What use was there for love anyway? Love wasn't going to pay his bills. It was a well known fact love always complicated work relationships. But a part of him still thought, still desired, still craved for the wamth of knowing he wasn't alone, that somewhere, deep in between the cracks, some sense of reciprocity shone.

But the trick was to keep breathing, wasn't it? To gasp around petals lodged in the back of his throat, punctuating each of his words with rasps and pollen. As long as oxygen hit his lungs, he could get there, he could find a way. Maybe the love would never come, but he couldn't be sure until each of his alveoli were but a memory, replaced by waxy green stems.

It was pathetic. There was something world shattering about it all. About the realisation the very thing you'd dedicated your entire life to could so easily chew you up and spit you out, not even worth consumption through the abuse. An afterthought. Nothing more. He could never be anything more. They'd made such a statement more than clear.

Races spent pushing further than he could. Perpetual sacrifices put on a gore-soiled altar; both the lamb and the augur. Oscar was growing tired of his sole job being to stab himself in the guts to please the very people having chained him to this cliff. Eagles were getting harder to fight off.

Perhaps they had been the ones to curse him here, planting seeds in the showing of lung peaking though the thorax they'd ripped open. A part of Oscar wished they'd pecked at his heart instead - fighting hope sounded a lot easier within the confines of a corpse.

Another cough. Oscar's tear hit the rim of the toilet. There was no use in cleanliness in such a state, he didn't deserve it. In another world maybe he would have. A world in which he'd manage to outdrive his car, outdrive his expectations, outdrive favouritism. It was possible. Others had done it before him. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't impossible. This was all just a curse for his own shortcomings. Oscar knew deep down he was guilty for his own demise.

Another tear joined. And another. All flooding down the walls of the bowl, mixing in the crimson stains streaking it. Pink as plastic rake scratches. Oscar was only half surprised to hear a giggle bubble out of him; a ridiculous choked sound like nails on chalkboard. A sound only turned to useless gasps and dry heaves.

Something was lodged in his throat. Of course it was. He'd been living with such a feeling long enough to recognise it. But this was far from customary. No. The feeling had never manifested itself in such a way before.

A hand reached up to claw at his throat. Body wracking in useless renditions of a Heimlich. Useless. Fingers gripped at his open mouth, shoved down, down, down. Flower heads ripped off one after the other. Endlessly. Like an avalanche of deep blues fated to drowning. His head began to spin, black spots dotting his vision. Blues looked no different from brown. It all was the same. Nothing was different. Nothing could be different. Not here.