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The Soundtrack Of A Burger Joint.
by Vengeance (vengeance_xo)
at May 4th, 2009 (07:54 pm)

Author: vengeance_xo or venomous. @ Mibba.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Mark Hoppus/Tom Delonge.
Genre: Romance/ Angst
Length: Single Chapter.

Around me nothing stirred. The asphalt stretched out before me, an obsidian pathway leading to god-knows-where. Crisp air, ripe with pollution and decay, stung at my lungs. I found myself smiling to myself in the midnight hush, lips twisting around the crescent shaped grazes that blotted my hollowed cheeks.

I tasted blood, thick like tar and woven with formaldehyde. Strands of dark, muddied hair dangled in front of my eyes like strips of flesh left to dry in the sun. I could smell the sizzling, scorching, searing meat as the radiation filtered down.

Pausing, I let my mind return to the present, away from the tantalizing memories of what seemed like another lifetime. Raising my head, like a wild animal scenting the air, I inhaled deeply. That preservative fresh smell of artery-collapsing, gut-clenching fast food filled the air. Trembling skeletal fingers scrounged through the pockets of my jeans seeking illusive copper coins that signaled the quenching of thirst and the satiating of my hunger.

Florescent bulbs, humming with swarming insects, sent their light flickering and filtering down onto my skin. The burger joint, filled with shift workers, alcoholics and hookers, was the first glimpse of civilization I had seen in days.

"That'll be three ninety-five"

I paid the slack-jawed worker-bee sales assistant before grabbing the flimsy, Chinese sweat-shop tray and sinking into the closest booth. An unconscious bead of saliva sank down my chin as I gulped in the intoxicating aroma.

Around me I could feel the stares of the other patrons boring into my back like a thousand niggling termites. I could feel their curiosity, burning with the flame of unasked questions. My shit-eating grin returned. If only they knew who I was – if only they knew my story.


Tears leeched from my eyes, beading like glass on my cheeks. Mark's sapphire eyes stared into my own, that same expression of disbelief and horror that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

It had been four years since the last word had passed my lips; it had been four years since I had lost all hope. I crouched trembling on his bedroom floor; arms laced like shoestrings around my knees, hugging them to my chest.

"H-h-h-he did it again?" Mark's aloe-Vera voice shook with emotion, fingers clenched into my back over my shoulder blade. The lilac bruises and festering scabs were all the words I needed. All I could do was nod; all I could do was cry.

"Tom…this can't keep happening. You – we really need to do something," he spoke again, shuffling closer so his head rested in the back of my neck.

I remained silent, the sobs sending showers of noiseless salt down my face. Mark had become used to these one-sided empty conversations. We were together and that was all either of us needed.

A breeze stirred up the yellowing leaves outside and I felt my self subconsciously move closer to my lover. Mark's lips grazed over my neck, silent and full of emotion. I turned to face him, not daring to breath.

I could taste the fear on his skin as our clothes slowly fluttered to the floor. His calloused fingers tangled themselves in my hair; I could feel a moan beginning to rise in the back of my throat. Reaching out I pressed my palm against his naked collar bone, just enough pressure for him to realize what I wanted. Turquoise eyes gazed at me and a half-smile registered on his lips.

"You want to hear me say it?" he asked breathlessly, lungs striving to contain his excitement. I nodded slowly, fingers trailing along his shoulder, afraid that somehow this moment would end. Mark smiled at me.

"I love you Tom," his voice ringing with the metallic finality of complete honesty. The words sent a chill down my spine and I mouthed the words back, 'I love you Mark'. Though the words didn't pass from my throat the way Mark's had, the same utter honesty rang true.


"Get the fuck out, faggot" he snarled at me. His voice ripped and cracked like tearing, fraying fabric. My eyes met his, shocked and full of fear.

"This is it, get the fuck out now. I never want to see you again"

I doubled over; the impact of the words as painful as a punch in the stomach. His fist smashed into the side of my head and my vision erupted into a kaleidoscope of vibrant colours. I fell heavily to the hardwood floor, breath forced from me like a balloon deflating under the weight of the world.

I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head like useless discarded marbles. I writhed on the floor as more blows erupted onto my already broken body.

"You are not my son" the words spat and crackled like steam rising from the glowing embers of a wildfire.

Finally able to jerk my tired body into a sitting position, I stared up at my father, face contorted with hatred. 'I hate you'; the words formed on my lips but they never made it out of my throat.

Not even looking at me, he threw my jacket at my feet. It was the dark, battered bomber jacket Mark had bought for me from the thrift store when we were just kids mimicking Indiana Jones. My bloodied hand reached out to feel the coarse leather, worn and tattered from the near constant wear.

"I don't ever want to see you again," my father voice was now eerily calm, like the ocean before a storm. Gulping, nodding, choking and gasping, I staggered to my feet.


The tiny bell above the door jingled, the sound breaking the constant monotony of the burger joint soundtrack of clanking dishes and hissing deep fryer. I kept my eyes focused on the red plastic tray in front of me, finding interest in the stress fractures and jumble of graffiti that obscured the shoddy workmanship.

My view of the plastic was buried as a shadow descended over me. Raising my eyes, I took in the site of Mark's worried face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sliding into the booth seat beside me, placing his hand on top of mine as if to shield it from some unknown force.

Turning to face him, I felt a smile form, a light-hearted gesture that had been missing from my life for such a long time. Mark's eyebrows shot up in surprise at my sudden good mood, a smile beginning to form on his own lips. Moving closer, he slid his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him.

Holding up my hand, I motioned for him to stop. He watched me intently, obviously confused. Nervously I twisted my fingers into his shirt, relishing the feeling on the warm skin beneath. Clearing my throat, I leant in to whisper into his ear.

"I love you Mark," the first words uttered from my lips in four years, "I love you so fucking much."

"I know Tom, I love you too"

Hand in hand, we began to walk. The asphalt stretched out before us like writhing, shimmering obsidian. The silence between us was comfortable; there was no use for words now, all had been said. We were together and that was all either of us needed.


This is the first piece of proper slash I've ever written. Don't let MATAG die! Please!


Posted by: Viktoria (todead2cry)
Posted at: August 4th, 2011 02:23 am (UTC)

I love this piece and have read it many time <3 it is really beautifully written.

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