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fissions-chips · 3 months

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party favour

(prompt 3: delirium. 'bad karma' au- tw for drugging, disorientation, noncon kissing + touch, and vomiting)

Everything was… too much. Far, far too much.

With one hand pressed to his aching head, Jon staggered along, struggling not to crash into the darkened figures that suddenly loomed in his vision. Sick, sick sound pulsed through him, shuddering up from the floor, and the moment Jon’s hand hit the wall, he sank against it, pressing his face to it for a moment and praying it would block out some of the light, some of the noise, something.

What the hell did that prick give me?

Valentine’s parties were an unusual fare for a man of his standing- for all his riches and all his power, Valentine hated galas, or fundraisers, or any of the other blasé forms of social gathering that CEOs and businessfolk generally had to allow themselves. He had been a rock star first, a man satisfied only with stage lights and the kind of beat that shook your chest with it… and even if he had toned it down, somewhat, to better please all of his guests, the neon lights and low, echoing sound was enough to rock Jon’s frazzled senses.

Last time he had been down here, in Silica’s lowest gathering hall, he had… he couldn’t remember, actually. The time before that, he did, because he had gone into that party painfully, painfully sober, with that metal muzzle-mask cutting into him. He’d been kept ‘at heel’ then, humiliated- stuck seated at Valentine’s feet the entire night, held by collar and leash like some stupid animal. The pain had been distracting enough, the mesh leaving dark bruising behind when the other had finally saw fit to loosen it from his face, after everyone had gone home- after everyone had gotten their kicks and taunts in.

That had been bad enough- Jon’s reputation had been on the rocks for years now, but his unpredictability had meant he was left well enough alone, back when he was on top. The occasional attempt at assassination, the occasional brawl, expected for one of his position. Now, as a prisoner, he had no such power to hide behind, and Valentine knew it. Everyone knew it. The muzzle had been a mark of that, of his fall from top to bottom- but this? Drugged to high-fucking-hell and tossed out among Valentine’s criminal elite?

It was worse.

“You’re coming,” Valentine had told him, “-as a party favour.” He had been grinning as he said it, smoke drifting from between his teeth as he shook pills out into his palm. “A cheap piece of entertainment for everyone- don’t look so glum, Jonny. It doesn’t take much to make you look like a joke. Here, be a dear and take these without a fight, would you? I’d hate to get blood on this suit.”

His enemies wanted to see him hurting and miserable, voice slurring and steps staggered and halting. They thought it was funny.

I’m not laughing.

Staring out into the crowd, Jon tried to catch sight of a familiar fur-collared coat and those damn tinted lenses- Valentine was his tormentor and a sick prick to be stuck with, but he was predictable. A constant. Familiar. With his vision swimming and sight, sound and sense blurring together, it was still a safer bet than the people whom Jon couldn’t recognize, sneering and snickering. Some of these guests, more than likely, had very good reason to see him harmed. Jon had a feeling that Valentine didn’t want him dead yet, and was likely keeping a closer eye on his guests than they realized- but he didn’t want to push it. He couldn’t afford to push it, when all it took was one penknife between his ribs or two hands around his neck, the other a second too slow to intervene.

If I did get stabbed, Jon wondered, taking a moment to slump back against the wall and breathe- his chest felt tight. God, he was burning up. Would I go to the hospital? Or to a bodybag in the trash? Valentine may not have wanted his ‘pet’ dead yet… but Jon doubted he was worth the effort to save. The other might even be tempted to throw him out while he was still breathing, left in some cold ditch or alleyway to die. The thought chilled him to the bone, and he tried to force it from his mind- an effort that felt like pushing a boulder uphill. His mind was racing too quickly for him to catch.

Maybe I’d get a bullet, he thought. He wondered when that had become a hopeful thought, instead of a miserable one- the realization struck him like a fist, and he stumbled, a sudden flood of nausea overwhelming him. One shaking hand pressed to his chest, he lurched away from the wall, swallowing thickly-

And tripped over a leg stretched outwards, sent toppling to the floor.

“-ATCH IT!”

Jon groaned, one arm shielding his head as a vicious kick was driven into his lower back, the sound breaking off into a strangled whine. Struggling to lift himself from the floor, he sank back onto his knees, trying to shake the stars from his vision. Laughter rang in his ears, and Jon bit back a curse as he struggled to his feet.

The one who tripped him flashed him a wicked grin, all bared teeth- panting, Jon’s eyes narrowed. He tried to place his face in his mind, but recognition was beyond him, and the longer he looked, the blurrier his vision became. Scrubbing furiously at his eyes with the back of one hand, he limped onwards. The stumble had brought with it one stroke of luck; he knew one of the voices, nearly lost among the endless, pulsing noise. Strong and musical and mocking- and he staggered towards it, dodging hands as he went.

Valentine had thrown himself halfway across a booth, a glass of liquor in one hand, cigarette perched in the other- he took a deep drag of it and breathed pale, sweet smoke, still snickering. The woman he was sitting with, face blurred, nudged him and pointed- Valentine tilted his head and smiled, all teeth.

Having fun? He mouthed- or he might have spoken. Jon couldn’t tell. Overwhelmed and sound-sick, he just bowed his head and waited, swaying on his feet.

Valentine leaned over to the woman across from him, said something with a sneer- then, a hand closed around his wrist and dragged him into the booth beside the other. Jon found himself crushed to the other man’s chest, Valentine’s arm snaking around his waist and pinning him there. “Too much?” He murmured, breath hot against Jon’s ear. “You don’t look too good.”

Fuck you, Jon wanted to snarl. Fuck you and all your stupid shit.

That’s what he wanted to say. Instead, he just nodded, relieved to be off of his feet for a moment. Valentine chuckled, taking a puff of smoke before turning his head and jetting it across Jon’s face. Coughing, Jon screwed his eyes shut, turning his face to hide it in the fur of the other man’s coat. There was a rumbling against his cheek as Valentine said something, shifted a little- Jon let out a long, quiet sigh.

He could hear the other man’s heartbeat, hidden from the world. It was strong, steady. This used to be comforting. Jon could remember that, at least. Part of him prayed it would be the same now, as much as he loathed the man he was curled up against, and as much as Valentine loathed him. How many bad trips had he spent, just like this? Curled up against the other, waiting until his head cleared and his hands stopped shaking.

His chest ached with something a lot like grief.

There was a sharp nudge against his shoulder- Jon groaned, turning away. Then, the grip around his body turned bruising, and he forced himself to lift his head, thoughts spinning.

“Here.”

The rim of a glass was pushed up to his lips, and Jon balked- Valentine’s voice sharpened, insistent. “Drink,” he purred. “You’ll feel better.”

A hand closed in his hair, Jon’s head tilted back as Valentine began to drain the liquor in his glass down Jon’s throat. It burned, and, sputtering, the smaller man tried to squirm away, his hands fumbling at the other- his teeth clicked against the glass and Jon began to choke, struggling to breath around the alcohol pouring into his mouth.

Thunk. The glass was dropped heavily onto the table, Jon left hacking and coughing against Valentine’s coat- the dark-haired man snickered, muttering something about “holding his liquor” as his hand tightened in Jon’s hair until it hurt.

Jon’s stomach roiled, and he closed his eyes, completely overwhelmed. The taste of alcohol was nauseating, burning- his whole body was burning. His skin felt too hot. Heart pounding in his chest, panicked and stuttering, the man suddenly found himself dragged upright as Valentine let out a loud, raucous shout.

“Oh, I know this one! C’mon, Jonny!”

Senses swimming, Jon suddenly felt that same, sickening pulsing course up his body as he was dragged to the center of the floor, Valentine’s hand locked around his own. Was it the music? Was it his heartbeat? Voices cheered and crowed as Jon staggered with the sudden motion, his knees nearly buckling- before he could fall to the ground, however, he was spun in another direction, Valentine’s voice taking on a mocking note as he hissed into his ear.

“Two left feet, Jon? Better keep up~”

With that, Jon suddenly found himself the unwilling partner in a stumbling, fast-paced waltz- Valentine stepped and spun effortlessly, his smile wide and dazzling as he sang along to the sound. Jon caught bits and pieces, the notes to some some song he couldn’t name- dizzy and overwhelmed by the motion, he struggled to keep up with the other and not collapse entirely.

The audience laughed and called, hooting and jeering as their faces blurred around them- Valentine preened under the attention, eyes glittering with cruel amusement as his fingers sank into the small of Jon’s back, digging into almost-healed bruises until the smaller man hissed in pain.

It was all too much. Completely disoriented, Jon let his head fall against the other man’s shoulder, humiliated. The cheering and laughter was loud, louder than the music, louder than the blood rushing in his ears- Jon, to his horror, found his eyes beginning to sting, and he pressed his face into the other man’s neck, praying that Valentine took the hint and gave him a moment to breathe.

I can’t keep this up. Jon couldn’t get his thoughts in order- he couldn’t focus. Coherence was slipping from him like sand through his fingers, and there was a foul, bitter taste beginning to rise in the back of his throat.

“-y, Val- o’er here!”

A sharp voice called across the room- Jon’s feet dragged along the ground as he was hurriedly pulled along, Valentine shouting something in answer, laughing. Legs shaking, Jon’s fingers dug into the other man’s coat, fumbling blindly as he was suddenly shoved away.

Come back.

Jon’s head knocked against the back of another booth as hands suddenly seized him- struggling, Jon was spun to find himself face to face with another man, a plume of smoke meeting him and leaving him doubled over and hacking.

“Remember me?”

Blinking furiously, Jon shoved at the sudden intruder, teeth snapping at the fingers that grabbed him by the jaw, forcing his head forward. Chest heaving, Jon tried to pinpoint the sleek, pale hair and the flat, dark eyes of the man in front of him in his memory. Trying to sort it out was like walking upstream, unable to get his feet beneath him- Jon scrambled for the only point of recognition he had. Those same grey eyes staring down at him as he sobbed against the floor.

Shit.

“M…Marcus,” Jon slurred. Swallowing thickly, his fingers found the wrist of the hand clutching his jaw and pulled, wincing as the grip only tightened. “You… broke my fingers once.”

The man’s brow furrowed in a scowl. “Not a nice way to greet your ex,” he muttered, shaking Jon slightly. “But fair enough.”

The next thing Jon knew, he was dragged forward, his lips crashing into the other man’s own. For a moment, he froze, completely stunned- a tongue slipped between his teeth, sour with alcohol, a hand curling around his ribcage and pinning him in place against the other man’s lap.

Reality crashed into Jon like an electric current- sudden, violent disgust flooded his body, face flushing dark with embarrassment and fury. Jon reeled backwards, hands blindly shoving at the other man, the grip locked around his jaw and the fingers creeping down his hip. Marcus laughed as Jon wrenched his head free, eyes wide with panic. Shit, shit, shit-

Marcus’s lip was bleeding. Jon tasted blood in his mouth, mingling with liquor and something bitter and creeping. He still felt too hot. Strong hands seized his wrists and slammed them against his sternum, Jon left wheezing for breath as the other man sneered. He couldn’t breathe. Head spinning and vision darkening at the edges, Jon could just barely make out Marcus’s snarled words as a sudden, plunging feeling dropped into his stomach, roiling.

“Calm down, you stupid fuck, I’m sure your boyfriend is fi-“

Jon vomited.

Immediately, the other man’s voice rose to a shout, Jon flung away as he doubled over violently, retching and coughing. Jon’s knees hit the floor and he toppled, gasping for breath. Heaving himself halfway upright, he tried to wipe the bile from his mouth, his hands shaking- he tried to lurch to his feet, heart rattling. He failed.

There was a sudden crash somewhere to his right- Jon turned his head to see the table had been sent tumbling to the ground beside him. He blinked, confused as to how it had gotten there.

Movement flickered in the edge of his vision, and Jon turned just as a boot caught him in the nose, his head cracking against the floor and his senses suddenly going black.

— — —

When Jon came to, he was on his back. Quiet chatter flickered at the edge of his senses, his ears ringing too sharply to make out anything more than garbled noise. After a moment- it stopped completely- he couldn’t feel any pulsing against his back.

Did the music stop?

Everything hurt. His mouth was dry, tacky with the sour taste of iron and bile- Jon’s eyelids flickered like camera shutters as he slowly brought his hand to his nose. His fingers came away dark with blood. Letting his head fall back against the tile, Jon struggled not to be swept under again, his vision refusing to clear.

Something was resting on his chest. His ribs ached.

After a few more moments, the pressure increased- Jon coughed, struggling for air. Shaking his head slightly, he managed to make it up onto his arms, looking down to find a shoe planted firmly against his chest. Following it up, Jon blinked to find Valentine looking over him, silhouetted by neon, flickering lights.

“I…” His mouth opened as if to speak, but Jon found that he couldn’t get the words out. His head felt like it was splitting open- like if he turned just right, he’d slip from his skull completely, like yolk from an egg.

Valentine’s eyes were cold. As the ringing slowly faded from his ears, Jon began to make out furious screaming, slowly quieting- Marcus, being steered from the room by two of Silica’s guardsmen. The man was spitting with fury, guests turning to watch him go as he was pushed from the doorway and disappeared down the hall, until the room was silent once more.

The man said something, quiet enough that Jon couldn’t make it out- he stared up at the other, still half-stunned. Valentine’s expression was unreadable, his eyes hidden behind his darkened lenses. Someone handed him a bottle from one of the tables- wine. Some kind of wine.

Jon swallowed.

“Apologies, everyone-“ Valentine suddenly called- all eyes turned to him, the room going still. “It seems my friend here has been having an… unpleasant trip.”

Looking down, Valentine’s eyes narrowed as he opened the bottle, tossing the cap away. “Bad taste in your mouth, Jonny?” He murmured- for just a moment, his lip curled in a look of fury. Then, just like that, it was gone, replaced by that flat, shallow smile that Jon knew so well.

“Here- something to wash it down with.”

Without another word, Valentine proceeded to empty the bottle over Jon’s head- the smaller man flinched, sudden cold spilling down the back of his neck, the front of his shirt. Eyes wide, Jon stared down at the red slowly beginning to bloom down the pale fabric, wine trickling down his face to mix with the blood splattered across his lip.

Alcohol. Bile. Blood.

Shaking the last few drops out from the bottle, Valentine stepped back, looking down at his wine-splattered shoe with a sneer. He let out a disgusted sound, turning on his heel to stalk away, through the crowd.

Jon blinked. His hands were shaking- he tried to form some coherent thought. Something to cling to.

The wine was cold. His clothes were wet. He reeked of vomit.

He still felt hot, he still felt sick, his skin still burned where other’s hands had rested on it- Jon’s chest began to heave. There were too many eyes on him. There were too many eyes on him.

To his horror, he realized that his cheeks were damp- and it wasn’t with wine.

Slowly, shaking so hard that his teeth were beginning to chatter, Jon tried to struggle upright. Around him, people moved, stepped away, returning to their conversations. The music began to pound once more- it was louder now.

He made it to his feet, legs trembling so badly Jon feared they would fail him completely. Some instinct warned him that if he went down, he wouldn’t make it back up again- something had broken up inside him. Something that wailed and sobbed like a wounded animal. Jon tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the way his thoughts were starting to spiral as his senses did, but he was helpless to stop it.

Staggering, half-blind, he was jostled by elbows and shoulders and shoving hands, people startling out of his way with shouts and insults. Someone kicked the back of his leg, and he stumbled.

Jon didn’t hit the ground. A strong hand curled around his arm, keeping him on his feet. Jon reached out, fingers tangling into fabric as he tried desperately to orient himself. The room was spinning. He couldn’t get enough air.

The grip around his arm was like iron.

Looking up, Jon found himself staring at a massive silhouette, the man looking down at him with a bewildered expression. Close-shaven hair and dark eyes, a furrowed brow- something about the face was familiar, in a way that tugged at the back of his mind.

I know you.

It took Jon a moment to realize that he had spoken- some slurred approximation of the words, all jumbled together. Unintelligible. Jon tried to step back, but the hand didn’t let go.

He tried again.

Stop. Let go. Please, let go.

This time, his voice failed him completely.

Jon didn’t protest when he was dragged out of the room and down the hall, shoved into a closet. Jon didn’t fight when his hands were roughly bound by the man’s own tie, or when he was pulled out into the cold outside. His feet slipped against the ground- he was tossed over the man’s shoulder and carried, limp and quiet.

He was tired. He was so, so tired. All the frantic energy of before had bled out of him, spilling right onto the floor with the wine. His chest was tight and his ribs hurt and his heart was pounding so hard he could barely feel one beat from another. When Jon was shoved into the back of the car, left sprawled across the seats, he did nothing- he didn’t have any fight left to give.

A small part of him wondered if this man was going to kill him. A small part of him hoped it would be a bullet.

And a small part of him listened to the steady rumble of the engine, and ached. Ached with longing to be anywhere else but tied up in the back of a car, waiting for death. Ached to be warm, and dry, instead of shivering and alcohol-soaked, the taste of bile and humiliation still sharp in his mouth.

Vision darkening, Jon let his thoughts drift- thoughts of himself, somewhere else. Somewhere warm. Someone… taking him home. Himself, sick, and someone else taking him home. Someone who would carry him inside and help him shrug out of his clothes, who’d wash the wine from his hair with gentle fingers and a quiet voice. Someone who’d help him into bed and let him curl up beside them, running a hand through his hair and saying sweet things to him- like in the movies.

He could almost picture it. Almost.

It was a nice dream.

#(fyi I forgot to mention this: Val’s skyscraper is called ‘Silica’ for right now!)#aka Valentine has a party and Jon has a bad time #i stg these just keep getting long but! i did it!#this one comes across as very quick-paced and a little confusing perhaps but I actually think that adds to the vibes. it fits the point.#- I also wanted to focus a tinyyy bit more on the emotional beats alongside the visceral ones but I don’t know if I succeeded. either way #- this was fun lol. poor jon. i wonder what will happen to him next…#fission’s fics

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