Work Text:
Before
Victor stood solemnly in the mirror, biting his shirt in his teeth.
Observing his bullet scars, he traced his fingers over them slowly, feeling the scar tissue beneath his rough hands. Sometimes, just like now, the scars would sting. It almost felt like he was being shot again, Eli in front of him with that same, unaged glare, shooting him in that room. Victor could practically feel the warmth of his own blood beneath him. Hugging him. Warming him up like his mother never had.
His mother? Ah. It'd been a while. Though, Victor was never close to his parents, much less his own mother. He never enjoyed basking in wealth the way they did. They never really connected about or with anything.
Unfortunate, he knew.
Lowering his shirt, Victor turned down the dial. It still felt like his skin was prickling, something weighing him down. Nothing hurt anymore, even with the dial up. He was just in a constant state of discomfort.
Walking into the main room of yet another motel, Victor spotted Mitch and Sydney. They were at the table, playing that silly card game. He’d forgotten the rules.
Before cont.
Blurry. Everything was blurry. Yet, it kept him awake: the constant cutting into his flesh. Eliot hated reliving such an inhumane experience. What stuck with him the most was when his heart was cut out whilst he was breathing. How he felt the new one grow in. Slowly. Painfully. How once Stell called off the experiments, he burned those images into his brain, fresh each time he closed his eyes. At least he would never have to look at them again.
Sometimes, he experienced it all again in his dreams; he’d feel the blood, warm and thick on his tan skin, dripping…dripping until that disgusting scientist wiped it away. And he’d remember his prayers, how he begged God to make it stop, and how God ignored him and allowed it to happen because it was His will.
But now, all that mattered was this meetup. Marcella, specifically. The ruiner and her party.
Yes, she was important, but Eli was more focused on these tracking devices. Would they notice that he’d ripped them out of his skin? Cut so deep into his flesh to rip them out and wash them down the drain. Perhaps not.
During/Present
"Shoot me, Eli,” Victor commanded, that same smirk painted on his face. Even after so many years, he still looked so similar. Older, but similar. Eli still swooned at that pale skin, at that blonde hair. Even in the moonlight, it shone on the pale strands, accentuating the lack of color in Victor’s pigmentation. Though, it also brought forward the wrinkles he’d received, only furthering how intimidating and brooding he’d become.
Everytime he saw Victor, he wondered where his Vic went.
Eli on the other hand… That unaging face, the face that turned cruel in the past 15 years. The same face that looked tenderly at Victor no matter what he said or did. How his eyes, empty and observant, would turn harsh and cruel, blazing that firey look that held his secrets–his dark ones–and his anger when he thought no one was looking, or how they turned tender and full when he looked at what he loved.
Victor could never tell whether that was he or Angie.
Eli stood there, shaking as he held up the gun. Victor stood there wounded and bloody, yet none of it was present on his face. The pain, that is. It didn’t seem to bother him. Not one bit. That irked Eli.
Yes, he healed, but that didn’t mean that whatever Victor did didn’t fucking hurt.
Smirking, Victor stepped closer, his footsteps deafening in the silence Eli so elegantly provided.
He gulped and took a step back. This amused Victor.
“Oh?” Victor purred, tilting his head to the side. He stepped even closer, putting his chest up to the gun, feeling the cold metal through his ripped shirt. In the dark, his blood looked black. The moonlight did that, Eli supposed. “Aren’t you going to shoot me?” he asked, grabbing the barrel of the gun. “Shoot me, Eliot,” he commanded again, his tone much harsher.
Eli paused in that moment, scowling at Victor as he cocked the gun. The noise was gentle, a soft click that made Victor’s smile grow. But, Eli caved, lowering his hands from the gun with a shaky breath, leaving Victor’s pale hands on the barrel pressed to his own chest. He couldn’t shoot him, he realized. Not Victor. Yes, he’d done it before, yes he’d even killed him before, but he couldn’t now. If Sydney had died that night–the night Serena introduced them, then Victor wouldn’t even be here.
Such a thought brought no comfort.
Victor got sour, clicking his tongue in a “tch” as he flipped the gun, pointing it at Eli instead. He pointed it straight to Eli’s head with a hum. “If I shoot,” Victor said, leaning in close to Eli. He could feel his blond hair on his nose, loose and messy and dried with blood. Victor continued, “Do you think you’d die?”
Eli’s breath was short, shaky as he spoke. He used to be so good at composing his emotions. What changed? Was it Victor? Perhaps the feelings he awakened.
Eli scoffed, leaning into the gun, just as Victor did minutes before. “Let’s find out,” Elliot hummed. “If I can grow a heart, I can grow a brain.”
“Think your new one will make you smarter?” Eli would have laughed if the circumstances weren’t so harsh.
After
None of the males (what could you call them? They certainly weren't boys, and men was not something they qualified for anymore--much less gentlemen ) were sure how it happened, their relationship. After Victor's snarky remark, everything was a blur.
Eli remembered a gunshot, though neither he nor Victor were wounded, each of them left with the ringing in their ears. And he remembered a kiss. Clashing teeth. Feelings… Ones that weren't love, nor hate. It was more complex, something beyond any explanation–beyond any word or statement a dictionary or book could provide.
Eli didn't mind if this feeling was one that he felt forever. He didn't mind if it replaced all else.
Eli sat up then, realizing he was back in Lockland. Or…something that looked that way. Was he dreaming? Flinching at a movement beside him, Eli looked over, furrowing his eyebrows at Victor's sleeping figure. He looked back over, feeling around the in darkness of the room for his glasses that were set neatly on a nightstand beside him. He could see much clearly then, realizing that Victor, asleep by his side, was in fact, not a hallucination.
Eli reached out slowly, retracting his hand for a moment before putting it back out there, gently resting his hand on Victor's head.
He relaxed his hand, feeling the softness of Victor's blond hair, caressing his scalp gently. He gently grabbed chunks of his hair before smoothing them down, nearly melting at the closeness.
Victor stirred, and Eli quickly turned away, the sheets rustling as he did so. At least they weren't naked. Perhaps Victor remembered more (he didn't). He had a very impressive memory.
Hugging the pillow, Victor's eyes fluttered open, and he looked around, taking in the room's appearance. The smooth, beige walls, thick, red curtains that blocked the sun, the black furniture and lamps that tinted yellow when they were turned on, giving that disgusting orange like hue to the room.
He sighed, closing his eyes and ignoring Eli’s presence. He could only really sleep with Eli by his side. They did it a lot back in college, though, he wasn't sure this behavior was appropriate given how the last 15 years went.
The two were bonded. Bonded by pain and suffering, but also by blood and death. Yes, Victor missed Eli, but the desire to see him suffer never left.
He opened his eyes, sitting up, his long hair messy and unkempt, a side of him only Eli ever saw. The blonde strands fell over his gaunt features like barriers, a remember to Eli that there would always be a wall between them.
Eli's mouth felt dry then, and he finally looked away, adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his curls. This was awkward. For him at least.
Then, it happened again–the kissing.
Their teeth clattered again, and Victor took the initiative, taking advantage of Eli’s gasps for breath to shove his tongue past the other's lips, tangling them together like a complicated puzzle.
Victor grabbed Eli’s face in a single hand, turning up the dial. Not enough to hurt Eli, just enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Tense. Enough to fully grasp his attention.
Eli placed each of his hands on Victor's waist, feeling the fabric of his elegant clothes beneath his fingertips, rich and thick; the way he always was himself. And the bandages beneath those. Another wall keeping him from getting closer to his secret love.
Attempting to go further, Eli trailed a hand underneath Victor's shirt, but he was stopped by a sudden pain, and he instinctively pulled away.
“Don't do that,” Victor warned with a straight face. He had to have practiced it countless times because there was no way he was so perfect.
Eli frowned. Victor never went further than a simple kiss. If he was so desperate for Eli's attention, why didn't he accept one of the only ways Eli could offer himself fully? He gave Victor a funny look.
“Don't take it personally,” Victor smirked, turning Eli’s head forcefully to the side. He granted himself access to the other's neck, lips and breath grazing his smooth, supple skin. Victor silently envied the way Eli never aged.
“You look better when your hair isn't combed back,” Eli muttered, managing a smirk through Victor's grasp.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Another kiss. Better than the last.
Perhaps it was better this way. They couldn't be friends, and they couldn't be lovers. They'd always be separated from eachother. Their feelings towards the other always interfering with any fight they had. Though, they were okay with that, weren't they? They both hated each other immensely–that wouldn't change.
The world was cruel. Perhaps if Vic and Eli didn't get so caught up in coming the living dead (EOs) then Angie would still be alive, and Sydney would still be with her sister, and Serena would still be alive, and no one would hurt so much.
Things are better when you're clueless.
But this was no time for wishes. No time for fantasies that could never come true.
Victor pushed Eli on his back, biting his collarbone and turning up the dial.
As much as Victor wanted to use Eli as his test subject and see just how much he could take, he didn't. Unlike Eli, he had some self control.
Eli winced slightly, cringing at the pain. Victor's teeth bit hard enough to break through that layer of skin, perhaps creating a bruise or drawing blood. Though, he didn't mind.
In return, Eli dug his nails into the back of Victor's neck, leaving behind a red irritation and skin under his nails.
That's what they did. They hurt. They destroyed. None ever claimed to be saints, and they never claimed to be good. It was a battle–a constant one. One that begged to find out who was truly better than the other; and they always tied.
Perhaps they were both losers, basking in the others failure and feeling triumph at what they did better.
The moment ended abruptly, though, when Victor pushed Eli away. He'd lost his attention, Eli recognized. Lost his intrigue.
Victor needed to think. Eli wanted to talk. He wanted to touch--to feel the other. Being this close wasn't enough.
Each of their lips were swollen, red from the kiss. Eli felt his skin heal, and Victor turned the dial back down, numbing his own irriation on his neck. Turning up the dial with Eli around helped him feel and remind hinself that he, too, was still alive. Because life didn't end when Eli left. Life didn't end when Eli called the cops on him that night.
Victor grabbed his coat and ran a hand through his hair. As he left, Eli's handsome features scanned Victor's gaunt ones.
He caught his gaze for a moment, and he saw Vicious staring back at him, icy blue eyes cold with rage and disgust. And Victor saw Eli Ever. Not Eliot Cardale, who Eli was stuck to be forever, but the same killer who slaughtered more than 50 people in God's name. The same person who shot him and killed him countless times.
Victor slammed the door, leaving Eli behind. He wanted him to feel the pain and loneliness of being abandoned when he needed him most.
Thats all they'd be. Enemies. Anything they used to have couldn't be recovered. Couldn't be saved.
Everything was beyond repair. Left behind in Lockland University where dreams were created and destroyed.
Where their souls died and were replaced by the monsters they'd each become.