Dave Henderson (devotee) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-11-25 01:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | dave henderson, marijuana |
you promise me the sky/then toss me like a stone
Who: Marijuana and Dave Henderson, closed narrative.
What: 'Helping' Dave. *cough*
Where: Dave's apartment.
When: Tuesday night.
Warnings: Explicit drug withdrawal, hard drug use, very minor sexual undertones.
Marijuana stared down at the mortal sprawled out on the bed, feeling sick to his stomach as Dave's legs jerked, twisted under the sheets that were tangled around Dave's sweat-soaked body. The room reeked; reeked of old marijuana and cigarette smoke, reeked of the vomit drying on the carpet next to the bed, reeked of stale body odour that had permeated the sheets and, if Marijuana breathed in deeply, he thought, for a moment, that he could catch the slightest scent of the tears of pain rolling down Dave's cheeks. "Oh, my Dave." He breathed out, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice as he shrugged off his leather jacket and dropped it - avoiding the vomit - next to the bed. "My beautiful, stupid Dave." With his words, Dave curled inward on himself as tremors tore through his weakened body, Marijuana rubbing at his eyes as he stripped off his t-shirt next. Gently, he reached down to untangle the sticky sheets from Dave's body before slipping slowly down onto the mattress next to his second.
Instantly, Dave attached himself to his boss, still-jerking legs wrapping shakily around Marijuana's waist as bone-thin arms, already raked with red welts that were the product of a horrible perceived itch deep in Dave's blood, braced up against Marijuana's chest. "Make it go away." The whisper was hoarse, desperate, so close to breaking and Marijuana, as he held his mortal tight - too tight - closed his eyes to ward away the slight prickle of oncoming tears behind the lids. "I can't." Marijuana's voice was as rough, hoarse, as Dave's as he watched his mortal come undone before his very eyes. Dave whimpered, constantly shifting and kicking and trying not to throw up again as he clawed at Marijuana's chest. "Please. Please, just make it go away."
Marijuana pursed his lips and shook his head. "I can't stop the pain of withdrawal. I could cloud your mind, make you higher than you've ever been and it still wouldn't be enough." Heroin was stronger - not in power, but in effect - and even if Marijuana could make the pain go away... he could never act against his husband. Dave wasn't about to accept his boss' words and his reaching, grasping, aching fingers began to tug hard on the waistline of Marijuana's jeans, ready to offer up his body to the god like he had so many times before. "Please, I'll do anything you want, just reach into my mind and make it go away."
Slowly, Marijuana reached down to grasp Dave's wrists lightly. No one would be attracted to Dave right now. The mortal's body resembled that of a skeleton and white-pale skin was torn with gashes created by dirty fingernails trying to sate the itchy blood sensation that came along with heroin withdrawal. His eyes were dull and desperate, rimmed with black. There was dried vomit crusting in the corners of his cracked and bitten-bleeding lips, his hair was greasy, stringy and yet... Marijuana still thought he was beautiful. It was an effort to pull Dave's hands away gradually, especially when trembling fingers brushed up against slowly hardening flesh, but Marijuana drew one of Dave's hands up to his mouth, kissing the palm gently as he guided the other hand to rest on the pocket of his jeans, letting Dave feel the metal tin that Marijuana brought with him everywhere.
"I can't take your pain away, Dave. But you know what will." Lovingly desperate fingers stroked the tin through Marijuana's jeans, Dave practically salivating, twitching, aching, needing as he imagined how beautiful the white powder hidden beneath denim and metal was, as he imagined how perfect -oh, fuck, needle sinking into vein, plunger pushed, smack rushing, so beautifulperfectfuckingamazing - it would be to give up, give in, sink down into heroin-induced bliss. Dylan would understand. Dylan would have to understand.
Life wasn't worth living without heroin.
Marijuana watched Dave shake, a very similar train of thought running through his own mind. Life wasn't worth living without Heroin and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his husband, including getting Dave back onto the substance that would kill him in a few short weeks. Giving Dave the choice - although with Marijuana looking down imploringly at the weak-minded mortal and with Heroin across the street, it wasn't really a choice - to return to heroin's loving embrace was necessary, necessary for Heroin's happiness, necessary for how events were supposed to unfold, simply necessary. At least, that was what Marijuana was telling himself over and over again as Dave's ever-twitching fingers withdrew the tin from Marijuana's pocket.
Marijuana swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly, the clink of needle-tip against metal as the tin shook in Dave's hand sounding far too loud in his ears. Deafening, the sound of Dave's death approaching at the speed of a freight train. He only managed to open them as Dave's frustrated, close-to-tears voice drowned out the sound of oncoming death. "I can't- help me." Marijuana opened his eyes to the sight of Dave's jittery fingers attempting to grasp the spoon and lighter and bit his lip. Doing this himself? It would feel like killing his beloved second. With the image of Heroin's smile, his beautiful hair, the slide of his husband's body against Marijuana's own, Marijuana reached out to affectionately pluck the spoon from Dave's hand. The movements, they were second nature and soon enough, Dave - arm outstretched, practically panting for Marijuana to give him relief - felt the cold sting of the needle penetrating the already pin-pricked inside of his arm. An indulgent, bittersweet smile spread across Marijuana's face as he, ever-so-slowly, pushed the plunger, sending his husband's substance shooting through Dave's veins.
The mortal arched up off the bed, groaning in utter relief, fulfilment and satisfaction, his free hand gripping Marijuana's upper thigh tightly as the pain bled away and was instead replaced with nothing but pure euphoria. Eventually, Dave's body gave out and he collapsed back down on the bed, arms and legs spread out lazily as Dave's breathing slowed out to a sedate pace. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Dave whispered dreamily, staring up at the ceiling, thanking both Marijuana for giving him the heroin and Heroin merely for existing. Marijuana, gazing down at his second, let the needle roll away to land in the pool of vomit next to the bed and simply sighed in defeat.
"You're welcome." Tight, cold, hard, disappointed, Marijuana's voice couldn't cut through the haze of chemical bliss in Dave's mind, the mortal merely murmuring a happy sound of contentment as Marijuana stood, the god's hands trembling now as he stooped to retrieve his t-shirt. Bile rising in his throat as Marijuana contemplated the fact that he had doomed Dave to die yet again, he did his best to shove every negative thought down into the lake of apathy within his psyche. It didn't work very well and Marijuana's voice trembled as he spoke. "I expect you back at work tomorrow morning." Dave, barely capable of doing anything other than nodding vaguely, just laughed blurrily, pulling the covers up over his head and swimming in the warmth of blankets and heroin and everything that was beautiful and right in the world.
Marijuana barely remembered leaving the apartment, barely remembered the walk up the Highway stairs, barely remembered throwing himself to his husband's arms. What he would remember was choosing, choosing yet again to sacrifice Dave for the sake of his relationship with Heroin. Over and over again, he would tell himself that it was worth it but at that moment, even as Heroin's arms circled his frame and a kiss was pressed to his temple, Marijuana wasn't entirely sure what was worth anything anymore.
"I love you, Heroin."
The words and the feelings behind them were Dave's final death sentence.