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The Feast

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The Survivor's Lament

I know there are humans out there who don't crave intimacy, and yet I know that there are so many of us who do. I am one of those who reaches for the stars like a little girl who has only ever dreamed of a field and lightning bugs. A cynic, heart broken, who reaches desperately for the closeness of another. A whole generation of people with twisted hearts and even darker minds, crying to themselves or not at all. The only true attraction I have ever felt is that of being close to another, in no way definable, describable, just the simple and completely suffocating feeling of wanting to melt into another's skin, become smoke, leak into their pores.

One who wants the unachievable may never be happy, but they will always have a purpose.

We are such wasted souls, groaning in the dark, under the weight of physics and the fact that we never even truly touch each other, our minds trying, crying to connect, to link and perfect, and all the times you've failed are like stones in your mouth. Who craves like this? It's the weird ones, the true ones, the ones who got screwed up way too young and too fresh and too innocent, who knew what it was to feel completely alone and that hollowness in your chest and the burning in your throat before they even knew other people could ever touch minds, that you could ever see things like another person does and it would pop your little bubble of sanity. But maybe that's all of us.

But I know them; I know the half broken ones, my people, and we are all a little broken but these, these people are different and I look at them and I see myself and my whole body lurches with the need to be understood. We are like kindergarteners, pigtails and whispering on the playground in a little metal tube, trying not to bump our heads, "do you know it?"

I know it, yes I do, I know it. I crave into the night like you, too, into the early hours of the day and all day and I burn like you and I breathe and pretend it isn't there. Like I don't feel alone. You are like me, baby, you're like me, we can be together too, but you're too much like me, just like me, got to be scared too. We are so damn good at being afraid.

I'm no romantic but I dream of fields and lightning bugs and stars and I like to lie to myself.

Sometimes I lie awake at night and I'm trying to cry and not to at the same time, little sobs and sniffs and "oh god why's". And I pray like a dying man to a god I'm not sure exists anymore, "please God, please, please," and I'm sobbing, "just give me somebody, let me be close to somebody, please, let somebody know me, let me be close, let me know, let me give all the stars bursting in my heart like the fireflies in the dark and let me, God let me explode, and give me somebody who can hand me some glue to put myself back together again. I don't wanna be your iceberg baby girl anymore, God give me something, someone, give me the sun or the grass or the time."

I beg and beg and say, "let me feel close, like they told me I would feel to you before I never felt anything anymore, like they said I would always before the girls picked out my hairs one by one, until they lost their voices and scratched out their throats and got tired of their own naivety. Let me be close to another. Let me be. Let me have that intimacy."

And I never get an answer.


When Natsu finishes sucking Laxus off, he spends a good twenty minutes trying to vomit into the toilet.

The damn prick was a bitch about it, too (the blow job that is). The blond choked him deliberately and kept fucking whining and trying to piss Natsu off.

Natsu decides to fantasize about all ways he could make Laxus' life a living hell. Number one on that list is biting off his dick. He doesn't really feel like going through the physical exertion of a fight with Laxus of all people, though, and lord knows he'd have some explaining to do to the rest of the Guild afterwards.

"He was being a bitch while I was blowing him, so I bit off his dick."

Even if Laxus passed out from blood loss, he'd still have Freed to deal with. Laxus is apparently thick in more than one place if he can't see the way Freed looks at him.

Satisfyingly, Laxus isn't even that long, which gives Natsu a spark of triumph. He's just got girth, and seems to be trying to make up for his lack of length by fucking choking Natsu. Acting like he's eight inches or some shit.

Arrogant prick.

Natsu's not 100% sure, but he thinks Laxus might have deliberately gotten cum on his clothes, too. Just to ruin his day even more.

Although technically Natsu is more at fault for this altercation. Since, you know, he cornered Laxus in the bathroom and all.

He was pissed off. At himself, at Gray, at Laxus, at several people in the Guild, and he needed to blow off some steam. Oh, God. Bad choice of words.

Really, other than the vindictive dick-biting thoughts, all Natsu was thinking while he was sucking him off was "dear lord, please don't make any lightning puns about your penis."

Afterwards, Laxus leaves Natsu on his knees on the hard restroom floor. Natsu pushes down the torrent of self deprecating thoughts that come in a wave of nausea, but it's still a little overpowering.

Little whispers of, "deserved it," and "filthy," whisper through his mind, and the nausea only grows. Fuck, he's gonna puke.

He tries, hovering over the toilet, moving the muscles in his throat, trying to make them think something is wrong. When that doesn't work, he uses two fingers, pushing them into the back of his throat.

He gags, choking on his spit, and heaves over the toilet, but nothing comes out.

He just needs to throw up, and then he'll feel better. All of this will go away. He just has to puke.

He keeps trying, muscles in his abdomen going sore. His gag reflex just isn't strong enough anymore. At one point he gets so frustrated that he starts hitting his fists on the rim of the toilet, willing himself not to cry like a little bitch.

It's no use. He can't do it. And in the end his throat just feels awful and his head is pounding and he's ten times as nauseous as before.

Maybe he'll just go eat something. Have some tea. Go find Happy, pretend he didn't just spend twenty minutes trying to throw up in a bathroom stall and he isn't shaking and pale and he can totally tell if his eyes or watering or if he's crying.

Maybe he'll pick a fight. Maybe he'll look down in shame when Laxus fucking looks at him all smug like he knows some big fucking secret when really he knows fucking nothing. Nothing at all. Fuck.

He does all those things. But when Lucy notices how shaken up he is, even after Gray has stormed off rolling his eyes, and asks him if he's okay, and he shrugs and throws her a smile that she can probably tell is fake as hell, she hugs him.

That makes him think that maybe things aren't quite as bad.

And then she asks him what that stain on his shorts is. He tells her not to worry about it, but she gives him an incredulous look that tells him she definitely fucking knows what that is, Natsu, I wasn't born yesterday.

Eventually she rolls her eyes as if to say, "I don't even want to know," and hugs him again. She walks him and Happy home and even offers to stay over if he wants, but he tells her that he wants to be alone, and besides, he doesn't want to incite Erza's wrath if she were to find out.

He really doesn't want to be alone.