Writing From the Inside

Barnabas whipped him. Hard. With a switch. Told him to take down his trousers, bent him over the table, and whipped him for an offense that seemed so inconsequential when he’d done it, that by the time Barnabas let him up from the table to pull up his clothes, all thought of it had vanished from his head. The only thing that remained was the leftover taste of his heart sliding into his guts from Barnabas pouncing on him the moment the sun went down, and the slices of acid heat that now marched up and down his backside and legs. The cloth beneath his armpits and along his back was soaked with sweat, and a single hot track of it traced its way along the back of his ear, sliding down his neck to join its fellows. Heart thumping, pushing blood through new cuts and welts that his pants now pressed against, his fingertips pulsing with each shivery jerk of his lungs.

Watching the shadows lengthen across the field in back of the house as he stood at the sink stirring sugar in his coffee was rather akin to listening to the sound of a clock ticking his life away. Not that he was in any trouble, not of the serious variety.

It was a day filled with sleeping rain. Whenever he opened his eyes, it was raining, the room somehow warm for all that, and still. No rushing of wind through the cracks of the windowsill. No floating scent of salt from the sea.

Faith in the Atmosphere - Part 1 (A Dark Shadows Story)

Title: Faith in the Atmosphere
Author: Lovesrain44
Genre/Rating: Slash/R
Pairing: Willie/Barnabas
Word Count: 29,452
Fandom: Dark Shadows
Verse: Splinter Verse (#5)

Summary: Amidst the task of picking out paint for one of the rooms in the Old House, Willie encounters Wesley Dale, who has fallen off the wagon and gone back to drinking. Things get complicated as Barnabas encounters Wesley attacking Willie, and then, even worse, when Victoria witnesses the whole thing. It gets messier from there.

A/N: Willie can take it, I know that he can, but while I sometimes feel badly about treating him so horribly, I enjoy it too much to really apologize for it.

***

Willie bent over the counter, running his fingertip along the edge of the paint chip, leaving a streak that darkened the shade known as Heather Mist, and let his eyes wander over the array spread before him. After the counter guy had left him with as many shades of lilac as were available, he'd been completely ignored.