2011-11-03 17:20![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thewatchmaker
thewatchmakerCharacter: Chad, Patrick and some twink
Genre: Slash
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thewatchmaker
Fandom: American Horror Story
Word count: 1400
Rating: R for bitchiness
Notes: a little pre-death slice of Chad and Patrick's life.
I was nearly floating as I walked into the house. The party had been a total success, and my phone rang over half a dozen times on the drive home. It all went to voicemail, but I was certain they were new clients begging for my attention. I was a success. Now if I could just get the house finished, so we could sell it, Patrick and I would be sitting pretty. I hated feeling like a burden to him, but with all my money wrapped up into the house we’d been living on his salary for awhile.
But I still did all that I could to make up the difference by working on the house. It was almost done. It was beautiful, and I was proud of it too. I almost hated that we had to sell it. I looked out at the garden. The roses were in bloom, and there were bees buzzing along them in the sunshine. This would be a wonderful place to raise our baby, but we bought it to flip not to stay.
“I’m going to miss you when we’re gone,” I told the front door as I unlocked it and went inside. Brightly colored sunbeams made a quilt of light on the hardwood floors, and that made me smile too. I’d gone through hell to find the right vintage glass to replace the broken windows and light fixtures. Patrick bitched like crazy when if found out how much I’d spent, but he had to admit that it was the right thing to do. You can’t take a historic house and muck it up with modern or reproductions. It would be wrong.
The kitchen was the only place where upgrades were approved, and I loved my kitchen. I went there first to put on a pot of coffee, and sat down at the island to go through my voicemail. There were four from potential clients and three from bill collectors. Fucking scavengers, if they’d back off long enough, so that I could reduce my stress levels, I might be able to make some money.
And be a good husband to Patrick. Christ, I’ve been putting him through hell, and I can’t seem to get my shit together. I can’t remember the last time we had sex, and that is just about as wrong as it gets. We’re in love. We’re mostly happy. We should be fucking like hamsters all over this house, which would take care of the mostly happy. But we’re not, and it’s my fault.
My head was pounding, and I knew what I needed. Screw the coffee. I didn’t bother to finish jotting the names from my phone into my laptop. I had plenty of time to do that before Pat got off work. I made my way down to the basement after making sure all the lights were one. The place gave me the fucking creeps, but I was the one who forgot to ask Patrick to get me a bottle of wine or two last night. Mostly that was because I was sick of the looks he gave me every time I took a sip. He thought I was drinking too much. I thought he was being an idiot. I’m not a drunk. I’m not an alcoholic. I just like wine.
The shadows shifted as I walked down the steps. A chill ran up my spine as my foot hit the cold cement of the basement floor. It was always cold down there, which is why it was the perfect place for a wine cellar. It was cold, and it was creepy, but it wasn’t the horrendous mess that it was when we bought the house. Back then in smelled like death. Now it smelled like wine. It was a vast improvement, and it should help raise the sale price when people started looking.
With a couple of bottles of wine tucked under my arm, I made my way back to the kitchen. I walked up the stairs a lot faster than I walked down them, and my hands were shaking as I filled a glass. The wine wasn’t as cold as I like, but it would do. I shoved the open bottle and the extra into the wine refrigerator and saw that my phone had rung a few more times while I was gone. I glanced at the display, and thumbed over the 800 and 866 numbers, sending them to the trash. I didn’t have any money to call them back. I also didn’t want to see them in my call log. I didn’t need anymore pressure. There was a crash from upstairs and the sound of broken glass.
“Son of a bitch.” I finished the wine in a single gulp and went upstairs. It was probably those god damn twins. They were always tearing apart my yard, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a baseball through one of the windows. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’d been all over the neighborhood, but I couldn’t find which house they came from. No one knew anything, and it pissed me off.
I just stepped onto the landing when I heard another sound. But it wasn’t breaking glass. It was a moan, and it was quickly followed by swearing. The voice was Patrick’s, and I headed for the master bedroom. He must have come home early to surprise me, and then he broke something.
“Poor baby, did you cut yourself?” I said as I opened the door. “I can kiss it and make it better.”
“Shit!”
“Chad!” I knew the twink on his knees in front of Patrick. He was his trainer from the gym.
“Oh god!” I couldn’t breathe. I fell back against the door jam. There was a broken lamp next to the bed. “Well don’t let me stop you, since obviously the broken glass wasn’t a fucking deterrent, and neither was I apparently.”
“Chad, wait!” Patrick shouted after me as I ran down the hall and down the steps. He had longer legs than I did, and he almost caught me as I yanked the front door open. “I can explain.”
“You don’t have to explain to me. I know how it works. Been there. Done that.” I walked outside and stopped, seeing Adelaide looking at me from the sidewalk. She opened her mouth and giggled when she caught sight of Patrick’s deflating cock. “Had it in my orifices often enough. Get him out of my house!”
“You weren’t supposed to be home,” Patrick glared and me and stammered. He managed to grab my wrist and pulled me back inside, slamming the door before I could escape again.
“And that’s supposed to make it better!” I screamed at him. I was surprised that the chandelier didn’t shake. “I was working!” My fingernails bit into my palms as I made tight fists. I’d never hit him, but I wanted to. I wanted to take the god damn fireplace poker to his skull. “Get your slut out of my house and go with him. Don’t come back!”
I waited in the living room, arms folded across my chest as Patrick and his boy toy slunk out of the house. He had his bag with him, but it wasn’t big enough for my tastes. He should have been dragging a fucking steamer trunk with him. I was never going to forgive him.
“Chad, please. We can talk about this.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” I glanced at the twink. “Or him. You betrayed me. I will never forgive you.” I didn’t say another word. Patrick tried to talk to me, but it was like listening to the droning of flies. It didn’t matter what he said to me. I didn’t care. He obviously didn’t.
When he shut the door behind him, I locked the deadbolt and the chain. Then I dragged my ass over to the steps. I wanted to go further. There was glass all over the bedroom floor, but I couldn’t make my legs work. I sank down onto the third step, pulled up my knees and cried. I was still there when Moira found me hours later. I was cried out by then. Grateful to her when she pressed a wet washcloth into my hands, so I could wash my face. I was even more grateful when she handed me a glass of wine.
Genre: Slash
Author:
thewatchmakerFandom: American Horror Story
Word count: 1400
Rating: R for bitchiness
Notes: a little pre-death slice of Chad and Patrick's life.
I was nearly floating as I walked into the house. The party had been a total success, and my phone rang over half a dozen times on the drive home. It all went to voicemail, but I was certain they were new clients begging for my attention. I was a success. Now if I could just get the house finished, so we could sell it, Patrick and I would be sitting pretty. I hated feeling like a burden to him, but with all my money wrapped up into the house we’d been living on his salary for awhile.
But I still did all that I could to make up the difference by working on the house. It was almost done. It was beautiful, and I was proud of it too. I almost hated that we had to sell it. I looked out at the garden. The roses were in bloom, and there were bees buzzing along them in the sunshine. This would be a wonderful place to raise our baby, but we bought it to flip not to stay.
“I’m going to miss you when we’re gone,” I told the front door as I unlocked it and went inside. Brightly colored sunbeams made a quilt of light on the hardwood floors, and that made me smile too. I’d gone through hell to find the right vintage glass to replace the broken windows and light fixtures. Patrick bitched like crazy when if found out how much I’d spent, but he had to admit that it was the right thing to do. You can’t take a historic house and muck it up with modern or reproductions. It would be wrong.
The kitchen was the only place where upgrades were approved, and I loved my kitchen. I went there first to put on a pot of coffee, and sat down at the island to go through my voicemail. There were four from potential clients and three from bill collectors. Fucking scavengers, if they’d back off long enough, so that I could reduce my stress levels, I might be able to make some money.
And be a good husband to Patrick. Christ, I’ve been putting him through hell, and I can’t seem to get my shit together. I can’t remember the last time we had sex, and that is just about as wrong as it gets. We’re in love. We’re mostly happy. We should be fucking like hamsters all over this house, which would take care of the mostly happy. But we’re not, and it’s my fault.
My head was pounding, and I knew what I needed. Screw the coffee. I didn’t bother to finish jotting the names from my phone into my laptop. I had plenty of time to do that before Pat got off work. I made my way down to the basement after making sure all the lights were one. The place gave me the fucking creeps, but I was the one who forgot to ask Patrick to get me a bottle of wine or two last night. Mostly that was because I was sick of the looks he gave me every time I took a sip. He thought I was drinking too much. I thought he was being an idiot. I’m not a drunk. I’m not an alcoholic. I just like wine.
The shadows shifted as I walked down the steps. A chill ran up my spine as my foot hit the cold cement of the basement floor. It was always cold down there, which is why it was the perfect place for a wine cellar. It was cold, and it was creepy, but it wasn’t the horrendous mess that it was when we bought the house. Back then in smelled like death. Now it smelled like wine. It was a vast improvement, and it should help raise the sale price when people started looking.
With a couple of bottles of wine tucked under my arm, I made my way back to the kitchen. I walked up the stairs a lot faster than I walked down them, and my hands were shaking as I filled a glass. The wine wasn’t as cold as I like, but it would do. I shoved the open bottle and the extra into the wine refrigerator and saw that my phone had rung a few more times while I was gone. I glanced at the display, and thumbed over the 800 and 866 numbers, sending them to the trash. I didn’t have any money to call them back. I also didn’t want to see them in my call log. I didn’t need anymore pressure. There was a crash from upstairs and the sound of broken glass.
“Son of a bitch.” I finished the wine in a single gulp and went upstairs. It was probably those god damn twins. They were always tearing apart my yard, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a baseball through one of the windows. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’d been all over the neighborhood, but I couldn’t find which house they came from. No one knew anything, and it pissed me off.
I just stepped onto the landing when I heard another sound. But it wasn’t breaking glass. It was a moan, and it was quickly followed by swearing. The voice was Patrick’s, and I headed for the master bedroom. He must have come home early to surprise me, and then he broke something.
“Poor baby, did you cut yourself?” I said as I opened the door. “I can kiss it and make it better.”
“Shit!”
“Chad!” I knew the twink on his knees in front of Patrick. He was his trainer from the gym.
“Oh god!” I couldn’t breathe. I fell back against the door jam. There was a broken lamp next to the bed. “Well don’t let me stop you, since obviously the broken glass wasn’t a fucking deterrent, and neither was I apparently.”
“Chad, wait!” Patrick shouted after me as I ran down the hall and down the steps. He had longer legs than I did, and he almost caught me as I yanked the front door open. “I can explain.”
“You don’t have to explain to me. I know how it works. Been there. Done that.” I walked outside and stopped, seeing Adelaide looking at me from the sidewalk. She opened her mouth and giggled when she caught sight of Patrick’s deflating cock. “Had it in my orifices often enough. Get him out of my house!”
“You weren’t supposed to be home,” Patrick glared and me and stammered. He managed to grab my wrist and pulled me back inside, slamming the door before I could escape again.
“And that’s supposed to make it better!” I screamed at him. I was surprised that the chandelier didn’t shake. “I was working!” My fingernails bit into my palms as I made tight fists. I’d never hit him, but I wanted to. I wanted to take the god damn fireplace poker to his skull. “Get your slut out of my house and go with him. Don’t come back!”
I waited in the living room, arms folded across my chest as Patrick and his boy toy slunk out of the house. He had his bag with him, but it wasn’t big enough for my tastes. He should have been dragging a fucking steamer trunk with him. I was never going to forgive him.
“Chad, please. We can talk about this.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” I glanced at the twink. “Or him. You betrayed me. I will never forgive you.” I didn’t say another word. Patrick tried to talk to me, but it was like listening to the droning of flies. It didn’t matter what he said to me. I didn’t care. He obviously didn’t.
When he shut the door behind him, I locked the deadbolt and the chain. Then I dragged my ass over to the steps. I wanted to go further. There was glass all over the bedroom floor, but I couldn’t make my legs work. I sank down onto the third step, pulled up my knees and cried. I was still there when Moira found me hours later. I was cried out by then. Grateful to her when she pressed a wet washcloth into my hands, so I could wash my face. I was even more grateful when she handed me a glass of wine.
