Drabble AU || Honey or Tar
AU in which Cam and Sebastian are knee deep in crime and addiction, running away from sin.Sebastian had found Cam in the shower once more, cold water on full blast as the younger was still fully clothed. He was sitting on the cold tile, hair, clothing, skin, soaked to the very bone. His pale flesh rejected the cold in goosebumps and shivers, but Cam’s expression didn’t give half an ounce of emotion. That’s how he was now, half way between dead and living, between wanting to be here and needing to be here.
It was a relief to find him like this nowadays, a relief that he didn’t have a needle in his arm or that he wasn’t standing on a balcony. Sebastian swallowed and turned the cold water off, grabbing a towel and kneeling down so he could look at his lover. Gently drying off the blonde strands, Sebastian held back the need to cry, the sadness that tried to push its way out with unforgivable force at the sight of Cam like this. He was broken. Absolutely broken. “Baby, you’re going to catch a cold…” The Moran murmured, pushing some hair out of the other’s face.
But Cam just looked at him, lip beginning to tremble and body beginning to tremble before he burst into childish sobbing. He was prone to fits like this, now, but it didn’t make them any less heartbreaking, any less difficult for Sebastian to deal with. Cam clung to the other, continuing to sob even as Sebastian rubbed his back and tried to hush him, as the elder of the two hummed Cam’s favorite tune and peppered his face with butterfly kisses. Seeing that none of these things were working, Sebastian lifted Cam from the tub, carrying him to the bedroom and sitting him on the bed. The blonde continued his crying, his sobs becoming even louder and his arms reaching out desperately as Sebastian turned around.
“No, no, baby, I’m just getting you clothes, alright? I’m just going over there, it’s okay…” He assures the blonde, rubbing his wet arms before heading to the closet. All of the clothes in the closet… they were all Cam’s work clothes. What happened to his fluffy sweaters, his bright jeans, what happened to his wardrobe? Sebastian pressed his lips together, knowing, knowing very well, that they had been sold or left at various motels. Pack light. Move. Biting the inside of his cheek, he hurriedly grabbed one of his own shirts, instead. Cam liked to wear his clothes, anyway. Whispering little endearments to Cam as the other still cried out his grief, would continue to cry until his voice was hoarse, Sebastian rid Cam of the soaking material in favor of his oversized shirt.
Cam continued to sob, tears running down his face as he near screamed. Sebastian tried his best, tried to soothe him enough to keep him quiet. The neighbors would be furious and they couldn’t afford that. “It’s alright, baby. Please, it’s okay. Shhh…. shhhh….” He tries, trying so very hard to make it alright again. But it would never be, would it? No, never. Never again.
The blonde pointed to the veins on his arm, whining and crying desperately. Sebastian looked, immediately knowing what he meant. He wanted a hit, needed a hit, because the younger thought he was going to work. “No, no, Cam, you’re not going to work tonight. You can relax, alright?” The younger’s sobbing had died down to pathetic whimpering as Sebastian lay him down on the bed, kissing his cheek and tucking him in. Cam relaxed into the pillows, chest heaving and throat sandpapered with his own voice. His lover lay down beside him, smoothed his wet hair and told him that he loved him. Promised, always promised. The blonde’s body ceased it’s trembling. Sebastian was just glad he’d get some sleep before some of the withdrawals hit, before the nausea and the fever and the inability to close his eyes. Sebastian needed to get Cam’s fix, needed to get his own as well.
They had their own stash, an eight ball (60% purity, a damn miracle the guy was actually telling the truth) for Sebastian and a bundle (about 40% purity, but Cam was happy) for the blonde. The stash was used in desperation, never to be sold and only used when they were empty on product on cash. The couple had some cash left, had some product that Sebastian had to sell, but goddamn did he need something. Needed, needed, needed. Pulling out a mirror from under the couch and placing it on the coffee table, he set up his lines. Two. Two was all he needed.
A rolled up twenty, one nostril at the time, inhale, breathe through your mouth. Burning demons racing through your passages, stimulating nerves to the point of numbness. Next nostril, just as exquisite. Hellfire turned ice cold. A bit more white powder, inhale with the first nostril. Right, left, and then right again. He had done this how many times? It was still a rush, pure adrenaline. He might not feel the same high he did yesterday, but it was better than sobriety. Better. So much better.
Grab the product, head out, lock the doors. Cam’s in there, he’ll be safe. Go to the usual spots. Product, cheap product. Coke. A couple eight balls for the bums and grams for the newbies. Sebastian was smart. He used their constant migration as an advantage. Coke could be bought for $50 in one town and sold for $80 in another. The further they got from the Bay Area the more it cost. Stocked up near the coast and sell it when they move east. Purchase wide, don’t buy several eight balls from one guy. He’ll suspect you’re selling. He’d want a cut. Can’t afford that, right? Grams. Maybe 2 eight balls from two different guys, pay them generously so they’ll keep their mouths shut. Sebastian was good at this. He knew what to do. Spend money to make money.
It was best to sell to young people, who didn’t know much about costs. You could rip them off and they’d be convinced it was a deal. Especially young girls. It was easy to sell to them, even while he was buzzed out of his mind, nose red and pupils dilated, they still puffed out their chests and arched their backs, willing to buy whatever he was selling. $240 easy. Three eight balls to a few veterans, about $660. A couple of teenagers, grams and one bump. $165. Another bump turned into a gram, $78.
Guilty. Even while he was high, Sebastian could feel that. He was going down. Down, down, the coke was wearing thin. He hated this part. Hated. It made him remember.
Cam was sixteen when they fell in love. Still in high school, smart, an artist, so very beautiful. Sebastian was discharged from the army, nearly twice his lover’s age, low, very low, but still Sebastian, handsome looks and gentle heart. The Moran would hold onto that part of himself, the part that made him who he was. The teenager was already into some pretty bad habits, mostly pills and drinking. Nothing too hardcore. Sebastian made some of his living by dealing, already. But he never made Cam indulge, no, no, he couldn’t do that to him. The elder didn’t indulge himself, yet, not really. It was just alcohol, but he was realizing it wasn’t enough. Their relationship was destructive, leading nowhere but a downward spiral of certain oblivion, but their love was pure. They did love each other, still loved each other, would always love each other. Cam didn’t favor his parents too much, his dad was a strict perfectionist who didn’t know how to deal with anything but a straight, athletic, picture perfect son while his mom was nowhere to be seen. So the teenager ran away with his lover, to wherever they wanted to go.
Sebastian. It was his fault. He was careless, he was curious. One puff of crack had him spinning, but a line of coke was simply exquisite. Decided that he needed more. It was expensive, the drug of designers and celebrities who could buy it with their pocket change. Dealing alone couldn’t support it, Cam couldn’t sell enough artwork. They couldn’t pay the rent with Sebastian indulging.
The prostitution was Cam’s idea. $50 per session, a little under ten minutes per guy, $300 per hour. Plus $20 for anything else they wanted him to do. He could make more than a thousand a night. And he didn’t need a degree to get that kind of money, either. He’d dress sexy, tiny tops and leather jackets with barely there shorts, stockings, and heels, he fit in with the girls near the gentlemen’s club just fine. Just a bit of eye shadow, Sebastian said it was enough. It was easy work, shake his ass a little, bite his lip, flirt, horny guys were desperate for a fuck, whether it be a boy or a girl. The first few times were… difficult. He wasn’t used to being treated like a piece of meat, used for 10 minutes and then disposed of. And Sebastian… it was even more difficult when he thought about Sebastian. The elder understood that Cam was doing this for him, bringing in money for his sake, but the blonde knew that he worried, he worried and he was protective. It was still difficult for Sebastian to accept that his boyfriend, his lover, the one thing he lived for, was selling himself on the streets to random men. Men that didn’t hold an ounce of respect for him. His insides boiled and his teeth grit when he saw bruises on the younger’s body that weren’t from his hands, hickeys that were another man’s teeth, but he would never be angry with Cam. No. That was impossible. He trusted him, he trusted the blonde completely. And when Cam would come home, hair mussed up, clothes wrinkled and torn, Sebastian would treat him gently, massage his sore muscles and tell him that he loved him. Because he did.
The job became the norm, though. Something Cam simply had to do. It was all business. Pay up front, do the deed, try to reel in another customer. He’d do anything, as long as it was with protection. Even then, he and Sebastian were careful. Cam would go into a clinic every month or so, get tested, come out clean every time, go back to work. Sebastian would deal the drugs, Cam would offer skin, the money they were bringing in was more than enough.
With the money coming in they could afford a decent place, spent with romantic nights in and even a fancy dinner once in a while. Cam had generated an impressive clientele, and Sebastian had developed a reputation for decent product. They were living well, happy with where they were at.
But… then everything seemed to turn to shit.
Cam had come home from work one night, broken, bruised, terrified, shaking, crying. He wouldn’t speak, only cried. Only called himself a stupid whore. Sebastian held him, tried to kiss him but was only pushed away. The Moran knew, knew deep, deep down that his greatest fear had become reality. Somebody had used Cam even after refusal, touched him without permission.
Three men had. For hours. Even when Cam screamed, begged. He called for Sebastian, but didn’t mention that. No, it wasn’t his lover’s fault. Sore, he was so sore. He felt like shit, like trash, like something people threw away. He knew, he explained the men in detail as he cried, their twisted and cruel features, the feeling of their rough hands as they held him down, his bruises pounded at the mere thought. But they couldn’t report them. The law was against them, a cocaine dealer who indulged in his product, a prostituting high school dropout. Justice was a dream.
So Sebastian decided to take it into his own hands. Cam was on vacation from the streets, he wouldn’t be able to deal with it. He was a mess. A complete wreck. His beautiful, lovely, wonderful light, dimmed down to a flickering flame.
So, the elder dealt drugs and kept an eye out, kept a gun on him. Loser drug dealers, or street kids, they weren’t hard to miss. So, when he did spot three men near Cam’s usual spot, he went into pure instinct mode. Kill. Kill. Kill. Needed to kill.
He easily cornered them in the alley, the alley where they did those horrible things to Cam, questioned them. They laughed, went into detail about what they did to ‘the blonde whore’. Kill.
Three shots to make them immobile. Two shots tow the head for one, one in the neck for the other, and the last was a single one in the chest. He watched the life drain from their eyes, savored the feeling of their pain, like they had with Cam.
It was late, bustling with activity. The girls who turned tricks knew better than to worry about a gunshot, drug dealers knew the same. Everyone else was too drunk, too busy diving deeper into sin.
Street a nearby street light provided enough light to see the gleam of a badge. Badges. Three badges. Cops.
They were undercover cops. He had shot undercover cops.
Sebastian returned home to Cam. No, he didn’t want to remember his lover’s face when he demanded that they move, he didn’t want to remember the heroin dependency his lover had developed to drown out the memories, he didn’t want to remember them living on the streets for a bit.
Because they had shelter now. Cam returned to work as long as there was a shot of vodka and the Lady. Smoking it was a waste, it needed to be injected.
He was coming down. Lower, lower, lower. Cam was his upper when he was getting low from the coke. His tiny body, so pale and beautiful, collapsed veins and all.
He lay down next to him, grateful that they could touch once more. It had taken some time, but… but at least they could touch. The blonde was dead asleep, tired, unharmed. That was the best part, coming home to Cam unharmed. He had tried to overdose twice after the… the incident, the elder had come home to a needle in his lover’s arm and a still chest. And Sebastian never wanted to deal with that ever again. No. No.
Cam would wake soon, needing a hit, but for now Sebastian could enjoy this. Enjoy his lover’s scent, pretend that they were happy. Sometimes they were. Sometimes Cam was happy without the dope, he smiled and laughed and painted. He acted like himself, loved the life he lived with Sebastian. All without dope.
And those were the moments Sebastian lived for, the only reasons he didn’t take that gun to his head and shoot a bullet through it. Cocaine wasn’t worth living for, though it seemed to be worth dying for. Cam was his everything, even though he didn’t act like it at times. He was his everything.
And Sebastian was Cam’s everything. The Moran was the reason he didn’t stick a needle in his arm, stop his breathing, why he didn’t fling himself off the nearest balcony. He was a worthless whore, a piece of trash, but Sebastian loved him. Truly loved him. And it was worth it. Everything that had happened was worth it. To have someone as wonderful as Sebastian love him was worth everything in the world.
So they lie together, tired, so tired, and waiting. Waiting for anything. For the next hit of heroin, for the next line of cocaine, for good things, for bad things, for death, for a sign.
Because that’s all they could do anymore.
