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[diyabloko]

yooo guys!

goldrose post-canon non-erotic hurt/comfort (and a bit bloody) drabble. i want you to share love for this boys with me yk

"Oh, fuck. Damn" - bye-bye, new shirt, it was nice doing business with you! Joe quickly begins to tear at his sleeve. Nothing can save it, but it still can help him before he bleeds out in a yard somewhere. Not for the first time, he wants no one to be around, but for the first time, he wants the rest of the people to take him for a knocked-out junkie in the shadows and avoid him as far as possible. The streets of New York are easier to realize it.

He leans against the wall, clenches his jaws and begs his brain not to lose consciousness. This is all bullshit. And Kate is going to worry. Shit, this will have to be explained somehow. "Look, this is America. Everyone here has a gun" - of course, that's the right thing to say.

"Is this your first time being shot at, Joe?" someone else's hands tighten the jute, which was only been loosely pulled before. Joe sighs sharply, doesn't look up. It's surprising how well he can hear whispers now. Meanwhile, Rhys's hands slap his shoulders in sync, finally squeezing them. "Or is it the first time they hit? Not the best feeling, really."

"And what do you... You know about this?"

"Smart guy. Talk to me," his hands eventually move rapidly up Joe's neck, as if to skip some areas altogether, and finally lift his face carefully and firmly. - "And look at me. Don't lose contact with the world."

"A part of my head is telling me," he points to his temple, but the movement only caused lightning to flash before his eyes, and Joe tried to shake his head. But Rhys helds him just at time. - "How do I know I'm not passed out already?"

"You don't. You have to trust me blindly," he presses his fingers gently on the skin, breathing deeply. He waits for something, until they start breathing in sync, until Joe can hear the world around them and finally realize that it hasn't stopped. Joe felt a ringing in his ears that he hadn't noticed before. "I told you we should stay out of it. We are not heroes."

"You're definitely not. What a damn birkie."

"What can I do, I was created within the limits of your knowledge," Rhys giggles and barely lets go of Joe's cheeks. But as soon as this happens, Joe frowns in displeasure, as if to show his disapproval. "Now we've been hurt, and suffered stupidly."

"Suffered? We? You don't look like you're in pain."

"I'm sorry, but as soon as I start to suffer, you'll cum, you pervert. So let's just let the blood drain only from you," he looks down at Joe's bandaged hand. Finally, he clicks his tongue and frees his hand, reaching into jacket pocket. From there, he pulls out a snow-white handkerchief that seems about to blind him in this darkness. He unfolds it once and without a second thought sacrifices it to the bloody marks to save Joe's skin from them. He watches with bated breath.

Time passes. Smoothly. Goldberg touches his companion's cheek with his free hand, strokes it tentatively, and when he catches a surprised look in return, he shrugs.

"Thank you."

"Where will you run away from me?"

[diyabloko]

i've got somethink yk.. spicy. goldrose boys are precious and i love to write about their playful and unholy things.

improvised tags: rhys is imaginable, s4 post-canon, a bit of joe/kate is there.

18+, i guess.

Joe reaches out, closes his eyes, hoping to immerse himself in these sensations that teeter on the edge of reality. Seeing Rhys's face is very satisfying, looking into his eyes dissolves constructive thoughts, but hearing his giggles and feeling his hand on his hips is a particular kind of exquisite pleasure that he can afford in a spacious bed after a day of work. And then tiredly watching something with Kate, sharing a bored libido and lingering fatigue. But she's a businesswoman, and Joe is a crazy man.

"Rhys." His hand almost slides from Rhys's shoulder to his back, but Joe only digs his fingers in harder, hoping to keep everything in its usual position. He opens his eyes slightly, looking at the face from under his eyelashes in anticipation. Who could doubt that the best partner is your own thoughts? Especially when they're so beautiful, with their hair in disarray and their eager expression. And with a black shirt, rolled up sleeves, an exquisite watch, bony fingers... That are happy to go under the clothes.

"You know, you should think less about my name when you're horny. Your girl will have questions if you kiss her with the name of a murdered London mayoral candidate. But I'm curious to see how you'll get out of this, Goldberg," he turns away a little and looks at his hands. He thinks as he undoes the buttons on Joe's pants and stares at his underwear for a while, finally caressing him gently through it. "You know I'm not the best counselor, but I'm a very, very good gloater from the sidelines."

"I should have found a less talkative person to be my companion."

"How polite of you to suggest that I should shut up. But who among us doesn't know how much you enjoy my conversations?" It's hard to question his remarks. Not only because the image of him skillfully lubricating his fingers flashes before eyes, but also because it's hard to find even a shred of lie in them. If Rhys didn't exist (what a miracle, so he does exist now? Who's you trying to decieve?), all that Joe would have to do is listen to old videos, listen to the timbre, catch phrases and keeping them in mind, be content with his imagination. False and cruel, because now-dead-Rhys stories about his favorite lunch would not work at all, unlike his dirty, mundane conversations about dirty, mundane affair. He wants to reproach him in order to encourage him more - and he knows this because he knows Joe. That is, because he is Joe. But it doesn't matter that much anymore. Especially when the feedback becomes more like a whimper through closed lips. Especially when his fingers are getting in the Joe, not waiting in vain. "Actually, you made two mistakes. You couldn't have chosen anyone but Rhys. One, you pervert, only bite at big fish. And secondly, you always choose yourself as a companion, my friend, only this time you have a skillful repeater for your silent head. And a realizer. And anything else you need and I can give you. Be a good boy, don't strain so much, I still need to adjust to you."

"We don't have a lot of time. You can just..."

"I'll decide what I can do," he touches fingers to Joe's cheek, gently tickling the stubble, as if to offset the harsh tone with care. Joe only needs one eye contact to straighten up, his muscles doing a great job of outlining the position of Rhys's fingers. Rhys only whispered a reassuring whisper as he moved his lips to Joe's. Kissing him while slowly moving his fingers as if trying to get used to the bizarre stringed instrument. Eventually, Joe also makes sounds, hiding them among his sighs. At first uncertain, but eventually rhythmic, sharp, and rapidly fading away when Rhys wanted to slow down or speed up.

Eventually, the position changed to a more horizontal one, and Joe couldn't resist the urge to lie down, letting the persistent, caring movements take over. Along with silly comments that surprisingly did not spoil the mood. Probably because Rhys, no matter what he says, deserves to be heard. And felt. And in some moments, time seemed to freeze in space.

"What did you say?" his voice sounds demanding. Mocking. Joe isn't sure if he said anything. But since everything happens in his head, maybe he haven't such need at all. But Rhys is the ruler in his head, and he knows better. His touch brings back memories to the beat of his heart. The partner realizes this as he approaches. "How is this, 'Further'? Explain it to me."

"Are you going to limit yourself to your fingers?"

"I'm sorry, do you see anything else of yours that I can use? Keep in mind that my fingers are your fingers, and your dick, with all due respect, can't reach desired point. Unless I'll separate it. But I assure you that you don't want that," he stutters, biting his lip. He waggles his eyebrows. - "You're the one who gets along with genital torture, between the two of us. It's a personal insult."

"Don't mock me. You know how it works better than I do. І... You know exactly how to... How to make me believe it."

"Like in my hands? Your hands. Like my kisses? Your imagination. Like anything that's mine? It's not mine, Joe."

"What's your point?"

"Give me something that is mine. Figuratively. We'll get something," he whispers the last part against Joe's ear, eventually kissing his cheek, teasing him with movements as he watches the stomach twitch with sharp breathing. "Or do you only use sex shops to plan murders? We can make up something perverted, then, if it helps. Come on."

"And how would that be yours?"

"Not a figment of your imagination about me. Just a controlled element of it. By me, of course."

"No. It's still my decision in the end."

"Oh, yes. I like to think it's your decision even more. Stay with the thought of sex in your mind and decide what you want to happen next."

He kisses him, and when he lets go, Joe looks ahead of him and fills with his usual confusion. He's gone. Just like he always does. He will reappear soon, making a joke about a lonely and intense orgasm, but for now he is somewhere secretly lurking in the depths of the unconscious.

And within minutes of Goldberg catching his breath, the door opens. Sturdy heels clack a little, and he doesn't even realize how he's jumping up to meet Kate. She's stunning. And pleasantly tired. With some kind of package and slightly furrowed brows. But as soon as she sees the guy in the hallway, her face quickly softens. She leaves her coat at the entrance and, stepping toward him, manages to look around with interest, as if looking for signs of changes in some of the interior details.

"There seems to be hot in here. Why are you so red?"

"You can tell? I..." he gently touches her hand in greeting, but eventually shakes his head. - "I was moving the wardrobe in the room. I overestimated my strength."

"You rascal," she giggles, touching his neck caringly. He leans in to meet her, and eventually barely hugs her with his free arm. - "You overestimate yourself in many ways. Would I be the first to say that you are a terrible liar?"

"Well, then she bites horribly at your horrid lies, y'know?" Rhys appears as if from behind her, passing through the partners to the open space in the aisle. "The poor girl doesn't know much, and chooses not to know much. You have to appreciate her for that."

"Hey. Joh... Joe," she snaps her fingers in front of his face, and eventually follows the trajectory Rhys had mapped out to put her things on the table. Rhys only looks at the packages with interest, spinning in place. "You don't have to make up excuses for jerking off. It's not like I'm keeping a record of our sex life."

"She should have. Listen, you have to tell her about your 'further'."

"I'm sorry. I still didn't catch my breath yet," Goldberg adjusts shoes as he enters, looking concentrated, just to avoid making eye contact with anyone present. Or absent. It depends.

"Don't tell me I interrupted you. Because I definitely won't be able to help you with that," she catches herself from continuing. She stops talking. She sighs. As if she wants to say something, she lets Joe recover. "I bought your cereal. You can thank me."

"How thoughtful. Joe, don't be an asshole, thank her."

"Thank you."

[diyabloko]

one another goldrose thing: playful and tender morning routine.

Monday mornings are noisy in New York. Joe missed them, to be honest, but the noise didn't reach his high-rise apartment, so it didn't spoil his sleep. Now he was lucky to have peace. Kate craved peace above all else, after all the years of her father's hyper-protection, so it was a safe bet that this minimalist high-rise apartment was one of the most potentially secure in the city. And nothing interferes with sleeping until lunchtime, burying the face in a snow-white pillow. But this is Goldberg's privilege alone, while his partner was already leaving for work, kissing him goodbye and setting up the coffee machine.

Calmness made him tender. Finally New York, finally his own name, finally the bookstore again. And finally, self-acceptance. And all of this allows him to sleep peacefully until he want to sit down to read overlooking Central Park. He doesn't have to hide from anyone, overcome or kill somebody, at least not yet, and this suits him perfectly.

He only gets tense when fingers gently touch his naked back, drawing unknown bizarre shapes. Unaccompanied by words, and generally soundless, as if these movements simply appeared in the air. No matter how skilled Kate was at mystery, even she could not do it - only one person could. Or a ghost. Or an imaginary friend. Whoever he is, he will not pass and will find Joe even within these strong walls. Because he is always there, created once and existing until the death of the creator, somewhere between the gyrus of the brain, among which he finds a place to make his own touches real, running his fingers along the spine.

"Rhys." Joe whispers harshly, looking over his shoulder sleepily. Sometimes it's hard to know whether it was a good or bad idea to make this young man a part of him, to embed him in the brain in the hope of saving him forever. Though he probably owes his life to Rhys after all - it would have been much harder to come to acceptance without such a cute thought element, still dressed in the suit and leaning playfully over the bed. Eventually he chuckles, his pinky finger brushing against underwear, as if teasing. "That's enough."

"You know very well that I know your desires better than anyone. Don't pretend," he touches with his palm, guiding it to shoulder, as if he were starting some kind of impromptu massage. He squeezes Joe's shoulders gently, moves to his neck, stopping for a moment, and then fidgets on the bed so that his hand can comfortably touch Joe's collarbones. "Have you ever thought about what would happen if I strangled you? A draw?"

"You can't strangle me."

"Of course I can't. You're not suicidal, and I told you that before you threw me off the bridge. But I'm not offended," he caresses the hair at the back of Joe's head, gently guiding his face upward. Eventually he leans over him in a kind of teasing comfort. Joe lazily follows his movements, shifting his own posture. If Kate were to put cameras in some nooks and crannies, she'd probably throw him in an insane asylum. She won't see a playful dead-London-mayor-guy in a suit above her lover in the recording, which is for the best, from all perspectives. But it's hardly an actual betrayal, is it? "But it would be one violent point versus three , if you'll count the testicles. Even as a part of you, I can't imagine what would make you choose to kill me that way."

"Why are you wearing a suit?"

"Found someone to ask. It's your own business, Joe, you have a thing for people in business suits. But your girlfriend dresses herself, and my clothes are entirely up to you."

"Well. Why are you bothering me now? We'll all feel better if we get some sleep."

"Because I like to play with you. You know, your head gets bored sometimes too. And I become a savior. I wake you up, no matter how effective it is, so that you can come to life a little bit and not lie naked until the evening. Get up, let's go eat."

[diyabloko]

idk if someone do that like this, but i want to share my goldrose drabbles here. considering the fact that I still can't get used to ao3.

this one is hurt/comfort and there's the joe×kate side line also. and little tip before start: sorry my mistakes if there's any.

Joe leans against the wall and feels his eyelids flutter. Nervous, tired, or sad - who knows, but it's getting hard. Everything is pressing and it's hard to move on at times like this. Even when your life is tightly intertwined with someone else, it can be terribly lonely, and even realizing how stupid it is at his age and experience, it doesn't get any easier. He turns the key over in his hands, but he can barely overcome his doubts.

When it seems that a person is incapable of leaving you, they will soon do so. Just like mother did. For example. So, reflecting on the relationship with his girlfriend, Goldberg catches a nagging thought for a moment: "Even though it seems different, everything is unstable". Kate is helding close by nothing but a promise - she can lose her morals and leave, leave him to drown in lies and blood whenever she wants. All he has to do is make a wrong move, step on her territory of identity, and he'd lose her trust and specialness in her eyes. And it's easy. She's stubborn.

His face is gently taken in slightly stiff palms. This person hesitate for a moment, and then kiss him gently, forcing him to hug their shoulders. Joe stubbornly pushes his thoughts away. He is afraid that everyone might leave him again. He might not be enough again. He could be a lost boy again, with his life in danger, even if he has a new name and hairstyle, even if he has his own money and home. He can be abandoned again, and it is painful enough, so for some moment he even wants to grab Kate and hold her by force, as if she were in a glass cage that he is moving from city to city. In fear. In hatred. But close.

"I'm always here, Joe".

Words ease the burden. Thoughts still rage, but they're getting easier to control. For some reason, that kiss makes him want to kill. To kill someone so that he can share heavy secret with Kate, to keep her at least in this way, in the faint hope that shared lies will bind them together more than shared mornings.

But he is always there. And this realization does help to forget everything for a moment. Rhys runs his fingers from his ear to his chin, looks with his cold eyes, and smiles slightly. He is always here, although at the same time he is never there.

"One day you will learn to answer instead of being silent in response. Maybe then it will be easier to be alone with you."

"Rhys."

"That's already something. Go on, keep talking," he smoothly plunges into the hug, as if deliberately wrapping Joe in his arms so that he does not get out on his own. Thanks to Rhys's waywardness, Goldberg hardly ever feels pathetic for having to comfort himself. It's as if Rhys was never fictional, he was never contained within the comfortable confines of an imaginary friend. Or something like that. He always walked on the edge of reality, but always hugged outside of it.

"The peace is pressing on me. And I'm afraid to be alone in it."

"Let's go for a run. Just say the word, and I'll remind you who to kick in the ass. And the peace is gone."

"I can't kill every time I'm sad."

"And who came up with this?" He runs his fingers through Joe's hair, as if forgetting that it's not as long as it was in London. He continues to play with it, making a mess. But it works. The mess he makes has always helped Joe to put his thoughts in order - surprisingly, this contradiction is not the first wierd thing that makes sense to Joe in this relationship. "You're not alone now."

"«Now» - since when?"

"Since you separated me. Since you started dividing your actions into "your own" and "forced" ones. Since you started dividing yourself into the person you are and the person you had to become. And you know the answers to these questions very well. As well as everything I tell you."

"Yes, I do. But I don't understand. Just like I don't understand why you're still here. Why, even after accepting you, you're still... Not a part of me?"

"I am a part of you, dummy. And we still have a long way to go," he doesn't let Joe slip out of his arms again, as if he's really trying to join someone else's body in this way. But it doesn't work either, it only gets hotter in some places from the close contact. "Now I don't want to be just a thought. Now I have a form, I have a direct influence, I have a voice and actions, even if now only for your attention. It's much easier to be constrained by the boundaries of an imaginary personality than to be one of the options."

"How sad do you think it is if a part of me is comforting me?"

"I think it's more joyful than if someone else did it instead. And that's what I'm getting at. No one can take me away unless they kill both of us. I am always with you, and my thoughts remain the most important for your attention, because you can't get away from them. And our love will not disappear. And this is what you always needed - to lock someone inside you and live with them. Because everyone else was leaving and dying, and I won't leave and I won't die, because we are one, and this is the happiness we deserve by the fact of being."

Time was losing weight in conversations with Rhys. Because all this could happen in a few seconds of thought, or it could last for hours of tears. After living together became routine, counting time in particular became a silly idea. It's not always a good thing, but it's always amazing, as if mental disorders have opened the door to superpowers.

"Joe. You will not be alone. You will be miserable, but not alone. And I will always be here to remind you of that."

[diyabloko]

yk what.. i have some little fics about joe and rhys.... but i need to translate it to english first, so now you can just look for art of these two that i made before part2

[diyabloko]