#lassitaggart

[heliads]

seven devils all around me - connor lassiter x roland taggart

Connor Lassiter is stuck in the basement beneath an antique store. Roland Taggart is waiting for him.

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They take the Unwinds away one by one.

It makes it better, somehow. The waiting. Better and worse. Better, because this means they’ll each individually move faster than if everyone was removed from the cellar underneath Sonia’s antique shop in one great, easily distracted group. Better, because there’s a slimmer chance of everyone getting caught by vengeful Juvey-cops if there’s just one feral moving at a time than a group of a dozen dead kids walking.

Worse, because it means that the familiar faces are disappearing slowly but surely. The idea exists that they are being taken somewhere safe, but no one can be certain. All Connor Lassiter knows is that the few people in this world that he even halfway trusts are vanishing into the hands of khaki-uniformed strangers. Every few days, someone else goes up the trapdoor and  back into the light, and their numbers shrink down to dust, a not-quite friend group being wound down into a mere handful of uneasy souls.

At first, it didn’t trouble Connor all that much. He pictured it like a doctor’s waiting room:  no matter how long he waited, they’d all be seen eventually. A couple of the kids he barely knew were taken first, which didn’t matter, but then he got to know the rest better and their loss hurt more than when he didn’t remember their names, so. That’s what he gets for trying to make friends, apparently.

As their numbers seriously started to thin, though, Connor started getting shifty again. All of a sudden, there were four. Connor and Risa (the baby removed first, probably less out of moral obligation than the need to get the wailing infant out of that tiny space), joined at the hip ever since they crossed paths while running away. Also remaining in the darkness is Hayden in the back, trying out his sarcastic jokes on an ever-shrinking group of people, and, because the universe apparently cannot hate Connor enough, Roland.

Risa goes next. Connor expected to feel more unsettled by her disappearance after so much time spent watching each other’s backs, but instead the first uncharitable thought in his mind is that at least he won’t be glared at every time he says something wrong. He’s not a flawless human being, even if Risa seems to expect that he’ll be just as perfect as she is.

About half a week later, soldiers in khaki come back down the stairs. Connor waits to see which one of the three remaining unwinds they’ll bring out. It must be him or Roland. Connor’s more of a high profile figure at this point, but Roland’s been here longer, and if they’re trying to get the kids who’ve been waiting for greater intervals, they’ve got to take him out first. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, though.

To Connor’s surprise, the guards instead point to Hayden and gruffly tell him to get a move on. The blond pumps a fist in mock celebration, then glances between Connor and Roland. “Try not to tear each other to pieces, will you? Leave that for the Juveys.”

With those words of wisdom, Hayden heads for the door, not inclined to loiter in the dark basement any more than he has to. Connor can’t blame him. If he had the chance to get out, he’d sprint up those stairs in a heartbeat.

The guards replenish some of the supplies in the basement, then leave at last, shutting the trapdoor behind them with an ominous thud. Connor is left with the chilling realization that Hayden was the last person who could possibly stand between him and Roland. Now that Hayden’s gone, nothing can stop Roland from finally acting on the hatred that’s been simmering between both of them from the second Connor got here.

Connor can’t believe they’d actually leave him here with Roland. When you have two guys who obviously hate each other’s guts, you don’t abandon them to each other. It reminds Connor of a riddle he heard when he was a kid– a chicken, some corn, and a fox stuck on one side of a river, a raft only big enough for two passengers, and a hapless farmer forced to figure out the order in which to ferry his passengers across so nothing gets eaten. Whoever’s playing the game with their lives has obviously fucked up this round, but unlike in a riddle, there are no second tries. Connor is left to get consumed by the fox eyeing him coldly from the other side of the basement.

Above him, the footsteps of the guards and Hayden bleed away, softened by antique rugs and then gone for good. Most days, Connor likes to pretend that he can hear trucks coming and going. It makes him believe that maybe there is a plan for all of them after they leave, that they won’t just be dumped somewhere alone again.

Today, though, he hates it. Hates them for leaving them here. Shouldn’t they know better? Even Hayden managed to figure that out in the span of a second. Any soldier with a week of experience should be able to tell that you don’t stick the two kids who hate each other the most in a dark basement with only the other for company. Already, Connor’s eyes are adjusting to the gloom again, but he doesn’t like the sight any better than he did on his first day.

“So,” a cold voice rings out across the semi-darkness. “They actually left us here alone. Didn’t think they’d do it.”

Connor scoffs, trying not to let any sign of apprehension slip through. “What, you got bored of my lively personality?”

“Humor doesn’t suit you, Connor,” Roland drawls. “Hayden got away with it because we liked him better than you. You can’t hide behind him any longer, though. It’s just us down here. Just you and me.”

“Charming,” Connor mumbles. “But it’ll be over in a few days. Then one of us will be alone. I hope it’s you.”

Something almost like sympathy twists at Connor’s gut as he says it. Even though he despises Roland, the thought of being alone down here in the dark and depressing basement is a fate he would kill to avoid. If he’s thinking that, though, Roland probably is too. And if Connor is willing to kill to not be the one left behind, Roland must be foaming at the mouth at the thought of it.

Roland chuckles. The sound issues across the basement until it coasts up to Connor, making the hair on his arms stand up with a rush. They’ve positioned themselves to be as far apart as possible, but their placement on opposite sides of the basement means that they’re constantly staring each other dead in the eyes. One blink, one glance away, and one of them could be on the other in a heartbeat. So they keep staring, and no one moves. There are no more bodies to keep between them. Just Connor, and Roland, and the awful distance between.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love it if they left me here? Bet it would make you feel awfully safe if I was locked up all the time. You think you’re a big man, Connor, but you’re scared of me.”

Connor scoffs and looks away. There’s a little too much knowledge in Roland’s gaze, and it sharpens to a knifepoint between Connor’s brows. In his peripheral vision, Connor can see Roland shifting slightly, jutting his chin up. Proud. Correct. Despicable.

“I’m not scared of you. Guys like you are a dime a dozen. If I wanted a greasy thug, I’d go to a gas station.” Connor spits out.

Roland stands in one swift motion, like he’s been yanked up by an invisible hand. Connor’s head jerks back up, but he’s looked back too late– Roland is already moving. The pretense is gone. Whatever they do here, they’ve been building up to it since the first day.

At first, Roland just hovers on the balls of his feet, leaning casually against the wall behind him. The basement is not tall, and he has to bend slightly so his head doesn’t scrape the ceiling. This gives the impression that Roland is leaning towards him, close enough to reach. Close enough to snap his jaws shut around Connor’s throat.

“You are scared,” Roland breathes triumphantly. “You’re so obvious. Even if you left me here, you’d never stop being scared. You’d go all across the world and you’d never stop thinking about me. I’d be a bigger part of you than anything.”

Connor shakes his head. “You’re wrong. You’re nothing to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roland hisses, and he’s across the basement in a second. Connor doesn’t even see him move. He blinks and the other boy is standing right in front of him, the tips of his shoes nudging Connor in the sides. He has Connor bracketed just slightly, hardly touching him but making it obvious that Connor cannot move without Roland’s express permission.

“You can’t do that,” Connor says. He feels like a little boy, whining about someone stealing his toy. “You know the rules.”

Roland actually rolls his eyes. “There’s nobody down here, remember? They can’t see us.”

The rest goes unspoken. Nobody is here. Nobody would know. And nobody would tell. Certainly not Connor. That would mean admitting that he let one boy bother him to the point of telling, and even if they fight, Connor’s not a coward. He’s going to handle this himself.

He tries to stand, but Roland’s hand flashes out to grab him, pushing him down to the ground again by the shoulder.

“Get your hands off of me,” Connor spits.

“Make me,” Roland says, all teeth. He pinches Connor’s shoulder as he says it, further proof of what they both know by now to be true:  Roland does what he wants, when he wants. And Connor won’t do a thing to stop it.

“You’re crazy,” Connor says, leaning away from Roland. Maybe the guy will back off if Connor pretends he doesn’t care. “Did you get hit on the head recently? Be honest.”

“It’s sweet of you to ask,” Roland simpers. He sinks to one knee so he can get a better read of Connor’s disgust, and they’re practically breathing each other in now, barely a millimeter between them. “Of course, it’s not your job to worry. Not mine, either. It’s not my head anymore, is it? Belongs to the Juveys. Who knows who’ll get my brain? Maybe you might end up with a piece or two.” He knocks his fist against Connor’s temple, less like a punch, more like a tap against an unlocked door. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Not knowing who was flirting with your girl, me or you? Or maybe my brain’s too good for you. Maybe you’d get my arm instead.”

Connor tries not to let his disgust at the idea show, but he’s not entirely successful. His dislike must be obvious, because Roland flashes him a dark grin, the expression broad and all-consuming. “What, you don’t like the ink?”

“I’m not a big fan of dolphins,” Connor hisses back.

Irritated, Roland snaps his jaws, teeth crashing together just a hair’s breadth from the tip of Connor’s nose. He doesn’t flinch, thankfully, but his eyes track the movement nonetheless, which makes Roland’s victorious smile loom again as if he had moved after all. 

“See?” Roland says, smooth and slow. “Scared. I see you.”

“You wish,” Connor retorts. “I’d be more scared of a spider.”

“Prove it, then,” Roland tells him. He’s so assured of himself that he even leans back a little, resting casually where he kneels on the cold floor of the basement right in front of Connor. He truly doesn’t believe that Connor could do a damn thing to him that matters.

He’s wrong, though. Connor can. Roland is expecting a fight, or an insult, something he can counter, but that’s the wrong move. Mama may have raised a boy she could give away for forms signed in triplicate but she sure as hell didn’t raise a fool, so Connor knows he must do something terrible, something worse, something to ruin this dark place forever. There’s one last trick up Connor’s sleeve, but it’s the wrong move, it’s the wrong path to start because once he starts going he’ll never stop. He should back off now, but he’s just like Roland in that aspect– could never back down, could never do anything but hurl himself directly into trouble– there is simply no other option– no choice– 

Connor’s mouth collides with Roland’s so harshly that their teeth crush together. He has the brief thought that he’d like to do that again, leaving the other boy bloody and bruised, and a sharp spike of something hot but not entirely unpleasant courses through him at the thought. Connor’s hand locks onto Roland’s throat a moment later, fingernails scrabbling for purchase before sliding down to grip the neck of his t-shirt. Maybe he should have gone for the throat first instead of the mouth, but that wasn’t the part that mattered. It was an afterthought. Throttle the boy, but not before you make him yours.

Roland lets out a surprised choke of air, just enough for Connor’s stomach to twist with satisfaction at getting the other hand, before he kisses Connor back with the same force if not more, enough to knock Connor’s head back against the wall. Connor gasps at the impact, giving Roland enough purchase to start pushing him into the ground again. Roland would bury him beneath the earth if he could, Connor thinks. He would erase all evidence that Connor had ever existed. Only Roland would know that he had been there at all. 

He’d like that too, Connor thinks with a shiver. Having that power over Connor. Owning him in every way that matters. Absolutely evil, but Connor is worse, because he has seen all of that and liked it. And allowed it to continue. And started it first.

Roland pulls away just a little, leaving both of them panting for breath. He kneels over Connor like a wild animal, and there’s a spark of something new in his eyes. It might be respect. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Lassiter.”

“You don’t know anything,” Connor growls, and forces them back together. One of his hands is bunched in the material of Roland’s shirt, the other reaching up past the throat to knot in Roland’s dark hair. He’s seen it from across the basement for days now, how it seemed to suck in all the light that touched it. He’s wanted to touch it, too, for a very long time. Connor tugs on the roots, jerking Roland’s head back, exposing the veins pulsing against the skin. If he only had a blade– but he is the blade now, he is the weapon. Connor could kill him right now, and he wouldn’t even need a knife.

The thought shocks him out of whatever trance made him do this. Connor pushes him away, suffering for purchase against the dirty floor until he picks himself up and flings himself across the basement, ending up where Roland had been just minutes before. They stare at each other again, so far from where they started, but somehow exactly in the same position. Two lions stuck in a cage, pacing, circling, until one lunges to draw blood and they engage once more.

“This won’t happen again,” Connor informs him. Even he doesn’t believe it.

Roland laughs pityingly. “You tell yourself that. We’ve got plenty of time before they let us out. You’ll get bored. Face it, Connor. You can never let me go.”

Connor shakes his head resolutely. This was a breach of judgment, a one-time slip. A mistake that won’t repeat. But he can still taste Roland’s breath on his tongue, and he can see where Roland’s dark hair is mussed from his hands, and Connor knows– he knows that he is wrong. That it will happen again. And he will start it, or Roland will, or both of them. It won’t matter. In the dark of the basement, where no one knows they’re alive, they can do whatever they want. This is what Connor wants. He's in a position to take it, so he will, again and again until they pull him out.

Then, who cares. He doesn’t have to think about that. He doesn’t have to think at all.

Roland grins. He’s won this round. Connor will have to beat him at something else, find a way to expose his throat to the cold, violent air or otherwise make him weak. He still has two hands and a pulse. He’ll find a way to get back on top.

Until then, Connor doesn’t have to remember a thing. The darkness swallows everything anyway. No point in looking.

a/n: for u babe @nealshustermanbrainrot

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

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