Old fic. I thought I'd just throw it up on here.

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Its become like a chant to you by now, an endless cry of more. You repeat it like you're starving, saying it so many times it looses meaning. You cant help yourself. You want to drown and you're scared.

Your name is John Egbert and you are completely plagued by desire. The thoughts started out small at first, unnoticeable. The want, the need, the animal-listic possessiveness, to take and devour, to be devoured.

Daydreaming fantasies spil out of your head, moments of your time being stolen relentlessly by that need, fueling too many long agonizing nights filled with dreams of a you-you don't know. In these dreams the 'you but not you' is a being far from who you think you should be, but the memories of those dreams haunt you and what at first was a nightmare takes on a different light.

Breathing, all you hear at first is breathing, ragged, deep, familiar. You can't see anything, not from lack of light but from the blindfold that you know was put on you, that you know you allowed to be put on you. Somehow that thought that you allowed someone to do this to you makes you feel equally powerful and weak. Is it only the strongest who can allow themselves to be made weak without fear of what may transpire? Are the ones in control, not the one binding, but the one being bound?

These thought tantalize your mind without warning bringing you to a burning halt to whatever you were doing. Whether it be in the middle of a conversation or randomly in the car watching the trees blur past, these moments your eyes go unfocused and your breathing deepens a tad and every time you cant fight it and every time you revel in what your warped mind plays in front of you as your face grows ever flushed.

I want.

I want more.

And the problem is you don't know what more is yet. You haven't unlocked the mystery of your own mind and so your subconscious yells at you, screams and pokes and prods at you to figure it out.

You start to get an idea of what it is in the heat of certain moments. In these moments you are with Dave, a long time friend, but more than a friend, but still you don't know how to classify it. When you were younger you had a crush on him, it mattered not if he was a guy and you were a guy, you liked him and that was it.

One morning long in the past, secretly in the corner of the library, he had asked you if you wanted to go out with him, and you completely believe you had forgotten how to breath at that instant and just nodded dumbly. But soon enough you discovered a problem with it all, it was entirely possible that you had liked him too much back then, not that you were clingy or anything, but the opposite, you began to avoid him. He was always impossible to miss in the milling of the halls during class change and even getting a glace of him in passing made your heart beat violently, so violently, and your younger self did what it did best, hid. You would stay a moment longer than you should in the class room or maybe take a different route than normal, anything to avoid meeting him, having to talk to him, to see him, and suffer what you sure were panic attacks.

And eventually he realized it. He never came up to talk to you, even when the situation arose he too never took charge and moved to break the silence that had been created. Sometimes you liked to think it was both your faults, and not just yours, that caused what happened next. Winter break rolled around and something clicked or rather snapped. The next thing you heard he had a girlfriend. A nice brown haired girl, short and slim. It crushed you. And you realized what you had done.

Looking back on it now your younger self had no idea what depression was but that was exactly what you ended up slipping into. Gratefully it only struck you with apathy, and bouts of tiredness. You napped a lot the rest of that year.

You and Dave still had the same friend group so seeing each other was always inevitable. Easily, too easily you fell into the habit of treating him just the same, acting like nothing had happened, hiding your feelings with smiles, and laughs.

Things between the two of you became 'normal' once again and apparently just in time. The two of you had a class next to each other, and all too soon you both became used to chatting before the class was to start, making use of those precious few minutes. He told you of his girlfriend, Lacy, how more often she began to act for lack of a better word crazy, and it was becoming something Dave no longer wanted to be a part of. In bits and pieces in those shared moments once a day you heard about his life and advised him as a friend and not a past infatuation.

"This isn't healthy for you Dave you need to leave her."

"Can't."

"What? Why not?"

"Shes too much, she says thing, that like if I leaver her or somethin, she wouldn't be able to live."

"Wha-?"

"She's threatenin' to off herself if I do, I'm stuck. Theres nothin I can do."

And Dave was right, he was stuck, you watched your friend change bit by bit until he wasn't the same Dave that made your day brighter by just being his goofy self. He became more withdrawn, angry. But soon that all ended and he managed to break it off with her before the school finished for summer.

The way he had treated her, you remember, would of definitely of killed you. His words were short, clipped, he wouldn't let her touch him, and barely looked her in the eye, or at least in her direction. Maybe he had been fed up with it by that point he and was daring her, pushing her, like 'Fine do it! I don't care anymore'. But she didn't, they broke up and moved on from each other. But still Dave had changed and was seemingly more closed off than ever.

But time, as it always does, fixed him bit by bit, it took a long time, until you guys were out of high school and even beyond that for him to seem more like his old self.

In those years the two of you became an on and off thing. Never actually dating, but interacting not like two people who were uninvolved did. And on your part you had never truly fallen out of love with him, as much as it annoyed you and not for lack of trying to forget him either.

He was your first, but sadly you weren't his. Lacy had taken that spot, he couldn't even say her name out loud, that girl, he would say when you questioned him, you didn't have to ask who. It hurt, sex did, and you wouldn't of said in a good way. But soon enough both of your clumsy fumbling movements flowed a bit better, but all too soon it ended, him finishing first leaving you unsatisfied and frustrated. But you ignored the pent up need in the pit of your stomach and didn't push it. You began to treat Dave in your head like a wild cat, never pushing forward for fear of spooking him, never reaching out for fear of being scratched, waiting patiently for something you didn't even think would be coming.

You never called him, not anymore, you both had tried dating again a year out of high school. You called him a few times, barely ever reaching him, and when you did he was distant or busy, and slowly once again you both fell to the same past mistakes and didn't talk, the silence becoming your conversations, the silence heralding your breakup once again. It hurt like the first time but it was amazing how fast you became used to something, it was amazing how easy it was to act like nothing was wrong.

As time continued both of you would continue to hook up, randomly and haphazardly, always with him making the move first. Those stolen moments shining like stars in you memories. But Dave was odd, most of the time he treated you 'normally' but normal to you somehow always felt cold, he wouldn't look at you the way you wanted him too, he wouldn't sit next to you, talk to you except in response to somehting; the distance you always ended up feeling was immense and painful.

In the beginning you were all for having a friends with benefits type thing with him but he wouldn't call for weeks, sometimes months, in addition to the sometimes cold way he acted towards you. It was baffling, the times were too sporadic too random for him to be using you for sex but in a way too regular. A pattern formed, he would call and you would come over or you two would meet at a party hosted by your friends and something would be different at that time, a look or something and the distance you felt normaly would be gone. And somehow at the end of each night you would end up taking him home in your dads old car, Dave just sitting there next to you not saying a thing.

Each time, without fail, he would mutter something about how you should park in this parking lot right near his place, and you would glance at him sidelong, him still looking straight ahead just too cool, and you would, like you knew you would, turn in to it, and park like every other time before that. Sometimes you two would make out for hours, you straddling him in the passenger seat, your head bumping the car ceiling occasionally. Somehow never leading to sex though, blow jobs were exchanged, hand jobs, all the fun things in between. And that fact is what made everything so confusing, if he were using you for sex he wasn't doing a very good job of it, but if he wanted something more meaningful he never acted on that either. You didn't know who you were to him and it bothered you, immensely.

This unstableness became your bread and butter, you couldn't even remember what stability felt like anymore.

But with each meeting, each interaction the concept of 'want' of 'more' grew. With that growth so came the dreams. Dark and heavy like blood red velvet, those dreams were; bright sparks of pain like silver embroidery decorated it like a tapestry every time. Breathing, you hear breathing again, quiet and ragged, you would move but you can't. Taunt rope binds you, digging into your skin, the rope was a slow type of pain, nothing more than a tight warmth at the moment, but you could tell from the rubbing and grating of each bound point on your body that you would soon be on fire, blazing in pain, burning you to nothing, to ash.

You have another encounter with Dave, this time in your house for once, your father gratefully somewhere far away out of the house. The two of you make out long and passionate, with you on top kissing down on him, his arms on your back. He scratches you lightly down your back and you immediately buck a bit, wordlessly telling him to do it again, he listens and repeats the movement slightly harder. And you moan in frustration against his mouth bucking at him harder, demanding more. This time he complies and digs his nails down your back painting lines of pain down it, you cry into his mouth, a long wanting moan. Your harder than you've ever been and unsurprisingly you find his length a matching pair to yours, equally hard when you grind yourself against him.

He teases you mercilessly, gently gliding his hands back up your back as you arch to meet them wanting to feel the lines of fire once again for they faded all to quickly for your pleasure, those hands, large hands that you crave to touch you even more, linger at the nape of your neck, taunting. You keep pressing back into them shamelessly wanting him to repeat the action, waiting those agonizing moments drives you just a bit crazy, until finally he rakes down your back harder than ever and you hiss in pain arching your back like a cat, moving with his fingers as they scratch down to your hips.

Its amazing.

You kiss at him, right below his ear down to the curve where his neck met shoulder, brushing kisses like blessing on to him, lulling him into a red hazed peace. Slowly, ever so slowly you open your mouth a bit wider, pulling your lips back revealing your teeth, almost parodying the motions a vampire would make as you too bite into the meat of his neck. You revel in the feel of it, his hands clench against your shoulders as his nails digging deep into flesh in response, giving you mirroring pain in answer to his. Easing off you quickly begin to kiss the spot, willing the pain away.

You only bite him one more time that night, he wasn't like you, you've already realized, he never would like it as much as you do. You also know the reason you bite him, not because you get immense pleasure from that particular action but because you want him to bite you hard, to mark you, to bruise you, but he doesn't get the hint.

Next time, you think, you'll ask. You never do.

To sleep, perchance to dream, you quote to yourself, smirking at the mockery of that famous line. To sleep, perchance to dream, to dream of ropes, of pain. To dream, to dream. To dream of blood, your own, willingly spilled, of white flashes of pain that blind your eyes, those are your dreams now. You awake to the sounds of your yells, your moans echoing in your own skull, which all too soon is replaced by the pounding of blood in your ears and the feeling of your dick achingly hard under the sheets.

You find yourself still craving, like the desert craves water, for something, something more. And your mind rambles, stringing thoughts together all too fast, and finally you have words to describe the endless feeling of want that has been plaguing you.

I want more, more. Dave, Dave, please touch me, more, kiss me, hurt me, bite me, scratch me, fuck me, mark me, hurt me god dammit, do something, please Dave, make me bleed, make me yours! Make me...please..Dave...tell me you love me. Please.

Your name is John Egbert and you want to drown in a sea of blood red velvet, velvet made of pain tinged with pleasure, of pleasure tinted by pain. You want to drown in this sensation and your scared, but never more sure in your life.