word count: 628
rating: ... PG-13 to R, depending on your stomach. Contains sadism, blood, general light torture.
Fuck, where were James and Emily when he needed them?
Vaulting off of a spare crate, over the wire fence, Jarah hit the ground with both feet. It hurt--it wasn't like those fucking movies where the guy's totally alright and just keeps running. Even as one of the few sports stars of his school, it really hurts to land from such a height on his feet. Even if he wants to stop, he can't.
He can't, he can't, because his stupid stalker is right on his trail. Jarah catches himself with one hand before he breaks back into his run. He can scale the wall ahead. He knows he can, he has before, there are three bricks that he can grab onto that are just slightly--
he's so close. He hears the thump of feet, landing behind him, just a few mere seconds after he takes off. He has to make it, he has to make it, he has to--
He fails. Jarah falls, and stiff, strong arms wrap around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He thrashes and struggles and still, he just can't escape the smothering embrace that is Zaheer. Especially not as the olive-skinned near adult spins him and then smashes him against the wall like he's nothing but a water balloon meant to pop. The sudden force makes Jarah's eyes roll, his head fall against his chest. Oh, but he's not knocked out. Of course not, Zaheer's much too delicate with him.
Spun gold clashes against dark skin as the tall--a whole foot taller than him--man presses him against the wall with both hands and body, tucking his hair behind his ear in a mimicry of sugary sweetness. He leans down to it, eying the new piercing in his ear, and whispers. "You're such a woman," he breathes, "you shouldn't be the school's sports star. Maybe I should break your skinny little chicken legs so you can't run. Then I get a treat and you're out of business for the season." His hand roams from Jarah's arms to his shoulders, down past his collarbone to press against the sensitive nubs of his chest. Jarah inhales sharply, eyes shut tightly, golden lashes crushed. He struggles to fight back, his slim arms and gentle fingers not exactly the greatest weapon against a born fighter.
Zaheer laughs and Jarah is allowed to meet his nose with the short, gelled black hair of his attacker, as he leans forwards--
bites into his cartilage--
and rips his piercing out with his bare teeth. It takes two jerks of his mouth, but blood splatters down the rest of his earlobe and Jarah finds himself screaming bloody murder until Zaheer silences him with his own dirty, bloody mouth. It's all he can do not to vomit in his stalker's mouth.
He's let go, and he collapses on the dirty dead-end road of the dark alley, whimpering like a stray dog without dinner. His legs feel like still-not-ready jello, as he tries to stand and just collapses.
He pulls out his cellphone, he gets down to where the screen reads EMILY and is about to press send--and suddenly, his wrist is slammed down upon by one heavy combat boot. Jarah refuses to cry out this time, because he knows it's what he wants. A yank on his hair, and he's forced to look up at Zaheer, eyes bubbling over in liquid gold hate, ready to strike him down if only he could instantly have the muscles to. As soon as his chin is up, though, that boot comes up and fucking kicks him in his throat, sending him back onto his spine.
And that's when Zaheer walks away, laughing in amusement, licking the blood still on his lips.