
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2329256.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Fandom_-_Fandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-05 Chapters: 2/? Words: 1666
****** The Wanderer's Women ******
by RiseTheHorizon
Summary
     There are those who conquer, those who entertain and those who
     wander.
     From the writer of the Dark Identities series, The Fight Of Dominance
     That Smosh Could Not Win and Procrastinator For Life
***** Chapter 1 *****
*** The cold ground lay with the pitter patter of feet. Clive sat, looking past
his dirty blonde hair and over the Halifax River, holding his coffee in his
left hand and fiddling with his keys with the right with his usual look of
discernment. His phone bellowed to that awful Yokia theme tune. Clive answered:
Gladys replied "How is it over there." She asked "I've just drove an hour and
forty five minutes and I haven't checked in, the rain and thunder has just
stopped enough to get myself a disgusting coffee, on the flight over here the
only earphones that I could get where those shitty canal earphones, a woman
that knew I came from England asked me if I knew Elton John, seriously, the
flight was delayed and I had to upgrade my hire car. So, you know, average day
in 'Merica." ***
                      ****** The Wanderer's Women ******
*** "What type of car did you get?" Gladys asked "I don't know. I say that even
though I'm holding the keys... it is a... oh yeah, it's a Nissan Micra. Or
whatever they call it over here" "Cool." "It's not cool, it's a shame to drive
it." "Well you don't need the investors to notice your whip." "Whip? What the
fuck are you? Someone who's not blonde, white and from Birmingham." "What's
wrong with Birmingham?" "People from Birmingham don't drive whips, they drive
someone else's whip." "For fucks sake." "Why did you call me? Especially on the
phone that Gullwing are covering." "Alright, you know that you'll be presenting
Bait And Switch, Advance Of The Leather Eagle and Chapter One: Broadcast?"
"Yeah." "Well, there has been an addition." "Huh?... what?" "Another book has
been added to your presentation." "Okay, what?" "Chasing Sheep Is Best Left To
Shepherds." "No!" "Yeah, Nolberk's new one." "You have to be shitting me." "I'm
not." "Do you know why I joined Gullwing Publishing, do you?" "No, why?" "I
came to Gullwing because I thought differently. I had an opinion which was
different to all the others. I was one of those people who wanted to change the
world." "Okay, okay." "The last thing I said, literally the last thing I said
to Moore was: Just don't make me present Nolberk. Literally, the last thing I
said to him before I got on that fucking plane." "I'm sorry but it has to be
done." "...Fine, goodbye Gladys." "Goodbye Clive." Clive slipped the phone back
into his pocket, steaming the last of fucks to be given. At this point, a
smiling young man of black hair, bright blue eyes and a red and black striped
button shirt leaned towards Clive, everything about him shouted one thing:
Hipster. He said in a pre-cautious manner "I'm sorry to bother you but, I
couldn't help noticing your voice and... Do you know Benedict Cumberbatch?"
Clive raised an eyebrow in disappointment and opportunity. Clive then answered
in a fake happy voice "Know him, I polished his shoes just last thursday." ***
*** The walls were painted in pastel blue and the bed was covered in pastel
grey. His bags lay upon the dresser which also supported the obligatory
television. The doors of the cupboard were parted. Clive sat upright on the bed
facing the balcony window, he was working his fingers along the scratchings and
indictments of the bed frame contemplating the better times that could be had
here. He would be shafting across Florida lugging the rejection of six
distributors and for what? Having that Nolberk piece of shit being more well
known and more undeservedly popular? Clive turned his head to face the mirror
on the door, as usual, he had anguished eyebrows and a snorted nose. He closed
his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh as he did so. ***
***   ***
***   ***
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
*** Jerome opened his eyes, his blue eyes and jet black hair looked back at
him. The top button of his shirt lay undone. He passed his hand along the bed
frame, feeling the deep ridges that had been crafted in for a more 'mid
century' look. It was at this point a woman of blonde hair and medium height
entered the room and stood in front of him. He knew her name, more than two
million people know her name, Kristen Smith. However, Jerome knew her as,
'babe'. "It has been such a long day..." She said wrapped her hands around his
neck "It doesn't look like it." Jerome replied "Then what do I look like?" "You
look like someone who had just changed back into her normal clothes after a
Vein photo shoot." "Why Vein?" "You're not going to be on the cover of Peep
Show Magazine are you?" "Oh, my hipster Huntington Beach Jerome, what would I
do without you?" "Well, you would still be in Virginia... and be giving
yourself orgasms." Jerome ripped apart Kristen's shirt. Kristen fumbled over
the buttons on Jerome's shirt, her bare skin brought closer by Jerome's hands.
Now both shirtless, they began kissing heatedly. Jerome worked his hand up to
Kristen's caramel hair and removed her bobble, unleashing her full and luscious
hair over her shoulders. Hot and passionate, Jerome began lowering his kisses
down her silky smooth neck. She un-hooked her floral texture bra and slung it
around Jerome's face, her giggle covered up her sigh of pleasure from Jerome's
hands caressing her. Kristen lowered her hands to Jerome's waist and ripped his
jeans down to his ankles. He lay naked and hard. Jerome pulled her yoga pants
down, exposing her taut firm ass to the touch of his finger tips. Jerome's
towering cock penetrated her pink slip-and-slide. The sensation arched her
forward, she gripped onto the bed frame and prepared. She stuttered in a quiet
plea, "Don't go easy on me." Jerome acknowledged her request. Her exasperations
gradually became screams of joy. Jerome brought her closer and ripped her hands
from the bed frame. "Fuck, Fuck!, FUCK!" The orgasm shook through her like a
train crashing into a library. Kristen pulled herself further up, they were now
eye level. "I'm not done." Jerome uttered bringing shivers up Kristen's spine.
Jerome rapidly forced Kristen to the other pillow, he grabbed both of her hands
and straddled her before she could react. "No, oh god... fucking shit!" Kristen
shouted. Jerome wrapped his and in her luscious hair began to pull back. From
what they were doing, Jerome assumed that Kristen liked pain "Don't stop, never
ever stop!" She pleaded. The thrusts intensified until the shake of the bed
became to much to handle. She fell, onto the night-stand and flopped down. Her
eyes now, cold and lifeless, searched the ceiling. Jerome gently waved his
hand, then dragged her eyelids down. She lay as if the heavens were summoning
her. He grabbed the strewn shirt, put it on her and dragged her to the bathtub.
The shower head was full of lime-scale and the tub it's self was laden with the
marks of the bath mat. Her phone lay on the night-stand that she ended herself
on, the back covered in fake diamonds and the occasional anime reference.
Jerome browsed the contact list, searching for what would explain this. 'Would
it be under A or P?' He wondered to himself, naturally it was in H. It rung.
"Hey babe, d'you need anything?" Anthony questioned "Sir, I represent the
Pastel Sky hotel, I'm afraid we have found your wife." Jerome lied firmly
"Okay, she's my fiancée but where has she been?" "Mr. Padilla, Kristen is
dead." "How do you know my name?" "...When I turned the phone on, it was on
your Facebook page." "But, how did you get onto her phone when she set up a
pass-code." Jerome found himself weaving through one lie after another. He
couldn't lie about his perfect bodied wife, so he took the fall for her. "Mr.
Padilla, your wife was killed by myself. As the people like you would say, come
at me bro." Jerome threw her phone in the flowing abyss that was her deathbed.
The water was now at her belly button, the clear liquid entered like a dam in
reverse. Jerome knew what he had to do. Jerome knew he had to run. ***
 
The phone rang again. Laying on the bed, Clive reached for the phone on the
night stand and answered, "Hello?" "Hi, me again." Gladys replied "I'm sorry
for what I previously said." "It's okay, I've dealt with worse." "Do you know
where I was before I came to Gullwing?" "Actually, I do not, enlighten me." "I
used to present dairy products to supermarkets." "Sweet." "No, no sweet
things." "No, I mean sweet as in good." "Do you want to know why I came to
Gullwing?" "Yeah, why not." "In 2002, I became an author. It was called Running
Circles, Jumping Hurdles." "Oh, wow." "In 2005, I had made my first screenplay,
Closed Wound." "'Hell." "It lasted one season and the second season was
cancelled mid-production. The Swedish version is still going strong and does
not credit me in any way." "Oh... shit." "Late 2006, I released my second book.
Double Vodka, Please." "Yeah." "In 2009, I had a play produced. Sadly, The Walk
Of Evan Tenner couldn't get of the ground." "Uh-huh." "Three years ago, I had
made a second screenplay, Automatic." "Wait, I watched that. Didn't it have Tom
Hardy in it?" "Yes, yes it did! I've never met anyone who's seen it." Clive
gently smiled at having a fan, the first in a twelve year carrier his teeth
stood white and strong. "I actually really liked that show. It had a great
tone." "Thank you so much." "Sorry but I must ask, do you have anything to
publish?" "Rule number one of writing: Never give yourself boundaries." Clive
put the phone back in his pocket and reached his hands around his neck in
surprise. He looked in the mirror, admiring the smile that he had not seen for
a long time. He looked down in disbelief and closed his eyes.
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