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reshuffle	By : manicandyshumway Category: A through F > The Dark Tower > Dark Tower, The Views: 1942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Dark Tower series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Twenty minutes later Eddie thought he did see. Fifteen minutes after that he was sure. The object on the beach was still two, maybe three miles away, but he knew what it was. A door, of course. Another door.
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They stopped for the night even though every single thread of their beings urged them to continue on as quickly as possible. Eddie shot a lobstrosity after two misfires and they ate in silence that was loud with anticipation. Eddie lay down with one ear left awake should the strangely inquisitive creatures grow bold enough to venture closer. Not that they had in the past, it was just paranoia slipping in through the cracks made by restlessness. Eddie had a vague thought along the lines of 'curiosity kills' before sleep claimed him.
Eddie dreamt that everything was black and white and orange with little yellow flowers. As if he were inside that dime store storybook his mother had read from back when he'd wanted a fairytale to keep the boogieman at bay just a little longer.
It was warm out and sunny and he was underneath a shade tree. Only instead of smelling the little yellow flowers he was getting fucked by Ferdinand the bull.
Ferdinand looked a lot like Balazar. Only, somehow he wanted to say that he looked more like heroine, or a monkey. He couldn't make up his mind, the image just kept shifting, and it was uncomfortable enough that he really didn’t care who /what was screwing him over; he just wanted it to stop.
Just when Eddie was sure that he'd never be able to walk again, Ferdinand/Balazar/heroine/monkey solidified and became Henry. Henry strung out on cocaine and his nose bleeding all over Eddie's back. Henry was worse than that storybook bull in a way, because Henry's cock actually felt just good enough for Eddie to arch his back and curl his toes and pray to God that he hit that spot again. He didn't, though. Henry had never cared if Eddie got off while he fucked him. That was something faggots did and Henry wasn't a faggot.
Henry finished after what seemed like forever and the colors faded from the scene. Flowers turned into rocks and grass into sand that stretched out forever. "Hey, check it out!" Henry was saying in his high-pitched 'kid with candy' voice. "Best shit ever!" Eddie turned around to see that his older brother had a horse needle shoved inside a busted vein that leaked blood even as he shot up.
And Eddie joined him, because this really was the best shit ever, whiter than white, so white you couldn't really look at it. Eddie used a larger than possible needle down his tear duct and not noticing that he put it too deep until he was screaming in pain. His face was melting, dripping to the floor where it reformed and stared up at him with blank spots for eyes, but when he brought his hands up his face was still intact. The face on the floor smiled toothlessly.
"What is this!?" he screamed, but his face didn't answer. Eddie turned to his brother for answers, but Henry was dead and laying in little pieces on the floor, a sick grin still on his face.
"How you doin', junkie?" Eddie looked up to see Jack, a dealer (pusher) with a silver feather dangling from his ear who'd always provided Eddie with both kinds of shit. "Good shit, huh? You're going to owe me big time for it. Couple hours of push-shove at the least."
Eddie didn't answer, he was watching lobstrosities pick up the pieces of Henry and drag them off into a stagnant piss-yellow sea even as more were bringing other pieces back out and arranging them carefully at Eddie’s feet. He feared for his toes.
"Look what you did to me!" the pieces of what had once been Jack Andolini's face said in discordant unison, as they were jigsawed back together by creatures with no concept of the human form, "What's my woman gonna say when she sees the mess I'm in?"
Too many goddamn Jacks. Eddie thought briefly. He might have said it aloud if he'd been able to see the future.
His hands were cold, leaden. His feet were stuck in sand like cement (like a corny mob-movie. Only in real life the mob didn't give you cement shoes until your funeral.) and he couldn't move. Eddie studied the patterns that the skittering crustaceans had made and saw things. What he saw confused him even as it made complete sense. There was a turtle and a bear and a boar and a hare. He saw a field full of roses and doors that looked like they were growing from the same vines. He saw a pale rider upon a pale horse and his name was Death.
"Eddie!" Henry's head was screaming as it was dragged across the sand leaving a bloody indent across Eddie's sandy visions, "Eddie! I'm having a bad, bad, badbad trip."
"Edward Dean!" his mother said, tapping her foot, "What have I told you? Help your brother! He's done everything for you!"
"Junky," Jack the dealer (pusher, but not The Pusher) was tapping on a car window that wasn't really there, "You want some more of that shit?"
"Get back over here!" Ferdinand/Balazar/monkey/heroine was demanding from beneath that perfectly drawn shade tree. "I know how much you want me to finish with you."
"What am I gonna tell my woman!?"
"Help me Eddie! I don't want to go back to 'Nam! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!"
"Eddie! Wake up, will you?"
Roland's left hand was firm upon Eddie's shoulder as he was jostled back to consciousness. It took Eddie more than a few blinks to remember where he was.
"Jesus that was one nasty dream." he said after he'd regained his sense of reality.
The gunslinger nodded, he'd been started out of his own not so pleasant dreams by Eddie's restless shifting.
There was a long silence, during which Eddie seemed at war with some inner faction of his soul. "There's something I didn't tell you." he said, sounding like a man in a confessional on a rainy Sunday morning, "Something about Henry."
Roland listened, the way he'd listened through all of Eddie's previous confessions: neutral and benevolent as a priest with no religion.
"He..." Eddie swallowed, he didn't think he'd ever told anyone about this, except their mother once, after that first time and he'd been grounded for weeks because it was wrong to say such evil things about someone and Henry would never do anything like that to him because he loved him. "I let him fuck me every now and then." he half mumbled, half rushed. He couldn't bring himself to look at Roland just then.
Roland made a noncommittal noise to signify that he'd heard and understood.
"You think any less of me for that?"
"Why should I?"
"Isn't incest just a little un-kosher in your book?"
"Unkosh her?"
"Not right."
"Of course it isn't right."
Eddie was unsure of Roland's reaction. There wasn't anything like disgust or judgment or any of the other things he'd been expecting to hear in the gunslinger's tone. Roland had simply excepted the fact at face value and let it roll off like a marble on a table that wasn't level.
Roland hadn't really been surprised by this bit of information. Henry had gone beyond using into the realm of abuse and yet Eddie had remained utterly devoted to him. Stockholm Syndrome, Eddie would have called it. Roland didn't have a name for it except he knew it was the sort of thing beaten housewives suffered.
Roland also knew that it was the sort of thing people generally didn't get over unless they had something else to occupy them.
Eddie shivered violently as a gust of wind slid it's way around his neck. He unconsciously shifted closer to the warmth offered by Roland's body. He didn't think anything of it when the gunslinger moved a bit as well.
He was about to drift back to sleep when something warm and soft but scratchy brushed against his lips and he had one of those little gut-wrenching electric shock starts.
"What the fu-mmph!" Roland kissed him. Hard. Hard enough to bruise and Eddie could feel the unyielding shape of teeth just past all too thin flesh.
"What the fuck!" Eddie yelled, shoving off of Roland's chest and skittering backwards over the sand for a couple of yards.
Roland moved faster than Eddie had imagined that wiry form capable of. He found himself pinned, Roland sitting heavily on his thighs. A string of obscenities formed on Eddie's tongue but the look in the gunslinger's eyes stopped all protest. It was so similar to the gun-crazed look that he'd seen in Balazar's place that it almost frightened him. No, it did frighten him. It made his stomach do a little flip, like the kind you felt when you drove too fast over a dip in the road. You went out of your way to go down that road again. Eddie found that he couldn't look away.
The second kiss was not rough, but it was forceful, needy. It sent little waves of hot and tingle over his skin. suddenly it was too warm on this beach, even with the crisp breeze and the unlit sky above them, it was too warm but he didn't want to move away from that heat because it felt so good. He trembled. Feverishly so. Maybe they were both having a fever dream. A joint hallucination or something if it were possible. Hell, magic doors were possible! Why not joint hallucinations?
"Roland..." he'd managed. He wanted to scold himself for not being able to say much more than that but he couldn't blame himself, really, there wasn't much that one could say in this situation. He let his body do the talking. His erection was almost painful. How long had it been since he'd gotten a stiffy? He didn't know.
Hips ground between his legs. It seemed that everything about Roland was hard and unrelenting. If Eddie hadn't known better, he could have sworn that Roland kept a third gun in his pants. he almost laughed aloud but the presence of the gunslinger's tongue between his lips kept him from doing so.
Those lips never left his and, despite the fact that they were chaffing each other’s unshaven faces, it felt too good to stop. Roland reached down, apparently intending to remove Eddie’s pants but he couldn't figure out the zipper without looking at it and they were far too close together to allow that. Eddie jerked and kicked his pants off impatiently, sending his underwear after them. Roland did the same for himself.
It’d been far too long since Eddie had done this with anyone. Some people said that heroine was better than sex. Actually, it just made you forget how much you wanted sex. The lack of the drug in his system had left an empty ache that demanded to be filled by pleasure, any pleasure and sex was the only thing currently available. He undid buttons with fingers that were still a little shaky from withdrawals and slipped the shirt off.
The gunslinger lifted his right hand and then frowned at it the way one might frown at a disobedient child before lifting his left hand and slipping two fingers into his mouth, wetting them.
Eddie swallowed. Nervous? Why the hell was he nervous? He'd done this before. Well, not exactly this, he'd never wanted it before. He'd used his body to get money for drugs, to please Henry, but he'd never thought about having sex with a man for his own pleasure. Not to mention the fact that he was on a beach in a strange world, with lobstorsoties chattering their questions in the background and the occasional cry of a seagull in the distance to break up the monotonous crash of the waves. It was like a fucked up nightmare version of South Pacific.
His musings were halted by the consuming sensation of an invasion down south. He'd never liked this part. Granted he'd never liked any part of this whole thing but this part he liked less because it made him feel awkward and... well, whorish. Roland's lips worked over the skin just below Eddie's ear at the joint where jaw met skull, distracting him as he wiggled another finger inside.
Eddie groaned as they explored deeper, moving. Oh, God, how was he doing that? It was like taking a monster shit, the kind that has you gripping the toilet seat and rocking back and forth, only not. It felt good, being forced wide like that. Eddie was writhing, and just from those two fingers. God! what would his cock feel like?
Roland reached over for his pack and rummaged through it, finding the small vial of gun oil. Part of him balked at the thought of using it for this. Cort would have hit him upside the head, said something like "It aint for that gun!" and then laughed and hit him again for letting things cool off.
Roland dripped a small amount onto his palm and spread it across his cock with a low gasp. Moments later found Eddie's legs thrown over Roland's shoulders and Roland's erection pressing against Eddie's ass. The young man shivered pleasantly at the cool/warm sensation and moved into the caress.
"Stop teasing and just fucking do it, Roland." His words were pleading but his tone was not.
The gunslinger thrust with one smooth movement that buried him in soft heat. He groaned, his fingers gripping Eddie’s hip tightly enough to turn skin white where it met.
"Uuhg! Fuck!" it was slightly uncomfortable, but the discomfort was accompanied by an exquisite tingle just on the edge of pleasure that made his entire body throb. His eyes squeezed tightly even as he made a conscious effort to relax.
Eddie’s fingers found purchase on Roland’s arms and he just let his body rock with the force of Roland’s thrusts. The sand was getting in his hair, a shell was digging into his back, and each thrust displaced a bit more sand. Eddie was sure that they'd have to dig themselves out when once they'd finished but he didn't give a fuck. He was getting fucked and it felt like he'd died and discovered a different kind of heaven. One where the forty virgins were optionally surrendered for one experienced gunslinger.
"Oh, fuck, Roland..." Eddie murmured a continuous stream of moans and profanities with the occasional appearance of a name or two that were not necessarily Roland’s.
The gunslinger was silent for the most part, breathing heavily, (perhaps more heavily than he might have in different circumstances) with only the occasional groan or grunt.
Eddie climaxed first with a cry that was something between a curse and a prayer. Roland withdrew and finished in his own hand. He didn't think that Eddie would appreciate having the evidence of this tryst dribble down his pant leg later.
Roland frowned at the mess on his fingers and shook it off into the sand.
There was a long silence, filled with the re-arranging of clothes. It was only slightly awkward. Eddie didn't want to think about it so he didn't and by morning he could almost dismiss it as part of that fucked up dream.
Neither of them slept well that night, but they slept better than they might have otherwise.
[They] were up and walking an hour before the sun cleared the eroding shapes of the mountains. They reached the door just as the morning sun's first rays, so sublime and so still, broke over them.

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Author's Notes: "Jack" (pusher, but not The Pusher) is not my creation. He belongs to Lucilla Darkate and her amazing fiction Prisoners in the Land of Nod ( http://books.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600005313 ) which you absolutely must read. I just borrowed him (without permission but with every intention of returning him unmarred)
None of this was my idea. (Except the dream, that was totally my idea.) I wrote it for creep_fest (LJ) exchange which was canceled. It sat on my hard drive for a while before someone on my f-list blackmailed me into finishing it. (You know who you are, btch.<3)
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