Title: Thorns
Fandom: The Libertines
Characters: Carl Barât, Peter Doherty
Rating: Adult
Length: 430
Notes: Also for 'rose' on my bingo card. Standalone in an AU where there was no big split, Peter and Carl just had a 20 year on/off relationship.
Content notes: Fighting, threat of violence and non-graphic references to past violence within a relationship.


The world's always had too many sharp edges for Peter.

Love was supposed to fix that. Love would be soft like a perfect rose from his nana's beloved garden. Love, she told him, while she lavished her affection on the blooms, would be there between him and the world, stronger than it looked. Strong enough to protect him. He liked the idea of that, believed he could do that for someone else too; he'd twirl them off into their own little world, and they'd shield each other from the relentless bombardment of real life.

But love, when it comes, isn't petals and sunshine, or falling gently back onto a feather bed. It isn't an endless dance, laughing and smiling into each other's eyes. It's dropping at heart-stopping speed into a pit, screaming as the spikes at the bottom impale him. It's tearing his shredded body off the spikes, climbing out and doing it all over again.

It's fighting and shouting and running off into the night. It's 'Sorry' and 'Shhh' and sharing a little something sweet until Carl unwinds, unearths a smile only Peter ever sees. It's fucking, sweaty and desperate, or fuzzy and slow, one day bleeding into the next until suddenly Carl's lost another job and Peter's been dumped by another girlfriend.

"Didn't like her anyway," Carl says, and Peter bites his shoulder a little too hard, because he didn't like Carl having a job, but he didn't say so.

Well, not often.

It blows up then, of course. Another stupid, pointless fight Peter provoked just because he can, because Carl sparks into life with conflict, is so easy to wind up and up and up until he snaps. He's never won a fight with Carl and he never will; it always ends here, with the blade of a flick knife a cold promise against his skin.

The world had too many sharp edges for him, so of course he found the most sharp-edged boy to fall in love with. They can cushion each other from the rest of the world, but nothing spares them the damage they do each other.

"Do it," he gasps out, because he's not giving in. He never does. He wants the perfect rose, and the thorns are part of the deal. "Just fuckin' do it."

All he gets is the sound of a door slamming.

It used to work. Hurt me, kiss me, forgive me. All over in minutes. But these days Carl knows easier ways to hurt Peter. Knows how to make it last.

All he has to do is leave.