smatkinsjoe (smatkinsjoe) wrote in l_prophetslash,

Title: I Bet Life Has Got You Blown
Author : smatkinsjoe
Pairing: Smatkins (Sean Smith/Ian Watkins)
Rating: Going to be safe & say NC-17
POV: 1st person, alternates between Sean & Ian each part.
Summary: When Sean meets Ian, he knows there is something more than meets the eye.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sean Smith or Ian Watkins, as much as I'd like to. & this probably didn't happen.
Beta : Nobody for this one
Warnings: Sex in some parts.

Thanks for the feedback on part 01.

Ian's POV.
"God-dammit, Rhys!" I hissed as I led him out of the school and away from his teacher.

I hadn't even caught Rhys's teacher's name, let alone the time that I was supposed to be having the damn meeting with him!

If only my head was in the right place...then maybe I'd be able to think straight about something.

My hand gripped Rhys's wrist tightly and I dragged him all the way to the bus stop. I then sat him down on one of the seats in the bus shelter and stood over him, giving him an angry look. Rhys scowled at me and then pouted.

"For God's sake, Rhys! What did you do this time? It was your first day of full time school, and already you're in trouble! Well I tell you something, it's not on! As if I don't have enough things to worry about without you adding to them!" I yelled, attracting a few funny looks from passers by.

"I didn't do nothing!" Rhys wailed, a tantrum beginning. I sighed deeply and dragged Rhys to his feet, because the bus had arrived. I sat him next to the bus window and sighed. If things were normal for me then I wouldn't have to constantly worry or stress about the slightest things. But then again, if things were normal I wouldn't be in this mess.

I could hear Rhys's screams getting louder and louder, so I shook his shoulder to try and calm him down somehow. But Rhys just wouldn't shut up, which paraded my bad parenting skills to the world. More and more people were beginning to stare, so when we finally arrived at our stop, I was more than satisfied to get off the bus.

I dragged the screaming Rhys off the bus and pulled him all the way up to our fourth floor flat. At my wits end, I locked Rhys in his room and collapsed onto the sofa. I buried my face in my hands, feeling as if I could burst into tears at any moment.

A grown man of 25, and feeling as if I could cry. Pathetic, I know.

I hated life. I hated waking up in the morning and having to go on with my day. I hated looking after Rhys - he tied me down which meant I had been stuck in the house for the first three years of his life, unable to meet anyone new.

So I'd stopped caring about my appearance, and the metamorphosis from extrovert to introvert had slowly taken place.

Before, I would get dressed up even to go down to the supermarket. Before, I would approach anybody who was even half-decent looking and tell them how I felt. Before, I was happy.

Now, I avoided going out whenever I could. Now, my appearance was like that of somebody who slept on the streets. Now, if I saw somebody good-looking, I'd look away from them and avoid them.

My life wasn't really worth living, so why should I bother about something as meaningless as looks?

Rhys's screams were carrying through his bedroom door, and I dreaded to even think about what had happened today. His poor, poor teacher. He probably couldn't cope with Rhys either.

Rhys's first year of school had been a nightmare. If I wasn't getting plagued by phone calls from school, then I was constantly having meetings with various teachers - teachers who recommended I should do all this fancy stuff with Rhys, like take him to behaviour clinic.

What could I say? That I could hardly afford to feed myself and Rhys, let alone pay for some poncey behaviour classes?

I was certain that Rhys's new teacher would say the same. He'd judged me by now and I was sure that he thought me to be a lousy parent. What's made this new teacher any different to the other ones?

I groaned and pulled myself off the sofa. Rhys needed seeing to.

I approached Rhys's bedroom door and left myself in. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it was a sorry reflection I saw - a reflection of a timid, run-down man.

Why couldn't things be like they were before the shit had happened in my life?
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