(Untitled)

[simplyteasing]

WHO: Tyki Mikk | simplyteasing and Grell Sutcliffe | hesakillerqueen 
WHERE: Noah Mansion!
WHEN: 3am
WARNINGS: Blood and torture.
SUMMARY: Grell turned fabuu and killed some people. Tyki does not like his house to be dirty. Antics ensue.
FORMAT: Para.

Comments

[hesakillerqueen]

There were things one could not do well when their gloves were wet and slippery soaked with blood. Opening windows was one of them. His hand had slipped three times while trying, and he'd been cursing whomever had decided that closing and latching the window to his room was a kind and thoughtful thing to do. When it had finally come open he'd wasted no time in climbing through silently, chainsaw leveled over his shoulder as if it were made of air, and slipping into the premises with every intention of cleaning off those blood smears across the window glass at some later point in time.

He froze, however, at Tyki's voice, and instinctively turned, even though dashing out the window would've been the more intelligent choice. It was true, he was soaked in the blood of a lovely young woman by the name of Annalise Williams - she'd screamed but once, before he could cut her throat with a kitchen knife (mainly he went for the vocal chords, tried not to kill her instantly because that would just be so boring) and set to work. It had been a wonderful night until he found his bedroom window latched. Until he'd had to make this particular detour.

"Was it really?" Grell's voice possessed its natural silky power instead of the weak mumble he'd used up to this point, as he carefully leveled the chainsaw over his shoulder again to prevent running it into anything. "I would hope so. An actress of my calibre should be able to fool the master of the house for just a little while, shouldn't she?" Hopefully, he could play this debacle off with charm, and this crossed his mind as he flashed a razor-sharp smile.

Hopefully.

[simplyteasing]

Tyki Mikk was no fool. He saw facades in all people and naturally read those who wore masks as if they were standing naked before him, their hearts on their sleeves and their eyes open wide to their souls. He knew, almost on an intrinsic level, that the person standing before him was the true Grell, that this rather eccentric murderer was the puppet master behind it all. The frail, simpering butler he had hired was only a persona, a lie made real and given just enough personality to be believed in.

He hid his utter disappointment with a chuckle and leaned against the doorway leading into Grell's room, one forearm bracing him against the door sideway as the other dug itself into his pocket. It was an open, rather careless stance, as if he was daring the man to try and take a shot at him. He did so loathe duplicitous. It made everything one did cheap. Fake.

"Consider me fooled, then." he replied, voice satin-soft in the darkness, nearly a comfortable purr. He and Joyd both wanted, both hoped that Grell would attack him, would take him for a weak Victorian gentleman and allow him to cut loose for the night. "After all, what man in their right mind would think that a mere butler could be a murder? It's ludicrous."

[hesakillerqueen]

He was dripping, and on some level he was aware of this - it didn't help that ninety percent of Tyki's manor was white and easy to stain, either - but it wasn't at the forefront of his mind, not really. He was noticing the open stance, the near invitation to do what he did best. It wasn't malice against Tyki, whom he really owed quite a bit; it was just his nature to take people he was attracted to and wonder what they'd look like disemboweled. Sometimes he couldn't help but try - the last time had been when he was last discovered as something monstrous, actually. Maybe it was just the occasion.

"Haven't you read any of these Sherlock Holmes novels? It's always the butler." He took a casual step forward, and then another, dropping the chainsaw from over his shoulder to hang by his side and leave a path of red droplets after him. The closer he got, the more his lean frame tensed for the pounce. "But I'm so glad I still have my touch." He paused in his steady stalk forward at this, bowing slightly at the waist in a mockery of his illusory self's over-politeness and placing a bloodied hand over his heart.

"Grell Sutcliffe, former Barnett butler and current Mikk butler." He stood up straight again, tossing a few locks of vermilion hair over his shoulder. "But the Master is free to call me Jack, if he feels so inclined. I haven't been 'Jack' since my nights in London. Those dreamy nights traveling across the city and back again, the opera of screams and the dramatic pain of dropping a velvet curtain down upon the cheap and frivolous plays of these women's lives. I'm getting warm just recalling it." He took another step, now everything in his stance and smile a threat.

"Sometimes I wonder if being painted in your blood would make you an even more desirable man, Tyki. It works for all the others - it even worked for the demon that stole my heart away." He lunged then, a burst of speed that rendered him untraceable to human eyes, stopping at Tyki's side while leveling a swing of his scythe, the chainsaw roaring to life and his shout coming in just loud enough to be heard.

"Why don't we try?"

[simplyteasing]

Tyki sighed. They always came from the front. Always. It was almost as if creative thinking had died some short time after he had been born, its loss rendering everyone but the Noah incapable of thinking beyond the point of their blades, the rush of adrenaline coursing through their veins. Tyki rejected the world around him more on principle than necessity, really, choosing to instead watch Grell's chainsaw go through him and out the other side, its serrated edges biting deep into the wall beside them both, eating away at its frame. Tsk. That would be coming out of Grell's paycheck this month. Maybe even out of his hide, now.

"--Jack, eh?" he idly checked his fingernails as he spoke, examining them for imaginary grit and dirt as shards of wood cut through his intangible frame in the dozens. "You wouldn't be related to that Ripper fellow everyone was going on and on about a twenty or so years ago, would you?" he splayed his fingers, extending his arm up toward the pale moonlight streaming in through the window. "He's a bit before my time, I'm afraid. I didn't travel to England until well into my teens."

He smiled down at Grell when he finished, his normally light honey brown eyes shifting toward an almost incandescent gold in the darkness. Really, what had made him think a berserk charge would have worked? Did he take his employer for a fool? A weakling? A troglodyte that had never seen a threat in his life? Pah! It was an insult, is what it was! And the fact that Grell had so obviously killed some random human before trying for Tyki was just another layer of disrespect to add on top of everything else, if not an outright slap in the face besides. After all, Tyki had been completely honest with Grell whenever the need arose, hadn't he? The least the man could do was return the courtesy.

"I will say this, though," he started, nearly shouting over the noise of the chainsaw. "You do know how to charm a man." here, he took a step forward to invade the redhead's personal space, Grell's arm sinking into and through Tyki as the Noah leaned in close and reached out to gently stroke the side of his butler's face. "Kudos. I might've been flattered had you not tried to kill me."

In an instant, Tyki's gentle touch turned into an open-handed slap, his hand rearing back in the blink of an eye to try and strike the delicate, angular face before him. If Grell took the blow, Tyki's strength should have forced him to his knees, where he'd follow with a sharp knee and kick to the face in an effort to knock the redhead to the floor.

"--Might have."

It occurred to Tyki, distantly, that said floor was going to be a bitch clean when this was all over.

[hesakillerqueen]

Sure, he'd fought some supernatural things. Demons (a particular one), he'd had some run-ins with other Shinigami now and again, but he'd never seen someone go completely intangible. It occurred to him at that moment that he should be retreating, but the blade of his scythe had caught deep into the wall and though he wouldn't have trouble getting it out, he'd most likely have to place his foot against the wall and pull. And the way Tyki's eyes were changing ominously, he didn't think he had the time.

Unluckily enough, Grell had never been one for tactics. When it came to thinking strategically, his only real plan was to attack in a frenzy too much for his opponent to keep up with - so faced with an opponent he couldn't cut, things turned badly very quickly. The comment about his charm was an intrinsic pleasure to hear, and he might have been delighted with it if the compliment was paid in better circumstances, but he could neither answer Tyki's question nor say a word about the compliment. He tried to pull back and out of range the moment the hand came back, but the chainsaw was stuck fast and as he wouldn't abandon his only weapon, caught the slap across the face. Instead of just taking the blow, however, once he was on his knees he stuck his foot through Tyki's legs and against the wall, jerking his chainsaw free. He used the blade of it to deflect most of the kick's force, though he had taken the knee to the jaw in the process, bracing it against the considerable strength hidden in his lithe frame, gritting his razor sharp teeth in a snarl.

"How dare you," Grell spat, genuine rage in his tone. "You have the audacity to strike my face?" It was obvious any playing he had been doing (though it was difficult to discern playful attempts to dismember someone from the regular ones) was over and he was genuinely pissed off now. Grell revved the chainsaw threateningly, waiting for the next move. He hated being on the defensive, but it was all he could do while looking for a weakness.

[simplyteasing]

Ah, anger. Tyki relished the change of tone in the Grell's voice, in the not-so-subtle shift in his body language, his eyes naturally drawn to the tightening of tendons in his neck, the widening of his eyes, the panic he tried so hard to hide behind a mask of disgust and rage. As he heard the chainsaw come free, he rejected the world again, taking immense Pleasure at the sound and feel of his knee cracking against the redhead's face. The only thing missing from the moment was blood; though, of course, there would be time for that. There was always time for it.

"You do wear crimson so well, though." he explained using that same purring tone, that same dulcet voice hanging between a threat of violence and sex. He hadn't figured out whether or not outright terror would bother Grell more than outright violence would, so he settled on a mixture of the two, immediately lashing out with a booted foot aimed at the hand Grell was using to hold onto his weapon, hoping to separate tool from master. He followed with yet another invasion of privacy, stepping through whatever Grell would throw at him next, his smile widening, his eyes glinting in the moonlight, irises full of reflected disaster.

"Maybe I should tear out your hair, if you value your face so much." He laughed, low, dangerous, his hand reaching out to try and grab those red, red tresses. "I hear it's rather painful."

[hesakillerqueen]

"My favorite color. It befits Beauty-" Grell gritted his teeth at the boot on his fingers, twisting his wrist and attempting to put the handle of the chainsaw as a barrier between his delicate hands and Tyki's foot. "But not the Beast. A passionate color should only suit those with passion." If nothing else, he couldn't be separated from his scythe - without it, Grell was helpless, and he knew that. However, his grip couldn't last much longer, and his hand already ached.

"You're not playing fairly with me, Tyki." Grell chided, frustrated despite himself. "Tch! Only the criminal make the games unwinnable."

All of a sudden he heard the last statement, and his vanity screamed at the idea. But there was too much to get out of the way and he felt the pinch of grabbed hair with what wasn't quite a wince, and wasn't quite a snarl in his throat. His free hand came up to attempt a grab on Tyki's hand, because in his mind, being grabbed must mean tangibility, and maybe, just maybe, he could land blows that way.

"You just can't keep your hands off of me, can you?" His tone was less teasing than straight aggressive. "I thought you were a gentleman."

[simplyteasing]

"Every gentleman is merely a wolf in waiting," he growled, his grip an iron vice around the handful of Grell's hair he had in his hand, his foot coming to rest on the man's sternum while he pulled. He wouldn't break him -- not yet, not nearly this early into his fun -- but he would pull into it hurt, until vertebra strained and popped and made Grell scream. Tyki lived for the screaming.

"And you aren't dead yet, are you?" he chided, leaning in, leg bending to allow him to get closer to Grell. "That's the mark of a gentleman if I ever saw one. I could've killed you right when you were trying to open the window from the outside, and I didn't. I gave you the chance to explain yourself."

He hated duplicitousness. Hated it. Liars were some of the worst kind of people, and here was Grell, one of the very few that Tyki felt he could feel kinship to, and their entire relationship was based on a lie. His grip tightened even more as his free hand came up to caress Grell's face again, the gentle stroke of his thumb against the redhead's cheek meant to be a rather ironic contrast to the pain he had to have been in.

[hesakillerqueen]

It did hurt; Grell had seriously underestimated Tyki and now he was paying for it. It was painfully obvious that whatever he was, Tyki Mikk was something far more powerful than a Shinigami. He felt the foot on his sternum and in a brief moment of his mind slipping away from the pain and into its own musings, he wondered if this was how Sebastian would've taken care of him, had their fight continued any further than it had and if he hadn't have been transported here before the battle could reach its crescendo. Predictably, his vertebrae straining brought him back into the present - the pain was too intense not to - and he settled for biting his lip, sharp teeth biting through easily. He managed to keep a steady and resentful (a defiant) stare throughout.

"The mark of a predator." His words were strained, but remained relatively disobedient. "You gave me the opportunity to trap myself with you. You're far from a gentleman, Tyki Mikk-" He managed a strained smile, a sly one, and leaned as much as the foot on his chest would allow upwards towards Tyki. "-You're far from man - something even further unto God than I. What are you?"

His neck cracked loudly and he finally screamed - a high fey noise - and he let go of his scythe to grab at the hand in his hair, baring his teeth in a pained snarl. His lip was bleeding freely now, down his chin - he hadn't realized how badly he'd bitten himself, more concerned with what Tyki was doing to him. At the stroke across his cheek he opened his eyes again and gave an insolent glare, but couldn't do much more vocally than whimper.

A beating he could take - torture wasn't something he was used to.

[simplyteasing]

Aaaaaaah, blood. Glorious, dark, sanguine sweet, sweet, blood. He could smell it on Grell's lips, could taste it in his own mouth, the sour-sweetness of copper resting just there, so close but so, so far removed from the edge of his tongue. Yet again, his gentle touch turned into a slap as he reared back and tried to smack Grell, palm open, in the hope that more of Grell's blood would fall out and stain the floor instead of some stranger's. It felt more personal that way.

"Oh, I'm many things, Grell." he whispered, grinning from ear to ear as the line of crosses tattooed across his forehead came into view, almost as if some unseen brand were burning them into his flesh. "But Godlike is not one of them. Far from it, in actuality."

Joyd cooed and cawed in the back of his mind, tendrils of anger and hatred, of need and Pleasure threading through his veins, exciting him, making every moment tense and breathless. He licked his lips almost hungrily at Grell's high, tortured scream, his eyes taking in all of the sight of it, devouring the image of the man arching away from his tight grasp, slender white neck bared and beautifully oval eyes shut tight for that moment, that plateau of pain he had caused him to reach.

"Do you know the story of Noah?" he asked, idly rubbing some of Grell's fine hair between his index finger and thumb. "And not the one put out by the church, but how it all happened afterward?"

Oh, it felt good. It felt so, so good. As the chainsaw fell out of Grell's hands with a loud, jarring clatter, Tyki took a moment to kick the thing away, his grip easing up for a moment that left Grell's soft hair slack in his hands. Hopefully, the Noah had distracted Grell with his question -- he had learned, before, that pain was almost never enough to keep curiosity at bay -- long enough to allow him to yank him forward by the hair, with Tyki taking his position behind Grell as the chainsaw skidded away.

[hesakillerqueen]

"Noah?" Grell repeated, watching very, very carefully how Tyki handled his hair. Without even really thinking about it, began to suck on his lip in an almost innocent manner - the coppery taste in his mouth was comforting if nothing else, and with his hair slack in Tyki's hands, he could focus on the pain in his mouth instead. "I never played with human religion, Tyki Mikk. You really do lose interest when you know for certain what's at the end."

The slap caught him by total surprise, and where had his glasses gone? They'd been knocked off by the force of the abuse, and though his vision wasn't horrifically bad, the sharp outline of the home, Tyki, the curious way his blood had made oval spatters on the floor, they'd all become slightly fuzzy outlines. He leveled a stare at Tyki just in time to see the crosses, more of a impetuous glare than anything, but didn't say a word.

He'd been in the middle of forming another sentence, of reaching desperately after his kicked chainsaw, when Tyki suddenly yanked him, and his mouth clicked lockjaw closed for a moment. He yelped; more pain, more blood, when had he bitten his tongue so badly? Grell was dripping freely down his chin and onto the floor now, down his neck and staining his already bloodstained clothes. It wasn't much of a loss there.

"Do you enjoy beating women, Tyki?" Grell was past terror by now, just drenched in dread and resignation. And his own blood. There wasn't a point to licking his lips anymore - his entire mouth was coated in the taste of bitter-sour copper. "Is there a point to this, or is it for sport? I do hate being the killjoy, but I don't break. If you weren't insistent on marring my beautiful face, I may even have enjoyed it."

It was basically taunting the devil, but at this point, Grell wasn't sure if he even cared.

sob I AM SORRY I EDIT SO MUCh.

[simplyteasing]

"My, you do like to talk, don't you?" He settled on sitting atop Grell's waist, straddling him from behind as he continued to abuse him. "I don't find sport in doing what I do -- you'll all die anyway, in the end, so it makes very little difference to me whether it's by my hand or not." His tone was matter-of-fact, blase. He could've been talking about the weather. "The Pleasure comes from the doing, from the art of it." he chuckled. "I'm sure you can understand, no?"

The way the Grell was speaking -- and, that, in and of itself spoke volumes of his character -- meant that Tyki hadn't caused enough pain, that he hadn't hurt him much. The blood and the screams were commonplace, something that any sadomasochist would go through when in this position; Tyki realized then, quite abruptly, that it would take more than just a small amount of creativity to make the man truly hurt. He leaned in close, pulling back on that long, vermilion hair while making sure to breathe hot into Grell's ear, his voice coming out not much higher than a whisper. "Women are, I find, weak-willed by nature," he explained, his free hand running over the muscles cordoned in Grell's taut neck, up the side of his face and his now-bruising cheek. "It's why I rather prefer to torture men," here, he leaned into Grell, lips barely brushing against the curve of his ear, his hand coming to rest on his temple. "They have more to lose."

At the word lose, Tyki slid his hand into Grell's temple, fingertips going intangible as they sunk into the flesh and came to rest right behind Grell's eyeball.

"--You can't see much of what I'm doing without your glasses, can you?"

BB IT'S COOL

[hesakillerqueen]

"I suppose I can." Grell just pressed his forehead against the floor, wondering if he was going to die tonight. It wasn't even a fearful thought, not really. All the poison and terror of death was really tapped when he found out that he'd just come back again, and again, and again. "I'm hardly a hypocrite. A corpse by itself is no fun."

He winced at the tugging - his scalp was so sore - and in any other situation, might have found this arrangement, the touches, the blood, might have found it erotic. Right now though, he just wanted it over. It wasn't fun.

"Do you torture often?" He didn't doubt it. He also didn't really anticipate an answer, and with the fingers being intangible, didn't feel them. "My vision is near perfect. They're for fashion, mostly." He remained blissfully oblivious to what was happening at the moment, voice full of resignation and exhaustion. The fire had more or less drained out of him tonight.

"This is like sex to you, isn't it?" It was Grell's turn to chuckle, mentally preparing himself for whatever "much of what I'm doing" must entail. He knew the feeling; not induced by torture, no, but by his special brand of carnage. "Such a gorgeous feeling, isn't it?"

Fyi: when he goes "through" someone with his intangibility it usually feels really weird to them.

[simplyteasing]

"We're nothing alike," he stated, suddenly stand-offish. He leaned back and pulled Grell's hair back hard enough to make the man have to look him in the eye, trying to force him to bend back for him.

He really did have beautiful eyes.

Hm.

It was rather off putting, Grell's calmness. Tyki knew as well as the next person that death wasn't permanent in this place -- which was even more off putting, come to think of it -- but, the man could have at least had the decency to be afraid of what was going to happen next. Sheesh. There wouldn't be much fun in just ending his life this way.

Change of plans, then.

"Near perfect, eh?" He made only the tips of his fingers tangible, and Choose to have his touch affect only the back of Grell's eye, his opposite hand coming to rest on the underside of the redhead's neck, holding him there. "We're different in that, as well. You enjoy watching others die."

At the word die, he caressed the back of Grell's eye with his fingertips, a feather-soft touch at best. If it wasn't excruciating pain, Tyki didn't know what would be.

"I merely watch them for their faces."

asklfljf /correcting that here

[hesakillerqueen]

Grell winced; he was more flexible than most, thanks to a lithe figure and his inhumanity, but all of this abuse was pushing it. Still, he managed, staring up at Tyki fully, watching his eyes closest of all. He would've said something, his lips pursing to form the words, when he felt it. Not just the horribly odd feeling in his head, which he'd attributed to head trauma of some sort, but something else.

The noise he made was something high-pitched that turned into screaming.

It was loud, and he went rigid with the pain, and still through all of his writhing and wailing and attempts to get loose and dismember this man, he really couldn't do anything but look at Tyki. And then, gradually, the screams turned into moans and then whimpers - but there were no tears. His eyes watered at best, but he just couldn't cry. Grell was done. He wasn't built for torture, he was built to kill and look pretty. And right now, he just really wanted to tear something apart.

Grell more or less went slack, signaling his surrender.

NOW THE FUN CAN START.

[simplyteasing]

When Tyki saw the lights begin to dim, his hand withdrew -- now intangible, of course -- to lay another harsh smack against the side of Grell's face. "Now, now," he almost-cooed, keeping his grip tight, to keep Greel bent back enough to make sure he saw his every inch of the Noah's face, his pleased, feline expression. "Can't have you leaving me just yet -- wouldn't be fair, you see."

He chuckled, then bent Grell back more than he really should have, trying to inflict just a bit more pain onto him. When he was done, very slowly, Tyki eased his free hand down the front Grell's face, languidly spider-walking his fingers down his skull, his forehead, the bridge of his nose and then to his -- soft, pouted, crimson -- lips, holding there for a moment to see what the man would do in his groggy state.

"--You know, I almost thought I could trust you."

There was a heaviness to his voice, a sort of...sadness, as if he regretted that Grell had betrayed his confidence in such a way. Outside of Monet and, perhaps, Knives, Tyki hadn't found many people he would honestly call "Friends" in the City. It was strange. He hadn't -- Tyki let out a dissatisfied sigh, shrugging to no one in particular. No time to dwell on that; whatever the twinge of emotion was, it passed as soon as it came. There was more important things to things do at the moment. Like trying to force his fingers into Grell's mouth and choke him from the inside out -- he hadn't done that one in awhile.

"Pity."

He tried to force open the man's lips with two fingers, at first, dragging the digits across his bloodied lips for a moment. He knew it would have drove the redhead wild, were he in his right mind. He seemed the type to enjoy being controlled when not in excruciating pain.