annie are you okay, are you okay? [closed & finished]
WHO: Mello (virucide) & Brian Moser (salvationdenied) -- open to Matt (lungrot) via phone, if he'd like!
WHAT: Revenge. (See this.)
WHERE: The center of town, and then an anonymous hotel room.
WHEN: Day 75, late at night.
WARNINGS: Very, very graphic violence. This is rape, so proceed at your own risk.
( will you tell us that you're okay? )
WHAT: Revenge. (See this.)
WHERE: The center of town, and then an anonymous hotel room.
WHEN: Day 75, late at night.
WARNINGS: Very, very graphic violence. This is rape, so proceed at your own risk.
( will you tell us that you're okay? )
Stunned by the blow, the blond recovered as quick as possible. And that was when the real struggle began.
Legs kicking out helplessly beneath him, Mello managed to hiss an agonized damnit under his breath, rasping the word. His hands fumbled for the gun in his jacket, but like this his body was rendered next to worthless, despite his resistance. He felt cold metal graze shaking fingertips, dislodging the pistol from its carrier before wrapping it in his grasp, and then the unthinkable happened. He dropped it.
He dropped it.
The clang as it hit concrete sounded like death bearing down upon him. Mello realized how defenseless he was; and though he couldn't recognize who had a hold of him by voice alone, he was fairly certain this person knew him. And that was less than good, because they probably wanted to get him back for something; Mello wasn't the most humble of individuals, after all. "Wh--" he gasped, vision blurring.
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But whatever form that laughter took, he followed through on it; he laughed and spoke to him. The timbre of his voice was dark and looming, low in his throat, the words a growl, riding out across his teeth and tongue like sandpaper.
"Goodnight, sweetheart, I'll see you in a bit." The last word was bit out, a semi-grunt as he tightened his arms and sent the man spiraling into unconsciousness.
When his body was limp, it was then that Brian looked around at those who could have seen him, and grinning to himself, found that the only two souls around for miles were his and the man's now held in his arms.
He moved quickly then, to his car, to the trunk, depositing him into it a bit too quickly and catching the blond's hand underneath the door as he slammed it down into its locked position.
Brian laughed to himself as he opened it and stuck the man's hand back in (not for his sake, but his own-- didn't want the cops seeing that, now did he?) before locking it again.
The night was turning out to be beautiful. Fuckface had a broken hand, possibly, and Brian hadn't even driven to the hotel yet.
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It didn't even come as a surprise when heavy blackness sucked him in at last, and unconsciousness couldn't have been sweeter. He would escape from this hellish reality for now, only to awaken later (hopefully) to something that would be much, much worse. If his attacker's final words were anything to go by, that was.
When the lid of the trunk slammed down on his gloved hand, an agonized grunt escaped Mello's thin lips, twisted into a vicious frown even in this state. But that was all that came from his deadweight body, abandoned at the bottom of some bastard's trunk; though later he was likely to wake up screaming from the pain.
It all depended.
His life depended on this, on what was going to happen to him now.
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Down the street. Turn left. Down another few blocks. Turn right. Down. Down. Down. Turn right. Turn left.
Stop the car. Leave it idling. Get out. Go inside. Pay for the room. Get back in the car. Drive around the back.
Stop the car. Put it in park. Get out. Have key in hand. Open the trunk. Get duffel bag. Set up inside.
Get the blond. Close the trunk. Get inside the room.
Go. Go. Go.
Brian moved easily, even with all of Mello's dead weight in his arms, and deposited him onto fresh plastic sheets, arranging his limbs. Spread eagle, on his back, facing the ceiling, each limb married to a leg on the bed, Brian barely had time to admire his handiwork before he realised the blond was stirring.
But it didn't stop him from turning off all the lights and pulling the blinds as he pulled the mask down and around his chin.
"Wakey, wakey.." The voice was a coo, floating in the room like an afterthought of smoke.
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Even in the darkness, he could make that out. It loomed above him, menacing in its stale normalcy, and with it came the gradual slur of consciousness. His senses sharpened -- but with it came blinding pain so great his mouth opened in a shout he forced himself to cut off with an audible click of teeth. Mello's widened eyes shot up to his bound hand, the one shooting waves of pain through his body like lightning flashes. It was probably broken, but from exactly what he couldn't decipher.
...But that didn't matter in the face of greater things; in the next moment the blond's attention swung to the monster above him. Fear unlike anything he'd experienced before chilled him to the bone, silenced him, put him in his place. This was bad, this was bad, oh my god this was so fucking bad--
"What--" Mello started, voice tight and full of holes, struggling even though all movement was pointless while he remained bound like this. "What the hell are you--no--"
--only an off-white mask leered back at him.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god--
His phone was ringing.
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"Heh." The noise was light, amused even, as Brian turned to reach into the large duffel bag placed on the seat of one of the hotel's chairs. He rummaged for a bit, before returning to the blond's side and half-kneeling against the edge of the mattress.
The phone was still ringing (Mindless Self Indulgence's "Two Hookers and an Eight Ball") as he moved a hand, large and steady and holding an enormous pair of shears, up the side of his pants, cutting as it went.
He cut, and continued cutting, to the pocket, pulling the phone out and seeing the name on the tiny screen, vibrating and rattling in his freehand. He brought it up to his face, so he could see who was calling.
His other hand, the one holding the shears, rested against the space between the blond's legs, where they connected to his body, tapping against the material of his pants and what lay underneath.
"Matt's calling." He said it out loud, looking down at the blond, head still tilted.
"Your lover, blondie?"
He tossed it near the man's head, almost as if to taunt him that he couldn't pick it up. Couldn't answer. Couldn't scream for help.
When it landed on the bed, the ringing stopped, and those shears pressed in a little too sharply.
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He was probably going to die. Wasn't he?
It felt like it. It felt like it was only a matter of time before he was going to be cut up into tiny pieces and left in the bathroom for the police to find, whenever they bothered to check the scene out. The maid who cleaned the hotel rooms here would find his corpse first, swimming in a pool of blood. He wondered what she'd do. Scream? Black out? He wondered what the image would leave her with, what kind of thoughts she'd endure for the rest of her life.
I found a dead man sliced up in the bathroom. I found a dead person, I found him--
He wondered if she had anyone she would talk to about her discovery. A husband, best friend, mother...
The shears were cold against his bare skin under the layer of leather, and he jerked instinctively, whole body tense. He killed people for a living -- so why was he so shaken by his own impending murder? What was wrong with him?
Matt, oh my god, Matt, Matt, Matt--
"Who--" he rasped, flinching when dangerous metal lingered against his crotch. "Who the hell are you--" --but the question was cut off by a degrading whimper of pain as the shears dug down. He was helpless. He was so helpless, he was going to die, he was going to die...
His eyes flashed to the phone resting nearby. There was beast inside of him, black and foul, raging at the barriers of his mind. But it couldn't get out. It couldn't do a thing.
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"And when he comes, because you know he will," he is leaning close, voice pressed against Mello's cheek like a warm, wet cloth. "I'll slit his throat at the door."
A chuckle, deep and low resonated in Brian's chest.
Oh, he was enjoying this. He was loving the pain and the fear, a giant, dark shadow that normally lay dormant rising up, coasting into Mello's own, letting him know that he was in charge here. And there was no one else but he.
Brian pulled the fabric off his body, the tip of shears against Mello's sternum.
"Do you want to feel him bleed out all over you, blondie?"
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...and he had it nailed down by the neck.
"Shut the fuck up," the blond rasped, twisting in his restraints, glaring with daggers and rekindled anger at the monster looming above him. "Do whatever you want, just..." A haggard breath; it felt like inhaling knives. "...shut the fuck up." About him. Stop it. Stop it, it hurts, stop it. Don't you fucking dare.
This probably wasn't the smartest thing to say, especially not when he was stripped naked with a dangerous weapon gracing bare, vulnerable skin, the metal a cold fingertip pressing down. There was little doubt in Mello's mind that this was about to get very messy -- especially when he decided to badmouth his attacker like he just had. But the fire of rage and terror was eating him alive, and he figured -- if I'm going to die, I'll make it hell for both of us.
Mentally and physically, he braced himself.
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Blondie here was going to pay for that show in the bar, wasn't he? A voice in the back of Brian's mind cooed, as if to shush and soothe any ruffling of feathers at the idea of the bound man having someone he... cared for.
Someone he might love.
Turn your mind to this, now, Brian, the voice said. Find the places that make him hurt.
So Brian did, and started by plunging the closed shears into Mello's broken hand.
"Now, where do we begin?"
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It was almost like one minute it wasn't there, and the next it was. His hand vaguely ached, sending shivers of discomfort through his body at intermittent moments. And the next, well...the next second, he was blinded by pure agony. It ripped through him like a vindictive spirit, erupting some tender thread of terror inside of him. He didn't know the extent of the damage done by the shears to his already wounded hand, but he didn't have to.
He screamed.
Throat raw and burning when the shout subsided into dry sobs, Mello damned himself. He damned himself, hated himself for giving this man the pleasure of his torture. Whatever quick-witted retorts he had evaporated on his tongue, and his spine curved concave.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt--
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Ah, well, he wouldn't be doing that again. He lifts his knees and moves onto the bed and pulling his drop point knife from its holster. Kneeling over the man, his hand smoothed up his thigh, callouses catching on his skin as it stops, just above his crotch.
"What's your name, blondie?"
His weight settled on the bed, letting the man know that he did top him by at least twenty pounds of muscle, and perhaps an inch in height. And his hands moved onto his shoulders, propping his weight up as he lowers his face near his blond head.
There was a soft rift of melody playing somewhere, someplace for Brian and he brought the knife down, flat of the blade against his skin, against his chest, flicking it over a nipple once, twice. Waiting for an answer.
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...If he even survived this.
Breath coming shallow, Mello's unfocused eyes dragged over the white mask hanging above him, by all appearances a ghost emerging from the darkness of the room. It was horrible.
At the question, he forced himself to swallow the bile built up in the back of his throat. His upper body was being held down on the mattress beneath him, the weight of the man keeping him there heavy enough to render his useless efforts to twist away absolutely impossible. He was trapped, in every sense of the word.
Why would he surrender the last of his dignity? His name?
Mello's lips twisted. His skin prickled at the touch of the shears, giving a whole body shudder, but he didn't relent. "What's yours?"
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"My name.." The drop point knife, still dull, moved over the blond's chest, down, Brian's hands going with. "Is 'Darling'."
The grin was audible in the word, as his left hand moved to touch him, there, hand cupping the underside of him. The right hand with the knife swept down, over his belly, towards its sister hand, even as its grip tightened, and Brian squeezed, ever-so-lightly.
"Want to call me by my name, blondie?"
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Barely processing the words said to him, the blond tried his best to recoil. And then something occurred to him.
...If this bastard didn't know his name, then who the hell could he be? It wasn't random, he'd proven that from the beginning. It wasn't a random attack.
Drawn back to the situation by the question, Mello scowled. He wouldn't call him a damn thing besides 'bastard' and 'fucker'; he knew he was just being messed with, at the mercy of this man's violent whims. He had to think fast.
"Mello," the blond growled at last, hating himself. Hating himself more than he ever had. It was this or give a fake name, which wouldn't work and didn't matter if he was going to die. "That's my name." You nasty motherfucker.
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"Mello. Mello." He lets the word roll around in his mouth as his hand releases the width of him and the tip of a digit, perhaps the same one that had been wagging at him before, circling the head of his cock, dipping under the frenulum. It slicked over the split, pushing foreskin down with its brother, the thumb, and moved back up again to tease the slit, the entrance into that narrow shaft.
"Mello. Do you know that I'm going to kill you, Mello?" He says it with a resonance that unbeknownst to him, will strike true for this trained killer underneath him. It is the sound of a man who does not bluff, does not joke. It is the way someone who means what he says speaks. No joke. No lie.
"I'm going to kill you and the only thing that will make it going any slower-- or faster-- is how good you beg." The last word is a snarl, victorious and triumphant, as he continues to work his hand over Mello's sex.
This part, this part had not been part of the plan. But it had started with those leather pants being cut off, and was progressing so nicely, why nip a good thing in the bud?
"That, and/or, how good you can make me feel before."
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