Title: Filth
Author: Ria Rose
Summary: The point was to the ruin Sasha Belov for anyone else but HIM. To own him, to tame him, to keep him. To breathe him in like polluted, filthy air. It wasn't just obsession, it was a religion.
Genre: Suspense and Drama
Rating: M
Warning: This is rated M for a reason, I'm serious. This will be one twisted effing story. There will be cursing and violence and Non-Con. You have been warned. I like ripping apart my favorite characters; you call it sadism, I call it art. I like exploring the dirty and horrid part of the human mind, the skeletons in the closet, the twisted lust, the dirty side of the coin; it's so revolting that it becomes interesting. I like exposing the sickness in the world, dragging it up and to the surfacing and making people see it. In short, I like to pop bubbles. So please be warned at the severity of this fic, I simply CANNOT stress this enough.
ALSO: The first part starts toward the end of the novella and then, after, it goes back to the beginning.
FILTH
Chapter One: Porphyria's Lover
Ob·sess –verb (used with object) to dominate or preoccupy the thoughts, feelings, or desires of (a person); beset, trouble, or haunt persistently or abnormally.
I watch him as he struggles against his restraints. He is beautiful. The way his muscles tense with every jerk against the cuffs, the way his throat moves with every helpless sound emitted through the petrified movements…I stand, leaning against the furthest wall in the small and damp cellar, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Just watching. Admiring the sight in front of me. I can't get enough. Hour after hour. It is magnificent. He is breathtaking. Exquisite.
I hate to have to keep my lovely concubine in such a cold and damp place, but it is the only way to make sure we are not found; it is the only way to keep him as my own prized delight. It would all be over soon enough. I will be able to freeze my perfect little conquest in my mind forever, to stall his descent without me in it. I will be Porphyria's Lover.
Without moving my eyes, I light another cigarette, blowing the smoke at my own Angel of the Hearth, making him choke on it as it infiltrates and rapes his lungs.
My own Whore.
And my beautiful gymnast struggles. He cries, he sobs, he weeps. It is excruciatingly glorious. I watch; I study. I am in in awe of how this naked form pulls against the cuffs, cutting his wrists, how his struggles dirty him from the decrepit walls, soiling his milky white skin.
Oh, how I love him.
Sasha's eyes are more striking than ever. They are filled with a fear that sends shivers down my spine, shining with his tears, lit up like a fountain. "Please," he begs, his voice hoarse from all the screaming he had done earlier. "Please!" he sobs, "Just let me go!"
After a long while, I speak. "I'm sorry; I can't so that, Sasha." I inhale the tobacco and blow it into his precious face. Sasha coughs, gagging on the sullied air. "You belong to me now."
Summer was the one who read the letter. It wasn't often that Sasha got fan mail, but when he did, he preferred to have a good laugh over it instead of taking it seriously. Some fans were just weird. He could tell, straight away that the note was from a fan, the flourish with which his name was written on the envelope, the fact that the paper inside was scented…well, he handed it right over to her without reading it, simply saying, "Wanna have a laugh?"
She did and so did Kim. So she read it in a mocking English accent because, at first, it seemed like the normal sort, an overzealous fan, but then the wording changed. And the laughing smiles of the three in the office vanished quickly.
My Dear, Sweet Sasha, the correspondence began, I have loved you for so long. You are beautiful. I treasured watching you on the Olympics, your body and routines flawless, effortless. You were stunning. Kim snorted at that point, mouthing stunning with wide eyes filled with mirth. Sasha just chuckled and stood to file away some papers while Summer continued to read. I have followed you since the beginning but have never had the guts to write to you. I do now. I want you to know how much I love you. I want you to know how beautiful you are. I want you to know how much I want to… Summer stopped.
"Well, that's vulgar."
Sasha turned to look at her. "How bad?"
But Summer was busy reading through the rest of the letter in her head, her face twisted with disgust and horror.
"Summer?" Kim asked, "What does it say?" She stood from the desk, coming around her colleague to take the letter from her hand. "Oh my God," she said after she had scanned it. She paused and looked up at Sasha before continuing to read where Summer left off, almost as if she were afraid of Sasha reading the letter himself.
I want you to know how much I want to… She faltered over the curse, how much I want to fuck you. How badly I want to feel your insides wrapped around me like hands around a throat. I want to hold you down; I want to make you mine. I want to dig my nails into your flesh and mark you as my own. I want to brand you. I want to own you, pollute you, dirty you with sex and cum. I want to rub my expenditure onto your face and lick away your tears. I want to bind you.
Sasha was deathly pale by the time she finished reading. His hand gripped the edge of the desk chair, knuckles white with tension.
"Why would someone write something like that?" Summer finally asked, her own hand over her heart as if she might protect herself from the filth of the words.
Sasha swallowed. "Rip it up. Please. Just throw it away. I don't want to see it again."
Kim nodded and ripped the paper down the middle, piled the pieces and ripped it again and again. With every tear, Sasha breathed just a bit easier. He had never, ever, in his entire life as a high profile athlete received such a disturbing letter.
"I'll scan them from now on," he said, trying and failing to make a joke. His smile faltered, the words obviously upsetting him more than he was letting on. Kim finished ripping and happily dropped the pieces into the garbage can.
"Just forget it," she said, "letters like that, people like that…just forget they even exist."
Sasha swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked out the window of the office to all of his gymnasts as they trained, suddenly petrified that they, in their careers, would receive similar letters like the one he had just heard read aloud. It made him sick to think of some freak saying such obscenities to someone as pure as Payson or as sweet as Kaylie. It made his stomach roll to think of Max or even Austin opening his fan mail and reading such vulgarity.
He shook his head hard to clear his mind. "You're right. Forget it even exists." He forced a smile. "There was no letter."
Summer smiled sadly, "You'll be okay."
"Of course," neither Kim nor Summer were convinced but before they could say anything else, he was out the door and down the stairs, bounding onto the mats with a unnatural excitement. They watched from the window as he immersed himself in training the gymnasts, as he occupied his mind the only way he knew how and three days later, when another letter with the same handwriting arrived, they debated over the envelope before deciding that Sasha needed to know about it, even if they would have been protecting him by tossing it before he could see it.
He took the envelope gingerly, his face expressionless, and he tucked it into his back pocket. He would read it later, when he was alone, when Summer and Kim weren't around to be made distressed by what he knew were disturbing contents.
A small part of him hoped it would be normal, that maybe this fan realized their mistake of sending such a letter and instead was apologizing for their words.
Hours later, he stood outside in the back of The Rock and pulled the envelope out. Everyone else had gone home. With a deep breath, he read.
Can you understand how badly I want to be inside you? Can you? I can't stop thinking about it. I have it all planned out. I will lay you down. I will undress you. I will bind your hands. I will open your legs. I will sink inside your body like a spoon into Jello. I will spit you in half. I will make you bleed. I will make you scream. I will make you writhe with the pleasure of my body. It will be perfect. Just like you.
Sasha fell to his knees and promptly vomited.
He went home and burned the letter in his kitchen sink.
Nothing came for two weeks and Sasha let himself relax. Though he told Kim and Summer that he had read the note, he refused to divulge its message. He moved on. Chalked it up to a random occurrence. Went back to his normal life. The girls did have Worlds coming up and they needed their coach clear headed. It was a false sense of security. He should never have let his guard down.
Like any man, sometimes Sasha needed release. He needed to go home, soak in the tub, and then lay down on his bed and work the stress away with well practiced flicks of his wrists. It was private moment between nobody but himself, something he did often enough but not obsessively like some teenager. Sasha had more control than that.
Going out and finding some indiscriminate warm body to press between his sheets was not even an option; though he knew he would never get Summer back, he still had this internal urge to fight for her and that meant no casual rendezvous with unknown women like a common man-whore.
So, with the letters almost forgotten, he went home one night, took a bath, laid himself on his bed and touched himself. Not once throughout the time he took to finish did he notice the man standing outside his window.
The way his body moves, it's tantalizing.
He flirts with me.
He flirts with everyone.
The whore.
Filthy, disgusting whore.
He is beautiful.
Every curve of his body, the muscles in his arms, his jaw line, the way his abdomen dips, creating a trail to what is a flawless dick.
He is gorgeous.
He is beautiful. My filthy little beautiful whore.
I would kill for you.
Kim Keeler woke up the next morning to her eldest daughter flipping out in her bedroom, talking so fast and with so much fear she could barely understand what she was saying. "Payson," she tried, "PAYSON!"
Her daughter stopped, she stood still for a moment before getting her voice back, "What is this, it was taped to my window, who sent it, what does it mean? Mom! MOM!" Kim was busy trying to catch the piece of paper flapping around in Payson's flailing arms, her heart pounded in his chest, taped to her window? Flashes of the letters Sasha received zipped through her mind, what if Payson received a note like that?
With a final clamping of her fingers, she managed to snatch the paper out of Payson's hands. "Payson, calm down, sit down, please!" With a nervous huff, her daughter plopped next to her on the bed.
"Read it."
"I'm getting there!"
"What does it mean?"
"I'm getting there!" Kim repeated with a small snap, she sighed, "Payson…"
"I know, just read it!"
Kim looked down at the note, it was folded in half, Payson's name written on the front in a handwritten so familiar she instantly felt her insides freeze up. "Oh my God."
"Mom?"
Without answering, Kim flipped the letter open. He's mine. Stay away from him. He belongs to ME.
"Who is 'he?' Who am I supposed to stay away from? What does that mean?"
"Payson, just…stop, for like a second…just…get me the cordless."
"Mom? What-"
Kim looked at her daughter, at how frightened her face was, how innocent. How could she tell her? "I think the he…Payson, I think this letter is referring to Sasha."
Payson paled, "What do you mean?"
"About two weeks ago, Sasha received two…rather vulgar letters from someone with this same distinct handwriting. An obsessive fan, we thought, nothing to worry about but…if he's leaving letters taped to my daughter's window…"
"Mom, you don't think this person would hurt Sasha, do you? Or…or me?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think this is about me kissing him?"
"I don't know, Pay, just please get the cordless from the hallway." Payson nodded and retrieved the house phone. Kim clicked through the recent calls before landing on Sasha's cell number and hit the Talk button. He answered on the third ring.
"Kim? Payson?" he sounded frantic. "Don't tell me you got one too…"
"It's Kim and what do you mean got one too?"
"Summer had a blasted letter taped to her window this morning, she just called me, it said to stay away from me, that I belonged to whoever this…this bloody arsehole is!"
Under normal circumstances, Kim would have teased Sasha on his slip into British slang, but there was nothing funny about any of this. "Payson had one too."
"Mom?" Payson begged, "Mom, who else?" Kim put her hand on her daughter's arm to hush her.
"Damn it! Damn it all to bloody hell!" Sasha cursed.
"Sasha, maybe we should go to the police."
He felt a chill run up his back, like someone was watching him. "Come in early, Summer is too, bring Payson, I don't want her alone, we'll talk about this, about what to do." He said as he stepped over to his window and peeked through the venetian blinds.
"We'll be there in a half and Sasha?"
"Yeah?"
Kim sighed, "Be careful."
Feeling exposed, Sasha took a quick shower, he spared only a quick lament to the tub, what was with Americans and showers anyway? Sure, they were quicker, but certainly not as relaxing. Then again, not even the hottest bath could unwind him at that moment. Not when it seemed his overzealous fan had overstepped boundaries and was frightening the woman he loved and one of his favorite gymnasts.
Turning the shower hotter, he scrubbed at his skin with the washcloth, leaving his arms, chest, legs and all else red with the heat and the harshness; he felt filthy. How could words—only words—cause him to feel so revolting?
After he washed his hair (scrubbing his scalp with his nails as if there was even dirt there), he rinsed and stepped out of the shower, so preoccupied that he missed the message written in the steam on his mirror. I love you.
But Sasha didn't see the dripping letters, he was too busy tearing through his new apartment in search of where he left his laundry basket with the clothing he had cleaned the day before and a fresh pair of boxer briefs. He didn't even hear his front door click softly shut behind someone as they left, never the wiser of the man creeping down the steps and into the streets and vanishing around the corner.
Summer, Kim and Payson arrived within moments of each other. "Let me see yours," Kim said, thrusting Payson's into Summer's face for her to as she took Summer's. They were identical in wording and structure. Kim shook her head in disgust. "Whoever he is…"
"You don't think anyone else got one, do you?"
Kim shrugged, "I don't even know how we can find out. We can't just ask, 'Hey, did you get a creepy letter taped to your window this morning?'"
Summer grunted, "Why not? At least then we can see if anyone else is in danger."
Kim was quiet, contemplating, when Payson's voice rang out, "Mom! Summer!" Both women snapped their heads around to face Payson as she stood by the locked doors of the gym, on the inside was an envelope taped to the glass. Written on the front was Sasha's full name. Slowly, Summer pulled out her keys and unlocked the doors, she hesitated and tugged the envelope down.
"I'll open it," Kim said, suddenly protective of both Summer and her daughter and, as it seemed, of Sasha. Summer handed the envelope over.
What she saw almost made her sick. "Oh my God…Oh my God…"
"Mom?"
"Kim what is it?"
Kim shook her head, not wanting either of them to see what was inside, she shoved the contents back in and held it tightly, "Where the hell is Sasha?" Just as the words left her mouth, the sound of his motorbike could be heard racing up the block, he turned into the parking lot and pulled into his space, shutting the bike and jumping off the seat with a fierce fluidity.
"Let me see both notes."
Summer made to hand hers over but Kim stopped her, "Sasha, this was taped on the inside of the gym's doors." She held out the envelope and warily, Sasha took it. The look on Kim's face was enough to spike his fear. He opened the flap and pulled out a large photograph, in red were the words: Look at how beautiful you are. He couldn't help it, he cried out and dropped the photo as if the edges were acid and eating away at the flesh of his fingertips; he stepped back, his throat emitting strangled noises as he fought the fear and disgust inside him.
The picture floated to the ground, facing up. It was taken from right outside Sasha's window, the night before, as he pleasured himself.
Hmmm, hopefully you guys got your daily dose of creepy out of the way with this. Let me know what you think, any questions, stipulations, or even what you would like to see out of this fic, Please review! Seriously! I feed on reviews and the more I get, the more I want to hurry up and write.
PS: This is unbeta-ed, so any mistakes, I claim as my own!
PPS: If you're curious about the chapter title and the literary reference used in the beginning, I ask you to look up the poem of the same name by Robert Browning.