( Brutality )
Disclaimed.
It's just an itch he had to scratch.
Bleached burned scraped, arms like falling on asphalt, shredded concrete. His breath was dank and hot as he panted it out - lungfulls of salt radiator air tickling and stinking on his lips. The whole thing smelled like rust and hot and sulfur steam.
He hunched over - shoulders rounded like a pair of grotesque, twisted wings - favoring his right arm with rough fingers clamped over the fracture.
Bleach white skeleton bone. Seep through the red skin, screaming. Gusts of rank sour warm from his devil's mouth. Itching. Twitching.
He feels the need to break something and it is this urge that keeps the grin coiled like a strike-snake on his mouth. His clothes are covered in mud.
It is the dirt that keeps him clean. He feels the fluid in his lungs rising like acid from the inside. 409 kiss.
Looking at him - like a dog lapping at its own vomit or swallowing buckets of cum and Drain-o on bent knees. Let it all slide down, he thinks, and crush the bottle of sick alcohol between his fingers.
Up against the wall he watches through burning slit eyes as the stairs creak and a pair of black boots come cascading down, the familiar set of careful footsteps coming here to find him.
Pain makes you blind and stupid, he thinks.
Prove it to me. Show me something that I've seen before.
Ryuhou comes to him, all leg and smirking frown, with arched brows and a tiny Snow Queen smile itching to be on his lips. What was his Kazuma but a dog that had been beaten and starved, mangled and matted? What use? Hair like flame-licks stuck with sweat and parlor grease, bone sticking out and twisted bleach from one arm - from his slouching shoulders, sharp tiny hungry teeth like he was all ribs, all animal. All come at me and I'll kill you. Look at me and I'll kill you. Come on come on come on. I dare you. I dare you.
Fresh meat lips, angel hips, bone casket of him. He was bleeding and muddy, bleeding and muddy. Useless. Worthless. Come on, come on.
Kazuma bristled as Ryuhou - Frog King crowned prince - placed curling curving marble fingers on the spot that was the right corner of his bottom lip, hooking on the inside around the plush of flesh, red eyes swelling like a gemstone, like a bonfire on the inside of them. Kazuma's breath hitched and he recoiled, neck tilted up as blood pumped hard through the veins in his jaw. He snorted the cold drip back up his nose.
Get the fuck away from me, he quiet growled. Get your hands off of me you bastard. You asshole.
You.
The snakey-snake boy frowned, then smiled. Strangely, smiled. He intertwined his fingers between Kazuma's rough, pumping own, raising the hurt arm next to his head, the broke shatter splinter arm, and pressed soft lips to the fracture. The bone screamed. Kazuma thrashed against the cold ice wall of his body and the brick burn wall behind him.
Love to make it hurt, love to kiss it angry. Soft velveteen tongue prodding and sucking up black spurts and dribbles like a coin machine. Smirking tinkling mouth. Laugh like gentle whispering maniacal wind chimes. Kazuma's throat tore and he jerked around so that his ligaments and blood were shrieking. He felt the weight around his ankles binding.
Chains hung like heavy metal ash circling his feet. He shifted in them but could not escape, run, run, run. Shuddered again again until he told him, no. And eyes like come on. Set fire to the woodpile.
The painful wet trail of kisses came to their painful end and he smiled up - porcelain doll dragon face - and pressed hard with tapered fingers before he let the thick limb drop and Kazuma's fingers clamped the ache inside again, gritting his teeth until they chalky ground their nerves.
The enamel was licked away. Gray shone out of sick white coating - yellowed with the cigarettes, the starving. The clawing clawing clawing 'till he had brick crumbles underneath his fingernails.
Are you ready? A voice asks him gently. Malicious and kind, cold and scorched and waiting. Vicious. Are you ready?
He breathes hard and shakily through clots of rising blood and pus foam churning in his empty cells. Lover darling presents him with an apple and a toxic kiss like fangs and chemicals. Black-feathered love. His only love.
He is ready.
And he's been ready for a real long time.
He
grins. You're never gonna kill me, he
says. You're never gonna hurt me.
And
he smirks, laughing lowly, dog-throat rumble.
Too chickenshit to end it.
I know you.
Cold fingers brush his cheekbones, eyelids. End it just like you want it to end? Siren voice, taunting him. Fingertips flutter on his skin.
Pulp lips and corded flesh.
His skin crawls from the inside.
Yeah, he says. Just like I want it to end. And he is crippled, maimed, bleached, burned, broken, crooked, panting up against the wall and slouched under the weight of himself. A delicate hand presses the apple into his palm. Slow, loving temptation.
And he is so hungry hungry hungry sulfur air steam empty stomach cage starving. All ribs. All animal.
He raises it with one rough shaking hand and bites into the clear cool sterile flesh. The skin curls up red behind his teeth. It mingles with the pus and sting that he can taste outside his mouth like bile.
He is disgusted and disgusting. He is big sharp teeth tearing at the apple core. He is that dog lapping up its own sick fluids.
The pale, green-haired man smiles behind a veil of viciousness. Sweet soft face, caress, caress. Let me feed you. Oh how long I forgot to feed you.
My baby he whispers. My baby.
There is a stagger-jerk back and Kazuma clutches his intestines, stomach lungs, and drops the spoiled fruit, bruised by clutching fingers, rolling between their feet. No smell, no chemical metal stink. No taste. Clean clear cool. Clutching gasping for air reaching. Fingers curling coiling. His eyes widen - scarred tissue flesh and fire lashes - and amber eyes shatter like a spray of broken glass.
No cure, love? No antidote, lover? Save me. I dare you. Save me.
Save me help me because this is not how I wanted it to end.
He is reminded by a low, tinkling laughter and purpled fingers that lead soft, sucking lips to his neck, carefully tuck a loose strand of hair behind his hellion's ear, so lovingly. My baby, my baby.
He chokes. Voices rise above the surface of the water. His own, Ryuhou's? Ghost voices? Screaming. Tantrum screaming. Clawing screaming.
He is crying but there is no salt dribbling. Coppery red water tears, eardrums wet and gushing. Trickling. Soft sucking lips on his neck. Starfish clutchy lips. Bleeding bleeding out of every hole.
Through the blur of pain and colors he feels a hand like the moon cupped upon his face, slim body curled against his chest, and red eyes absorbing cigarette burns like from his memory. He is tearing his hair out at the roots - feeling the grotesque POP Of skin beneath his fingers. He is on fire. He is banshee shrieking from an open mouth and seeing nothing but that hand on him, those eyes. That smile.
I never loved you, a voice whispers in his ear.
And
through the blood-mud of his eyes
The
burn disease scrape of his mouth
And
swollen tearing lungs
And
flailing limbs
He smiles a red-stained, toothy smile, and mouths the last word, watching the face above his twist in anguish, wishing he would never have the chance to forget the sound of Kazuma's voice as he whispered
"Liar."