Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS! (yes ppl. that means OVER 18s! XD), M/M (Patrick/Allen), Rape, Very violent, Death, Bad language. (Pretty much this is the sort of writing that if stumbled upon by a psychiatrist they'd recommend i be institutionalized immediately...XD)
This fiction is dedicated to a friend of mine (you know who you are X3) which is pretty much the reason why i finally got around to watching American Psycho. (Gosh i laughed so fucking much that evening...see. this is why i KNOW im insane. XD) In advance im sincerely sorry for how bad this probably will be and i promise ill write a nicer, less vicious, fiction for you in the future...XD Please don't hate me!
Well either way, i hope you ppl will like this, at least a little and if you can, please leave a review. It only takes a second and it will mean the world to me! ENJOY!
Also, i do NOT own American Psycho or any of the characters!
Emotional Ransack
Patrick Bateman glared with hateful eyes at the man slumped on his sofa. His fingers flexed around the wooden handle of the perfectly keen axe. He knew for a fact the weapon was deadly sharp since he had personally checked and attended to it just the other day. He wanted events to work according to plan. Patrick wasn't the sort of man who left things up to fate. Preparation was everything. Appearance was key. He understood that perfectly which is how he tricked his prey into thinking they were safe. By the time his perfect mask slipped, it was already far too late. He loved that moment most of all when they glimpsed the dark side of him, past the cracks, and their entire world crumbled around them. Only then did they fully grasp the full extent of their impending doom.
Paul Allen was one such victim. The same man whose back bore the loathing loaded glare of the standing psycho. Little did he knew that his life was about to be chopped away, quite literally. Patrick narrowed his eyes, once more gripping the axe handle. He'd dreamed about the moment when he could finally hack that moron to tiny pieces. Him and his stupid reservations and his apartment and his business card. Everything about the man irked him, down to his stupid smile. That is why Patrick wanted this to be perfect. He wanted to savour the feel of steel biting soft flesh and the delightful sound of trickling blood coursing out of the fresh carve, cascading down the milky white skin and creating a perfect contrast of colours which always had Patrick thinking of strawberries and cream.
With that delectable image imprinted in his mind, Patrick closed his long fingers around the ligneous length and his thin lips curved into a knowing smirk. He could practically already hear the symphony of crushed bones and severed sinew. And the melody of that final noise, just as life is ended as easily as snuffing the tiny flickering flame of a candle. It always resonated with him and sent his entire self into a mad ecstasy. It was better than sex.
Now there was an interesting thought. Once again, Patrick paused and lowered the barely raised axe back to its previous place on the floor. He fancied he felt a pang of disappointment from the weapon. He was a creature of habit. His 'projects' always had a methodology to them despite their first appearance of absolute chaos. Patrick usually preferred venting his emotions on women, though that did not mean he didn't kill men just as frequently. It all depended on his pent up anger, though sometimes he killed simply to feel that trill which accompanied the criminal act.
Patrick retreated to the bathroom with slow and silent steps, dragging his weapon of choice with him. 'Hip to be Square' continued playing loudly in the background, effectively disguising his presence. He could tell Allen was dozing off from the way his head slightly lolled to one side and his finger tapped to the beats sluggishly and completely out of tune. Patrick knew his absence wouldn't be noticed.
Once inside the white surrounding he finally removed his palm completely from the axe. It rested against the tiles, simply waiting with impatience for when its services would once more be required. The owner meanwhile, was absorbed in a conflicting battle unleashing inside his mind. He gripped the rim of the sink and leaned forwards so he could peer into the hollow depths of his own eyes. Even he wasn't sure of what truly lurched behind his quickly fading mask of sanity. He wasn't blind or stupid enough to ignore his own insanity. On various occasions he even acknowledged this madness in public, just to see if those around him truly listened. Of course they didn't, and when they did they assumed he was joking because that was a much easier thing to deal with than any ugly business.
He ran his hand through his neatly styled chestnut hair. Bringing Allen to his apartment was a mistake. One he hadn't considered until he was staring at his own reflection, with his dilated pupils and flared nostrils. He was overly excited and he wished he would have considered the company of a prostitute rather than Allen's. The image of him running his hands almost lovingly over a woman's curves just before striking out and decorating the white canvas of her skin into a hundred blooming red roses almost had his mouth watering. Patrick's entire nervous system was buzzing with arousal, like a drug that was rapidly and mercilessly corroding him from the inside out.
As a rule he found the gays as absolutely revolting. Worse than the garbage on the street and he was proud to say he personally disposed of a few tainted men. Yet, at the same time he couldn't deny his own attraction for the man currently slumped on his sofa. No. He was horney and Allen just happened to be the one there. He wasn't the reason for this reaction. Patrick refused to consider his presence as anything other than purely coincidental. Well, coincidence wasn't the most appropriate word for it since Allen's presence had been very much planned but Patrick was convincing himself his mouth would be just as dry no matter who would be the one occupying a seat in his layer.
Slowly he unbuttoned the protective, see-through coat and threw it on the floor in the direction of the axe. He loosened his tie and popped the collar buttons open, seeking some sort of cooling relief. If he was being honest with himself, the only person he was ever honest with, Patrick did admit Allen was a good looking man. His slender build, long limbs and facial attributes were delicate enough to be considered feminine but he still had that hint of masculinity. His eyes were a crystal blue that put the oceans to shame and his lips were full and red. Quite rare beauty found in a man. Another thing which Patrick found so annoying.
But wouldn't it be interesting if he crushed that beauty before blissfully ending Allen's life? He glanced at his reflection again and he could see the new sparkle present in the narrowed eyes. His lips curved upwards into a planning smile. This little game just became much more interesting. Fucking a guy? As much as he loathed others who were gay he didn't consider himself one, therefore he granted himself absolution from the rule. He simply wished to sate his curiosity. A perfectly natural human desire.
The music track continued to drum and drown out the sound of Patrick's approaching footsteps. In moments he was standing behind Allen, looking down at the barely conscious man. Allen's eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. Patrick hesitantly reached forth and let his fingertips feel the soft chocolate strands, going deeper and deeper until the locks of hair curled around his whole palm. The fingers descended lower, running along the hollow of Allen's cheek and tracing his sharp jaw. The two hands met for a fleeting moment when the fingers coiled around the oblivious throat, enclosing the area in a perfectly deadly embrace. Patrick stood like that for a second, feeling each and every inhale and exhale vibrating through Allen's skin. Euphoric was the only thing that could describe the feel of absolute control over another's life. How easily he could end it… All he had to do was tighten his hold…
One hand left and descended yet lower, along the protruding vein to the central dip of the collarbone. Patrick's other hand continued to rest on Allen's throat, unwilling to forsake the feel of absolute power just yet. As he felt more of the shockingly smooth skin under his fingers, Patrick undid the top buttons of the white shirt. He was so absorbed in his task he didn't realize the sudden hitch in Allen's breath, nor the new tension in his muscles.
'Marcus?...' Allen's voice was small and groggy, stuck somewhere between just having woken up and struggling to focus. Patrick smirked slightly, realizing Allen still had no idea who he was dealing with. Oh well. He could go on pretending to be Marcus for a while longer.
'Hm?' His fingers didn't pause in their exploration and Allen didn't pull away. At least not yet.
'What are you doing?' Patrick couldn't help another smirk at the evident panic in the other's voice. He rubbed circles against Allen's chest in a soothing manner and he felt the tension slowly leaving, though Allen himself didn't seem to realize this.
'What does it look like?' Their conversation consisted of questions with no concrete answers. Assumptions and deductions. Speculations and guesses, nothing different from another day at the office. Everyone looked the same to the point where one could not tell the identity of one from the other just as Marcus and Patrick became one in Allen's eyes.
'I'm not-' Before Allen could finish, Patrick's hand left his throat and closed around his lips effectively silencing him. He leaned down and pressed his own lips to the other's ear, noting the shivers running down Allen's frame. Words were deceiving but the body never lied.
'Shhh. Don't fight this. You know you want it.' Seduction was one of his mastered tricks. His voice was a low growl, loaded with primal desire and his fingers suddenly curved, leaving angry red marks against the milky skin. Allen was drunk enough to go along with just about anything and if not…Patrick had his ways. He always got what he wanted.
Fortunately, that wasn't a problem. Patrick grinned against Allen's ear as he felt the other's hand coyly reach for his. The remaining shirt buttons were undone as the pretend Marcus licked along the ridge of Allen's ear and sucked the sensitive lobe between his lips. This was going to be easier than he had dared hope. Defiling Allen and breaking him was going to be one of the best games he ever played and Allen didn't even understand he was willingly making himself a victim. Oh how he loved this game of cat and mouse...
'Get up.' Patrick pulled back, leaving Allen confused and wide-eyed. It took a second for him to understand the command given and when he registered the words he hurried to obey. Allen stood, aware of his exposed torso and chest, as Patrick circled him, like a predator eyeing his prey, finally coming face to face with his personal enemy. Patrick could feel the rage and hatred bubbling inside him, almost over spilling like a witch's brew, barely veiled by a thin layer of self-restraint and the entire package was wrapped in a thick coating of lust. All in all, a rather rich and delicious mix of emotions, all vibrantly and vividly splashed across his mind.
'Marcus?...' Patrick snapped back to reality, realizing he was just staring at his prey with unmasked hunger. He could see fear lurching in Allen's blue orbs. His grin widened to a wicked display right before he stepped forth and clasped Allen's shoulder roughly to crush their lips together. He was all animal. His teeth bit into Allen's lower lips, forcing them open so his tongue could enter and cease control over everything Allen had to offer, willingly or not. He pushed Allen back to the sofa, breaking the kiss so he could watch the other fall with enough force to bounce against the cushions.
Patrick gripped Allen's collar and pushed him against the couch in an upright sitting position while forcing his legs open with his knee. Things were moving fast, too fast for Allen's comfort but he was silenced by Patrick's demanding lips again. His hair was pulled painfully and his head was forced back so Patrick had an unobstructed view of the arched throat. He licked the ridged flesh and bit on the bobbling Adam's apple.
'Marcus wait-' Patrick's hand struck out viciously and without warning across Allen's mouth. The other bit his words back and only yelped in surprise instead, falling absolutely silent afterwards as Patrick continued to devour the exposed skin.
Allen could feel it. Something was different. His entire body froze with fear and he wasn't sure what the source of this shockingly crippling dread was. Surely it wasn't Marcus! The guy had been nothing but civilized and refined since the start of that evening and despite the path things were progressing, surely he had nothing to be afraid of. The hit across his face was probably an involuntary reaction. A mistake. After all, it was so much easier to believe those lies than face the cruel reality of his doom. He knew it in advance. Something inside him was screaming at him to run, to resist, to kick and punch.
Patrick suddenly grabbed Allen by his hair and threw him across the couch. He held him down with one hand fisting his long, no-longer-neat locks and by placing his knee down on the small of his back.
'Marcus stop. I don't want this anymore!' Allen's words were uttered as gasps for air and they were muffled by the cushions pressing against his cheek. He wasn't a small man, but Patrick was so much bigger and stronger. He really didn't stand a chance. Being drunk and barely able to stand didn't help either.
'Too bad. Because I do.' Just for good measure, Patrick grasped Allen's arms and twisted it around his back until he could hear the bone protesting and the other uttering a strangled gasp. Allen's struggling stilled, since to continue would spell the breaking of his arm. He lay motionless as he heard Patrick undress, and he spied the expensive shirt fall to the ground. He was trying to keep his breathing steady and to still his panic but all hell broke loose when he felt Marcus' fingers curl around the waistband of his trousers. Up to that point he was able to kid himself and pretend this wasn't really happening.
'No. Let me go! You can't-' Whatever else he was going to say was swallowed by his scream of pain as Patrick twisted his arm yet further. A pain so blinding, Allen stilled completely for a moment and saw white. He knew from the sickening snapping sound and the rivets of numbing pain incinerating his limb that it was dislocated or maybe even broken.
'Shut up. Or do you want me to break your neck too?' Patrick's gleeful smile couldn't be more sincere. There was certainly something more satisfying and accomplishing in dominating a man rather than a woman. He let go of the limp arm and instead concentrated on discarding the remaining of Allen's lower clothes. The other was still too dazed by the pain to even notice.
Once done, Patrick flipped the smaller man on his back with exaggerated ease. Allen was falling into unconsciousness, choosing that over facing the pain of reality, and Patrick wouldn't have it. There was no fun in dominating a sleeping man…He slapped the other sharply, once, twice, until his eyes fluttered open. He relished the absolute fear emitted from the staring eyes.
'Why are you doing this?...' If his voice was any smaller, Patrick would have missed hearing it, despite being so close. He considered the question for all of one second before his grin turned feral.
'Because I can.' The truth was always a simple one. He considered what to do next while Allen had a chance to fully grasp the fucked up situation he was really in. Like a good wine, Patrick intended to savour this. One didn't just throw back a glass of Chardonnay. And that is exactly how Patrick saw this. An expensive treat that had to be cherished and prized. Allen was not the common prostitute who so readily jumped into his car for a few notes of green paper.
He ran a finger across Allen's cheek, noting the flinch, and smiled almost sweetly and warmly at him. But just as quickly, the warmth left and the smile morphed into a wolfish grin that could only be associated with the devil himself. He forced Allen's legs apart, nudging his thighs with his knees and held him down by gripping his throat. He could fell the hectic speed of the other's heart and it sent direct jolts down south. Patrick punched with deadly accuracy, Allen's liver. The sort of punch that had a man bending over and heaving in pain now shook Allen's entire frame and he twitched with the aftershocks of the merciless display of brutality. Unfortunately Patrick wasn't done yet. Not even close. He grinned maniacally and grew more aroused as he delivered a stream of punches all across the incapacitated man's body. In a matter of minutes what had once been unbroken, white skin was now a broken mess of purple and blue bruises mingled with droplets of red blood cascading from the areas where the blows were vicious enough to open wounds.
Patrick was waiting until the other would be reduced to a sobbing, pleading, pathetic whore and his entire spirit lifted when his aim was achieved. He made sure to leave Allen's pretty face mostly untouched, except for the occasional slap, and he was able to gaze into the fluttering blue orbs as they closed, once more overpowered by the pain of reality. Another slap and Allen was force-kicked back into his living nightmare. His throat was too hoarse to plead anymore or attempt screaming. Patrick successfully broke him apart, piece by piece, with an expertise only achieved through plenty of practice.
The fake Marcus took advantage of this submissive state and proceeded to break Allen even further, by violating him. No preparations were made in advance nor any warning given and it really wasn't a surprise when a scream, so full of pain it sent his entire body arching, tore out of Allen's raw throat. Patrick took a second to delight in his prey's misery and wonder at the equatorial heat engulfing his member, before slipping out and repeating the stabbing motion over and over, dragging Allen to new levels of hellish suffering. At one point the later went sluggish again only to be dragged back to consciousness by another lash to his face. A thin river of blood flowed from the corner of Allen's mouth from when he bit his tongue while caught between screaming and gasping.
On the other hand, Patrick was in the ninth heaven. The constricting muscles around him burned with heat and spasmed with electricity. He could feel the approaching climax. Just a few thrusts away. Caught in his pursuit for pleasure, Patrick tightened his hold on Allen's throat and squeezed. He didn't ease up as Allen's mouth fell open, or when his eyes rolled in the back of his head, or when the weak grasp of his fingers loosened completely and fell motionless to the floor where the discarded clothes were. Patrick's fingers clenched like a vice around the sensitive air track, leaving deep and angry marks across the skin, and only released their hold once he came violently and he was hit full force by his own orgasm. Strong enough to have him throw his head back and relish the full impact of absolute pleasure.
When he came back to his senses, the first thing he noticed with some relief was that Allen was still alive. His breathing was weak and his pulse was barely noticeable, but it was there. He pulled away from the abused man and sat up. He dressed back into his suit, taking his time to fix his hair and do his buttons and tie. Once done, he moved to the bathroom much like earlier that evening. With his lust sated the other vindictive emotions sprang forth. Loathing. Rage. Jealousy. All eager to yank at his sanity and drag him into the unravelling bliss of psychopathic madness.
Patrick pulled the protective plastic coat over his expensive clothes and took his sweet time with the preparations. He wanted to make sure he was at his best before he sent Allen on his way to the dark hell which was sure to wait each and every one of them after their lives were over. He wanted for Allen to understand that in this moment he, Patrick Bateman, was the superior one. All his flaunting reservations and business cards didn't do him a bit of good when he will be dead. While Patrick would continue to live and be the best. Through whatever means necessary.
His fingers flexed around the handle of the axe for one final time. The scraping of steel against tiles was like a friendly hello from his trusty tool and he smiled at it with a warmth reserved for very rare occasions. It was time to put Paul Allen out of his misery.
Like the maniac he pretended not to be, Patrick made his way back to Allen. He looked upon the unconscious man for the last time before he slapped him into consciousness. The other was too exhausted to do more than simply look, through half lidded eyes, at his oppressor but Patrick was satisfied with that. He could see the other's acceptance of defeat shining through pleading blue orbs.
He raised the axe above his head and grinned as it fell down and sank into the broken skin, cutting flesh and bone indiscriminately. His grin turned to joyous laughter as he continued to carve the flesh like a butcher carving swine. Then his joy bounced back to rage and he remembered all the little reasons why he hated Allen so fucking much and he inhaled the irony scent of the blood sprayed across his face.
When he was done he simply pushed the disfigured remains to the floor and occupied the now vacant seat.
Okay im done! How bad was that?!...XD Gosh i felt so bad for Allen, both in the book and in the movie so what do i do? I prolong his suffering and make him wish for death. Yep. I'm the Irish Psycho. (LOLOLOLOL) XD
Well i hope you'll spare the second it takes to leave a review. Constructive criticism is also very welcomed! Please and Thank You! XD
HAVE A NICE DAY!~