Title: Love's Like Suicide
Author: Gabriel
Wrestlers: Scott Levy (Raven), Stevie Richards
Warnings: slash, violence, abuse, dark subject matter, angst, language, etc.
Rating: R, simply for thematic elements
Disclaimers: I don't own them. I don't presume to know anything about their lives either. Written purely for my twisted enjoyment. The title of this fic is blatantly stolen from a lyric from Soundgarden's "Like Suicide".
"Fuck you, Scotty! I'm leaving."
The glass is in my hand before I realize it and is flying out of my hand and across the room before I can regain any semblance of control over my body. I watch as Stevie ducks, the glass narrowly missing his head, and shattering as it hits the wall above him. I'm across the room before he can move and he looks up at me, his eyes wide, full of fear.
"I don't think so," I whisper softly, my hand wrapping lightly around his neck, threatening, not hurting him. Not at the moment at least.
Stevie knows where this is going; I can see it in his eyes. Good. Hopefully he'll be a good little Stevie, make this easier on himself. I can see his chest moving up and down rapidly in fear; feel him swallow hard against my hand. He's terrified. And the way I am right now, he probably should be. I don't particularly want to hurt him. Doesn't mean I'm not going to.
"Let me go," he whimpers as I dig my nails hard into his shoulder, drawing blood.
Flashing Stevie one of my more disturbing smiles, I opt not to answer. Instead I lower my head, licking the blood off. I feel Stevie tense up under my tongue, knowing what's coming next. I bite into his shoulder as hard as I can, feeling the hard muscles protest under my teeth, biting down until I feel the flesh give under my teeth, releasing the pressure a bit when his blood fills my mouth. I can hear Stevie whimpering quietly in pain, knowing that it'll be worse for him if he cries out any louder, and knowing that I've just gotten started.
I raise my head; my mouth covered in blood, Stevie's blood, and pull him into a kiss, making him taste his own life force in his mouth. As I kiss him, I bite his lip, hard enough to ruin whatever pleasure could have come out of the kiss, but not hard enough to make his lip bleed as well.
I meet his eyes, finding them full of hatred, the fear still evident but pushed to the back for the moment. Hmm, maybe it's time to remind him why he should be afraid of me... why he hasn't attempted to break free and run to the door yet.
Pulling away, I shove Stevie roughly against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. He struggles for a second and then gives up, knowing that I'm stronger than him.
I'm biting his neck, leaving several crescent shaped marks, when he suddenly lashes out frantically, kicking me hard in the stomach, making me double up. Bad move, Stevie. If you wanted to hurt me, you should've made sure I wouldn't be able to get up.
Three kicks to his stomach leaves him sprawled on the ground, whimpering. Another to his jaw makes him go limp. Good. He's in for a surprise when he wakes up.
I pick up his limp body, slinging it over my shoulder and carrying him upstairs, upstairs to where my playroom is. Once there, I lean him against the wall and slide a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, letting them hold up his weight. He's already stirring and he knows exactly where he is.
"Scotty?" he asks, his voice shaking slightly.
I don't answer him, preferring to just watch him struggle against the cuffs for a second, the metal digging into his skin, making him wince as he pulls a bit too hard. I'll have him pulling harder.
"You need to be punished, Stevie," I say quietly, picking up the whip from the floor where I had thrown it after its last use.
"Scotty... I'm sorry," he whispers.
"Shut up."
The whip connects with his back, leaving a red line, but Stevie doesn't make a sound. Well, that just won't do. I hit him again, taking care to land it right on the same spot. This earns me a quiet whimper. A third one to the same place gets me a strangled yelp. Good. I keep the blows coming until Stevie goes limp against the chains, his wrists now bleeding from the handcuffs digging into them.
And just as suddenly, the rage that held me is gone, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Quickly, I release the handcuffs, sending Stevie's boneless body falling into my arms, and carry him over to the bed. His wrists are shredded in places and in others rubbed completely raw. His back is a mess of raised welts, along with some bleeding sores.
Sighing, I head to the bathroom, grabbing a wet washcloth and a first aid kit. Stevie stirs slightly, whimpering, as I start to bathe off his back, trying to get the dried blood off. I calm him down with a few soothing words and he slips back under.
When I touch his wrist, he jerks away from me, curling up into a ball, trying to protect himself. It takes me a good several minutes to convince him to let me touch him, to let me bathe the cuts off, put some ointment on it, and wrap it up with gauze.
I finish with the other wrist and look back at his face to find his crystal blue eyes open, staring at me. I tentatively reach forward to touch his cheek, not sure whether or not he'll let me. He does and I relax slightly.
"Stevie, I'm sorry."
I can't even meet his eyes when I say it. I know it's not enough... and how could it be? Knowing that there's nothing I can do, I just pull him into my arms, not expecting a response to my apology. He drops his head down on my shoulder, letting me run my hands through his long dark brown hair. And then, when I think he's fallen asleep, he mutters an answer. The words don't worry me but the tone of his voice does. There's absolutely no emotion behind it.
"Aren't you always, Scotty?"