Hiya everyone! Sigh yes, yes I know I'm supposed to be updating something right now…but don't worry it's coming all in due time… But alas this little thing floated around in my head until I put it on paper the damn thing wouldn't leave me alone :P
Same disclaimer as all the rest: I don't own anything but the plot
Please READ, REVIEW, and ENJOY!
Of Fallen Angels and Dead God's
It is said that Lucifer was the most beautiful of angels ever created; he was second only to his creator. He radiated greatness, elegance and a sort of magnificence that the ethereal beings themselves were probably envious of. Just a simple step and he fashioned the most majestic forms of a harmony, too perfect to let any mere human listen to. In fact he was practically perfect, except he had this one tiny flaw. Just like Vicious. In fact Faye Valentine had already determined that this man was the reincarnated version of the Devil himself, slithering through the masses attempting to capture each and every soul. Sometimes she wondered if he could still make that music, that euphoric sound that he had been attributed. And when she heard it she thought it was best not to doubt his abilities because the song came from her mouth.
It curled through one's veins suffocating the oxygen being carried through ones blood, holding it in a suspended state of horror. It scraped itself along the walls of her cage forming a sickening screeching noise that flooded ones ears with a sense of nausea, wanting to dispel what it had formerly consumed. Wanting to spit all of the putrid mess back out. And that bloodcurdling scream rattled across her iron shackles, tinkling them, like nails across a blackboard. Faye was sure all of hell was rejoicing.
And if Vicious was the Devil, then Spike Spiegel—that blasted cowboy—was a god come down to earth. Not that she was being blasphemous or anything but honestly one man could not have captured her heart with such intensity and be a human being, she was certain of it. But he had a flaw too, god didn't have flaws, therefore he must have been a lowly creature, just like her. You see that condemnable man had failed in achieving his goal when he went on his suicide trip, which was: kill Vicious.
Instead the bastard left her all alone, only Jet to keep her company, no Ed, no Spike just Jet, and Jet —whoever was up there laughing at her better bless his poor soul or she would see that they would rot with Vicious in hell— just wasn't enough. After some time, however long that may have been, they had drifted apart the other occupants not there, their glue just frittered away becoming just a distant memory a mist of waterfall, letting them know that once upon a time they had been apart of that. Apart of that blissful rush, but no more, if they attempted that once more they would be killed. Pounded into a state of evanescence. Being so, they separated but remained in contact, through communicators, both having the ever pressing need to look after one another. Come to think of it he hadn't attempted any sort of communication with her in a while.
She was wondering why she was thinking of all this nonsense when there was a searing sort of agony ripping through her back dizzying her vision and tearing through her bones. It was so she could ignore the pain; ignore the numb feeling trying to consume her mind, attempting to render her unconscious. Of course Vicious looked after that while he was decorating her back, every line that split the skin between her shoulder blades, was like an alarm clock that cruelly jarred her mind to an alert state, a smirk planted on the pains face as it became her personal lifeline, always keeping her thriving. Away from the comforting darkness.
She glanced around the room when yet another racking scream left her body. It wasn't frightening place, there was no bricked dungeon rotting away in the basement of a castle look, no lonely bared window vaguely shooting through the blinding light that would have aggravated her senses. Just a holding cell, a basic prison sans the bed, clean, gray and minimalistic. Plain yet intimidating, it held shackles. They held her there, held her in the satanic angel's arms, while he cradled her like a musical instrument that harmonizing for him.
Burning sensations ran within her, making the skin at its origin hiss, its own melodies slinking through the air, she could almost hear Vicious' ecstasy through that sound. And when he had finished he made a point (literally) of making it particularly excruciating, the flashing blade he was using digging through skin, seeking blood, deeper still it went, and Faye wondered sorrowfully if he wanted her bone marrow. Like a lamenting surge of wind the air in her lungs ruptured pouring out past her bruised lips, the music was making its crescendo and Faye wished it would stop, but the harmonies poured through her again, because Vicious was just starting.
She was curious to know how he found her; she had after all made herself virtually invisible. She had hardly went out for groceries and when she did they were bought in bulk and she'd just hibernate at her little apartment, which actually looked a lot like this cell. She would have shivered if her body was being torn apart. She had a job too, avoiding the casinos and bars where she was sure to get herself in trouble, she worked at a café as a waitress, it wasn't a high class job but it paid the bills and bought her food and the ever needy cigarettes. Jet had sort of found the job for her; he had never really given up being the over-protective motherly type, especially now that Spike was gone…
Vicious had struck a bone that partly made up her spinal cord, she was sure of it. Her body tingled violently, and she arched away from the knife only to find in doing so that she was drawing it deeper. She felt Vicious exhale a satisfied puff of air, and it coursed down the engravings on her back. She didn't even realize when she had been twisted to face the wall, she only acknowledged every patterned incision…she had to think of something else.
Her mind searched as the tears from persecution and perspiration from her fear permeated through her skin. Her voice let out another countless strangled cry and she could almost hear Vicious grin, some angel he was. Julia, the name was whispered to her, as if her mind was afraid of proclaiming it loudly in case she'd have a full fledged mental breakdown or something. It wasn't going to happen of course because she didn't hate Julia anymore, she was just unbelievably jealous. She had taken the heart of the only man she could truly remember loving, and left it for no one else. Not a portion, not even a microscopic spot available, it was all gone. Stupid bitch. It all belonged to Julia, and oddly Vicious too. Hell it had been whisked away by his past, the little fairytale land that he had been living in before he came to reside on Bebop. And he said that life was all a dream, well it had been before the whole tragedy with Julia and Vicious and the syndicate had happened. The lunkhead was always a dreamer, he didn't realize that in order for reality to exist there had to be sorrow. Faye had figured out that a long time ago.
Vicious was finishing up now, she could feel it, there was an excited air about him that ruffled against her neck making her body stand on edge she was terrified about what he'd do after. And then she noticed for the first time that she still had her clothes on except the back of her shirt had been torn in half but it draped around her arms keeping her front protected. She was thankful for this because it meant (hopefully) that he wasn't going to molest her or rape her. She gave her last howl it had hit the highest note yet, sweet and sickeningly cold. She played the part of a musical instrument well. So well that she frightened that he might take up practicing with her, instead of it being a one time thing.
Hearing a snap she glanced up he was wearing a pair of latex gloves, he had taken them from the medical kit that had somehow found its way inside the prison. Was he about to stitch her back up? She watched, cowering against, as he dragged the tip of his finger across the blade that was coated with the crimson liquid, she shuddered at the sight. Her blood, it was oozing its way down her back until she was sure that her every pore on her back had sucked it up greedily, and she felt it trickle down to her pants making sure to leave it imprint there.
Vicious' finger that held the blood off the blade and dragged it through the substance that coated her back, swirling the finger around almost as if he was trying to massage the pain away with one digit. It only increased and she gritted her teeth to stop the roar that rumbled in the back of her throat. That appendage that was filled with blood dipped into his mouth and he let out a contemplative yet needy sigh. The sound made Faye's head reel and her stomach churned threatening to release its contents all over the floor. His finger slick with traces of blood and saliva returned to back to collect more of her life's substance.
The finger slid through the fine hairs on her back, and over the raised pores, the pain of it all shooting through once more. He kneeled in front of her and with the same finger painted the red fluid on her lips, making it a substitute lipstick. The smell of blood filled her senses and made her lightheaded, she detested the smell, and she felt as his body covered by a rough silky fabric weighed down on her causing her back to leave garnet coloured imprints in the wall behind her. He leaned down to her ear, "Lick it," he commanded the baritone voice and the frosty air of his mouth blowing some strands of hair off her neck. Her eyes widened and verdure orbs connected with chilling blue. Under that taunting gaze she felt her heart return back to its cryogenic state, her life force stilling in all its actions.
Her jaw remained clenched immobile and her tongue stood still, her mouth just wouldn't move, she was not going to allow it. Vicious' eyes didn't glaze over with anger at her defiance as she expected it to; the man was purely unpredictable, so instead he simply placed his pallid lips against her deep vermillion ones and consumed the blood himself, his own tongue working on her supple lips. Her breath hitched and her body retched at that act, she hated it, because his very essence was repulsive and the fact that he wasn't abusive in doing so confused her. He was supposed to be a torturer, supposed to be hurtful in everything that he did to his "torturee". The kiss was gentle, and caring, as if he was her lover instead of the man that sliced through her body just a few minutes ago. She had once imagined Spike kissing her like that, and she loathed Vicious for taking that hope, that one pleasant thought from her. Her mind registered it abhorredly, now when a kiss of such kindness was given to her she would remember him. She'd remember her screams and his grin; she'd remember the pain, the dividing of skin. The bastard wasn't raping her physically but he was violating her memory, every time that sort of pleasantry was given to her she'd remember what she so desperately wanted to claw away. He was imprinting himself onto her; he was owning her now, in more ways than one.
His eyes remained focused on hers forever the biting ice that they had been before. Not even a hint of warmth left, and Faye for some odd reason speculated at where it all could have gone. Maybe he was born without any, she mused eyes narrowing. If she had the power to talk, moreover yell at him, she would have done so. However all the spunk she so prided herself on was seeping out of her back, rendering her weak, defenseless, feeble, things that she had promised herself she would never be. Weakness never got her anywhere, and resignedly she stared as he stalked back over to the kit and walked towards her with a bottle and gauze wraps and scissors. If only she wasn't so tired…and if she wasn't hurting so much she would have at the least twisted her face into a scowl.
Vicious knelt in front of her and cut a long piece of milk coloured gauze, he folded it a few times before he inclined into her and cooed out in her ear like he did previously, "We can't have you bleeding all over the floor Ms.Valentine." She despised that voice, she thought as it painted itself permanently in her mind, making certain that she would never forget it. And with that he brutally rubbed the material up her back and her voice cracked at the feeling. He had wiped up all the freely rushing and hardening blood from her back and he threw the now useless piece to the side. He poured the clear liquid onto a fresh, equally large section and started from the bottom of his cuts and slowly—almost lethargically—as he watched, with a giddy mocking expression on his face, as she screamed. If Faye hadn't been so exhausted she would have noted horridly what the liquid actually was: alcohol. It scorched her senses into a state of revival and she was sure her shriek could be heard throughout the whole building. Vicious just chuckled and did it again and again. The process was repeated so many times that she was sure her skin had been burned raw. He ended the cruel cauterization of her wounds and lifting her shirt wrapped the remaining gauze around her.
But the man wasn't finished with her yet, he did have to leave a lasting impression. Caressing her face he started there, he wasn't going to rape her, his ethics (whatever ones he had left) refused to let him do so. Besides he thought the fact that he had to forcefully bed a woman to relieve any sort of tension was disgusting, he was simply going to touch her. Softly, lovingly, until his fingers were embedded into her memory. Making sure that every spot of flesh was his So that when a man did this exact thing towards her, she would remember him mapping out her body and she would refuse to continue. He would do this until he memorized every fold of cloth covered skin like the back of his hand. She was going to be his, his new virgin flower that would cower away from a good, decent man because she had him. She would always have him; he'd make sure of that. She wasn't like Julia, the stupid woman had run into the arms of his best friend, the silly little slut thought she could escape him, evade him like he was an idiot and wouldn't notice a thing. She ended up dead, because that is the price that a slave got for running away from its master. But Faye would be more than a slave, she'd be a messenger and she'd be his lover, he was sure of that too. And he giggled.
Faye in the midst of blacking out from Vicious' soothing, hauntingly merciless stokes and the unbearable suffering her body endured, felt her blood run cold at that sound. Nope, she knew that she'd never be rid of him, this devil that had once been an angel.
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When Faye had been reawakened she made sure she put up a fight. She was like a little mutt: all bark and not a single bite; besides what effect could she have on Vicious and his string of annoying syndicate goons? Absolutely none, she knew this, but she was never one to be submissive. "Ms. Valentine you seem excitable today," his voiced slewed as his tone grew happy. Today would be fun.
"So what if I am Vicious?" she spat glaring at him, Vicious loved a challenge, and the blood they pumped through her seemed to be bringing her back to her normal physical state resurrecting her spirit too. Dear God, he was going to have the time of his life breaking her. His smile, that sadistic quirk of lips just grew.
He turned towards her a ghost of a stroke fluttered down her cheek, "It means Ms.Valentine that today we're going to have a very interesting day." The feeling across her cheek was icy momentarily stilling the heat she felt, 'No,' his mind whispered almost dejectedly seeing her sudden lack of enthusiasm, 'don't disappoint me…' Vicious hated to be disappointed; countless victims had suffered because Vicious was 'disappointed'. Then she scowled and a few seconds after registering the freezing digits and she flinched, her head turning away from it. He smiled—no smirked at that action, leaving Faye to wonder if there had once been something pleasant in those lips, something worth loving, something that had been once upon a time.
"And what does that mean?" she snarled, feeling the need to act like an infuriated dog as if she could fight back with the same amount of ferocious strength as the man standing in front of her. If she wasn't still chained, in this disgusting prison, and had that cursed man standing in front of her she would have laughed at herself and her thought process…or the lack of one.
"It means that I'm going undo those chains and then we get to play until you are exhausted, because I have a special treat for you…" he was still smirking, and he didn't care that he sounded as if he was talking to a five year old about to engage in a game of tag, because his mind still hadn't lost it's high from her terrific practice session a few days ago, he delighted in just how marvelous the music she made was. She had an practically picturesque scream, and he wanted to hear it again.
"Well then hurry up so I beat the shit out of you, you bastard!" Dammit. Her mouth had a talent for speeding through a retort before it was properly thought through. It was one of the reasons she won against her battles with Spike, and why they started in the first place. Why they were started. Past tense, because Spike was dead, remember Faye? Oh yeah, that was why she was left to spend some quality time with Vicious over there. She just hoped that such bonding days would end today, just finish abruptly, expire like all those damn cash cards. She despised those things from time to time.
Then her mind recognized something, he was laughing. At her, at her statement she really didn't care, it was just well…the sound. It was, was…odd. Yes that was precisely it, odd. The laugh was a strange mix of cruelty and sincerity like there was something deeper hidden underneath the layer of ruthlessness that few ever got to witness. As if his former angelic tendencies were trying to shine through, because old habits die hard. "Well Ms.Valentine," he started kneeling down in front of her, "that sounds so enticing. How can I pass such an offer up?" With ruffle of cloth and the clinking of metal she was released her wrists burning hatefully, and Vicious passed his fingers against their heat. He noticed the vibration of her shudder and his grin just grew wider. He was definitely going to enjoy this.
She hated it when he touched her, the cold tingle of rough flesh meeting her scorching skin. The touch there was something strange about it, hell there was something 'strange' about this man, but that touch…it was exactly like his laugh. The bitter cold of his skin left an echo of heat, like there had been something once. Something that thrived through and through even though he was trying to kill it, suffocate it with the newfound chill of his own heart. But whatever it was was relentless, fighting back with unseen passion and it showed. This fact just made the man so much more haunting, knowing that he was fighting against his own humanity. And winning. There was something else too, unfortunately she couldn't place it, and wouldn't be able to for a long time. Perhaps until the end.
Suddenly she was standing up, she didn't even know how it happened but there she was, lunging herself at the man in front of her. Her mind led her in a series of spins and kicks and punches, every attack that she could make was launching itself at Vicious. She didn't even seem to mind the pain that was shooting its way to every part of her body, or the fact that she was loosing a lot of blood. All she acknowledged was Vicious' laugh; it had lost any of its lingering touch, it was empty now. Empty and ferocious. The hollow sound stemmed from different points around the room, egging her on driving her further to frustration.
She couldn't even hit him. Not twice, not even once. Never, it was simply impossible as he sped all across the room in a dizzying dance. She could feel herself weaken and this only drove her determination further. She not only wanted to hit him now, she needed to. If only to prove a point, whether to herself or him she didn't know and for the billionth time didn't care her whole mindset however was focused on his face. She wanted to pound the smug look he wore into oblivion she wanted to make him choke on his never ending series of chuckles, because he was practically making fun of her. She despised him even more because of that.
Without warning he was a flurry of action, quickly grabbing her wrists and stilling her mid air punches he almost literally slammed her into the wall that held her shackles and she bit back a cry that had formed in her larynx, her suffering was about to begin again she thought disdainfully. Her eyes were threatening to spill its own liquid crystal, but she refused to succumb, she would retain every ounce of dignity she had left in her being. A lot of good that would do her…
"Ms.Valentine you're bleeding all over my floor again…" he whispered to her almost sounding exasperated, his breath smelled of cigarettes and something else, something sinister. Not putrid, or revolting, just ominous and it made her stomach churn all the same.
She glanced behind him to see what he was talking about. True enough she could see dark splatters of liquid forming a pattern. Tracing the random path that she had taken to seek out Vicious. She nearly sneered at him and at the sight, but as of that moment she was a little too frightened of the man that held her to do anything of the sort. "Now what should I do about that?"
"You could clean it," she hissed through clenched teeth, wincing at the throbbing ache of her back.
"Or I can make you eat it off the floor," he suggested more to himself than to her. He loved the idea, forcing her on her hands and knees, while a sickened Miss Faye Valentine, would have to devour her own blood. He would enjoy her little spectacle, and make sure that every spot had disappeared into her stomach. She would become some inanimate object just then—like a mop. His own personal cleaning service. And she better not dear to spew it out, because the cleaning utensil would have to do its duty all over again… "Yes. Ms.Valentine on your hands and knees," he commanded.
"What?" Was this man serious, frosted eyes conveyed no feeling, they were empty, she was afraid of those eyes. If your eyes were the window to your soul, than where was his? Had it inadvertently been lost along the way? Had his past and environment played an intricate part in why he…lacked empathy, or was he just a natural born sociopath? She really should be scared of such knowledge, and as she was pushed to all fours and her face was forcefully lowered to the cement, the cranberry pool staring at her looked anything but inviting. Her mouth found itself mentally wired shut, she was never going to lick that putrid mess, what the hell did he think she was anyways? The janitor?
His head dipped down to her level as he encircled her neck firmly with pale hands, the cold skin stretching across her warmth. "Tsk, tsk Ms.Valentine. If you don't clean up your silly little mess, I'll make sure that you can't walk straight for a month." Well, that sounded…pleasant. Plus, the fact was just such a gentleman for giving her such wonderful options; good men would hard to come by these days. There was a definite mass shortage of them, no, really.
She realized wretchedly that she was shaking, actually trembling as if there was a live and brutal earthquake mercilessly pounding through her. And if she didn't starting eating her dinner that wouldn't be the only thing. His ethics…or whatever had held him back the first time wouldn't have any hold on him this time, oh sure she didn't think he'd enjoy it that much but he wanted to punish her, to break her spirit, despite all the unwanted procedures he'd have to endure.
The blood's colour swirled menacingly up at her, grinning, as she was left to a decision: to eat, or not to eat. If you don't eat you get raped, she reminded herself. She wanted to condemn the man that was breathing ever so lightly in her ear, just a dust of wind, and if he had been someone else she would have cherished it; right then she wanted it to end. All of a sudden bang! Presto the demon and his aggravating lackeys would cease to exist, all beings ploughed back down to hell from whence they came. It wouldn't happen and the number one reason for this was the subject that Vicious decided to address. "Spike would have been a convenience for you right now," he drawled, air swooshing over her face cruelly.
She was about to say something, something biting but it was at that moment Vicious—with his impeccable sense of timing—chose to cram her face down into the vermillion coloured liquid. She gagged, and she felt her throat contract, but that 'pre-puking' feeling filled her. She hated that man, and if he let her go—something she doubted was going to happen; he'd probably get bored of screwing around and chop her to itty-bitty pieces with that ferocious looking katana—she'd recuperate then stalk him and blow him to bits with her trusty gun. Of course she'd have to remain alive, and that would mean "cleaning up her silly little mess", as Vicious said. Tugging her violet coloured evilly, he pulled her up by the hair and sneered something in her ear. She would have listened—giving him her undivided attention—except there was a ripping pain in her stomach. No wait, burning its way through her stomach. Holy shit. No seriously, she thought she was dying and the white light that flashed before her eyes was a flap of angel wings, as she approached the pearly gates. The scream that erupted from her was better than any of the others she had ever expelled. She was a fine tuned instrument as of now, a good little play-thing, and she would hate to think what Vicious' avidly creative mind would think of next.
She looked down at herself, she grimly glimpsed down to where all of numbing agony originated. Fuck, Vicious was trying to burn her alive, slowly, bit by bit until there was nothing left other than ashy, blackened lump of skin rotting away. Then he would miraculously revive her and try to coax a steady stream of howls that would have shattered bulletproof windows if they had been given the chance. And he'd succeed, with the shrieks I mean, this man was incredibly intelligent and just as easy as he could take a life, he could simply find a way to retain it, to keep it thriving for a bit longer, until it did what he wanted. What exactly did this man want with her anyways? It wasn't like needed her to survive or anything, she was just one of those people he sought out, a tad bit randomly, in order to torture. Then again that seemed somewhat silly, but she, for the limited time she spent with this man, wouldn't put such corrupted and inhumane behavior past him.
Suddenly she thought of something, the prospect was so alarming that she nearly expelled her food in the blood that her tongue was currently lapping. It was repulsive really, perhaps even more repulsive than the activity she was presently participating in. Maybe this was the exact reason that Jet hadn't contacted her in a while because…because…oh God, she couldn't proclaim it, least of all in her mind because then it would be there. Affirmed. Stated. Said. Said, done, and believed. She refused to consider it, think of it as a possibility, but it was there, staring at her unblinkingly in the face. Perhaps Jet was dead. Deceased, exterminated, eradicated all one in the same, and this thought made her clamp her mouth shut and swallow the bile that mixed its way into her own blood. It was one of the most disgusting things that she ever had to do.
Noticing that she had ceased all action with her tongue he yanked her head up violently. She heard the stroke of match, and for a second, a millimeter of a moment she couldn't breathe. "Ms. Valentine," he sighed, it was sleek the flicker of winter's first frost. The fire light danced before her eyes happily, almost as if knowing the journey it was about to take. She was terrified of that brilliance, it was just a semblance of comfort, a quaint imposter that was just as beautiful as the man that knelt behind her. And just as deadly. Her previous wound was being stroked, almost tentatively, and she could feel his hard nail chillingly probing and pressing harder, she sucked in her breath. "If you vomit all over my floor," he continued as the heat led down her figure. She could actually feel her skin glowing from its radiant warmth. "You'll have to clean it all up."
And with that he pushed her back down, fully impaling her midsection with the burning splint. A cry left her lips but its full potential was unable to shine through as her mouth was forcefully made to take in the blood that was gleefully strangling any sound that she made, and it turned it into a gurgle. The liquid beneath her lips created a few small air bubbles, almost as if her mouth was making the fluid rejoice, and with each subtle pop more of the coppery taste exploded into her mouth. The metallic taste was overwhelming her, as if the droplets gave her a sense of her own death. The foreboding feeling crept about her warning her that she wouldn't live for much longer.
So Vicious continued, and her obedient tongue—that long stretch of pink muscle—was practically permanently shaded red. It was disgusting, the lingering after taste that sat placidly on her tongue, making her stomach churn in a silent revolution. She knew all of it was coming out as soon as Vicious gone, as soon as he was gone there was nothing, absolutely no mind formulated barricade that would keep her from exploding. And throughout it all she just felt so…dirty.
She was lying down now and he was straddling her pelvic region, what was he planning? He promised that if she devoured her own blood, like some cannibalistic creature she would be free from the degradation of her body, from further destruction of her spirit. But the promises of such a man seemed like a nonsense and like the blood on her back, or the bitter tears cascading down her cheek all the fight that her body had left just flowed away. She sighed resignedly, and she was too busy numbing her soul to even notice the long match, that could have resembled a drawing utensil, being struck. "Ms.Valentine don't you regret Spike not being here? I think he would have enjoyed it… Perhaps he would have saved you too." The grin on his face, was so unlike her beloved's own. And she wondered how two such opposite people could have been the best of friends. Vicious' previous comment registered itself somewhere in her mind. Perhaps they weren't that different, and in truth she could almost believe it. She could almost wrap her mind around the fact that Spike Spiegel thoroughly enjoyed torturing prisoners as much as Vicious did, sometimes she almost saw it, that indescribable need just burst and create an angry swirl. Almost.
"Yeah it's just too fucking bad that you killed him," she didn't know how she managed to find her voice, didn't know how she found such a sardonic tone, didn't know how sound managed to discharge from her mouth. Didn't know and didn't care, it was just one more thing that could fuel Vicious' attack towards her. Her life, after all was going to end in a few minutes. She was about to sell her soul to the devil, but not in the way she thought.
Heat poured down her face as a flicker of light made shadows and patterns across her uniform covered chest. Farther and farther down it drew. Her fear stirred at the pit of her sloshing stomach and flitted through her body, making every part of her stand its end, making her mind teeter on the brink of a hysterical insanity, making every inch of her suddenly overly aware, heightening her sensitivity. "Are you sure he sure he would have saved you?" The spark was hovering just above her navel, causing a little perspiration to accumulate there. Where was he going with the whole Spike issue, did he intend to use that against her too? Did he purpose in his mind to, while he was violating her in every way imaginable, make her memory flash to the green haired man repeatedly so that suddenly he was her problem and not Vicious himself? It was all too confusing, and she didn't want to try to understand it, but Vicious decided explain himself, "Are you sure!"
She nodded as he demanded an answer. Yes, she was sure because Jet would have made him go get her. Would have forced Spike to save her pretty little ass because Faye, however unimportant to Spike as she was, knew for a fact that Jet with all his motherliness cared for her at least an inch. Plus Spike—the man is…pardon me was, so goddamned predictable at times—would have come running at the even a whisper of Vicious' name.
"Because Ms. Valentine, Spike, is still alive." Her eyes widened, as the flesh carved a path into her skin. Branding her, but not so much making her his as much as making her everyone's. She was everyone in this now little syndicate's property, and if Spike dared to touch this woman, his hands would be broken, bone by bone in the cruelest way imaginable.
The smell of broiling flesh was a exhilarating scent to Vicious—bordering an aphrodisiac—and he inhaled deeply. He loved this part, where she was not just crying out from the pain, she was calling yearning, for someone to save her. He loved how the notion of hope had been dangled in front of her eyes, and yet she was there trapped underneath him struggling to attain it, but she would never break free. And it, or rather he would never appear. He also particularly enjoyed how much of a disappointment Spike could be. Ah yes, he cherished it all.
"Come on Faye, scream for me," his voice nearly giggled. And Faye—her mind never overcome by darkness, instead presented with pristine, cruel white, the white of Vicious' fallen wings—complied, because that's all she could do.
Vicious thought it was the single most exquisite sound he had ever heard in his life.
A/N: The voices in my head have decided that this could be more than a one-shot if you DO want more let me know and I'll write more. It's all for you people's and remember REVIEW! () waves bye now!