lazarus ( incubus ) . (shatterings) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2015-01-23 19:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-10-13, lazarus |
i'm gonna have you when i want to, i'm gonna take you, that's what i like.
Who: Lazarus (and an NPC).
Where: An abandoned house on the outskirts of town.
When: Very early morning, around 1am.
Warnings: 100% NC-17. HEAVY depiction of graphic violence, assault/rape (trigger warnings), and bloodshed. Definitely NSFW, and if you’re really not okay with torture/sadistic narrative this is not the solo for you.
The girl was still crying.
She hadn’t stopped crying for a while now, actually, and there was a raw quality to the sound, a broken and hitched edge to the sobs that told Lazarus she had hurt her throat with all that screaming. Such rich and wild screams as well, reckless and desperate and pleading, begging him to stop, leave her alone, please no. Lazarus had lapped them all up like the blood he licked from the side of his hand as he languidly prowled across the room with the evening’s cool air brushing against his bared skin. Spattered and slick with sweat and blood as it was it was a refreshing brush of a chill and the sigh that passed his lips was thoroughly satisfied and sated, practically a purr.
Dark eyes that flickered devilishly turned in the girl’s direction and he smiled, showing teeth that were actually fangs and making her wail and bury her face in the crook of her arm. Try, at least. Stripped and bound as she was there was little she could do to hide from him, he’d forced himself upon her and into her time and time again and the weak fragility to her cries told the demon that she was near the end. The meek little creature could take no more, she had given him all that she could spare and Lazarus had taken it all, those screams and her flesh and her blood. His claws had torn her face and ruined the looks that would have made her appealing to other males, the pretty and silken brown hair was knotted or torn from its roots by his rough and cruel hands, what little of her body could be seen beneath the blood and the wounds from which it had spilled was black and blue, a ruined and spent canvas that had served its purpose.
His long tail sweeping lazily from one side to the other Lazarus rolled and cracked his shoulders and let out a low fluidic groan with a backwards tilt of his head as the wings unfurled, flexing and stretching so blissfully that he couldn’t help but sigh again, the breathy rush of air becoming a laugh as the girl lashed to the old bed wailed again, fresh tears spilling into her matted hair and down her bloodied and bruised face.
“Oh, what?” he asked her in a falsely pitying voice, the words dripping with cruelty and derision, the amusement on his face plain and unbridled. Running his tongue across teeth so sharp they had sliced effortlessly through the vulnerable flesh of her arms and thighs and breasts he approached the bed again, watching her try to shrink from him. Lazarus laughed again, tilting his head and raking his dark eyes down the length of her exposed body, every inch of her vulnerable and his to toy with. “You thought I really liked you, is that it?” he asked her in a low voice when he was close enough that he could lean over her, his face inches from hers, every hot breath that passed her split lips washing over his blood-spattered features and through his damp hair. Pursing his own lips in a pout that was childishly cruel he made a low sound of feigned sympathy that rolled over his tongue like waves lapping the shore, creeping closer and closer.
“You were so keen,” he reminded her, this girl whose name he had already forgotten and would never recall, this pathetic and broken little creature he had ruined in every way a female could be ruined. Even if he spared her life tonight no one would ever want her again, no male would ever pursue or court her, she would go through the rest of her days a hollow shell of her former self.
Lazarus was almost tempted to let her live.
No. That wasn’t possible. It was too dangerous. As unthreatening as such a pathetic creature was on her own, especially now that he had taken her as he had, repeatedly and brutally, there were forces out there who would listen to her cries and her stories, people who would go out into the night to hunt down the monster who had hurt her so. Lazarus could not allow that. His mother, certainly, would not allow that.
No, this girl would not survive the night. It was the only mercy she would receive from him, the only kindness he would show her, but as he hovered over her naked and so very threatening, revealed in all his glory as the monster he truly was, it occurred to him that he didn’t need to spare her in order to dispose of her. The laughter that tripped from the back of his throat and over his tongue then was hot and sharp, a bark of barbarity that made the girl shrink from him and turn her face to try and hide. “Oh, sciocca bambina, you brought this all on yourself. You see that, don’t you?”
She wasn’t looking at him.
With a growl he brought up one clawed hand and grabbed her jaw, jerking her head so she was looking up at him, holding her tightly enough that she squeaked and tears spilled from her eyes. Had he cracked her jaw? Lazarus cared not either way. She needed to look at him when he spoke to her, this mewling little child who had thought she was so proud and so powerful when she was anything but. All he had done was show her the truth of things, how weak and inferior she really was, how powerless and how worthless.
“You pawed at me like a bitch in heat, you pulled at my clothes and you begged me to take you.” In the heavy pause between those words and the ones that followed he lifted one scaled leg to mount the bed again, effortlessly tuning out the sharp sounds of terror that filled her mouth and pushed out past her closed lips as he kept his iron grip on her jaw. “So I took you, piccola puttana. Hmm? Didn’t I?” Baring those teeth again in a wicked smile he nodded his head. “Yes, I did.” With a low groan he straddled her again, feeling the damp heat of her and letting his eyes narrow, half-lidded, his bottom lip caught between his sharp teeth just long enough for blood to bead to the surface. “You came out here with me without question or complaint, you followed along like the stupid little bitch that you are.” The word bitch was punctuated by the thrust of his hips that had him inside of her again and his breath caught in a shallow and gasped laugh even as she screamed out a sob of pleading denial, the sound forcing its way out despite that grip he had on her. From his perch he could feel the way she pulled at the bindings that held her to the railing of the bed, he could smell the skin as it split around her wrists and ankles and he almost purred again, a growl of a sound of pure and primal pleasure. Leaning down to smear the blood from his lips against the curve of her earlobe he whispered in a hiss like a snake, “I am not done with you yet, you little whore. You have not screamed nearly enough for me to be done with you. Do you hear me?” Harshly he thrust again and she wailed like a wounded animal. “Hmm?” With his tongue he caught those salty tears as they traced down her face as he rose up again, wings expanding on either side of him to make a dark and nightmarish canopy over the bed that had been long since abandoned. Until tonight. Until Lazarus and his prey.
The girl had closed her eyes, shut out the sight of him, but there was no escaping him. In the oldest and simplest ways known to all creatures he had made sure of that and as she begged breathlessly for help that would not come to save her he took her again, for the last time, sparing her no pain or shame, claiming the last scraps of her dignity and sense of self before he took himself from her. There was very little sound from her by the end, what spirit she had clung to until the bitter end broken and blown away in the breeze that swept through the old house like so much dust and ash. Whoever she had been before she had smiled at him in that bar was gone now, the body upon the bed in the bonds he had secured her with was a husk and nothing more. Worthless. Useless.
With another of those sated sighs and a roll of his neck to one side that worked out a crick with a low crack he lifted one hand and curled the fingers inward in a flourish. The flames that sparked to life in his palm were hungry, greedily keen, and he was only too happy to let them feed. This house with its broken walls and cracked windows was no great loss, the girl who would burn beneath its collapsing roof would fade from memory just as easily he was sure. The clothes that had been cast off were reclaimed with cool confidence and indifference as he let the flames slide from his hand to the floor and the blouse he had torn from her flesh.
The night air was even cooler outside of the house that had stopped being a home many years ago and Lazarus welcomed the chill of it against his fever-hot skin as the blaze he had started ate up the structure inch by inch. As his wings worked their way slowly and lazily into his back again he watched them work, taking down the walls and shattering the windows once and for all, and right at the end, moments before the roof buckled down, he heard a thin and horrified shrieking wail.
Lazarus grinned and laughed, every fibre of his being singing with a sick and twisted joy at the horror he had unleashed.
This was who he was. What he was. For the last couple of days he might not have known but now there was no doubt, no question. Lazarus knew himself now, well and truly, inside and out.
What wasn’t to love?