Thread: Blarley exchange information and other fluids
Who: Blaine and Harley When: March 21, 2012 Where: Scandals Warnings: Non-consensual sex, tentacles, psychological warfare, marking, blood, asphyxiation What: Blaine grills Harley on his relationship with Puck and then pisses Harley off.
Ugh. Scandals. Harley positively hated coming here but it was a good hunting ground. It allowed for his victims to have a little variety. It also made his murders look like hate crimes rather than the frivolous things they were. So he was sitting at the bar with his fruity alcoholic drink sitting in front of him, surrounded by at least five potentials. They kept touching his shoulders, his hair, insisting he drink more... His gaze found the mirror behind the bar so when he saw a certain boy walk in, he said in a gentle but loud voice, "Sorry boys but my date is here." There were soft groans of annoyance but they started to depart...
Blaine noticed Harley just in time to see the small crowd of men scatter. So this was Harley... Frankly he didn't look anything like Blaine. How in the work did the small Asian effeminate male look anywhere near Blaine for Puck to effectively pretend he was the former Warbler? How drunk was he? "You seem popular."
Puck had been stone sober as far as Harley knew but that was beside the point. He tilted his head to one side, a gesture to the empty stool beside him. "You have questions. I have answers. Let's get down to business. I have other, more pressing matters to attend to." The sweet flirtation was gone now that the others were too and he had easily slipped into a business persona. Blaine may have met his match when it came to masks.
Blaine smiled, his mask firmly in place. Well well. This was an interaction he could get behind. Simple information exchange with no pesky things like emotions or hugs. "Puck spoke to me about you and his sexual encounter."
"And?" He prompted Blaine. Anyone else might have sounded irritated. While that was exactly what Harley was feeling, he just sounded bored. "It wasn't anything special. He is ridiculously inelegant and crude. It was a miracle I could get hard at all from his supposed dirty talk."
Blaine tilted his head a little in agreement. Without the heady kick of his powers he might feel the same about Puck... But of course there was the intense chemistry factor that seemed to sizzle beyond what was normal or expected. "I heard that he asked you to pretend to be... well me."
Harley slowly turned his gaze on Blaine properly. A smile formed that was almost evil reflecting in his dark, dead eyes. "Yes, he did... and since we look nothing alike, you're wondering how. If that's your only question of the evening I'll show you. If not, ask your others first and then we can slip into the privacy of the bathroom."
"Two questions. When did it happen and...." Blaine swallowed hard, trying not to let his mind run mad with the possibilities. There were only two reasons Puck could want to touch him like that again. "Why me? Was it anger?"
The first answer was easy, "Valentine's day." The second answer was not as easy to give. Harley had to think back on that night... He sighed softly, "No. It wasn't anger. Now, mind you I can't read minds but... it seemed very much like he wanted to get you out of his system. I don't think it would have worked if not for his amnesia."
"Well then that's... illuminating." And not at all the answer he was hoping for. If Puck had wanted to hurt him through sex he could have just written it off. But this smacked of pinning which was dangerously close to affection and a form of love. "Shall we away to the bathroom then?"
"Finally. The fun part," with that Harley knocked back his drink and got up. It was with an almost manic giggle that he led the way into the bathroom and disappeared into one of the stalls. The mandatory handicap one in fact so they'd have plenty of room. He pressed his back against the far wall... "Are you sure you want to know?"
Blaine watched Harley carefully. He didn't think the male would actually harm him, there was no motive. He didn't seem to have any interest in Puck or jealousy resulting from their conversation. "Show me."
Harley's body and... well everything suddenly changed from head to toe until he was an exact replica of Blaine as he was now. The only difference between them was the easy smile Harley wore that was an expression of Blaine's past when things were okay. Even their clothes were identical.
Blaine watched in dawning horror as he stood before himself. It was perfect, each sparkling tooth, each gelled curl of hair, the slight blemishes in his skin. He backed up as far as the stall would let him. "Holy Mother of Christ fuck!"
“Oh finally someone reacts like a normal person would. Generally I just hear how cool it is,” he even had Blaine’s voice down to perfect - right to the nuances that were inherently Blaine. One had to wonder just how long he’d been watching all of them without being noticed. But the smile changed to one of darkness, evil maybe, “And now you’ll never know if you’re really talking to the right person or if it’s me.” Spreading paranoia like a boss.
Blaine shuddered, an anger rising up in him that was impossible to rationalize. Before him was himself, his voice, everything. He was in front of himself and it was just... so wrong. "Stop it. Stop it now!"
“Oh I’m sorry. Am I scaring you?” Second-Blaine rippled again and this time it was a more than perfect replica of Puck. “Like this better? Bet you fucking love it.” See? Inelegant. “S’cool. I know I’m awesome.” He didn’t move from his place against the wall and just crossed his arms in front of his chest, smirking.
"This is not funny!" He growled, surging forward to grip Harley's arm. "STOP THAT NOW!"
Harley countered by grabbing Blaine’s free arm and turned him to pin him against the stall wall. Only it wasn’t Puck doing it anymore. Somewhere in the turn, Harley had become Ian. It wasn’t as perfect as the other transformations but it was close enough. “Who said I was trying to be funny?” The accent was fantastic though. “You wanted to know what I could do... And this is barely the tip of the fucking iceberg. You have no idea. And I wouldn’t touch me again unless you really want to find out.”
Blaine cried out, the accent and the violence all slipping into a nightmare of moments. Of all of them Ian had never raised a hand to him. Ian was his fault. "Please stop."
Harley pressed his body (and it really was his - back to his normal self) against Blaine’s. “Aww, poor baby. So easy to break, easy to tear down... You think you’re something special but you’re just as weak as all the other plebeians in this fucking town.” And yet it was obvious that something, Blaine’s fear really, had gotten a rise out of Harley.
Blaine growled at the words. He could feel Harley's pleasure against his back and shuddered. "Physical conflict isn't my specialty."
“It wasn’t even the physical conflict. You couldn’t take the psychological warfare. Each little bit of ruination. The few lovers I know. Yourself.” He moved his arm to wrap fingers around Blaine’s throat, not squeezing but the threat was clearly there. “And I didn’t even get to the little blonde hippie that I hear fucked you so soundly,” he licked the curve of Blaine’s ear, grinning fiendishly.
Blaine bucked, trying to get the man off him. "Castor has nothing to do with this. He was a one time release. They all were. None of them mean anything to me!"
Harley spun Blaine around which literally wound his arm around the other boy. “Liar,” his fingers were stretching past Blaine’s jaw, thickening as they pressed at Blaine’s lips trying to claw his mouth open, “You fucking liar. You wouldn’t act like you do when you see them if they didn’t mean anything. You think I can’t see through you? I’m an actor. My job is body language.”
Blaine fought, trying to get away from the powerful and changing grip! His power kicked into his adrenaline, fear rolling off him in waves.
All those things that fear was supposed to affect - the racing heart, the pounding blood and waves of adrenaline... They didn’t exist in Harley. He didn’t have blood or a heart or adrenal glands. But he felt the fear anyway and it just fueled his desire. Still he stepped back but the hand didn’t move away, shoving fingers past Blaine’s lips. His other arm was stretched out and working at Blaine’s fly. If that weren’t enough other... well tendrils were shooting out from Harley’s body towards Blaine’s wrists and ankles wanting to pin him so he wouldn’t be able to fight too much. “I didn’t come here tonight with the intention of hurting you, you know... But you’ve made me an offer I’m just not built to refuse.”
Blaine's eyes went wide as the powers did nothing. They were supposed to save him, to make his attacker run in fear and never return! He was bound by.. by this thing, this monster with a thousand faces, who could be anyone and make this as perverse and horrifying as possible. He coughed around the fingers, struggling as best he could. He summoned up another emotion, calming, a hard one to manage in his current state, but it trickled from him.
Harley felt the change rippling through him and he had to laugh, “Calm? I am calm.” He grinned wide - literally ear to ear and with a mouth full of sharp shark-like teeth. “Some people would call me a sociopath, I’m so fucking calm.” Blaine’s trousers were being yanked down as the tendrils at his arms jerked upward, wanting them over his head. Harley started to close the distance between them again, “Kiss, pookie.”
Great. Just fucking great. Tears started. No matter how many times this had happened, how many men it never hurt any fucking less. Now on top of that he was never going to be able to watch Rent again. Just another thing. The truth and horror of the situation hadn't yet sunk in, perhaps he was just separating for his own good. He felt his cock twitch in reaction to the tendril touch. "Fuck off." He tried to spit out.
Harley pulled Blaine from the wall and almost swung him around in mid-air. There was enough room that he didn’t whack into any walls. That would’ve been counterproductive to what he was trying to accomplish after all. “W-what was that? Get off?” He was purposely mis-translating Blaine’s words. “I plan on it.” The tendrils twisted so Blaine could at least look at the floor rather than Harley. He hated tears. They disgusted him. Two more tendrils were sliding up around Blaine’s legs. They were slick things and thin. It was clear where they were headed. “Hey, you should be happy about this. Not everyone gets to say they were part of a real life hentai.”
Blaine whimpered, tears falling faster as the horrible wet things made their way to his entrance. He screamed, the taunting only sinking a slap in the face along with a sci-fi horror rape. He went link, as he did each time these horrible things happened, submit, give in, let himself be violated and he'd come out with only the scars on his mind and none on his body. That's what mattered after all, just asking his new dead parents. Keep up appearances. Harley now had what amounted to a crying doll.
That was just fine with Harley. He’d fucked worse things. At least there wasn’t any blood this time. Yet. There was still a potential there. The slick tendrils slid into Blaine’s entrance. They didn’t start fucking him but only seemed to slowly circle getting gradually bigger and bigger as they did it. They were just there to stretch him. The fingers in his mouth squished together and the shape there would be all too familiar now. That particular tendril did start thrusting but in a wormlike fashion, wriggling as it moved back and forth. “Honestly, you’d think you’d fight more. Pathetic. Just like I said.”
Blaine's eyes closed, the tears staining his cheeks. He searched, outside the terrifying pulsing of his ass, outside of the... movement.. in his mouth. He couldn't be being raped, that wasn't what was happening he was... on stage. Singing, performing like he loved to do. THe sea of people watching all under the spell of his voice, of his appeal. Ready to fawn over his image... under his control. Finally something in his life....
Blaine screamed, something pulling him from the fantasy saving him from the reality.
Oh but it was happening. Of course it was happening. The slick tendrils spread Blaine as wide as they could and Harley’s clothes shifted away to reveal... Well there was no way a cock that big could exist without powers like his. Blaine was hardly prepped properly for something like this but Harley didn’t care. The tendrils brought Blaine down onto the long, thick shaft hard. It filled him almost to the point of tearing but Harley didn’t want blood... Not that much anyway. Harley groaned softly as he brought his arms back into existence where they belonged (but all tendrils remained in place – including the one fucking Blaine’s mouth). His hands settled on Blaine’s hips as the slick tendrils surrounded the other boy’s cock and started massaging it.
Blaine's body responded to the horrifying touch. It wasn't enough that he was being violated but the slickness over his weeping cock was forcing pleasure to cut with the pain. He couldn't speak and if he could what could possibly be said? Begging? Pleading? The thing on him wasn't even human anymore to care for his cries. Instead he was used, hating as his body enjoyed the pain. So many times this happened, used, taken. It was like a beacon on his head announcing his victim status. He screamed again, his breathing coming in horrible gasps as he tried to pull in enough breath to stay conscious.
Honestly, Harley couldn’t care less if Blaine stayed conscious. Another pair of tentacles sprouted, sliding along his torso to his chest rubbing the muscle and flicking his nipples. Some of the tentacles and his hands started tugging Blaine back and forth as he started a fiendishly hard rhythm of thrusts. The thick tentacle in Blaine’s mouth pulled back enough to keep him gagged for a few moments... But then it just started fucking his mouth all over again, occasionally touching the back of his throat as it worked. Harley was losing himself, his humanity - scales were starting to sprout along his forehead and shoulders like lining the edges of his body and his eyes were totally black.
Blaine was kept alive... the triggering of his gag reflex brought a clenching all through his body, his muscles reacting violently as he retched. Blaine's eyes rolled into his head, the waves of his powers flooring the room with his fear. The men lingering near the door of the bathroom were beginning to look around jittery. Right as his body finally gave out he saw spots along his vision. Maybe this was finally the end.
Harley could only feel amusement as Blaine passed out. He was a ragdoll now. Harley could do anything he wanted to the other boy - not that he wasn’t already doing that. It was just more so now. Time was all he needed and time he had. One of the slick tendrils started to play with the slit in Blaine’s dick, thinning out to dip inside. It seemed like forever but was only about five minutes before the thrusting got more desperate... Tonight was a short fuse night. He was getting everything he could possibly dream of - dominance, a tight hole, absolutely no refusal. No, it didn’t take him too long to come and come hard. Blaine’s sweet ass was filled to the brim and the tendril in the other boy’s mouth let off as well, some in and some on his face as it recoiled.
He wasn’t at all surprised when the whore’s unconscious body betrayed him by finding release - it happened. It didn’t mean anything. So Harley almost gently tossed Blaine to one side (not wanting to break any bones after all) and took time to breathe, to regain his humanity... When he was looking more like himself and lacking in tendrils, he crouched over the other boy and rucked his shirt up higher. Changing a finger into a knife, he drew an eye over Blaine’s heart right in his flesh then grabbed some toilet paper and put it over the fresh wound. It would scar... Harley wanted it to. With a grin, he shrank into a rat shape and made his escape, unseen by the rest of the club populous.
It was hours before Blaine woke, hours before the blackness lifted. for a moment he thought he was home. For a moment the pain did not exist and he puzzled only over the change in the color of his ceiling. The moment was perfect, innocent as if waking was a simple thing that he could trust to bring the familiarity of his bed and home.
The moment ended. Pain screamed through his ass, the muscles screaming to him, his jaw was the same, telling him in irritated throbs of it's abused state. Hi skin was dry, flaking bits of the night before making his face and thighs and stomach feeling like a sunburn peeling. All of those sensations added up to a state he knew, a state he understood and hated. He was raped. The knowledge provided him flashes of images, of sensations over his skin that were impossible for a human to have done to him.
He rolled, retching dryly over the edge of the bed. Bed.... Why? He'd been in a bathroom. He looked down and found not quite a bed. It was more like one of the camping cots, the ones that kept you off the flood, a ratty old quilt was crumpled on the end where he'd flung it as he sat up. He glanced around again, finding a glass of water, a packed of painkiller and a bucket of clean looking water with a stained, but freshly washed cloth. Blaine ached enough that it didn't matter who had put them there.
Tender strokes cleaned each spot of skin that the man/monster had touched. He cleaned as best he could, knowing he would be in a searing hot shower as soon as he found his car and home. As he cleaned the throbbing lessened enough for him to notice a different pain. A square of impromptu bandage was over his chest right above his heart. He cringed at the idea of bathroom tissue on him, but it was better then not. He slowly peeled it away, the red angry flesh and gouged skin forming... and eye. He instantly covered it again. It couldn't...
He pushed away from the bed, finding the pile of his clothing and shutting his mind off from that image. It didn't exist, he was just raped. By a man, a human something that was just lust and too much alcohol. He was not branded, he had not been touched by slick horrible tendrils and he most certainly had not cleaned what had to be his own seed from his length.
He was raped, by some drunken bar crawler. It was nothing new. Nothing terrible. He walked from the backroom, the look the bartender re-stocking his store looked out at him. Blaine could understand the look, it was sympathy and a form of pity that people gave to rape victims. Because that was all it was. Simple, understandable and nothing new.