13-Jul-2000
Standard Disclaimers apply.
Warnings: OOC. Strange. Disjointed. Yaoi. Non-descriptive lime. Gore.
Time goes differently here.
The old man with the mustache in the corner watches daytime television and talks to Mister Mister, his left hand.
Adelia has a name. She has a name. She tells them five times a minute. Adelia has a name.
The little boy sits in his chair and rocks back and forth, back and forth, his Prussian blue eyes staring at nothing. His movements are decidedly peaceful. His arms rest deceptively on the cracked arms of the chair, his wrists bound with steel shackles.
And the girl picks at the hairs on her upper lip.
Every day, for 18 hours. This is where the crazy go to rot. The old man cocks his head, surprised by the genius of Mister Mister, and agrees that the orderlies should die. Adelia introduces herself to the little boy with Prussian eyes, telling the girl that picks at the hairs on her upper lip that she is the devil incarnate.
A most motley band of the insane.
Look closer at the little boy. He is beautiful, with a face that is too perfect, his body exposed. They say that the boy is dangerous, and so they took his shoelaces, but he peeled the soles of his sneakers off and choked the nurse. Then they took his shoes and he strangled the next nurse with his shirt. So the little boy with the blood-stained hands rocks back and forth, naked, unaware, uncaring.
His eyes glaze over, never blinking. The nurse makes her rounds and sticks her face, wrinkled and sunspotted, between his knees, cheek nuzzling his skin. "Come out and *play*, little boy..." She presses a kiss to his thigh, not knowing why she does it, and smirks as the boy jerks and little animal noises begin to escape his throat.
"Come out and play." She smirks again, and grabs him by his hair, yanking him up hard. His wrists crack loudly, adding another fracture to the already crushed bones.
Come out and play.
And the little boy rocks back and forth, even as somewhere inside, the little boy is no longer a little boy. He cries and he cries, but no one answers him.
And then he walks in. He says he's been looking for him. He says he's impressed with his efficiency. Says he can free him.
Those words mean nothing to the little boy and he growls, fingers clenching and unclenching. Yet he cannot reach out and strange the man, no matter how much he aches to. Every muscle in his body tightens and he finds a kind of dream state.
"He's going into a seizure..."
But that too passes. Days, maybe, years. Time goes differently here.
The man is back.
Come out and play, little boy.
He says that he can help him. And the words mean nothing to him, and he aches to tighten his little pudgy fingers around his neck and throttle him. But he doesn't understand words, so he hisses and growls and breaks the skin.
The blood.
Blood.
He leans down and tries to lick the blood from his wrists. He hasn't seen blood in a long time, since he said goodbye to mommy and daddy. Where are mommy and daddy, anyway?
And the little boy inside of him starts to listen to the man.
He touches him with that claw, that cold hand raking over his skin and the little boy shivers, but says nothing. The man leaves.
Come out and play.
This time, when the man comes back, he is ready. And when the shackles fly off, he flies.
No one will ever hold him again.
He kills the nurses and something inside him rips. The little boy inside cries and wails and crawls back into his bed, hiding under the covers.
He feeds Mister Mister to the old man. Adelia lies in an unmarked grave. The girl that picked at the hair on her upper lip lies in a puddle of her own urine and blood on the checkered floor.
And the man claps.
The little boy goes with this man, because he senses that he can give him something that he craves. A bloodlust. A desire that no woman or man can satisfy, except with their deaths.
So the little boy becomes two little boys. The little boy in the bed withers away and lies, emaciated and tired, on the ground, dying. The other little boy...
He kills and he kills and he kills and every drop of blood feeds the hunger.
Come out and play.
Wufei doesn't know what draws him to this Heero Yuy. Maybe it's the loneliness of his eyes, or the singularity of purpose that emanated him. He feels the heat between his legs flare as he thinks of those eyes, shut tightly as he pushes inside him.
He knocks twice on his door, then, hearing no one, pushes forward. Heero lies naked on his bed, eyes slitted, legs spread, hands clenched into little fists by his head. He is watching Wufei, licking his lips like he wants to eat him up. Like the wolf and the unfortunate girl, whose skin soon matched her cloak.
Wufei straddles him, positioning himself between Yuy's legs, holding his trembling thighs apart. Nervous, he thinks, and manages a little smile. He doesn't know what it is about him that draws Wufei's attention. Something purely animal and blood and sexual. Whatever it is, he likes it. Maybe the way he growls when he comes, throwing his head back and moaning. Or the way his hands tighten into claws, raking down the Chinese man's back.
Whatever it is... Wufei comes quickly, throbbing need meeting throbbing desire, mingling and intertwining.
Ten seconds later, he lies dead on the floor, eyes wide in horror.
Crack!
Come out and play.
Crack!
"This is to build your bone mass. The only way to make your bones stronger is impact."
Crack!
The little boy, now known as Heero, falls face first into the ground. He feels his nose break, turning awkwardly. No problem. The man will fix it. He fixes everything.
Crack!
The little boy inside screams.
Crack!
Quatre doesn't know exactly why he seeks Heero out in the dead of the night. He feels his way through the darkness, gasping as the moonlight illuminates the contours of Heero's naked body. His legs are parted wantonly, his arms tucked beneath the pillow.
His blood rushes to his ears, and he feels dizzy as he makes his way to the bed. Heero parts his lips and whimpers his name, over and over, back arching. He feels himself harden at the words, and tugs off his boxers, tossing them to the ground.
He turns Heero over and feels him stir to consciousness, rising to his hands and knees. He looks over his shoulder at him, and gives him a feral smile, wiggling his hips.
Less than a minute and a half later, Quatre joins Wufei on the floor.
The man is bad.
The little boy whimpers as he feels himself being spread-eagled. He isn't sure how he found himself at the surface instead of Heero, but he knows he doesn't like it. And he knows that the man knows he is there.
"...eliminate sources of weakness...alter ego..."
The first thrust comes, brutally slow. It tears through him, hot and hard. Tears run down his face.
"...eliminated?"
"...alpha waves...still there..."
"Again."
He begins to cry, knowing all too well what comes next.
Hours later, or perhaps days, because time goes differently to Heero, the little boy dies a painfully slow death.
Heero wakes and systematically begins to break the shackles, breaking a few bones in the process. But that doesn't matter. The man will fix it.
Trowa watches from the doorway, watches Heero writhe on his bed, crying out his name. His moans traveled down the hall to his room; he had thought his Quatre was in here...
Instead, he finds himself moving forward. His own nakedness bothers him no more than Heero's. He lies down beside him, hair falling over Heero's cheek, and kisses him deeply. He feels eyelids flutter open, and then hands pressing him to the bed.
Heero takes him more roughly than Quatre, but Trowa loves every minute of it, even when Heero reaches those gentle hands out and chokes him to death. He joins the growing mass grave on the white carpet. He never makes a sound.
"Heero?"
Duo walks into the other boy's room, noting the darkness. He reaches for the light switch, only to have another hand, cold and hard as steel, envelop his. He looks into the shadows and sees only the white glitter of blue eyes.
"Don't you want to come out and play?" Teasing.
The last thing he sees before the lights come on is that strange gleam, maniacal, angry, predatory. Then the hand lets go and he turns on the lights.
His is not the only scream that echoes throughout the house.
End
Ariana
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