Title: Caprice

Author: Serendipity

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Invader Zim is owned by Jhonen Vasquez, Nickelodeon and Viacom.

Summary: The life of a Tallest is demanding in more ways than one. (Slash)


They were well accustomed to flights of whimsy. Those were what made up their days, anyway. They didn't like to say, but the thought crept insidiously, like an insect whispering its poisoned words. Figureheads. Anachronisms. You are not needed. The decisions were made for them, the scepter of authority in their hands was meaningless. Meant only for show.Oh, that did not mean that they did not revel in their power to the fullest. What they commanded was obeyed, whatever they desired was brought to them. They spent their power with fickle joy, demanding toys and gadgets, food and amusements. All of this was their due.

They were, after all, the Tallest.

Such things grew boring after short periods of time. They had decades and decades of empty time, desperately filled with any entertainment they could grab. Their tastes were varied; they enjoyed things as light and innocuous as donuts as well as the more brutal forms of amusement. On occasion, they would order one of their most devoted guards to join them for a night of entertainment. The fun was theirs, of course. The guards were their toys, to be used as they pleased. And it was so deliciously amusing to see the betrayal swiftly disguised by dutiful obedience in the eyes of those faithful fools. To see the pain quickly hidden as the wire-braided lash bit and ripped away skin. And after the blood was mopped up, after the loyal servant was sent away bleeding and broken, they'd laugh and laugh until they could no longer bear to stand, breathless and sated, entwined in a fit of nearly crazed glee. To be a Tallest was to be cosseted. To be a Tallest was to be revered.

And also, after the burn of their euphoria had faded, the voice whispered once more into their minds. To be a Tallest is to be empty.

Some days were simply spent in experiment; they probed and examined the skin, the muscles, the lines and curves and subtle movements of each other's bodies. Irkens were no longer sexual creatures, but there were other ways of gaining pleasure. They inhaled each detail of the lift and fall of the chest as the body breathed in air, the flex of thin muscles wrapped around slender bones. They had no need to develop those bodies, no need for strength. The Tallest were not required to work. They were thin, lithe, almost skin covering bones. This was all observed with clinical interest. Purple was fond of touch and caress, his two fingertips and palm glided smoothly over the skin of his co-ruler. Almost with a touch of innocence, he explored and examined, his hands would come to rest near the abdomen, and then move in flighty caresses upwards before he would lay back in accustomed submission, allowing Red to begin his own handiwork. He was more interested in his tools which he lightly referred to as his 'toys', terminally shiny, razor bladed and delicate. He would carve thin swirls into Purple's flesh, patterns of dark green beading and oozing from his skin as Red straddled him, the body between his spread thighs feeling hot, the squirms of his fellow Tallest sending stabs of iron-hard pleasure down him as he carved and carved and carved. The pictures healed to thin white lines in days and then disappeared, leaving an open canvas for further use. Purple was never a good critique of art. But, as he had said with a pained chuckle as he had licked his own blood from the end of a wickedly-curved scalpel, he knew what he liked.

Make me a better one this time, Red. Your last one wasn't so good.

Time stretched out and melted around them, bubble-gum soft. The aftermath of each moment of was very nearly brutal, a slow descent back into sanity. Those moments were the worst, they'd spend them unmoving, their bodies sprawled out on the cold metal floor. Nothing soft or cushioning there; there was enough of that during the time they spent in the public's eye. Enough reclining on couches, hovering above hard ground, enough comfort. The jagged edges that they indulged in during their playtime made them feel…

/real/

More alert. Breaths came out in short, labored pants as they would lay there for ages, seeping up the atmosphere. Breathing in something sharp and dark.

It was only an impulse, these actions done for a vague and useless fancy. But it kept them alive.