DISCLAIMER: I don't own FF:U, nor the many characters and thingies borrowed from it for fanfic purposes. The city of Lucretia, however, is all mine. Don't sue plz kthx; don't steal or I'll send my muses after you.
Warning! This fanfic contains explicit content and mature themes, among them graphic sexual violence, language, homosexuality, incest, and all the other wonderful stuff I seem to have become known for. Read at your own risk.
He'd picked up a stubborn one this time.
Unlike the others, this one didn't just go limp with fear once he'd been caught from behind and pulled deep into the closest dark space. He hadn't tried to cry out or begged for mercy. He'd put up a vicious struggle, hopeless as that might have been, and it had taken a few moments to overpower him. Despite the disadvantage he suffered—he was shorter and lighter than his assailant, and in unfamiliar territory—he had refused to go down without a fight.
After so many weaklings, he relished a challenge.
This pert young outsider had substance. Only once he'd been smashed three times against the hard concrete of the alley wall had his struggles begun to subside enough for his attacker to pin him down to the cold ground and viciously but methodically rip at his clothing.
Ironically, it seemed as though it was only then that the young man had realized what the intent of this attack was. Weakened though he was by what had to be a concussion by now, he continued to shove, scratch, and pinch, looking for weak spots, twisting his body to make the man's job that much harder.
And though he continued to struggle, his attacker knew his efforts were futile, and laughed.
"Damn you," the young man seethed, his eyes flashing crimson in the darkness.
Hatred, fury, frustrated impotence. But not enough fear, not yet.
Maybe pain would help.
He leaned down, put his lips almost to the boy's ear. "You're a pretty thing," he breathed, pressing their bodies together. "But you need to learn obedience."
He ran his fingers up and down his captive's sides as he did so, tracing spirals around the tender dusky skin of one nipple. Pressure, without any application of his nails—just enough to show that he had the strength to snap each of this young man's fragile bones if he so desired.
Twisting desperately, the young man wheeled about for anything he could use as a weapon.
Once again, his captor laughed.
This one's refusal to give up wasn't just refreshing… seeing the slowly mounting panic in those wide ruby-red eyes was arousing. He set his lips to that slender white throat and nibbled idly down to the suddenly heaving chest.
He bit down hard enough to taste blood; his victim jerked in shock with a short, pained cry.
Lust surged through his body. Yes. He wanted to feel that spike of pain and terror from this boy again.
"You aren't going to get away with this," the boy said through gritted teeth, still trying to struggle out of reach. "They'll find you—they'll make you pay—"
On the street outside the alley, a car flashed by; the brief glare of headlights illuminated the black design inscribed on the young man's upper right arm.
Leaning in again, he whispered into the boy's ear. "No matter what you think, your precious Knights can't do a single damn thing."
But whatever the boy was planning to call him was lost in the scream that tore from the depths of his chest as the man took advantage of his distraction to prize his legs apart and force into him.
He felt the tear and realized that though this boy seemed no stranger to sex or fighting, mere seconds ago there had still been a part of him as pure and virginal as newly-fallen snow.
Arching back, he let a dark grin spread across his face as he felt the blood starting to flow across the boy's thighs to trace dark lines across his hips. He had preyed upon many, but the fear and pain of virgins was more exquisite than any other.
Between the violent thrusts that slammed him against the ground, the boy continued to lash out frantically. He was breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating, and apparently in so much pain that he couldn't help the cascade of tears across his panic-flushed face. And with every wild strike he attempted to land came a half-sobbed cry of "No".
But there was nothing he could do.
Climax came in one blaze of entirely mindless pleasure, then went; still, the man did not let his victim up, keeping him trapped beneath his greater weight. The boy was still gasping for breath, his chest heaving with bitter sobs. Any other man would have thought him broken.
But he had seen the tattoo on the boy's arm, and so was prepared for the frantic slash of nails that had aimed to scratch at his eyes. He calmly caught the young man's wrist, then began to squeeze it.
The boy went white and tried to pull away, to no avail. There was a crunch of bone, and a cry of pain, and finally the young outsider lay mostly still, glaring up at his attacker with a wild and wary hatred as he clutched his shattered wrist.
"Damn you," he hissed.
No, not broken quite yet. There was still work to be done with this one.
Fortunately, he had some experience with this boy's rare and fragmented race.
Still sitting almost complacently on the young man's heaving, sweat-slathered body, he reached out and gripped one of the three dark horns protruding from his forehead.
Just like that, the boy froze completely, his eyes going wide.
"…No…" he whispered, his voice suddenly very small in comparison to the hate and fury that had swelled it even during the rape.
The man smiled, tightened his grip, and began to exert force, pushing oh-so-carefully as if to bend the heavy bone back, a feat which both of them knew he could easily accomplish.
"Please… please, don't…" the boy begged, his eyes wide with the terror that his attacker had been so insistently seeking all this time.
The man's smile grew.
He pushed harder.
There was a sound like ice shattering as one thin crack spread all up and down the length of the spike; the boy let out a keening wail of pain that sent the tightening of desire crawling over the man's loins.
As the boy trembled violently beneath him, his breath hitching with fearful sobs, the man leaned in.
"Now, there isn't going to be any more of that, is there?" he asked with a cold grin.
He didn't wait for an answer before he began the slow and brutal torture again.
In a city where night never seems to end, darkness becomes a refuge.
In a place where noontime is marked by the hazing of the twilight skies into a shade that is almost, almost blue, the sun is a nearly-dead memory.
In a city like Lucretia, hope is so tremulous that many are uncertain of its survival.
This is a place where many people still believe somewhere in their hearts that their lives could end at any moment despite the passage of four years since the world ripped open.
There are those here who fight as they have always fought to keep the peace.
But in a city like Lucretia, chaos still holds sway.
And secrets never sleep.
And secrets never sleep.