Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author's note/warnings: Torture. Slight gore. Dark!Dram. Non-consensual sex, meaning rape time people. Can't handle? Skip this chapter, please.
Just read FEAR, and still can't get over that this random guy's name is Major Onyx. We already know MG reads fanfiction, so that's a little bit weird. Hohoho, enjoy the gay pronz, MG.
Also, ever so fantastic beta-reader DreamCatcher96 is still doing awesome work on this story~~
"I loved you."
Violent anger; vehement exasperation; indignation; rage; fury; ire
"Is it bright where you are
Have the people changed
Does it make you happy you're so strange
And in your darkest hour
I hold secrets flame
We can watch the world devoured in its pain"
"The Beginning is the End is the Beginning"; Smashing Pumpkins
"I... I killed her."
Tongues of fire licked themselves up the house walls, mixing orange, red and yellow with the white Sam had once found so boring. Now he missed the cleanness of the colour - there was nothing clean about those Hellish flames eating up the house.
It was dark outside, making the burning house light up the dark.
Orange, red and yellow.
It'd be beautiful hadn't it brought death and despair with it.
Drake, on the other hand, did find beauty in the view. The house had never looked prettier. He thought the flames resembled dragon tongues, ready to consume and massacre everything that crossed them. Ironic, seeing what his name meant. But this dragon was consuming something else... a soul, to be specific.
Sam's silent words brought him out of his musings.
"I'm a m-murderer..."
He didn't bother to tell Sam that Astrid was in a basement made out of stone, and the chance of a plank or two going right through her was small, although Drake hoped he'd be lucky (and even that wasn't as bad as burning alive).
No, instead he laid his head on Sam's shoulder, his hand playing with his auburn hair. It was as if they were a couple watching a romantic flick on a cinema - from Drake's perspective, anyway. "Probably," he said, "Maybe she's still alive under there somewhere."
Sam's eyes widened, staring right forward, unable to move a single muscle. The possibilities swirled around in his tiny head, and Drake could almost feel the hope in the atmosphere around them.
He wouldn't have any of it.
"You're not gonna go and save her," he informed Sam, moving away from the now trembling four-bar. He laid a hand on the lower part of Sam's neck, caressing it.
"You heard me. Now come with me, we're leaving."
To a better place.
Sam stirred. "But she might be alive... She might be..."
"Dying?" Drake drawled, fingers clenching dangerously around his neck. "Yes, she might be."
"And I can save her! I can apologize again, I can..." Suddenly, he grabbed Drake, trying to shake some sense into the sand-blonde. "It'll be alright, there's still time, we can-"
"Don't touch me," he warned darkly. When Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, but didn't remove them at once.
Drake grabbed his wrists and held him up like a little bird, wings much too broken to flee. "Do you think it's over now, Sammy, just 'cos I ain't fucking you up at the moment? Are you really that naïve? Wait, don't answer that. But seriously though, didn't I tell you I was gonna tear you apart? ...You think I wanna be forgiven and escape from this?"
He made sure to stare into both of his eyes, watching every emotion in Sam's eyes.
"No-no... I just thought..."
"You don't think." Drake slapped him hard across the face. "Do you even remember my promise?"
"I'm going to teach you about disobeying me, Sammy." Although the words were far from dull, he somehow made it sound that way; like this was something he had to do. He pressed Sam closer, crushing the air out of him in something far too sinister to a friendly embrace. He spoke quietly, "Will you scream for me?"
Sam didn't answer. He raised his palm, but was far too slow for Drake not to notice. So Drake sighed and punched the him - just like four-bar had done such a long time ago - and caught him as he fell, making sure his head wouldn't hit the pavement so he wouldn't pass out. "It'll be alright," he murmured, "Everything will be alright."
Then he dragged the limp body away from the burning house, away from Astrid, away from a possible escape, away from everything.
Sam felt that the harsh surface that tore open the skin on his back changed - there was a slight bump in the ground, and then there was soft grass. Not that it made it all the more comfortable - Sam's head still hurt like a bitch and he felt like he'd throw up his soul at any given moment.
He was far too dizzy to hear the shouts behind him, kids of all ages believing Sam was still in there and going to save Perdido Beach's hero. None were aware that he was dragged away by his number one enemy to get killed in the woods less than fifteen minutes from the house.
It felt like hours before Drake finally let go, none-too-gently allowing him to fall upon the dark green ground.
"I'm gonna rape you in front of your fucking town."
And it was true - they were at a hill of some sort, Perdido Beach watching them down there. Perhaps children even spotted them in the darkness, perhaps they would save him. But this vague thought made the need to throw up increase even more - because if they knew, why wouldn't they come? Why wouldn't they help him when he had almost sacrificed himself so many times?
Sam would've cried if he'd had any tears left. His eyes were puffy and red, but there were no tears left.
At first he couldn't do anything but lay completely still, not struggling, not shouting, not anything.
Sam swallowed thickly - this was so unreal, even if there were loads and loads of pain. He felt Drake push his legs apart with almost robotic motions, as if the sadist wasn't doing this of his own free will, but merely out of habit. He could feel Drake's cold fingers on his stomach travelling downwards and his head fell to the side, eyes wide, still not moving.
How could this have happened?
Sam didn't understand. Fate was playing with his emotions again, and he couldn't understand why she'd bring so much torment upon him. He had never been much of a religious person, yet he wondered if this was a punishment by the god Astrid always spoke so fondly of, for all the sins he'd committed.
Then he heard Drake loosen his belt, and his words kicked in.
No, it couldn't be, he wasn't that evil...
'I'll rape you.'
Sam started fighting. He kicked, screamed, punched, and used every manner of physical violence to get the fuck away from the sadist. But it was all fruitless - Drake held him, only muttering some curses.
"It's fucking useless," he growled loudly, "trying to get away. It's probably to save the bitch, yeah? Even if she was alive underneath it all back then she's probably dead now, so no fucking hero shit for you today."
Drake flipped Sam into his back, ignoring the cry of denial. He spoke while working on Sam's pants, soon attacking the remains of his t-shirt also, adoring the sweet whip marks he'd made earlier.
They came in all shapes and sizes along with other scars from earlier nights of rough sex, some larger, some smaller, and some newer than others. It sort of looked like a map when you knew the writing, and Drake could tell where each one came from. He'd never had photographic memory, but he could imagine in detail what he'd done when seeing those diverse marks. One particular was his favourite; the almost invisible one that started on the left side of Sam's neck and swung around like a wine plant until it reached Sam's lips. Drake remembered tasting crimson that night, and an overwhelming urge to redo it came over him.
But just as he was going to give into said urge, he recalled something when gazing at Sam's mouth.
Someone else had kissed Sam.
Those lips of his were stained.
Drake's whip cracked in the air, nostalgia forgotten. Sam wrapped his arms around himself, terrified of more torture. He was still sore from the last time.
"You're mine. No one is allowed to touch you. But you knew that, didn't you? You're my plaything, and I decide whether you're gonna play with someone or not. You deserve this, Temple."
In a moment of spite, where he wanted nothing to spit at Drake for being so heartless, Sam answered back, something he would regret from that moment on.
"You're jealous because she kissed me."
Silence, for a moment, in which Sam had enough time to crawl backwards when something even more sinister darkened Drake's murderous expression.
"You think I'm jealous of her, Sam?" Drake threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed, something that sounded more like hysteric crying than anything else. He wrapped his arms around himself like his ribcage would burst anytime.
It wasn't until he'd calmed down he muttered those icy, poison-drenched words. "I feel nothing."
If Sam had believed in auras, Drake's would've turned onyx black at that moment. The only warning he got for the horrendous agony he was about to experience came in the form of a horrid smile, fuelled by nothing but hate and pain.
"Don't believe me? I'll prove it to you, then."
His tentacle wrapped itself around his left foot like a boa constrictor, as certain in its hold as ever. He held one of Sam's legs up high, studying it like it was an alien object before steely fingers locked around it, starting to pull it in a foreign direction.
Then it hit Sam.
Drake intended to break his leg, if not yank it clean off. This scared him more than the worsening torment, and Sam took a shuddering breath. Maybe it was just a scare tactic?
Something in Drake's eyes told him otherwise, however.
"Please don't..." Petrified by terror, Sam took a shaky breath just as the pressure stopped. He couldn't move. "D-Drake?" he stammered, vague hope and confusion in his voice.
"No. I won't stop, not now, not ever, not until you understand why, Sam."
The pressure rose again, Drake bending his foot backwards once again, this time with such force the feared result was unavoidable.
The immense pain was immediate. It rushed through his body like lightening, and although not a genius, he knew Drake had just broken one of his legs.
He screamed for help, for freedom, for forgiveness.
No one answered. No one came. No one even listened.
"Jesus..." Sam words were accompanied by nothing but the wind, which howled softly and offered hollow apologizes. It felt as if everything around him, plants and trees, pitied him. But he couldn't dwell much over it, the incredible pain pushing him into a daze.
"You broke my-"
'Help me please.'
The earth stood still. Drake seemed to have changed his mind, perhaps he'd heard the utter desperation in Sam's voice and understood that Sam didn't deserve this, didn't deserve all the pain, didn't deserve to have his legs broken-
As yet another long pair of screams filled the air, Drake couldn't help wonder how odd Sam's legs now looked. He'd seen broken legs before, but never studied them up close. No longer having any sort of pride or concern, he poked the bone that stuck out, watching the pained reaction as Sam tried desperately to stop him.
Drake frowned as his tentacle arm wrapped around Sam's leg, squeezing the bone back into place from its odd angle. Sam looked like he wanted to claw his skin off and tear out his eyeballs, but Drake didn't mind much.
"I disabled both your legs," he informed. "You can't get away. Escape is impossible. Despair is unavoidable. Better get used to the thought of facing punishment and take it like a man, Temple. Try burning my head off again and I'll make sure you die without your precious power. I'll cut your hands off Temple, I swear."
It was a tempting thought, sending a ball of fire straight through Drake's skull. But Sam had no wishes of having his hands broken or worse - cut clean off, so he wisely stayed quiet, instead releasing a few sobs.
"Good boy," Drake drawled, spreading his legs and releasing even more pained noises from Sam. His throat was too sore to produce anymore loud screams. His pants and boxers were soon by his ankles, and he rubbed himself against Sam, half-hard. That is to say, all this excitement and smell of fresh blood was sending his own blood to only one place.
Drake moaned, already becoming fully erected with just thinking of all the suffering he'd put Sam through any minute now.
Sam shivered, not experiencing those things at all. No, instead, he was disgusted, wanting nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die.
He could not dwell any longer on it, because Drake felt like he'd waited long enough and forced an abrupt entrance - not giving a crap about foreplay, merely entering without a preparation or lubrication of any sort. He drove himself as deep as he could, and meet the tightness that met him with an indecent grunt.
It released a half-suppressed and hoarse scream from Sam, but Drake didn't mind.
Drake had torn him open, and Sam soon felt something wet run down his thigh. Something thicker than water. He managed to come to his senses enough to understand that it was blood sliding down the inside of his legs. Drake didn't even allow him to adjust - instead he ignored all concern for the younger boy and started moving moments after penetrating the weakened body.
"S-Stop," Sam gasped, it being like their first time, an act he had no wish repeating. It was uncomfortable, it hurt, and- "Ah!"
Just as Drake had pulled himself out, he drove himself in again, even more forceful this time. But that wasn't the worst thing (Drake hadn't been satisfied with Sam holding back, the sadist wanting to hear an orchestra), oh no, because Drake held his broken foot and squeezed.
Somehow there were enough tears left for him to cry like a baby.
"Shush, Sammy. It'll be over soon, you ugly whore. I'll show you... I'll show you..." He started again, the blood making it easier to move. "You deserve to die. There there, it's quite alright. I'll give death to you soon, Sammy; just wait a little more... That's it... Quiet down..."
This was all while he continued to fuck Sam, slowly this time, painfully so. Tearful and frightened, Sam continued to silently beg for help ('Anyone! Anyone!'). This was wrong, this was immoral, this was...
He'd created this monster.
It dawned upon him like a meteor crashing into sand.
His pupils darted backwards, head turning to the side, needing to know if it was true. Proving him right, Drake smiled. It was as if he knew everything that went on in Sam's brain, controlling it, like as if Sam was a puppet on strings and Drake the puppet master.
"Dance for me."
And in his eyes, dance he did. Head jerking back and forth, limbs rustling, body trembling... All of it was a beautiful waltz Sam had only showed bits and pieces of before. The screams and whimpers only added rhythm to it.
Drake even found himself swinging back and forth to it, some sort of music having erupted in his head. His hips started moving again though, Sam's entrance slick with blood, making it easier to move. It was agonizingly slow, and suddenly he hit just the right angle.
"Doesn't it feel nice?"
Not nice at all.
It felt like despair.
Sam cried more, still shaking. Still dancing. The combined pleasure and pain almost drove him insane - if wanted pain, goddamn it, and only pain! Didn't deserve anything else! And he didn't want pleasure from the boy that had caused all this endless misery!
"I'll kill you," Drake promised.
'I believe you.'
His left eye twitched.
"You'll die for me."
"I-I already am," Sam said in a hollow whisper.
Then Drake's heart fell out again and he lost the ability to speak, in Sam's mind regaining devil horns and a tail. He pulled out without a sound, grabbing Sam's face, guided him downwards and forcing the broken boy to swallow him whole. Drake groaned and started fucking his mouth, mind too clouded with pleasure to understand that he was actually being nice enough to kneel and not put pressure on Sam's broken legs. Had he come to his senses Sam was sure he'd not been quite as noble.
Sam was disgusted beyond reason, both by Drake for doing this and by himself still having a hard-on, but it had no real matter. It didn't change anything.
Blood and semen ran down from the corners of his cracked lips.
Drake came then, holding Sam so hard that he gagged, pulling out so the four-bar could cough his lungs back into functioning, only to lash out and whip him as soon as he'd recovered from his orgasm. Sam screamed, again and again, but it only made Drake more excited. He stood up now, yelling gruesome promises of anguish.
He told Sam that the people of Perdido Beach heard, but pretended otherwise, that no one in the entire FAYZ gave a flying fuck that he was up here getting raped by their biggest enemy.
He told Sam how they secretly wished for this to happen so he would become their soldier even more - so he would finally give his whole soul to them so they could devour and then point in every direction they wanted, even sacrifice him for nothing.
He told Sam that nobody loved him.
Sam believed all of it and cried.
Cried and cried, but there were no tears left, so all that ran from his eyes was ruby liquid. He wasn't entirely sure where the crimson came from, but Drake had whipped him over the face a few times before so that might be a reason.
It stained every inch of his pale white skin, and his shirt had been reduced to nothing but mere rags hanging lifelessly on his body, torn to pieces by Drake's mighty extraterrestrial arm. After lying face-down for so long (he had no idea when Drake moved him), grass tickling his face in vague comfort, it came as a shock when Drake moved him over on his back.
His entire being hurt, on the inside and the outside, and he felt dizzy and violently ill after everything.
Drake looked down upon him, drinking in the sight. His gaze moved to Sam's abdomen, and he raised an eyebrow in mock interest, "Still half-hard, aren't you? Fucking slut. But, I'll get rid off it for you..."
'Oh god, not again!' Sam knew he wouldn't handle a third time, not today. Not after Astrid's death. Not after the first, horrible time.
Drake was killing him, slowly.
"No... Not again, p-please don't!" Sam stammered. "I won't handle it, please!"
Drake's silver eyes flashed. "I don't care," he said venomously, a tad grim. But he went through with it, rubbing himself against Sam, already quite excited from seeing Sam cower before him like that. He lifted one of Sam's legs up and swung it over his shoulder. "Easy access," he said and laughed humourlessly, again forcing himself in with a grunt.
And again, Sam released nothing but a terrific orchestra of beautiful noises.
Drake continued to thrust into him, moaning as he did so.
"You really are a hard one, aren't you?" he asked, grinning mercilessly, "And I'm not just talking about this..." he drove himself even deeper, purposefully hitting the wrong angle and causing the body underneath him tremble. "I'm talking about you mentally. You just won't break. I n- ...need to... gh... push harder, don't I?"
"Don't," Sam breathed in-between hard thrusts, unable to look at his tormenter. "Don't."
"You're beautiful," Drake said, "But you're empty. No one will ever love you."
"I know," Sam cried out, "I k-know..."
"You belong to me."
'I want you.'
Why couldn't Sam see? Was there something blinding him? Drake had to remove whatever kept him from seeing the truth - he would violently rip it to pieces if he had to.
'I want you so fucking much.'
Still, as he looked into Sam's eyes, there was nothing but torment. No love, no happiness, no understanding of why Drake was doing this to him. It left him feeling empty, and it sort of hurt. Hurt transformed into anger, and he couldn't hold it back any longer.
"STOP FUCKING FIGHTING ME, SAM!" Drake shrieked, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME, DAMMIT!"
'How can someone love a monster?'
But Sam did, or he believed he did, and it felt as if his heart would tear itself out anytime now. He looked up, always hoping Drake would snap out of it, but this would be his biggest mistakes yet. He'd done some pretty big mistakes up to now, but he instantly knew this was going to kill him. It was in the very atmosphere that surrounded them. It replaced all hope.
Because Drake saw the confusion, the wonder, and the fatal outcome in his eyes.
He wasn't certain anymore.
This hurt Drake more than anything had done before. This was worse than getting his arm sawn off. This was worse than seeing Sam with another girl. This was worse than the darker afterthoughts he got when raping Sam - the one that screamed that all the principles he had lived on the past years (humanity is rotten, nobody cares, everybody hates everybody) were extremely wrong.
This drove him mad.
Two seconds and then Drake was on top of him, wrapping his whip arm around Sam's throat like a two meter, thick wool scarf. The red and blue veins that were coiled around the pink fleshed tentacle pumped, new blood cells rushing through them to increase his hold.
Formerly, before this nightmare, Sam had sometimes wondered if it had a mind of its own. It certainly seemed like this now, when Drake looked like he wanted nothing more than to end Sam as quickly as possible, while the tentacle slowly tightened its grip, slowly choking the very life out of him.
Even Drake seemed remotely surprised over this. He soon regained his ice prince façade though, even if his left lower eyelid moved independent from the other, twitching a bit.
As long as there were still some air in his lungs, Sam could still call for his Drake. The Drake he missed so much - the not exactly kind but his Drake, the one that would smirk smugly and laugh and fuck him and snore quietly and tell him how much he hated Sam but loved fucking him and how Sam was his and how in a way Drake was Sam's and...
He looked up on his demon, again filled with hope.
"Sto- ...Drake plea-"
"I said I'd kill you, didn't I?" Drake squeezed his neck even tighter, a mad glint in his eyes. He talked like he tried convincing himself, not listening to Sam's pleading. In his head there was a weird buzzing, making him even madder. "I promised I'd kill you."
The hope died.
"So that's what I'll do."
The tentacle's hold tightened, the red veins almost pumping against the hard, pinkish flesh. Adrenaline rushed through Drake's body, pleasured by his own sadism, and he groaned in ecstasy.
He could see Sam turning blue; almost hear his lungs beg for oxygen. The midnight-blue in his eyes seemed even more intense because of the overwhelming darkness in Sam's eyes.
Drake smiled when Sam looked at him.
'How can I love a monster?'
But he didn't, not anymore. Couldn't.
Drake stopped smiling.
Continuing to choke him, Drake started hissing again, "Do you feel my fucking pain now? Eh? This is how it felt like Sam, like being choked to death by the one you gave a shit about!" He then started moving again, slamming his hips against Sam's without a second thought how much it must hurt for the boy with the broken legs and all.
He continued to screw Sam some more, "This is pretty perfect, yeah? You crying and about to come... You must feel shameful... I know I did when I almost thought you cared about me," he sneered the last part, smile twisted and as terrible as ever.
His name meant listener.
It certainly fit right now - all he could do was lay there and take it, occasionally making a more pained "Ah!" than the usual. He hated how the figure thrusting into him seemed to enjoy it even more when he did that and just drove himself in even harder. For each time he whimpered, the pain would only get worse. Drake got off on his pained noises.
Eyes met for a brief second. It was a rare happening since both loathed to look each other in the eyes, almost frightened that they would find an unwanted emotion.
Midnight-blue eyes were like liquid, an entire ocean where waves crusaded against the shores, a soft, never-changing rhythm.
Silver eyes brought nothing but death.
"She was probably alive till now, y'know!" Drake grinned, pushing into him some more, "Begging for help from her beloved boyfriend who was too busy being fucked by the enemy! How does that make you feel Sam?"
Sam closed his eyes tightly shut.
Of course, it made him feel certain things. Things which were too much for him to handle - it tore down the last defences of his mind, Drake's wrath anguishing the last pieces of reason he had left within his fragile mind, everything shattering like glass.
There wasn't much else to say about it.
Although the residents of Perdido Beach often forgot all about it, Sam was human too, if not even more than them. All that separated him from a normal teenage boy were laser beam arms and a sociopathic dictator of a twin. So when he was pushed beyond the limit, Drake tearing away from him what he sometimes thought he lived for, crushing him, breaking his trust, it was only natural that Sam just... just cracked, without a sound.
It was visible though.
Drake didn't stop the torment, doing nothing to cease the screams, watching Sam with sick interest. He knew the boy, and knew when something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
He also knew when it was too late to go back.
Right before the final blow, Sam looked up.
'Why did you do this?' asked the expression on his face.
In the second where Drake was about to end it all in a last interaction of their hips, where he'd kill and tear and maim the one that had made his heart hurt so, then Sam decided to say it.
"I loved you."
There they were - the words that had caused the death. Not started the kill, but caused the death. Those three words that somehow managed to tear down Drake completely, those three words that he'd seen in Sam's eyes but hurt so much more when muttered by his beloved fallen angel.
Such horrible words. Because the truth often is.
(Only the white in Sam's eyes were now visible.)
Though Drake couldn't hold back anymore, he forced himself into Sam like he'd said he would, but the ultimate glory suddenly became something ultimately bitter in his mouth.
He still came though and his grip became even tighter, emptying himself into the smaller body with that last thrust. He moaned in pleasure, although it wasn't quite as ecstatic as usual.
The bliss of the orgasm washed through him, blinding him and deleting all his thoughts for a few moments where he threw his head backwards and produced nothing but more moans. It did feel as wonderful as usual, but something was missing.
But he couldn't stay like that forever, and it all came back to him.
"I loved you."
Fuck, his head hurt. Drake stumbled backwards, finally letting go off Sam. The four-bar didn't move one inch, and Drake couldn't help but note how dark red the marks on his neck were. His eyes were half-closed, lips dry and split, and he lay completely still.
Drake sneered, massaging his forehead, growling in pain. Where was he? His head hurt, that was all he knew. "Temple," he muttered dazedly, "Get the fuck up."
"Temple? Didn't you hear me? Get up. We're going... We're going back to Coates." It didn't sound certain though, because Drake wasn't. He just wanted away from this place, and, ah fuck, his head hurt!
Still no answer whatsoever. Sam didn't even look like he'd heard anything.
Drake stumbled from one side to another, almost falling.
"I told you to get up, Sam!"
He finally looked - and actually looked, not only with his eyes, this time - down at the bloodied, semen-stained corpse.
Then Drake understood what he'd done.
He started hitting his head like it would force the terrible memories out of him, the terrible image of Sam's eyes, the terrible words muttered right before Drake had choked him to death.
"No, no, no, no, no..."
He drove his blood rimmed nails into his own flesh, clawing and clawing until blood gushed everywhere, until he fell to his side and wrapped his arms around himself like a sorely needed straightjacket.
Accompanied by nothing but beautiful moonlight and the corpse of his long dead lover…
Drake sang a screaming sonata.
He screamed like the world was ending
Then, right after that, dead, silver eyes became entirely blank and he fell backwards, consumed by darkness and blood and memories forgotten long ago. Drake lost consciousness.