Short chapter, sorry, but I wasn't on the computer all weekend and only got started tonight, but I figured that you hopefully wouldn't mind a short chapter, as long as it hurried the Hell up and published itself already. ;)
Oh, by the way, we're sadly nearing the end of this book. I estimate somewhere between twenty-five to thirty chapters left to go, not including the epilogue that may or may not follow, depending on if I can be bothered writing what I have planned out for it in my head. But, anyway, enjoy that nasty little cliffhanger I've left for you at the end. (LizKordell, I told you I'd do it, didn't I? Everyone, blame the cliffhanger on her. Mwahahahahahahahaha)
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The blood.
The blood.
All of the beautiful red blood.
It coated the walls of the small bedroom, staining it forever. It would never be washed away. That was good. The smell of it was intoxicating, like fuel to his fire. It helped in his motivation to do what he was doing, it was like a harvest, a harvest of blood that was going wasted through the harvester's carelessness. But he didn't care, he didn't care about the blood he was spilling, nor how much of it he spilled. The amount didn't bother him. If he killed his victim tonight, he would not be lose any sleep over the loss. Not that it was his intention for the victim to die, no he would much rather the child stay alive, alive to feel the pain another day, but if he did die, well...accidents happen, after all. He was good at what he did, he'd been doing it for a while now, so he knew how to hide things. How to twist the evidence into something completely false, something that pointed away from himself.
The child screamed under him, the noise soothing him, like a lullaby.
He knew he was twisted, knew that he could be deemed the devil himself for what he was doing, for what he was doing had no purpose other than his own sick desires, his own bloodlust and his own preference and need for total dominance. He raked his sharpened nails across the child's already lacerated cheek, and the poor soul screamed again, unable to tolerate the pain any longer. He repeated the action, again and again, until there was no visible skin on the young boy's right cheek left. Just red flesh, torn and bleeding down his face, and still the screams continued. Another rake across the cheek, and, as the boy beneath him failed at halting his own pained scream, he continued raking down the neck, over his shoulder, down his naked side, over his prominent ribs and down his hip, stopping at the hem of the boxer shorts that was all the kid had left on him.
He smiled, and the child's eyes, shadowed in the dim light, glared back up at him defiantly, as though daring the older man to continue. As though he held the power to stop him, if he so chose to rake further downwards.
But, as it was, he had no interest in that field.
He was not a raping man. That type of sex held no appeal to him. What did, however, was beating the boy beneath him until he could no longer stand. He loved making the child feel weak, and worthless. He loved showing the boy who was the master, and who was the slave. It always felt so right, showing the boy how much nothing he was. How powerless he was. And how powerful he was. His obsession with the child invaded his thoughts at all times of the night and day, and it had begun to affect his work, but that was of no consequence; it was easy to hand his work down to his inferiors when he was no longer capable of completing it himself. All that mattered now was the boy who he controlled, in every possible way. He'd shown the boy who was physically and mentally superior, he had cut off all communications with his family members, and now he had even managed to get the child living under his very own roof.
He no less than owned Edward Elric at this point.
Mustang raked his nails back upwards and across, crossing over several old burns, across Edward's abdomen, back up towards his other shoulder. Edward grunted in pain as Roy's sharp nails crossed over his burns, and Roy laughed at his pain. He had missed this, this feeling of twisted pleasure as he dominated the boy. He had missed the way he could hurt Edward in every possible way, and the former alchemist wouldn't even try to fight back. He would just lay there, screaming, as he was torn apart from the outside in. He had been sincere, at first, when he had apologized to Edward for everything he had done. He had honestly regretted his actions, honestly believed that he deserved to rot in Hell for eternity over the things he had put the young man through. He had never lied.
But he had snapped.
Subconsciously, he had known that the twisted demon within him, the one that wanted Edward's blood, would resurface if he wasn't careful. If he didn't control himself, but as the weeks had slowly passed, and Edward had grown more and more relaxed around him, as he had allowed his guard to lower itself, little thoughts had begun to once more invade his mind. Thoughts that told him how easy it would be, right then and there, to hurt the kid, to punch him, to push him over and spill his worthless blood.
At first he had dismissed the thoughts, thinking that perhaps it was as the old saying went; old habits died hard. But as they had become more frequent, he had realized that it was impossible to keep them at bay forever. It just was not possible to come down from such a high point without craving to go back and experience it once more. Roy had never done drugs, and wondered perhaps if this was similar to an addict being forced through a withdrawal. He imagined the two could be related, but, again, as he had never indulged in the killing sickness that was drugs, he would never know for sure.
And, soon enough, he was back to the way he had been before. Constantly thinking of Edward, of all the ways he could hurt him, all the ways he could spill the blood that flowed within him. He had battled his own mind for days on end, until, finally, one day he had fought with Ed, and that was when he could control himself no longer. As far as he could recall, it had been another heated battle about milk. Roy could not understand how the stupid child hated milk, it was a delicacy as far as he was concerned. He loved it, after all, without milk, drinks like coffee, tea and hot chocolate would be disgusting. As well as the fact that it was nutritionally valuable to a person's health, containing plenty of iron that strengthened the bones. Through all the fighting that Edward seemed to do, back when he was an alchemist, it was a wonder his bones ever survived through his lack of consumption of the vital liquid.
Edward had been shouting at him, shouting about how milk was disgusting an it couldn't possibly have any kind of health benefits, and he had slammed his hands on the table, and the impact had sent his plate flying, until it hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces.
They had both frozen, Edward immediately beginning to mutter that he was sorry and that he would clean it up. Roy had said nothing. Edward went to retrieve the broken glass, and Roy had lost all control. He slowly stood up, and, as Edward had bent down, he had thrust the boys face into the shattered glass, burying that slivers into the skin. Edward had screamed, trying to get away, screaming that Roy had promised, that he had promised to never hurt him again, but Roy had, maliciously, repeated words he remembered Edward saying to him weeks earlier.
"Promises are made to be broken, Edward." He had taunted, further pushing down on the boys head, a firm grip in his hair, as Edward struggled desperately to get his face away from the glass that was tearing his face apart. After what could have been seconds, minutes or hours, Roy let him go, commanding him to pick up the broken shards and to put them in the bin. Trembling, the boy had obeyed, and when he was done, Roy had grabbed him by the hair and practically dragged him up the stairs, into Edward's room, where they were now.
Now, Mustang let go of his grip on Edward, still sitting on top of him. He pulled his gloves out of his pocket, making sure Edward saw them as he slowly slipped them over his fingers. Edward's eyes widened in fear and he struggled desperately to get out from underneath Roy, screaming and shrieking that he had had enough, that he couldn't take the pain anymore, that Roy had promised never to do it again. Roy only laughed, gliding his gloved fingers over Edward's writhing form, trying to decide where would be the best place to burn him. The child shivered at his touch, and Roy laughed again.
He finally settled on Ed's left shoulder, and his fingers sat still there for a few moments. Edward stopped moving, to gaze for a moment into Roy's eyes, just like he used to, trying to find any sign of mercy or regret there. Roy gave him nothing to find, and the child sobbed, closed his eyes, and turned his head away, presumably bracing for the intense pain that was about to come. Roy lifted his fingers and instantly snapped his thumb and middles finger together, creating the spark that instantly latched onto the place on Edward's shoulder that he had marked, searing the flesh, turning it first pink, then red, until Edward could hold back his pained shriek of agony no longer. It burst from his lips, like a bomb, and the sound reverberated through the room as his flesh was burned, and to Mustang the sound was like a symphony of music. He felt that familiar butterfly sensation in his chest, and he he didn't bother to try holding back the manic laugh that escaped his lips.
"Stop it you bastard!" Edward screamed as the fire burned his flesh.
"Now now, Edward, is that any way to treat your father?" Roy asked, tsk-ing at his youngest subordinate.
"You're not my father, bastard, you're just the bastard who - aaaaaaaarrrrggggghhhhhhh!" Mustang made the flames hotter, causing Edward to be cut off mid-sentence by his own screams.
"That will teach you to call me a bastard, you disrespectful child." Mustang said to him, calling off the flames, which sputtered for a moment before dying. Edward fought to control his ragged panting, and Roy watched him struggle, smiling pitilessly down at him. He knew what it was like to be burned, but damn, it was so much better when you weren't the one experiencing the agony that accompanied the raging fires. Tears streamed down the boy's eyes, streaking his face. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and while the right side of his face was torn apart from Roy's nails, the rest of it was lacerated from assorted cuts from the glass Mustang had shoved Edward's face into earlier that night. Pulling his gaze away from Edward's face, down his neck, and onto the shoulder he had just burned, Roy admired his handiwork. It was red raw in places, but burned black in others. The skin surrounding the area that he had burned was a bright, flaring pink, and he imagines=d it was quite sensitive. He prodded it with his fingers, and Edward whimpered.
He poked harder, and Ed's whimper turned into a strangled sob, and he pressed his fingers hard into the abused skin and he yelped in pain, flinching away from the older man and began once again to struggle, to uselessly try to fight his way out from under Mustang, who had him pinned securely to the floor between his own legs.
"Sshhh." He whispered, leaning down so his face was close to Edwards, his left hand on the floor by his side, supporting his weight, while his right hand began absently stroking the boy's golden hair. "It's okay, you'll be fine. It's only a little pain, Edward. You can push through a little bit of pain, can't you?"
"Don't touch me!" Edward hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes fixed closed, refusing to look at his tormentor's face. Edward stopped struggling for a moment, though, and as Roy kept whispering softly to him, Edward spat in his face. Roy stopped whispering words of comfort to the boy immediately, pulling his fingers out of Ed's hair and wiping the spit off of his face. He growled.
"That was a mistake." He snarled at Edward, who squeezed his eyes even tighter and turned his head away, obviously expecting a shattering blow. But Roy didn't do that. He didn't punch him, or ram his elbow into his nose, he didn't even burn him again. What he did was entangle his right fist back into Edward's long golden locks, and pull, hard.
Edward yelped and squirmed as Mustang tugged continuously on his hair, whimpering and pleading softly for him to stop. For the pain to stop. For it all to just stop. But Roy wasn't to be distracted so easily. He continued to pull harshly on the child's hair, until strands of it began to fall slowly to the floor. Then he stopped, but only to pull the annoying things from between his fingers, discarding them beside him as Edward continued to squirm beneath him. "What should I do to you know, hmm?" He wondered aloud.
"Leave me the Hell alone?" Edward suggested, peeking through his eyelids.
"No, that would be..." He paused for a moment, trying to think of the right word. "Counterproductive." He decided on at last.
"Goddammit." Edward muttered, trying to make his voice sound like he was just joking around with the man who was putting him in so much pain. He failed.
"Hmm." Roy contemplated what to do with the child next, his fingers slipping back into Edward's hair, absentmindedly curling it around his fingers, then stroking it, then curling it again. He liked the feel of Edward's soft hair on hie fingers, even if it was through the gloves. He decided to take them off, deciding that he wasn't going to burn Edward again tonight. He stuffed them back into his breast pocket and returned his hand to Edward's hair, quietly and in-discernibly murmuring to the boy words of comfort, trying to think of what to do now. It wouldn't be very productive to end it now, although even he had to admit that he was suddenly craving the comforts of a warm bed; the temperature in Edward's room had dropped considerably since he'd brought the child up here. But after already telling Ed he wouldn't be leaving him just yet it would be stupid to go back on what he'd said.
Maybe he should rake his nails across his face again? No, that wouldn't do.
He'd already decided that he didn't want to burn him again, not tonight anyway...
Maybe he should just go back to the good old punch, kick, punch, hit routine. He hadn't done that as of yet tonight, really.
Yeah, that would do just fine.
He carefully slid off the young boy, being careful to keep a strong grip on his wrists in case he tried to lash out, and rolled the boy over, onto his stomach. Edward whimpered as his inflamed shoulder was forced to endure pressured contact with the hard floor, but didn't make any other sound. Now that he'd rolled Edward over, the thought occurred to him that his usual violence just wasn't going to cut it tonight. He wanted to do something different. He wanted to hurt Edward in a way he hadn't done before. He wanted to rip his flesh apart.
Quickly he jabbed his pointer and middle fingers of his right hand into the fold of skin between Edward's shoulder blade and his ribs. His sharp nails broke through the soft skin instantly and Edward fought back a scream as Mustang's finger punctured flesh. Slowly, Mustang spread the fingers apart, widening the hole he'd made. Edward struggled and lost the battle, and the scream tore from his throat and Mustang pressed harder, more ferociously, spreading them apart even more as he did so. Blood flowed from the wound like a tap and stained his fingers, spreading over Edward's back and falling over his sides, into the floor. Edward screamed again and Roy twisted his fingers around, and Edward's screams became inhuman shrieks of pure agony.
Roy laughed, pulling his fingers out, and even more blood gushed from the wound. Mustang did the same thing on the other shoulder, bringing his fingers up to his head, then swiftly jabbing them downwards, with as much force as he could muster. The sound of flesh splitting was drowned out by Edward's screaming, and Roy pushed down as hard as he could, completely burying his fingers in the flesh of Edward's back. Edward's screams were caught in his throat now, and Roy spread his fingers apart, and the blood...
All of it...
So beautiful...
Gushing from the wound like a wrung sponge...
Like a wrung sponge leaking out all the water it had collected...
The blood flowed freely, staining his skin, staining Edward's skin, staining the floor.
He twisted, and Edward's screams were muffled even further when he bit down on his lip, which split instantly, gushing a small stream of blood. Mustang grinned, wide and toothy, and yanked his fingers out, pressed his ring finger against the bloodied middle, and thrust them all back into the wound.
The screaming reached even more inhuman levels.
The blood poured even more, like a never ending stream, and he split his fingers apart once more and Edward's voice chose that moment to become so hoarse from screaming that he could scream no longer, only cry out in agony and misery as his flesh was torn apart. Mustang yanked his fingers out, brushing them down the side of Edward's ribcage, remembering where the lungs and the heart were, he picked a non-fatal spot between ribs, and thrust his in between the ribs.
Again, the skin split apart instantly, allowing way to the meat beneath, which Roy was only too happy to puncture as well. But this time, he took his fingers out right away, and pinched at a fold of meat. Then he began to pull on it, and Edward screamed as much as his hoarse voice would allow him to, crying and shaking and writhing in the pain of it all. Mustang knew that he wouldn't be able to keep up this particular game for much longer; if the blood loss didn't kill him soon, the shock and pain most likely would. Despite his earlier thoughts on not caring if Ed died, he didn't really want him to. He didn't want to lose his young torture-doll, and besides, there would be too many questions about how he had died. And, to be frank, he couldn't be bothered right now to weave an elaborate web of lies, couldn't be bothered planting any false efforts and certainly he wouldn't be able to be bothered moving Edward's dead corpse.
So he stopped pulling, and -
"What the Hell do you think you're doing to Edward, Roy Mustang?"