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Hi, my name is Damien
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 | [06-10] Black Widow |
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 4.71 with 14 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-02-13 18:55:40 |
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6.
‘The fifteen year old is small, eyes light and calculating. Beautiful. He is practically asking to be taken advantage of. And who is he to refuse such a stunning, impressionable boy? There’s only three years difference, and what harm could it do…?’
The door slammed shut, the walls of the house shaking with the force of the thrown door. Damien was beyond annoyed. He leant against the door he had just battered into place, eyes closed. How dare he come back? How dare he return?
‘The club is heaving, the boy surrounded by friends. He approaches the door close to where the boy is standing, studying the boy quietly as he lazily orders about his group. He laughs; it’s beautifully dark and twisted. How pretty he’d look on h s knees and broken…’
Abandoning his coat on the floor of his hallway, Damien marched through his house, igniting a cigarette as he went. The smoke he inhaled didn’t calm him. It didn’t quell the irritation and the distinct feeling of being lost somehow, which only served to deepen his harsh anger.
‘He is ignoring the attention the stranger is lavishing him with, ignoring the looks. The stranger in the club doesn’t interest him. But he will, in time. Before the night is over, the stranger vows that the boy will be his…’
He was pacing, he tried to thread his control about his emotions but he couldn’t. Gabriel was occupying his brain. Memories he had filtered out came back in swarms and he felt like the helpless, weak fifteen year old he had been when they had first met and he loathed it.
‘Icy blue eyes of the teen skim the room, smiling darkly as he pushes his friend away, yelling something to him over the music. They collide with emerald green. They eye each other. Interesting. Is the boy challenging him? The stranger laughs into his drink. A worthy choice indeed…’
He wasn’t fifteen anymore. He wasn’t weak anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s toy anymore. How dare Gabriel come back and make him feel this way again? It had been eight years, and now Gabriel decided to turn up? And not only did he have the audacity to turn up, but to think Damien would once again surrender to him and submit.
‘He stands close to the boy, the teen having allowed his friends to separate and mess around with whoever they chose as his light eyes skim the crowds. Even back then is he well informed on the arts of sex and is currently looking for someone. He looks up, head tilted as he looks at the eighteen year old beside him, before he smiles darkly. The stranger returns it, knowing he now has the boy as his own…’
The cigarette had been smoked near to the butt. Damien flicked it into an ashtray and lit another. He leant against the side, expression smouldering and dark. He refused to allow Gabriel to win. He closed his eyes, slowly reining in his loose, rampant emotions. He refused to lose control. He refused to return to the state he had been in when he was fifteen and weak minded. He had made a promise to himself when he left that he would never, ever be a plaything for anyone ever again. He wasn’t about to break that.
‘The bathroom is hardly the most romantic of places, and the fact that this is illegal enters’ neither mind. The teen is only slightly receptive to his slow torture. He returns the bites and the sharp shots of pain with equal doses of his own venomous inflictions. The stranger smiles. This teen will definitely be a worthwhile catch…’
An abrupt explosion of emotion caused Damien to hurl the ashtray off of the side; shards of glass shattering and sending ask sweeping across the floor. Damien cracked his neck, inhaling and exhaling heavily. The little expulsion of energy had calmed him, allowing his control to return and lock everything where it should be.
‘There’s harsh breathing and stifled gasps that could be from either pain or pleasure. The stranger doesn’t much care, both are satisfying for now. The teen has the faint coppery taste of blood in his mouth. A part of him is aware that he isn’t sure whether it’s his own or the guys and he finds it very hard to care as his nails scrape and dig into the back of the older man in retaliation to the brutal bites he is receiving on his neck…’
He ignored the mess on his floor as he swept through his home up to his bedroom. On the side beside the wardrobe was an ornate knife. It was beautiful really, looking rather like a ceremonial knife but Damien knew it had been used for things much darker than that.
He took it into hand, the tip razor sharp and pressed into his index finger and he twirled it thoughtfully. It was the only relic of the past he could stand because he could have so much fun with it, despite his shared history with it.
He moved the knife away from his finger, barely glancing at the bead of blood that welled where the knife had punctured the skin. The slight prxck of pain was nothing. He stared at the knife, dark sinister thoughts running through his mind.
He wasn’t about to feel the sharp, glinting blade kiss and caress his skin again.
7.
Damien found himself admiring Jay’s body for a moment. He could definitely see why he made it as a model. He was slim, toned, but not too toned. His soft milky skin glowed in the dim lighting of the room. His torso was exposed, his dark eyes nervously fixed to the floor.
Damien couldn’t remember why Jay had turned up, nor did he particularly care. What he needed was a release, a way to confirm everything he believed about himself and others around him. He would not give up on all he had created and built so easily.
He was silent when he moved, fingertips trailing over Jay’s shoulder, thoughtful in their movements. Jay chewed his lip. Damien crouched behind him, pulling his lip forcefully from between his teeth, causing him to break the skin. Jay winced.
“That’s a bad habit, Kitten,” Damien purred, his breath ghosting across the shell of Jay’s ear, causing the younger boy to shiver. He swallowed, feeling the deceptive warmth of Damien’s body. The words of liquid silver were beautifully intoned but dripping with a venomous mocking.
The Damien was standing, toying with his favourite ornate knife. He still stood behind Jay, watching as the latter shifted nervously under the obvious gaze.
“You’re a naughty boy,” he whispered seductively in the dark with a smirk. “Good boys listen to perfectly good advice. Smart boys heed the warning of wiser, cleverer adults.” He sneered sinisterly, fingers coiling in blonde hair and wrenching Jay’s head back, a straggled gasp slipping past plush lips. The dagger danced across the white skin of his throat. “Naughty, stupid boys always end up getting hurt.” Damien said softly, compellingly. A swift flick of the wrist and Jay was hissing, the knife stained in a thin smear of blood. “See what I mean?”
A small tear of blood tricked down Jay’s neck, the knife having sliced the skin with precision, a slice that could’ve easily gone so very wrong and left him lifeless instead of just stinging.
Then the knife was gone Damien was crouching again, pulling Jay into his arms in a twisted show of affection. His tongue ghosted the cut, tasting before he drew back. The hand that had coiled and twisted Jay’s hair painfully now soothed and stroked almost lovingly as the other caressed his heaving chest.
It was a bittersweet gentleness, a sinister softness that harboured cruel intent. Damien was the king of false pretences and enjoyed the constant yo-yo between love and hate and pain and pleasure he would force his partners through. The uncertainty was terrifying for whomever Damien was teasing and fun entertainment for Damien. It was rather like a sleek, sly fox toying with a meek, little rabbit. The predator and its prey, it was just an apt description.
“Tell me, Jason,” Damien murmured alluringly, his voice like music as he nipped Jay’s earlobe teasingly. “Do you like pain?”
At his words the knife was drawn done the beautifully formed chest, Damien revelling in Jay’s wince and whimper of voiceless pain. His body was shaking very slightly, trembling under Damien’s hand.
“Aw, Kitten,” he said softly, “did that hurt?” The knife then kissed skin once more, blood smeared across the pale canvas of skin. “Does it sting?” There was another long caress from the knife along that sensitive belt of skin just above the waistline of his trousers.
Jay’s chest was heaving with suppressed hisses and groans of pain, the cuts deep enough to cause substantial pain but not enough to leave a permanent scar.
“I can do a lot worse,” Damien said in what sounded almost like a promise. “Is that what you want Kitten? If not just say so…just beg.” His words glittered with malice, the shudder running through Jay’s body was not missed by Damien, ho just smiled. “Just…plead with me.”
But Jason said nothing. He was stubborn if nothing else, and as much as he wanted the pain to stop, not being great lover of pain, he wasn’t about to beg. And yet by doing this, he was giving Damien exactly was he silently craved, and he was ultimately condemning himself to a night time of pleasure laced pain at Damien’s hand.
Damien looked pensively, smiling as he stood and roughly releasing Jay from his soft hold before coming to stand in front of him. Damien hand harshly collided with Jay’s shoulder, shoving him backwards to the floor before straddling the younger mans’ hips, head tilted.
In close range was a variety of toys and the first thing he grabbed was a silk black strip. He threaded it through his fingers, tauntingly.
“Do you know what I can do with this?” Damien asked, eyes skimming the smooth silk. Jay just didn’t say anything, eyeing Damien fearfully. Damien grinned, leaning forward.
“What’s the matter Jason? Has the cat got you’re tongue?” He didn’t give Jay anytime to answer before he slipped the black silk around the back of his head and in his mouth as a gag. Damien still had his head tilted, grabbing a second, thicker strip of deep purple and using it for a blind fold. He grinned, beneath him was a telltale pressure that he was at least doing something right. He chuckled gutturally.
“You really are just like a model,” Damien sneered throatily, undeniably arousing, “a fxcking slxt.” His voice dripped with contemptuous disgust as a finger trailed down Jay’s chest.
Damien himself felt satisfied. He needed this, this sadism, this shuddering body beneath him, the blood and the violence. It stabilised him, kept him sane. It calmed his inner storm at the reappearance of his ex-‘teacher.’ And this Jay’s forced submission was everything he needed. He smirked, leaning forward again, his teeth brutally closing around Jay’s ear again.
“Tonight’s only going to get worse, Kitten…” he promised brutally, the knife returning and scoring deep and meaningful, the strip of beauty the only thing muffling Jay’s scream of pain.
8.
The set was vaguely nosy. Damien was busy skimming a hand down the back of Heather, muttering thing in her ear that Kate couldn’t make out. Nor did she want to. No, she was more preoccupied with Jay’s disappearance. He hadn’t turned up this morning, and contrary to Damien’s usual behaviour, he didn’t much care that one of his main models was missing from the scene this morning.
She knew instantly that he had something to do with it.
She wanted to talk to him about it to him, but it wasn’t easy to get things out of Damien. The older man had long since been a master of secrets, having to practise it regularly against his parents. If they had known half of what he had gotten up to in his childhood, they would’ve sent him to an insane asylum. After, his counsellor had already told them that he was a lost cause, too far set in his ways. Something the teenage Damien had found particularly amusing upon finding out.
So she observed her old friend from a distance, awaiting the right time to ask. When that time did come, she could have to be very subtle. Damien wasn’t to be toyed with.
Damien him self had been very aware of the looks the quite make artist had been shooting him and he ignored them. He was certain that she knew he had noticed as well, but he wouldn’t go over to her yet. He already knew her concern. Pretty boy Jay hadn’t shown up this morning, and Damien didn’t particularly blame him.
A cruel smile coloured his features in the memory. He had been brutal, perhaps a little more so then usual, but it was Jay’s fault. They did say curiosity killed the cat, now didn’t they?
He left the side of the model beside him after purring orders into her ear, his eyes skimming down her appearance approvingly, more interested in the clothes and how they looked rather then her body. The magazine wanted darkly beautiful, and that was precisely what he was going to give them.
He took his SLR in hand, the resounding click a faint rhythm beneath the movement of the others in the room. He could hear the models’ manager busting a gut trying to figure out where his precious little commodity had gotten to. He smirked. Poor little Kitten was in no fit state to come in and be photographed. Not that you could see any of the marks on his body…except that shallow slice on his neck of course, but he must’ve been feeling them today.
Damien knew his cuts were deep enough to be painful until they healed, and yet not quite deep enough to leave a permanent scar, except one. The score just above his waistband was deep enough to leave a lingering scar. Damien had wanted to leave at least on physical implication of what had happened, and had been more then successful. That cut had bled quite a bit, a beautiful crimson tat Damien had mostly ignored, except when it had stained his trousers. He shrugged it off. It wasn’t the first time that the blood of a lover had stained some of his clothes.
He returned to his camera, directing the model with his hand, and prising her with a sensual voice when she got it exactly right. Her skin was flushing lightly under his unbreakable attention on her, and she was later to confess to Kate that she felt like she was in love with him.
“I would follow him to the ends of the earth,” are to be her exact words, but her petty little crush was another matter, and something Damien would later scorn at.
For the time being, however, the model kept her feelings quiet, revelling instead in the hypnotising magnetism of his low, almost throaty voice.
“Mr Hart?” The voice is feminine and timid. Damien sighs audibly, lowering his camera and looking over his shoulder coldly.
“Yes?”
She chews her lip, loosing herself in his eyes for a moment, before she pulls herself together. “You have a delivery.” Damien raised an eyebrow, eyeing the girl up and down, trying to remember just who she was to him and his work.
“And where is this delivery?” The girl practically melted on the spot as Damien moved closer to her, his expression softer now. Heather glowered jealously in her direction and Kate sighed, shaking her head. Damien just couldn’t help himself, could he?
“It’s…um…oh, it’s by your seat over there,” she said, her voice taking on a dreamy resonance as Damien’s eyes flicked away from her to the long thin box that sat innocently on the side table. His eyes narrowed.
“Thank you,” he said, moving away from her and towards the box. “Take a break,” he called to the others, eyes on the box. He stopped at the table; ignoring the quiet, furtive glances he was being thrown. His fingers brushed the box thoughtfully, eyes hooded and dark as they studied the striped box. He had an idea what was within the feeble cardboard, a familiar calling card and a warning that he was to be visiting soon. Damien’s head was tilted, his fingers single-handedly ripping the ribbon from the box and pulling off the lid and discarding it to the floor.
Sure enough within was a singular deep red rose. The stench of familiarity pervaded from the rose, irritating his sense and rousing his memories. He glanced around the studio, wondering when he had been here. As his eyes travelled, his gaze settled momentarily on Kate who was staring at the rose with dark realisation.
Her eyes glanced up, caught in his and he beckoned her over. He leant against the table, toying with the rose delicately. He flinched in an unavoidable reaction as his thumb was prxcked by a thorn he had failed to notice before. The slight sensation made him smile as he brought his thumb to his lips and sucked lightly at the wound. The taste of his own blood was metallic against his tongue.
Kate approached, eyeing the rose with distaste. He pulled his thumb away and gazed at her unwaveringly.
“You have something you want to ask me,” he stated in that irresistible purr of his. It was deceptively calm and gentle, like music. Kate set her jaw and her nerve.
“What did you do to Jay?”
Damien smirked. “Nothing that wasn’t consensual,” he drawled before leaning in a bit and lowering his voice. “And everything that was.” His laugh was mocking and throaty, drawing the attention of those near by, Heather looking like she was about to pass out.
Kate’s eyes flashed. “What did you do Damien,” she demanded, forgetting herself, but apparently Damien only found her outburst amusing. His gaze was one the rose, a light, brutal smile touching his lips as he listened. “He is only a boy Damien, he is barely twenty!”
Damien’s smile broadened, as he turned his gaze to Kate. “And perhaps now he has learnt his listen; you don’t pay with the big boys.” As he gazed at her, he crushed the rose head between his fingers and dropped it, the petals floating to the floor as the long green stem bounced slightly against hard concrete.
9.
He remembers this house well. For the best part of a few months it has been like his second home and his dungeon. He sits on the cushions of the sofa. A year he has been with his boyfriend –– for lack of a better word –– and as usual, he is to come to said boyfriends house after school. He isn’t one to break orders, no matter how much he wants to.
He hates it here, loathes it. He is so used to being in control, being the one people follow and dishing out the orders. To have that thrown back in his face by this man is strange. It’s like a kick in the face. But he can’t do anything. He knows that a little part of him doesn’t want to, because he feels something for this man. And he knows what it is, but he doesn’t admit it. He takes pride in being detached, and he won’t allow this to be an exception.
He is flicking through a magazine, his interest in photography barely born and forming in his mind as he admires the beauties and how stunning they’d look if he had a chance to edit the pictures into his idea of decadent splendour.
He glances up at the sound of keys in the lock and slips the photo back on the coffee table. The door swings open to reveal a dark beauty. He is nineteen and taller then Damien, with dark hair and green eyes, he has a ruggedly attractive appearance, one Damien is sure has enticed many before and will continue to do so after him. Damien has no qualms that this isn’t forever. No person like him would stay tied down to someone for longer than necessary.
“Good evening, Damien.” The voice sends an involuntary shiver down Damien’s spine. His blue eyes –– which are free from the hard iciness that they are to obtain in future years –– collide with dark green, eyes darkened with a cruel intent.
“Evening,” Damien says, his voice cool. Even now, after a few months of his ‘conditioning’ he still doesn’t back down as quickly as Gabriel’s previous students. That is why Gabriel keeps him close; he likes this quiet defiance that Damien displays in the face of his superior. It makes everything so much more entertaining when the student refuses to fully back down.
Usually by this stage, with that dark, malicious glint in his eyes, Gabriel is used to his toys backing down, locking their gaze to the floor, awaiting him to speak. But Damien holds his gaze, his lips hinting and a rebellious smirk. Gabriel smiles sadistically.
Work had been tiring and he had been irritated by customers. Damien is the perfect release, with his impudence and lack of respect for authority. Well, he will respect Gabriel, he will submit. Gabriel will make him.
“You’re forgetting the rules, Princess.” He doesn’t miss the slight flinch, the crack in Damien’s bravado. After all, he is still just a boy, barely turned sixteen. But then he smiles.
“I’m sure you can get over it,” he replies with a smirk. He gets up and pushes past him. He pushes all the buttons to get Gabriel riled and not in a good way.
Gabriel isn’t sure, but he swears that sometimes Damien asks for the violence.
He grabs the younger boy roughly by the arm, propelling him into the wall harshly. Damien made a noise of brief pain as his back collided heavily with the wall. He looked up at Gabriel, who was staring down at him with a brutal gaze.
“You dare to disobey me?” he growls dangerously and Damien’s façade falters. He is after all, just a young teen, but he still fixes a smirk and nods.
“I dare.” He isn’t going to submit so easily. He is too used to being in control to fall instantly. His eyes waver from the steady gaze fixed on him, and Gabriel smiles. He is defiant but he is still young and easily impressionable.
“You’re all talk, Princess,” he smirks, his breath ghosting over the neck and causing the boy pressed to the wall to shudder. “You insolence wont be ignored. You will be punished.” Damien swallows slightly, struggling to keep his gaze. He knew the consequences of his actions, he knew the punishment would be due, but now he is faced with it, he doesn’t quite feel so brave. He wets his lips nervously and lowers his gaze. It feels strange to be so submissive when he is usually so dominant.
Gabriel drags Damien towards the bedroom, pushing him to his knees when they enter the room. Damien stumbles, and falls to his knees. He know that further disobedience will only result in more violence that he isn’t in the mood to attempt to take it.
“You don’t disobey me, Princess,” he sneers. “You do as I say, always. Do you understand me?” his fingers curl in Damien’s dark locks. The fingers caress before they move down his neck, nails score red down his neck and Damien whimpers. If he is friends could see him now they wouldn’t believe it.
Damien on his knees, crying out in pain as his older lover slowly and torturously manipulates his body in similar techniques to those he will employ in the future.
Pain racks his body, hand in had with embarrassing pleasure. Screams melt into moans and groans harden into groans. Blood pours, the knife glints, the same knife Damien will hold a certain affinity with in years to come. Nails scrape and score, teeth bite and taste and hands bruise supple skin…
Damien’s eyes wrenched open. He sat up, feeling vaguely clammy, much to his distaste. He frowns into the dark, trying to remember the images flickering through his minds’ eye in his sleep. Dreams were troublesome thing, concocts of the mind melding with memories. Damien ran a hand through his hair, throwing off the silken covers and disappearing into the bathroom, taking with him his cigarettes and lighting them as he leant against the side.
He cracked his neck, eye closed as he smoked, knowing exactly why Gabriel had made his reappearance and confident that this time, Damien was going to win this game of cat and mouse.
10.
Jay appeared a few days later. Damien had only smirked at him, touching him a little more then before. And Jay flinched as Damien purposely pressed into various wounds. For reason beyond him, he found playing with Jay most amusing.
He was still chuckling darkly at Jay’s last little pleading whimper to leave his wounds alone as he manned his camera, snapping the double shot of both him and Heather –– Jay a darkly beautiful vampire and Heather a damsel in distress, the setting being a filthy alley. It was stunning the darkness of it as she leant back in his arms, reveal her ivory neck. It was beautiful. Damien was going to have a few of these up in gallery.
The day had been long, and by the time Damien had told them all to pack, everyone in the room had become aware of a new presence by the door. The shadow leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Damien had sense his presence, the eyes locked on his back for the longest time but he refused to look up. Instead he packed his cameras away with care, notifying everyone that tomorrow was the last day and a half day due to the project finishing.
Only then did he look up, only when he was ready. Icy blue eyes met dark green, such a familiar greeting. The silence that fell between the pair was tense, each waiting for the other to begin, willing to lead them into a false sense of being the one in control. They both knew the game so well.
The room was empty other then the pair of them and Kate and Jay who were observing from the side. Kate glared at the visitor with dark, hating eyes and Jay simply looked on with mild confusion. Damien’s eyes swept the auditorium.
“Caitlyn, Jason,” he called, “You are to leave.” His voice was quiet and smooth but he refused to be disobeyed. The weighty threat of violence was strong, undeniable and neither of the pair had the guts to stand up to him.
Only after they had scurried out did he focus on his old ‘mentor.’
“Good evening Gabriel,” he said softly, deceptively. He prowled past his old lover, moving into the back room he had adopted as his study and slipping his camera into a side cabinet.
“Good evening Princess,” came the curtly dark reply. He clearly had distinct ideas on what was going to occur this evening. He was of course, assuming that Damien would play along. How wrong he was.
Damien pulled out a bottle of wine –– he had a stash of the very best in all of his workplaces, as well as an extensive collection at home –– and two glasses.
“What some?” he offered. Gabriel eyed the Bottle as if were poison and shook his head. Damien only shrugged, lowering himself into his seat and sipping from his own glass, before lightly a cigarette with a flick of his lighter.
“Still smoking, Precious? Didn’t I tell you that was a filthy habit?” Damien’s cool eyes fixed on the older man and he grinned, blowing out a plume of smoke in his direction.
“Why do you think I lit up in front of you?” He asked in retaliation, quirking an eyebrow.
Gabriel laughed dryly. “Still the same childish acts of defiance, I see.”
Damien smirked. “Perhaps,” he said with a shrug. “Now, why are you here? I’m a busy man Gabriel.”
Gabriel smirked. “You know why I am here.”
“And you should know that will never happen,” Damien replied slowly, taking a leisurely sip og his wine. “I’m not fifteen anymore. You can’t order me about anymore.” He blew out some more blue-grey smoke. “Why don’t you run along to one of your toys? I have more important things to do then speak to an ex who is little more then an irritant looking to get his kicks.” His tone was distinctly dismissive and insulting. Damien smiled. “Or perhaps all your little toys have left you… can’t hold onto them like you used to? Loosing your touch are you, Gabriel?” His smirk was mocking. Gabriel was vaguely impressed at his audacity the fifteen year old he had ‘trained’ would never have had the guts to speak to him so rudely.
“You think you’re so brave now don’t you, Precious.” Gabriel leant over the desk, his palm square on the surface, and Damien leant forward also, blowing smoke in Gabriel’s face as he laughed. “You are just like me now.”
Damien rolled his eyes, crushing his cigarette in the glass ashtray. “No, Gabriel, I am better than you.” He sat back, taking his glass in hand and sipping delicately.
“I created you,” Gabriel said and that struck a nerve within Damien. His jaw tensed momentarily.
“You have nothing to do with me,” Damien replied darkly, eyes flashing in momentary anger before they settled into nothingness once more. He stared coolly at the man in front of him, awaiting his creation. But Gabriel didn’t bite, didn’t latch onto Damien’s incompetence.
“I created you and I could destroy you just as easily.”
“You can’t destroy that which surpasses you,” Damien commented idly, sipping his wine once again.
“Arrogance is not an attractive quality, Damien.”
He smirked. “Neither is age, Gabriel” he said, steeping to rarely low levels to inflict some sort of annoyance.
Gabriel shook his head with a smile. “You are so like me, Princess; it’s like looking in a mirror.”
“I am nothing like you,” Damien hissed, revealing his anger in the way he venomously spat the words. Gabriel smiled; he knew what buttons to press now. He leaned over the desk again.
“Take a good look at your self why don’t you Princess?” |
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© 2008 The Doll Palace. All rights reserved.
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