Inside the Mind Cell

One meaty hand tightened around my wrists. "You’ll be sorry you tried to kill Hiroaki-sama," the burly security guard snarled, his gun digging painfully into the side of my head.

I winced and cursed myself for the hundredth time. I’d seriously goofed up the mission and needless to say, it was not pleasant. My target, Chogo Hiroaki remained alive and he’d ordered his body guard to lock me up until ‘further notice’.

The hulking Neanderthal of a guard had not only beaten the hell out of me up but he’d also taken my claw and my jacket. Now, besides feeling like shit with stuffed sinuses, a split lip, a sprained wrist and a bruise the size of Hokkaido on my face, I was freezing also.

If I ever got out of this mess, Aya was going to kill me. He had insisted that I stay home because I was on the lingering end of a nasty strain of the flu and I was still weak but I’d been stubborn. Especially when he’d called me a liability.

But of course, the bastard was right. I *was* too sick to fight and my drained state *had* been taken advantage of. Even on a good day I would have had trouble fighting Hiroaki’s massive bodyguard. Today was hardly a good day and I had been *no* match for hefty man.

Crap it all to hell. I hated when Aya was right and I was wrong. It always happened that way and it sucked.

"You’re gonna wish you were dead punk," the guard growled, forcibly shoving me down a narrow hallway.

He stopped in front of a large, steel door and let go of me. "I’m sure you won’t mind spending some time in this cell before your next ass kicking." He guffawed heartily as he pulled out a set of keys.

I glared at him as I rubbed at my wrists. More then anything I wanted to try and make a break for it but he was as fast as he was strong, a fact I’d learned the hard way. My stomach still hurt from the punch he’d thrown my way.

The force of his thrust drove me to my knees and I gasped as he kicked me sharply in the ribs. My balance faltered and I banged my head against the hard floor. White bursts of color erupted into my vision as dizziness clouded over me.

"You guys be good!" the guard crowed and the door snapped shut, his condescending laughter trailing down the hall.

I coughed vehemently, my chest constricting. Shivers wracked my body as I desperately fought down nausea. My ribs ached sharply, my forehead was throbbing and my wrist hurt. And to top it all off, I still felt stuffy from the flu.

"K’so," I mumbled, my voice choking on a thick cough. I swallowed and slowly, I managed to raise my head. In the dim light that splashed off the steel walls, I found myself staring straight into a lone, brandy colored eye.

My mouth promptly went into arid mode as I stared with wide eyes at the figure before me. I wrenched my eyes shut. A hallucination. It had to be. In my feeble condition I was seeing that crazy lunatic from Schwartz. But he wasn’t really sitting cross legged in front of me. No, of course not. That was simply absurd.

I jerked upright and screamed. Well I attempted to. My flu only allowed a hoarse croak to escape from my dry mouth, which ended up in a coughing fit.

His laughter sent chills shuddering down my spine. I jumped to my feet and scrambled backwards, colliding against the door. My heart pounding swiftly. "Wh-what are you doing here?" I stammered, utterly unnerved.

He shrugged as he began to gnaw on the tip of his index finger. "Schu will come for me. He always does. And then God will really hurt."

"Oh crap," I muttered, cringing as he smirked. My legs melted into boneless ropes and I slid down the door, onto the icy floor. I buried my face into my knees and groaned.

Why the hell did I have to be stuck in a cell with Farfarello of all people? Wasn’t it enough that I’d muddled up the mission and gotten caught?

I lifted my head and scowled my nastiest, Aya-esque scowl. "That’s none of your damn business."

I shuddered, squeezing myself further against the door. "You stay away from me," I ordered, my voice sounding sickly even to my own ears.

"They took away all my knives so I can’t play," he informed me mournfully. "And Crawford gave me a drug so I don’t feel like killing you anyways."

"Great," I muttered, silently thanking God for small favors. At least the psychopath wasn’t *so* rabid.

Farfarello tilted his head and studied me curiously while sucking on his index finger.

"What the hell are you looking at?!" I demanded, his silent scrutiny setting me on edge more than his mad babbles.

He clucked his tongue and made a loud 'tsk tsk' sound. "Siberian has such a little temper!"

"Come here and I’ll tell you," he purred, fiddling with the top button of his sleeveless jacket. "We can make God cry."

"I don’t want to make God cry!" I grated out. I glowered at him, hiding my fear behind anger. "And I already told you that I’m not going anywhere!"

To my shock, Farfarello pouted. "You’re just like Schu. He always tells me to shut up."

"Don’t compare me to that bastard!" I shrieked and promptly broke out into a coughing fit.

Dammit, this was such shit! Farfarello was even crazier then I first thought! The knife-licking and God-hating was bad enough but now this...this whatever it was, was ten times worse! What did he want with me? If he was weaponless then why the hell did he keep asking me to come to his side of the cell? He said he wasn’t going to hurt me but I knew better. The guy was crazy! Who knew what the hell he was going to do next?

Swallowing down thick phlegm, I wiped at my mouth. Another fit of coughing came over me and I could feel myself weaken. The murkiness of the cell was growing thicker, the air heavy. My sight was blurring together like swirling ribbons.

I struggled to stay rational. I couldn’t let him catch me off guard. I wouldn’t let him hurt me. I was an assassin, I was part of Weiss, I could handle this. One stupid, little cold and a raving lunatic weren’t going to get me down.

"Kenken is one sick kitty," Farfarello cooed, leering at me. "Poor little Weiss. I suppose I should help, right?" He stood up and lithely stalked towards me.

Grabbing my uninjured wrist, he jerked me to my feet. The swiftness of the motion sent my head into a swimming rush and I stumbled, falling against his hard chest. Roughly, he shoved me backwards, up against the frosty wall, his body pushing upon mine. Scarred fingers closed around my chin as he forced me to look up at him.

"Pretty Siberian," he murmured, his eye darkening. "God will weep torrents tonight, don’t you think?"

I stared dizzily at him, his features smudging into haziness. My lungs burned as I wheezed for air. He was so close to me, smelling of lime and blood. I couldn’t think, couldn’t pull away as his hypnotic amber gaze enfolded me to him as tightly as his cold hands.

I jerked my face away from him and tried to pull away. The hand clamped on my right wrist loosened slightly to snare my sprained left wrist. His hand clenched cruelly and ribbons of shredded agony shot up my arm. I gasped back a sharp cry of pain.

"I could break your wrist," he hissed, pale lips trailing over my bruised cheek. "I could hurt you so bad and God would scream. Doesn’t matter what Crawford’s orders were, I could still kill you." He licked me slowly.

"S-so...do it," I bit out, cringing at the feel of his drippy tongue marking my face.

"But I *want* you." He shifted so that one leg was between mine, his thigh pressed firmly against my crotch. "And I want you willing, kitty Ken."

His intent was unmistakably. Pure dread consumed me at that moment. I struggled in earnest, squirming to get his thigh away from me, to free my wrists. "Let go of me, you bastard!" I cried, tears welling up against my will. "I’m a boy dammit! How can you want to do this?"

Fingers compressed around my wrists with brutal strength. "I wouldn’t move if I were you, little Ken." His tongue lapped at the tears trickling down my cheek. "Dead, you’re no use to Weiss. You should know that."

I panted, my chest heaving with pain. He was right. The goddamn psychopath was right. I couldn’t afford to die. I couldn’t let Weiß down. Fighting down panic, I stopped thrashing.

"That’s better." His tongue swept down to smear over my tightly closed lips. "Open your mouth and let me show you how good it can be." He rubbed his thigh obscenely against my pelvis.

I shook my head ardently, refusing to open my mouth. More tears tracked down my cheeks as I thrust back choking sobs. This was beyond humiliating and there was nothing I could do about it! Hopelessness washed over me. I was failing so miserably and he was touching me and I was too weak to fight him.

"So sad." He nibbled at the corner of my mouth, his lips cool upon my feverish face. "Pretend it’s not me."

He pulled back a tiny bit, his eye roaming incessantly over my face. Scarred digits swept up to curve around my battered cheek. "Reality is an empty illusion, kitty." His fingers lightly skimmed over my nose, running into the teary dip beneath my eye. "Nothing is real."

"It’s simple." He moved once more, this time bringing his body fully upon mine. "See what you want to see." He rested his forehead against my own.

I squirmed fearfully. His hips were pressed firmly upon my own and I could feel his hardness. I was arousing him. Clenching my eyes shut, I resorted to pleading. "Let me go," I whimpered, scared beyond belief. I couldn’t win, not this time. Would it all come down to this, being raped by a psychopath in a cell?

"It doesn’t have to be this way," he murmured, his voice a low splash in the murky pool of silence. "Maybe I could be...that innocent blond boy in your group."

Omi? He wanted me to pretend that he was *Omi* while he *raped* me? "He’s a little kid!" I blurted out, my eyes popping open as I stared at him in horror.

His eye glimmered back at me in the buttery light. "Siberian doesn’t like little kids?" he purred, his lips falling upon my ear. "Want someone mature, hmm? Like that tall guy with the wire? Or your pretty redhead leader?"

"I don’t want anyone!" I choked, feeling lightheaded. What kind of crazy lunatic was he? How in the hell could I pretend that *he* was Omi or Yohji or Aya?

"What?" The word came out sounding like a hysterical laugh. I stared at the pale face before me, unable to keep up with him. All the weird remarks he kept making, the way he was looking at me; he was driving *me* crazy. I couldn’t understand him. He didn’t want to hurt me, he only wanted a kiss? How could that possibly make any sense, even if he *was* insane?

"Just once." He swept my bangs away from my feverish forehead. "And I’ll leave you alone. I promise."

He was attractive, I realized with a jolt. Strangely effeminate features on a face that looked like smooth bisque. His eye was such an unusual color, painted like the aura of the moon. And maybe...I could even believe that he wouldn’t hurt me, if I didn’t know any better.

"No." He gazed at me and I flinched under the intensity of that lone, amber eye. "You have nothing, Weiss. God probably won’t even cry because you’re a killer, just like I am." He ground his hips upon mine, his hand releasing my wrists. "And all sinners deserve a place in hell."

A sinner in hell. This certainly was hell, wasn’t it? I had spoken those very words to Kase on that rainy night, as I committed murder. What was left to do?

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I breached the few inches between us and kissed Farfarello. My enemy, this psychotic man, and I kissed him willingly.

His lips were petal-smooth and they clung to mine. He tasted of medicine and blood, of things insane. Just as he could taste my fear, I could taste his lunacy. It drenched the tongue that immediately worked its way between my closed lips, it was smeared upon the mouth that slanted roughly against my own.

He ravished me, his mouth hungry and voracious in that icy cell as the frigid air shrouded us. Of their own accord, my hands reached up to grip his shoulders, as I kissed him back. To keep from falling because his kiss was unexpectedly sweet. And I didn’t want it to stop.

Time broke into pieces of spun glass. The world stopped, hanging limply on a fraying axis. Everything that I knew to be true distorted and nothing would remain the same again. I lost myself in an enemy’s kiss, into a sinner’s embrace.

I opened my eyes. His breathing was as choppy as mine. "G-good," I gasped out, feeling myself redden.

Smirking, he trailed his nail across my warm face. "Siberian’s blushing," he cooed softly. "Isn’t that cute?"

Stunned shock tinted elegant features for a few seconds and then he sneered. "Is that so, Kenken?"

Me and my big mouth. Why had I said something so stupid? Of course I didn’t trust him. Who would? Just because I kissed him didn’t mean anything. I flushed again, unable to control the direction of my thoughts.

He thrust his hips on mine, his erection hard between the layers of clothing that separated us. "The kiss Kenken," he whispered, inches from my lips. "You liked it."

He was dangerously near to me and it was so much more worse. Now, I was aware of how attractive he was, how pleasing his mouth was on my own. To my utter mortification, I could feel my body reacting to him.

I told myself that I was only trying to escape from him even as my squirmings began to feel good. The friction between us was wrongfully delicious. I bit back a moan and he covered my mouth with full lips.

Thin arms snaked around me and suddenly I wasn’t cold anymore. His mouth was hot, his embrace was hot and I was melting. Caution and reason dissolved into airy whispers as I matched the ferocity of his kiss. My tongue curled around his as he explored my mouth with smooth strokes. His hips jerked feverishly against my own. I deepened the kiss.

My name hissed out from wan lips that swept down to mark my neck. His tongue swirled upon flushed skin. I groaned, unable to help myself. Because, afterall, sinners deserved a place in hell.

His hand moved from my shoulder to my waist. Cool fingers slid beneath my T-shirt, touching and caressing. Twists of rampant desire curled in the pit of my stomach, surging downwards. Had I ever been this hard before? Had I ever been touched like this?

I coughed, my knees feeling weak. The things he was doing to me, the way he touched me, it was overwhelming. I wanted to tell him to stop, I wanted him to go on, I wanted what was so wrong.

Slippery and erotic was his tongue as it danced upon my collarbone, soft lips curving around the bone. My nipples hardened under his questing fingers. I panted and coughed, hissed and moaned. Everything fell apart at his touch, this sin I couldn’t stop.

He stopped only to yank me to the floor. Kneeling between my spread legs, he fondled my erection roughly, his gaze locked with mine.

"Want me to stop now, kitty?" he demanded, jeering. His other hand roamed over my chest, falling over my nipples.

I nodded, even as my hips shamefully rose to his touch. "Yes," I croaked, my throat parched. "You promised."

"I also said I wanted you," he reminded me. He leaned down and brushed his tongue over my parted lips.

Jerking my head away, I gasped. His every touch burned me, making me throb with desire. I wanted him badly, more than I’d ever wanted anything before. The things he was doing to me...I wasn’t strong enough to resist. I was failing.

His laugh rippled like a curl of ribbon. His hands moved to catch at the top of my pants. He swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped them, tugging them down. "Still want me to stop, Kenken?"

"Don’t," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. Bitter tears pooled upon my lashes. It was beyond humiliating. I wanted him to touch me, to push aside the restrictive layers of clothing and ease the throbbing ache inside of me. And he knew it; he knew how far gone I was.

"Say it," he ordered, his hand rubbing the top of my boxers with the barest of friction. "Say you want me, Weiss."

I bit my lip and tried not to say it. I really did but his hand was there and it wasn’t enough. I was throbbing and it hurt and I needed him. In the end, I lost once more. The night was dripped with my losses and even now his words still rang true.

Shame mingled with pulsing desire and it washed over me as I told him what he wanted to hear.

"I knew it Kenken," he smirked, shoving down my boxers and taking my erection into his hand. He fisted me firmly and slowly slid his hand down my length. "Is this what you want? To hurt God like this?" His other hand caught my wrist and licked at my fingers.

I nodded frantically, nearly sobbing with pleasure. His fingers were so tight around my hot skin. He jerked me roughly, bolts of electric passion surging through my veins. My heart pounded furiously.

"Play time is going to be cut short, kitten," Farfarello suddenly said, a pout crossing full lips. "Schu’s here looking for me and he said that your redhead friend is here for you too."

He leered. "We’ll have to finish this quickly, Siberian," he said and took me into his mouth.

He swallowed so much of me, his lips hot and wet around me. He stroked my thighs while sucking me deeply. The back of his throat rubbed against the tip of my erection. Pre-cum oozed freely as I squirmed and shrieked, drowning in molten ecstasy.

His head bobbed upon my stiff sex, fingers shifting to brush against my testicles. My hips surged upwards, bringing me further into his mouth.

It was too much, as I knew it would be, as it had been from the beginning. This surreal experience, that I would willingly have sex with my psychotic enemy, smudged over me as surely as the hard orgasm that came from ashen lips.

"We hurt God, Weiss," he declared, crawling to his knees. He laughed at me, wiping my semen from his mouth. "You’ve been a very good kitty, you know that?" He swept back my bangs from my eyes and mopped at my tear-stained cheeks. "We’ll have to finish this, you and I. I’ll come for you, Kenken."

He bent his head and kissed me hard, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. I tasted my own sin, weak and useless. Crumbling into nothing, just as I had done.

Saliva strung between us as he pulled away. "I still want to fuck you Siberian," he hissed, his eye nearly black. "We’ll make God cry blood." He rubbed at my lips. "Thick, red blood drying into broken nerves."

A shudder wracked my body as shame and dread enveloped me. A parched sob choked from my throat.

"Come on, Farf," Schulderich commanded, leaning against the doorframe. He sneered at me. "Looks like some of us already have cum, right Siberian?"

Farfarello kissed me once more. "Good-bye pretty kitty," he cooed. "We’ll play again. I will find you."

Schulderich laughed, a harsh and mocking sound. "I’d zip up my pants if I were you Weiss. You wouldn’t want your redheaded friend thinking you were a traitor, now would you?"

I had given myself freely to him. It wasn’t rape, it wasn’t forced. I had wanted it, had even kissed him back. There had been something about him...

Now I was as much a sinner as he was. Maybe even more so because I couldn’t hide behind insanity. And I still wanted him.

The peppy beat of Luna Sea’s 'True Blue' drifted from Nagi’s room. It was the only sound in their silent apartment. Schulderich had left him to 'pursue other matters' as he’d so quaintly put it. In other words, he was going to find someone to fuck the hell out of.

The door snapped shut behind him. He wriggled out of his boots and kicked them into the closet. The plush vanilla colored carpet felt luscious against his bare feet as he shuffled into the living room. It was like wading in blood, thick and clotting. He liked to think that an act as simple as walking across the carpet would hurt God.

Crawford sat on the black leather sofa reading a newspaper. His hair shone blue in the gentle glow of red candle that rested upon the mantle.

"You’re home," he murmured, meticulously folding the newspaper and laying it upon the glass coffee table in front of him.

"God wept tonight," he declared proudly, picking up the slender knife that he’d placed on the loveseat before he’d left.

Farfarello nodded as he licked the blade of his knife. "Together we hurt God. Sodomy is very much a sin."

"Do you wish to hurt God again?" Crawford breathed, pushing the Irish man down into the soft folds of the leather sofa.

Smirking, Crawford deftly unfastened Farfarello’s pants and slipped a hand inside. "I can see the drug’s worn off."

An amber eye fell shut as the younger man moaned throatily. Long fingers stroked hard flesh, setting the pace swift and rough. They kissed, lips grinding violently, tongues lapping hungrily.

"You’re mine," Crawford grit out, his eyes made of the night itself. He bit his own lip and kissed Farfarello again, the blood between them as delicious as everything else.