ash (ashesof_hope) wrote,


Title : Diabolos Prologue
Pairing : Ryo x Uchi x Ohkura ( No Uchi in this chapt )
Genre : I refuse to slap a label on this fic
Rating : NC-17
Summary : Ryo and Ohkura stepped on a route of mindless killing to forget their own meaningless existence. They were partners in crime but polar opposites. And Ohkura finds his thrill waning from torturing his victims because now he wants Ryo.
A/N : Ok I actually like what I wrote. No I'm not smug. Just because I like it doesn't mean other people will but yes, it's Ohkura with a God complex and a sadistic streak. It's Ryo who's a merciful murderer, if there's such a thing. And it's violent. Comments are nice because without comments, I'm just a very lonely writer D:


We live in a dark desolate world, where there are no real heroes, only sinners. No faith, no belief, no God. The rotting core of the world in greys and black where right and wrong is dictated by wealth, status and power. God has long deserted this place where virtue is a rarity, and sinners abound. They say it can't rain all the time. Well in my world, it does and no amount of rain can cleanse the filth off the streets.


Ohkura lit the cigarette and took a deep drag from the end, feeling a deep satisfaction as the smoke filled his expanding lungs. Fuck, it felt good. Nothing like a cigarette after the adrenalin rush. He cocked his head to the man sitting beside him, the blank face and lean body lying languorously on the couch. He passed the cigarette to him and he held the cigarette between the length of his index finger and thumb. He lowered his head and pursed his lips around the stick, the tip flaring ember red and shining like a little beacon of light.


Nishikido Ryo made sexy look effortless. Unbeknownst to him, the boy who grew up next-door to him suddenly developed a personality. He wasn't good-looking by any means. He was not that tall, and his face was a sickening shade of pale. But it was odd how Ohkura seemed to find him fatally attractive. The way he would pull the latex gloves on with cold precision, the melancholic gaze as he stood by the window, his face full of pensive longing.

Ohkura who had never been short of women or men throwing themselves at his feet found his gaze being drawn inexplicably to the man. He hated this attraction, this feeling he couldn’t really put a name to. It sure as hell wasn’t love. The only person Ohkura had ever loved was himself. He was narcissistic but really who could blame him? He was hot, he was rich, everything he had ever wanted was given to him on a silver platter. He had never worked for anything in his life. Deprived of challenges, he sought out the childhood playmate he had and they had begun on this twisted little adventure of sadistic torture and diabolical madness.


Ohkura pushed the fringe from his eyes with a nonchalant air and eyed the woman lying on the bed, spread-eagled and a blindfold across her eyes. The faint red lines that zigzagged across the pale of her forearm, red lines drawn with the sharp tip of a blade. Ohkura liked her hair, the faded streaks of blonde in her hair that pooled around her head like a halo. It amused him. It amused him to death that they seemed to be killing an angel and deporting her to the depths of hell.


“So are you going to do it or am I the lucky one this time?” Ohkura said with a lazy drawl as if they were talking about something of no consequence. The weather, the rising property tax (not that Ohkura worried about money, he had plenty of it left from his dead parents' estate) or maybe the blatant corruption of the government officials. Nothing new. Nishikido Ryo was equally apathetic. He simply stubbed out the cigarette and he got up. The woman started making frightened, whimpering sounds when she heard the whisper of bare foot against the carpet.


Ohkura smiled as he uncapped the pint of beer and tipped the contents down his throat in one single tilt. The liquor burnt his throat. He liked it. He also liked the way the woman struggled against her bonds, chafing her wrists. The bonds were not tight, it allowed just enough space for the victim to jerk about, filling the victim with a false glimmer of hope that escape was possible.


They were right. It was just that the only form of escape existed in the form of death. If Ohkura was feeling merciful, he would deliver a swift death. Death by asphyxiation was one of his less painful deaths, except that Ohkura was seldom in a good mood. He often went into homicidal overkill. He couldn’t control the pounding beat of excitement in his ears as he wrapped his hands around the fragility of the neck, feeling the struggles of the victim underneath him and hearing their choked little cries. He would suffocate them to the brink of death, tantalisingly close and he would release his fingers, delighting in the harsh panicked gasps of air before he started again.


He would continue this until he grew tired of it, until the victim grew dazed and resigned to her fate. Ryo would sit silently, watching with that impeccably blank face of his, the smoke blurring the outlines of his face. Sometimes he wondered whether ice ran in Ryo’s veins and he would do everything within his means to provoke a reaction out of Ryo. Inflicting pain, degree by degree onto their victim before Ryo finally stood up. And he would smirk and sit back with his outspread legs as Ryo wrapped the Hanes Alive Support Hose, the garrote of choice for ligature everywhere as recommended by Ted Bundy, around the victim’s neck and finished the deed. Fast, emotionless and then he would brush past Ohkura in that silent way of his.


It disturbed him that his show of bravado and cocky arrogance was ignored by Ryo. No one ever ignored him in that way, as if he was reduced to an average person. If anything, his sense of pride was offended. And he watched as Ryo straddled the woman and pulled the latex gloves on with clinical ease. Then he placed the pillow, almost tenderly over the woman’s head, muffling her cries and exerting just the right amount of pressure. Ohkura’s glance drifted from the woman whose struggles were growing weaker to the man whose shirt was clinging to his body, slick with sweat and sticking to the elegant curve of his back.


He felt a little surprised. For one thing, Nishikido Ryo actually sweated. He had thought him above of such bodily functions. As a child, Ryo had been overshadowed by Ohkura all the time. Ohkura sauntered with a self-assured air courtesy of his privileged upbringing and Ryo followed behind him, like a shadow. Maybe he would like to see that indifferent countenance of Ryo’s break, to see him bite his lips in fear or passion beneath him. Perhaps the best way to understand this absurb thought was to contrast Ryo with the people who surrounded Ohkura. The nameless people of no importance, the people who flocked to Ohkura because of his status. Ryo didn't care much for wealth. He didn't look like he wanted anything at all, something which puzzled Ohkura. Ryo was like a mystery, a jigsaw puzzle in front of him and the destructive soul inside him wanted to know what would happen if he put the pieces together. And then smashed it.


Finally Ryo stopped, his taut arms growing slack and the pillow fell sideways, revealing the lolling head of the victim and her tangled hair which had seem to lose its lustre all of a sudden.


“She’s dead.” Ryo said, his head held low as he got up from the bed. His hair was looking wonderfully dishevelled and Ohkura stood up at the same time. They were just a feet away from each other. Partners in crime. Ohkura wasn’t sure what else they were, but he intended to find out. Ryo was about to walk past him again, when Ohkura gripped his forearm in a vice-like grip. He could see the muscle tic at the side of Ryo’s jaw. Ryo shrugged his hand off and continued walking without a backward glance.


Ohkura stalked him, following Ryo’s measured footsteps. He could feel the hairs bristling on the back of his neck. What had started as a little game of cat-and-mouse had turned out to be a contest and Ohkura never lost. If Ryo didn’t know that, perhaps it was time he learnt. He took one fast stride forward and wrapped one arm around Ryo’s chest. Ryo didn’t struggle, simply lowered his eyes to Ohkura’s arm with bland look.


“What are you doing? Ohkura, you’re not thinking of playing one of your little perverted games with me, are you? Or have you simply ran out of creative imaginative ways to kill a person?”


Ohkura could swear there was just the slightest bit of sarcasm and mockery in those words and his temper flared. He yanked Ryo back towards him, so close that his back was pressed against the length of his front and he lowered his head. He liked his height, it enabled him to look down at Ryo and preserve that sense of superiority that was often so close to snapping when goaded by Ryo. His breath brushed past Ryo’s lobe and he explored the contour of Ryo’s ear with his tongue. His other hand trailed down slowly, leaving his intentions clear but his arm kept Ryo imprisoned. He wanted Ryo to know he could do anything and Ryo could fight, he could fight but he wouldn’t win.


Ryo wasn’t stupid by any account. He could hear the accelerated breathing, the rise and fall of his chest and he rotated his hips suggestively against Ryo. The night had painted the room a dark patina and the two men stood in the shadows.


“Are you going to rape me and then kill me?” Ryo asked, a single brow quirked upwards in mock amusement. Ohkura didn’t answer. He had more urgent things at hand, namely Ryo’s flaccid length. He unzipped the front of Ryo’s jeans with deft familiarity and tugged them down to his knees. The sound of the zip was loud and sordid in the disconcerting quiet of the room.


Ohkura fisted Ryo’s cock and his thumb teased around the slit in front, circling and coercing his length to attention. He dragged his fist up Ryo’s length, almost painfully as he could hear the suppressed whimper of pain from the smaller man. Ryo was resisting, his body was held stiff and Ohkura could be stubbornly relentless when it came to things like this. He pumped Ryo’s cock tirelessly, up and down, the nail of his index finger scraping the underside of his cock and the body jerked in his arms.


He laughed, a soft rumble from his chest and he released his hold on Ryo. Ryo spun around, his jeans pooled at his ankles and his cock painfully erect. His eyes were blazing and his lips were parted. He should have looked humiliated. He didn’t. Instead he looked inviting and sumptuous, a call to Ohkura’s most primal instinct. Ryo raised his hand and Ohkura held his wrist, pushing it backwards and he saw the grimace surfacing on Ryo’s face.


“I can rape you and that will be the least of your worries. But you see, I want you willing and writhing beneath me, begging me to enter you. By the time I finished with you, it won’t be anything but consensual.” Ohkura said, his voice soft and mesmerising, totally contrary to the threat he was saying.


He fisted a bunch of Ryo’s hair and he threw him onto the narrow couch. Ryo’s eyes shone like beams of light and Ohkura wasn’t sure he liked seeing his reflection in those mirror of his eyes. Ohkura wrapped his hand around Ryo’s chin, bringing his face up and he watched as silent tears streamed down from those eyes. So beautiful and so damned untouchable. Almost like a virgin sacrifice on the altar to appease the Gods.


In this decaying city, where evil pervaded every corner and sin was met with ignorance, there was no God. He was God and Ryo was his to take and slaughter.

Tags: diabolos

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