Mr X.

[[Darren’s, to put it basically, probably going out of his mind. After all, he’s dealing with claustrophobia, he’s dealing with perpetual terror, he’s just not gonna function so well. In some ways he’s logical, but also he’s angry and desperate. I suppose if I where a better writer I’d include this in the text e.e. Thank you very much again for reviews. Keep ‘em comin’ x). And don’t trust the kitty, who knows what evil schemes she plans =.=. And the bit of sex in this chapter is just to… I dunno… Tide me over.]]

Mr X owned a lot of blades. But he only used one special knife for the people. That remained at his belt always, gleaming dangerously, a flash of silver through congealed blood that looked verging on black, as dried blood tended to turn. Now, Mr X held the salami on the table, he cut through it with the large butchers knife, efficient perfection. Each slice the exact thickness of the first, never a sloping cut. Mozzarella cheese lay in its package on the side, a perfect, almost white square. The pizza base looked purchased.

Of course, in the corner of his eye, Darren prevailed. The sinewy, slim, pale blonde. He didn’t have many friends, Darren. Mr X heen een this immediately when hepottpotted the boy sat in the coffee shop sipping at a strawberry milkshake and leafing through a newspaper, all on his lonesome, wandering the streets, always alone. Mr X was slightly out of touch with reality, and he felt with some surety that in taking the sky blue eyed beauty from what he knew, he was doing him a favour. He knew Darren cried at night. And it made his heart ache also, for after all, he loved Darren.

Missy lay curled up on the boy’s stomach as he lay on his back now; headphones plugged in, one in each ear as he gazed up at the ceiling. It was pure white, but the blood had managed to splatter upwards when Mr X had become paticularly upset, there was a dappled effect of black-red. Mr X watched brazenly now, and as Darren’s round eyes turned to him, he saw him start, surprised, and then observed fear flickering over the boy’s effeminate and mask-like features. Mr X did not frown. Darren did not understand yet. Though he would soon. Mr X turned back to slicing.

‘You know you’ll have to kill him eventually.’ Mr X’s shoulders grew rigid. And for a moment, his right eye began to twitch. ‘You can’t deny it, Carlo-…’

‘Don’t call me that!’ Mr X’s voice was a vicious growl. Not quite loud enough to hear over the headphones. But Darren saw his expression changing, saw his lips moving in response to nothing being there.

‘Why not? Mr X is such a silly, serial killer type name anyway. Why do you like it so?’ Another voice piped up. Mr X shrunk away from the sound, shoulders hunching up slightly as a deep frown etched upon his forehead and he began to cut faster. The slices where still perfectly, but suddenly stinging pain shot up his arm. He’d sliced a thick sliver of skin from the tip of one finger. Blood poured out from the wound at a surprisingly swift rate, it pooled red around the processed meat, upon it. Mr X snarled and threw the bloody mess at a wall, where it splattered upon the perfectly clean white tile and seeped between the rows into the plaster, staining it pink, running in rivulets down to the floor. Darren watched, as did Missy.

‘You will have to kill him eventually…’ repeated the first, with a soft chuckle. Mr X flinched. He went into the freezer and pulled out ham, deciding it would have to do. ‘He’ll never love you, no one could love you, you’re mad and you’re foul, you’re a filthy, disgusting, dependant excuse. You don’t deserve to breathe.’ Mr X simply smirked.

‘I sustain you. Without me you would not exist. So I suggest you learn to say something nice, or don’t say anything at all.’

‘You take your mottoes from a rabbit? And don’t be a fool, I feed from you now as I feel, Mr X.’ The name was sneered out. A chiell ell over Mr X and as he shuddered heavily, and as his eyes momentarily rolled skywards, a smile slowly curled on his lips. It was gone. He sighed happily and continued with the preparations.


Mr X did not eat a bite. He remained curled in on himself opposite Darren, observing with anxious, wide-eyed interest. Darren only just managed to make himself swallow. As perfectly prepared as the food looked, it was severely undercooked. He smiled however. He didn’t quite know why. Perhaps in self-preservation, yes, that’s what it was.

‘Who where you talking to earlier?’ Darren’s voice sounded alien to himself as he blurted out the perpetually dangerous question. Mr X tensened. Darren swore he c see see the muscle, the power rippling through the male in front of him.

‘Someone who’s been with me ever since I was a little boy…’ Mr X responded simply, softly. Darren nodded, but did not understand. Mr X smiled mildly and extended a hand, caressing fingertips smooth and white over the pale pallor of Darren’s cheek. ‘You’re a good boy Darren. But you really shouldn’t have been listening…’ The fingertips pressed down harder.

‘I wasn’t listening!’ Desperation entered his voice. ‘I just saw… Your mouth moving…’ Mr X’s touch became kind again and he smiled once more, nodding. He knew, Darren mused. He knew when he was lying. Darren felt a palm pressing to his chest, pushing him backwards. The remains of the pizza tossed aside by Mr X as he climbed atop the boy, for that was all he really was, and began to rain kisses upon his slender, hollow chest.

‘How old are you, Darren?’ Mr X crooned softly.

‘Nineteen…’ His response was taut. His body rigid, he was obviously terrified. Mr X allowed himself another giggle, a high pitched laugh not necessarily suited to his nature, as if, had things been different, he could have been a light hearted and flippant person, not the bizarre, inverted, confused being he was.

‘I’m sixteen, Darren,’ Mr X hissed. This fact seemed to amuse him. That one so old as Darren could be so horribly helpless, so inapt at taking care of himself. Darren seemed confused by such a revelation too. Darren watched with an attentive, though unnerved gaze as Mr X sat upright, fingers curling beneath the black sweater he wore to pull it upwards, and off. His body seemed sheer muscle, rippling and hardened, skin, muscle and bone. Mr X did not stop with his shirt, he tugged off his trousers, and Darren’s followed. Mr X knelt between the blonde’s spread eagle legs and smiled kindly, a bland expression in contrast to the desperate need, the desperate, guttural and utterly human desire he had suddenly fevercvercome with. ‘I love you Darren,’ Mr X murmured lowly, and without ceremony, he lifted the boy up, and thrust.

The scream that filled the air was so keening, so desperate, it reminded Mr X of a dying animal. He began move, in and out, body forming an ark as his hips pushed back and forth, a rhythm found automatically, and as Darren bled, it became easier. Mr X reached down and curled his fingers around Darren’s member, coaxing him to arousal in time with the movement of his hips. With his own blood as lubricant, Darren found himself squirming, found himself unable to quell this rising feeling within him. The pain made everything so much more intense, that the edge of indescribable hurt along with pleasure seemed breath taking, and as Mr X plunged teeth into his neck, Darren groaned aloud and reached his peak. His body arched against the one on top of him, tensening all over as Mr X pulled away from his neck to grit his teeth hard, oily black eyes clenched closed as he made not a sound, though his orgasm was felt on the inside of Darren. Mr X shifted almost immediately, he recuperated quickly, he sat upright, and Darren found his arms being strapped down once more, along with his legs. Mr X curled against his prone form, and Darren felt elated disgust.

‘I can’t trust you.’ Mr X’s voice was soft, husky, sleepy almost. ‘I’ll have to keep doing this until… Until I find a way… To see if you are trustworthy.’ Mr X seemed to muse aloud as he nuzzled to the other male’s neck. Darren’s eyes closed and the long exhaling of his breath filled the air, his chest rose and fell heavily, and Mr X smiled.