Into the mind of a Monster.

Disclaimer: some voyeurism, some angst. All in all some good stuff. *Some murder and gore involved in this scene.*

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Gray eyes watched his former companion slam that precious facade against the surface of the mirror in perfect unison with his clenching fist, finding the scene so amusing; he had to smile. Judas was like a precocious little youth, throwing a tantrum when he didn\'t get his way. Only this time, \'his way\' had been not getting an adequate lover. The corner of his waning mouth turned upwards, remaining a silent phantom set in the archway of his bedroom. Tilting his head, his temple came to rest against the wood grain of the door, Jaque not making his presence known at that particular moment for obvious reasons. He was content to watch the pretty blonde toture himself into oblivion.

After Judas released himself over the entirety of his reflection, his body slipped down onto the joints of his knees, ignoring the consistent flow of blood pouring down his cheeks in rivulets, and into the cresents of his eyes. His body lay like a lifeless rag doll against the wall, lean arms curling around his bottom half in self-adoration. Oblivious to the fact his former sadomasochist partner-in-crime was standing less than ten feet away from him.

The way Judas was now crouched on the floor, reminded him painfully of a beaten puppy; the sight making him smile wider than any scene before it. Fingers curled silently into a fist, looking down menacingly at his manicured cuticles, wondering partially if he should make the boy aware of his presence. No, sooner or later he would sense him; and Jaque wouldn\'t have to say a word. Instead his elegant fingers slid down the lapel of his blazer, vainly feeling the soft fabric of Armani; wondering how people wore anything else.

And Judas did, the familar colonge filling his prominent sense, twisting his head until he caught a blurred sight of the figure standing in his doorway. All sorts of emotions came flooding back to him suddenly: anger, love, lust--but mostly he was just angry. When he twisted his wrists to swipe the flowing crimson out of his eyes, he could practically feel the other man\'s hands curling around his wrists again. Memories of bedroom romps where fighting for dominance was their idea of foreplay, rolling around until the other got tired of putting up a fight. He remembered those times fondly, when he would submit only to him; allow the strength of his body to be taken over by someone equal. The only equal man he had ever met in his entire life. The only human-being he respected. Parting the voluminous curves of his lips to speak, he couldn\'t find the words--he couldn\'t find a single word to say.

For the first time in his life Judas Riot was speechless.

Jaque adored the way his lips parted, and he didn\'t say a single word in regards to him barging into his penthouse. His narrow shoulders pushed away from the wall, bringing him to a slow and purposeful stride toward the younger man; crouching down and using a single finger to tilt his chin back. Examining the wounds he had inflicted on himself. Nothing too bad, a gash slicing through his once flawless brow, the wound parted open like some kind of morbid yawn. \"Mm. We should clean this out--\"

The moment the man\'s hand touched down on his skin, he was jerking his head defiantly in the opposite direction, standing up as quickly as a nude man with a head-wound could manage. \"Don\'t you.....DARE....fucking touch me again!\" The normal deep baritone of his voice raised several octaves and he was shouting loud enough to frighten even Jaque. Stepping away entirely from the man who still crouched on the floor, wordless and offended. Bare feet collasped in purposeful strides across the room, reaching for a t-shirt he was sure wasn\'t his, and wiping his porcelain-doll\'s face clean of that tepid liquid. \"You have no right to even be here...\" His voice was lower this time, turning his back to Jaque as he stared into a smaller mirror, holding the stained cloth to his forehead.

Sighing, he gracefully returned to a full stance. No taller, or shorter than his former lover. They were equal in every aspect of the word; except Judas lacked a conscience, and Jaque just happened to have one--half the time. He knew their relationship had ended badly, but at least he could\'ve rejected him with some kind of civility. The soles of his boots crushed into the plush carpeting, strolling after Judas like a scorned animal, reaching out to touch the milky curve of his shoulder; extremely hesitantly. \"You wouldn\'t except an apology if I gave you one, and I\'m not the type to say I\'m sorry anyway. But...Judas--He meant nothing to me.\"

( Two month\'s earlier. )

The bunch of roses he had bought for their one year anniversary were clutched like a giddy school girl in the center of his palms, a small sheet of cellophane the only thing keeping the prickly thorns from cutting into his palms. Judas scowled at himself everytime he looked into the mirror, murmuring back those three-letters to the one human being who had been able to thaw his frozen heart. Everytime he said them, he had to supress the strangling urge to vomit, the need to slice open his own jugular for being so painfully pathetic. However, when they were returned his eyes looked up into the handsome face; and he smiled genuinely.

Almost---sweetly.

His steps crushed into the freshly fallen snow, creating lonesome footsteps on the barren city street. Jaque should have been home by now; and he was intent on surprising him even if they hadn\'t planned anything until tommorrow. Judas had gone to great lengths tonight, making sure to wear his most \'come-hither\' attire. Consisting of his black and white pin-striped pants; and a black t-shirt which was thankfully hidden beneath his wool peacoat. Smiling to himself as he hunched into the cashmere scalf surrounding the swan-like dips of his neck; approaching the townhome with a school-girl smile stretching his full lips from ear to ear.

He was greet with no answer, when his tender knuckles started knocking on the mahogany door. It wasn\'t the first tim ehe was brought with no answer, and decided to open the door for himself, \"Jaque?\" He called out, unraveling the scarf from around his neck, looking into the living room set with a cinematic \'roaring fire\', and candles askew across the coffee table. Half-wondering if it wer eofr him, he began trekking up the stairs, still clutching the frost biten roses in his hand. ( Roses in winter were so expensive. ) The cliche flowers held in his hand, were glowered upon, as he reached the top of the short staircase and bee-lined for the male\'s bedroom.

What he was faced with, made him sadder than anything else had.

Jaque was hunched between the thighs of another boy, the powerful hips he had once called \'his\', were gyrating into some moaning little whore. Silently, he stood in the doorway, his fingers sinking around the stems of the flowers. Those beautiful blue eyes, the size of saucers began filling with pools of saline tears; hot and brimming over the lids. Soon the burning liquid was streaming down his cheeks, and he couldn\'t decide whether to leave---or scream. The ladder seemed to win out, as his fingers shreaded at the cellophane, ripping the flowers apart despite the thorns cutting viciously into his hands. \"......J.....JAQUEEEE...!!\" He howled his name like some painful innuendo, enough to make both men rolling around on THEIR bed turn around.

His lover didn\'t immediately stop what he was doing, his head turning to rest on his caramel toned shoulder; a smile flicking precariously at Judas. The blonde was ten-times more beautiful than the boy he was wrestling with, Jaque knew that; but it was the fact the kid he was with submitted to him without question. He didn\'t have to play the same tiresome games with him as he did with the man tearing his hands up with flowers. A gust of air exited his lungs, sighing, acting as if removing his cock from inside of the boy took all of his energy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his palms swept through his dark hair; frustrated--and quite obviously, not finished with what he had been doing.

\"You\'re not---You\'re not even going to SAY anything!?\" He screeched above his normal sexual voice, causing even the boy in bed with his boyfriend to scramble for any kind of fabric to cover up his nude and vunerable body. \"Your----your---Jesus fucking christ. You---\" Judas couldn\'t even form coherant speech.

\"I\'m fucking around on you. Yes, that would be it.\" Jaque didn\'t even blink. It, as in nothing else. As in--did Judas\' feelings, the little amount he had, even matter?

The way his voice calmly rolled off of his tongue was enough to infuriate Judas beyond any comprehension. His hands now stained with thick, scorning droplets of blood were extending to curl around a precious throat. Not that of his lover, no, around the throat of the boy he had been passionately interwined with. His thumbs ground furiously into his windpipe, making sure he was cutting off every ounce of air. His vision was blurred, and all he could see was red. The angry color of red that blinded his actions.

Digging his hands further into the boy\'s throat, he began shaking him like a cloth rag doll. Jolting the precarious boys shoulders. His fingers had already created the stinging read marks, his hands burning furiously into his skin and making their presence screamingly aware. The nameless boy, who hadn\'t said a word, was now writhing and flailing in his arms. Slapping at Judas\' wrists, and kicking his legs wildly as if he expected the man who had been fucking him to help.

Jaque watched the scene unfold, sighing like a disappointed parent as he reached for the strewn fabric of his boxer shorts. Pulling them onto the long length of his legs; waiting until the elastic wasteband snapped below his naval to release them. His dark crown rolled curiously to his side, dramatically placing his hands upon his hips. \"Judas--That\'s not going to solve anything.\" His voice came out calmer than he had expected, shaking his head lightly from the left to the right.

Judas couldn\'t hear him, there were voices taking over. Angry, screaming voices Jaque\'s love had managed to supress. And as he shook the boy, he could hear them shouting.

`Kill him, look what he did to you.`

But--no--Maybe I shouldn\'t kill him, just scare him.

`If you leave him alive there won\'t be any lesson learned, you want to teach him a lesson, don\'t you?`

...Yes...

`Then you have to kill him, Jude.`

Don\'t call me that.

By the time his thought process was complete, the strange boy\'s head had fallen lifelessly back, exposing his adam\'s apple which like the rest of him; was making no visible movement. His blue eyes widened to the point of being saucers, slowly unraveling his fingers from around the youth\'s neck, watching them shake and tremble like reed\'s in the wind. This was the first time he had killed another human. Animals--that was nothing important. The world could live without animals. Humans were harder to kill--it took so much effort to get the knife in..

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stepped away from the bed; hiding the need to vomit, with the bile creeping up his throat like toxic slime. His shuddering hand braced across the flat plane of his stomach, fingers crawling across the fabric of his shirt and entangling needily into the cotton. What had he done? But there it was, the comforting feeling of anger; telling him he was completely justified. And suddenly, the feeling of guilt went away.

Jaque stood off to the side, arms folded across his bare chest, watching the scene as disinterested as if the boy were only sleeping. No, he was dead and they both knew it. The corner of his mouth wrought into a wry smile, mocking Judas and the way he were standing so precariously. He noticed the shift change as well, from guilt to complete satisfaction.

And Judas was satisfied. But not with Jaque, he was boiling over with jealousy, frustration, and his broken heart was demanding to be fixed. Turning slowly toward the half naked man, a finger still covered in his own drying blood pointed in his direction. \"You ever come near me again,\" His pointing finger moved to the dead carcass on his bed, still warm--but still dead.


\"That will be you.\"

( TBC. Read & Review. )