TW: Torture, blood, violence, and everything awful in this RP
Elliot couldn’t hide his wince as the knife in his lover’s hand met the skin of that thing beneath him. The thing was crying, screaming, even with that disgusting cloth stuck down it’s throat —
— And it deserved as much. This thing — this thing had shoved himself inside Elijah, had actually damaged her.
Sweet, precious Elijah — the Elijah who refused to use contractions, who comforted Elliot when he needed it, who was there to have late night sessions in which the two of them would gush about their significant others. That Elijah — that innocent angel — had been touched by this thing. Worse than touched. Damaged; invaded.
Let him bleed, Elliot thought. Let the fucker bleed.
His eyes watched the glimmering knife, and then that skin that fell to the floor. Then his eyes trailed over Az’s hand, and up his arm, over his strong back, up to his neck, and finally to that devastatingly handsome face — the face with which one little wink could leave Elliot breathless.
Or, in this case, one little, murderous glimmer in his lover’s eyes.
Eventually, the screams of the thing became almost like background noise. Elliot stood up and rifled through the desk drawers until he found a clean cloth. Absently, as if the thing wasn’t being skinned alive in the same room, Elliot cleaned off the glass face of his phone, and then tucked it in his pocket. He cleaned the spot on the desk where he intended to sit, and then he picked up one of the bloody knives and wiped it clean.
Azazel took his time skinning its legs until there was almost nothing left covering the muscle and tissue in its thighs. It was whimpering, tears flowing down its face, snot and blood mixing in to the filth of that rag gagging it. Azazel had no remorse. How could he?
He rose, the bottle of acid in the hand opposite the one holing the bloody knife. So much suffering had happened because of this thing and Elijah was likely not the only woman to be victimized at his hands. Violence and dedication like that took time to perfect; most men didn’t jump in to violence so readily and have so little remorse. Az didn’t need to tell Elliot what the thing had said when it had been caught. He would take that to his grave.
Az moved around him to stand behind his head. He pressed down on his forehead with the fist clenched around the knife, forcing his head back at an extreme angle and cutting off the air that could move in his throat. “Elliot, come here. Take the bottle, open it, and wait.”
He handed it to Elliot when he came and then shifted, using his other hand to pinch at the thing’s left eyelid. “Move and I’ll gouge your eyes out,” he said flatly. “I suggest you hold very, very still.”
He pulled that tiny expanse of flesh and wiped the flat on the knife on both sides against his dark jeans before moving next to his first hand. He didn’t hesitate before sawing the blade back and forth through that flesh, cutting his eyelids away from his face.
After the first, he moved to the second eyelid. Only when they were both gone and the torture moved on in to its second hour did he speak. “Elliot get out your lighter. I know you have one in your pocket.” He wiped the knife again and held it out. “Light it. Make it hot.”
TW: Torture, blood, violence, and everything awful in this RP
Elliot wasn’t sure what Azazel was planning to do with that tongue — but eating it was definitely not on his list of ideas. He watched with a look of admiration, mixed with a slight, fascinated horror.
Az’s expression remained steady, and Elliot could only grin, especially with that thing writhing around in the purest terror. Seeing his beloved in such a position of power made Elliot bite his lip.
He noticed that gagging from his lover when he’d turned his back to the thing, but Elliot kept a good poker face. The thing didn’t need to know that Az had gagged after eating its tongue. Let the thing think that Az was a demon incarnate.
He perked up at those directions, and nodded. He walked around, going behind the desk, and weaved his way into Az’s office. He located that acid, and put the gloves on that he’d stuffed in his pocket. He could see that there was no acid dripping down the sides, and of course, he knew he didn’t need the gloves; he’d learned that Az, when it came to this sort of thing, didn’t get sloppy. Still he wore them, all for theatricality’s benefit.
Back in the room with Az and the thing, Elliot smiled and set the bottle of acid on the desk. “One bottle of acid, my love,” he purred.
Az braced himself on the desk, his back to it while Elliot went out of the room. He closed his eyes and took several deep, slow breaths to calm himself. This was his first time back in this particular line of work since his brother’s brutal murder and, try as he might, he couldn’t help but get a few ideas from what he’d been forced to witness. He’d already started to implement one of them.
When Elliot came back, he straightened and his face when stone cold again. “Thank you, my dear one.” He might have kissed him, but there was still blood on his face and Elliot needed to stay pristine until this was over. That, at least, he was determined to make happen. He didn’t know why, but the stark contrast between himself, the demonic looking one in dark clothes covered in blood against the sharp image of Elliot in his suit was incredibly appealing to him.
He picked up yet another knife and the massive bottle and moved back toward the thing. If he’d had his tongue, this would have been where the begging and pleading started. It was always the same. It was almost boring how predictable it all was.
Az, then, stopped speaking. He didn’t need to explain what this knife was for after he set it at an angle against its thigh. He met the thing’s eyes, inclined his head almost curiously, and started to skin him alive. The screams intensified and the attempts at thrashing only got worse, but there was no give in the ropes at all - Az had made sure of that.
He wasn’t going to kill him like this, oh no. It had hours more torment to endure. He slowly, painstakingly cut inch by excruciating inch of skin off its thigh, choosing the parts with the largest bundles of nerves, taking his time working down to its knee. Strip after strip of soft, pink flesh fell to the floor. He wasn’t going to use the acid yet, but let it think that it was going to be poured in to the wounds. He could sense its eyes being trained on it and Az almost smiled. But of course, he didn’t. He never did.
After Az had instructed him with what to grab, Elliot planted an open-mouthed kiss to his lover’s jawline and disappeared to the bathroom. He slipped the gloves on and then found that rag, and brought it out to Az.
He paused, though, before he gave it to his lover, and watched that blade slide into it’s mouth. Elliot’s smirk was entirely evil; let the thing cry out in pain, let it learn what it felt like to be violated.
Finally, Elliot stepped forward, holding the rancid, dripping cloth in one gloved hand. “And here you are, my love,” he purred, offering the cloth over to his lover. He stripped the gloves off of his hand once the cloth was out of his grasp, and then let his fingers trail up Az’s arm, before pulling away entirely and settling himself on the desk, next to the knives.
He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands, and smirked at the thing, which was literally crying in pain.
It took two and a half minutes for Az to cut out its tongue. He held the ruined muscles between two fingers, the knife pressed to the palm of that same hand. He took the rag from Elliot, purring softly at his touch but with the look on his face, the sound would be nothing short of demonic.
He ignored the screaming; it was annoying now. The thing writhed in pain and Az pressed the knife’s blade to his cheek. “Hush,” he growled. “I tire of your voice.” He took the rag and balled it in his fist, then shoved it rather unceremoniously down its throat. It gagged and its eyes widened, watering from pain. “Choke on it, you worthless piece of shit. I imagine that rag is what your soul tastes like.”
He backed up and made sure it was watching him. He moved the knife to his other hand and raised his tongue, dangling it in front of him tauntingly. Blood seeped out around the rag and down its front, spilling over its skin. More blood fell from the tongue and over Az’s hand, covering the tattoos on his forearm with its sticky, metallic essence.
Az smirked just barely before taking the tongue and pressing it between his own lips. He ate it, blood pooling down from his own mouth. It was disgusting and vile, but he did it anyway, his expression never wavering. It screamed and thrashed around in fear but Az didn’t falter.
He swallowed and wiped the blood with the back of his hand, smearing it over his face.
"Welcome to hell," he growled. "I hope you enjoy your stay."
He turned and moved back to the table, gagging only once his back was turned. He made a face and his shoulders tightened just a hair, but he’d done that before; he could handle it.
He switched out the knife for a new one. “Elliot, go to my office, love. Room behind the desk. Grab the bottle of clear acid. It’s labeled clearly, second shelf, left-hand side. Put the gloves back on in case it dripped when I put it away before.” He hadn’t, of course, but it didn’t need to know he was never sloppy.
Elliot smiled a little at that cheek kiss, and immediately started to wipe his hands off with the cloth. He turned to keep his eyes on Az and the thing, settling against a wall as Az adjusted the thing.
He crossed his arms while the Az started to cut the thing’s clothes away. He plucked a sharp knife off of the desk as well, and joined his fiance in the cutting away of the clothes. He’d gotten a clue of what his lover intended to do. He set the knife aside once the clothing’d been cut, and tore some of the scraps away.
Then, after Az spoke to the thing, Elliot grinned. He leaned close enough to whisper lowly in his fiance’s ear, and purred. “God, you’re so hot,” he murmured, nipping at Az’s earlobe. “Can I get you anything?”
Az glanced at Elliot when his lover started to help him and he had to fight back a smile. He loved seeing Elliot working in these situations. It was a side he rarely got to see. When he was finished and it was sitting more or less naked in front of him, Az stepped back to admire their work. He hadn’t been careful with his knife and cuts, deep and shallow, littered its skin sporadically.
He leaned closer to Elliot, that breath on his ear sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Yes, actually,” he said in return, his voice loud enough to be heard. “In the bathroom, there’s a rag we keep on the floor. We scrub the toilets with it. There are gloves you can use, my love. Get it. Bring it to me. I tire of his dirty mouth.”
He let down the knife in his hands in favor of a shorter one and approached it again. He jammed his knee in to his crotch, making it cry out in pain. Az forced its head back, its mouth still wide open, and slid the blade between its teeth. “I hope you realize,” he growled lowly at it, “that this will not be quick. This will be the most painful experience you can ever imagine. I am going to leave you shaking and sweating and bleeding from every inch of your miserable, worthless flesh, and even then I will not allow you to die.” He started to cut the fragile skin under its tongue, hacking it away bit by painful bit. “You have never known pain as I will teach it to you now. You have never known fear. And by the time you taste death, you will carry my name on your lips to take with you to hell.”