Testimony of a Killer- Chapter 2
Disclaimer and Authors' Notes: This is a joint written fic. Yes, it's under one author's sn, but it's a joint effort. 50/50 credit. Please leave a review. Also, let it be known up front that this is to be a very dark fic. Death, blood and gore, non con, etc will all be featured at some point or another in the fic. Also, this is NC-17 for slash m/m loving, mpreg or male pregnancy, and furry themes. Don't whine if our fic gives you nightmares. Now, the yummy wet dreams and fantasies, you can blame us for. Your authors are Darth Lotean(Darth Mara on Yiffstar) and Ragdoll, respectively. Now then, on with the show.
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Testimony of a Killer
Chapter Two
By: Ragdoll
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Aeryn groaned lowly as he woke, bright blue eyes slowly fluttering open, taking in his surroundings. He felt as one might expect after being hit by a car, his slender body sore and stiff, so that every movement took a great deal of effort. He didn't recognize where he was, and it made him increasingly nervous. He was injured, though not badly, but added to his lack of strength, it made him terribly vulnerable. He had been in all of two fights, and he had lost both badly. The first, he was left with only bruises. The second left him with a good sized scar under the downy fur on his right front paw, and a broken arm. He knew he couldn't defend himself very well to start with, and the added weight of his injuries, however mild, left him even more open for attack. He needed to get home, where it was safe. How had he come to be here anyway?
'Oh yeah...' he thought. 'I was on my way home... I had just finished the meeting and was walking back... I think I wandered into traffic... my own fault, for being so lost in my thoughts... But where am I?' Biting his bottom lip to keep from groaning again, he managed to push himself into a sitting position. A mistake, he found, as the room seemed to spin around him. He closed his eyes tightly, bringing his left paw up to cradle his head slightly. He allowed a soft whimper to pass his parted lips, but quickly tried to go silent again. He didn't know where he was, and worried about who might be in the building with him. He had been knocked unconscious from the hit, and didn't realize that Melichai had taken pity on him. His first thought was that he'd been left lying in the road, and someone had taken him. He was still quite innocent and naïve in some things, but he knew enough to realize that there were some very bad furs in the city. How easy would it be for one of them to drag him off and use him as they saw fit?
He was very small built and slender. Even if he had been awake, he couldn't have fought anyone off very well. Unconscious, he was easy prey. He stood just a hair over 4'5" tall and weighed, at last count, only 102 pounds. Seemingly a child at first glance, he was fair furred and lithe. He was pure white, an albino panda, save for a bit of rich black on each of his paws, and one small spot behind his slightly rounded left ear. At the moment, he wore simple blue jean shorts, cut quite short, and a simple white silk shirt, now somewhat tattered from the accident. It would be only too obvious to anyone that bothered to look that he wore nothing under the form fitting shorts. One might think him a street walker from his outfit, but he was anything but.
He was a pen name author, writing gay romance novels under an assumed name, and paid well for his talents. While he was a virgin himself, his stories were hot, and every sex scene was wonderfully detailed and steamy. He had a very good imagination, and it showed in his writings. Where he was actually very much afraid of losing his virginity and his so called virtue, his characters were free and open, content to give in to their desires no matter where they may be. In one story, the pairing of characters had even bedded down in the midst of a crowded mall. But of course, Aeryn would never be so bold. Though his name was simply Aeryn Matthews, his pen name was more suiting. 'Angel Midnight' a name suggested by his now ex best friend, Christien.
And he could look every bit an angel, whether he meant to or not. His silken white fur would catch and reflect the slightest bit of light in a room, making him seem to glow with ethereal grace. His sapphire blue eyes seemed always to sparkle; shining with both innocence and knowledge, and striking enough to give anyone pause. He valued his looks, but knew there was much more to life than such things. After all, even beauty would fade, in time. He wouldn't always look like this, and he, in many ways, looked forward to the time when his looks had dulled some. He was, for lack of a better word, a pretty boy. Only 18 years old, though grown beyond his years, he seemed to draw attention to himself wherever he went. Even this meeting he had attended only hours earlier had been uncomfortable, with his manager sending him heated looks. He made it only too clear that he wanted to fuck Aeryn senseless. From his books, everyone assumed him to be a slut, not to mention kinky and ever willing. Little did they know. He had never even brought himself to orgasm, not once, and was in every way untouched. It wasn't for lack of trying. Many he had known had tried to talk him into bed, but he wouldn't go. Both fights had been a result of that very thing, with him ending up injured. The scar he lived with was a result of a near rape. Only his screams had saved him, when another tenant in the apartment building heard them and came running.
He no longer lived in an apartment though, and had only one neighbor now, a little under a block away. He had managed to make enough money to have his dream home built. He owned the land around the house, thus why his nearest neighbor was so far away. Only 18 years old, and yet he was fairly wealthy, and proud of it. While he knew his career wasn't terribly impressive to some, and was in fact downright disturbing to others, he wasn't ashamed. When people chose to insult him, scream "Fag" and "Queer" at him, he laughed it off. In the silence of his bedroom at night, it hurt, but he'd never admit it. He was gay, and didn't feel that he should be ashamed, but such cruel words still got to him. The same words and insults his father had given him before he had been kicked out, when he was yet the child his slim frame now imitated. He was only 11 when he was left homeless. All he had had to his name then was a small pack of clothes, what little food he'd been able to steal, just under fifty dollars, his journals and pens, and a small pillow and blanket that had belonged to his mother.
He had struggled greatly to survive on so little, relying often on the kindness of others to help him get by, but he had managed. His first book earned him just under $10,000 and he was able, finally, to afford a roof over his head. It wasn't much; a tiny apartment with only one bedroom and bathroom and a barely there kitchen, but it was home. He was able to buy himself clothing to replace the tattered shreds he had owned, though he had to wash them in the bathtub and hang them around the apartment and out on a clothes line to dry. That had been five years ago now. He had spent almost 2 years on the streets. He had been very lucky though, in his mind. He knew people had been raped and worse while living on the streets. He counted himself blessed to have lived through it unscathed.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he forced himself to stand, needing to check out just where he was and with whom. He wasn't the sort to lay about in bed any longer than necessary anyway, and some of the noises he heard had him spooked; the sound of metal on metal, and someone muttering softly to himself. If not for his state of mind, he would have realized that it was just his would be 'captor' cooking, and would have noted the pleasant smells wafting in from the kitchen, but he was near panicked at the moment, and his mind wasn't working as it should.
He wandered, as silently as possible, out of the bedroom and into the living room, glancing around warily. 'Where the hell am I?' he thought to himself, taking in as much of his surroundings as he could. The place seemed well kept, though not immaculate. It reminded him much of his own home, though his own was much larger. In truth, it was far too big for him, but he could afford it, and so he showed off. His own held 4 large bedrooms, a huge living room on the first floor and a second living room in a loft on the third floor, 3 huge bathrooms, and a full kitchen. The bedrooms were all on the second floor, and his study and rec room were on the third. He had a decent sized pool out in the backyard, and a hot tub as well. One might say he was trying to make up for lost time, and they wouldn't be far off base with such claims. After so long of having little to nothing, this wealth and finery was a blessing he couldn't pass up.
He was careful of his steps as he made his way towards the kitchen. His curiosity may well be the end of him, but he had to know who else was here, and what he was doing. He couldn't help feeling he should have bolted, just ran through the front door and not stopped for anything, but he just couldn't leave yet. Another wave of dizziness caught him unprepared just as he was within reach of the kitchen door. He forced himself to remain silent, and took a moment to steady himself. 'Dammit' he thought. 'I don't need this right now... I can be sick later. I need to know where I am...'
He finally managed to peek into the kitchen and he watched, almost transfixed, as Melichai went about cooking for them. Apparently, he had misjudged his would be captor. He didn't realize that Melichai had been the one that hit him, as he hadn't had time to look into the car's front seat, but he felt that he meant him no harm. Naiveté, perhaps, but he trusted him already. Pray that it wouldn't be the end of him. Still, he couldn't just go in there unarmed, just in case. It would be a foolish risk, one he wasn't sure he could chance with already being injured. He looked around for a moment before spotting the knife rack on a countertop. Okay, so he had a plan. There was only one problem. The rack was within Melichai's reach, and he couldn't be sure he wouldn't go for the knives as well. At least it would be a fair fight then... well, fairer... okay, so Aeryn was pretty much helpless, but he could try.
He lunged forward, despite his screaming muscles, and grabbed two of the sharp knives as fast as he could, hoping Melichai wouldn't have a chance to react and hurt him. He backed up, as far away from Melichai as possible without leaving the kitchen. Holding both knives up, rather awkwardly, he demanded, "Who are you and why did you take me? Where are we?" Not waiting even a moment for a response, he took another step back, backing himself against a wall, and asking in a rather shrill tone, "What do you plan to do with me? If this is for ransom, you're out of luck. I have no family and my manager knows not to give into any demands. Why did you bring me here?"
While he was doing his best to put on a show of bravado, fear shone in his sparkling blue eyes. He was in a panic, and it showed. His voice shook slightly, and the way he held the knives spoke of inexperience and nerves. Clearly, he'd never handled a blade as a weapon before. Added to this that he was short, slender, and innocent in appearance, and it made for an amusing scene. Where Melichai was strong and appeared dangerous, Aeryn looked much like a kid who had found his daddy's gun. Anyone could look at him and know he was harmless, and that this seeming act of aggression was born of fear. He couldn't and wouldn't harm a fly, and it showed in his sapphire eyes.
Still he held his ground, demanding again, "Who are you?" and trying to take another step back, even though he knew he was against the wall. Everything about him screamed 'prey' even though he held the two sharp blades. His very countenance seemed weak and young, and his fear was almost tangible, as he never once took his eyes off Melichai. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help feeling slightly foolish. Melichai hadn't tried to hurt him, and he didn't feel that he would. He trusted him, already, but he was in pain and scared, and so he lashed out in the only way he could, by threatening the one who was trying to help him.
Finally though, his nerves could take no more. With a soft sob, he dropped both blades to the floor, unwittingly nicking his slender left leg, before he sunk to the floor as well, curling up some and muttering, almost to himself, "I'm sorry... I should go now..." He moved to stand up, but didn't seem able to keep his feet under him, as another wave of dizziness caught up with him. With a deep sigh, he sat down on the floor and just stayed where he was, asking softly, "What happens now?"
(End Chapter 2)