RP:]] PIRATES OF THE QUEERABBEAN

Is it just me or does that scream "cheesy boyband" to anyone else?




Syn: "HAHA BITCHES NOW I'M THE TALLEST! And lookit, flip-flops, so I'm not even in big heels."

The Lover walks along the road, heading back to his empty home and his cold lonely bed. His cellphone buzzes in his breast pocket, a message from the man he left moments before. He ignores it, not ready for another message of empty promises. He walks faster, the rain falling from the sky flattening his already mussed up hair. He turns up his driveway and walks towards his door.

His night with The Liar is replaying itself over in his mind. The Liar's calloused fingers running across his body, tracing his many tattoos. Soft kisses pressing to his lips, telling him that he loves him, that they'll be together one day. He hates himself for believing it, for continuing an affair which will only destroy him, his friendships and his career. He hates himself for being controlled by this man, the most unlikely person he'd expect to be controlled by. In the end, he's just a sucker for those eyes like everyone else.

He pulls open the heavy door and walks inside, throwing his keys and jacket aside. He pulls his phone out and looks over the message.

"You love me. Of course you do." He drops the phone on the dresser by the door and walks further into his house.

He moves into his living room, knowing that going to bed would only remind him of how alone he truly was. He flips his TV onto some adult cartoon and leans back into the sofa. He wants nothing more than to drink away his problems. However, he'd disposed of all his alcohol when his best friend had come to stay with him. The Addict. He'd been trying to get off the drugs, off the drink and figured his oldest friend would be the best person to help him - even though he could be considered somewhat of an addict himself. The Lover's attempts at saving his friend came to nothing and he'd stormed out earlier that day, no doubt to score more of the drug which was killing him. The Lover hadn't heard from him since.

He allows his eyes to drift shut, despite knowing what comes to him when he sleeps. The Liar and The Betrayed both haunt his dreams. Both want to keep him from a peaceful slumber. The Betrayed always has him against a wall, screaming at him, begging to know why he's screwing him over, the way everyone screws him over. The Liar has him against a wall for other reasons, overpowering him surprisingly easily.

The Lover wakes up suddenly, yelling apologies and confessions. He takes a moment to remember where he is before laughing sadly.

"Alone again." He whispers to himself.

Before he realizes what is going on, a damp rag is pressed over his mouth and nose.

The last thing he hears is a quiet, electronic 'naturally'.

-----

He awakens to the smell of coffee. He'd laugh if his throat wasn't so dry. He looks round his room, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. He makes a move to get up from the chair and finds himself tied to it, his hands strapped to the arms with belts. The Lover begins cursing, trying to wrench his hands free. He cries out the name of The Betrayed, thinking he's found out about his affair and is doing this to intimidate him. It never occurs to him that someone else has been watching and judging him.

"Shit, shit..." He continues trying to fight his way free.

"That won't save you." A low, electronic voice says.

The Lover ceases all of his movement and looks around.

"Who... who's there?" He asks, nervousness in his ever-slurred voice.

The Killer moves out of the shadow he's been hiding in, pleased at the fact this man seems more afraid of him than his last victim.

"Salvation."

The Lover knows he should find this funny. Someone dressed all in black with a cheap mask covering his face, spouting cheesy horror lines through a voice changer. He would find it funny if the man wasn't holding a very sharp-looking knife. The masked man approaches him and kneels before him.

"Pleased to meet you." The Lover says, trying to make light of the situation.

"Oh you've met me before." The Killer replies, "Just not in such intimate circumstances."

The Killer runs the tip of the knife over the thick denim of The Lover's jeans.

The Lover tries to move back in the chair, trying to get away from the knife.

"Pft, don't worry about that." The Killer says, "I'm not cutting that off."

He pulls the knife away.

"I'm not that cruel."

The Killer laughs, the sound is strange coming through the voice changer.

He rests the knife across the wrist of The Lover.

"Your problem is not being able to keep your hands off other people's things."

"My... ha... you mean...?"

The Killer gets closer to The Lover's face and presses down on the knife.

"I mean." He says, nodding.

The Lover winces at the pain, "That was an accident, that was never meant to happen."

"Your ass accidentally fell on his dick? You never meant to beg him to leave his lover?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, Lover, I don't. Please, enlighten me." The Killer repeatedly runs the knife across the man's wrist in long, slow strokes.

"Fucking Christ, you want to stop that?" He snaps, through gritted teeth.

He gestures down to the knife, slowly slashing his wrist. He knows as soon as the words have left his mouth that they were foolish.

The Killer stops his movements and presses the knife down harder on the wrist, meeting the bone. The Lover cries out.

"Did you stop?" The Killer hisses, "No, you kept going."

He scrapes the knife along the bone. The Lover's cries get louder.

The Killer looks down at his work.

"No, this won't do." He says.

He drops the knife and leaves The Lover once again. The victim looks down at his wrist, his stomach turning at the sight of the carved flesh. He tries again to tug his hand away from it's restraints but to no avail. The movement just causes the wound to open up more and become more painful. Tears are streaming down his face now, fuck dignity. He gave that up when he started to beg The Liar to leave his mate.

The Killer returns to the room, The Lover doesn't even look at him.

He strides across to his victim, the latest weapon in his small arsenal hidden behind his back.

He slaps The Lover on the cheek.

"Cheer up." He says, "I'm going to make this so much easier for you."

He pulls the weapon from behind his back, a larger, sharper knife.

"Butcher's knife." The Killer explains, "This'll cut through your skinny wrist like it was a brownie."

The Killer laughs again, "Now you won't be able to put your hands where they don't belong."

He brings the knife down towards The Lover's sliced up wrist.

The Lover cries out as the knife hits the bone once more, slicing easily through it.

The Lover dares to look down at his wrist, seeing nothing but a strangely clean stump and his hand laying lifeless on the floor.

"You fucking psychopath! You fucking cut my hand off!" He screams.

The Killer grabs the man's other wrist and holds it down. He brings the knife down on it again, cleaving the other hand from the mans arm. The Lover cries out again, screaming his lovers name as if it would help.

"I fucking cut your hands off." The Killer corrects.

He pulls the restraints from The Lovers leg's. He drops the knife to the floor and walks from the room, pausing at the doorway. He turns round and points at The Lover's severed wrists.

"You could probably get free right about now."

The Killer stands at the doorway, watching him.

The Lover looks down at his wrists.

He pulls his hands away from the restraints, crying out threats after The Killer as he does so. The pain is extreme but all he can think about is getting the bastard who did this to him and kicking the living shit out of him.

He makes a move to run towards The Killer but is stopped in his tracks by the sudden rush of blood coming from his wrists.

"But I wouldn't recommend it." The Killer says.

The Lover stares at his bleeding stumps for a moment as The Killer walks away.

"You son of a bitch! You fucking asshole."

The blood loss is causing him to become light-headed. He drops to his knees. He continues yelling at The Killer as his vision turns black. He falls forward onto the floor, as he slips into unconsciousness. His last thoughts are how ridiculously emo his death is going to be. Bleeding from the wrists, all because of a man he can never truly be with.

He hadn't thought logically or sensibly throughout most of his life. Why start now?

*****