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Many who fall into hell are disconcerted when not immediately being prodded by imps or bathing in the flickering flames of the underworld. Instead they fall into a city, one that’s not too different from the plane of existence they’d just left. Angel Dust was one of these new sinners, so naive to the unique torment of this place.
So he lived just as he died, chasing anything to fill the empty void that left him perpetually starving for something. That was the agony of this place, nothing ever changed. There was no reprieve in death.
Though some nights looked so similar to what he’d visualized as a young, scared boy in the pews at his family’s chosen church. He’d known it was his fate, even back then, because of what he was.
This had always been how his story would end.
All he could register behind the agony ravaging his body was a sense of emptiness. At times he was overcome with a desperation for something he didn’t understand. Relief, maybe. Solace from the exhaustion and perpetual aching ravaging each tensed muscle. His throat was tight as if he were about to cry, but he’d done enough of that already, he didn’t think he could manage anymore. He wanted water. He wanted a hug. He wanted to be erased.
Another wave of misery began to choke him and he tried to shift his legs with the fragment of energy he had left, but only his toes twitched against the cold tile of the floor. He wanted to lift his hips to ease the pressure, but the pathetic movement only massaged the hard bar of the wall he was bent over deeper into his tender flesh. The blood rushing to his extremities might as well have been liquid lead. Even if he weren’t restrained by this stupid pillory carved into the wall, he wouldn’t be able to do much more than crawl.
He knew bruises were blooming across his skin, a deep throbbing in his bones from gravity and the force of being slammed against the surface repeatedly doing its damage. He felt like he’d had a baseball bat rammed inside him over and over again, and a sharp pinch wracked his body with each breath. His asshole instinctively clenched, trying to readjust after being bullied open so thoroughly. He cringed with each glob of cum that dripped out and down his thighs.
He felt filthy. He probably looked it to. He was almost grateful he couldn’t see.
He hadn’t been able to open his eyes after the first thirty minutes. Some jackass came right over his eyes, mocking him the entire time, and he could feel the tacky substance cooling and crusting over his lashes and weighing them down.
His eyes burned, and he knew even trying to blink away the old tears or jizz would only bring more pain and discomfort. He’d puked twice, the slick of cum and vomit still staining his chin and painting the yellowing tile below him. There wasn’t much for his stomach to eject, and now the distinct salty flavor in the back of his throat was driving him mad.
His ass wasn’t faring much better, heated skin throbbing routinely from being smacked around and felt up by greedy hands. He couldn’t see it, but he imagined the skin beneath his soft fur was black and blue.
He almost didn’t feel real when he couldn’t see the faces of the men raping him. Angel was simply floating in some far-off place. His screams didn’t sound like his own, but he could feel his vocal chords shredding themselves as he tried to fight back and spew insults at the first few men who used him.
Eventually the screaming stopped, he was hardly cognizant of himself doing it anyway. He just let his head and hips be lifted when it was time to use them. Sometimes it’d be one end, sometimes the other, and sometimes both at once. It didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered in a long time.
Angel was always jolted back into the present a fraction when someone new would join in. A new voice, new hands. But they blended together quickly. He’d lost count after the first ten. Counting only made him feel worse, anyway.
He’d let his head hang down after he vaguely felt someone else release all over his lower back. He was already drenched, so it didn’t feel like much.
Their hand collided hard with his ass, saying something nasty as they observed the way the flesh shook under the impact. A separate set of hands felt at his thighs for good measure.
A weak whimper was buried under the sound of the solid smack against his flesh. His throat was too raw for much else.
This was his reality. Nothing existed outside of this. That’s what he had to tell himself.
There was no day and night. No food or water. Just different hands. People who were gentle. People who were rough. That was the only distinction he had to make.
Not that the type of people mattered. He was theirs to play with regardless.
Then he waited as those ones left the room. And for a while, no one else came.
His perception of time was so skewed at this point, trapped in this windowless room. Trapped in darkness and unable to open his eyes. He felt like he’d been there for days, but it’d only been one at most. He’d be passed out if it were longer; he would know.
All he knew was that he was desperate for water. What little saliva he could produce just tasted like the bile from his stomach, meshing unpleasantly with the salty taste of skin still tainting his tongue. His joints ached, bodying pleading for something to ease the dehydration this hell and being human had caused him.
He wished he weren’t human anymore. They didn’t treat him like one anyway, it’d just make things so much simpler.
If he didn't need to eat or drink or breathe. If his heart was stitched into his chest like a doll, empty and unfeeling.
A faucet somewhere in the room was dripping. Now not distracted by being fondled or fucked, he couldn’t think of anything else. He wanted water so badly. The choked feeling of being close to tears turned into a dry sob that cut itself off almost as quickly as it escaped. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to produce many more tears anyway.
The silence of the room is nauseating. Dripping. Trembling and twitching. The sound of his own exhausted breaths.
Angel’s body was a livewire of electricity. He couldn’t even tell which part of his body was bothering him anymore. Did he even have a body anymore? He couldn’t feel it. His soul hurt.
He gagged when cum from his ass dripped onto his calf, throat burning as an acidic taste made itself known.
His stomach felt like it was shredding itself into pieces.
He was cold. So fucking cold.
He thought it would never end.
But finally the door to the room clicked open once more.
The muscles in his body poised to run on instinct, sending another wave of discomfort as his tired limbs twitched uselessly. He couldn’t help it, the way he tried and failed to recoil away from the door.
His mind accepted this fate more easily, yet Angel couldn’t decide if he wanted the former hell of assault or the present one of silence. No, he stopped himself. There was no point in thinking about what he wanted at that moment, his opinion meant nothing here. His reality was whatever this person decided, and the sooner he accepted that the more at peace he’d be.
He fought his urge to brace himself and instead tried to let his mind melt away to the floor, body remaining limp and pliable… until the footsteps morphed into familiar ones. The click of heeled boots against the nasty floor.
“Oh, mi putita linda, aren’t you just a mess?”
His former reality was shattered in just one instant, bloodsoaked shards clattering to the ground.
Val.
Angel knew better than to give into hope, but he was immediately trembling with excitement for his respite.
Val, Val, Val please please please PLEASE-
A crackled noise akin to a sob broke from his throat, shredding it like the wave of sound was made of barbed wire. His eyes burned like tears wanted to form, but none did.
Val was here. He was done. He had to be done. Let him out.
Please, please, please, let him out.
His heart pounded against his ribcage. Angel’s mind swam with fear and hope that overwhelmed whatever hellish bargaining he’d resigned himself to before.
Val went around back first, and Angel managed a weak shake of his head.
“Fuck, looks like they put this hole to good use~’
A long finger forced itself into his loose hole, taking no care to be gentle with the dagger-like nail. He felt it scrape at his insides, and he was sure each scratch was leaving behind fresh flakes of blood. He choked out a disapproving whine, but then Val crooked his finger in warning and he let the static in his mind silence his desire to plead.
The finger retreated and he heard a soft slurping sound. Val licked the mess of blood and cum off of his own finger, he presumed.
Sick fuck.
Footsteps again. He felt Val move around him, this time coming to kneel in front of him. The overlord scoffed when his knees hit the gross floor, but he spoke right against Angel’s face anyway. His hot breath felt like a blessing in the freezing room.
He grabbed him under his chin, thumb reaching up to swipe at the mess staining it, “Baaad boy, did you puke it all up? You’re making me look bad, this is nasty even for you.”
He felt a tear fall. Huh, he guessed he could still cry.
Val was right. It was nasty. He was nasty.
The overlord continued his words, verbally assessing the damage of his pet. Angel felt his mind fall away again, the words fading into incoherence. The warmth of hope was being leeched away and he was just forced to accept it.
He wanted to die.
He wanted something that had already come to pass.
But he could still be erased.
Oh, he wanted it so bad. Never wanted anything more.
Val had his gun, right?
Why couldn’t he just shoot Angel right here?
They could still fuck his corpse. It’s not like he’d be much different than he was right now.
He was ripped out of the spiral by the sensation of being slapped across the face. His cheek stung and he felt a slight twist of disgust in his gut at the wet sound it made on impact. He was disgusting.
Val cackled at him. Maybe he’d made a dumb face, Angel wasn’t sure. He couldn’t tell what his body or face were doing anymore. Angel understood, though, he probably looked fucking pathetic. He’d laugh at himself,too.
But then two hands were cupping his face and Angel’s body flooded with warmth as he gasped. So warm, so nice, so good. Warmth and hope. It returned and it was consuming his entire being with such an intensity that he didn’t know if he wanted to run from it or melt against Val’s touch.
One of Val’s extra hands fumbled for something in his own coat pocket, and suddenly a soft handkerchief was rubbing at the mess over his eyes.
Oh, thank you, daddy. Thank you so much.
The last string holding him together snapped with a loud crack in his mind, and with it shaky sobs began to fill the room. Tears forced themselves from his dry eyes, but he found he didn’t mind the burn. Val said nothing of his hysteria, just using the tears to aid in the cleanup.
“There you go, mi amor, abre tus ojos bonitos.”
Angel pried his sticky eyes open upon Val’s request, flinching at the intensity of the light and the sting of whatever debris the moth couldn’t clear from his face. But then his vision refocused and Val’s face came into view, and his hollow heart lurched for the man.
He flexed his fingers weakly, grabbing at him in a way that’d normally make him want to punch himself in the face. But now? Now he just wanted Val.
He wanted to go home.
Were they done? Could he go home now?
He wanted to cuddle.
He did good, right?
“Good boy.”
It was going to be okay now. It was over.
His body continued to heave with silent sobs. His eyes fluttered shut with each convulsion, but he always reopened them as fast as he could, making sure to keep hold of the man who was his only chance for relief.
Val leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, those familiar lips sending a full-body shiver down his spine. He felt so touch starved, yet his body had been nothing but grabbed and beaten for the past few hours.
He never wanted anything more, nothing else existed.
He wanted Val to touch him. He wanted him to smooth away all the pain.
Val fumbled at the side of the wall and unlocked the latch, not taking his eyes away from Angel’s.
He could’ve sworn he was in heaven the moment he was pulled into Valentino’s arms. The soft fur of his neck fluff soothed the sting of his sensitive skin and his desperate fingers found their hold on his suit. The velvety material felt so expensive underneath his fingers, too pretty for him in this state.
Val didn’t complain the way he normally did about getting him messy.
He took his punishment the way Val needed him to.
He let his eyes flutter shut as Val freed him from the evil confines of the room, snuggling impossibly closer into the larger man’s body.
Val would put him back together again.
Even if he was the one who broke him in the first place.