Break These Chains

~RvB and all characters involved are © Rooster Teeth Productions. The tattoo refers to a location called Angel Alley, one of Jack the Ripper's favored hit spots.~

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Church pulled the pillow over his head with a groan as the door opened behind him. Not now. Not again. Not after yesterday. And not with a goddamn hangover. He didn't know why he didn't just ditch her. All she ever really did was take his shit and drink his booze. Good for nothing whore... He groaned again as his blanket was pulled off his bed and grunted as he was slapped upside the head.

"Get up, lazy ass," came a cross command.

"Can it wait? I just got off a 14-hour shift," he mumbled.

"You really suck at lying, Lenny. I saw you at Rudy's three hours ago and figured if you got a bitch here, this is plenty of time to get her out."

"I was at Rudy's because I just got off a 14-hour goddamn shift. And it's obviously not enough time, because you're still here. Mind closing the door?"

"You should know better than to talk to me that way, sweetie." The second slap was harder, causing his head to ring and throb through the hangover, which in turn caused him to whimper. "That's more like it. Now turn over."

"Allie, please..."

"I said turn over."

Church rolled over slowly and pushed the pillow to the head of his bed with a sigh. "Allie, I swear to god, I'm gonna pull the gun on you if you don't leave right fucking now. This shit was over yesterday and it's still over now."

"Leo-"

"Get out of my house."

"Christ. Fine. See if you fucking get laid again."

She stomped out and slammed his bedroom door behind her, knocking a beer bottle off its precarious perch. Church winced as it crashed to the floor, his head throbbing from each tinkle that resounded through his ears. Another fucking mess to clean up. He'd do it later... and an hour later, he woke up, unable to turn over. He blinked and squirmed before something hard connected with his head, sending his vision off beyond the sky, as well as his consciousness.

~

Who knew how long he'd been out. He blinked groggily and stirred, still unable to move. This time, though, he was on his side, arms and legs stuck fast behind him, and even with his eyes open, there was nothing... except for the cloth tied around his face as a blindfold. "The fuck..." he mumbled, still not completely coherent.

"Uh-huh. And that was all I really wanted, Lenny. You should have just behaved," came a low and unexpected reply.

"Wha...? All...?"

"Oh, shove it." The voice was cross. "You don't fucking break up with me in a fingersnap, Leo. You don't talk to me like that. I thought the last five years taught you a little better than this, you know?"

Oh god. Not again... he let his head fall back with a groan.

"Shut up. You wanna break up? We'll do it on my terms. And I wanna make it excruciatingly clear to you, Leo, that when I'm done with you, you will never have me back. And I know the perfect way to do it, too." It was the most disgusting laugh he'd heard in his life. "But we can save that for later." A pair of hands ran up his back and through his hair. He tried to shake his head to throw them off, but every move made his temples pound, and the hands gripped fistfuls of his hair anyway to stop him. He growled.

"This isn't funny, Allie. You're asking for a goddamn pounding when this shit comes off."

"Actually, that's a little of what I plan on. And I don't really feel the need to ask."

"Untie me right the fuck now, Allison. I swear to God I'll-"

"You know, that's gonna get annoying. I don't think you understand the position you're in, honey." One of the hands released his hair and, seconds later, was forcing a wadded part of one of his work tanks into his mouth, the other hand pulling his head back so he couldn't properly close his teeth on her fingers. The other hand let go and quickly took hold of a corner of the remaining cloth, and she tied the shirt around to gag him. "There we go," she murmured with a pat on his head. "Now you'll be a good boy. Right?"

Church snarled through the cloth, and it wouldn't have been a pretty thing to hear if he could have said it freely.

"I just wanna let you know what you're givin' away, Lenny," she cooed, snaking her arm over his waist and gripping the beltloop at the front of his jeans. He heard the tinkling sound of broken glass being stirred around on the floor, and cursed to himself- he should have fucking cleaned that up before going back to sleep like a lazy fucktard. The tinkling stopped and he squeezed his eyes shut under the blindfold, waiting for it... and instead got a trailing string of soft kisses up his spine to the back of his neck. Her lips slid warmly over his jawline to his ear, and her voice became husky.

"I'm gonna miss it, you know. Nobody really fucks me like you do." She nibbled at the rim of his ear, and he battled between jerking his head away from her and turning to seek interaction. God, what he wouldn't have given for something healthy between them... but that never would have happened. He felt her face float away and the grip on his jeans tighten. He was jerked around onto his back, and his knees were forced apart. He noticed that his shoes were gone. Oddly enough, he couldn't remember if he'd taken them off when he got home from work or not. A sharp point lodged itself delicately at the edge of his throat, and the weight of her arm rested on his chest. "Your feet are in the way, Leo," she informed him. "If you so much as sneeze after I untie them, your throat's gonna be empty. Got it?"

He didn't respond. Her free hand deftly untied the knots holding not only his feet together, but his hands to his ankles. His hands were still behind his back, but his legs were now stretched out on the floor. While it still was unfavorable, it was preferable to what she'd had him in before. So much extra tying reinforcement. Bitch couldn't tie an efficient knot to save her life... he'd always had to show her. Didn't matter now, though. He felt the arm on his chest lift away, and she made short work of his fly, pulling his jeans roughly down to his ankles and leaving them there.

She snickered, running her thumbs along the edges of his briefs. "White today, Leo? Where are your boxers?" Church snorted derisively. She had all the pairs without holes. He couldn't stand briefs, but it was all he had until his next paycheck. He could probably take her down with his legs like this, but he'd get a good deep slash in the calf, at the least, for doing it. He couldn't afford to call in an injury to work, and the whole goddamn show wasn't worth another hospital bill. If she wanted to play queen, fine. But he wasn't going to let her get a rise out of him.

...His biggest problem had always been a temper he couldn't control. Especially with a hangover.

She used her toy to rip his underwear into useless flaps. He heaved a sigh and rolled his head to the side, not giving her the satisfaction of his apparent attention. She slipped herself up into his lap, sitting in the forced nest between his knees. "Wow. Grunt work really has filled you out, huh?" She giggled. "Let's pretty it up for ya."

In three seconds, Church howled through the gag, squirming under the fire of the gash she'd just opened up across his chest. The second gash crossed his nipple and started him bucking, trying to throw her off, but all he got out of it was a ringing slap in the face. He spat and cussed as well as he could with his impediment, feeling her pull a line with the object down from his collarbone to a pectoral, winding it around his other nipple and jerking it roughly down his stomach. It burned the whole way; half his torso was roasting. Line after winding line was drawn up and down skin, and she had his legs pinned and his head pushed to the floor. She was strong- she hadn't wasted her time sitting around in high school and after dropping out, either.

He tried to remember when she started her training routine to keep his mind off her current psychotics... had it been before they even met? She'd always been strong. The first time they met was the day she broke his nose shoving his face into his locker. He remembered how eventually, he got her attention by slashing her tires and getting in a fistfight with her in the school parking lot. They'd both been suspended for that and spent their "days off" drinking together. He'd never hit a girl before her, and he'd had to amend his code of honor: never hit a girl unless she liked it.

To last week, he'd STILL had issues playing it rough, and as a result, she usually played it rough on him instead. He hadn't minded until she started doing it stoned. She knew he couldn't stand drugs other than alcohol, and she tended to get surreal in bed when she was high. It had been one of the reasons for their constant breaking up and making up, but yesterday had been the last fucking straw... when she'd tried to put a noose around his neck. It was a pretty ugly fight. Church had meant for it to be the last one. He loved her, but the truth was, she scared the shit out of him sometimes. She ruined herself on shit he'd seen people die from, and he really couldn't leave a lasting mark on her no matter how much she bitched and begged- he'd tried, and could never bring himself to hit her hard enough, bite deep enough, cut fast enough. For all the badass attitude and habits he'd adopted to win her over, he could never quite wash off the chivalry routine, and that was part of what pissed her off the most.

When he finally felt the object taken off his body and Allison shifting to follow suit, he quieted down and caught his breath, sucking in as much air as he could from his nose. He groaned inwardly when what he thought was her getting up was just her moving downward to pin his feet by the jeans around them. He felt a light touch at the tip of his cock, and a kiss... and then heard more rummaging in the bottle glass. He yelled unintelligibly around the gag and banged his head on the floor, causing sparks to shoot back and forth across the black in front of his eyes. Allison snickered.

"Awww, you think I'm gonna chop it off, Leo? I wouldn't do that. You need a reason to come crawling back later, right?" She laughed at his answering snort, and he felt her hand come back to caress him as if she respected it. He felt another kiss, a lick, and exhaled deeply when she took it up in her mouth, his abdominal muscles twitching at the familiar sensations. For all her faults, she was good when she wanted to be. He pushed that thought away with an indignant grunt and concentrated on trying not to let himself react to the attention. It didn't work: the touching began to bring tingles, and his body started to relax. In his anger and concentration, he failed to notice the quiet clink of glass, or her hands pulling his knees upward as her body undulated to accommodate the changing position of his pants underneath her.

His grunts became unhappily aroused growls as he unsuccessfully tried to pull away from her. He whined angrily, feeling a hand rubbing affectionately over his leg and across his ass. She knew he hated having it touched, and she knew why. He snarled in protest when he felt her finger run between his cheeks, but whined and shut up when she bit down on his cock. He started humming to himself to keep his mind away from the activity below, his muffled tone accentuated by involuntary whimpers in response to her treatment. A deep breath between bars when he felt her mouth and hand leave his skin, an uneasy, suspicious shift when she seemed to be ignoring him...
And a white explosion behind his eyes as a searing lance of pain shot up his back, originating from his ass. He bucked and scrunched his body in a futile attempt to protect himself from the waves of pain riding through him, faintly hearing her laugh as she pushed whatever it was further inside.

"Don't worry, baby. I wouldn't cut that up either. How could you get laid if your chute closed up after healing?" She giggled, tracing her finger from the stretched skin around the toy she'd used to the base of his sack. The sting from the salt of her finger and the wet feeling following it told him she'd made him bleed, even if she didn't cut it up. Oh god he was gonna kill her, he was gonna wring her neck with his bare fucking hands when he had a clear shot at it-

And his mind went when she touched him again, licking delicately along the line she'd just traced with her finger. He felt the edge of one object- he figured she was using pieces from the bottle she'd knocked over earlier- trace back down his stomach, dangerously close to his groin... and he howled again when the edge slid up the shaft. He thrashed and roared through the gag, knocking her off balance and sending a flaming bolt through the nerves of his cock. She cursed and backhanded him across the face.

"Don't fucking DO that! I almost got one of your goddamn blood vessels, you fucking pussy!" His mouth was dry and it was hard to hear through the rage, so he fell to barking and trying to kick her, although he was still pinned by the legs. One of her hands closed around his throat and clenched until she probably could have ripped out his adam's apple, had she tried. "Stand down, cockbite," she hissed. "The more you throw yourself around like a goddamn baby, the worse it's gonna get." One more ringing slap left him limp and afraid for his life, cheek pressed to the floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the glass bite into the skin of his cock again, spiraling slowly and jerkily up from the base. She spent an inordinate amount of time whittling into the tip and licking it alternately. For all his fear and the excruciating pain, he couldn't help but feel the arousal from the licking as a separate entity. He screamed and bit into the cloth of the shirt when she started in on his sack with the glass, banging his head on the floor again. He couldn't stand it. It was like he didn't even have a crotch anymore- just a patch of fire and nerves stuck to his pelvis.

He paid no attention when she discarded her sharp-edge and started sucking him off again. It was just more of the same now- her tongue prodding at his cuts and gashes, forcing them open wider and sucking the blood out of them. His body twitched and whined quietly in dull response when she worked whatever she'd used earlier in and out of his rectum slowly, although the tip of whatever it was occasionally hit him in the prostate and caused his back to arch. Eventually, it all fell in together to pool under his eyes: the constant stinging bleeding licking sucking stroking pulling pushing jerking stabbing scratching biting everything was too much to pay attention to in individual instances. She had him crying and fucked and above all else, he just wished he could sleep.

After awhile, the movement stopped and some weight lifted. He hardly noticed as her hand stroked his cheek and moved behind his head to untie a knot. The gag remained tight, but the light in the room suddenly stabbed into his eyes and he whimpered, shutting them and turning his face further to the floor. She slapped lightly at his exposed cheek.

"Open up, crybaby," she murmured. "I'm not gonna take your eyes out."

With a despondent groan, Church cracked open one eye. Pretty as she ever was, on the outside at least, Tex leaned over him, nude. Her muddy red hair hung loose over her shoulders and almost brushed his face. Her figure was lean and tanned in all the legal places from her part-time job as a mechanic's apprentice, her small breasts jiggling pertly with every move she made. She took a handful of his hair again and pulled his head up. He caught a glance of a bloody mess down his front, random gouging all over, the words "Don't Mess With Texas" scrawled over his torso, and what looked like a heart carved into the head of his cock. One of his nipples looked like it was sawed into and split in half. His entire body was on fire. She let his head fall back again and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, her breath tattling of vodka, the sweat from his dick and the muddy, bitter scent of the H district mushroom powder she was fond of. It figured. Sober or even drunk, she'd just want a fight and a fuck, but she'd only come back for something worse on H. He turned his face away from her again, sick to his stomach. She sighed. "I guess you really don't want me back," she murmured. "I guess I should probably just take what I came for and go, right?" Church didn't respond. "Well, as long as I know where we stand."

She slipped over him, lithe and warm, and rested across his body. The sweat of her skin burned into every gash he bore, and he withered, defeated, under her. She rubbed into the fire, causing a new explosion of pain between his hips. He could feel the cuts rage and the skin stretch as his cock responded like a trained soldier, and the deep sting of juices mingling inside the gashes as she slipped herself onto it, holding his shoulders down the way she always used to. He didn't have the energy to respond anymore. Once again, he tried to take his mind somewhere else. She'd sounded like she was coming off her high- maybe when she burned out for the night, she'd bring him a first aid kit and give that shit up. Then maybe they could talk.

Right, and maybe he was a fag in disguise. He groaned to himself again, waiting for it to be over. His arms were aching and falling asleep, pinned under him, and the tendons in his legs were screaming. He wouldn't be able to walk the next day without some serious self-therapy. So much for paying rent on time this quarter. Again. If only he hadn't dicked around his senior year- he could have picked up a decent job. Most people didn't like hiring someone who had to take more years of high school than there were fingers on one hand. Not that construction was bad, but... his boss wasn't the best guy in the world.

His morbid reverie was broken by a stifled moan. His eyes darted back to her, and he was sucked back into their old beat- staring at the sweaty sheen of her skin, supporting the pressure of her hands on his shoulders. The pain all over his body was once again melted in with the pleasure of a good solid fuck, and before he realized it, his hips jerked up to bump back to her in mid-pump. His glazed eyes followed that familiar bounce in her breasts he used to love watching every time he did that, and the ringing in his ears bowed out to the hitched whimper he was accustomed to listening for.

His favorite part was now the worst part: every time he'd do that in the past, her tits would bounce, she'd whine a little, and she'd tighten up around his cock and twitch. It was a whole new feeling this time, like getting a handjob from a lubed-up cheese grater. But if it was gonna get it done faster, make her get out of his house, make his life be at least half the living hell it was right now, it was worth it. He bucked up to her again weakly, turning his head back to the side and closing his eyes against the burning it caused. Her moan was louder, and took longer to trail off this time. He could feel her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he gauged her about halfway there- hopped up on H, he could probably get her off with just a little more effort. He gathered strength for another thrust, but panicked when she turned around to reach behind her. She balanced herself on his chest with one hand...

And his ass exploded with pain again. He cried out into his gag, thrashing his head and begging unintelligibly for her to pull that thing out and leave him alone. Instead, she pumped it in the same rhythm she used to fuck him. And at the angle she was, every push from it hit home in a painful manner. Church sobbed, bucked and struggled under her, his movement causing her to pump him faster. She became sloppy with her movements, losing control to her apparent building pressure. Her navigation of the toy became erratic as well- it popped out at one point, and she had to find the entry and force it back in. This caused Church to scream and nearly throw her off, but she held on and planted herself with mumbled curses. The continuous battering of his prostate proved too much for him, and with a muffled yell, he came. His body shuddered under her, his yell diminished into a broken sob, and the new mix of fluid caused the pain in his genital wounds to flare anew. The energy spent caused him to pass out before he had a chance to get her off.

~

When he came around, he was back on his side, the gag was loosened, his hands and feet were tied back together, and Tex was sitting on the floor next to him in her scuffed old boots, a pair of tight black jeans and one of his light blue undershirts. She looked glum.

"I didn't think you'd be that much of a sissy, Leo. I had to finish myself off."

"You're a sick fuck," he rasped.

"I know. That's why I'm taking after Daddy." She smiled. "Being a mechanic is shit when I can get paid better to kill people without getting arrested for it. Too bad you're not smart enough to make a choice like that. We'd have made a great team."

"...no fucking way. I'd rather join the fucking army than be a hitman," he protested weakly.

"I wasn't asking you, you conceited cockbite. You don't want anything to do with me anymore, remember? What makes you think I want you hanging around me anyway?" She scowled. "That reminds me. If you don't want me around anymore, there's one thing we need to take care of."

She leaned over him, her expression softening. "Remember when we used to joke about Jack the Ripper being the world's first freelancer? And then you got that dumbass tattoo because you thought I liked the story," she murmured, running her fingers over his arm. "You thought I liked the nickname." Her hand pressed affectionately against the tattoo on Church's bicep: a seraph under an archway, with the words "Angel Allie" on a ribbon as a caption. The whole tattoo covered about four square inches of his skin. She was right; it had been a pretty stupid idea, but to his defense, he'd been drunk when he got it. "You know, we oughtta get that removed. Know anyone?"

Church narrowed his eyes and scowled. He didn't like where this was going.

"Yeah, me neither. I guess we just gotta do it ourselves." She grabbed his hair and crammed the shirt back into his mouth, tying it more tightly than before. "Should have asked for a drink while you had a chance," she intoned, grinning. She dropped his head again and sat on his waist. He grunted with the compression of his ribcage. Her hand came down on his head to hold it against the floor, and he barely flinched when he felt a sharp point sawing into the skin of his arm. At least it wasn't his dick this time. He growled as the edge of her instrument made its way around the area of the tattoo. He knew where it was without even looking at it. He'd spent so many nights looking at it, tracing it with his finger...

His arm jerked when the glass dug deeper into a cut as if attempting to pry up his flesh. He tried to lift his head, but it was slammed back onto the floor, his nose narrowly missing being crushed. The glass jerked and embedded itself sideways under his skin. Instead of pulling it out, Allie merely dragged it across to another section of the outer cut, separating skin from flesh. Church squeezed his eyes shut with a scream as the sawing continued. After a few minutes, her hand released his head and pulled his face upward by the chin. His shoulder was on fire. She pulled the gag out of his mouth and forced her fingers in to keep it open. Her other hand was covered in blood, and clenched something unidentifiable.

"Bon appetit," she snarled, shoving whatever it was into his mouth. He tasted blood and raw meat- tried to spit it out, push it out, but her hand was closed over his mouth while her other moved back to grip his hair and jerk his head up. "Now you've got nothing to do with me anymore," she hissed into his ear. "But you just fucking wait until I'm done with you." She shoved his head back down, slamming his cheek into the floor, again and again until he could vaguely hear her crying through the dizzy ringing in his ears. She stayed there, crying, for a good while after she stopped bashing his head to the floor. Eventually, she stood up, kicked him in the small of his back, and walked out, again slamming the door behind her.

~

Hours later, Church had his wits back, spitting out what was in his mouth. It was hard to see- his brow had busted open at some point, and blood was running into his eye- but it looked like a piece of chewed raw meat. He sat up gingerly, wincing when the movement opened congealing wounds in his body, and worked at the binds on his feet until the cloth finally loosened and he could kick it off. Ripped up sheet from his bed. Great... now he only had the mattress again.

He scrunched himself into a ball and forced his arms forward, stepping on his wrists and pushing until his hands were in front of him. His shoulders cracked and popped, and his tendons screamed at being wound the wrong way, but he finally had them in the right place again. He worked at the cloth around his wrists in a daze, eventually loosening and throwing down that strip as well. He picked up the flesh on the floor, his stomach churning at the sight of it, and straightened it out over his knee.

It was a flat, flayed piece of skin. One side was mangled red and white, and the other was his tattoo. The word "Angel" had been shredded until it was unrecognizable as a word, and "Tex" had been scrawled across the entire piece of flesh. Church would have chucked his guts right there, had he not seen worse injuries at work. He glanced to his shoulder and noticed the top part of what was probably going to be a 4- or 5-inch square mass of gore. He would call the cops, but they ignored "domestic disputes" nowadays... and it really wouldn't be a smart move on his part, considering the shit he wanted to keep quiet himself. He stood up shakily, muscles and wounds protesting, and staggered to the bathroom, throwing the lump in the toilet and vomiting anyway. Church laid down on the floor and curled up, crying to himself.

So much for reconciliation.