
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6796255.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DRAMAtical_Murder_(Visual_Novel), DRAMAtical_Murder_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Trip/Virus_(DRAMAtical_Murder)
  Character:
      Virus_(DRAMAtical_Murder), Trip_(DRAMAtical_Murder)
  Additional Tags:
      drug_references, Asphyxiation, First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-09 Words: 3465
****** what rough beast, its hour come round at last ******
by PikaCheeka
Summary
     The pain he'd feared Trip would inflict on him when they'd first met
     all those years ago has finally come to pass.
     --
     Trip with his brutal hands and wide shoulders and bulky jaw all yet
     to be grown into, his sullen, sunken eyes that might be stupid were
     it not for the primal gleam of ruthless knowing that only Virus could
     see. He remembers fragments of a poem he’d read years ago, one he had
     shown to Trip, who it seemed the poem had been written for, who
     listened attentively and mulled over it for several minutes before
     shrugging and asking when they could eat again. What fell beast, what
     ponderous beast…he sighs. Ironic how he can remember the image, the
     reaction, but not the words. The center cannot hold. The poet had an
     inability to recognize the perfection in chaos, slouching towards the
     end of time. Trip would remember. ...He can feel those hands on him
     again and arches his back an inch or two off the mattress. Sheets
     sticking to the dried blood on his backside, he can feel those eyes
     on him again.
Notes
     This fic has explicit depictions and references to rape, underage sex
     (Trip's the perpetrator here but he is only fourteen), past child
     abuse, drugs, asphyxiation, vomiting, etc... Because this is in the
     perspective of Virus, most of these things are not portrayed in a way
     that a healthy, decent person should see them. Just be aware of that
     when reading!
 The first thing he does when he blinks the sleep from his eyes only to find
the sun in his face is reach for a cigarette, shaking fingers clawing at the
nightstand as he searches for a lighter. He knows he isn’t ready to think and
doesn’t remember why, but the dread is a raw taste in his mouth as he lights up
and draws his first trembling breath. It’s an unfiltered day.
He can see the bruises on his wrist, feel the strained muscles of his neck
protest when he deeply inhales, run his tongue over the cuts on his lips. He
needs to sit up, stand, piss and clean up, but as he takes a second drag he can
feel the dull ache in his backside, a throbbing pain growing with startling
crescendo as he becomes fully awake.
Trip.
He’d always known this day would come eventually, when he’d awaken and the
world would have irrevocably shifted, settled one tick closer to the end, to
the way things were always meant to be. And he supposes he’d always known it
might happen the way it did, but that doesn’t make him more prepared to think
about it.
He lays still for several minutes, chaining another cigarette, and then a
third, inhaling in what must seem like a mad rush towards death. He finds
himself smirking. One tick closer to the end of the world.
Because last night, Trip fucked him.
He knows there is a word for what happened, knows anyone else in his position
would use it, but no one else is him and no one else knows Trip as he does. He
isn’t interested in using that word, even if last night there was no consent.
He sighs, rolls the fourth cigarette between his fingers, and wonders if there
is still skin and blood beneath his fingernails. He feels filthy, and the pain
in his backside has grown unbearable.
Virus’ eyes close then, slowly, deliberately, as he remembers, savors the
visceral horror that unveils itself as he peels the sides of his skull open and
scrapes the surface of the memory. He ignores the heat in his belly and takes
another drag. Trip finally fucked him, finally threw him down and pulled his
thighs apart and forced himself on him, in him, ignored his screams and
protests and rutted in him until they both climaxed. He’d been brutal,
relentless, forcing him by any means his virgin fourteen-year-old mind could
think of to come, not once or twice but three times before Virus had finally
blacked out.
Virus snorts then, coughing instead of laughing as he inhales wrong. Trip. He’d
just been dominated by a kid, one who merely happens to be larger than him. But
he knows better, because despite the gulf in age between them, he’d given his
life up to the violence in those once-green eyes seven long years ago. Trip had
always been this, a dull, vicious, brooding savagery looking over him, making
him feel safe while simultaneously threatening the very core of his being.
Because he knew he was not Virus without Trip, and he knew this was inevitable.
One tick closer to the end of the world.
Trip with his brutal hands and wide shoulders and bulky jaw all yet to be grown
into, his sullen, sunken eyes that might be stupid were it not for the primal
gleam of ruthless knowing that only Virus could see. He remembers fragments of
a poem he’d read years ago, one he had shown to Trip, who it seemed the poem
had been written for, who listened attentively and mulled over it for several
minutes before shrugging and asking when they could eat again. What fell beast,
what ponderous beast…he sighs. Ironic how he can remember the image, the
reaction, but not the words. The center cannot hold. The poet had an inability
to recognize the perfection in chaos, slouching towards the end of time. Trip
would remember.
Trip. He can feel those hands on him again and arches his back an inch or two
off the mattress. Sheets sticking to the dried blood on his backside, he can
feel those eyes on him again.
It had started with a kiss. Virus sitting on his bed reading while Trip lounged
beside him, lazily swiping through his emails. It wasn’t unusual for him to
spend evenings in Virus’ room, and the older man had thought nothing of it. Not
even when Trip had suddenly turned his Coil off and thrown it to the floor,
leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It had startled him a moment, but he’d
ignored it and continued reading. The Master & Margarita, an infuriating read
that made little sense with such constant interruptions. No, not unusual,
merely unexpected, well over a week since they’d last done any such thing. But
Trip had only stared at him over the top of the page, eyes unreadable and
ponderous as he studied Virus before he suddenly knocked the book from his
hands and kissed him on the mouth this time. Virus has sighed, caught his
forearms and held him still. Even then though, feeling the muscles quivering
under his fingers, he hadn’t thought anything was different. Not quite even
when Trip had pushed him bodily back onto the bed and kissed him a third time,
shoving his tongue into him and licking the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t good
at it, sloppy and eager, but there was something unnervingly deliberate about
him that night, as it slowly dawned on Virus. Lips running down his jaw and
neck as Trip nuzzled and nipped at his throat. Virus had moaned then,
forgetting himself a moment as he felt the heat and the weight of Trip on him,
warm and solid, a force bearing down. And then he’d pushed him back, arranged
his glasses, sighed a not-now-Trip as he’d done so often before. But unlike so
often before, he was met with a silence so powerful he could feel it enclosing
him, and that was when he fully understood.
Virus remembers Trip’s eyes in that moment of dawning realization and smiles
faintly. What rough beast, its hour come round at last.That was it. The
slouching lion, moving the world one tick closer.
Because when he had met Trip’s eyes last night in that moment, he’d known that
something had irrevocably shifted between them. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the
world. He would not be deterred, would not be refused. He’d grabbed Virus’
wrists in a single hand and pinned him down as he kissed him long and slow,
rubbed his clothed erection over him. Virus had kicked at him, snarled and bit
and struggled to free his arms, but Trip was horrifically strong and large for
his age, and had been immoveable.
Virus shudders and chains yet another cigarette without finishing one, runs his
hand slowly over his belly and brings it to rest just at the top of his pubic
hair. His skin is sticky, itchy, but he makes no move to scratch. The center
cannot hold. Trip fucked him last night and the world is tilting closer to
madness and the thought brings heat to his groin. He rolls the memory of that
dawning horror that he’d felt last night in his mind, savoring every corner. He
is ready to think about it now, he supposes.
It.
Not the sex itself, but that feeling he’d had during it. He’d never been that
aroused in his life, knowing no matter how hard he fought and how much he
begged, Trip wouldn’t back down, and his vicious ruthlessness, the way he
touched him that bordered on a violent reverence, the heat and strength and
smell of him, had all been too much for Virus. He’d realized then, as Trip tore
his pants down and began to fondle him, that he wanted to be consumed by him,
and it at once terrified and aroused him.
He hadn’t been in the mood. He’d been afraid of the pain he was sure would
follow, an uncomfortable reminder of when they’d first met and he’d been
uncertain if Trip would hit him. He hadn’t back then though, hadn’t hit him the
next seven years. But last night, things had shifted. Last night, he had. Not
only hit him, but choked him and bit him and fucked him again and again, had
shoved his way into him with no lube and no more preparation than the mere
knowledge that it was about to happen. The pain had been searing, exquisite, as
if it had festered in the air between them all those years before finally
coming to fruition, and was now making up for lost time with a vengeance. It
might have been unbearable, but it had come from Trip. He shudders at the
memory, arches his back and creeps his fingers still lower. For so much of his
life, that momentary fear of Trip harming him had lingered. Now it had come,
had passed, and Virus found himself hopelessly excited by it.
There’d been people before him, but none of them had made him feel this way.
They’d simply been irritating, tedious events he tolerated and shed like a
second skin in the shower afterwards. The Yakuza who had lured him with cash
and refused to even pay him afterwards. The Rhymer who got him drunk the first
week he was free. A group of kids at the institute who found out that Virus
would do what he had to in order to survive. And finally, two doctors there,
one of whom had threatened to do things to Trip if Virus didn’t obey him. And
he’d obeyed, done everything that was asked of him and more, and had watched
Trip sleep that night and told himself that he hadn’t done it to protect him,
that he’d only done it because Trip was hisand he’d be the one to first do
those things to him. Ironic how things ended up. He’d been right, but he’d
still been the one to be fucked against his will.
Virus is no stranger to this kind of violation, but when it came to Trip, he
could tolerate it, even embrace it. He’d never been so aroused before.
Everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned. He wonders absently if this
should bother him, if it’s a sign that something is wrong, but the feeling is
so fleeting he forgets it within seconds. Nobody knows Trip as he does, after
all.
Nobody deserves Trip as he does.
He remembers the look Trip had given him in the moment when he had first shoved
into him, fingers digging into his thighs as he bent him nearly double and
leaned over, forehead to forehead, and simply stared, a gaze blank and pitiless
as the sun. He remembers hearing his own voice screaming in pain, hoarse and
broken and detached from himself, as those vibrant blue eyes bore into him. He
remembers the way Trip had then run a hand down his ass and pulled it away, red
and wet with blood, and absently licked it, never breaking his gaze, never even
blinking. And he remembers when Trip first began his assault. Slow thighs
moving as he slid out nearly all the way, the pace torturous in its unseemly
delicacy as Trip adjusted to the tightness. It hadn’t taken him long.
He’d been relieved when he’d finally come, believing for the barest of moments
that it was over, that Trip would lose interest. But Trip hadn’t. He’d only
laughed, wiped the come from his belly and smeared it over Virus’ face as he
lay gasping for air, and said he wasn’t finished yet. It dawned on him then
that Trip had taken something to prepare for this, that it had all been
carefully planned and only masked as a spontaneous act. Because even though
Trip had come only moments before, he left his body still hard and threw Virus
onto his stomach and thrust into him all over again, the sound of skin on
blood-slicked skin ringing in the older man’s ears. The second time had been
even worse, somehow, the possibility of Trip being drugged and ready to go all
night amplifying the fear to something unprecedented.
He’d begged Trip by the end, something he’d never imagined he’d do, something
he’d never done before in all the times he’d been assaulted, but Trip brought
that out in him, had dragged that terrifying vulnerability out from the deep
recesses of his being. It was a side he could only ever show to him, a side
that only existed for him. He touches his partially-erect cock finally, running
a finger slowly up the underside. He wonders if Trip knows this, knows how he
now carries a part of Virus in himself that is his alone and will forever be
so.
Virus had finally passed out after he’d come for the third time, when Trip has
resorted to choking him to make him orgasm, the pain and exertion and fear too
much for him to bear any longer. Trip had still been thrusting into him, a
mindlessly brutal force that made its way into him even as he slipped into
unconsciousness. At this memory, he drops the cigarette into the ash tray on
the nightstand without lighting another to better focus on his body. Run
fingers over his bruised throat – he’d felt Trip’s fingers shaking as he’d
choked him. His nipples, one scabbed over where Trip had bitten him. And his
stomach, filthy with dried fluids. He hisses in pain, his skin still
uncomfortably hot and sensitive as he wraps his left hand tightly around
himself.
Yes, he is finally ready to embrace it.
At that moment, there is a jarring crash, and Trip stands in the doorway with a
box from the pastry shop down the street and an idiot grin on his face. Virus
is too stunned to even swear.
“Good morning, lazy.” He doesn’t finish whatever insult he had in mind though,
and Virus takes the pause to hastily let go of himself and pull his arms out
from beneath the covers. It’s just in time, because Trip immediately throws
himself on the bed, missing Virus by mere centimeters, landing his ass on the
pillows before rearranging himself, shoving his legs under the covers and
leaning against the headboard with a sigh as he studies the pastry box in his
hand.
Virus sits up quickly, flinching at the pain in his backside but otherwise
ignoring it as he carefully slides backwards until his hip touches Trip’s. He
pulls the sheets with him though, unwilling to look at the streaks of blood and
come covering his stomach and thighs just yet. He’s also still aroused, and
doesn’t want to give Trip any ideas while he’s holding food.
The first thing Virus notices is that Trip himself is clean. He’d showered at
some point after what happened last night, even managed to brush his hair into
some semblance of order and put on clean pants, though the sweatshirt is the
same as the one he’d ripped off halfway through their first fuck last night
before it had gotten too dirty. It isn’t a big deal, but it’s different, a sign
of maturity and responsibility that until now he’d scarcely showed any hints
of, as if Trip had grown up overnight. Surely some revelation is at
hand.Perhaps he has.
Trip’s next word is unexpected. “Sorry.”
Virus’ stomach lurches. This is not what he wants of Trip. This is not how he
was supposed to behave after doing what he had done last night, after he had
just moved the world closer to the way it was meant to be, as bloody and
horrific as it had been. He doesn’t sound particularly genuine, but the fact
that he’s even saying it nauseates him. “What for?” He sounds small to himself,
as if the mere prospect of Trip actually feeling regret somehow diminishes who
Virus is.
“I already bit all six doughnuts,” he tilts the box forward as he speaks,
showing Virus. It’s true.
The fear evaporates as if it had never been there. So that’s all it was. He
should have known, should never have doubted him. His voice returns to one he
can recognize as he replies, “I don’t want one anyway.”
He shrugs, leaning his head back and dropping the remainder of a doughnut in
his mouth. Chewing with his mouth open, he asks, “Were you jerking off?”
There’s no point in lying. “Yea.”
“You can finish,” he smiles amicably, managing to bare all of his teeth before
shoving another doughnut in his mouth. “I’d go with you but I’m a little
uncomfortable there.”
So the blood on the sheets isn’t his all own. That’s satisfying, Virus
supposes, but he doesn’t want to ask about it. He’ll find out what he means
eventually. “It’s okay.”
Trip shrugs again, rearranges himself so that he’s right up against the older
man, and keeps eating. He wrinkles his nose a few times, as if only now
noticing that the room smells of smoke, but says nothing about it. Virus
realizes he’s wearing not only his outdoor clothes, but his shoes under the
covers, which is vulgar and typical of him, but these sheets will have to be
washed anyway. He says nothing, leans his head on Trip’s shoulder after a
tentative moment and breathes deeply. Even after a shower, he still smells like
raw sex and violence, fear and power. It sends a thrill down Virus’ spine and
he wonders absently if he can finish jerking off without Trip noticing.
They remain this way for nearly ten minutes before he finally breaks the
silence. “Do you remember a poem…I showed it to you a couple of years ago.
About the end of the world. There was a sphinx in it.”
“The Second Coming. Yeats.” Trip replies immediately. “The best lack all
conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.”
He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up. It’s an odd line coming from
him, as he suspects Trip remembers the entire thing and had chosen it for
reasons known only to himself. His memory for useless information has always
been extraordinary despite the fact that he regularly leaves stores without
paying because he simply forgets you are supposed to do that. He’d always liked
poetry, readily absorbing whatever nonsense Virus read to him back at the
institute. “I knew you’d remember.”
“Ya….” His voice lilts. “Why?”
“No reason,” Virus answers just as quickly.
“Okay.” Trip accepts everything he says so easily that it sometimes unnerves
him.
“What time is it?”
He licks frosting from his fingers carefully and drops the now-empty box on the
floor before speaking, answering the unspoken question while ignoring the one
asked. “I called Toue and said we aren’t working today.”
For the second time that morning, Virus is mildly impressed that Trip is taking
initiative, being responsible, even if it’s only to call out of work. Trip’s
hour come round at last. He wonders absently how much of this is because of
himself, but pushes the thought from his mind just as quickly. “What’d you tell
him?”
“Said you hurt your back.”
“That’s not suspicious at all.” Maybe not so impressed.He sighs, “And he
accepted that reason for both of us?”
“I’m sick. Just ate six doughnuts. I’ll hafta throw up soon.”
“You know you could have just told him you were sick without making yourself
sick.”
Trip grins, “Not why I ate ‘em.”
With anyone else, Virus might have assumed they wanted him to ask why, but he
knows Trip will offer exactly as much information as he wants to give, whether
that information is desired or not, so he says nothing and merely sinks further
under the covers. He hopes Trip doesn’t actually get sick, or at least if he
does, he’ll be quiet about it. He glances up at him warily, and realizes that
Trip looks as if he is thinking deeply about something, jutting his lower jaw
forward in what could almost be a pout. He hasn’t grown fully into his face
yet. Better not be thinking about getting sick. He decides he should give him
something else to think about.
And so he speaks without considering his words, though the moment they spill
from his mouth, he knows he is genuine. “You can sleep in my bed again
tonight.” One tick closer to the end of the world, settling around him.
Trip looks mildly surprised at this. “Really? You—“
Virus pulls him down over him and silences his mouth with his own. Their hour
has come at last.
 
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