Red

There was a loud stomping, a harsh creaking, a muffled scream. Kal lowered his book from his face slowly and stared wide-eyed at the bedroom door, back propped against the headboard. Vix was home early from work. Normally, Kal had time to snuggle down and drift off to sleep before Vix slipped in beside him.

“Vix? Baby, I’m up here!” Kal called out, slipping out of the bed and padding his way to the door. He opened it and flinched at the crashing and sounds of shattering glass downstairs. “Vix?” he questioned quietly, inching his way down the stairs and trying to locate his partner. The chaos stopped, followed by a subdued sobbing and Kal lost his inhibitions and quickly went to the kitchen where the remains of the ceramic plates could be seen scattered by the doorway. “Victor? Are you alright?”

“Don’t come into the kitchen, Kal. Just leave me be.”

With a pursed frown, the blonde haired man tiptoed around the broken shards and stood behind Vix’s chair, hands going gently onto his shoulders. And then stars and blackness, a pain in his back, his legs, his head. A pressure on his chest crushing him, making his nerves electric with agony. He could barely whisper out for help, “Vix help me.” He felt so disoriented. He could feel himself being jostled, moved… undressed. He tried to protest, but his words came out slurred and incoherent. At the back of his head, he felt something throbbing.

Help me Vix…

His vision was still so dark. Had he not opened his eyes? He was disconnected, unable to move his body. He felt his head lifted and his back pressed into something cold, something hard. A wall. The throbbing was everywhere now, a dull pain transcending the capacity of his nerves. The throbbing was slowly transforming into a loud buzzing. He felt a hand on his face, smooth skin running over his cheek, his nose, his mouth, and the feverish fingers prying it open.

Please Vix…

There was something on top of him, something hot. It was touching him, smashing against him on all parts of his body.

Make the blackness go away…

Something begged entrance and, despite himself, he opened his mouth wider to let it in. Immediately it slammed to the back of his throat and choked him, gagging him and burning him. He felt the tears squeeze through his eyes and drip down his cheeks.

For a moment, the warmth left and, shivering, Kal tried to break away, reaching out weakly to where he knew the door was. But he could barely move his fingers in preparation before he was yanked back and pushed into the wall again.

Vix… Please…

He felt something soft put over his face, then tightened to the point where it squeezed mercilessly against his cheeks and knotted. He tried to call out again but his tongue felt swollen and the pain in his head clouded over any thoughts he might have developed. Down his neck, something warm dripped and his back slid against the wall on a slime that hadn’t been there before and a thick pool was forming around his legs.

Vix…

The heat was back in his mouth, choking him, retreating and then plunging forward. He wanted it out.

Get it out.

It seemed to go on forever, the pain building upwards until Kal thought he might die, thought the darkness would stay and consume him. When the heat was pulled out, the sensation still remained, the repetitive in-out that cut off his air and his throat continued to tighten and relax, like it was still there. And then slowly the cloth around his eyes was pulled down to his neck.

His vision was returning enough where he could see light, his senses coming back enough where he could feel the sharp pieces of broken china give way against his body as he was dragged through them. Above him, his arm was angled to meet the hand of his attacker, his shoulder popping out of its socket.

The shag rug in the living room was fire against his skin, tearing away at his body. Through the haze, he could see part of a black, sinuous trail following him from the kitchen. He could see his long legs pale against the contrasting rug and, above him, the built physique of his attacker. He stared.

No Vix…

The black mop top.

Please…

The smooth face and thick neck.

Why?

The rolling arms and the promise ring on his finger.

No Vix…

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that fell out was a sob and a bit of red drool. He was draped over the back of the couch like a throw rug, his legs pushed apart.

I’m not ready!

But the blunt end of Vix’s cock was pushed far past the soft barrier, ripping it down, tearing it apart. Relentlessly it was shoved back in over and over, creating new tears until the blood flowed enough to lubricate the passage. In the cushion on the couch, Kal screamed, one long and drawn out shriek that died away into a strangled sob and then into silence as the air left his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though he’d gotten the air knocked out of him, mouth open wide, breath hitched in his throat.

Vix… help…

Air imploded on his chest, a wailing cry as oxygen flooded into his body. From behind, he could hear Vix grunting, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he thrust into Kal with an infuriated passion. Through the fear, Kal felt the low tremor of pleasure create a wave through his body, mitigating the conflagration in his system. The peak of the couch cut his stomach with every crushing blow, every penetration, it ripped into his hips.

It hurts…

Vix cried out and Kal felt himself being filled with warmth, spilling out from his anus and crawling down his legs towards his knees. There was a tug on his hips and Vix pulled out so he caught on the wounds, eliciting another bolt of white through Kal. Then he was on the ground, face down, staring into the depths of a green shag carpet. Vix kicked him over and Kal blinked against the lights, paralyzed.

The man above him peered down, shadows flickering in his brown eyes.

“Vix…”

“I told you to leave me alone,” he muttered. Kal felt the tears at his eyes again, following Vix for as long as he could manage. He heard something slide and break, but it cracked, not shattered, and Vix was back, head cocked as he looked at the helpless Aryan in front of him. In his hand he held a makeshift club created from the leg of a chair. A soft whimper drifted up to him.

“Bitch,” Vix growled. And then he brought the club down.

He brought the club down again and again and again.

Author's Note: For red I decided I'd go with someone a little more gory based on the color psychology. Red tends to mean danger or passion, anger, so I went with those. I think it came out pretty good. I think it followed the color connotationwell enough. Heh heh. Don't worry, not all colors are going to come out grisly and gruesome. Orange is actually pretty lighthearted. Heh heh.