Inky ^beta

Perhaps he’d expected more violence in the mind of a madman like Brutal. Serenity was painfully eerie in such a place, though it was his own voice- or at least, the one that the freak was dreaming of- that broke up the silence. Peeking into their shack from the outside, Pure finally got a glimpse of what Brutal was really dreaming of.

“Ma brute,” his own falsified voice was a whine like nails on a chalkboard, dripping with unholy desire as his dream copy loomed over the freak with no mask in sight. “Dis moi encore.. Est-ce que tu me veux?”

“More than anythin’,” Brutal’s grip on the thighs of his dream copy nearly tore the seams of his pants, until he finally relented to pull the angel down by the back of his neck. The freak’s lips crashed into his own like a desperate, ravenous animal; yet the real Pure was trapped in his awe, horror, and everything in between as he watched from a distance.

Suddenly, the angel felt the burning gaze of someone’s stare; it couldn’t have been anything more than a trick, right? This was all in Brutal’s mind, he was nothing but a spectator.

Pure looked back through the cracks; he met his own eyes, piercingly bright and trained on himself with an arrogance he couldn’t even fake. Something had gone terribly wrong, he should’ve been the only one in Brutal’s dream. He shouldn’t have heard himself, he shouldn’t have witnessed himself breaking free from the confines of the freak’s imagination.

He didn’t have the chance to flee on his own; once that foreign, devilish look in his own eyes had winked at him, he was ripped from the dream by force. Into the nothing, at least he was alone again- or so he’d hoped.

”Jealous?”

The voice in the darkness echoed, ringing in his ears enough to give him a headache. “Who are you, demon?! I will not fall for your tricks.”

To that, his own echo simply laughed.

”Je t’ai déjà dit. You’re a fool to believe that faith is strength.. The freedom we could have, it’s so much more.”

“Tu n’es pas libre.. You are an agent of the devil.” Stubbornness was not the angel’s strong suit.

”And you are the slave of an egotistical maniac. One and the same, ne sommes pas? God..” The name rolled off his own tongue in vain bitterly. ”It would feel so much better to place that same faith in the man practically begging for you.”

Though Pure insisted he wouldn’t fall for any tricks, he struggled to deny any of it- let alone comprehend what the demon was after. “..What is this about? What do you want from me?”

”Everything you want, ange stupide. Now.. wake up.”

Pure gasped for air like his lungs had been emptied as soon as he returned to reality, shooting up from Brutal’s chest where he’d rolled around and settled in a silent, strangled panic. Once he’d assured he could breathe he pinned back the suddenly apparent stray strands of his hair, clearing his vision to admire the man beneath him and, eventually, settle back in to get some much needed sleep of his own.

If Brutal had the choice, he would’ve never woken up; unfortunately, the thin layer of their tent and the cliffside view made it hard to avoid the sun as it rose. In the end he was grateful, for the light that poured in made the angel’s hair glow; all the sunlight the freak would ever need. He’d reached for Pure’s hair on instinct, as gentle as a man so brutal could be with his fingers running through the messy golden strands.

The angel lifted himself from Brutal’s chest once more, though this time the onset panic was replaced by unshaken sleepiness. As he stretched his wingspan reached both sides of the tent; he didn’t notice it, or anything else around him as he only started to process.

“Mornin’,” with that, the angel’s eyes fluttered open to the freak admiring him once more; it was then that he realized where he’d been sleeping, and that he was still straddling the man under him as he stretched.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to..-” he was getting awfully tired of apologizing on his own principles when Brutal looked to be nothing but amused.

“It’s alright. I had a good dream..” When one of the brute’s hands drifted over his leg, Pure seemed to remember the very same dream- although the real Brutal was much more delicate with him, only silently asking him to stay. The angel wouldn’t dare to move.

“..I know,” he rubbed his eyes after a deliberate pause, shying away from questioning until those rough hands reached for his hair again.

“Can’t believe I get ‘ta see this..” Carefully, Brutal tucked what the angel had missed behind his ears. “Bloody beau’iful.”

The freak’s compliments only made it harder for Pure to ignore every dreadful, demonic urge growing within him. This time around it was his turn to blush, even as he attempted to change the subject. “I suppose you don’t have a brush?”

“Why? These curls ‘re a waste if ya slick it back.”

“It’s unsightly, a mess..” Trying to flatten his hair again, he recalled that he’d left his mask by the car. “We are told to style it in such a way to be covered easily, you see.”

Brutal immediately, mischievously undid his work by ruffling the angel’s hair. “Leave it, ‘s adorable.”

“Mon dieu, don’t make it worse! How do you suggest-” Pure paused, remembering that Brutal was the last person he’d ever ask for hygienic advice. “Nevermind.. Perhaps I could wash my suit and mask here.” He finally crawled away, then to his feet, to clean them sooner than later.

“..Can’t ya leave the mask off, love? ‘M fine.” The freak chimed in from the tent as he retreated. “I like seein’ ya..”

It was hard to argue with anything Brutal asked; still, fear and morals took precedent. “You must-” He gulped, willing himself to believe that his explanation was correct. “You must be a special case, it would be foolish and irresponsible of me to go out like this, where I could potentially harm others with my appearance.”

The brute didn’t respond for him to hear, only grumbling under his breath something about the lord’s audacity as Pure retreated towards the sound of a nearby creek.

The angel wanted, desperately, to protest the strangling feeling around his neck the farther he went with the fact that he didn’t exactly enjoy leaving Brutal’s side; then again, he despised the idea of giving his most devilish thoughts that power over him. Hoping to make the journey quick, he knelt by the water and scrubbed vigorously at the stains in his suit.

He froze abruptly, hands in the water, when the sound of leaves crunching cut through the quiet; it couldn’t have been Brutal, for the tether reminded him just how far apart they still were. He sensed the presence beside him approaching curiously, with characteristically inhumane silence. Curiosity got the best of him as he tipped his head to meet the blank stare of the deer beside him; he anticipated the worst, maybe the creature would turn into stone or the skies would smite him then and there- but nothing happened. He was trapped there, just as perplexed as the deer, until he heard the click of something else behind him.

“I think he’s waitin’ for a song, princess.”

Pure whipped back to glare at the freak, who lowered the camera from his face with a smug grin. “What are you doing with that?”

“I told ya, I like seein’ ya. I was thinkin’, I wished I could keep a photo ‘f ya in my memory. Then I remembered..” He waved his camera proudly, rarely so excited by anything. “I can!”

The angel was flattered, he had to admit, even if it was dangerous; when his inescapable smile turned into giggles, Brutal struck the opportunity to take another photo.

“Stop, stop it!” Even when Pure turned back to focus on his mask, he was laughing to himself. With no further delay, he ran the water over the mask until the traces of chocolate and marshmallow mostly disappeared. As soon as he was happy with his work and lifted the mask to slip it back on he hesitated, feeling the frigid, soaked fabric between his fingers. Despite his own reluctance, his resolve to keep the mask on took precedence.

“Merde..” He gasped; did he really say that out loud?

”You’re just filthy, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Pure hissed, folding the wet suit and carrying it back towards Brutal and the feeling of freedom from the suffocating tether.

“What was ‘at, love?” The brute hummed, leading the way back towards their camp.

“Ah- nothing, do not worry about it.”

The angel hadn’t noticed before the box that Brutal placed his photos in when they returned to the tent. The mysteriousness of it reeled him in with intrigue. He found the freak’s strange ways fascinating; he needed to know more about him one way or another. Of course, the fear that the man-eating beast took photos of nothing but gore before the angel’s arrival lingered in Pure’s mind, though even that wouldn’t deter him.

While Brutal was busy taking down the tent- upon his own insistence that the “prissy princess” shouldn’t get his sweater dirty- Pure slinked around the car to the trunk, where the freak had deliberately stuffed the old shoe box away. He stood there silently in contemplation for a moment, holding it delicately like an ancient relic. Knowing he’d most likely regret witnessing whatever he found he slid the cover off to take a peek. The two photos of himself were thrown to the top of the pile as expected, brand new and immaculate in comparison to the worn photo paper below it. The first image under his own was a strange one; surely, he must’ve been looking at Brutal. There was no denying the smug grin, and the devious glint in his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, though, he never would’ve guessed they were one and the same. His hair had once been a much lighter shade of brown than his newfound admiration for all things black and dead, and Pure could’ve sworn the uniform he was wearing was the RED opposite of the BLU team they had recently encountered.

The next photo was even more puzzling. Although Brutal himself was much easier to recognize this time around, the other man in the frame left the angel with more questions than answers. He could make out the red suit and the matching fedora in his lap; he could even tell the man was leaning his head on Brutal’s shoulder, despite the fact that his face was crossed out nearly a million times over. It didn’t end there; actually, most of the pile contained photos of the freak and the mystery man in red. Most of them were left untouched like memories long since abandoned, though the few that were nearly destroyed beyond recognition stuck out among the rest. One in particular was scratched so thin it was close to tearing; Pure could tell, with a squint, that Brutal and the mystery man were leaning together, he could only assume they were close enough to kiss. Faintly, he could see the letters on the other side of the paper thin as dust; he flipped it over, scrambling to find answers.

5 ans ensemble, je t’aimerai toujours.

That stung the angel a bit; still he backtracked, reading the other side of each photo he’d glossed over.

Ain’t he a beaut?

Zero days without getting blood on my suit…

I couldn’t imagine beating BLU bastards to death with anyone else.

The notes back and forth went on. It was clear, blatant even, that they were once fond of each other- lovers, the thought occurred to him. Pure couldn’t decide if that made him feel relieved, like he’d finally found the purpose of his assignment, or simply abysmal. Perhaps this was it, he was fated to reunite them; he couldn’t help but want to be in the mystery RED’s shoes instead.

”You can’t truly believe that.. Put those away, they’re not worth your time.” His disembodied copilot was more frustrated with him than usual. ”You can hardly handle Brutal as he is.”

Pure ignored him; perhaps it was stubbornness, or even pride, but he needed to know more. Perhaps he could even find some clues to the mystery man’s whereabouts.

”Fine, imbecile.. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Suddenly, he’d noticed the sound of footsteps stopping abruptly behind him; the shadow looming over caused his blood to run ice cold. The angel spun around so fast he made himself dizzy, fumbling to put the pictures away and nearly dropping a handful in the process.

“Stop..” The freak would’ve rather put them away himself, reaching for the box as Pure continued to make a feeble attempt at putting them all away. “Stop, damnit. Stop touching them.” He couldn’t take much more; gentle as he was with the angel, this particular invasion of his privacy had set him off.

“..I’m-” the breath was knocked out of him as Brutal made a last ditch effort to shove him backwards against the trunk and take away his box, though the brute’s face instantly contorted to sour realization and regret as he silently, meticulously placed each photo in the stack at the bottom.

More than any bitterness or contempt, Brutal looked hurt. No matter how much he hid behind a stone face, Pure couldn’t consider himself a good angel if he couldn’t see the pain and confliction in his eyes as they burned holes in the box.

“Fuckin’..” Brutal grumbled to himself; his wall of emotions was ancient, steadily crumbling. The angel needed to act fast.

“Ma brute.. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked, j’étais trop curieux.”

The freak remained silent as he replaced the most recent photos on the top of the pile; the despondence only made Pure feel more guilty. The moments Brutal spent grazing his hand fondly, regretfully over each image felt neverending, until he finally relented to close the box.

“At least ya couldn’t leave me if ya wanted to.”

Even that was enough for relief to wash over the angel. “..would you like to talk-”

“No.” Brutal gripped the box tighter, defensively.

Despite his intrusion, Pure couldn’t get past its contents. “..You truly loved each other, didn’t you?” At that, the freak only looked up to glare. “I apologize, you are right. I should not pry.”

Though the glare subsided, the sadness behind it did not; unintentionally, the angel had dug up memories long since abandoned like a poorly stitched wound. It was his fault, and as Brutal’s guardian, his job to cheer the freak up.

“Do you enjoy photography as well?” Brutal only barely shrugged, turning away coldly though the angel persisted. “Well, I am happy to be your subject.. Your art is just lovely.” Floating closer, Pure slid both delicate arms down the freak’s neck and held him close to his own chest; he noticed, the action caused Brutal’s heart to leap out of his chest.

“‘S just hobbies.. The pictures ‘re more for- well,” he hesitated to acknowledge the sentimental value. “..Y’know.”

“Mm, memories,” Pure agreed with the unspoken, reaching over Brutal’s shoulder for the camera that was rather hesitantly placed on top of the box. “Shall we make more?”

“Only if ya keep yer pre’y little hands off my box.”

“But of course.”