Civilized Monster

A/N: Written in response to Guinny_Hamilton's 'rape' prompt, she was curious to see how I'd manage it and so was I. This is what came from it...if you've read my other material, you know I don't like to make with the Non-Con so keep that in mind. This is purely a writing exercise to see if I could do it.

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The young woman is running for her life, each labored breath like a knife stabbing her lungs as she tries desperately to keep going – she glances over her shoulder and doesn’t see her pursuer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there. Her ankles hurt from where she has stumbled in the ridiculously high heels she had picked out earlier that night, back when the only thing on her mind was wondering if her dress made her look fat. The evening started out like a million others; she’d gone out with her friends to the latest club opening in Los Angeles and they’d danced to the standard fare of pulsing techno and re-mixed 80s beats. One trip to the bar was enough and more to seal her fate, because that was where she saw him. Tall, dark and definitely handsome, the man who named himself Marcus drew her eyes immediately – she wishes she’d listened to the nagging voice in the back of her mind that had told her not to leave the apartment as well as her mother’s advice about strange men. She darts into the dark mouth of a nearby alley, limping along as quietly as she can manage. Tears course down her face as she holds her aching sides and she wipes her eyes quickly – she needs to see where she is going but above all, she needs to look out for him.


There are times when he feels like being polite, considerate…human.

This isn’t one of those times.

There is so only so much that a man (or in his case, a demon) can stand of being civilized; it is amusing for him to play ‘Dress Up’ and confound the people he has been sent to monitor with his unfailingly polite manner but for now he feels a nearly overpowering urge to discard the mask. Tonight, Marcus Hamilton feels like causing pain.

After entering the club and scanning for potential playmates, he has selected her after several minutes of searching. She is tiny with long blonde hair she has meticulously curled and just enough makeup to excite him when he thinks of how it will look when it is smeared across her face and she is begging for him to stop hurting her. After a few drinks, she is more than ready to leave with him and he smiles when he sees how easy it will be – her eyes are wide and trusting as she looks up at him. She is so, so very young and stupid. She should have listened to her mother.

It doesn’t take much to extract her from the circle of her friends; he gallantly offers to call her a cab and wait outside with her to make sure she’s safely away. Her friends simper and wish that they had found a man so gentle and caring. Once outside, he guides her away from any others who might help a damsel in distress and as she smiles trustingly up at him he wipes the disgusting expression from her face with a casual blow of his hand. She staggers back into the mouth of the alley he has steered her toward, eyes wide with shock and, finally, fear. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” he asks congenially, as if he is discussing the latest weather forecast. She shakes her bleached-blonde head ‘no’ and he tells her in graphic detail. The shivers that shake her small frame delight him to no end but he wants her to be completely broken and sobbing hysterically before he finishes with her. Marcus leans in towards her slowly and puts every ounce of menace he can command into the utterance of one word. “Run.”

Oh, how he loves it when they run.

The girl takes off and he leans back against the wall to give her a head start before he pushes off the bricks and follows at a leisurely pace. She actually thinks she will get away as she pauses in her headlong flight and looks behind to see him sauntering along the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. His supernatural eyesight picks her out of the darkness easily minutes later – she is ten blocks ahead and has stopped a police officer for help; Marcus walks across the street where she will not expect him to be and begins to stride faster. By the time he reaches the two of them, she has relaxed in the mistaken assumption that she is safe and doesn’t even so much as glance over as he crosses the street. As his fist goes through the policeman’s midsection like a hot knife slicing butter and she is splattered with gore, the look of blind terror descends upon her features once more and he makes a playful grab at her with his blood-stained hands as she twists an ankle trying to escape. “Make it more interesting next time,” he calls after her cheerfully, wiping his hands off onto the dead officer’s coat. “Law and Order can be so messy at times,” he informs the corpse as he drops it on the sidewalk.

Up ahead the girl twists her other ankle and he smiles. He could have told her that imitation Manolos are never a good choice in which to run from a killer.

She is uncomfortably aware of the sounds she is making, the clack-clack of her heels on the pavement seems far too loud as she struggles to put the pain in her feet from her mind and keep going. By now she doesn’t even have a clue as to where she is – she doesn’t dare stop to look for signs and the few times she has called out for a passerby’s help, they have simply looked at her before lowering their eyes and walking on. She scrubs the tears from her eyes once more and looks around for something, anything that will help her… and there it is, an opportunity at survival. Someone ahead has stopped their car, gotten out, and is opening the trunk to get at something…the car is still running. From somewhere within her, she finds the strength to run faster and fumbling at the door handle, she is inside the car and pressing on the accelerator while the erstwhile owner screams abuse and tries to stop her. The tires squeal as she turns the car sharply, and relief floods her as she navigates into traffic and as far away from her pursuer as she can possibly get…well, she tries to get away. After a second rush of relief courses through her system, it dissipates just as swiftly with nothing more than the sound of squealing tires. Up ahead, cars swerve to avoid striking the tall figure that is walking calmly up the middle of the street with no regard for the oncoming traffic.


Marcus smiles again when, after he has followed her stumbling form several more blocks through alleyways and past drug addicts as well as other criminals who would gladly harm his quarry, she steals a car. It doesn’t take long to maneuver in front of her, and he steps directly onto the line bisecting the one-way street while cars honk their horns and veer to either side. He can see her eyes, full of panic, staring out of the darkened windshield at him…the fear that rises from her fills him with a powerful lust, and he decides that he has played enough games for tonight. Keeping his eyes on hers and making sure she knows that he can see her, Marcus steps directly into the path of the car in front of her. He brings his fist down on the hood with a force that buckles the metal and causes the sedan to flip end over end – the girl throws her car into reverse and tries once more to escape. “No more,” he chastises her through the glass before reaching out a hand to punch his fingers through the grill. The tires spin uselessly as he holds the car in place and, as he had known she would, the girl throws the door open and hurls herself from the car to run.


Whatever chance she thought she had, it is long gone now. She knows her time is up when she sees the look in his eyes as he allows her out of the car to run – she’s not even quite sure why she even bothers running anymore. He reaches her with only three strides and his fingers close on the back of her barely-there dress, ripping it as he is hauling her backwards; he lifts her under one arm easily, walking for what seems like hours before they arrive…someplace, she does not recognize exactly where it is that he has taken her except for the fact that it seems to be some sort of warehouse. A frisson of fresh terror works its way down her spine when he reaches inside his suit jacket to pull out a knife. The blade flicks out from the handle with a muted click, and then she is whimpering as he slices through the tatters of her party dress. Her hands are secured over her head to some sort of hook. “You don’t have to do this,” she begs.

He regards her seriously. “No, I don’t. But I want to.”

The cutting begins.


He draws the razor-sharp blade over the curve of a breast almost gently, eyes fixed to the bright red of her blood as it wells from the wound. The girl’s wails of pain and fear intoxicate him, driving him to make no less than five more shallow cuts before he leans close to swipe his tongue over the first thin rivulet of blood. Marcus makes a sound of appreciation low in his throat and closes his mouth over a nipple, erect due to the cool air of the warehouse, and suckles in a manner that is far more suited to an act of love. He repeats the act at her other breast, then draws away to lift the blade once more. This time the cuts are deeper, and the cries of pain are louder… music to his ears.

When she appears close to passing out, he lifts her from the hook and drops her to the floor; her pale body is smeared with red and the color suits her much better than the black dress she had been wearing earlier. Time to move on to the next step, he thought to himself.


Pain blossoms throughout her entire body, compounded by the force with which she is dropped onto the floor – is he going to simply kill her now? She struggles to open her eyes - mascara, eye shadow, and tears have matted and nearly sealed her eyelashes together – and look up at him. The switchblade is gone, presumably back in the suit pocket, but he is taking the jacket off…and reaching down to the zipper of his pants. She tries to call out, to say ‘No more’, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper when she opens her mouth. Marcus simply opens his trousers, smiling down at her as if he were her lover and not about to force himself upon her. This can’t be happening, she would wake up at any moment…but each time she closes her eyes and opened them, he is still there. He begins to kneel between her legs and she casts about frantically for something, anything that can save her. His blazer is just a few feet from her, with the knife…

She waits until he is off balance, and rolls to her feet with the last of her strength to run towards the jacket. She fumbles for it and thrust her hands into the pockets frantically – where is it?

Her answer comes with a new blaze of pain as the knife she seeks slices through her Achilles tendon, dropping her on the blood soaked concrete of the floor. “N-no, don’t-” her words end in a scream as he wrenches her thighs apart and shoves into her. He is much too large, and it hurts so much that she nearly passes out…but he keeps thrusting with a force that would move her across the floor if his hands weren’t pinning her hips. She is vaguely aware of the sounds of pleasure he is making as he rapes her; the agony is almost overwhelming as he shoves inside. She feels something inside her snap and his movements become lubricated by blood before he pulls out and forces her face down to resume his assault. Her stomach heaves and she brings up the remains of her supper as well as the drinks he plied her with at the club – she loses consciousness and falls face-down into the mess.


Marcus snarls and pulls out as soon as he feels her go limp beneath him – he likes them conscious and whimpering, able to feel pain. The smell of her vomit makes him wrinkle his nose in disgust at humans and their weaknesses, and he moves her face from the puddle by gripping her hair and letting her face fall back on a cleaner stretch of concrete. It wouldn’t do for her to die by choking on her own bile, after all. Such an inelegant death. He sighs, looking down at her – what will it take for her to wake up? Marcus studies her in a bored fashion before a smile curves his lips… of course. Knocking her legs apart once more, he positions himself at her anus before leaning forward and forcing his way in.

She wakes, as he knew she would, with a hoarse scream as he invades her body once more. He takes his time, raping her in an almost bored fashion and listening to her screams and sobs of agony before grasping her hips in a grip that crushes the bones beneath his fingers as he empties his seed within her with a supremely satisfied grunt. He pulls out and reaches for a handkerchief to clean off before tucking himself back in his trousers. Marcus readies himself to stand before remembering that she is still alive, if only just – her mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water, and her eyes have a somewhat fixed look to them. “Goodnight,” he says politely as he reaches for her hair once more. A sharp crack and he drops her to the floor a final time, her head lolling at an awkward angle…she has been decent entertainment, enough to take the edge off, and he is whistling as he pulls on his suit jacket and walks out into the night.

In the morning, the factory workers find the bloody and battered corpse as they turn on the lights for the day’s work. Across town, Marcus leans into the staff room as he closes the sliding doors. “It’s a business, boys…not a bat cave.”

The civilized monster hums to himself as he walks from Wolfram & Hart’s swinging doors.


~*~END~*~

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