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Torture Room	By : ladylaguna Category: +G through L > Invader Zim > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1736 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Invader Zim, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Torture Room
- 1
Contrary to what one might think, this was not an RP. This was just something I pounded out over the course of a couple of months whenever I was in one of "those" moods XD And I finally finished! It meets my Eri's approval, so up it goes. I hope you all enjoy. I don't do the blood/torture thing too often, so don't worry about my mental condition.

For a little more info about Moth's "torture room," you can read Eri's ficlet here: http://hierophant.deviantart.com/art/IZ-Drable-Moth-Control-69069387

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The chill was the first thing that came to him. A dry cold that settled into his very bones... A cold that should not have been, were he in the same place he had fallen asleep. It occurred to him then that he'd become spoiled after a fashion. A big, warm bed and a small, warm lover... Things that he'd been perfectly fine without before, now unsettling when he awoke without them?

His eyes finally forced themselves open. He was sitting upright, wrists clapped soundly in place against the cold metal surface of the chair. HIS chair... not his bed, and his lover was nowhere to be found. Panic rose up in his chest for just a moment before reflex killed it. The overhead light was off... Normally when he took his place on this throne, after his monstrous deeds had been done, the bright whiteness from it bathed him, cleansed him, shielded him from everything without its radius. Now, instead, he could see the room itself... Dim and dingy and desolate.

Idly, he looked down at the drain in the floor. Blood stained the caulk around it... There was an unidentifiable crust stuck in the notches of the large square vents in the drain... Stains were spattered from there to the small counter where his instruments were kept. He was not a bad “housekeeper” by any means... but felt that a certain degree of atmosphere was helpful in getting the reactions he wanted out of those that visited this room. Therefore, he did not always clean up to the best of his ability. Now that he was in their place, a sort of giddy sense of accomplishment passed over him. Maniacal, almost... Even knowing that he was the one who had caused those blood spatters, that owned that bone knife on the counter... there was still a sense of apprehension that he had always, deep down, hoped to inspire in his “bounties”... That, to him, spelled success.

Rubbing palms the mere two inches of give they were allowed, along the surface of the chair's arms... Feeling the notches and the dents he'd caused himself... Taking a deep breath and trying to clear the fog of sleep from his mind... the stench of chemicals filled his respiratory system. Looking over to the sink, he saw that half of the shelf above it had been knocked over, many of the jars and beakers broken all over the counter and floor. It was surprising a fire hadn't broken out... There had obviously been a tussle in this room, unbeknownst to him...

Where was his lover? Immediately he imagined Vermeil chiding him for not thinking he could handle himself, but the instinct to protect, even irrationally, had always come naturally to Moth. And this situation was not rational! If Moth was here, then where was Verm? They both had enemies, to be sure... but Vermeil's tended to be a lot more underhanded and sneaky. Thankfully, Moth had a few tricks up his sleeve. Of course he had installed a failsafe in the chair, just in case he ever found himself in this position... Fingers twitched near imperceptibly as he searched for that release switch underneath the arm...

When his finger finally found that place-- he found that it had been removed entirely. “What...?” Only Vermeil knew about that fucking switch...

The slightest hint of movement in the shadows caught his attention and he slowly turned his head towards it. Testing how strong the cuffs were without making it too obvious, he narrowed his eyes towards the darkness. Finally, the small amount of light within the room turned just so and he caught a glimpse of crimson. Another shuffle and a dark streak came forth, slinking along the wall like a predator.

Moth's breath caught momentarily before his companion finally stepped away from the wall. Such a tall, thin form... Reaching out, it hit the switch on the overhead lamp and after a moment of blinking to adjust, Moth realized who it was.

“Verm.” As he took in the sight of the man, he relaxed just a little. He was a little worse for wear; suit torn in various places, covered in scratches and some pretty gnarly bruises... lip split... but at least he was alive. Regarding Moth suspiciously through those sunken eyes of his, Vermeil tilted his head just slightly. “...what happened? I'm glad you're okay...” But Vermeil didn't reply.

For a minute, Moth was taken aback. There was a certain lightness in posture and expression that came over Verm when he saw his lover... That face, full of darkness and hatred, it was reserved for-- well-- people other than Moth. Squirming in discomfort, he met his mate's eyes. After a moment of contact, Vermeil's began to wander down over Moth's form... It was then that Moth became acutely aware of the fact that he was only wearing pants. Honestly, that was more than Moth often wore to bed; but they had both had been so tired from completion of that errand that they both fell almost immediately into slumber once they'd gotten back to the ship and into space...

Taking another few advancing steps, Vermeil finally smiled. Though it was a hollow, devious smile... “Love--” Moth started warningly, wondering what he was playing at. There was a time and place for everything...

Vermeil came to a stop before the chair with a soft bump, his legs leaning against the seat slightly. Looming over Moth's formidable form, he reached out a tentative hand. Moth's brow furrowed as he stroked fingers over his antennae, feeling the thickness and slight texture of them. They weren't normal Irken antennae, of course, and Vermeil had always been fascinated by them. But this was territory already explored. “...are you alright, Verm?”

No answer. Not that he expected one. Still smiling softly, looking over him with a detached expression, Vermeil's fingers continued exploring. Over the taut cords of his neck, then scratching over his shoulder, along his collarbone... Tracing the underside of his pecs... those long, spindly fingers worked their way over every detail. To his horror, Moth felt arousal beginning to build. Even now, could he not control himself?! Those fingers were Vermeil's, after all... he supposed it wasn't that unusual.

Letting out a soft breath of air, Moth let his head rest against the back of the chair. As it rolled to the side, he watched Vermeil curiously. This might be the longest he'd ever been around the boy without him speaking a word. Something was definitely wrong... but he couldn't place what.

Teeth glinting in the harsh light, Vermeil finally pulled that hand back and reached into the back of his utility belt. Producing the six-inch long dagger he always carried, Vermeil finally made a small, animalistic noise in his throat.

“What... are you up to, Vermeil...”

Looking down at Moth's skin with the most adoring expression, he laid the flat of the knife against the side of his neck. The muscles tightened momentarily, but Moth betrayed no apprehension. If Vermeil was looking for a more satisfying reaction, he wasn't going to get it. Licking his lips, Vermeil drew the blade down over the smooth skin before it hit a bump. Moth's clavicle... With only a moment's hesitation, he turned the knife and drew it quickly downward. Just a slight hiss of pain passed through Moth's teeth as a dark line of blood appeared, eight inches in length. Blinking, Vermeil splayed a finger on either side of the wound, spreading it.

Propping a knee up on the chair between Moth's legs, Vermeil leaned in to examine. Head close to Moth's, soft breaths panted against the skin, he narrowed his eyes at the bloody slash. Knife lowering again, he poked at the bump that fascinated him so... Spreading the skin moreso until the edges split, hacking precisely through muscle until the slightest glint of bone finally showed through.

The pain wasn't intense... Moth could handle it... but his muscles twitched with every movement of that knife, the dull throb punctuated by slight pricks of bright sensation. Vermeil's knee, so close to his crotch, doubled over it all to only intensify his arousal...

His captor's attention was drawn by the slight movement of muscle, his now bloodied dagger following the line from his collarbone down between his pectorals. As the thick droplets of crimson liquid pooled and rolled over that path he'd traced, Vermeil watched in fascination. Finally, he leaned in and slowly lapped up a bit of the excess. Moth gasped, his eyes rolling shut as he tried to fight back the new wave of excitement that tongue brought on... He shouldn't be allowing this... he should be bucking, fighting...

The taste was slightly bitter it appeared, as Vermeil winced and pulled his head back. His attention was soon back where it had begun, that knife and those muscles and that skin. Now tracing over Moth's sternum, he turned the knife again and drew a thick line down along the side of a pectoral muscle, grinning as the blade bit in with a soft snap. Once he had cut deep enough to reveal the clean pink tissue beneath, Vermeil began to inspect again, pulling and pushing and prodding. The dull throb was now becoming a constant burn, fogging Moth's senses slightly... But fuck, his pants were becoming tight...

In time, Vermeil noticed this as well. Antennae perking, he glanced down, pressing his soft leg against the growing hardness before it. The knife began to migrate downward, stuttering over Moth's abdominals before it came to rest just at Moth's waistband...

Finally, Moth regained some of his common sense. “Don't-- whatever you're planning--- Verm. Don't--” His legs weren't secured. Though he was loathe to do so, he finally reared back and delivered a sound kick to his lover's stomach, sending him sprawling on the floor. The knife clattered across the room, soundly out of Vermeil's reach. For a moment, all Moth could hear was the ringing in his skull as Vermeil lay still. Had he knocked him out? No, he was heartier than that...

Indeed, Vermeil was fine... and as he curled to sit up, he continued looking at Moth with that twisted fascination. The knife completely forgotten, Vermeil crawled back towards the chair. “Vermeil...” He'd never seen anything like this before. Vermeil would never crawl, that was for sure... Was this an imposter? He didn't have the heart to kick away this creature before him, this thing with his lover's face. And so, that face was soon in his crotch, bloody hands rising to pull and tear at his pants.

Once his cock was finally freed from its restraints, he gripped the arms of the chair in apprehension. Would Vermeil try to cut this new and interesting part up as well? Pulling it upward and outward, the smaller Irken studied it intently. Despite his attempts at keeping himself calm, Moth's member twitched needily in his grip, beginning to leak. Another liquid for Vermeil to study... Just as he'd done with the blood, he leaned forward and lathed the tip of his tongue along the wet trail... over Moth's cockhead and against the hole at his tip.

“Ah--” Holding in a sharp breath, Moth had to close his eyes momentarily to regain his composure. This was unreal. No way this was happening... Reopening his eyes, he caught sight of his lover pulling back slightly to lick his lips. The taste of Moth's precum was apparently better than the blood... Thin fingers prodded and pulled and poked at Moth's cock, attempting to coax more moisture from its source.

Back curling just slightly, Moth stared at the ceiling for a desperate moment. “Stop this, Love. Stop this. Stop this, Vermeil...” He wouldn't be able to control himself much longer. Well, he wasn't really controlling himself NOW...

Of course, Vermeil did not cease. Though his attempts to get more tastes only met with minimal success... and Moth was nearly delirious for want of more skilled attention where it counted. The little creature now crouched between his legs didn't quite know what to make of what he had, until it seemed he got an epiphany.

Standing, Vermeil looked down at himself, running his now slick fingers over the leather of his suit. Moth's eyes followed them as well, and saw through clouded vision that his lover had an erection as well. Soon his fingers found their destination, beginning to poke and manipulate himself through his clothing much as he'd done for Moth.

“Hmmnh, yeah... you've got one too,” Moth rasped, grinning crookedly. The situation was disturbing, to be sure... but his entire body was on fire now... a rolling boil of pleasure and pain, intermingled... Whatever had happened to his mate... whatever concerns Moth had... were becoming engulfed in everything else.

Figuring out at least part of the equation, Vermeil had managed to unzip his suit, forcing his straining member through the opening at the bottom. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to know what to do with his own cock either. Unsure of how the situation would play out, Moth finally just hissed, “Come here. Come here, Vermeil...” Perhaps he could be shown. He could be shown, he would be satisfied, and maybe he'd go away and Moth could figure out how to get out of this chair...

When his mate simply stared at him, Moth finally let his thick tongue loll out of his mouth, curling it suggestively. After a moment of thought, Vermeil finally understood.

Climbing onto the chair, Vermeil planted his feet on either side of Moth's legs. With a little maneuvering, he was able to push his throbbing cock against Moth's lips. “Good boy,” Moth intoned, chest rumbling as his lips parted and his tongue stroked slow and hard along the underside of it.

With a soft gasp, Vermeil pushed his hips forward expectantly. Needing no more coaxing, Moth lapped softly over his mate's ridges, gathering up the increasing amount of moisture gathering. Soon the boy had his hands on the back of the chair for support, back curled as he gyrated towards that tongue. When he got the chance, Moth opened his mouth entirely, catching the tip of his mate's cock and suckling on it.

“Haah--!”

The first exclamation Vermeil had made since this started! Encouraged, Moth pulled more and more of Vermeil in, tongue continuing to caress those ridges as he drew hard on his member. It didn't take long for instinct to kick in; in moments Vermeil was thrusting needily against Moth's mouth, soft whines and mewls of pleasure rolling from his lips.

A muffled curse was all that Moth could produce. His arousal was so powerful now that he was dizzy... that was his mate's voice, this was his mate's taste, his mate's warmth... He wanted Vermeil so badly and he had him yet he DIDN'T, he was powerless and GODDESS Vermeil was so sexy and his heart was throbbing so hard he could hear it in his temples and his muscles were straining with the effort of keeping the need throbbing in his neglected cock from becoming painful.

Suddenly, the cuffs encasing his wrists burst. Moth's eyes widened as he felt his hands fly into the air. His mouth was still moving, his mate was still fucking it, and from the corner of his eye he saw that his skin was two shades darker from how hard he had been pulling against the shackles without even realizing it.

Completely lost in it all, Moth grabbed Vermeil's hips and pulled him away. In a one smooth movement, he was out of the chair, pulling his mate down to the floor, looming over him... With a good pull, Vermeil's suit tore cleanly away and his legs were easily pushed into the air.

There was a singular moment of clarity. The boy was confused but not frightened... Moth knew he wanted this. They both wanted this... in fact, NEEDED this... It was past the point of no return now. The moment passed and Moth became lost in his lust again. Vermeil's legs nestled in the crooks of Moth's arms as the larger man's cockhead pressed against his cherry. “Need you,” Moth hissed as he pushed within, his cock now dripping and easily sliding into place.

For a moment, Vermeil's eyes widened and he reached forward... perhaps to stop this altogether... but his hands died in midair and fell back. As slowly as he could stand, Moth entered... and soon another moan was coaxed from his mate. “Yeah... so good...” There was no pretense between them now, and Moth knew Vermeil's reactions would be honest... whether they were good or bad. If this was even Vermeil... that thought only lingered for a moment, because he was so hot and so tight and the sounds he was making were getting louder and more insistent with each thrust...

Squeezing his eyes shut, Vermeil arched his back, keening in pleasure as Moth hit the spot he knew to aim for, again and again and again... As his thrusts became harder and faster, Moth's voice soon joined his mate's, his moans a mix of tortured pleasure and intense relief. When he could no longer bear to draw things out, his hand snaked around Vermeil's skinny leg and gripped his cock tightly.

“Hnnh--!! Nnnh...” Vermeil reached a desperate hand upward, claws biting into the flesh of Moth's neck as he held on. Letting out a clipped cry, Moth tried to concentrate on his now furious thrusts, hand moving just as quickly... The harder he stroked, the more Vermeil's body tightened... until he finally flared, screaming something unintelligible as his seed spilled over his chest and stomach. The sight, along with the impossibly tight heat, was enough to throw Moth over the edge as well. As he flared hard, Vermeil winced, a small cry of pain exiting his lips before his body went limp entirely.

For what seemed like an eternity, Moth emptied himself into his mate's body... and then all was completely still. Though Moth could swear the room was spinning... The blood flow finally returned to its rightful place and he remembered that things were not right.

Pinning Vermeil's wrists to the floor, Moth grinned and hissed, “Gotcha.”

Squirming a bit, particularly when Moth withdrew from his body, Vermeil frowned. It seemed as if he was about to fight back, but his Pak whirred angrily and began to smoke. His eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

“Vermeil?! VERMEIL!”

* * * * *

Once Vermeil was taken to the medbay and hooked up to the monitor, there was no doubt about who he was. The Pak did indeed belong to the Prince, and there was something seriously wrong with it... While the repair machine ran diagnostics, Moth paced worriedly. As the minutes wore on, he finally realized that a rudimentary security check needed to be done...

A walk through the ship showed that absolutely nothing was out of place. They were still headed back to their destination at the pace Moth had set. Their bedroom had been trashed just as Moth's “interrogation room” had been... But otherwise, it was as he had left it. Obviously, no outside forces had contributed to this strange situation...

Repair of Vermeil's Pak stretched on for three solid hours. When it finally rebooted, Vermeil awakened to a throbbing headache and a worried mate looming over him.

“...Verm?”

Blinking dully at the harsh light overhead, Vermeil groaned, “...unh?”

“How do you feel?”

Wincing, Vermeil replied, “Meh.” He attempted to move before realizing that he was strapped down.

“Sorry,” Moth sighed. “Uh, it was just a precaution.”

Vermeil furrowed his brow for a moment before crying, “Oh! Did it happen to me too?”

“What do you mean?”

“When we got back, I thought you were acting a little funny. I felt pretty shitty too, so I figured we'd just pushed ourselves too hard...” Moth finally unlatched his cuffs and Vermeil sat up. “But I woke up to find you hovering over me, just... well, STARING at me... It was sort of creepy, to be honest.” Smiling, Vermeil rubbed his sore head. “And when I asked you what was up, you got all demonic and put a chokehold on me. But then you changed your mind and started beating up on yourself. It was pretty freaky...”

Never in his life could Moth find the will to truly hurt Vermeil. Even in that primitive state, did his body still refuse to do such a thing? Smiling ruefully, Moth wrapped his arms around his mate and buried his face in that warm neck. Inhaling deeply, he rumbled, “Yeah... freaky...”

“So I fought with you,” Vermeil continued. “To keep you from hurting me or yourself. I managed to get you to chase me into the Interrogation room. After a little more fighting I knocked you into the chair and locked you in. Fuck, you were unreal. But you were so occupied with snarling at me that you didn't notice when I knocked the failsafe out.”

At this point, all Moth cared about was having his mate back. But Vermeil was worked up now; Moth could practically hear the thoughts crashing against the inside of his lover's mind.

“I thought to knock you out, but I didn't want to hurt you. So I had my Pak interface with yours. That's all I remember.”

Shaking his head slowly, Moth sighed, “Mmnh, you did knock me out, I guess. When I woke up I was in the chair and you were... well, you weren't yourself.”

“Yeah!” Vermeil cried triumphantly. “It must have happened to me too. Was it a virus? Probably something that knocked out all primary function of the Neocortex. Made you act like an animal! Maybe a bug that physically interfaced with you. Since you brought up the rear when we came back... I bet something dropped right on top of your Pak and you didn't see!” Pulling away so that he could look around, Vermeil noticed that he was still hooked up to the monitor. “Hey, you must have caught it! I bet it's in quarantine inside the repair unit. ...is this blood on my hands? ...I want to study it, Moth...”

He turned to face the machine, but Moth stopped him, hugging him tightly. “Vermeil... you've already studied quite enough for today...”

Confused as he was, Vermeil didn't argue. Turning abruptly as he did, especially, made his ass hurt for some reason... And Moth's chest was all bandaged up...
- 1
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Torture Room