Title: Into The Void

Author: Claire

Rating: Good question... Perhaps R with tinges of NC-17

Series: Yes. A title for which currently escapes me. This is 1 of 4

Key Words: Again, good question... Abduction. S&M - Rape (Not detailed...)

Feedback: Would encourage me to post the rest of the series... <g>

Archive: Yes

Disclaimers: Are not and have never been mine. Ownership goes to Brian Clemens and DWTV.

Narrated by Chris.

Notes: Written for Chya. <hangs head> When I said I wouldn't. <pause> Would you believe that she then had the nerve to request closure? <g> (In other words, it's all her fault... <blinking innocently> I accept no blame whatsoever... <smirk>)

I admit that this is not a particularly charming subject matter but am of the opinion that it is still okay for the faint hearted. A) It's short and to the point, and B) Nothing is detailed, it's a 'use your imagination' job. The following three stories are longer and cover the aftermath.

~*~
broken bruised forgotten sore
too fucked up to care anymore
poisoned to my rotten core
too fucked up to care anymore
~*~
('Somewhat Damaged' - Nine Inch Nails)


==========
Into The Void
by Claire

==========

While this wasn't exactly supposed to happen, I'm not worried.

I've been in worse situations.

Of course I have.

It doesn't matter that I don't know where I am or that it's cold and my head throbs with a dull ache.

I won't be here long. As I tremble in the enveloping blackness I know that the cavalry will be on their way.

Sam will find me.

Even if Malone issues forth with his hollow, 'on their own initiative' spiel, my partner won't leave me here.

I just have to wait for him, that's all.

It won't be long.

***

Where is he?

Where's Sam? Surely I've waited long enough.

Actually, more to the point, where am I?

The rough hands that grab me in the darkness, forcing liquids down my throat and sedatives into my veins, aren't exactly what you'd call communicative. I consider myself lucky if I get so much as a grunt out of them.

If they want something from me, I sure as fuck don't know what it could be. They keep me alive and they keep me passive. My mind is still mine but most of the time my body doesn't even feel as though it's there. I'm consciousness in unconscious flesh and blood. Keeping track of time is beyond me. I sleep a lot.

Well, that is I *think* I sleep a lot.

It's not like I have anything better to do.

I sleep and I wait.

Sam?

Where are you?

Please... I don't want to fail you or anything, but I'm beginning to feel just a bit scared.

I don't know what they want and I don't know how long I've been here.

Please. If you hurry I promise to never make you set foot in a McDonald's again. Honestly. Seeing you right now would mean that much to me.

***

Voices, along with other barely recalled sensations, float through the void and tease me into attempting to believe that things have changed.

Concentrate.

It's no longer dark.

Oh.

I'm naked. And invasive hands are ghosting over my skin as cold-water cascades over my body.

I'm in a shower.

I'm naked, in a shower, and I'm being washed by perhaps the same rough hands that have been keeping me alive. Somewhere, deeply hidden in the recessesof my mind, something tells me that this isn't right. It can't be right.

Shouldn't I be fighting the hands? Surely I should be doing more than slowly blinking at the men who have no right to be touching me there...Surely.

One stares at me impassively as the other leers.

"Wanna try 'im out?" Leery smirks at me, his hand snaking between my...

Oh God! Not there... Please.

Impassive smacks his hand away and glares at him. "Touch him and it wouldn't be him the boss would be having, it would be you," he growls.

Excuse me? I open my mouth but no sounds come out.

I'm trapped. I can't stop the hands and I can't speak. My flesh crawls and unbidden tears slip silently down my cheeks.

Sam?

What have I done to deserve this?

I'm sorry.

Whatever I've done, I'm sorry. Rescue me and I'll make it up for you in any way that you want.

Please... Now the fear is becoming a reality and...

And I'm helpless.

***

Pain.

Shame.

Pain. Shame. Pain, shame. Shame, pain.

It's all the same.

Darkness. Fear. Devious pleasure. Submission. Defeat. Exquisite agony. Hopelessness. Worthlessness. Disgust. Emptiness.

It's all the same.

The drugs are wearing off. A shimmer of clarity pierces its way into my skull and, although it's barely a whisper, my voice returns.

"Fuck you."

Cold brown eyes look me over as thin lips curl into a sneer. "You were saying?" he murmurs, his fingers deftly tightening the silver clamp around my left nipple.

"Fuck..." I won't give him the satisfaction of one single tear, not even as the pressure on my nipple shoots fresh pain along my spine. "...You."

"That's, 'fuck you *sir*'," he murmurs conversationally, his hand grabbing and squeezing another abused part of my anatomy.

I have nowhere to go. My body, working against me, responds to his poisonous touch and I can't get away.

"Go to hell."

His hands suddenly leave me. "You'll learn," he smiles maliciously, gesturing the ever present Leery and Impassive over. "No-one cares about where you are and you're mine. You just have to learn some respect, that's all. And I have just the two boys to teach it to you."

Fear chills my blood as I note dully the triumphant grin on Leery's bland face. Even Impassive appears to be more interested than usual.

My tormentor, taking his leave of his playpen, and leaving his best plaything with his minions, adds airily over his shoulder as he pauses by the door, "Just don't mark him too badly. I don't want you tarnishing the dear boy's beauty."

Someone... Help me.

Please help me.

I'm beginning to forget who I am.

I don't think I should be here. But, then again, maybe I should... Maybe I've always been here and it's always been like this.

Perhaps I was designed for this torture.

The whip whistles through the air as I try desperately to remember why the name Sam used to mean something to me.

And why it doesn't anymore.

***

Hands, mouths, tongues, cocks, drugs, metal, leather, wood, rubber...

My body welcomes it all.

My treacherous, traitorous, wanton body.

It craves his touch and the never-ending sensation of pain. Any part of me, it's his. I open for him and he takes of me what he will.

I'm a slut. A bitch on heat.

I call him sir.

It's only right. I'm his property. If not for him I wouldn't even exist.

If he's pleased with me he allows the light to remain on in my room and I'm allowed to wash myself.

If he's displeased then Leery and Impassive are allowed to play with me.

I'll do anything to please him. I'm worthless, I deserve the pain. He tells me that I'm lucky I have him to provide for me and I believe him. Without him I'd be nothing.

The other day, after I'd mistakenly broken a glass and he was, as he has every right to, punishing me, he laughed that I'd been wasted at CI5.

CI5...

If I hadn't been gagged (not that I beg anymore, not now I know I deserve it) I would have asked him what he meant.

CI5?

It means nothing to me.

My name's Boy and I am a pet. That's all I need to know.

***

Party time.

A fresh injection of the ever-present drugs. A cut throat razor shaving parts of my body that perhaps, once upon a time, if my mind isn't playing tricks one me, I never used to think would be so smooth. Squeaky clean, from the inside out. Tight black leather trousers, hands cuffed behind my back and, because I've been good, shiny new nipple clamps.

My head is a void. I've been thinking about dying a lot recently. I want to die. My body's becoming immune to the drugs and, when I least expect -- or want -- them, I'm assaulted by seconds of searing clarity.

Clarity of the like that hurts me far more than the cane does.

His hands down the front of my trousers, he fondles me and murmurs mildly, "Do you know how long you've been here Boy?"

"No sir."

"Three months. I've been training you for three months and, seeing as I'm so proud of my efforts, this party is in your honour. You're going to be a star."

"Thank you sir."

I hope it's a snuff party.

***

Huddling under my ineffectual sheet, the only bedding I'm allowed, I listen to the commotion outside my locked room and try to ride out the pain. The party was... sometime... ago and I still haven't recovered.

My star shone bright though and I think everyone got a taste.

And I didn't cry. Not once. One man told my owner that he indeed had the perfect pet.

Oh God... Won't that noise stop? My head hurts enough without this racket adding to it. I'm not even interested in what's happening, I just want the silence to return.

"Put your hands on your head or I'll shoot."

*Bang*.

Oh well. Whoever that was obviously wasn't as well trained as I am. I would have put my hands on my head without a second's hesitation. I'm nothing if not obedient and good at doing what I'm told.

"Have you found him?"

Voices shout over the top of each other.

"No... And Kent isn't letting on."

"Let me get it out of him."

"Sam..."

Sam? Why does that name ring a dim bell?

"He has to be here somewhere."

"Don't worry. We'll find him."

"Chris!"

"Chris! Hang in there mate, we're coming."

"Chris!"

Who's Chris? I think I should know and the levels of confusion build to a crescendo in my head.

Sam... Chris...

Familiar names, but, like Churchill and JFK, I think they're part of history.

*Bang*.

Another shot and my door flies open.

"Oh my God... Chris... What did they do to you..."

Piercing green eyes, in a pale, achingly familiar looking worried face, stare at me with such compassion that I suddenly burst into tears.

Sam.

I remember now. This is Sam, isn't it?

It has to be.

It's Sam, shouting over his shoulder that he wants the paramedics, and *only* the paramedics, in here *now*.

It's Sam, somehow ignoring the decrepit state I'm in and pulling me gently into his arms; enveloping me in the innocent warmth of his body.

It's Sam, whispering soothing words in my ear and telling me that it's going to be okay, that I'm safe now.

It's Sam, I *know* it is.

Which...

Which, I think, makes me Chris...

Not Boy.

*Chris*.

And, with this discovery comes the realisation that not only will I have to learn my own name again, but that I'll also need to re-learn the ability to live.

No. Not *need*... *Have* to.

~end~