Kidnapped    Rated NC-17 (M/M) 

 Kidnapped 

 Disclaimer; They aren't mine. I never said they were. If they were I'd be
rich. 

 CAUTION; this story contains meanness to Ray. If you can't deal with it,
then don't read the story. If you can, don't complain to me about
meanness. You read it, didn't you? My thanks to Raa, Shu and (of course)
Jenner, the three women of my life. They let me do this to Ray, and for
that, I thank them. Comments are welcome and appreciated. 

 *no cops were hurt in the making of this story* 

 ***** 

 "My body aches to breathe your breath/your words keep me alive." 

 Day One. 

 Ray opened his eyes groggily. Everything was dark, and his head ached. A
rough gag was stuffed in his mouth and as he shook his head attempting to
loosen it, a wave of pain shot up his right side. He gasped, choking on
the rough cloth. This forced him to reconsider his strategy. He tried to
think of the last thing that had happened. He remembered the terrorist
strike on the bank, the ring of police cars and officers around the
besieged building. He remembered the time slowly running out on the
terrorists' clock before they blew up the building. There had been ten
hostages inside. 

 No one would volunteer to talk the terrorists out of killing all ten
people. What was going on behind the bulletproof glass even the police
couldn't guess. Finally, Ray had given in. He laid his gun on the ground,
and walked slowly toward the bank, his hands out at his sides. The
terrorists had accepted him as a hostage, and released the ten people. As
the hostages escaped toward the ring of police cars, the terrorists fired
over them and through them as they escaped the building with seconds to
spare. The bomb blasted debris over the parking lot as the group ran to
their van, and then Ray remembered what had happened. Something had hit
him from behind, knocking him to the asphalt. With his hands bound, he had
hit the ground too hard, knocking the breath out of him. Someone had
grabbed him, pulling him forward even though he could no longer stand. His
legs hurt, his side burned where the debris had struck him. He tried to
turn his head, to see back to where the Riv was parked, but by that time
he was shoved into the van, and someone was jabbing a needle in his arm. 

 Ray groaned, his voice muffled. There was no light at all. He listened
carefully, straining to hear sounds that could tell him where he was.
There was a faint roar of traffic, and the rattle of a train, but distant.
He could smell damp earth and mildew. He was bound to the cot he was
laying on, with straps over his chest and legs. Ray tested the muscles of
his arms. They were stiff, but nothing was broken. It was a different
matter for his legs. As he shifted slightly, he could feel a wetness on
the backs of his legs, and the pain started again, low but intense. He
figured something must have been broken when he was struck down. Below his
right knee, he could feel what seemed like bandages, and a rough splint.
He kicked his other leg, rattling a chain which bound him to the cot.
Wincing, he worked an arm free, and pulled the gag out of his mouth. It
was dusty, and tasted of dirt. With his free hand, he worked free the
strap over his chest, and sat up. He spat into the darkness, cursing as
his movements sent another wave of pain through his body. 

 From the darkness, there came a rattling of a key in a lock, and then a
bright lance of light shone into the room. Ray shielded his eyes from the
glare, and as he did so, two sets of hands grabbed him and strapped him
down again. The gag was shoved back in his mouth, and he could see someone
leaning over him, rolling up his sleeve. There was a sudden pinprick. 

 Then the darkness exploded in a whirl of colours and voices. Ray could
see himself with clarity, running to his car. He could see Benny sliding
into the seat, pulling the door shut as the red light flashed on the
dashboard. Then they were at the bank, Benny's face hovering before him,
worried. Benny's words echoing in his head, be careful, Ray, be careful.
Ray shuddered as the drug coursed through his veins. Benny was so close,
so close, and he could reach out and touch him. 

 And then it was gone. The chemical tide receded, leaving him sweaty and
chilled in the timelessness of complete darkness. His body regained its
rhythm slowly, his heartbeat steadying, his breathing deepening. Benny. He
was alone. He was so alone. 

 Day Two. 

 Still no word of Ray. Benton sat at Ray's desk, meticulously tidying the
cop's mess of papers. He was worried. There had been no word from the
terrorists, and now that they had their prize, their police hostage, they
could demand anything. They might just kill him, Ben thought with a
shudder. 

 When he had joined Ray at the bank, he hadn't foreseen it ending this
way. He remembered his warning. "Be careful. Ray, don't go. Let someone
else handle it." But no one had. Finally, Ray's impatience gave way to
rash action. He laid down his gun, and went into the bank. The last Ben
saw of his friend was Ray being dragged into the van, as everyone ducked
to avoid the debris and flames spewing from the burning bank. And over the
roar of the escaping car, he heard the screams of the wounded and gunshots
fired after the van. He wanted to cry out, but knew it was useless. Words
alone could not bring Ray back to him. He ran to the first victim, a woman
bleeding from a wound to her arm. She was screaming, crying in shock. He
pressed his hand to the wound, stemming the flow of blood, and she held on
to him tightly. He had wanted to cry. He felt the prick of tears now, as
he sat at Ray's desk. 

 

 "Fraser?" It was Lieutenant Welsh. "Why don't you go home?" 

 "I had no plans, Sir." He replied truthfully. 

 "Fraser, go home. There's nothing you can do here." 

 Reluctantly, Ben retrieved his hat, and looked one last time at the desk.
Ray was out there somewhere, and he was powerless to get him back. He
could be dead by now. 

 Day Three. 

 Ray slept fitfully, often lingering between complete alertness and
dozing, aided by the injections of the drug into his veins. He couldn't
think straight, he didn't know what the terrorists were trying to do with
him. They kept assailing his mind with that chemical. The images were
getting stronger now, and if he concentrated, he could see them when he
closed his eyes. They made no sense to him. Images of Benny, and his
sister, danced through his head. Benny was saying something, no, he was
screaming at Franchesca. She crumbled into sand and blew away. Then Benny
looked at him. His gaze drilled straight to his heart. He swam in Benny's
blue, blue eyes. 

 Ray gasped awake from his trance, sweat trickling down his face. It had
been so real. It had been so sensuous. He could still see Benny's eyes,
and his perfect face, and hear his warning as if Benny were actually
standing over him. Be careful. Don't go. He wished he'd listened. He
wished he'd listened to that perfect voice and not gone into that bank.
That he'd not given himself as a hostage, and been tied to a bed in
basement somewhere, rotting slowly as drugs were injected into him. He was
hallucinating. He was dizzy, but every time things got clearer, the bright
light would come again, and the rough hands, and then he'd sail away on
another tide of colour and dream. 

 Day Four. 

 Benton Fraser was standing outside the consulate, sweating in the hot
sun. He appeared calm on the outside, but inside he was a mass of grating
nerves. Still no word of Ray. Still no word from the terrorists. Still no
leads. 

 His work was suffering, his concentration shot by horrible thoughts of
where Ray could be. The police were keeping an eye on the waterfront, in
case that gruesome possibility had opened up to the terrorists. So far
they had found several pairs of shoes, rotten garbage, and a flotilla of
used needles, but thankfully, no Ray. Even as he stood to attention in
front of the consulate, in his mind he was replaying the chain of events
over and over. Be careful. Don't go. He regretted letting his friend walk
into the hands of the terrorists. He regretted not going himself. If he
had gone, where would he be now? And would he be able to get out? 

 Day Five. 

 Ray rolled from side to side in agony. He was sweating feverishly, his
face was flushed but he was still cold. His stomach churned loudly, and
bile came to his mouth. He spat it out, and panted into the dark space.
His body ached for the drug, his muscles knotted and cramped, eased only
by stronger and stronger doses of the sweet chemical. Coloured spots
flashed before his eyes against the blackness. Ray shivered. The cold of
the underground prison seeped into his bones, relentlessly numbing his
body. He craved it, the release of life and energy, the waves of warmth
and comfort where all he could see was freedom and safety. Where Benny
took him into his arms and soothed his nightmares. 

 Ray groaned, his body responding to the thought of his friend. His blood
raced at the thought of Benny's arms encircling him, pulling him closer.
He could feel soft lips against his neck and warm hands on his body. The
hands were undressing him, stroking every inch of his body as the mouth
kissed its way down his breastbone. He gasped as the mouth sucked at his
cock. He could feel the teeth, tongue and lips working gently, sliding
over the sensitive skin, sucking and pulling, and the hands touching his
body, pulling at his nipples, fondling his balls. He thrust forward with
his hips, every fibre of his body straining at the warm wet mouth and
caressing hands. The mouth was urgent, sucking, pulling, and then he came,
his body washing in wave after wave of orgasm, his cock straining in his
clothes, blinded by the rush of colour and pleasure as his body betrayed
him. 

 Ray panted into the cold darkness, his senses returning to him slowly. He
could hear the blood beating in his ears, the thump of his heart against
his ribs. He could feel the sweat drying on his ribs. He could see nothing
against the blackness. The pain began to seep into him again, from his
deprived body and broken leg, and as he returned to his agony, his only
thoughts were of Benny. 

 Day Six. 

 Ben strode into Lieutenant Welsh's office, grim determination on his
face. 

 "I'm going after them, Sir." He said calmly. Welsh just looked at him. 

 "Are you crazy?" He said. "Fraser, you're going to get yourself killed!" 

 "Possibly, sir, but I am willing to take that risk." 

 "We don't know where he is." 

 

 "Neither do I, sir, but I know how I can find out." Fraser laid down a
small black address book. "I found this while I was tidying Ray's desk.
There are several promising names inside. I need your permission to call
them." 

 "Well." Welsh looked stunned. "I can't give you permission for unofficial
contacts of Ray's, but I support you in your decision." He extended his
hand across the desk. "Good luck, Constable." 

 Ben shook his hand gravely, his blue eyes like ice. He knew what he had
to do. 

 Day Seven. 

 Slowly, he was dying. He could feel every fibre of his body tensing for
the bright light that brought with it kaleidoscopic colours and warmth. He
could feel the hot rush of the drug in his veins, but its effects were
dulling. Ray lived in a blackness so complete that not even the chemical
could illuminate it. It was cold, it was dark and it was desolate. He was
lonely for the touch of a human hand. He awaited his captors for a double
reason now--the release from the chilled world he inhabited, and for their
touch. He had been deprived of so much for so long. He didn't remember the
last time he'd eaten, although he was sure it had been recently. He could
barely remember his name. 

 "Ray." 

 Ray started at the voice. It had seemed so close, so familiar. Who was
it? He strained to see in the darkness, but he could see nothing. He laid
his head back. He must have been dreaming. 

 "Ray." 

 That voice again, moving closer to him. He tried in vain to part the
darkness, willing up the strength to sit up. Gravity spun out of control,
and as he collapsed again onto the cot, he saw a glow moving toward him. 

 "Ray." He could see the face now, chiselled features and blue, blue eyes.
It was Ben. Ray weakly reached out a hand. The spectre took it, and sat
down beside him on the cot. Ray could feel Ben radiating heat. His arms
moved to embrace Ben, and he returned the embrace. Ray could feel his
pulse beating in his throat, stronger than it had been for days. He
pressed his lips to Ben's warm neck, feeling the smooth skin blush under
his kiss. He could feel Ben's breath on his neck. He groaned, rapidly
becoming aroused. 

 "God, Benny, I love you so much." He gasped. Ben's hands were all over
him, groping and caressing, soothing all of Ray's aches and pains. His
senses were being overpowered by the sheer amount of stimulation. He
didn't even need to feel Ben's mouth on his cock to make him come. And
then in the same dizzying whirl, the light fell away, leaving him sweaty
and exhausted. 

 Day Eight. 

 Ben awoke with a start, sweating. He threw back the blanket, and
nervously went to the window. As he looked out, breathing the fresh air
from outside, his nerves calmed. He had dreamt last night that he had seen
Ray, that he had found him alone in the dark, and had stayed with him
comforting him. Ray's skin had been so cold when he'd taken him into his
arms. He had been so thin and fragile, so weakened. He knew that Ray was
still alive, but he didn't know how much longer he would remain that way. 

 Ben met that morning with one of Ray's contacts, a shifty-looking young
man with dark hair and eyes and a perpetual sneer. 

 "You need to find Vecchio, huh?" He spat into the dust at Ben's feet.
"Legally?" 

 "Uh, no, in an--unofficial capacity." Ben said uneasily. "And with as
little disturbance as possible." 

 "Can be done." The young man nodded. "Can be." He looked around for a
moment, then pressed a square of paper into Ben's palm. "Was nice talking
with you." He shook Ben's hand and walked off. Ben waited until he had
walked away before leaving himself, wondering what the scrap of paper
said. It was another contact, this one a dancer in a strip joint. 

 "I heard about it." She said, twisting her hair around one finger, and
snapping her gum at Ben. "I can introduce you." 

 This led to a third set of unusual circumstances. Ben, now dressed
entirely in black, met with two heavy-set men, accompanied by the dancer. 

 "He's a good friend of mine, Mr. Valentino." She introduced him. "Benny,
meet Rudolpho Valentino." 

 "Yeah." Ben languidly shook the man's hand. 

 "What can I do for you?" Valentino asked. Ben fell back upon his
previously-concocted excuse. 

 "Guy I owe a favour to wants me to track down a Raymond Vecchio. Seems
he's been picked up somewhere." He watched Valentino's face closely. 

 "I know the guy. What are you willing to pay for him?" 

 "Money?" Ben snorted. "Nothing as petty as that." This raised a dirty
look from Valentino. "No, seems he was too well acquainted with the sister
of this friend of mine. Seems there was an incident in the back seat of
his car. Seems she ended up with a baby that she aborted. Damage was
done." 

 "What were you planning on doing to this guy if you caught him?" 

 "I figured I could exact a small amount of revenge." Ben's mouth hardened
into a tight line. "Thinking of surprising him the was he surprised my
friend's sister." 

 

 Valentino raised an eyebrow at that. 

 "You work in sadistic ways, my friend." He grinned. "I like that." He
took Ben's hand and shook warmly. "I'll take you to him." 

 Ben's heart leapt into his throat. He was going to see Ray! But he kept a
tight grip on his emotions as he was used to doing, and all Valentino, his
associate and the dancer saw was a curt nod. 

 "Of course, you can't kill him, you know." Valentino warned. "We're in
enough trouble as it is with him. But take all the physical liberties you
want." His smile sent a chill through Ben's heart. This man would think
nothing of killing Ray. 

 Day Nine. 

 Ray barely had the strength to breathe now. Despite the injections, he
could feel his heartbeat slowing. Slowly he was being poisoned. Slowly,
very slowly, he was freezing to death. And then the door opened. Ray
turned away from the light, and he heard footsteps coming toward him. A
strong hand rolled him over. He squinted up at the figure. There was no
sudden pinprick in his arm. Somewhere in the back of his numbed mind, it
registered that this was not one of the terrorists. As his eyes adjusted,
he saw the concerned, familiar face of his friend. 

 "Benny--" He whispered. He blinked, not believing his senses. There was a
warm hand on his pulse, and then he heard Ben's voice again. 

 "Ray, I've only got a couple of minutes--can you walk?" 

 "N-no." Ray remembered his leg. "My leg--" 

 Ben shone his light across the cot. Ray's right leg was bulky with a
splint and stained bandages. His left ankle was chained to the cot. Ben
heaved the corner of the cot up, delivering a powerful kick to the corner
attached to the chain. With a crack, the cot leg gave way. He hefted Ray
up onto his shoulder, careful not to jolt his leg. Then he stepped to the
door. The hallway was clear. 

 He made for the stairs, remembering the way he'd come in, and soon he was
in a deserted alley. He lay Ray down. 

 "Benny--" Ray whispered. "You really here?" 

 "Yes." Ben nodded. "Ray--what did they do to you?" 

 Ray groaned, saying something about needles, and gave up. Ben examined
Ray's arm with a sour look on his face. 

 "Don't worry." He said stonily. "Everything will be fine. Don't go
anywhere. Don't move, and above all, do not call out." He stood up again.
"I'll be back. I promise." With that, he ran back down the alley, towards
the darkened building. 

 "He's gone!" Ben yelled angrily, storming up the stairs from the
basement. "He's gone! You let him escape! Now he'll tell everyone where
you are!" 

 The kidnappers' faces turned pale and they scrambled to their feet,
grabbing their guns on their way to the staircase. Ben followed them into
the basement, and showed them the open door. 

 "When I got down here, the door was open. I looked around, but he was
gone." He pointed inside. "And look--" 

 One of the kidnappers grabbed a flashlight, and the group of them went
into the darkened room. As soon as the last one entered, Ben slammed the
door shut and locked it with a satisfying thud. The reinforced metal door
would keep their bullets from breaking through, and as there was no lock,
only a big metal bar, it was unlikely they would escape before the backup
force arrived. 

 The next thing Ray knew, he heard the blare of sirens, police and
ambulance, and he felt hands wrapping a blanket around him and loading him
onto a stretcher. He could hear a voice, familiar and worried, ringing in
his ears. Ben's voice. He tried to answer, but his mouth wouldn't work.
Every noise roared in his ears until, deafened, he lost consciousness. 

 Day Ten. 

 The window was dark, and outside the rain was beating against the glass.
Ben sat beside Ray's bed, calmly awaiting any sign of life from his
friend. The room was silent, except for the faint beeping of the monitors
and the faint rustle of activity from the hallways. 

 It had seemed so long ago that he had dragged Ray out of his black
prison, pale and shivering from shock and the drugs in his system. Now,
cleaned and attended to, Ray slept through the last effects of the
chemicals the kidnappers had injected him with. Ben was grateful he'd
found Ray in time. If Ray had undergone one more injection in such a short
time, he would have died. The figure in the bed stirred. Ben looked up,
hope in his eyes. Ray's eyes opened, a little dazed. 

 "Benny?" He mumbled. "What are you doing here?" 

 "I rescued you, Ray." Ben said simply. "How are you feeling?" 

 "Like hell." He squinted against the glare of the light. "Hey." 

 "Is the light bothering you?" Ben asked, worried. 

 "Nah, it's alright." Ray sighed. He was so tired. "But could you get me
something to eat? I'm starving." A glint of the more vivacious Ray
flickered across his face. Ben smiled, relieved. He could see it, too. He
got up to find the floor nurse, but Ray stopped him. 

 

 "Hey Benny?" Ben turned at the door, to see Ray, thin and pale, lying
weakly in the hospital bed. "Thanks. For coming after me. For saving my
life." 

 Ben smiled, his thoughts turned inwards. He took a step nearer Ray. 

 "Ray, I had to." He said softly. 

 "Ah, I know." Ray tried a weak grin. "And I wanted to thank you." 

 "You don't have to." Ben said. He touched the back of Ray's hand softly
with his fingertips. "You being alive is all the thanks I need." 

 Ray took his hand, his fingers shaking, but the intention strong. He drew
Ben a little closer to him. Ben looked down at him. There were tears in
Ray's eyes. 

 "I thought I was gonna die." He choked. "I was so afraid of dying alone,
in the dark. Benny, I was so afraid--" 

 "Shh." Ben gingerly reached around the wires and tubes to embrace Ray.
Ray's head sank against his chest, and Ben could feel his breath, warm
against his skin. Ray spoke again, his voice slightly muffled. 

 "I was scared of being there. And all I could see was you telling me not
to go. Your voice." His voice quivered, but he continued. "I kept hearing
your voice. That was what kept me going." 

 Ben bit his lip, smiling to himself. He held Ray, feeling him breathe,
feeling his breath. Then slowly, softly, he kissed the top of Ray's head.
He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Ray shifted. 

 "You meant what you said, didn't you?" 

 "About what?" Ben asked. 

 "You still love me?" He said forlornly. 

 "Yes." Ben said, swallowing hard. Ray moved away from him, laying back
down exhaustedly. He looked up at Ben. 

 "Thank you." He said simply. 

 Ben didn't know what to say. He could feel the tears trickling down his
cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of one hand. He bit his lip,
wondering what to say. 

 "Hey, Benny." Ray smiled weakly. "How about that food?" 

 Ben laughed in relief. He didn't have to say anything. Ray smiled at him,
and with a nod, Ben left the room. Ray sighed, staring up at the ceiling.
He could still feel the warmth of Ben's embrace. He still had the dream
memory of Ben's hands on his body. He felt a new warmth inside him,
growing stronger as he realized it. It was a peaceful warmth, a placid
relaxation. It was the warmth of love. 

 THE END. 

 By Jen Coe 

 jesterangel@hotmail.com  Return to the Due South Fiction Archive