This Perfect Sphere, due South Slash   *~* STOP! ! ! *~* This is a
DARK slash story. It's got a major blood and guts warning! 

After a little discussion in The Closet email list, I finally decided to
just stick this on DSX, and in Hexwood, and then run and hide. Don't read
this if you have a weak stomach, have a weak heart, don't want to have
nightmares, or are desperately in cute love with Fraser and only want to
see him surrounded by butterflies, flowers and little cherubs. 

Spoilers for The Edge. Fraser/Macon Lacroix  Rated NR for violence and BG
for blood and guts. DARK SLASH!  Written in first-person-bizarro style.
Pay attention to where the quote marks are, and are not. If it's not in
quotes, its not said aloud. THIS  PERFECT  SPHERE by Mitch Hudson 

You  thought you were doing the right thing but you were wrong because you
didn't understand the philosophy of life as a perfect sphere. 

You gasp in mortal pain, your mouth stretched into an oval large enough
for me to fit my sizable fist into, and for the moment I pause to consider
this erotic image. Then the salty sweat of terror beading on your forehead
distracts me and I lean down and kiss-suck the little space between your
eyebrows. You shudder beneath me, your skin cold and clammy with shock,
mottled with bruises and I smile, knowing your mind is unable to handle
the overload of physical and mental sensations I have bestowed on you
these past eight hours alone here in our forest hide-away. 

"I told you I was a man of nature when you hunted me down in the woods. I
told you when you captured me in the NAFTA conference that you were
wrong." 

"Benton, sweet Benton. Your juices are like nectar." I walk on my knees
down the hard bed I will no longer sleep alone on and sit at your waist
then stroke a hand down one of the many rows of burn blisters on your
ribs, delighting in the pattern the heated metal rod made on your so very
white, white flesh. So pale, so delicate. Using the edge of the hot metal
has left long bars of raised skin, angry red streaks that are crowned by
swollen blisters. I press one and you make a mewling noise. I wonder if
the juice inside will taste as sweet as the rest of what I've sucked from
your body this glorious night? 

 I pop some of the burn blisters, heedless of your flinch and watch the
clear fluid ooze from you. I smile in satisfaction and dip my finger into
the liquid. 

I crawl up the bed and force my finger past your cracked and bleeding
lips. The pain that has burned up all your body's supply of energy hasn't
even spared you enough vigor to tug away from my ministrations. For the
past two hours of our love-making I have left your ankles untied. Your
struggles had become so feeble that my heart was warmed to see each flinch
you managed to make. 

Laden with your fluid my finger slides past your teeth and I smile,
waiting for you to attempt to bite me. The previous times you tried that I
forced my fingers deeper, past your uvula. My skin is faintly marked from
your weak efforts, but yours is marked much deeper. Much deeper. I fancied
I could feel your vocal cords that last time, the time you turned that
dusky shade of blue as I choked you with my fingers lodged down your warm
and inviting throat. 

The blood mixed with your saliva darkens then obscures the pre-pustule
fluid I've fed you and I lose interest; you haven't the strength or mental
concentration to close your teeth against my invasion. Now my gaze wanders
to your torn nipples. Such a shame, the state they're in now. They were so
saucy, so irreverent and now they're just ruined gaping maws of
unsavoriness. I push my thumbs into the shredded wounds and feel my way
around under the skin. You manage to produce a cry that could almost be
heard outside our sequestered love-nestif there were someone out there to
hear it. But there isn't. We're well secluded. I almost regret not having
to gag you once I had your drugged body tied to my bed. You spoke so
eloquently when you regained consciousness, trying to reason with me, to
dissuade me, to gain your freedom. But I would not have missed the thrill
of hearing the progression from reason to screams of disbelief at the
increasing pain you experienced as I began my methodical ingress of your
body. 

"That first scream you uttered, my beautiful man, shocked you, didn't it?"
I laugh at the memory of the surprise you showed as your body responded to
the sweet love I made with it. 

"You prize your intellect as much as I do my own. We are kindred spirits,
you and I, both men who love the untamed land, both men who value freedom
of movement and find the highest degree of happiness in solitude. That's
why we're such perfect lovers." I knew it could be like this the moment I
saw you sleeping so piously in your bed those long months ago. I stood in
the secret darkness of your room that first time I saw you up close,
watching the drugged wolf slumber, watching the steady rise and fall of
your pale chest. And I knew. 

I withdraw, careful to keep your blood covering my thumbs. I kneel between
your thighs and reflexively you spread them, flinching away from the
torment the bamboo shoots I've inserted and woven through the skin and
muscles in your inner thighs cause when I roughly knee your legs. I gaze
in appreciation at the sight of your crotch. Your scrotum is purple. The
wires wrapped around your nut sack, the thin copper separating and
stretching out each gonad glistens warmly. I frown. The lower pair of
electricity leads should have been detached before I dipped my thumbs with
the red lubricant. After rectifying this mistake I push my thumbs in your
nipples again and your mewling protest is barely audible, then I spread
your asscheeks. I push both thumbs in your rectum and work the new blood
in with the old. The sound is delightful; wet and warm and soft, all words
that are testament to the passion we've shared these past few hours. 

"Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?" You don't answer and I
look up at your face and see your eyes fluttering. I thrust my thumbs in
and pull your sphincter as far open as I can. You gasp and I grin. "Much
better." Your thighs quiver and I'm not sure if it's in response to the
bamboo or the pain my thumbs are causing to the rips and punctures my fat
reed bundle created in your bowels. 

The copper wire is a regret. I'd have preferred to only touch your body
with organic substances, or tools I, alone, manufactured. The ropes that
bind your wrists, I made myself from hemp. The woven grasses around your
neck, I plucked myself from a river bank. The various apparatuses I've
used on your swollen and misshapen hands, your twisted and shattered
fingers, were carved from woods that grow locally here. 

"You and I share such an appreciation of nature," I whisper seductively as
I remove my thumbs and repeat the most intimate of contacts we've had
during our brief love-affair. As your bloody recess welcomes my cock
inside I lock my gaze on the muscles of your neck that even now fight
against the tough grass binding I made for your neck. I knew you'd find
synergy in my choice of materials. But I had to have something that would
conduct the energy from the generator to you, hence the presence of the
copper in our communion. And of course I regret the use of the thin iron
rod I pushed down your urethra tube as well as the hot iron I used on your
ribs earlier. 

Like a dark thundercloud moving over me the desire to orgasm pushes me to
beat my hips against your pelvis. The grating of a shattered hip, the
popping of tendons over misplaced bones hurries me toward completion and
my cum mixes with your blood and feces. Your body is unable to respond, to
welcome my love as it did earlier, with some sign of animation. I sigh in
disappointment and back away from you. 

Forcefully I sheathe one hand into your bloody rectum and am still able to
reach the switch on the lead connected to that iron rod. As a small amount
of electricity crackles through your penis your ass spasms around my
wrist. I increase the voltage and I smile as I see nothing but white
showing in the slits of your eyes now. Dark saliva slides from the corners
of your mouth. It's a bit foamy and I think on the broken ribs you
sustained when I stomped on you at eleven o'clock last night. Perhaps a
lung has been punctured. I don't regret it though; it was a great way to
wake you from the drug-induced stupor. If a lung wasn't punctured by one
of your ribs then, perhaps it happened later when I was using that heavy
willow branch on your torso. 

I lean on your right thigh and feel the snapped bones grate together. I
increase the electricity flow. 

Your ass makes sweet love to my hand, caressing, cajoling me in deeper,
squeezing my wrist, now caressing my forearm. "Oh, Benton, lover. How deep
will you draw me in?" I marvel at your erotic nature. 

"You were wrong to cause me such grief by incarcerating me. You and I are
kindred spirits. Our souls are alike as the matching halves of a walnut.
You should have known that in *your* soul and listened to your heart. You
were wrong for allowing them to imprison me. You should have allowed that
partner of yours" 

I pause, the bitterness I feel at knowing that loathsome, skinny man has
made love to you before me fills me with rage. My hand inside you surges
deep, delivering a blow from a fist that marks you like not even he has
ever done. When I found him in bed with you I almost brought him here too.


I work hard to get myself under control, then I continue. "You should have
allowed him to shoot me. You were wrong. But the world is a sphere and
perfect in its symmetrical design. Like a drop of the purest water
suspended in space, Benton. Stricken, then left alone, it will return to
its perfect shape." 

The door splinters open and that hated apparitionthe skinny man who
debauched you, who plucked my Benton-flower before I got a chance tohe
enters our blissful hide-away. I see his gun and his eyes and know I'll
die with my fingers brushing your internal organs. I'm content in that
moment because the sphere of water has returned to the perfect shape it
was before you struck it out of balance by talking me out of dying at the
NAFTA conference. 

"That's why I brought you here, to a place I wouldn't have to gag you." 

"Vecchio can finish the task now. But first I had to force you to talk to
me again, to make sure I could withstand your sultry and persuasive words.
Sweet Benton, your voice is so seductive that I had to see, I had to know
if I could withstand your" * * 

If I had killed Lacroix two years ago . . . If I had not succumbed to the
chloroform when he came back for Benny . . . If I had trailed Lacroix
sooner . . . If I'd made sure I was notified if he escaped . . . If . . .
If . . . 

"But you see, Fraser doesn't talk. I mean he only whispers a few words now
and then. And when I close my eyes I can't help seeing why, can't help
hearing Lacroix's words as he" 

"My bullet caught him in the chest. I mean, my first bullet caught him in
the chest. My second one went close to the first. I would have emptied the
whole clip right in that spot but spreading them out a little helped move
his body back off Fraser some. I didn't fully realize he was held in
place. I mean, he was held there. I mean . . . I fired eight of the
thirteen-round clip into his chest. The other five shots went into his
head and neck. You know how sometimes people will say they black out and
not remember firing a few shots? Not me. Not that time. I remember each
one. I remember the sound, the jump, the recoil, the tang blasting into
the air. The heat. I remember each squeeze of the trigger, the concussion
of the airwave as it hit me. Blowback." 

"And my backup. It's a little six cylinder. Those slugs went in him too." 

"His body was kind of jerking. But he didn't fall away. He was kind of . .
. held there against Fraser. Then he was dead. And still inside . . .
Fraser. And I was all there was. I mean there wasn't anyone with me. I
don't want to decide if that was good or not." 

"So BennySo Fraser was alive. I don't want you thinking of him as Benny.
That's too intimate. But he was alive. I saw that. I mean I could see that
he was alive. And no. I'll never contemplate if that was a good thing or
not either. So I turned off the electricity. Then I had to take Macon
Lacroix out of him. And I did that. I did that. I did. I . . . I did that.
I pulledI just did it. And so like I said, I was alone there. So Fraser
was alive. I could see that." 

"And there were some ropes to untie. I looked at the ropes and I untied
them. I untied both ropes and there was another one on Benny'son Fraser's
neck and I took that off. I could see he was alive. I could see him.
Alive. So then I had to do something about all this because like I said I
was the only one there, so it was up to me." 

"I dumped the dead body on the floor and I could see Fraser's eyes were
not quite open, and they weren't quite closed. I tried to speak to him. I
said the usual stuff. He was safe. It was me there and I'd come to get him
out of this hell-hole and that I'd take him to a hospital and then I saw
the foam, the red foam he was breathing. I'm not sure if my words were
spoken out loud, but I can remember each wave of blowback from each slug
leaving my weapons." 

"There are a lot of things you're supposed to do. And a lot of things
you're not supposed to do. I did some of each. You realize by this time
both my weapons were empty. Macon Lacroix was totally dead but still I
would have preferred to just still be shooting him. That's what I'd
preferred to have been doing . . . " 

"Give me a minute, okay? 

"Like I said I did some of the right things. I tried to see where the
majority of the blood was coming from, but that Lacroix? He'd painted with
it. Painted with blood. So it wasn't as easy to see what was bleeding as
it was to see that Benny was alive. So anyway his chest" 

"His stomach had some wounds on it and so I pulled off my shirt and
covered him from neck to" 

"I took the other thing out of him. I tried not to hear his sounds. Maybe
he wasn't making any. Maybe I mean, he wasn't speaking any sounds but
there were sounds. Wet . . ." 

"I was retching. I was cold and clammy with shock, you know? You know how
you feel when you're in shock? Anyway the wires came off easily. I saw the
pieces of wood in his legs and left them. I was retching. So I had to make
a decision, to carry him out and hurt him more or wait for an ambulance
that would take hours to get all the way out here. I was retching and I
had to quit that first." 

"So I made a decision and went with it, made a call, informed the
emergency operator who'd set things in motion and an emergency medical
team was dispatched in my direction. They'd start searching maps for a
place to land a helicopter between me and the hospital I was going to head
for." 

"I had covered him with my shirt. I didn't want to use Lacroix's sheet,
but I did. Bundled Fraser up and dragged him out to the car. I knew
bending him to lift him would be worse because of the red foam coming out
of his mouth. Sliding him was easier, and at the cabin's front porch I had
to stop and pick him up anyway. I tried not to hear the sounds he made. I
had trouble sliding him into the car and everything around us was soaked
in blood now.  I just laid him across the front seat then slipped in,
lifting his head into my lap to drive." 

"As I drove the smell of blood filled the car and I was starting to retch
again. I rolled down the window. I could feel him against me. I had to
keep my eyes on the road regardless of everything else. The helicopter
reached us first at the intersection of some damned farmroads. They'd
called me on my cell phone repeatedly to coordinate our directions. I
stopped and the paramedic team was out and swarming over my car in
seconds. They took him out and put him on a stretcher then carried him to
the chopper. They asked me if I was hurt and I didn't answer, just climbed
in the chopper. If I'd said no they'd have made me stay there on the side
of that black road, you know." 

"And I watched them unwrap him" And watched them react and watched them
try not to and watched them look at him. And I watched them start to treat
what they saw. "I think they were worried most about the red foam too." 

"All through this, I could see the outline of lip prints, made in blood on
his left cheek." Macon Lacroix had pressed his blood-covered lips right
there to Benny's cheek 

"At one point during all thisMacon'd kissed him with blood. Can you
imagine that? I watched that bloody kiss as the paramedics worked and as
the chopper flew on through a blue-black sky. There was more than one
bloody kiss print showing on his face and neck but I only watched that
one. Most of what they do in helicopters is stabilize the patient. They
did that and at the hospital doctors would try to undo what Macon Lacroix
had done." 

I followed the gourney out onto the roof, under the wash of the
helicopter's rotor, across the black tarmac, out of the yellow circle,
into the morning sunrise and out of that, into the antiseptic smells of a
hospital. 

"I couldn't even retch any more." 

"I got stopped at some set of doors and told to wait and finally I quit
everything because I wasn't all there was anymore. I mean I wasn't alone
and wasn't the one who had to deal with all this any more so I just quit.
Apparently my body quit. I know my mind did. I have a bump on the back of
my head where I hit the floor." 

"They worked on his body a long time. It took a long time to undo what
they could undo. I don't know how long. I mean, I don't know how long the
doctors worked on him that day." 

"So the point of all this was that they catalogued all the stuff, repaired
what they could and got the rest ready to heal and left him alone. So now
I'm here." 

"And I'm the only one again." 

"Things are like that. They tend to come back around to how they were
before. I had a chance once to kill Macon Lacroix. Things came around
again to that point and so I did. I killed him." 

"Somehow . . . don't you agree, somehow that the philosophy that says
things are like circles or spheres, that's wrong? Because sure . . .
things came back around to where they were before but it's not at all the
same, is it? Because . . . you see . . . Benny will not talk any more."
And every time I close my eyes, every time I try to sleep . . . I hear
Lacroix's words, what he said about why he had taken Benny, and, and I
know why. 

end. 

Now don't you dare flame me. I WARNED you! If you have to sleep with the
lights on, or are now afraid of cabins in the woods, its not my fault! And
if you tossed your cookies, well, I'm real sorry. 

Disclaimer: I own due South. I own the copywrite and can do anything with
the characters I want to. I make loads and loads of money off my fan
fiction, just like all the other fan fic writers in the world. Am I lying?
Possibly. Is that prosecutable? In Duluth, maybe. Who actually owns due
South? Alliance thinks they do. We fans humor them. Sure, sure. Alliance
owns due South. Uh huh.  Mitch_H@hotmail.com