Lessons:Scene VII

VII

8:45 A.M.

A sudden bright light. A tall, spindly, white Thing bending over him. Stick
fingers stroked his cheek then held his chin as something funnel-shaped and
hard pushed into his ear and he screamed and thrashed, kicked and struck.
His fist punched the Thing back, legs pushed and kicked it further away.
Other Things grabbed him at the armpits, lifted him up. A blow to the
stomach stunned his diaphragm, making him crumple to hang limp between the
other spindle creatures, then a palm slammed his head backward against the
wall; firecrackers of yellow and blue with flecks of gold exploded. The
fingers entwined in his cowlick, pulling his head forward, ready to slam it
back again--
"William, stop! How often must I caution you against useless brutality? Get
Mr. Mulder on the floor."
That voice. From a lipless, slit mouth. The first breath he drew fueled a
confused, frightened snarl, then perception shifted--first by a fractal,
then another, another. Memory spit back sensations fresher than at first:
cold metal, cold lubricant, a warm mouth and fervid tongue.
It was the Master he saw sitting on the concrete floor. The man rubbed his
jaw as Mulder struggled between William and Jim: afraid of creatures who'd
hurt him, afraid of punishment garnered by reflex. He'd hit the Master and
the knowledge made him flail and fight and yell when he should stop. He'd
hit the Englishman--split his lip. Saw blood dripping from a jutting chin
onto white cotton and bleached denim.
"Move, William, let me!" A whip-chord strong arm caught Mulder around the
throat and he heard himself shout as his legs were knocked out from under
him and kneecaps hit the floor. "Grab onto him--grab him," he heard the
Master order Jim and Bill. They pawed at his thighs-finally seized his
calves, hands sliding down to grip ankle bones. Dragged his legs out from
under him.
As Mulder's strapped buttocks touched the stinging, freezing concrete, the
Master broke hold and straddled him with a bounce that deflated lungs. One
of his arms was pinned by the Master's knee, but he used his other to
pummel the bastard's chest. Heard his own red-faced growling and the
Englishman's disgusted words: "William! Help me--take hold of--Ah! For
God's sake!--Jim, stay on his ankles. Bill, catch his hands, then take my
place here!"
Tug against counterforce, and Mulder's arms were above his head, wrists
held to the gritty floor, and the Englishman had scooted around. Two pairs
of hands on his wrists, then William's heavy heat settled in the Master's
place, glittering eyes shining down to drown his own. The gray-haired man's
cloying, skinny face came closer, blocked Bill out. The mouth spoke
quietly, jiggling a drop of warm blood to splash Mulder's forehead and
trickle down into his hair.
"It's all right. This was entirely my fault, lad, and I won't count it
against you. We'll hold you down you as long as you need us to--just calm
yourself now." Mulder's tendons tightened instead, jerking and jerking
against the grip of strong hands as he snapped his head from side to side.
"Do you understand, Mr. Mulder? I won't punish you for this. There'll be
just your lesson today and nothing else."
Words that allayed panic in this sick bastard's universe only made his own
dread and frenzy worse. Muscles inside him clamped violently against a
long, thick, residual shape. Not again. He was shouting it and other
things-didn't know what he was shouting and sweated hot from useless
strain. "Shhhhhhh. Hush, lad. Shhhhhhh," the Master soothed as Mulder
wished him in Hell and flopped his head to the right and left, right and
left. Whimpered relief when his body relaxed in an unexpected gush.
"Good. That's right. Good. You're pleasing me now," the Master cooed and
Mulder wanted to scream rage--see how much that pleased the mutherfucker.
"Let me have control, boy. Give it to me." There was a long pause as his
bare body settled against the concrete and he forced his breathing into a
slower, stable pattern. "That's it. Very good....now, what happened, lad?"
He turned his face toward the wall.
"Do you need to be held longer?"
Mulder shook his head once--like the twitch of an automaton.
"Let him go." The bulk of the blond shifted off his chest. No one was
touching him now, but they were very, very close. Mulder didn't move,
didn't even lower his arms to his sides, just stayed dead still as the
adrenaline that disguised last night's hurts was spent out. Now he could
feel muscles burning; throbs and aches seeped in to blend with the sharp
thumping at the back of his head.
"Sit up, Mr. Mulder."
He did so--slowly--watching the men watch him. Moaned when the pain in his
head turned to fire crackers and was thankful the Master let him sit
quietly while the fizzle-and-bang ceased before showing him the device that
had terrified him.
"It's a thermoscan, Mr. Mulder. I was trying to take your temperature. It's
important that I monitor your condition. I'm going to use it on you now and
I will use it again, but I won't do what I just did: I'll be sure you're
aware of me first. Control yourself for me now."
Mulder drew up and stiffened, suffered the second intrusion into his ear.
Blinked at the snap. The Master seemed satisfied with the reading and
didn't share the results. "Jim, I'm going to go tend this injury. While I'm
upstairs, let Mr. Mulder relieve himself. Give him a few cups of water,
too. And William," the voice was honeyed black. "Nothing gratuitous while
I'm gone."
Mulder saw the tow-headed man's throat bob before he answered. "Yes, sir."
Mulder crushed a smile, glad of the fear that wiggled Bill's gut. Nasty,
fucking prick. Swallowed dry down a desiccated throat and prepared himself
for angry compensation.
"Get up, freakin' bastard queer!" The scent of Listerine as William sneered
in Mulder's face. "I said get up!" When he managed to stand, outspreading
his hands in surrender, Bill almost floored him again by a rough grab and
twirl toward the doorway. His head bammed and his ears sang and he didn't
understand why he hadn't crashed on the concrete until he felt the arm
around his waist.
It was the small man's strength keeping him upright. Jim sighed. "Will you
just calm down, Bill."
"This cocksucker's fucking with us!"
"No," Mulder rasped, showing the flat of his palms again. "I'll do what you
want."
"Shut up!" Spittle sprayed his cheek as Bill leaned in close. "Slaves don't
say goddamned nothin' unless we tell them to--get it, meat?"
Mulder's open-handed surrender transformed to fists molded by indignity.
But he lowered them. Looked down his nose past gelled, force-flattened
curls to the pretty, wicked features of William's face, then dropped his
chin to stare at him--even and blank.
Jim's arm tightened and turned him carefully toward the doorway. "Can you
walk by yourself, Mr. Mulder?"
He didn't answer, pulled away from the touch of warm knit cotton to shuffle
a few naked steps, then a sharp shove between the shoulder blades propelled
him forward. "Move it!"
Another sigh behind him. "Bill, if you knock his patient down you're gonna
be way sorry. He's already pissed at you about Marta."
"Spic bitch. She shouldn't have ratted on me."
"She didn't. She didn't have to. He always finds out. And you know I didn't
appreciate it either, Bill."
"Oh, shut the fuck up, lover boy." The hard fingertips poked Mulder's back,
made him grit his teeth as he left the bright of the cell for a dungeon in
perpetual dark. The shoves impelled him toward the bathroom. The florescent
tube above crackled as it flooded with current. "Take a leak," William
ordered. "Go on."
There was a copper-yellow rust ring around the inside of the bowl. Hadn't
noticed it last night. He'd had to sit down to pee then. Mulder stared at
blemished white and his bladder ached and he felt himself blush. His
fingers barely touched his flaccid cock.
"What's a matter, FBI?" The little shithead was at his side again, yapping
like a goddamned military drill sergeant. "Need a special code word from
Herbert Freakin' Hoover to take a whiz?" Mulder said nothing, but the
corners of his eyes narrowed and twitched as his stare shifted to William's
face. "What are you looking at? Look at your fucking dick and piss!"
Mulder felt his color blossom, knew his fist was a microsecond from
undercutting Bill's jaw when Jim stepped between them with his back toward
Mulder and pointed to the door. "Bill, get out of here."
"Screw you, Jimbo. You coddling the G-boy, too?"
"I'm just trying to keep you from worse trouble than you're already in. If
you so much as spit on this one, you know what he'll do. So, go on," Jim
gestured to the door again. "Let me take care of the patient." Mulder felt
his shoulders drop a little, hands loosen, as William turned heel and
strutted out, muttering obscenities.
"Mr. Mulder," the small man faced him now, features stolid, voice neutral.
"I'd do my best not to offend Bill if I were you. He's never seen any slave
strike the Master. I haven't either, come to think of it." He hesitated,
looked at the toilet. "Try to piss. I know you must have to. I'll step back
and maybe that'll help."
Mulder took a tired breath and closed his eyes, tried to pretend. After a
moment, his bladder let down, but the squeezing made his pelvis cramp. He
winced, and when the urine flow ceased, cradled his cock and balls, feeling
hurt centering along the perineum wall and spiking off into his hips.
He heard Jim's steps, felt his heat, and looked up to find him watching.
"Do you need to do anything else?"
"No," Mulder shut his eyes again. "No."
He shuddered when a tap shrieked and water roared in the horrible, lighted
world beyond his eyelids. "You want a drink?" Eyes opened to fix on a large
Dixie cup--cheerful pink and green and purple flowers. Incomprehensible
against the gray ghosts of screams.
"Come on. Water? Take the cup."
Suddenly Mulder was desperate. He grabbed at the cup, rushed it to his lips
and swallowed, swallowed, spilling the liquid down the sides of his mouth,
down his chest. Started to resist when Jim tried to take it from him. "Hey!
It's empty. Let go and I'll refill it."
His fingers flexed in disbelief--wouldn't believe until they touched the
wax-coated paper. And when belief was in his hand, he drained the second
cup as fast. The last mouthful went down wrong and sent him coughing.
"More, p-please," he sputtered.
"That's all for now. You'll get some later."
"But--"
"No backtalk. You shouldn't have asked for more to begin with, slave."
Mulder's voice was hoarse and ugly as he retorted, "Don't call me that!
It's not why I'm here! And I'm no one's goddamned 'patient,' either."
Saw full lips tug back at the corners as Jim scratched his bearded cheek.
"Okay then. Fox. It's time to go out to the dungeon. Go on," he admonished
as Mulder struggled with a surge of fear--round, black pupils skipped to
the wall, the old chipped porcelain sink, a drip bucket under a failing
pipe. He almost panicked when Jim's hand gripped his elbow. "Go out there
now, Fox."
He wasn't sure how he complied and walked out into the dark. His steps were
stiff, then elasticized into a sideways skitter as William popped from
behind the bathroom door. Mulder gasped and Jim cursed and Bill pushed the
little man away; his palms slammed the broad of Mulder's back, drove him
past things he hoped to God they would never use, and out to the middle of
the room. The shouted order hurt his ears. "Stand right there!"
And Mulder stood--his legs together, arms tight to his body, hands
shielding his genitals--dry eyes locked on the curlicue shadow of a candle
flame dancing on the floor. The concrete's chill radiated up his legs,
penetrated deep into his calves. His thighs and buttocks and shoulders
shook from fatigue.
It was only just morning.
-Lisby
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"I've got twelve disciples and a Buddah smile
The Garden of Allah--Viking Valhalla
A miracle once in awhile..." --Rush, "Totem"
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