From - Tue Nov 25 01:14:09 1997
From: lisby@earthlink.net
Subject: 18A&B

XVIII
1:10 P.M.
Noise. A driving rhythm....Nine Inch Nails.

Mulder's head pounded in time. "Ohhh..." Flat on his stomach and it hurt to
breathe. Lashes brushed cloth as he opened his eyes, saw his slack fingers
on a white sheet. White plaster wall. Mouth tasted terrible--acrid--and the
singer's screams hurt his ears.

His chest felt crushed...just had to breathe. Lifted his head and shoulders
a fraction, a tiny movement, and pain--scalding yellow, scissor-cut flesh,
cut....

Nothing.

Heat. A faint, chemical smell from the sheet beneath his cheek.

His skin throbbed. Little needles prickled over his ass and the backs of
his thighs as he trembled.

Mulder's eyelids slipped open, his gaze drifted up past a raised bed rail.
A small window at ceiling height; slivers of sky between iron bars, a sense
of breeze beyond glass.

The grunge rock ceased with a click and the crackle of static. There were
footsteps and a door opened and banged shut--made his heart pump, his body
jump. He didn't hear his own gasp, the inner ocean roared so loud. The
noise was blue foam and then gray bubbles, then all color was stroked away
by a hand on his hair.

Kindly. English. "Mr. Mulder, do you hear me? Answer me."

"Mmmnnn."

"Look at me," the voice commanded. "Lift your eyes and look at me."

Black riding boots and lanky thighs in old denim; the cuff of a sweater,
and misty eyes above the long nose. "I am the Master here. What are the
rules of my house?"

Rules. "What...?"

Raw agony locked his muscles when the hand slapped his back through the
rough cloth. "What are the rules of this house, Mr. Mulder?"

Couldn't breathe. Words and images swirled in his head like snow.
"Don-don't!" he choked.

The second tap made him shout. The Master's voice hardened, dropped low.
"You have a special memory, lad. Use it. What is the first rule? Tell me or
I will strike your ass very hard."

"Don'-no-no!" His tongue was thick and dry.

"All right," the Master said more softly. "Tell me, then."

Oh fuck. Shit.... "Th'rule is--is--" Mulder clawed at the blizzard. Tore
out words of import and junk, then caught the string--the right words.
"Don't speakuh'less addressed, then ans'without fail."

"Perfect," his captor approved, hand smoothing Mulder's hair until the
roots stood on end and his insides shook. "What is the second rule?"

He had it ready: a procession of syllables and consonants through shivering
lips. "S'posed to obey you....Tell you if I c-can't and you'll tie me
up...."

"Exactly. And what do you do when you are going to be fucked?"

His stomach stilled, curdled. No. This wasn't real. Mulder whirled a mental
circle, flailing. Reached for a little girl who'd secretly dabbed on Mom's
Chanel--pulled her tight, held her so close.

"Fox. Answer me." He winced, tried to pull into a huddle, then gagged on
the pain while his other arms clung fast to Samantha.

"Tell me the rule. Do it now." Mulder heard the voice but if he said it
then he'd have to let her go, let those tapes be real...and this place,
too.

No. No. No.

Sam was lost in the howl of flesh, in his own scream when the Master struck
his ass. "Answer, boy." But the Englishman had to wait as suffocating sobs
wet the cotton cloth beneath Mulder's cheek. 'There now." The crooning made
his bruised knuckles curl. "There, there. You needed to cry. Now, tell me
and I won't hit you again."

"I--I have to--open--I--"

"Yes?"

His nose ran, but his mouth was desiccated. "Open my legs...wide."

"Very good. And once you've been penetrated...?"

"N-no begging." Wanted to add: Mutherfucker. Go straight to hell.

"Yes. That's a good boy." More petting. The Master hunched over him.
Silver-gray forelock. Blue irises even with his own. "You're in my
infirmary, Mr. Mulder. Do you remember being whipped?"

In his mind, Mulder saw toes stretching, trying to touch concrete. Dark
droplets pitter-pat. "I-I bled...." God, his gut was a cold knot.

The Master agreed. "Yes, you bled with real enthusiasm, too. There was
quite a mess to tidy."

The sonofabitch. "I'm so s-sorry to inconvenience yr'boys," Mulder sneered.

Fingers twisted into his hair and tugged as he grimaced. "Are you still as
disobedient as when you went down? It will gain you nothing today, colt."

"Am I going to trot the ring for you, sir?" Mad, utter joy of disobedience,
then a gasp as the Master ripped the blanket from his body in one sandpaper
strip. The chill was instantaneous, stippling his skin and scrotum.
Mulder's legs clenched together and anal and ass muscles clamped as a warm,
hard hand gripped the back of his neck and fingers pushed between his
buttocks. "God, no! No, don't--Ahhh!" Mulder clenched tighter but the a
fingertip wriggled in the opening of his anus, teasing its threat. "Don't!"
Pain-weak and couldn't fight--couldn't fight, either, if he wanted Sam. He
ground his face and sprained knuckles into the mattress-needing his own
pain--but it wasn't enough and, finally, he just screamed.

The intruder tickled again, then withdrew. "All right. Another
word--another mere sound--and I'll punish you," the Master's warning was
close and loud. "I can strike you much harder, Fox. The back of your body
is one magnificent bruise and the lacerations are inflamed. Think what it
will feel like if I strike your ass twice as hard. My hand is ready. Shall
I use it? Speak one of two words: yes or no....Well, what's your answer? Do
you really need a fresh beating?"

Rage and stubbornness, but he whispered, "No."

"Good." The hand left his neck, left the hairs there standing on end. "I
don't want to be cruel today. I would like to be kind to you, but your
behavior will determine my actions. What do you say?"

"I won't."

"You won't?" Mulder grimaced when the Master vice-gripped his shoulder.
"You won't what?"

Sparks behind his eyelids. "I won't be trouble."

"You really are incorrigible." The pressure on his shoulder ceased and
Mulder whimpered as his body relaxed. Peeked up through lank bangs as the
tall man straightened. "I want to bathe you, Mr. Mulder, but I have to get
you walking first."

"But--no! No." Horror stumbled his tongue. "I'll b-bleed again!"

"No, you won't, lad."

"Yes, I will!" He'd seen human flesh sliced open--seen the pristine back of
his body, too, in mirror glimpses. The distillation triggered a tremor,
nausea. No, God, he didn't want that to be him. "Why did you do this to me?
You promised not to m--" He couldn't finish the word. If he did the scars
would come true. "You sick fuck--"

"Be quiet this instant," the English voice snapped. "Another word and
you'll get five from the strap." Mulder winced, bit his lip. No. Couldn't
take it...wasn't worth it. Footsteps as the Master walked the room and if
he turned his head to look at him it would hurt so much....

"I haven't disfigured you, Mr. Mulder." The voice was only a few feet away.
"It may feel like you've been sliced to the bone, but you haven't been." He
heard the rumble of ball barrings--rollers? A drawer?--a clink and some
taps. "Your cuts have had more than twenty-four hours to knit. You've been
sleeping." Hollow thud down at the floor. Something had gone into the
garbage. "I gave you a jab to keep you still. Now I'm going to give you a
good dose of morphine and in a while we'll see if you can sit up. If it's
still too difficult, I'll give you more."

When icy-wet cotton swabbed his hip, Mulder didn't struggle, instead he
leaned into the hypodermic--helped it stab the thicker tissue. He welcomed
the line of burning numb that ran into his muscle, welcomed the little
moment when the drug stopped coursing fire and became a creeping, heavy
element. It let him lay his cheek against the sheet, let the flesh around
his eyes unwrinkle and become smooth. Maybe it could help him
endure...whatever....

"Mr. Mulder, do you understand me?"

Cold, bare skin. Clouds outside, beyond the bars. Clouds.

"Yeah," a breathed word.

Metal clanged-rang in Mulder's brain--as the Master dropped the bed rail.
"Roll onto your side."

Didn't want to. Had to. Slowly, Mulder pushed himself up on his elbow.
"Ah--ahhh, sssssssshit!" he hissed, forehead furrowing, sweat breaking out
above his upper lip; then a shout of hurt and horror when the Master caught
him under the arm and lifted him to sit. God, the scabs--they were
tearing--oh! Mulder's vision blurred, bile rose in his throat. Didn't want
to vomit.

No. Won't.

It hurt; fuck, it hurt...Mulder tried to stare through the miasma of pain,
saw his hands lying limp in his lap--wrists braceleted black and blue. He
could only squeeze the tears from his eyes and gulp when the Englishman
hooked his knees with the crook of an arm and twisted him around to put his
feet on the floor.

A bedpan appeared before him--magic--and the hand caressed his hair as he
vomited into molded gray plastic. "It's the last farewell of the
anesthesia." The Master said, nonplused. Muscles kept convulsing. There was
nothing inside to come out but his brain couldn't tell his stomach that.
With each strain the long scabs across his back pulled taut.
Burned....Jesus.

Finally, it ended save for panting gasps and the bitter taste of bile.
"I'll give you a minute." The Master sat the bedpan on Mulder's knees and
strode out of the infirmary, leaving his prisoner to drip sweat, to rub the
grit from his lashes with the heels of his palms and swallow acid sourness.

Eventually, there were returning footfalls and the pan of mucus and juices
was whisked away. "Mr. Mulder, how are you?"

"I need water," he moaned, barely seeing the man beside him, but shivering
at his nearness.

"I know. You'll get a drink shortly."

The cot jiggled as something struck the mattress beside him. "What?"
Things. Mulder tried to focus on the jumble of dark, curling shapes.
"Wh-what the hell are those?"

"I heard your promise of obedience, Mr. Mulder. I suspect you may actually
try to live up to it, but I can't trust you, not after yesterday. You're
going to wear these so we can get you quiet quickly if you lose control
again."

Mulder jumped, sudden-tugged on reflex as the Master gripped the bruised
skin of his wrist. Nearly shouted when the world embered.

"Don't fight me." The voice was gruff, the handhold tight.

"Wh-what are those?"

"Restraining cuffs, Mr. Mulder. Now be quiet and let me fasten them on you."

"No!" But the smack on his shoulder blade was enough. White rippled in
Mulder's head and thick suede enwrapped his wrist. His front teeth sliced
back and forth across his lip as the tongue of the buckle pierced the
suede. The metal strap end clicked as it slipped into a lock riveted to the
band. Oh mutherfuck--no!

"Mr. Mulder, stop it," the Master warned as Mulder tried to shake off the
dark limpet, tried to break the man's grip on his other wrist. Dizzy and
his heart pounded. "You will let me put these on you. If you don't, I'll
call my assistants to help me."

He remembered their warm hands. "Keep them away from me!"

"Then sit still and be quiet. One more word and I'll beat you....These
cuffs are pliant and shouldn't irritate. I'll only use the connecting hooks
and leads if you make it necessary." Now there were two brown leeches
around his wrists. He stared in dread and bit his lip, bit hard, as the
Master squatted to let them slip around his ankles.

He was trembling when the Master arose. "And now the collar." A flush of
fear and Mulder drew back, swallowing hard. "Mr. Mulder, don't resist
this," the Master's tone heavied.

"I--I--" His jaw felt slack. "Don't--don't let it choke me."

"Choke you? No. There's no choke chain inside."

Mulder puffed through his nose, willing himself to be still as the weight
of the collar settled around the base of his throat. Looked steep down his
nose to watch the man's fingers thread the buckle. It wasn't alive. It
would let him breathe. All right...Okay...it was a collar.

A collar.

The Englishman reached into his front pocket, drew out a small brass
padlock. Mulder cringed, turned his face away as the little thing clicked,
sealing him in. "All done," said the Englishman.

Mulder ducked his head to avoid the stroking hand. Whispered, "Woof."

***

All he could see was deep blue.

Up steps of wood, counting in his head to keep from screaming. Counted
while they walked him, made him take more stairs that were cool and smooth
and hard beneath the bare soles of his feet.

One last step--scabs on his ass pulling tight--then his feet on plush
carpet. Warm air calmed the back of his neck as he stood, buttressed by the
men. It was a heating vent, he knew. It made him weak and wanting to stay
but the Master and Jim pulled him on. The carpet changed to something
rougher, then a smooth wood floor poxed by squeaky boards; finally to cool,
slick tile. "Thank you. You can go now, my dear." The English voice was
soft and light like the silk that blinded him. "Close the door behind you,
Jim."

"Yes, sir." The grip on Mulder's arm loosed, went away. The Master's grip,
too--and the body heat that had kept him from trembling. He heard the small
thud of door in its jam, swayed unsteady with hands outstretched,
fingertips trying to touch...touch anything.

"It's all right, Mr. Mulder. I'll take the blindfold off now.'

There was crinkling as the Master pulled the scarf away from Mulder's face,
then light. He squinted into the glow of a tall, narrow window cloaked with
lace. Pupils darted to yellow walls. Old-fashioned commode. A sink.
Edwardian...Victorian...Scully would know.

"Come, lad. Let me help you sit." The Englishman spoke softly as Mulder's
center of gravity shifted and he wobbled on his heels. Felt the Master grab
his elbow. "Come. You need to sit down."

Just a few more steps. The lid of the toilet was cold. It soothed the heat
of the welts and cuts on his buttocks, but sent his balls up high. It
didn't hurt so bad now--his back, his ass. The Morphine--it made his head
all cotton but made the pain like cotton, too.

The gray-haired man was at the sink. Water rushed. Mulder watched him fill
a tall blue plastic cup--kept filling, filling--seemed like forever until
it was offered, until he could grab it and hurry it to his lips. He gulped
and gulped, Adam's apple bouncing, inevitably choking and coughing while
water and mucus ran out his nose and the terri-cloth that wiped his face
suffocated in tandem. He pushed the towel away, took a breath and kept
drinking, swallowing down--only one swallow more. It wasn't enough. He held
the cup out for the Master to refill.

The Englishman took the precious vessel. "Give it a moment to settle, Mr.
Mulder."

"No!" Mulder grabbed at it--at air--earned a rap to his temple that made
his ears buzz.

"Stop it." The Master's lips were right there close, words dancing with the
invisible bees. "I know the Morphine is affecting you, but I will not
accept misbehavior even so. Do you understand, Mr. Mulder?" He managed a
nod but couldn't hide the rebel in his eyes.

"You know, Fox. I am beginning to understand how you push those around you
to the brink." Mulder hated the Master's smirk. Glared at the skinny man
who sat the cup down on the rim of the sink and crossed his arms on his
chest. "Are you hungry? I expected you'd be imploring me for food by now.
You haven't eaten in three days."

"I want water."

The Master raised a bushy gray brow. "No food?"

Mulder looked down at the bands of suede around his wrists, at the steel
locks and D-rings. The loathing to tell this man anything felt like a swarm
on his body. "Just--just fucking give me some water!"

"I said in a few minutes. I know what's best for you, boy."

Mulder's eyes narrowed as he looked up at his captor. Counted his
heartbeats while the heat throbbed in his cheeks. The Master could see the
blush. "Yes, you just settle down."

Mulder kept counting--slower as his heart stopped pounding. "Good. Good
boy." Syrup voice. "Now, tell me, Mr. Mulder, do you have a touchy
stomach?"

Mulder bit his lip. Hung silent until the Master's foot tapped. Mumbled,
"No...sometimes...not really."

The Master frowned and cocked his head. "What does that mean?"

His shrug was small. "I lose my appetite."

"I see. When you're upset?"

"Yes," he sighed. So fucking infuriating.

"And do you vomit if you eat when you're upset?"

Mulder heard his voice turn harsh and ugly. "Why do you want to know? How
are you going to use it against me?"

He stifled a flinch when the Master drew himself up. "Mr. Mulder, answer me
now or you'll suffer for it."

"Yes, I throw up--okay?" Mulder snapped, knew his eyes snapped. Glared at
the Master as his fingers tugged the rim of the opposite wrist cuff.

"Do you feel hunger pains?" The bastard sounded concerned. "I need to know
to help you. And you need my help, Mr. Mulder."

"Oh, sure I do." Still tugging, yanking. It was stupid--it was frantic--but
he couldn't stop. "Your fucking therapy is going to kill me."

The Englishman was watching with a thin smile. "No, you aren't going to
die. And if you work with me, Mr. Mulder, you'll be a better man for your
stay here."

"Oh just fuck you and this bullshit!" Mulder pulled until his fingers
popped off the suede band and the cuts across his shoulders burned. His
eyes stung with wet. "I-I'll answer you but just spare me the crap....No, I
don't feel hunger the way normal people do--that's what I'm told, okay?"

"Calm down." The Master reached out a hand.

Mulder twitched. Pulled back. "Get away!"

The mantis fingers wrapped around the collar to pull him forward, and his
back hurt from squirming. "Are you losing control, lad? Do you need to be
restrained?"

He almost sobbed. Shouted instead, "No, you sonofabitch! I just want some
goddamned water!"

The sea-blue eyes skewered his own for a moment, studying. "All right," he
said and Mulder groaned when the long fingers let go of the collar. "You
can have more water if you'll sit quiet and drink it slow."

Mulder tried. He watched the sparkling surface of the water between sips
and swallows. The thirst wasn't so bad now. He was beginning to feel sated,
flush.

"What does your stomach feel like when you don't eat, Mr. Mulder?" His
captor sat down to his left, on the edge of a big clawfoot tub.

Mulder's mouth pursed, but he answered. "It feels like a rock. A hard
place." Wanted to laugh like a loon at the accidental quip, then, in a
microsecond, felt so fucking tired. "Please just get it over
with....Whatever you're going to do to me--I'll try my best to let you hurt
me without a fight. Please, just don't make me wait."

"I believe I spoke to you about begging, Mr. Mulder." The Master's hand was
on his head, stroking. Mulder bit the inside of his lip. Just let him. Let
the bastard do it.... "Besides, I told you what was going to happen. You're
going to have a bath."

"And after?" The surface of the water in the cup flashed yellow, white, blue.

Mulder winced when Master grasped the back of his head, lifted his chin
with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. Held his face still. He
had to close his eyes against the thin, sallow face. "I'm going to answer
this question, but I don't want to hear another. After your bath, I am
going to give you antibiotics and rub salve into your cuts. What happens
then will depend entirely on your good behavior. Now I am going to shave
you."

He didn't move. He didn't watch. Stayed behind the curtain of his eyelids
as cabinet hinges squeaked and water ran. Dull, tinking sounds. "I'm a bit
old-fashioned, Mr. Mulder. I still mix my shaving cream in a mug." The
voice was gentle, but it couldn't coax him out. "I'm going to spread it on
your face now. That's all I'm doing. Just sit calm."

The lather was warm--it should have pacified. But Mulder had to pinch the
sides of his thighs between his fingernails as the brush tickled his chin
and throat. "I want you to open your eyes, Mr. Mulder. I want you see
this."

Straight razor. Steel blade hanging right before him. "You'll be cut, you
know, if you can't control yourself," the Master spoke low.

The razor swiped Mulder's cheek. His flinch was minuscule, yet enough to
earn another caution from the Master. He pinched his skin harder. The razor
blade came down over his cheek once, then again, progressing inward toward
his nose.

"Be careful of my mole." Mulder's lips hardly moved. Saw his captor smile.

The steel straight razor swept across his carotid. It would be so very
simple, Mulder thought, just lean into the blade, just get it over
with....As if the man were privy to his thoughts, the Master firmed his
grip on Mulder's chin, cutting off any route of escape. Tears rose again in
Mulder's eyes. He held still and let his captor finish.

--lisby@earthlink.net
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"Don't be so dark."
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