#noncon sedation

ko-fi

“N-ngh,” they gasp when Villain’s hand finds its place on the small of their back, their other hand playing with the bare skin of Hero’s collarbone, trailing up until their palm surrounds Hero’s throat and stays. They should be scared. Villain could squeeze at any moment. But, somehow, there’s only inebriated lust in Hero’s voice when they speak. “You shouldn’t–”

“Do you want me to stop?” Villain whispers against their ear, voice low and husky as their thumb follows the line of Hero’s jaw in a feather-light touch, barely there at all. Almost ticklish. Hero shivers but holds still. As much as they want to melt under that touch, to open their mouth and take Villain’s, they only gulp and meet their enemy’s eyes.

“No. I want you to kiss me,” Hero says, letting their head fall back against the wall and delighting in the grin that spreads along Villain’s lips, the way the world sways slightly around them.

“Your wish is my order, darling,” they purr. A second later, Villain’s lips graze Hero’s, teasing. It’s not a full minute before Hero grabs them by the collar and pulls them closer in a silent demand. Villain smiles, and obeys.

The bastard knows how to kiss, they think distantly as Villain’s fingers start playing with the hem of their sweater. They are almost surprised to find their own hands sliding Villain’s jacket off their shoulders, down their arms, throwing it to the ground.

Something like guilt twists in the pit of Hero’s stomach, a beast waiting to attack, and one they don’t listen to. Not when Villain tastes like all things wrong, yet weirdly right – like sin and heaven all the same, bitter and sweet, a strange combination that involves them in silky desire, impossible to ignore.

“Where did you learn to kiss like this?” Hero pants when Villain starts placing a trail of kisses down their neck and a breathy moan leaves Hero’s lips.

“I could ask you the same,” Villain says hoarsely as Hero buries their hand in Villain’s hair and pulls them back to their mouth.

They are going to miss this. Not only their fights but the teasing, the talking, the soft hands on each other's skin.

The twist inside Hero’s stomach growls louder, and so do they, deepening the kiss to muffle the voice that begs them to stop, go back. It isn’t in their hands anymore. If everything is already ruined, why shouldn’t Hero enjoy what little they still can?

Hero’s sweater lands on the other corner of the room, and they smirk when Villain’s body presses their back harder against the wall and their legs respond on their own accord, wrapping around Villain’s hip. Strong arms support their weight as Villain’s cold fingers graze the skin underneath Hero’s thin t-shirt.

“Wait, Villain, I–” Hero says hoarsely, head swimming and heart pounding.

They are doomed.

Their team should be here any moment now. Hero should care about the state they’ll find them in, but Hero finds themself concerned about all the wrong things. Wrong things that have sparkly eyes and a ravishing smile, and know how to tease and kiss and make them crazy with need.

“You…?” Villain murmurs against Hero’s skin, gentle fingers lifting their chin to look into their eyes. Villain’s pupils are blown so wide Hero can barely see the color around them.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, hands carding through Villain’s soft hair.

There’s a sound outside the room, one that sounds just like footsteps. Footsteps they not only knew were coming but planned how it’d happen. They were the distraction, after all.

Hero’s breathing slows down along with their movements, lethargy spreading from that pit of guilt that devours them from the inside out.

Villain’s arms hold them tighter as Hero starts going limp, forehead resting against theirs.

“I am too,” Villain murmurs back, gently rubbing their nose against Hero’s.

“What… for?” they mumble, frowning at how long it takes them to find the words.

“How are you feeling, love?”

Hero’s head snaps back, hitting the wall behind them with a low thud. They barely feel it. Hero tries to pull away, put their feet on the ground, but their limbs feel weirdly disconnected, too light, and they can only stare in horror when their arms start slipping from Villain’s neck.

“What, w–,” Hero pants, eyes widening as realization comes. “The wine.”

“You aren’t the only one who can ploy and trick,” Villain says, a smirk playing on their lips.

Hero whimpers, but their legs do not respond when they try to kick their way to the ground, and their eyelids weigh heavy, fighting to close even when they start trembling with rage.

“You fucking– f-fuck, you traitor.”

“I really am sorry, darling. I was having a great time,” Villain says, moving Hero into a bride carry, placing their head against Villain’s chest in a way that’d have made them shiver in excitement if they weren’t already split between daze and fury. “We have to hurry now, your team should be here any moment.”

“Let me, me, let, let–” they groan, a soft sob slipping out when the words fail them and the world starts blurring around the edges. “You can’t… do this. Let me go.”

“What would be the fun in that? No.” Everything spins as a door creaks open, and Hero’s head lolls against Villain’s heart. Somewhere inside their muddled mind, Hero knows Villain is running away from where their team expects to find them. “Besides, you’d have captured me if I had trusted you. It is only fair that I capture you instead.”

“You b-bastard,” Hero whispers weakly.

Their eyes fall closed despite how hard they try to keep them open, head falling back against Villain’s shoulders, too heavy for them to hold it up anymore.

Distantly, as if underwater, Hero feels a gentle touch against their cheek, followed by a soft sigh they aren’t quite sure is a dream or foggy reality. The voice that accompanies the touch sounds weirdly sad, in a way they never thought they would hear, and know they won't remember. “I wish this could’ve ended differently.”

And then the world slips away, and there is nothing left but darkness.

-

----------------------------------------------------

His eyes flew open to find that he was lying on a bed.

'It was just a dream, Rowan. Take a breath. You’re home. You’re safe.'

He looked around. Except, he wasn’t home. He was in a vast, empty room with pristine white walls and white linoleum flooring. Definitively not-home. 

'Where am I?'

The door cracked open. 

'Finally, someone to explain what’s going on,' Rowan thought. 

Three men stepped in. The first, a middle-aged, medium build man with small round glasses, a clean-shaven face and wearing a doctor’s coat. The other two were well built, tall, and wore white nurses’ scrubs. One had a scar below his left eye, with thick, dark curly hair on his head, and the other had blonde cropped hair and a mean-looking jaw. Blondie also had a nasty black eye.

These were not exactly the people Rowan was expecting. 

The doctor gestured for the two nurses to stand in front of the door, and then he slowly approached Rowan’s bed.

“Hello again. Glad to see you’re awake.” The man had a calm, quiet manner of speaking as he sat on the end of Rowan’s bed.

“Uh.. hi.” Rowan said slowly.

“Ah, I’m sorry.. one moment.” The doctor pulled a small penlight from the pocket of his coat, and shine it in each of Rowan’s eyes. “Hm..”

“Am I in hospital?” Rowan asked as the doctor put away the light.

The man glanced at the two in front of the door, before turning back to Rowan. “You don’t remember?” He asked, his cool tone giving nothing away. 

“No. I was.. what..” Rowan sighed, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember how he’d gotten in this room. 

Oh! The article!

“Well, I was conducting an.. article on a mental hospital.” He said, trying to mimic the doctor’s cool tone. Technically, he wasn’t lying. But he couldn’t let on the full truth, either.

“I see.”

“And then.. and then…”

'I can’t remember. What happened between the woods outside, and here?'

“Can you tell me your name?” The Doctor asked, pulling Rowan out of his thoughts.

“Rowan Murdock.”

“I see, Rowan..” The man glanced at the two nurses again.

“I’m a journalist for The Daily Press, maybe you’ve heard of me?”

The man looked back at Rowan. “Ah.”

“Look, am I in a hospital?” Rowan asked.

The man sighs softly. “What I’m about to say might be very hard to hear. I want you to stay calm, or those two orderlies will have to give me a hand, alright?” He asked, pointing with his chin at the two men in front of the door.

“Okay…” Rowan murmured. “Just, tell me.”

“Yes. You are in a hospital. But... Your name isn’t Rowan Murdock. It’s James Lawton. And you’re in a psychiatric hospital.”

Breathe, Rowan. Just breathe. Stay calm.

“But- that can’t be right. The last thing I remember was walking through the forest. On the outside of Redwood Psychiatric."

"Well, at least you remember the name of this place. You're a patient here - this is Redwood." The Doctor explained, gesturing around the room.

"But I'm not. That's what I'm trying to tell you! There's been some kind of mistake." Rowan pressed, fighting to keep his voice level. "My name is Rowan Murdock, and I'm a journalist. Not a crazy person."

"Listen, James. Take a deep breath. You're in good hands here. Of course you aren't crazy. That's a very outdated and harmful term. You just need help. There's nothing wrong with that." The Doctor placated. "And you've clearly lost your memory after the relapse caused by your escape attempt. So let me refresh your memory. My name is Doctor Wilson. You voluntarily placed yourself in the care of this hospital four months ago, after an increase in hallucinations, paranoia and violent behaviour. The most accurate diagnosis for your symptoms is schizophrenia. I'd like to continue working on your treatment with you, James."

"My name isn't James. If you found my camera, or looked in my-" he'd started to reach for his pant pocket as he spoke, only to realise that the clothes he had been wearing had been replaced by a thin white hospital gown. "-pocket… Well you must have, then. You'd have found my ID, with my name on it. Rowan Murdock."

"We didn't find any camera or ID, James."

"Stop calling me that."  Rowan protested.

"As your Doctor, it is not my place to play along with your hallucinations. I will only set back your recovery further."

"But I'm not your patient! You can't do this!" Rowan fought back tears.

"Take a deep breath, James. You voluntarily committed yourself to our care, meaning that you gave your permission to be here. We can even show you the paperwork if you like. We can keep you here for as long as we think necessary to treat you, because you legally gave us permission to do so." The Doctor tried in a soothing voice. "In a moment, Nurse Dean will bring your meds. You're going to take them for me, and you're going to calm down, okay?"

Rowan stared at the wall, refusing to meet the Doctor's gaze. A knock sounded at the door, and the two orderlies stepped aside to open the door. A man entered, wearing nurse's scrubs and carrying a tray with a dozen small wax paper cups, each with names printed on them. 

"Hello, James." The man said as he stepped up to the bed, handing the tray to the orderlies and picking up a cup with James Lawton on it. "Glad to see you're back with us. Here's your meds." He held the cup out to Rowan.

Rowan reached out and took it, holding up the small cup to inspect the half a dozen pills of different colours and sizes. "What are all of these for?"

“James, you might not remember, but I have told you this before - I can’t tell you, or any of the other patients’, that. You’d only try to avoid certain medications to avoid their effects.” Nurse Dean said firmly. He pushed the tablets closer to James. “Come on, take them. You know the drill, if you don’t take them, we have to inject the medication anyway. So you choose - easy way or hard way.”

Rowan stared into the cup for a moment longer, then slowly tipped the pills back into his mouth. And proceeded to subtly tuck them under his tongue. 

“Open wide.” Nurse Dean pulled out a tongue depressor, and used it to check in Rowan’s cheeks, and then lifted the patient’s tongue. When he found the tablets, he sighed. “James….” 

The nurse lifted the pills onto the wooden stick, then deposited them all at the back of his throat. Then, he placed his hand on Rowan’s throat and massaged firmly, forcing him to swallow the assortment of drugs. Rowan’s throat hurt from the large mass being shoved down his gullet all at once. He coughed, and the Doctor picked up a paper cup from the bedside table, and handed it to Rowan, who took it gratefully and swallowed several mouthfuls of water from the cup.

“I’m sorry. But that one’s on you.” Nurse Dean took back the tray of pill cups from the orderly, and turned to leave. “See you, James. Behave for Doctor Wilson.”

Rowan didn’t say a word as the nurse left, cataloguing the doctor’s name away - information that he was likely supposed to already have, but he didn’t want to add fuel to the Doctor’s claims that he had lost it. He balled the bedsheet in his fists for a few minutes in silence, until he realised Doctor Wilson was talking to him.

“-I’m very disappointed in you, James. You’re going to have to try better than that.” Doctor Wilson said, brow furrowed. 

“Ma nerm.. isen J-” Rowan stopped, realising his tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth, and words and syllables weren’t coming out properly. “Wh-”

The fluorescent lights were blurring above his head. He couldn’t hear, the world had been submerged in water. Where was he again? 

'The article. Something to do with the article. He said-'

'I didn’t-'

'Where am I?'

'Why is everything moving. It hurts.' 

'Let me sleep.'

----------------------------------------

James lay on the hospital bed, his head lolling around. He was blinking furiously, trying to stay with it, but they’d put him on such a high dosage that his efforts were futile.

Doctor Wilson stood and pulled the blanket off of his patient. He then turned to the orderlies. “Move him to the maximum security padded room, and restrain him.”

“Yes, Doctor Wilson.” 

The two orderlies approached the semi-conscious patient, picking him up from underneath his armpits, and began dragging him down the hallway.

“Excellent.” Doctor Wilson stepped out the room and closed it behind him.

He walked down the hall of the hospital, following closely behind the orderlies with James. He stepped in front of them, and opened the door with his thumbprint so that they could enter. 

The orderlies placed James on a small, frameless bed against one padded wall. The young man looked tiny as he curled into himself on the mattress, wispy strands of his short caramel hair hanging in his eyes. The orderly with the scar reached under the bed and pulled up padded cuffs that had straps attached to them, with the other ends of the straps sewn into the mattress. As the orderlies and Doctor Wilson held James down and started placing his arms and legs in the restraints, the patient tried to pull away, but he was too weak in his drugged state. With ease, the three men restrained him to the bed. 

Doctor Wilson and the orderlies left the room, closing the door behind them. Doctor Wilson knew that there would be a problem when his patient woke up, but he or the other staff would be watching from the cameras inside the room. 

“Martin, I need you to destroy that camera and ID.” Doctor Wilson said to the curly-haired orderly.

“Yes sir.”

~~~~~~~

NEXT

He finally realised someone was talking to him. He was only able to move his gaze slowly over to where the voice came from. 

“Are you with me now, James?” Doctor Wilson asked.

He nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure. His brain is too heavily fogged for it to comprehend and protest the issue of his name.

“Good. It’s time for you to have your therapy session. We placed you in this special high-security room. It opens onto a nice treatment-slash-office space.” He gestured to the orderlies standing at one of the walls of the padded cell.

Rowan didn’t respond as the orderlies stepped forward and lifted him to his feet. Doctor Wilson pressed a button on the furthest wall, and the entire padded wall slid up into the ceiling. The orderlies dragged Rowan through into the second room. He didn’t take in the operation table, or the dentist-like chair, or any of the other equipment. They took him to the corner of the room which held a desk and an armchair. Rowan was placed in the armchair, and Doctor Wilson took the desk chair across from his patient.

"Let us begin. Can you tell me where you are?"

Rowan remembered. "Redwood.. the camera.."

"You are in Redwood. But there was no camera. Can you remember your name?"

"Rowan."

"James Lawton." Doctor Wilson corrected. "And my name is Doctor Wilson."

"No.." Rowan's face is pale as he begins to piece his thoughts together. 

"Do you remember how you got out of the institute, when you wandered around?"

He couldn't think. He didn't understand. 

"How did you escape?"

He didn't escape. He knew that much. But how did he know that? There was something he was missing..

James? Are you with me?" Doctor Wilson peers at Rowan's face. "It seems our current treatment plan isn't working. I think soon we'll try a course of ECT - Electro-Convulsive Therapy."

After that, they dragged him back to his room to sleep off the medication. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For several days, he was woken up, force-fed his medication, dragged to the next room for therapy, and then dragged back. Each time he resisted the medication, Doctor Wilson became more and more agitated. The next time he was roused, Doctor Wilson entered the room with the orderlies and Nurse Dean. Nurse Dean held his usual tray of medication cups. 

"This is your last chance. If you don't take your medications, it's going to be injections." Doctor Wilson warned.

Nurse Dean offered the wax paper cup to Rowan. It was labelled James Lawton. As Rowan accepted the cup, he frowned.

"That's.. not. MY. NAME." He growled, throwing the cup full of pills to the floor. 

Doctor Wilson's face went red. "That's it."

He gestured furiously to the orderlies, who swept forward and grabbed Rowan by the arms. He screamed, trying to yank his arms away. His coordination was poor, inhibited by the drugs they'd been forcing him to take. With one, most desperate tug, he pulled his arms free of the orderlies and raced for the door. He shoved his shoulder into it, and he burst through. He was out. The white halls spanned away from the room like the tunnels of a rabbit warren. He heard their shouts, but he didn't listen, lunging forward into the mess of hallways and sprinted as fast and hard as his wobbly legs would take him. He ducked behind a corner, watching some of his pursuers lost his trail and ran off. He slunk down another hallway, coming to a stop as he saw a door left ajar. He could see vibrant flickers of orange and red and yellow at the back of the room.

Curious, he stepped into the room. There was a figure with his back to Rowan, standing at a furnace. In large, mitt-like gloves, he pulled open the door of the furnace and reached for one of the two objects on the table beside him. It was a large, square-like black object. Puzzled, Rowan continued watching. It was only as the figure placed the object into the flames that he realised what it was.

My camera!

He watched in stunned silence as his beloved Cannon EOS 1500D DSLR camera began to melt, flames licking up the metal and plastic like a delicious meal.

The figure picked up the other object - Rowan's ID card - and placed it into the furnace too, and then closed the door.

Arms grabbed ahold of Rowan from behind, knocking him out of his stupour. The figure didn't move from the furnace.

"NO! YOU LIED! YOU LIED!" Rowan screamed, lunging for the figure. "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!"

The orderlies in their white scrubs swarmed around him.

"James, calm down."

"Everything's okay."

"STOP BURNING MY THINGS. YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE, MAKING ME YOUR PRISONER AND DRUGGING ME SENSELESS!!!" He screeched, jabbing his finger at the figure in front of the furnace. "GIVE ME BACK MY THINGS, RIGHT NOW!"

At this, the orderlies exchanged glances. Their expressions made Rowan's blood boil.

"James.. there's no one there." A young female orderly said, her tone sickeningly gentle and polite.

An older woman took over. "Yeah, there's no one there. Why don't you take a breath and-"

"NO! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!" He yelled, fear and anger spurring him on. He tried to lunge from their grasp, but this time, they held him fast.

He was eased to the floor, where he continued kicking and screaming. Two large, burly orderlies pinned his arms and legs to the cold linoleum floor. He tried to keep thrashing even as they pulled down his pants and underpants, exposing his bottom. The young woman pulled a syringe from her pocket and uncapped it as she approached.

"Stay still, James. It'll hurt less." The burly orderly to his right, the man, tried in a friendly tone."

He didn't care. They weren't going to drug him, not again, not-

It really hurt as the orderly drove the syringe into the muscle of his bottom and injected the drug. She pulled the syring out, and the others thankfully pulled his pants back up. He was too weak to resist them any longer, but the orderlies didn't realease him, not yet. They pulled him to his feet, the world already spinning as they began half-dragging, half-carrying him down the hall. The last thing he saw before the darkness pulled him under was Doctor Wilson, standing at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed, waiting for his patient to be returned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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