The scorching heat agitated her still hands now folded in her lap, twisting the fabric of her clothes so she wouldn't rip her skin off.

She took to flexing her neck instead. Turning her head this way and that to keep the sensation away. Not helping much.

Taking a glance at Cadence, still too preoccupied with whatever he was doing, she brought a hand up to rub the heal of her palm against the wound, miserably trying to keep her nails out of the situation.

It brought little relief; pain returning the second her hand slipped away.

No matter how much Saoirse pushed and poked around the scar nothing satisfied it. It still itched painfully. And it was spreading. Trailing down her arms into the joints of her knuckles. Creeping around her shoulder blades, ducking under the collar of her shirt and trailing down her back.

Saoirse's fingers curved into claws unconsciously, frenzied and scraping her her throat, only distantly remembering to avoid the wound.

It wasn't enough. Her mind wouldn't be satisfied—wouldn't be at ease until she'd torn the flesh apart. She wanted to feel the carnage in her nail beds. Wanted the digits to turn dark and sticky—wanted to tear its sealed jaw open and dig her nails into its gums and feel it bleed.

Hear it scream and beg her to stop like it must have when it was first ripped open.-Like she would've if she was conscious—if she'd been there to—

“Hey –stop that!” Hands roughly snatched both her wrist away from her throat, “You’ll rip the stitches out if you keep going like that!”

Gray eyes burrowed into hers. Brows furrowed, furious, and right beside her. Looming like an infuriated tyrant above her.

The smell of cooked food and smoke assaulted her eyes and nose instantly, almost making her gag.

Cadence switched to hold her wrist fast in one hand, the other cradling her neck, his thumb swiping over the graves she herself was responsible for as she winced from it.

His cherry-pursed lips parted with the click of his teeth, “I asked you not to do one simple thing, dammit”

Saoirse furrowed her brows angrily, balling up her bound fist and opening her mouth to spew insults when the sound of silence cut her off, chest quickly deflating with no voice to breathe her atrocious words into existence. Right.

So, wrenching her hands from the grasp of her captor, which made him tense expectantly with a step back, she picked up the marker and dry-erase board he’d given her and started scribbling. Showing it to him when she was done.

“Itches”

Squared shoulders relaxed as he read the board, rolling his eyes afterwards, “I took the bandages off because you said those itched.”

She cut him with and glare and he sighed, “Fine. Come on”

With that Cadence took her hand and guided her to the bathroom, taking a tube of cream from the mirror's cabinet, pulling a pre-placed chair across tile to stand in front of it, and motioned for her to sit.

She eyed him warily.

“You're hurt. I’m not letting you do this yourself.”

The discomfort she was in didn't give her much room to argue, so she, albeit reluctantly, sat down and let him tilt her chin up as he instructed her to stay still.

Saoirse stared at the ceiling while he worked. Diligently applying the ointment while she tried to hide the way she flinched and hissed from the stinging wounds; trying to ignore his whispered “comforts” and finally relaxing once the pain evened out. Knowing all he’d take from it was that he was the cause for her solace.

Once he was done he sat back and examined his work, tsking at the damage, “Now why would you to do this to yourself, baby? If you needed something you could've just told me. I don't want you making your injuries worse,” he said gently, reaching to ghost a thumb across her face.

Are you joking?! This is because of you!

The words died on her parted lips. Pushing his hand away with little effort.

He just shook his head as he sat the ointment on the sink, walking around her to stand behind her averted gaze, draping his palms on her shoulders.

“You can't keep going like this,” he continued, “Look at what you're doing to yourself.”

And she did. Not on purpose, she was more so trying to throw a disgusted look his way, but doing so she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her brown hair was thrown all about her head, like there was no clear direction to it. And it was longer than the last time she'd seen, frail curls dusting bony shoulders in splotches of uncontrolled color, frayed on its ends cause she refused to let Cadence tend to it.

She looked at it from different angles in her mind, held a strand in her fingers that felt like brittle.

Gently touched her cheeks which were gaunt and dull, like cheap cardboard, making the rest of her look like a used paint palette rather than a person. Her lips were ashen, limbs scrawny.

Did she really look like that? No, that couldn't be her—it wasn't!

But if that wasn't her then she couldn't tell you what was. She couldn't remember what or how she looked like before. All she had was her reflection.

And a reflection can't lie. It's bound to you, forced to tell you the truths you can't admit to yourself, forced to mirror you exactly.

The phantom thing was at a loss for words as it gaped at its flesh self. It didn't cry or turn its head in shame. It couldn't. It just stared back at the clone before it. Confusion written in those same dead eyes, too.

If anything, the mirror had more life in it than whatever was beating inside that chest. Whatever was decaying inside that head.

Finally, the phantom reached for its neck. Thin fingers carefully pressing against the row of threaded teeth and torn skin, wincing each time, doing it again when it remembered its cursed flesh caused it such pain.

Wanting to apologize to the mirror.

Something came closer to the ghost in the mirror. Something that rested its chin on her shoulder like it owned it. Someone’s whose breath was warm on her cold skin.

“Do you see what you're doing to yourself, sweetheart?” It said to her reflection, “Do you see what you're doing to me every time I have to patch you back together?

You're too pretty to be hurting yourself like this.”

He kissed her shoulder and she opened her mouth to speak. Snapped it closed when pain laced her throat.

Stop it. Stop trying to speak! Stop trying to combat every word he says! That's what got you in this fucking mess in the first place!

Right.

Letting out a deep breath, Saoirse folded her hands in her lap tightly, and lowered her head towards the floor.

Behind her, she felt Cadence pout at her resignation, resting his head atop hers as his hands massaged her shoulders, “What's going on in that brain of yours? Hmm? Anything I can fix?” He asked, smirking on that last sentence.

Saoirse looked at his phantom instead, the one that looked so much more put together. So much more confident and happy.

Ignoring her ghost’s insistent eyes all together.

Her lips parted again—she snapped them close—folded her hand to resemble a mock puppet, only sideways, and brought it to her closed lips.

“Are you hungry?” He asked with creased eyebrows.

Saoirse nodded, making him smile, “Well let's get you something to eat, shall we?”

He took her hand again and together they left the bathroom and went back to the kitchen.

She didn't look back; neither did he. She didn't want to hear her ghost screaming at her.

But if she had, if she'd listened beyond her mind’s insecurities and the weaved whispers. If she'd looked past the portrait of what could be and what should. She would have noticed the grip around her phantom’s mouth.

The way she screamed and thrashed in her bonds tied to the chair. The tears boiling down her face. The blood gushing from the gash in her throat. The reflection of another with a harsh grip pinning her shoulder and whispering in her ear: Gunpowder shooting bullets into the mirror.

Seen the cruel smile as the thrashing slowed. As the screams gurgled to a stop. As her eyes slipped close in defeat.

She would've heard herself stop fighting.

Clarissa loved Whumper. Always had. Back when Whumper had been their friend — apparently just to get close enough to where they could imprison them — she saw them often, and because Whumpee loved them, she loved them too. Now, overprotective as she was, she never once barked at Whumper. Just lay on their lap, happy to receive scritches behind the ear.

Whumpee couldn't even think of an escape plan. There was no way they were leaving Clarissa behind, but there was also no way they could take her with them. It was a perfect trap they'd fallen into, and because of it, they just spent their days wallowing, not even attempting to rebel.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Whumpee could hear the pitter-patter of Clarissa's paws against the concrete steps. She rushed up to them, chained as they were, and licked their face happily.

"Hi, sweet girl," Whumpee murmured as they buried their hands in Clarissa's thick, soft fur. "You look wonderful today. Yeah, you do. Sweetest girl."

"Feeling good?" Whumper asked, putting down the tray with Whumpee's food on the floor.

"How long are you going to keep me here?" they asked, eyes still fixed on their girl. It was easier to look at her than their former friend.

"Oh, you know…" From their peripheral vision, they could see Whumper wave them off. "Who can tell what the future holds?"

"Why do you even need me in the basement? What's in it for you?"

"I like having you to myself. And Clarissa as well."

"That's it?" They finally looked up at their captor. "I'm stuck in a basement because you like me? We were friends. I considered you one of my closest—"

"'One of' wasn't cutting it."

Tears sprang into Whumpee's eyes. Was that it? Whumper was jealous? Was that why they were stuck in this predicament?

"Eat your food."

"I'm not hungry."

"It would be a shame if you were to disobey, you know. If you don't eat, maybe I'll forget to feed Clarissa tonight, too."

Whumpee swallowed. Clarissa didn't understand a single word; she kept wagging her tail cheerfully, pushing her head against Whumpee's chest in excitement. She didn't deserve this. "I'll eat."

A cool rag gently wipes across Diana’s forehead as she sits slumped in her chair, trembling. Silent tears roll down her cheeks. Whatever Hive had injected into those wasps packed a punch, to put it lightly. 

Vision blurry, Diana watched as Hive moved the rag downward. He wiped the blood and yellowish pus from her arms. The burst stings split her skin open, leaving a small hole where the stingers had been. “You’ll start to feel much better now, love, I promise,” he cooed, his touch gentle. The sensation made her skin crawl. Occasionally, after a bad fight, her handler would help tend to her injuries. At the academy, doctors patched her up enough that she wouldn’t die.

That was different, though. Those touches had been clinical. Hive’s palm lingered, caressing her. It was strange, she thought, as the room spun around her. There was a deep ache in her bones…. Her stomach churned, threatening to spew bile. Through the haze, she could feel a sense of satisfaction, and even…. Lust. The feeling was strongest against her thigh, where Hive’s hand rested. 

His thumb traced circles against her skin as she panted, trying to stifle her tremors. “I know, I know,” he said softly. “It feels bad now. Just give it time….” Before Diana could realize what he was doing, Hive stood. 

He leaned down. His lips pressed against her forehead. Every aching muscle went taut in her body, but the kiss was left as quickly as it had come. This time. “I’ll leave you to get some rest. When I come back, we’ll move you somewhere more comfortable…” Damien seemed to consider something as he looked down at her, those empty pits in his eyes piercing her very soul. 

Was he going to kiss her again? Touch her? A beetle crawled up the side of his neck. She shivered. A long moment passed before he simply declared, “I’ll also bring you some food and water. Be good, love, try to get some rest.” Then Hive turned to walk away. As he moved, the swarms of creatures on the subway floor parted for their king. Somewhere, a door shut. Then Diana was left alone with the dozens of insects left behind. In Damien’s absence, the low buzz seemed thunderous. That little circle of space around her chair was left untouched, but they were everywhere else. Wasps and bees, cockroaches, freakishly large beetles, moths, and spiders…. If she moved, would they pounce on her?

It didn’t matter. So long as she acted quickly, they wouldn’t notice. Insects weren’t like…. Capable of complex thought or strategy. Apparently, their leader wasn’t either. 

By popping her stings, Hive extracted the venom that had been stifling her powers. Diana hadn’t been certain until she felt his emotions while he washed the pus off her limbs. Exhaling slowly, she closed her eyes. Her hands twisted behind her. They were bound by zipties. All of the laboratory-enhanced-heroes had enhanced strength and accelerated healing. Her limbs still felt heavy with venom, but Diana thought that if she could just….

Eyebrows knitting together in concentration, Diana gave a quick jerk. The zipties snapped. Around her, the insects began to stir. Shit. She froze, hardly daring to breathe as she watched. A few of them crept closer, but they didn’t cross that invisible line that surrounded her chair. Could Hive communicate with them? She didn’t know how his powers worked, and she didn’t want to be here long enough to find out. 

Her hands thrust outward. Water burst from her palms, crashing against the concrete before her. A hundred insects were washed away. She leapt to her feet, legs aching and cramped from being restrained for hours, but she pushed herself forward.

The turnstiles were to her right. Past them were escalators, frozen in time. That would lead her to the surface. She just had to make it.

Cockroaches, moths, and wasps descended from above. Diana waved wildly. Water shot out from all sides, trying to swat them away, but there were so many, and her powers were fading fast. She was too dehydrated. Crying out, Diana launched herself over the turnstiles and pumped her legs faster, because the escalator was right there….

A sewer grate before her exploded. A geyser of…. Hundreds, thousands, of insects erupted and descended upon her. Diana had no choice but to fall to the ground, screaming. Water burst from her hands in a halfhearted attempt to force the creatures away, but there were too many, and she was too weak. Diana curled into the fetal position when her powers finally gave out, bracing for pain that never came. They weren’t attacking her. The insects just…. Circled her. Humming, incessant, their little legs and wings and antennae brushing against her goosebump-covered skin, trapping her in place.

An eternity passed. Or only a second. Truly, Diana couldn’t decide which, if it passed quickly or too slow. But if asked afterwards, she would have preferred to stay trapped within the insects dome than face the demon who ordered the creatures to part.

Hive didn’t speak. At least, not in a language that Diana could understand. For now, it was undeniable that he could communicate with the insects. With a wave of his hand, the thousands of winged creatures flew away at once, retreating into their crevices and shadows. 

His form was even more intimidating where she lay crumbled before him. Diana planted her hands on the ground, trying to push herself up, but his hand fisted in her hair first. A sharp cry escaped her. “No, no, no—”

Electricity shot through her, spearing through her neck into her very core. The woman ignored EI427’s screams. “When you are punished, you accept it with dignity,” she snapped. Diana was thrown into her cell, where other guards were waiting. They chained her arms above her head, facing the wall. Someone tore off her shirt to leave her back exposed. 

She couldn’t stop her whimpers, or how she shook her head. “Pl-”Agony coursed in her veins. It stole her breath. She doubled over, teeth gritted as the collar continued to shock her, unrelenting. Without mercy. When the whipping began, every scream that escaped her lips was met with a shock. 

The cycle continued until EI427 blacked out. When she came to, she was still strapped to the wall. Her lesson wasn’t learned yet. 

Diana clamped her mouth shut as she was dragged across the concrete. Her arms and legs scraped against stone, and all she could do was try to crawl after him enough to limit the searing pain in her scalp. Between their proximity and the contact, Diana could feel his utter fury, and a strange sense of…. Betrayal. A fierce sense of protection—no, not protection. More twisted than that. What he felt was closer to possession. 

He finally stopped when they reached a room down the tunnels. Originally, it was surely a supply closet, or maybe a break room, but it had since been turned into a bedroom. He threw her on the bed, and began to tie her limbs down. 

No. No, no, no…. Diana whimpered, shaking her head furiously. A scream begged to be released from her throat. Pleas for mercy. Cries that she couldn’t do this, didn’t know how, don’t, don’t, anything but that please…. Damien looked down at her. While his expression was stone-cold, his emotions were anything but. They were raging. Ever-changing, a fucking hurricane of feelings. Slowly, Diana grasped a sense of pity. His anger had turned to something softer, now that he saw her strapped down before him, unable to scream.

The mattress creaked beneath her as Hive perched on the edge. One rough hand reached out, caressing the line of her throat. Specifically, the burns left from years of wearing that cursed collar. 

“We will work on this,” he said softly. His thick eyebrows knitted together as he made the vow. “But we can’t yet. Not when you’re so insistent on leaving me.” The empty pits met Diana’s wild, sapphire gaze. He leaned down, teeth grazing at her earlobe. His breath was hot on her skin. 

Off. Get off, get off, get…. Get off…. Every muscle went taut, and she was tied down but she could pull free, she could, she had the strength. She could fight him. He would punish her, sting her again, but she could at least try it was just….

Diana couldn’t make herself. There was nothing stopping her except her own mind. But how could you fight your mind? 

She squeezed her eyes shut as Damien nipped her ear, then kissed and bit his way down her throat. Sucking. Teeth sinking into skin. Claiming her, even more than the burn scars already had. And she said nothing. Did nothing except lie there, shaking. “You know you belong here,” Hive crooned. 

There was mint on his breath.

“Why would you try to leave? I’ll just find you again…. Or the REIA will first. Do you really want that?” His hands were rough, groping her breasts through her bra and t-shirt.

No one had touched her like this. 

But he didn’t go lower. Didn’t take off her clothes. Hive stood, the bed shifting as his weight lifted, and a little, broken sob spilled from her lips. She didn’t cry, though. She felt like a dried-out grape after using her powers.

“I didn’t want to hurt you again, baby….” 

Something heavy hit the ground, then there was the sound of digging around in a drawer or box. Diana pried her eyes open and craned her neck to see. She didn’t want to see. But she needed to.

A bright red toolbox was in the center of the dirty, stained floor. Damien dug around in it until he pulled out a large hammer. 

It was hard to tell from across the room, but she thought he felt pity. Intermingled with that, though, was a sense of determination. “This won’t kill you,” he said softly. “You’ll heal fast, we both know that. As long as you’re a good girl, and don’t try anything stupid, it won’t completely cripple you.” Her eyes widened. She couldn’t make herself pull at the restraints, but she did lick her lips, trying to force out sound. “What…. Do you….” The words were so quiet. Her voice broke.

A shadow crossed over Damien’s face. Keeping the hammer in one hand, he turned around and dug in another drawer until he withdrew a washcloth. His shadow loomed over her as he returned to the side of the bed. “Open your mouth.”

She obeyed without thinking. He shoved the cloth inside. “Just for a moment, baby. I don’t want you to bite through your tongue.” Damien’s hand caressed the side of her face.

Then that same hand joined the other as he slammed the hammer down on her left foot once, twice, three times, until it was nothing but a demolished sack of bones and flesh.

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

Tag List!!!! @stars-hide-our-fires, @watsonbee

She wasn’t gagged, but Diana resisted the urge to scream. She didn’t want to alert Hive that she was awake. Besides, wherever he had taken her would be secluded. No one could hear her here. 

The surface beneath her was cold and hard, like a metal folding chair. A hood was over Diana’s head. When she attempted to lift her arms, they were stuck. Same with her feet. Perhaps there would have been hope of wiggling free—when she shifted her weight, the chair moved, so she knew it wasn’t bolted down—but venom was still in her system. Diana could feel it in the grogginess of her head, the heavy weight of her limbs. It was a challenge to even hold her head up. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Diana tried to focus on the ever-present tingling in the base of her stomach. That was where her most offensive power lay: the ability to summon and manipulate water had saved her life more than once. But before she even twitched her fingers, Diana knew it wouldn’t work. The suspicions were proven right when the powers didn’t come. Whatever had been in those wasps not only knocked her out, but they also temporarily blocked her enhancements. Her jaw set in a tight line.

Hive was known for his use of insects, many of which were either previously unknown or genetically engineered. He was a pain in the ass to capture initially because he was simply so hard to beat. Any time Siren would manage to land a strike, he’d unleash a new swarm on her. While she was distracted, he’d self-regenerate. To this day, Diana didn’t know the specifics of how his powers worked; only that there were seemingly endless facets to them. She was just as clueless about Hive as an individual. Rumors had it he used to be under the REIA’s custody, but that wasn’t confirmed. The only thing Diana knew for certain? 

He had been absolutely obsessed with Siren. She’d assumed that when she escaped to become Diana, and ‘Siren’ consequently disappeared from the media, his fixation with her would eventually fade. Instead, it only seemed to feed the addiction. Hive attacked the city more and more, burned her name into the side of buildings, and demanded that Siren turn herself in. But she… Couldn’t. Diana hadn’t been able to make herself go back to that life, return to being a thing rather than a person. She moved out of New York entirely, took on a new life, cut herself off from the news for a while so Brandon and the REIA wouldn’t be able to find her. It should have been enough, why wasn’t it enough? 

Now she was dragged back. Somehow, someway, Hive had found her. Despite the training that had been beaten into her veins, panic constricted her chest. What did he want with her? How did he know who she was?

She heard his footsteps before she felt it: a crawling sensation up her legs. Dozens, hundreds of creatures that skittered across the floor and crept over her skin. They slid under her jeans, prodding at the swollen welts from the stings she’d obtained in Hive’s attack. The racing of her heart increased its pace. What were they? Ants? Roaches? 

Don’t scream. Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t…. She didn’t flinch until they climbed higher, reaching her thighs. Some of them crawled beneath her underwear, and she could feel them exploring her genitalia. That was when she whimpered, shifting uncomfortably. 

Some skirted over her abdomen. Chest. Breasts. It was only when they climbed over her throat and slid under the hood, tangling in her hair and nearing her mouth, that Diana screamed. She strained to get away, to access her hydrokinesis and wash the creatures off of her, but the power failed her. The creatures were just beginning to crawl between her lips when Hive’s deep laugh echoed through the chilly space. “Ease off, pets,” he crooned. The insects backed off, and Diana sagged forward in her chair, trembling as the bugs skittered back off her body. Her ears were ringing. Despite the darkness beneath her hood, Diana found her eyes darting around, searching for Hive’s face. But he didn’t remove the hood. A heavy hand settled on the back of her neck, where his thumb traced gentle circles. Her skin crawled at the sensation. No one had touched her like that. 

Goosebumps raced down her spine before instinct kicked in again. Diana threw her head back in an attempt to throw him off, but his hand slid down to grab a fistful of her tangled auburn hair. “That’s not very nice, now is it?” She said nothing. In her time fighting with Hive, she’d learned that the most effective way to get under his skin was to react as little as possible. More than anything else, it enraged him not to have a verbal response. This suited her just fine. Diana didn’t much like to talk. That tended to happen to a person after years of being shocked whenever they spoke out of turn.

But he didn’t lash out as she expected. Instead, a low, soft laugh filled the space as Hive tore off the sack over her head. Light scalded her eyes as she recoiled, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. They were in what appeared to be an abandoned subway station. A rust-covered metal ceiling formed a dome above her. The lighting was dim. There were tracks to her left. An entrance to her right, with turnstiles forever frozen in place.

And there were bugs. Now that Diana could see them, she could hear them. An incessant humming sound from the thousands of creatures. They covered the walls, buzzed around the filthy swinging lights, and surrounded the ground around her to leave only a small circle clear for her chair. At least a dozen rested on the giant man before her as well. A large spider, roughly the size of Diana’s hand, was on his cheek. Another crawled up the side of his head. What Diana thought was a Hercules beetle lounged on his bulging biceps, and many others she didn’t care to look at or name. He created an imposing figure. Broad shoulders, over six feet, master of the skittering creatures in this damp, cursed space.

Hive looked at her. She looked at him. For the first time, they were face-to-face. No masks. No costumes. Stubble of a beard grew across his jaw and cheeks. His skin was tanned, hair such a dark brown that it was nearly black. Same with his eyes. They might as well be empty pits. When he smiled, he showed frustratingly perfect, straight white teeth. 

He was her opposite in every way. Despite being bred and raised in a lab to become some sort of heroic weapon of destruction, Diana had always been strictly average height. Though she’d been out of the lab for years now, she was still too pale. As ‘Siren,’ her handler tried to keep her inside as much as possible to limit the chance of people identifying her. Now, Diana had tried to keep hidden for the same reason. She knew the REIA was still hunting her. Fiery red curls cascaded down her back, contrasting with Hive’s dark, short-cropped hair, and her eyes were a light blue. Nothing like the black holes on his face. 

It took every ounce of strength not to squirm under his gaze. An eternity passed before Hive chuckled again, reaching out to lightly poke one of the welts on her shoulder. When she looked down, Diana saw perhaps a dozen welts where she’d been stung, the stinger protruding from the festering spots. When Diana didn’t flinch at Hive’s touch, his lips merely twitched. “Oh, Diana…. That’s what you call yourself now, isn’t it?” 

Diana. She’d been so proud of choosing that name. It was her first act of independence. But hearing it from his lips made her flinch. Swallowing once, she forced herself to speak. “What do you want, Hive?”

“You shouldn’t call me that anymore.” He released the sting on her shoulder and instead began to trail his hand down her chest. Diana’s breathing increased to pants as she squirmed, shrinking back as much as her binds allowed her to, but she didn’t scream. Didn’t yell. Just the thought of protesting made a lump lodge in her throat as she remembered the painful shocks, but she didn’t want him to touch her, stop touching her, stop….

His hand roamed over every inch of her chest and stomach, finally halting at her lower abdomen, right over the hem of her jeans. A finger delicately traced the smooth skin. “Damien was the name I chose for myself,” he murmured, almost conversationally. “When I escaped.” Her eyes must have widened, because he nodded, a smirk quirking his brow. He had her attention. The last thing Diana wanted was to give him a win, but his comment had caught her off guard. Hive—Damien—pulled his hand away and rolled up the sleeve of his right arm. Printed in black ink was the distinctive mark: EI359. Diana’s breath caught in her throat. Enhanced Individual three hundred and fifty-nine. At some point, Hive had been at the academy. A similar tattoo was inked onto her arm: EI427.

“You see?” Damien murmured, running his hand down her left arm. It tenderly stroked over the tattoo. When Diana started to whimper, recoiling, he smiled. He slowly moved forward until his legs straddled her hips, and he was perched on her lap.

Immediately, she began to squirm, bucking away from him. “St-sto….” The protest was caught in her throat, tears pricking her eyes. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t…. The sound couldn’t escape. But Diana tried to headbutt him, writhing in her seat as she tried to get him off of her.

Damien laughed softly. His weight kept the chair rooted in place, despite it not being bolted down. Her eyes were wide and panicked. Heart racing. Get off, she wanted to scream. Get off, get off, get…. But it couldn’t leave. “If you want to be stubborn, that’s quite alright,” he soothed, hand caressing her hair. When she tried to headbutt again, his hand fisted tightly in the strands and forced her head back. “I understand, Diana, I do. I’ve been through this…. And I’m going to help you. You’ll see, I promise.”

She shook her head, tears swimming in her eyes as her muscles went taut, trying to escape. A condescending tsk spilled from his lips as he shifted on her lap. “I wish you hadn’t fought me so hard last night…. It would have made today much easier. This next part is going to hurt just a bit.”

The hand that had been caressing her forearm found one of the stings on her shoulder. Before she could brace herself, he squeezed until it burst. A yellowish pus mixed with blood gushed free. Despite herself, Diana hissed through her teeth at the sharp pain. “There, there….” Damien cooed, not releasing the wound until every last drop had been extracted. “Breathe, it’s alright….” His hand, covered in pus, patted her cheek. She couldn’t resist a small flinch. “You’ll see eventually. Don’t worry, I’ve waited a long time for you. I can be patient.”

When she didn’t answer, he tsked again and moved onto the next stinger-filled welt. By the seventh sting, Diana couldn’t hold back her screams.

Eula clutched her rosary, its amber beads clacking softly, and the four-pointed silver star - the symbol of her goddess, the only thing she had left of her faith - pressed into the palms of her clasped hands.

"Please," she prayed, with her knuckles pressed so hard against her forehead that she was sure it would bruise, "please, hear me, Oh Goddess - I am still here, my mind and my heart are yours, I -"

Her prayer faltered as a shudder went through her.

There, kneeling on the cold stone floor, despite her desperate attempts to push it down, the thought came.

The memory of pleasure trembled through her.

Invasive and bitter, the hot taste of a kiss.

The prick of fangs against her neck.

She shook her head viciously, matted dark hair falling into her face, and clutched her rosary even more tightly; "Oh Goddess, I am - I - I follow your light and vow to do no harm, to aid those who suffer, to -"

"At it again, are we?"

Eula gasped, jolted out of her pathetic prayer so violently that her rosary clattered to the floor - and splattered her white nightgown with a thin streak of blood.

"You stay away from me..." she whispered, pulling herself to her feet on weak, betraying legs.

The woman was in all white again - sheer silk and ribbons and pearls radiant against the deep copper of her skin - almost glowing in the faint sliver of moonlight that managed to leak through the shuttered window of her prison.

"Oh my, you say that, but you're staring quite boldly at me tonight."

Eula averted her eyes hotly, scowling, as the woman floated across the room towards her. She backed up against the wall, her breath already quickening.

Every night it was the same.

"Please, don't," she whispered, raising her hands up in weak defiance.

"What's this?" The woman took one of Eula's hands, raising it up into the light, and then pressing the palm to her lips. "You're eager, aren't you? There was no need to draw blood for me, you'll take away half the fun."

"That's not what I -!" Eula started, but was cut off by the press of the woman's body against hers. Long fingers danced over her collarbone, a knee pressed up between her legs.

"You seem so tense -" the woman yanked Eula's hand away from where it was clutching the ribbon of her blouse, "-let me help you with that."

"No - no, please - "

The woman plucked the bow loose easily and the front of Eula's nightgown came undone. Try as she might to cover herself up, the woman pulled the fabric away with little effort.

"There you are. Why would you try to hide such a beautiful figure from me?" The woman cooed into her ear, pressing kisses to her jaw, her neck, and then finally - when Eula tried to strain away - grasping her chin to capture her lips.

"Mmn - nngh!"

Eula closed her eyes, but a vivid memory flashed against the back of her eyelids.

Rain pounded down heavily against the muddy path.

Her sisters lay where they had died, cold, white faces contorted in horror. 

A beautiful, terrible woman with wild black curls, in a glowing white blood-stained cloak - like a statue come to life - held her too toghtly and stole away her first kiss.

Eula was jolted out of her memory by a tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

She tore away from the woman, taking a halting, wet breath, and shaking her head in a desperate silent plea.

The woman let out a low laugh.

"Oh, you're still so shy," she murmured, then turned Eula around, shoving her against the wall and pinning her there. The woman's hands groped her body, squeezing her breasts and sliding between her legs.

Eula gasped, then groaned, her nails scraping against the stone wall.

"Stop..." she breathed, "...I don't - I - I don't want it -"

"That's what your lips say," the woman whispered against the shell of her ear, "but your body is screaming for my touch already...and I've barely even started. What would your goddess think of this?"

The woman curled two fingers inside of her - they slipped in easily, scratching and painful from her long claws - but slick from the heat that had been building between her legs.

Eula let out a moan that was half a sob.

"No...a- ahh - I don't...I - I don't -"

"Shhh now, stop trying to fight it."

Eula's mind was going blank; waves of pleasure mixed with pain crashed through her.

"No...nn..."

"I want you to forget about that goddess of yours," the woman murmured into her ear, "If she didn't want this to happen, where is she? Hmm? Where is her miracle to save you from me?"

Eula couldn't answer, she could barely think or catch her breath.

Her moans were louder now, strained through gritted teeth - she didn't want to think about her goddess now. Not as her body was being played like an instrument, her strings being plucked by cruel and unrelenting fingers.

"Your goddess can't give you what I can give you -"

Eula trembled, tears welling in her eyes.

"- she has abandoned you."

The woman pressed a kiss to her jaw - and then sank her fangs into the soft space between Eula's shoulder and neck.

The pain was muddled in an instant by terrible, glorious pleasure that ripped through her body and brought her over the edge.

Eula let out a cry as her muscles tensed and spasmed

Blood rushed through her veins, pounding in her ears as the vampire drank from her. She panted and groaned, her legs growing weaker and threatening to buckle under her weight.

Until, finally, the woman drank her fill.

She licked at the bite marks left in Eula's neck, giving a low, humming laugh of satisfaction.

"I am your goddess. Now, and forever."

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He started to sit up against his pillow, but hissed with the pain his movement inspired. He sank back down and pulled the sheet up over his nose.

“Why?”

Caius sighed, disappointment clear on his face.

(Fucking prick.)

“You can’t try to talk to me when you’re with a client, Tommy. You know that.”

(Oh.)

It all came back to him then. Lisa’s hair framing a face his mind had already blurred. Mark’s hands on him - no. Stop it. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Stop. Stop the thoughts.

Tommy turned from him and stared at the ceiling. He hated that his eyes prickled, threatening tears. Was it not enough?  Was living like this not a punishment on its own? He felt like he couldn’t go any lower than how he felt after last night. 

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said, and his broken voice sounded sincere. He was sorry he ever tried. He was sorry he still thought there was hope. His apology was just a weak attempt to shield whatever was left of himself. 

“No meds for a week.”

He shot up in bed at that, grimacing at the pain. 

“A week?!”

“Could be longer,” Caius offered with a raised eyebrow. Tommy sucked in a breath and became silent. 

“Antibiotics?”

“You’ll get those. Nothing for the pain.”

“But- but,” He scrambled for some defense.

“Pain - pain management is an important part of the healing process, you’ll delay my recovery and it’ll be that much longer before I can - before I can go with another client.”

It was technically true. A plea to Caius’s logic was his only possible bargaining chip.

Caius pretended to chew it over for a moment. This logistic hadn’t slipped his mind, and he had already made peace with it. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it once more.

“I can wait.”

He didn’t give Tommy a chance to reply. The door locked behind him, and Tommy slumped back to his mattress. Helpless tears finally spilled from his eyes and he wanted to scream and scream. 

He hadn’t even had a chance to take inventory of the damage yet. His ass felt like he’d been sitting on hot coals, it still radiated heat like a particularly brutal sunburn. His wrists and ankles felt swollen and sore to the slightest touch. Trying to move his hands only made the muscles spasm, and they were too weak to lend him his usual control. 

A whole week without painkillers. He’d taken them away before, but never that long. It meant he could count on sleepless nights up with the agony. Even though he rarely broke rules anymore, his punishments got worse, not better. 

He wanted to scream and curse Caius, but “throwing a tantrum” would only land him a harsher sentence. He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow and punched the mattress until he was exhausted and hurt enough to slump back down to rest. 

He clenched his eyes closed, begging his body for sleep again. One week without drugs would last an eternity.

—

He’d made it through four days. For four days, Caius made him take daily walks to keep his body from seizing with pain. The rest of the time, he laid as still as he could and wallowed. He wanted to be left alone, but Caius suddenly had all the time in the world for him. 

“Go,” Caius instructed, gesturing to the basement steps. Standing at the bottom, Tommy could not imagine making his way up them, just as he had every other day. He didn’t want his sentence lengthened, but he swallowed hard at the prospect of another arduous journey up.

Caius’s hands found his shoulders and he guided him to the first stair, his touch agitating the wounds on Tommy’s shoulders. 

“Could you - I could follow you? I just - need a minute.”

“You can do it. One step at a time.”

He was already trembling on his feet. His ankles pulsed with a dull, merciless pain. His legs hurt, his ass hurt, his thighs were still sore to the point of weakness. 

“I don’t think I can do this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, can we just - I can walk a few times around the basement maybe? I-”

He was cut off by a hard shove between his shoulders, sending him sprawling onto the stairs. 

“If you can’t walk, then you can crawl.” 

Caius moved up onto the stairs, and leaned down to grip a generous handful of the prone boy’s hair. He started to ascend the stairs, dragging Tommy close behind by his hair. Tommy had to start scrambling up the steps on his hands and knees to try to keep up. His hands fluttered around Caius’s grip, wanting to wrench his fingers open, but he didn’t dare. The cement was cold and gritty under his palms and his knees, but he dragged himself up each step, desperate to end the pain. At the top he was released, and he crumpled to the floor, breathless with the strain. 

Caius let him lay there for a few minutes until he bored, moving again and beckoning to Tommy to follow. Tommy pulled himself onto trembling legs, leaning heavily against the wall. Caius coaxed him forwards, taking him a different path than they usually took for these walks. 

Tommy grit his teeth and walked.

He was so focused on trying to stabilize that he didn’t realize where they were heading until he was led to the bottom of the upstairs stairwell. The stairs there were carpeted and clean, with an elegant banister slithering up the side. When Caius directed him to take the stairs, he balked.

Looking into Caius’s face was like trying to read a mask, but Tommy searched for a clue if this was some kind of sick test. He had never been to the upper floor. He assumed that’s where the others lived, or worked, or whatever they did with most of their time. 

Caius waved him on, one eyebrow quirked expectantly. 

“Caius…I don’t think I’m allowed up there…” 

(What fresh hell is this? A trick? He played those sometimes…)

“I’m telling you to go up, so you aren’t allowed to go anywhere else.”

Tommy held his hands to his chest, squeezing them to console himself. The stairs looked endless, curving to the side and out of sight after an already arduous stretch.

“Please Caius, I’m trying, I am, but the stairs, I really don’t think-”

He was interrupted by the sharp snap of Caius’s fingers in front of his face, followed by a sharp finger pointing up the stairs. 

“Three more days.”

Tommy gasped, his hand rising to touch Caius’s arm for just a moment before he remembered himself. He didn’t know what he was trying to do, he just - wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to hold onto him. He had nothing more to comfort himself than the very source of his misery. 

Judging by the murderous glare Caius was giving him, he was out of time.

When Caius got in this kind of mood, Tommy knew to shut up and put his head down. In the moment it took to register consciously, he was already stepping up the stairs, his hands reaching out to the carpeted stairs ahead of him tentatively. His back felt agonizingly stiff, but being able to support himself more comfortably on all fours helped a little. 

(Ignore the pain. Put it in the back of your mind. Move. Just keep moving.)

He made it to the top and froze, unsure of what to do. Caius was only a step behind him, and his fingers hooked the back of his collar. He guided him by the back of the neck over to a tall white door. There was a skylight above them casting soft, bright light down, and Tommy’s eyes watered with the change from his dim basement room. Tommy pushed himself onto his feet and stood uncertainly in the hallway. Caius quickly moved to corner him up against the door, and Tommy blindly grabbed for the handle, finding it locked. Caius was too close, so suddenly, and Tommy could smell him, could feel his breath on his face. The warmth of his body pressing him against the cool wood, reaching beside his hip to unlock the door and turn the handle.

He released his grip on the collar with a grin.

Tommy stumbled backwards as the door gave way, sprawling on the floor in a defeated heap. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, trying to shield his face. Some days, Caius just wanted his pain. It was starting to look like one of those days. 

Caius padded in behind him and closed the door. From between his fingers where he laid on his side, all Tommy could see were his feet. 

He shivered there, for a moment, anticipating the blows. (At least the carpet is soft.)

(Fuck. Really, really soft.)

He forgot how nice a good carpet felt. The one in his “bedroom” was old and ground into a thin mat over the cement. The carpet beneath him was a clean cream color with padding beneath him, making it cushier than his mattress. 

Moments passed and there was no strike. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up until he was sat against the side of an enormous bed, a rich blue comforter spilling over the side. He looked blearily up at Caius, who crouched before him. He pinched his chin and turned his face from one side to the other, looking at his eyes. 

(Why am I in your bedroom?)

He didn’t say anything. He’d already switched gears, resigned to whatever Caius fancied doing to him today. The new environment and the big bed put him ill at ease though, and he felt nauseous. His brain was in low power mode, trying to forget what was happening as soon as it did. He wanted to walk far away from his mind and stay somewhere where the carpet was always so soft and clean.

His eyes accidentally connected with Caius’s for a moment. He always forgot what he looked like somehow, and it was so hard to look him in the face. The clear rim of his glass, the soft blonde strands that cradled his face. Those cold, grey eyes. 

He looked like the devil to Tommy.

“Stay.” 

He nodded numbly, grateful when Caius turned away and broke eye contact. For some reason, he couldn’t make himself look away first.

Caius pulled a long chain lead from the top drawer of his nightstand. Tommy leaned his head back and submitted his throat to him, accepting the lead locking onto his collar with nothing more than a nervous swallow.

(Better than being dragged by my hair…I think.)

When Caius rose, he pulled the leash, and Tommy struggled to his feet. He was afraid to support himself on the comforter, the fabric too fine for his calloused touch. 

Caius coaxed him onto the bed with a tug of the chain. The moment Tommy made contact with the bed he whimpered, his muscles turning to jelly in fear of retribution. But Caius joined him on the bed and sat up against his pillows, winding the chain around his fist to gather Tommy closer. He reluctantly crawled to him, the nausea growing stronger.

(Don’t do this. Don’t open that door.)

Caius settled him on his side though, and drew his head down to his lap. One hand curled possessively in his hair again. Tommy braced himself, but his fingers gently combed through, soothing and untangling the strands. Lately, he could get whiplash with how fast Caius’s moods came and went. Shocking, blinding cruelty would be followed with unnerving gentleness.

A book was fetched from his nightstand and rested open on his cheek, one wing of the hardcover supported balanced on his face. 

“Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that…”

The bed was cushy, and sank in generously at his touch. It unnerved him, a gnawing feeling plaguing him that the mattress might sink like quicksand beneath him. In spite of himself, he began to relax to the soothing cadence of Caius’s voice, slowly relinquishing the tension coiled in his body. With his face covered, he didn’t have to focus on making his expression acceptable to his unpredictable host. The fingers in his hair didn’t pull or punish, and their rhythmic caresses started to lull him to sleep.

Caius smelled…he smelled like sandalwood. He smelled clean. He smelled warm. He felt warm, his legs beneath him radiating a comforting heat. 

Tommy’s heart suddenly ached fiercely. Desperate to soothe it, he nuzzled into the warm body beside him. Caius paused as it upset his book, but he let Tommy cuddle closer without correction.

 It had just started to overwhelm him, this odd moment of domesticity. He’d been alone for so long, and the gentle touches were few and far between. He just wanted to embrace the feeling while he had it, before it could slip through his fingers. He’d spent so long just trying to numb the world out, it felt so good to be here and pretend he wasn’t prey in the arms of a predator. 

Caius held him, and it felt good.

“I never used to be able to keep a relationship.”

Tommy tilted his head to look at Caius. Their eyes met, and Caius looked into his face so fully and honestly that it paralyzed him.

“It wasn’t a problem getting them, but they never stayed. They wanted me until they saw all of me and then they left.”

Silence hung between them. Tommy was wordless at the sudden admission. 

“I guess my longest relationship is you, huh?”

A chill ran down Tommy’s spine. Caius’s hand touched his cheek and he stared at it, enraptured by the contact with his ward. There was something wrong in that look. He didn’t look at him like a lover, but like a doll. Like a muse. 

Tommy shrank away from his touch, but Caius’s hand caught him and pushed his head down to his lap. Suddenly his touch didn’t feel so warm and so gentle. The ache came back to Tommy’s chest, as the warm feeling drained from his face.

(You can’t always play pretend.)

“You know I used to do insurance? That’s how I met Rory. We just clicked, he was the only good thing about the job. One day he tells me that his tech whiz friend has got this start-up….that was Michelle. But he wanted us to relocate to Quebec. Can you imagine living in Quebec? Working for some french freaks?”

Tommy wondered if they would have taken him at all. If some boy up north was spared being in his place because of a sliver of francophobia. 

“Once he moved here, it all kinda fell into place.”

Tommy missed the other story.

“You know, I never let my licenses lapse. I’ve renewed them three times. I just kept thinking, this is too good to be true. Something’s going to happen and I’ll be back at a desk.”

His position no longer felt comfortable, and Caius’s hand was fully pushing down on his head, seemingly without noticing. He could feel his heart start to pound.

“I think I’ll let them go this year. All in, I guess.”

Anger burned suddenly on the back of Tommy’s neck. 

(Are you committed now? Finally into it? I’ve been in it all along. You took away my choice and locked me in a basement and let people torture me for money. You took my life away…but now you finally want to take the reins and invest? I hope Hell exists just so there’s a place for people like you.)

“Hey. I know you hurt. I know it’s been really hard to get through the last few days. How would you like to make a deal?”

Tommy turned his head at that. He was weak for Caius’s deals. He could never manage to turn them down, no matter how many times he paid for it. But sometimes it wasn’t so bad, so he always fell for the bait.

He stared at Caius’s chest, unable to meet his eyes again.

“That’s what I thought you might say,” Caius said with a smile, to Tommy’s obviously piqued attention. 

“You take another punishment now, and I’ll count it for the rest of the week.”

(Oh, no.)

(He had to take it, right? What’s a little more pain in the short term? He could just get his drugs right after, right?)

(No, don’t get ahead of yourself. At least ask.)

“What punishment?” he murmured. 

“You’ll get the cane,” Caius answered. He said it in that humiliating way, as if he was explaining something in a caring voice.

He mulled it over briefly. Canings were fucking agony, but it might be worth it to cut his time short.

(Fine.)

“Okay.” It came out in a whisper. 

As soon as he said it, it started to really sink in. He was suddenly stunned in disbelief that this was happening, As Caius moved him to the side and slipped off of the bed, making his way to his closet. When Caius returned, holding a long, thin whip of a stick. He suddenly remembered sobbing underneath it the last time Caius took him to task. He couldn’t even remember what he had done. Sometimes he didn’t have to do anything at all. 

Caius directed him on the bed like a trainer handling his dog, putting him in the same position his last clients had whipped him in. His face down on Caius’s soft sheets, his chest pressed to the mattress. On his knees, and Caius reached between his legs to take his hands. He pulled his hands through and coaxed him to grip his ankles, holding himself in that humiliating position. 

Caius’s hands brushed over his ass before slipping his fingers into his waistband and tugging them down. 

Tommy whimpered as he was exposed, the fabric feeling like sandpaper as it slipped over the raw skin there. 

“Wait, Caius, wait, I take it back, I don’t want to do this.” It came out in rush as the panic properly started to set in, realizing how bad this was going to hurt. He was already covered in wounds, the bruises fully ripened, the skin starting to itch and crack. He let go of his ankles and tried to pull his hands back before Caius could stop him.

He didn’t succeed, and Caius’s hands on his wrists gripped like claws. 

“No, that’s not how this works. You took the deal.” Already having anticipated this, Caius grabbed a roll of tape he had secreted onto the bed.

“You’ll keep your hands right there if you want to be forgiven the rest of the week. Otherwise, you’ll get both.”

Tommy held onto his ankles as hard as he could, until his hands hurt as much as his feet. He felt like a great weight was coming down on him as Caius wound the tape around his fists, mummifying him there as he bound the limbs together.

Tommy was already crying when Caius finished wrapping him. He felt a hand on his hip, a curious thumb tugging at the edges of his pain. Getting a good look at him in this state. He told himself he had only imagined it as soon as he heard the soft click of the phone camera behind him. 

“Caius please, please Caius, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me anymore,” He begged, but there was no answer to his prayers. 

He heard the soft whistle through the air before Caius struck him. It lit up a long slash of pain on his backside, and he panted under the blooming pain. Whip. Whip. Criss-crossing over and over on the backs of his thighs, down nearly to the backs of his knees and up to the swell of his ass. The blows were quick and merciless, reducing him to a sobbing mess of trembling flesh. It burned so bad and he pulled frantically on his bindings, trying to escape the steady battering. Caius started to hit harder, or maybe it just hurt more and more, or maybe both. Sometimes Caius just needed to work something out tanning his hide, and the pain was horrific. 

(His own, personal whipping boy.)

The soft mattress beneath him felt like less of a comfort as his face sank in, and he struggled to catch a breath as he wailed into the sheets. At least his knees didn’t hurt. The give of the cushion underneath him let him rock very slightly back and forth, the best he could do to ease the desperate need to move away. 

The steady hits sped up and plateaued, finally slowing and stopping. It could have been a hundred strikes. It could have been five, but it took centuries until Caius was satisfied. Tommy was sweating frantically, and the salt stung his welted skin. 

“There we go, that got us there.”

He felt like a quivering slab of raw meat on a platter before him. Caius left for a while, letting Tommy cool off and finish his crying jag. When he returned, he had a pot of ointment in his hands. He worked the thick salve into his skin slowly, working an agonizing massage across the bloody strokes. Tommy whimpered and whined with the pain, but the intimate touch stirred unwanted tingles of pleasure in him. He pressed his thighs together firmly, but he couldn’t keep it up with how weak his legs felt.

Finally Caius was done molesting him and cut away the tape holding him in place. Tommy rolled over onto his side and dry sobbed until Caius decided to put him back. Mercifully, Caius helped ease him down the stairs, and took him over his shoulder to carry him the last few yards to his room.

Tommy laid on his bed and shivered. His bed wasn’t more comfortable, but it was familiar. His whole body pulsed with pain. Caius tethered him and Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open, he was so tired after the whole ordeal, though he doubted he would be able to sleep.

(Wait. The meds.)

“Can I please have my medicine now?” The idea of getting some relief from the pain made his teary-eyed all over again.

“Yes, after the three extra days you earned.”

(No)

(No)

(No.)

“Caius!” he moaned, but then his breath caught in his throat.