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There was an art to watching, a surprising amount of skill. He had learned it many years ago, when he was just a small boy peeking through cracks to see what he was not supposed to. His first experience was when he was just seven years old, on a summer day when he was left home alone with his father. It was a rare occasion in those early years when he was alone with the man; more often than not his mother or brother, or both were there. But this day, his mother had had to take Marcus to an appointment and decided that he should remain at home. He had been playing in the woods near his home, not wanting to disturb his father. The man was working and had no time for him, and though he was young he already had a distinct dislike of him. He had every intention of remaining outside and well away from the house until his mother and brother returned and he and Marcus could go to the park. But something caught his eye while he played. A car that he didn't recognize pulled into his driveway.
It was a beautiful car, a bright cherry red mustang that had black racing stripes. It was flashy and looked expensive. Even at this age he knew it to be a symbol of status and deceleration of masculinity. The driver was a handsome man. He was tall and athletic built with golden skin that seemed to glow. His appearance was neat and well kept, he had a fresh crew cut and clean shaved face. It was a boyish face, though he was clearly older, maybe in his early thirties. He wore the uniform of a Navy Commander, and he walked with all the swagger of his rank. He was fascinating to see and Mason wanted to learn more of him. He had hidden in the trees, watching as the stranger knocked once on the front door, something inside him, some instinct, telling him not to make presence known. His father opened the door and quickly ushered the man inside, shutting the door in a flurry of movement.
He remained hidden for several long minutes after that before creeping forward and making his way toward the window of his father’s office. He had a thought that the stranger was a patient of his father, and part of him felt guilty for invading the expected privacy of his father’s office. That part of him, however, was overwhelmed by his curiosity and he wrestled with the conflicting emotions for almost half an hour before his curiosity won out. He proceeded to hide under the windowsill, straining to hear what was happening. He didn't hear voices, however, or at least not a conversation; not what he was expecting. Mason heard his father growl out a groan. It was a strange and foreign sound and at his age he didn't know the words to describe the feelings the sound invoked. Now he would have described it as primal lust and only been partly correct. Whatever it was, it gave him enough interest to risk looking inside; what he saw would be with him the rest of his life.
The stranger was no longer neatly dressed, his shirt was off and he could see his back tense and almost rigid. His pants were pushed down his thighs, exposing him. He was on his knees in front of his father, hands pressed against the armrest of his father’s chair. The muscles of his arms were strained and he couldn't tell if the stranger was bracing himself or resisting his father who was forcing his head into his lap. His father was sitting in his office chair, shirt untucked and pants undone, with his head leaned back and eyes closed. His right hand was gripping the stranger’s shoulder, near his neck, while his left hand was on his head. He thrusted his hips forward in a slow, grinding motion, and the stranger was making choked grunts and slurps. His head bobbed up and down in a matching rhythm to his father's thrusts for what seemed like forever, until his father pulled the stranger’s head back and covered his face with something thick and white.
It was at that point that he had to duck back down, his father was stirring and he didn't want to be seen. Manson had scurried back to the tree line and hidden there until his brother found him. He had been too young then to understand what he had witnessed, but he did know it fascinated him. It wasn't just the perverse act that only later he would know to be homosexual and oral intercourse, it was the danger of being caught and the thrill of knowing something he shouldn't. It became a game, over the years, spying on his father's rendezvous. At first it was just an odd curiosity and an attempt to learn more about the man. But as the young Eckhart’s disdain for his father grew, so did the malevolence of the act. In his mind, he now had power over him. Each time he watched him perform his perverse acts, he gained more control against him. Or at least, until the day his father caught him.
He had been thirteen and it was a dark time in his life. He was still adjusting to the loss of his brother when his mother committed the ultimate betrayal. She left him permanently alone with the man. He wasn't so angry that she had killed herself, more so that she hadn't taken him with her. It was only a month after her death and he could remember a young Marine coming to see his father. By now, he was well versed in what these visits were and he felt himself growing angry that the man was ‘moving on’ when his wife wasn't even cold in the ground. For sometime after the incident he would always think that it was that anger that made him less cautious, but the truth was... darker... and it took much longer to admit to.
The young Marine, barley in his twenties, was a beautiful brunette with brown eyes and a healthy tan. He was well built, clean cut, and well groomed. By the time he had managed to find a peephole into his father's office, the Marine had already been exposed, his shirt pushed up to his neck, his pants and boxers pulled down to his knees. He was bent over his father's desk, ass left vulnerable, arms pulled up behind him in a painful angle and some balled up rag forced into his mouth. What he could see from his hiding place surprised him; his father was violently forcing himself into the unfortunate man’s body and it was clearly a painful experience. The man, though gaged, was screaming and very much struggling against his father. What was most... alluring... was the fact that the Marine was crying. As he watched the assault, Eckhart felt a strange ache in his groin and without fully being aware of what he was doing he reached his hand down his pants and began to fondle himself. As his father grew more aggressive, more violent, he began to masturbate. As he watched his father near his climax, he felt the ache in his groin build up and grow sharper.
When his father came inside his victim, he reached out and pulled the gag out of the man’s mouth. At this point, the marine had stopped his shouting and struggles, surrendering to his circumstances. When the gag was removed he was panting, and his voice was distorted with hitched sobs as he whimpered, “Please stop sir.”
That was when Eckhart came, for the first time in his life.
He groaned as he felt the rush of release, the sharp pain that then turned into a warm and unique sensation that awoken a feeling he had never known. The noise alerted his father, however, and he had to quickly scurry away not to be seen. He thought, he had managed to hide his indulgence. That was until that weekend when the man locked him in the criminal offender ward of the psychiatric hospital he worked at. He spent three very terrifying days there before his father came back for him. It was almost the very next day he was shipped off to military school. It was after that when he began to fight his urges to watch, never wanting to experience his father's ‘punishment’ again. He put forth a great effort into developing more acceptable sexual practices and pretending that he shared his peer’s perversions. He had done such an exemplary job he managed to fool himself into a six-year marriage. That had proven the catalyst into unraveling his web of lies so to speak.
Once the girls were born, his wife had lost interest in anything sexual, not that they had had the most intimate sex life to begin with. Sex with her had been done out of necessity or in the ‘heat of the moment’ and was meant to mimic normal relationships. Once all the children were born, however, he had no desire to touch her again, but he was still a man. He still had urges. He had done the normal rendezvous of one-night-stands with assorted females; always discreet, always a secret. They were wholly unsatisfying and often left him more frustrated than relieved. He would find himself spending more and more time away from his home and family, brooding in his work to at least distract himself from his unhappiness. It was on one such night that he found himself aimlessly searching the many camera feeds that he normally monitored for no other reason than to keep from going home.
It was this night he saw them, two nameless and low level employees who had met in some unused storage space. They were young, they were both attractive, and they were very much attracted to each other. For the next half hour, Eckhart watched them, manipulating the camera to invade their privacy to further his enjoyment. For the first time in many, many years, he was able to bring himself to full pleasure. That was when he had begun watching again, spying on the employees when they thought they were hidden. He began to reawaken the buried fetish, redeveloping his particular preferences and desires.
He found that, despite never considering himself homosexual, he enjoyed watching men have intercourse more than a man and woman. Perhaps it was because the sense of power he had over them was exponentially greater. Knowing he had not only caught them in a private act but one that was less accepted and therefore more devastating if revealed always seemed to increase his pleasure. After Incident X, he lost the ability to masturbate for fear of infection. The physical release now denied him made him angrier and colder. He could no longer have his perverse pleasure and watching others only seemed irritating and frustrating. He was becoming bitter. Until he found a new preference, violence.
He had discovered that when watching the rape of a new mutant in the holding cells by two agents. It was a young man, a pretty boy no older than twenty, who had been forced to perform several devious acts on the agents before being viciously sodomized. He had an orgasm while watching that scene, or at least, that was the best way he could describe the experience. It was a hot-blooded rush that consumed his body, leaving him almost giddy. There was no ejaculation, no masturbation, but the satisfaction was the same. He still kept a copy of the footage years later. In fact, he had a library of footage from several assaults he had witnessed over the years.
One of the stars of his library was an agent named Ryan Moore, who was one of the GSA’s best interrogators. He was a young man, barely in his thirties, and relatively handsome. He was tall, over six foot, broad shouldered, muscular and had a fair complexion with lighter hair and green eyes. He had the presence of an alpha male and was very much a predator, using intimidation to coerce confessions and information from his subjects. Moore didn't often assault his charges; he seemed to reserve that pleasure for the most stubborn and resistant of new mutants. It was his discretion that made Eckhart appreciate him all the more, that and Moore's victim preference tended to be young men of more ‘pretty’ natures; Eckhart's preferred victims as well. There were times he found himself actually assigning Moore certain subjects in hopes that the agent would be inclined to rape them, and quite often he was. Much like he had done now.
The GSA had had a lucky break. They had managed to spring a successful trap on one of Adam’s people, resulting in his capture. A sleeper agent they had sent into the underground had retrieved Jesse Kilmartin while he was delivering fake IDs. This was a major victory on several fronts; first, Kilmartin was a valuable research subject. His molecular abilities, if properly controlled and manipulated, had the potential to advance Genomex’s genetic engineering programs. Secondly, he was one of the most powerful and dangerous mutants in existence and now he was secured. However, the biggest victory of his capture would come when he was successfully broken and thus answering questions.
Kilmartin was one of Adam’s lieutenants, and he was assumed to be responsible for a part of their underground operations and cyber security. Not only that, but he was a member of Adam’s operative team known as Mutant X. The knowledge he possessed would unravel Adam’s entire operation; the problem was getting the molecular to talk. They had already been interrogating him for ten hours and had progressed to physical torture. Currently, time was of the essence, because Eckhart was under no illusions that Adam wasn't preparing a rescue. Kilmartin was stubborn, however, and resilient. He was enduring the pain and the trauma better than his psychological evaluations would have had one believe. However, Eckhart was growing impatient with the lack of progress and was becoming more concerned about Mutant X’s activities each moment. It was time to increase the pressure on him and he knew exactly how.
Kilmartin, with his blonde hair, blue eyes and lean muscular build, was exactly the type of pretty that Moore liked. His stubborn and combative nature was also exactly Moore’s favorite type to break. He wasn't exactly Eckhart’s preferred type, but he was attractive and there was the fact Adam consider him a son. That alone would have encouraged Eckhart to have him abused. All things considered, though he would never show it, he was particularly eager to see Kilmartin humiliated and broken. Watching the camera feed from his office, Eckhart couldn't keep a smile from forming as the interrogation room door opened and Moore stepped in. Mutant X may be coming, eventually, to save their molecular, but it wouldn't be in time to stop what was about to happen. Kilmartin may or may not reveal Adam’s secrets, but at least the harm done to him would suffice as some level of revenge.
-line-
He had been taken from a drop off point; the mutant he was transitioning into the underground had been a GSA operative. They had managed to set the trap and his capture had been nearly seamless. He had made a valiant effort to break free, that was true, but there was only so much a lone molecular could do against ten trained agents. They had overwhelmed him, overpowered him, and then taken him into custody. The GSA took him to a secure facility, one they most often used as storage for pods. They had imprisoned him in a makeshift cell with a guard posted outside at all times. The governor in his neck was left activated on a low setting, making movement painful and action hard. He had been stripped searched and was only allowed to redress in a supplied pair of boxer-briefs, both to humiliate and ‘secure’ him; ensuring that any tracking device hidden in the clothing would be removed. His hands were bound in front of him at the wrists.
The interrogation had begun almost the moment they brought him in. At first it was laughable, the scare tactics and the “we want to save you” speeches. Two pathetic agents tag teaming him in the worst display of good cop, bad cop he'd ever seen. They spent an hour, maybe two, trying to turn him, trying to convince him that “Kane was evil.” He laughed at them; “Adam” he had spat out “didn’t give me my scares.” After that, the torture had started.
Electricity was their preferred method. They strung him up by his wrists from a hook in the ceiling, using a taser to shock him. His body twisted and jerked with each assault, the movement pulling on his shoulders and joints. He could feel the muscles tearing, the joints dislocating, but he would be hard pressed to decide what hurt more; the burns, the shocks, or the strain on his limbs. He couldn't tell you how long this lasted, but it might have been eternity. They left him hanging there when they were done, in the dark and coldness of the room. He had blacked out for a bit, allowing his mind to drift away from his senses if only to give himself the barest of reprieves. It didn't last long. They came back for him after an hour or so, cutting him down and rebinding his hands behind his back. After that they forced him into a chair and forced his head back against the headrest.
It took two men to restrain him and one man at his head, holding a cloth covering his mouth to make the torture work. A fourth man poured water on his face, sometimes slowly and sometimes fast. He choked and gagged on the liquid as it invaded his mouth and his nose. He could feel it hit his lungs and fill his stomach, making him nauseous and trying to drown him. He would retch when they would release him, coughing and sputtering up the foul bile. He was positive he inhaled some of it. This went on again for hours, terrifying in the psychological torture and physical pain. When it was over, they had said he was “filthy”, and he needed “a good wash”, so the hosed him down with ice water and a high-pressured spray. Still, he had not broken. He had cursed and spat at his interrogators. Alternating between snide remarks and sarcastic wise cracks. He was focusing a lot of energy into his bravado, and he knew it. It was the only way for him to stay focused, to keep his bearings in this sea of turmoil.
Now he had been forced to remain on his knees, and he could feel them bruising and cramping, arms still bound behind him and aching even more for it. A guard had been left in the room to ensure he didn't move from his assigned spot. He remained as still as he could, except for the shivering. His body was battered, and his head was spinning. He knew the others were coming, he just hoped they'd get there soon. He wasn't sure he had the strength for another of Genomex's games.
When the door to his torture chamber opened, he didn't bother to look up. He didn't really care about the newcomer, he was trying not to fall forward again. The last time had earned him a series of blows to the kidneys that he didn't want a repeat of. Besides, the newcomer didn't seem terribly interested in him at the moment; he was too busy talking to the guard. Their voices were too low for him to hear the conversation though, so all he could do was kneel there and wait. Soon enough, the newcomer approached, walking in an exaggerated and slow circle around him. He came to a stop directly behind Jesse and stood there for a long moment, eyes burning into his back. It made Jesse fidget, suddenly nervous.
“They say you're dangerous,” he said, and his tone was bland, almost neutral except for the slightest hint of condescension. “Are you? You don't look too dangerous.”
Something about this man was off, he sensed it in a way that would rival Emma’s empathic abilities. It wasn't just that he couldn't see him or just the tone. There was just an air about him. It was about now that he realized the guard had left. Licking his lips, he replied, “I don't know. Why don't you take off the governor and find out.”
He sensed the other smirk, heard him shift and the soft expelling of air that could have been a laugh. “Well, that wouldn't be very smart would it? I mean, not for me. So, you understand why I
can’t. Wouldn’t Adam Kane do the same?”
“No. Adam doesn’t have to tie people up, he’s the good guy,” Jesse hissed back.
There was another laugh, and slight movement, “Yeah… that’s what they told me you’d say. You’re all on board with Mutant X. Kane has you so brainwashed that you can’t see what he’s really doing.”
“Adam saved me. Mutant X saved me. And trust me, you don’t want to be here when they come to save me again,” Jesse shot back. He was unsteady, on guard, he couldn’t tell if this guy was trying to convert him or interrogate him. He didn’t like it.
“You're a smart kid, aren't you Jesse? You understand what's going on, don’t you?”
And there it was again, that underlying taunt. Just barely there, and something inside him tensed. There was something about this that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “I understand that you're hellbent on exterminating new mutants,” he answered, “and that you're trying to force me to give you information that would help with that.”
Again, the laugh, and more movement. “Genomex doesn't want to hurt anyone. We’re not trying to exterminate anything. Mutants are unstable. Some of them have no control over their abilities and need to be protected. And some of them don't even know their full potential, how they can serve and help the rest of humanity. We have a duty to protect the public--”
It was Jesse’s turn to laugh, a sharp and biting sound, “save your propaganda. What danger is there to the public from a fifteen-year-old?”
“Ah... yes... I saw in your file you were treated here for two years,” he continued.
“Treated? Treated!” Jesse hissed, his words full of venom, “is that what you call it?” The other wasn't impressed.
“Well, when you are resistant to help, it is hard to see its benefits,” came the even reply. Jesse remained silent this time. “How about we let the past rest, let’s talk about now. Why you're here.”
“I’m not telling you a damn thing,” Jesse hissed, “I don't care what you do.”
“I don't want to hurt you, Jesse. I really, really don’t,” without warning, a hand reached out and grabbed a fist full of Jesse’s hair, yanking back his head and hyperextending his neck. He cried out in surprise and felt himself slip off balance but the other’s hold kept him from falling. “But my job is to protect the public from freaks like you, and I will do my job.” He continued, and he used his free hand to cup Jesse’s chin, running his thumb gently over his lips. “And it's time to make something very clear kid... you have no power here.”
As if to prove his point, the agent pressed his thumb hard, against Jesse’s mouth, forcing the blonde to open it before forcing the digit inside. Jesse went cold, his body almost paralyzed with fear, as something in his mind finally slide into place. He now knew exactly what it was that put him on edge about this man; the agent was a predator and he was the prey. That realization broke the spell of fear and he jerked away from the other, managing to free himself from his hold. Or maybe the agent let him go, he didn't know or care. Off balance, he fell to the floor hard, jarring his aching body and knocking the breath from his lungs. He didn't let it stun him, however, before he used all those years of martial arts training to right himself and put distance between he and the agent. In such a small room, with his arms bound, and a governor activated in his neck, he didn't really have anywhere to go. There was nothing he could hide behind, nothing to duck under; he could barely get out of reach. He backed himself almost to the wall, the door within his sights, but he didn't try for it. Determined as he was, he wasn't an idiot, he knew he'd never reach it.
He kept his focus on the man in front him, studying the agent for the first time. The bastard was taller than Brennan, broader too, like a linebacker. He had neat cut, sandy brown hair and cold eyes. He smirked down at Jesse, who was on his knees still and forcing himself to slow his breathing, no easy feat when his heart was a jack hammer. The agent’s eyes roamed his body freely, his smirk turning into a leer, and Jess was very much aware of how exposed he was.
“Relax. We’re just going to get to know each other better,” he said his voice was no longer hinting at condescension, and as he spoke he approached.
Now was a bad time to realize he had cornered himself against the wall as the predator came to stand in front of him. “Stay away from me,” he demanded, just barely able to keep his voice from shaking. He couldn't hide his straining against the restraints on his wrists however.
Another laugh and the agent reached out and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing hard enough to make the blonde cough and gasp. “Oh, and here I thought you were a smart one.... Don’t you understand? You don't have any power.” He shifted his grip from throat to jaw, applying pressure to where the bones hinged, his free hand moved to undo his pants. “I guess I need to give you a demonstration.”
Jesse struggled, attempting to dislodge the grip, but there wasn't much he could do. He had been backed into the wall, his body pressed there, and the agent had planted his feet on either side. He was crouching slightly so that his knees were pressing into Jesse’s arms. The molecular could feel the pressure on his jaw, and he could feel his body surrendering. He knew it wouldn't be long, but he fought anyway.
The agent had finished freeing his penis now and he was stroking it, staring down at the terrified and angry face of his prisoner. He felt his excitement grow, felt his member become harder, and he pressed harder against his prey’s jaw. There was a small crack as the joint popped, not broken or dislocated just popped, it was accompanied by a small whimper of pain and defeat as Jesse surrendered, allowing his mouth to be opened. After that, well, it didn't take much more effort to force his penis into the other’s mouth.
Jesse gagged, panicking as his airway was cut off. Drool was gathering in his mouth, but unable to escape so it slid back into his throat making him choke. He struggled to free himself, but it was useless. The agent had such a practiced grip on his jaw, he wasn't able to bite and his other hand was bracing his head. The bastard’s knees dug into his arms as he positioned himself so he could thrust. There was absolutely no way for him to stop this, all he could do was endure.
It hurt more than he thought it would, his jaw aching and throat burning. It almost felt like his mouth was being torn off and his throat ripped in half. The bastard set a careless rhythm, one that was almost impossible for Jesse to keep up with. It didn't help that the size of the penis mimicked the size of the man attempting to force it down his throat. He couldn’t breathe around it, and could only get the barest of gulps when the offensive member was pulled out before being forced back in. The lack of air and adrenaline was making him dizzy and his vision was darkening around the edges. Jesse had shut his eyes as the speed of the thrusts increased, unable to look at the agent anymore. He felt the penis grow, going from semi flaccid to erect, and he prayed the bastard wasn't planning on cumming in his mouth. The taste of his precum was already making his stomach roll. He was grunting with the effort of his assault, his own eyes rolled back and his face flushed. He was enjoying himself. Apparently Jesse was doing a good job, not that he was trying.
Suddenly, he was free. The penis was removed from his mouth and the hands released him. He fell face first to the floor, gasping and sputtering, coughing up the saliva and bile that had accumulated. The agent had stumbled back away from him, his organ slick with his victim’s spit and fully erect. He stared down at the shuddering blonde for a long hard moment, a sadistic glee filling him as he waited for the ‘prize’ to learn how to breathe again. When he could wait no longer he reached again for Jesse, who surprised him with his agility.
The molecular dodged, rolling to the side, away from the wall this time. He was still coughing, still shaking, but he made it back up to his knees and glared up at his rapist, defiant and angry. “The next thing you put in my mouth I will bite off,” he declared. The threat was sincere, a promise, even if it came out in a pained voice. It was hard to talk with a swollen throat.
He laughed at the words, laughed at the blonde, that same exhale of air from before. The leer on his face turned primal, his eyes flashed but not like a feral’s would. No, this man was a sadist, and he enjoyed it. He didn't say anything when he came for Jesse again, and this time there was no dodging. He grabbed a handful of blonde hair and backhanded the molecular, before shoving him to the ground. There was a sharp thud as his head met concrete followed by a groan.
Jesse was stunned for a moment, his head ringing with the sudden new pain and the effects of the near suffocating oral rape. He was dazed as he lay on his stomach, unable to process or struggle and fighting to remain conscious. His pause allowed the bastard to position him in a humiliating pose; face pressed to the floor and ass in the air. His mind, sluggish as it was, knew what was coming, what was going to happen next.
“No,” he coughed out, and he tasted blood in his mouth. “Stop,” he ordered. Another laugh as his boxer-briefs were yanked down to his thighs. He tried to struggle, tried to pull away. He felt a hand entwine itself into his hair and press his head down and another hand pull on his wrists. “Don't fucking touch me,” he shouted, spitting out blood and saliva, body tensing and legs shaking. “Get off of me!” The man pressed the head of his penis against Jesse’s anus, applying only the slightest bit of pressure... teasing… The helpless man stilled, fear now consuming him and he tried once again… “No. don't.”
Then he thrust forward, one violent movement, tearing a scream from the molecular as he ripped him open. What followed was a brutal assault that lasted for an eternity and a day. The agent was not kind, he did not ease himself in or make any consideration for the man he was raping. His thrusts were meant to hurt, pulling himself all the way out before ramming all the way back in, and he was fast. The speed created friction, the burning sensation almost as unbearable as the tearing. And there was tearing. Jesse could almost hear it, he could certainly feel it.
His screams had turned into sobbing pleas for his assailant to stop. His body shook with the effort of remaining in the forced position and he had given up any struggles focusing instead on enduring. He was bleeding, that he knew, his blood working as a sickening lubricant. It did offer some relief, but not enough for his brain to even pretend this was pleasurable. There was a mass of hot, knotted pain, forming in his groin area, near his bladder, as his prostate was targeted and abused. The sudden increase and decrease of pressure and fullness in his intestines made it worse, made it hurt... like cramps. On one of the thrusts he felt something wrong happen inside... something tear worse than before, and he knew that was bad.
When it finally came to an end, Jesse had been forced to piss himself from the constant pounding of his prostate. The bastard had given two more quick and viscous thrusts before ejaculating his full load inside his victim. He slid out, panting hard, and allowed Jesse to slide to the ground, where he remained in a state of shock. The two of them were silent for a long while, only their breathing disturbing the stillness of the room. Jesse, who still had hitched sobs, was unable to move and found himself not only lying in his own mess but also dealing with the awful sensation of hot and thick semen crawling through his insides. He was humiliated.
The agent was highly satisfied, and he chuckled at his victim, now that he was breathing normally again. He took a moment to straighten himself up before once again reaching out to his prey. “Do you understand now, Jesse?” He said as he slid two fingers into the poor man’s abused anus and began toying with him. The other whimpered at the new invasion but was still too weak and too shocked to move. “You have no control, no power, nothing... the only thing you can do is obey.”
It took several shuddering attempts before Jesse managed to say, voice raw and strained, “go to hell.”
-line-
He had watched the interrogation now several times, each time enjoying the ‘show’ more than the last. He was waiting patiently for the next session, knowing Moore would be back fairly soon. The man was like a toddler with a new toy when he had a ‘favorable assignment’, and he could never stay away for long. Eckhart too, was having trouble staying away, so to speak. He kept glancing to the live camera feed on his screen, wanting to ensure he didn't miss anything. Kilmartin was currently curled in the far corner of the cell, lying on his side.
Moore had removed the molecular’s underwear, so he was completely exposed, allowing Eckhart to appreciate his body. He had spent some time after Moore finished his first round with the blonde using the cameras to closely examine the young man, enjoying the fall out of his humiliation. Now, he was still, eyes locked on the door, back pressed to the wall. He was still bound, and he had begun to show the signs of exhaustion and pain. The torture was catching up with him, and that meant he was more vulnerable. If Moore kept up the pressure, then Kilmartin would break soon.
Speaking of, it was almost time for Moore to return. Eckhart had the agent’s modus operandi memorized. A second assault always followed the initial one fairly quickly, and any further assaults would be at random intervals, so that the victim could never fully recover from the shock or trauma. It was as much a physical method as it was psychological. And sure enough, with in a half hour of Eckhart’s excepted time table, there was Moore, coming back into the cell.
“Hello again Jesse. How are you feeling?” He said as he secured the door behind him, making a show of it. His tone was bland, uninterested, designed to be disarming, but there was an underlying smugness. Kilmartin sensed it too. He pushed himself further into the corner, tried to sit up, but he was clearly still suffering the effects of the assault four hours previous.
“I wanted to speak with you again, I hope you're up to it,” Moore said, turning towards his victim. He leered down at the helpless man, making no attempts to hide his intentions.
“Stay away from me,” Kilmartin ordered, and Eckhart was impressed that his voice didn't shake.
Moore clicked his tongue and shook his head mockingly. “Didn't you learn from my demonstration?” He came to stand almost directly in front of Kilmartin, looking down on him.
The blonde shifted, most likely attempting to shield himself. It was pathetic. “Fuck you,” he hissed, looking away.
Moore laughed, “interesting choice of words. Does that mean you enjoyed your lesson? Do you want another one?”
Kilmartin flinched, he had realized by now what was going to happen and the powerlessness of his situation. Still, with more defiance that Eckhart imagined he actually felt, he said, “don't touch me.”
Moore laughed and crouched down, reaching out and yanking the other up by his hair. “You still think you have some kind of control, don't you?” Holding Kilmartin's head against the wall with one hand, he used his free hand to grip his chin. “I guess you didn't learn from your first lesson... and I thought you were a smart one.”
Kilmartin tried to free himself, tried to jerk away. Moore just laughed and tightened his grip. He leaned in closely and hovered for a moment, eyes roaming the other’s face, before running his tongue along Kilmartin's lips. That made him jerk again and cry out “don't”, giving Moore the opportunity to slide his tongue in. There was a whimper and a shudder from the molecular, as his assailant deepened the kiss, pressing his lips against his.
They ‘made out’ for several minutes, until Kilmartin's lips were swollen and bruised. When Moore pulled away, they were both breathless and Eckhart could feel a growing ach in his groin. Moore laughed as Kilmartin spat at him, enjoying the defiance. He backhanded the blonde before forcing him against the wall and pinning him there by the throat.
“You didn't like that?” He taunted, as the other struggled in his grip. “Good.” And Moore kissed him again, this time grinding against him in a matching rhythm to the kiss. Kilmartin had given up struggling, unable to with the grip on his throat. When Moore began to fondle him, all he could do was make pitiful sounds and whimpers.
Eckhart watched the scene, body surprisingly still despite his heart racing. He could feel the heat spreading from his groin and beginning a slow crawl through his veins. He willed himself to resist the buildup, knowing there was more to come. He was a patient and disciplined man; he could control his desires.
Kilmartin had managed to pull away from Moore's kiss, even managed to hiss out, “stop”. Moore shushed him and moved from fondling his testicles to molesting his penis. There was a groan from the molecular swallowed up by another kiss from Moore, it was one part surrender, one part despair, and one part pleasure. It was becoming clear that his body was betraying him.
As Moore continued to make out with his victim, he allowed his hand to roam freely over any part of the other's body he wanted. He toyed with the others nipples, twisting and pulling on them until he got a hiss of pain. He would stroke the other to the point of climax but never allowed him to cum, creating both frustration and more pain. He’d move on to Kilmartin's testicles alternating between fondling them and lightly striking them until he grew bored and moved on to fingering the other.
That was the part that Eckhart watched most intently and seemed to be reacting to the most. Kilmartin had now been positioned back against the wall and legs bent at the knee and spread apart with Moore settled between them. Eckhart could now get glimpses of the damage done to the molecular in the previous rape and found the dried blood on his thighs and bruising around his anus quite pleasurable. Almost as much as watching the deliberately slow insertion of Moore's fingers.
He started with one, quickly receiving a cry of protest that was muffled by and swallowed up with a kiss. He toyed with the opening for several minutes, pulling away from Kilmartin's mouth so he could watch his reaction. The molecular’s face was skewed, eyes clenched shut and he panted, both from pain and fear. Clearly his ass was still raw.
“You don't like this either, do you?” Moore taunted.
“Bastard,” was the breathy reply.
Moore laughed and then inserted a second finger, drawing a whimper. For a minute or so he simply eased in and out, fingers together, watching the other squirm. He then began to scissor his fingers, opening them and closing them as he thrust them in. “No... stop…” Kilmartin begged, twisting slightly in the other’s grip.
“You're going to have to learn to like it,” Moore hissed, now forcing a third finger inside. Kilmartin cried out, kind of a mixture of a sob and a shout. Moore hadn't just inserted another finger, he had also increased the speed and force of his movement. “By the time I'm done, I want to be able to get my hand inside.”
“Stop... no more…” Kilmartin begged.
“The only thing that will make this stop is an answer to my question,” Moore replied.
“I won't--” whatever he was about to say was cut off when Moore forced his pinky into the mix. Kilmartin gasped and withered from the sensation.
“Almost there... thumb’s next. Tell me about Sanctuary. Where is it?”
“Nah... no…” Was the stammered reply, and the molecular was close to hyperventilating.
Moore pressed his thumb close to the anus and continued with the thrusts. “Three…”
“I can't…”
“Two…”
“No... Don't…”
“One.”
“Wait!” Kilmartin shouted, then sobbed. “Wait! Don’t!” Moore paused in his movement but didn't remove his fingers. It was fascinating to Eckhart to see the fresh blood that was now running down his hand, staining the skin. “Sanctuary isn't a place,” came the sobbed admission. “It's a network…”
Moore eased his pinky out, but left the other three in. “Come now. Do you expect me to believe that?”
Kilmartin whimpered, “it's true... please... it's true... it's why we stay hidden. It's the network name. I built it…”
Moore was still for a long moment studying the other before finally sliding his other fingers out. The look of relief on Kilmartin's face was instant and intense. Eckhart was strangely disappointed, part of him had wanted to see the blonde torn so completely open. Moore kissed him again, a slow prob with his tongue as he repositioned himself. With his bloody hand, he undid his pants, exposing his erection. Kilmartin must have sensed what was coming because he tried shaking his head and pulling away. Moore shushed him though, lifting him into a better position for what he intended.
Kilmartin clenched his eyes tightly, unable to escape. There were tears trailing down his face, much to Eckhart's satisfaction. He watched, groin tightening and the fire spreading in pulsing waves now. It wouldn't be much longer. A cry caught his attention and he renewed his focus on the unfolding rape. Moore was pushing in, and Kilmartin was clearly not enjoying the sensation.
“Stop... it hurts…” He begged.
Moore laughed, “you really aren't all that smart…. It’s supposed to. I'm raping you. Learn to like it, cause it’s all you’re ever gonna get again.” He then began to thrust, setting a rough rhythm but not as violent as the first time. This time, it appeared to be almost pleasurable, if Kilmartin's growing erection was anything to go by. Moore noticed too.
“See that. You're already starting to. You're going to cum…” He taunted.
Kilmartin didn't respond, he was too busy panting and groaning. He was clearly overwhelmed by the intensity of the foreplay and the borderline pleasure of the assault. He had grown flushed, sweat forming on his body, and he was becoming more vocal, mostly moaning.
It was a slower build up than before, Moore was pacing himself. He had continued his invasion of the blond’s mouth as he continued thrusting into his body, seeming to enjoy how the other was surrendering. They continued on in this fashion for several minutes, and Eckhart was feeling the strain. He was reaching the end of his patience. That was fine, however, because Moore was preparing to finish.
He moved a hand from bracing Kilmartin to wrap it firmly around his penis shaft and began stroking him in time with his thrusts. The thrust, he increased in speed and force so that his victim was practically bobbing in his lap. His breathing had become panting, Kilmartin's was hitched sobs, and he couldn't maintain the invasion of Kilmartin's mouth for long periods anymore. His own complexion had become flushed and he too was now sweating. It most definitely wouldn't be long.
Kilmartin came first, crying out and his semen shot out in several streams. The mess covered his abdomen and chest, slowly crawling its way back down towards his groin. His breathing became frantic as Moore continued to milk him. Three minutes later, Moore came, shooting his load deep into his bowels.
Eckhart ‘came’ with Moore, allowing the burning heat in his blood to consume him. He no longer paid attention to the screen, now sitting stiffly in his chair. He gripped the desk before him tightly, his knuckles white as he panted. He would never be able to explain this sensation to anyone, but it was like an orgasm throughout his whole body. It always left him breathless.
This… This was a good moment, an oh so satisfying one. Moore had begun to break Kilmartin and they were finally getting intelligence. And the rape? It was everything he enjoyed watching and more. He was very much looking forward to what was coming next.
-line-
They were on their third day with Kilmartin as their prisoner, and Moore had made progress. Nothing major, nothing ground shattering, just small pieces of data. A passcode to log into the network from the safehouse computer. A way to get around the firewall. Locations of safe houses and even some contacts they use... but all the information had to be taken with a grain of salt. Kilmartin was breaking, but he was not broken.
They had been so lucky to keep him because Eckhart had insisted on moving him to different Genomex locations every twelve to fifteen hours, picking the locations at random himself and only telling Moore’s team an hour before they had to move. This served two purposes, one it kept him ahead of Kane and Mutant X. Two, it allowed him to pick the facilities where he had his spy cameras in place. Because of this, he now had six new additions for his library, all starring Kilmartin. He rewound the footage of the latest assault for the fourth or fifth time, he wasn’t sure and it didn’t really matter. This was his favorite part, the perfect scene… even better than the first and second rapes.
Kilmartin was in Moore’s embrace, forced onto his knees and hands bound behind him. He was upright, body perfectly aligned with the room’s secret camera so that Eckhart could see him, really see him. He could study the lean muscular build, his eyes caressing the well-formed abs and thighs.
He had a sheen of sweat highlighting and further defining the muscles, the cum from his previous ejaculations had been smeared along his abdomen and chest making him filthy.
Eckhart delighted in his perfect view of his rival’s ‘son’; he could watch as Kilmartin was not only violated, but his body betrayed him.
He had been fully stripped, a punishment for giving false information, and so there was nothing in the way to disguise his beauty. Moore had him pressed against his chest as he slowly, almost tenderly, thrusted into him. This was deliberate, a slow rape, meant to make Kilmartin ‘enjoy’ it, to break him even more.
Moore had one arm wrapped around his victim’s waist, holding him in place. The other tilted his head back at just the right angle for Moore to assault his mouth as well as his ass. Moore had discovered that Kilmartin was not fond ‘making out’, so to speak, and had added this new violation into his interrogations.
This current portion of the interrogation had lasted almost twenty minutes, and Moore was close to climax. He had already forced Kilmartin to come twice, and the molecular was showing signs of exhaustion. Presently, Moore had his mouth pressed to Kilmartin’s, and you didn’t need to zoom in to know that his tongue was raping the other’s mouth.
Eckhart had though… the expression of defeat on Kilmartin’s face had been worth it.
Moore reached out and groped the other’s penis and began stroking him in time with his thrusts. Lips still pressed together, Kilmartin groaned into Moore’s mouth both from unwilling pleasure and pain. This would be the third time he was forced to cum, and his body was extremely sensitive. Moore laughed in response and thrusted harder. It took almost exactly five minutes for them both to cum, and they came together, Kilmartin shooting his load over his chest and stomach while Moore’s went deep into his body, as he had each time before.
When it was over, Moore supported both of them, remaining inside Kilmartin as he eased them to the ground and leaned back into the wall. Kilmartin was forced to sit on Moore’s lap, and the man’s softening penis remained inside him as Moore’s hand milked him. His body was shuddering, and he whimpered into his assailant’s mouth. He would have struggled had he the strength.
As Moore finished, he pulled away from his victim’s lips, allowing him to turn away, but even that required more energy than Kilmartin had and he simply slumped against his rapist, panting. But it was here, this moment, that made Eckhart’s groin tighten, made his blood boil. In his exhausted and beaten state, Kilmartin whimpered, “please stop, sir…”
Those words… the same ones from so many years before... they pushed him to the edge. He needed much more than just watching and he didn’t care about the risks. Rewinding the footage for the fifth or sixth time, but this time to the beginning, Eckhart undid the fly of his pants.
-line-
The worst thing in being alone in the cells, was losing his sense of time. They had moved him several times, but he didn’t know if that was once or twice a day. Each time though, the same things happened.
First they would ‘wash’ him, using frigid water to rid his body of the filth the agent covered him in. They dressed him in thin scrub pants, and if he was good, he got to stay dressed. Next a shot to make him compliant, which he didn’t think they really needed to do. He was too weak to put up much of a fight and the governor was still activated, it’s not like he could do anything. But they drugged him nonetheless. However, they never gave him enough for what happened after that. They would force him into a pod.
The first time, they had underestimated his resilience to chemicals and had given him only enough to make him feel weird, not enough to be of any use. He had screamed and beaten against the glass the whole transport, completely panicked. He was fairly certain he had broken something in his hand. Hell, he had even tried to phase and that almost caused a seizure. It had been a problem only because he had had to be checked out by a doctor before they could continue interrogating him. That had been a delay they didn’t want and a humiliating experience for him. But at least the doctor had fixed some of the damage done from the rapes… Jesse forced that thought from his mind, blocking it out. He was ignoring that for now, all of that. He had to because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t last. He had to survive, had to keep going.
After the incident with the first pod transport, he had been given more sedatives. Enough to put him under but not to knock him out so that he was always aware that he was in the damn pod, and sometimes they’d leave him in it for hours. The first time, Jesse had almost lost it. He had almost broken right there, dissolving into a sobbing mess. But a memory from the past had saved him, Shalimar had saved him.
Right when his mind reached the point of no return, he had seen her face. He knew it wasn’t real, that it had been a hallucination or a dream; a byproduct of the drugs. He knew that. But she was there, lying next to him, arms wrapped protectively around him, the same way she had done when he was first rescued.
“The nightmares will never last. You are home now. They can’t get you here,” She had told him while he fought through the PTSD back to some measure of sanity. He had asked her, “what if they do?” And her reply had been quick and concise, “Then I’ll find you. I’ll bring you back. This is your home. The nightmares can’t keep you from here.”
This memory had become his mantra in this hell. And he focused on it, allowing it to calm and soothe him. He knew Shal and the others were coming. He knew that they would find him, because they wouldn’t stop until they did. He just had to hold on, to stay hopeful that any moment now they would be there. It would be Shal’s face he saw on the other side of the glass and the bastard would be dead, and he would be safe again. But it hadn’t happened yet.
The agent was always the one who let him out. Seeing him at each new cell was almost worse than being locked in the pod. When the agent came to get him, then that meant another round of interrogation and another assault. There was a pattern to how the interrogations went now… a twisted rhythm. He would sit in a chair, forcing Jesse to crouch between his legs and ask questions. If Jesse didn’t answer right away, he would force him suck on his penis for several minutes. That would go on for some time before he would be too aroused, and even if Jesse would let something ‘slip’, the session always ended with the invasion of his body.
The agent’s favorite way to take him was ‘doggy style,’ “on your knees with your ass up, just like a bitch. Because that’s what you are, a little bitch…” That was what he had told him the third time. Or was it the fourth? Jesse was losing count, losing track, all of it had started to blur together. The bastard had whispered the words into his ear when he thrust in, his hot breath crawling over Jesse’s skin. The position allowed him to get deep inside of Jess, allowed him to hit all the tender parts of his body and gave him the greatest control. It also humiliated and hurt him the most and he knew that. He enjoyed that.
When he was done, he’d toss Jesse away like trash and take the information that he forced out of him to go and see where it led. With each new ‘secret’ revealed, the bastard thought he was winning, he was so convinced that he was breaking him. Joke was on him, because despite what he said, Jesse was smart. More importantly, though, Jesse was a survivor. This was hell, but he had lived through hell before, and at least this time he knew someone was looking for him. He had his memory mantra to remind him of that. He wasn’t passive in his own rescue, either. What Jesse was doing was playing a very careful game of cat and mouse, wherein he was the mouse and his teammates were the cat. In this game, the goal was to get caught by the cat and the challenge was to get the rats to help him without them knowing it.
They had taken the safe house computer when they took him, and Jesse had used that to his advantage. The first thing he had done was convince them that Sanctuary wasn’t a place, but a series of servers and networks that could all be traced via the computer they had. Sure, his access codes would be frozen and he’d be locked out, Adam wouldn’t risk it. But he had built the networks, he had back doors, he could get them in. He had tried to convince them to let him hack into ‘Sanctuary’, but they had laughed at him. So instead, he was giving them codes.
It was a slow game, he had to tread carefully. The trick was mixing the right amount of real data with fake. The real data had to be harmless, things like dismantled safe houses, old meeting points, former contacts who were long gone… things that looked real and solid but wouldn’t hurt the underground or Mutant X. He would give this information, while at the same time telling them how to boot up the sleeper program in the computer’s hard drive. That was the tricky part and the critical one.
The program was designed for situations exactly like this, when one of them was taken and especially if they had been taken with a computer. The idea was that the program was dormant on the server, until a series of codes were entered, and it woke up. It would then transmit itself via wifi or whatever component they were using to get internet into the enemy’s systems. It didn’t even matter if they had isolated the network, the program would still get in, it would find a way.
In testing, Jesse had initiated the program in a scrubbed and locked down room, no hard line and the most intense wifi protection he could create just to see what it would do… It had used a security cameras wifi signal that was barely detected to slowly leak out of the room and then connect to the security cameras’ server. From there, it just followed the pathways. Within five hours it was sending an accurate location for where he had told it he was being held, even though the physical computer was at a completely different place. Adam had been impressed.
The program had always worked in tests and in theory, but they had never used it in real life. Never tested it under stress… Jesse was hoping it didn’t fail him now. Part of the complication of having Genomex entering the codes was when the data came back to the screen as nonexistent or fake. On one hand, that was a good sign, it told Jesse that the program was working because those were the messages it was supposed to send. On the other hand, it meant that Genomex caught him in a ‘lie’, and when they did, they punished him.
For the most recent ‘lie’ they caught, they had stripped him and left him naked. Then used a heated piece of metal to brand him on his right groin and thigh. It was one of the most painful things he’d experienced at their hands, and he had withered for hours afterwards. After that, he had had his latest interrogation session. He had been pinned on his back this time, legs pressed down to the side as the bastard fucked him. The worst part was that he wasn’t bound during it. He had been left completely free to fight and the bastard had taunted him. “All you gotta do is hit me and I’ll stop, but you cant even do that can you, bitch? Too weak? Or maybe you like it?”
He had wanted to reach up and kill him. Ball up his fist, mass it, and hit him square in the center of his face and crush his skull. He did try. He clenched his first, but he couldn’t raise his arm up. The bastard had laughed at him before he shoved his fingers into Jesse’s mouth and ordered him to suck. When it was over, he was left huddled and covered in filth on the cell floor, exhausted. Sometime later they had come to prep him to be moved again, and he felt a pang of despair. Each time they moved him, he knew that the program would have to do a recalculation and that took time, even for an AI. It meant a delay in his team finding him, and another round of pain and humiliation.
The one good thing, at least at first, had been the fact that they put pants back on him. Now however, the rough fabric was rubbing against the inflamed and damaged skin of the burns causing him to whimper. And that was the least of his problems. After his ‘shower’, which was really just several buckets of ice water dumped over him, he had been left in the cell while the made the final arrangements for the move. They didn’t bother to bind him anymore, not really, not unless the agent really wanted to humiliate him, and so they had just left him curled up in the corner of his cell, staring blankly at the door.
When he had first been taken, they had waterboarded him, and he had been afraid that some of the water he swallowed had settled in his lungs. Those fears had begun to come true over the duration of his captivity and he now felt a tightness forming in his chest and was developing a cough. He could also hear himself wheezing, and that was bad; especially if your control of your powers were dependent on your breathing. The constant exposure to water wasn’t helping and he knew he had a fever. There was also the throbbing of his head, radiating from where it had been smashed onto the floor, and the other physical aches and pains from the torture he had suffered.
He was weakening, physically and mentally. His body was running out of tolerance for abuse and his mind couldn’t take the constant humiliation and mental strain. Pretty soon he was either going to be too sick to think clearly anymore or go insane. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to continue giving false information. He was starting to fear that they would indeed break him before the others found him.
“I want to go home,” he choked out through his damaged and raw throat, the words more of a sobbed plea than a statement. He felt his eyes burn, as if tears were coming, but he was too dehydrated to actually be able to cry. At least he was spared that shame.
The door to his cell opened, and he whimpered. They had come for the injection, next would be the pod and then they cycle started all over again. He closed his eyes and tried to push himself away from the approaching person, but his back was against the wall, and all he did was cause himself more pain. He made a pathetic sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, and he felt himself flush from the shame of it. He sensed hands reaching for him and tried to turn away, but his movement was clumsy and slow. He couldn't escape. The hand rested on his forehead, and he froze in fear. His mind told him that the bastard was back, that he was there to hurt him again. But then the voice reached him, familiar and soothing…
“Easy Jess, I'm not going to hurt you,” the voice said, promised, and there were no taunting or condescending tones. In fact, the voice was kind, reassuring even. This was the only reason why he opened his eyes.
The owner of the voice was a man, tall and broad with brown hair and espresso colored eyes. He stared blankly for a long moment as the other watched him, concern showing in his expression. His fevered mind slowly realized that this new comer was talking to someone via his ring. Jesse stared at it for a moment, reminding himself of what it was.
“They took mine,” he said, though his voice was a harsh whisper. For a moment the other frowned, confused, then he realized what Jess was starting at.
Brennan smoothed back some of the tangled mess of hair that had fallen into his friend’s face. With a half smile that was a mixture of sadness and relief he said, “it's alright. We have a new one for you.”
“Brennan?” He asked, sounding pathetic.
“Yeah... that's me….” The other flashed what was supposed to be a cocky grin, but he looked too tired and too worried to pull it off.
“Are... are you real?” He asked, and he was scared of the answer. He didn't know what would happen if this was a dream or some twisted fabrication.
“Your name’s Jesse Kilmartin, the piano playing super hero spy of mutant kind,” came the answer. It was a line from one of the many inside jokes you have with your best friend but forgotten until a moment brings it up.
Jesse swallowed the lump in his throat and trying to ease the building pressure in his chest, but couldn't. A barking cough crawled its way out and he groaned. Brennan shushed him, trying to offer some kind of comfort, but he was mostly helpless to do anything.
“I want ta go home,” Jesse choked out, pleading as the cough subsided.
“And that's where you're going,” this time the voice belonged to a female... to Shalimar. “I promise,” she said, moving into the spot that Brennan had been. “You're going home.”
“Shal?” He sobbed, the relief he felt making him shake. She looked tired, worried, but happy to see him. One of her hands rested on his forehead, the other on his shoulder, keeping him still. “Bren, do you have the governor remote? They left it on…” She growled, her eyes flashing gold as she stared down at her ‘cub’. A second later, and Jesse felt it... a wave of warmth. It was as if his body had been tensed and balled up, like working out too hard except a sharper ache. Now, that ache all at once was released. It made him gasp. He stared blankly for a moment, trying to adjust to the sensation, overwhelmed. He knew with out being told that the governor was off.
She smiled sadly at him, tears in her eyes as he recovered and examined him, “oh Jess, what did they do to you?”
He didn't like seeing her cry and he moved to comfort her, to try and wipe the tears, but pain flared in his groin as fabric came in contact with the burns. He froze, whimpering, catching both Shal and Brennan’s attention.
“Hey, what's wrong?” Shal asked, she hadn't yet noticed the brands. Brennan, however saw the angry skin peeking out from under his waistband.
“Shal,” he whispered, indicating with his head what he saw. He waited for her acknowledgment and to adjust position so she could better restrain their abused teammate. “Jess, I gotta take a look at your leg, okay?” Brennan warned then reached for the other's waistband.
Jesse jerked as soon as he sensed the movement, he frantically tried to pull away. Shalimar was holding him now though, trying to sooth him. She was saying something to him that would have made sense if he wasn't feverish and hadn't been so violently assaulted.
“Please don't... no…” He whimpered, his mind flashing back to being pinned under the agent... his hands roaming his body, pushing his pants down his thighs... his mouth forced on top of Jesse's… “Stop!” And the panic in that plea was frightening, so was the sudden frantic strength and desire to get away…
Shalimar shared a look with Brennan, her eyes flashing gold, as they had a quiet conversation. She gently gathered the frightened man into her arms, rocking him much the way a mother would a child. “Nobody's going to hurt you,” she promised as Brennan moved away, his own anger hidden by the conversation he was now having with Emma.
“You're safe, I promise,” Shal said, kissing Jesse's forehead. “The nightmare’s over now. Nobody's gonna hurt you again.”
Jesse wished he believed her.
“Shal, Emma’s got a gurney. We got ta move.” Brennan said, “they figured out the alarm is fake.”
Shalimar nodded, and stroked Jesse's check, “hang on a little longer, you're almost home.”
-line-
Three days of worry, frantic searching, near soul crushing failure… Three days of not sleeping, barely eating, never stopping… constant stress, aching guilt, and nightmarish fears… Three days. But they had him back.
He had been abused, tortured, his body violated. He was consumed with a fever, an upper respiratory infection weakening him and imprisoning him in a delirious state. He was wracked with pain, writhed from the coughing fits that threatened to destabilize his powers, and shook from the fever. His insides were damaged; he had been bleeding from tears... from the rapes. His throat was swollen, it was a miracle he hadn't needed to be intubated. He had small impact fractures in one hand and burns…
He was mentally exhausted, emotionally unstable. His mind could not comprehend in his current state friends from foe. Whenever Adam or Brennan would near him, he would panic, flail and cry out. The only conclusion they could make was that he thought they were going to abuse him too. That hurt, it hurt way more than either would ever admit. Not because of the rejection, but the realization of what he had suffered, the deep and lasting scars it had inflicted. He was so very broken.
But they had him back.
He was alive. He was even recovering. They could help him, they would. Somehow they would find a way. They had survived three days of searching, he had survived three days of hell, they could get through this next phase. They would do anything to ensure they brought him completely home.
“His fever’s down. The meds are working,” Emma updated Adam. She had taken over primary care for Jesse's medical needs over the last week. Jesse didn't panic when Shalimar or Emma approached him, only men.
Adam watched from behind glass, just out of view, feeling helpless. This was his son, his youngest, and he could do nothing to help him. Brennan had been staying away altogether, it was too hard for him to see Jesse like this. Currently Shalimar was sitting with him, guarding him.
“He's still coughing,” Adam commented, unconvinced. He couldn't be a scientist right now, Jesse was too scared of him, so that left nothing for him to be but the father and mentor he so rarely let show.
“But less frequently and his powers aren't being triggered anymore. He's even staying awake longer. He's come back around Adam, I think his fever will break soon,” Emma sighed, and he could hear the exhaustion in her voice. The constant strain and the onslaught of emotions were taking a toll on the empath.
Adam looked at her, studied her, taking in the worried eyes and tired slouch. “You need a vacation, you deserve it,” he said softly.
“We all do…” She was quiet for a long moment, watching Shalimar speak to Jesse. She could sense him waking up again from another nightmare. His brain was trying to process the trauma, that was something normal and healthy, it just unfortunately had shitty timing. “He's okay, ya know? I mean… He will be...ugh...it's hard to explain.” Emma took a deep breath and let it out with a little force. When she was tired and overwhelmed it was often hard for her to explain the things her powers told her. Adam waited patiently, giving her the time she needed. “His head is all mixed up. One minute he knows where he is, the next he's reliving that hell. A lot of it’s the fever though and not him. If that makes sense.”
“It does,” Adam reassured her.
“He’s… He’ll need time Adam. Time away. But he’ll come back. He doesn't want to leave, but he's going to need to recover. Being here... he won't,” there was sadness in her voice.
“I already spoke to June,” Adam said, referring to a psychologist that the underground used for traumatized new mutants they rescued. “She’ll be here in a few days, when we're sure his fever has broken. She's suggested taking him to her ranch to recover and I agreed it would be a good idea, but it will be Jesse's choice.”
Emma smiled softly, “yeah... I think he's going to want the space. June reminds him of his grandmother... he’ll feel safe there. He might be stubborn at first though.”
“I would be very worried if he wasn't,” Adam sighed. Shalimar had settled Jesse again and the young man appeared to be talking to her, even joking if her expression was anything to go by.
Three days of hell. A week of purgatory behind them already, and god knows how much longer ahead. But he was home.
-line-
It was a strange mixture of pleasure, satisfaction, frustration and disappointment. There was pleasure in having his needs fulfilled, his fetish made content. The satisfaction was in his perception of Kane's reaction to Kilmartin’s treatment. The man cared too much about his people not to feel some level of guilt or empathy for what happened to them, a weakness really. The frustration was in losing such a valuable lead and discovering that what most of Kilmartin had given them was useless. Though, honestly, he wasn't terribly surprised, he had his suspensions that the molecular was too forthcoming. The disappointment was the predominant emotion, however, and he felt a subconscious ache from it. He had enjoyed Kilmartin's sessions more than he imagined he would. The pleasure he had experienced had been more intense and dramatic than any other victims. Perhaps it was the fact he was Adam’s ‘son’, or that he reminded Eckhart of that marine from so many years ago… It didn't matter. He wanted more.
He had finished his review of the incident and the entire handling of the situation. Though he was most likely biased, he had cleared Moore and his team of interrogators of any fault or wrongdoing. They had, after all, been following protocols and it is not their responsibility to determine how accurate information is. Hell, Kilmartin had been so good at misleading everyone that even the agents following up on his ‘leads’ had thought them accurate at first. He too had cleared them of fault, but with a warning to do a better job in the future. His official report was citing the security team detailed to Kilmartin for lacking and becoming complacent. There were several gaps in their operations, one of which was exploited in Kilmartin's recovery by Mutant X. There were also breakdowns in command and communications throughout the whole affair. The entire team had been demoted and were slated to be ‘retrained’. Eckhart's ire, calm and cold as he was, had been made very clear.
At the end of the day, however, the true fault lay with him. He should have been more cautious, paid more attention to what Kilmartin was telling them. He is certain that the young man had had something to do with the ease of Mutant X finding him. It was difficult to determine how exactly, the safehouse computer they had obtained with Kilmartin had been completely wiped and the operating system ejected. When his techs had attempted to remove the hard drive, it had been damaged beyond repair by some fail safe mechanism.
He had learned a valuable lesson in this, while indulgence was fine, he needed to reserve it for the times when he did not need to focus. He needed to be on top of things and fully in control during any operations. His fetish would have to wait until moments like this, when it was simply the day to day tasks that his subordinates could manage with minimal oversight. With a bittersweet sigh, Eckhart searched through his private files until he found the one he wanted. It was labeled ‘Kilmartin, session four’, and he skimmed the footage until he got to exactly the point he wanted. He took a moment to ensure he would not be disturbed before hitting play.
Kilmartin was on his knees, still disoriented from the drugs and being released from the pod. He was settled between Moore’s legs, arms pushing weakly on his legs in some pathetic attempt to resist. Moore had his hand on the back of his head pushing it down onto his penis. After thirty seconds of this, however, he yanked Kilmartin off his now full erection.
“How's your ass feeling Jesse? Ready for another round?” Moore taunted. Kilmartin didn't reply, he was gasping and sputtering. Moore stood from the chair, dragging the other with him and receiving a groan of pain.
He laughed and released him with a shove, resulting in Kilmartin positioned on his hands and knees. Wasting no time, Moore settled himself behind his victim, roughly pulling down the scrubs he wore. Kilmartin made a sound, but he didn't move, the last time he had tried to escape had earned him a taser session and he had still been raped.
Leering, Moore slowly inserted two fingers and began making a scissoring movement with them, earning a hiss of pain from the helpless man. Already, the molecular was shaking. “How are you still so tight?” Moore taunted, “I bet you could be ganged banged and still be tight like this… Maybe I should set that up... just to see what would happen.” There was an involuntary whimper of fear from Kilmartin and Moore’s leer widened.
Moore stopped the scissoring motion and forced a third finger into Kilmartin, earning another hiss. “I do still want to fist you... I think you’d like it.”
“Fuck you,” came the pain filled reply.
Removing his fingers, Moore gripped Kilmartin's thighs, forcing them farther apart. This resulted in the blond having to lean down onto his forearms in order to maintain his balance; falling over was also a punishable offense. “You want it slow or fast?” Came the next taunt.
“Go to hell,” Kilmartin replied and his voice was tense.
Moore laughed before he thrusted in causing the other to cry out and writher. Moore kept a hand on his thigh and moved the other to his mid back, pushing his chest down. “On your knees with your ass up, just like a bitch. Because that’s what you are, a little bitch…”
Eckhart smiled as we watched the footage. Kilmartin was Moore's bitch, this was true, but Moore was his. The best part was that the man didn't even know.
End.