The Fics of R.M. Slater

 

A Light in the Darkness

 

"You've gone too far this time, traitor."  It was dark, but he could see his captor smiling in the half light from the room's few candles as well as the pit of hot coals that burned beside him.  It was not a friendly smile.  "No one's going to save your ass now."

 

"Let me out of these damn chains and it'll be your ass that needs saving."  His voice was low, growling, and under different circumstances it would have given most men pause.  Not so with the dark haired man standing above him.  This knowledge only served to make him growl all the more as he fought his restraints with every ounce of strength that he possessed.  He was laying flat on his back, naked to the waist, his hands bound above his head by unbreakable golden chains.  His pale blond hair clung to his face, his body covered in sweat, and his red eyes glowed with anger and frustration.  He knew that he was bleeding, that struggling was only making it worse, but he couldn't stop.  To stop would be to suffer an even worse fate.  Then he saw it.  Red.  Hot.  Glowing.

 

The guard at his head laughed, loud and full of malice, surely delighting in the way that his eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of the hot poker coming ever closer.  The sound grated on his nerves, causing him to snarl and redouble his efforts to free himself, knowing that it was hopeless yet unwilling to stop all the same.  He had heard rumors, many rumors from many men, but he had laughed and dismissed them as nothing more than exaggeration or outright lies. He had thought them too cruel even for these men but now he was beginning to have doubts.  Serious doubts.

 

"What's the matter?"  The dark haired one wanted to know.  "Afraid?  Finally regretting what you did?"

 

"Fuck you."

 

The smile never left his face as the uniformed man told his fellow guard to hold his head still.  "Don't want to force a misstep at an all important moment."

 

He tried to fight the hands at either side of his head, thrashing for everything that he was worth as his dark haired tormentor approached with the glowing rod in his hand, determined not to let either of them see the fear that he felt welling up inside of him.  He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

 

"You might want to close your eyes for this."  The voice held a sick humor.  "It'll be easier on you."

 

He didn't want to close his eyes, he didn't want to comply with anything that man said, but as the firey metal moved closer to his face he felt his eyes give an involuntary flutter.  Then there was red hot, searing pain, and it didn't matter if his eyes were closed or not anymore.  When the metal was flat against his face, vertical across his left eye, he grit his teeth so hard that he tasted blood.

 

"Aren't you going to scream for me?"

 

He spat, hopping that he'd hit at least one of them, but the twin pearls of laughter told him that they didn't care even if it had.

 

"You might regret that choice."  One of them said.  "Because, trust me, this one's going to hurt even more."

 

Then there was darkness.  And he did scream.

 

***

 

Laine had never heard such a horrible sound in all his life.  It was filled with pain and anguish the likes of which a man's soul was never meant to withstand, the raw and heartwrenching scream enough to send Laine running down the hall on sandaled feet, the near silent clacking of sole against wood nowhere near loud enough to drown out the dying echoes of tormented sobs.  The sounds tore at the young darminas' heart as he hurried down the deserted corridor, and not just because of the daemon's empathic sensitivities.  No, it was because it was him.  It had to be, he was the only prisoner kept in that wing of the jail.  The scream had been nothing short of a desperate cry for help, and for such a sound to have come from his normally defiant charge brought a painful tightness to Laine's chest and the sympathetic sting of tears to normally serene opal eyes.  He took the last few paces at a sprint, throwing open the dark wooden door that was the last barrier between himself and his destination, but the sight that met his pale eyes made the young daemon stop dead in his tracks before he could step foot into the room.

 

The terkarian was known only as Morgan.  His crimes were a mystery to Laine, the warden only saying that he was a dangerous criminal who needed to be kept isolated for the good of all those around him, even the other prisoners.  But, despite the warnings, Laine had felt oddly drawn to the other man from the very first day that he had been assigned to work in the isolation ward.  Morgan was strong willed, quick to fight the guards no matter how many times they tried to break him, his pale hair whipping about him like a cape, his fangs bared to the light as he growled and snarled at attackers that he could never see.  Yet, always after he'd be quick to smile, trying and succeeding in shocking Laine with some crude remark or off-color joke as the younger daemon treated and bandaged his wounds.  Although, when he thought that Laine no longer watched him, that same smile would turn bitter and harsh, the humor replaced with mockery and selfloathing.  It was in those unguarded moments that Laine saw, not a hardened criminal, but a lost soul that he longed to comfort.  But always the pain would be quickly hidden away behind walls made to protect what little was left of a surprisingly fragile soul, and even the gift-enhancing onyx jewel in the center of the darminas' forehead couldn't reach him then.  Now, however, there were no shields between them, and Laine could feel Morgan's emotions washing over him like scalding waves that threatened to drown the stunned young empath.  Need.  Fear.  Pain.  Regret.  Longing.  Despair.  All in a neverending cycle that left Morgan a whimpering mass curled on his side, arms wrapped tightly around himself, taking what comfort he could when it seemed that the world had none to give.

 

Without thinking about the consequences of his actions Laine pulled a key from the ring that hung from the belt at his waist and put it into the lock of Morgan's cell door.  His hand was trembling as he tried to maneuver the small brass key, his need to stop the other daemon's suffering nearly overwhelming, and it took three tries to get the key into place and the lock to turn.  When at last he was able to throw back the heavily bared door the magickal wards made Laine's skin crawl, but he stepped into the cell and rushed to Morgan's side all the same.

 

Morgan didn't even seem aware of Laine's presence, so completely encased in the oppressive weight of his own misery, until the gentlest of touches ghosted, feather light, across his tearstained cheek.  It had been so long since someone had touched him without thought of hate or malice that Morgan instantly froze.

 

"How cruel," Laine whispered into the darkness, his voice filled with sorrow, "that they should take your sight but not your tears."

 

Morgan could feel soft, delicate fingers brushing away the tears that leaked from the corners of his deformed eyes, the tips occasionally touching the edges of the rough, vertical burn scars that served as lasting evidence of the golden brands that had taken his sight and seared his once vibrant ruby eyes shut forever.  The twin marks were but two amongst many, but they were the only ones that still stung with remembered pains, the only ones that still haunted him with nightmares day after day.  Nightmares of the last images that he would ever see.

 

"Don't feel too bad for me," Morgan croaked, his voice hoarse from screaming, "the nightmares are the only time that I really feel alive anymore.  What are a few tears in the face of all of that emptiness, huh?"

 

He wasn't sure what had possessed him to say such a thing, or why he'd even spoken at all when so often anymore he went days without uttering a word, but he regretted it the moment the last syllable left his parched lips.  Maybe it was the fact that the familiar voice of the other daemon was the only thing that ever offered him any respite from his pain. 

 

The gentle caress of hands on his face instantly left him when silence fell in the room, and only then did Morgan realize how much he needed that touch, how desperate he was for even that little kindness.

 

Laine pulled back, afraid that his sympathy had been mistaken for pity, and he had a moment to think to apologize to the once proud warrior, when suddenly his wrist was seized in a vice-like grip.  One sharp tug sent him tumbling forward, landing gracelessly half atop Morgan, who still sat on the floor.  Then, just as suddenly as he had been unbalanced, his lips were claimed ruthlessly.  The mouth against his pressed down with bruising force, sharp teeth scraping his lips and threatening to break the skin if a demanding tongue was not permitted entrance.  He gasped in shock, his body frozen and his eyes wide, but that was all that was needed to deepen the kiss.

 

Morgan had no idea what he was doing, why he was suddenly attempting to take that which had not been offered from the only person to treat him decently in ages.  He had long been called a scoundrel, but he had never in all his years sunk to forcing himself on an unwilling partner.  All he knew was that his mind was screaming for something long absent, his body demanding that he give it the comfort and pleasure of the soft warmth that he held in his arms, his soul crying out for more.  More of what, he wasn't entirely certain, but as he got his first taste of Laine's sweetness, his tongue sweeping possessively across every surface of the smaller man's mouth to better taste him, Morgan suddenly didn't care if what he did was wrong.  He was already damned, sentenced to an eternity of darkness and despair.  He would not suffer alone.

 

The desperation that Laine felt from Morgan had a near physical strength, becoming the third man in the room, and had he not already been on the ground Laine most likely would have fallen under the force of such pure overwhelming need.  He ceased struggling the moment that the oppressive darkness of Morgan's emotions washed over him, letting the other daemon dominate him as he wished, giving over control to lie unresisting half atop Morgan and half on the cold wooden floor.  Through the gray haze of his internal pain, as well as the blazing intensity of growing desire, the empathic man could sense an all consuming need to be in complete control of this encounter.  Laine knew that he could never hope to fight such a force, and so he did not even attempt to try.  Instead, when hands roughened by neglect pushed him to lie fully against the night-chilled floorboards, Laine allowed it without protest, pale eyes watching the sightless man above him with apprehension that was tinged with excitement.  He knew that he should have been afraid, knew that Morgan had long been unstable, but with Morgan's need beating against him with each ragged breath that the criminal took Laine found himself not only unable, but unwilling to struggle.

 

Morgan could hear the part of his mind that was still sane screaming at him that this was wrong, that he had to stop before he did something that he could never take back, but that voice grew more and more quiet as he felt the small body in his arms relax and become totally unresisting.  He even thought, although he knew that such couldn't be the case, that his long dulled senses picked up the hint of arousal in the other man's scent.  For a moment, just a moment, he let himself believe that maybe his nose provided him with the truth.  It had been so long since he had touched another living creature like this, since he had felt even a moment's break in his unrelenting isolation, and he knew that there was no turning back now that his guard-turned-captive lay pressed against the floor, completely at his mercy.  Morgan only wished that he could see the face of the young man who had so often brightened his day with his inane chatter time and again, wished he could see the smile that always seemed to fill the soft voice even after being completely ignored for hours on end, and Morgan spared a moment to mourn the fact that the smile would never again be for him after tonight.  Then he ducked his head and took those lips again.  They might not smile for him but, tonight, for a little while, they were his and his alone.

 

Laine stayed silent as Morgan's larger frame covered his, wincing only slightly when fingers tangled in the short teal locks at the back of his neck, his gasp quickly swallowed up by the other man's demanding kisses.  A moan was lost in much the same way when the loose folds of his robe were pushed out of the way, rough hands sliding the thick burgundy fabric up until it bunched at his slender hips, the kiss never broken even as Morgan tugged his own threadbare robe open before reaching for the waist of his shorts.  It was as if his aggressor was unable to give up the contact, locked together as they were, even for an instant.  In many ways Laine was grateful for this fact, because it prevented the often sentimental young empath from saying things that were best left unsaid for the moment.  Laine knew that Morgan needed to feel right now, not think.  And Laine wasn't at all certain just what he was feeling at the moment anyway.  It was better for all involved to simply keep the kiss going and leave everything else for another day.  If either of them had another day, that is.  The rising heat that Laine felt filling the cell as well as his body made the darminas wonder if they wouldn't both be lost to the fires of Morgan's passion in the end.

 

Morgan felt a growl form deep within him when he forced his hand between Laine's legs and felt a growing hardness swell beneath his touch.  He was certain that the reaction was entirely involuntary, but it pleased him none the less and caused his own cock to throb in response.

 

Laine winced as sharp fangs cut a gash across his bottom lip, the brutality of their kiss growing as Morgan ripped away the small white shorts that Laine wore beneath his robe.  He didn't care about the metallic tang of his own blood as it touched his tongue, smearing across both sets of lips when Morgan pulled away to remove the last of his own clothing, but even if it had bothered him Laine would have instantly forgotten the small wound in the face of the sight that met his eyes when he at last looked up at the man responsible.  Morgan knelt above him, his breathing ragged, his pale hair a wild mane framing a scar ravaged face smeared with Laine's own blood.  His robe hung open, the dark fabric framing what was once a warrior's body, but was now an ill-treated and malnourished frame covered in a mixture of too pale flesh and the dark deformities of countless scars.  Laine thought that there was something heartbreakingly vulnerable and tragic about the man above him as he fought for control, a snarl twisting his lips, his expression fierce, brow furrowed in concentration.  Without thinking Laine brought one trembling hand up to touch the face that seemed to be looking down upon him, his fingertips tracing the long and unforgiving line of one dark scar where it ran the length of brow to chin.

 

Morgan instantly became motionless when a small hand reached up and touched one of his scars, his mouth open but unmoving as a sense of great shock overcame him.  The feeling only intensified when petal soft lips followed the path that the fingers had just traveled.  The confused convict felt his body relaxing against his will, found himself leaning into the soothing touch, both calmed and aroused by the unexpectedly soft kisses.  His mind began to haze over, his rage and pain from moments ago melting away to be replaced with something far more pleasant, and for a moment Morgan began to hope that the kind touches meant that his advances were, in fact, not entirely unwanted.  Then, just as abruptly as he had stilled Morgan tensed again, countless unwanted memories reminding him that he was a fool to trust anyone, even a young man who had always shown him a tender sort of kindness.  This was probably just a ploy to put him off his guard so that his little captive could escape.  Morgan growled deep in his throat, even as a part of him mourned the loss of lips upon his flesh, and he lashed out with a speed that he didn't know himself still capable of to strike Laine hard across the face.  The sound of flesh impacting on unyielding wooden boards, accompanied by a pained groan, told Morgan that his captive would not be leaving him anytime soon, and even though he regretted having to resort to such violence Morgan still smiled a bitterly triumphant smile that held precious little humor.  He couldn't let the other man leave yet.  He needed this.  Needed a memory of pleasure and pure sensation to wipe away the ever present fear and pain of his nightmares.  And if his latest crime cost him his life afterwards, so much the better.

 

Something brushed the side of Morgan's hand, bringing him out of himself and back to his current situation, and the terkarian grabbed ahold of Laine's ankle and pulled.  He spared a moment to think of the much smaller man that he now had pinned beneath him, wondering if he shouldn't apologize for being rougher than he'd intended, but then Morgan reminded himself of what exactly he was doing and he realized that there would be little point.

 

Laine had been taken by surprise when he'd been sent flying across the room, having had only a moment to register the sudden surge of distrust that had run through Morgan the instant before he'd been hit.  Truth be told, the backlash of dark emotions from the other man hurt more than the actual blow had, and the near suffocating internal darkness kept him silent when he would have sought to explain.  Then suddenly his legs were being shoved apart by Morgan's knees, his hips gripped in calloused hands, and all hopes of words were lost to him again.

 

A scream was torn from Morgan's throat for the second time that night, but this time it was from pleasure so intense that he felt tears welling up at the corners of his sightless eyes again.  The smaller daemon's tight passage gripped his manhood with vice-like force, and although he regretted the unavoidable moisture that was surely the man's blood easing his way, Morgan felt happier and more complete than he had since before his imprisonment or the loss of his sight.  He'd forgotten the sheer physical pleasure of being so intimately connected with another living being.  He knew that the act was lacking because his partner was an unwilling participant, something that he would hate himself for once the initial rush of sensation was over, but right at that moment Morgan felt about as close to the Crystal Fields as ever his thrice damned soul would be allowed.

 

Once the initial pain of penetration had passed Laine forced his eyes open to look at the man laboring above him.  Morgan was crying again, although Laine didn't think that it was for any of the same reasons as he had before, and he watched transfixed as the Terkarian's tears slid down his face to mingle with his sweat.  His lips were drawn back off of his fangs, making his smile seem feral, but Laine thought that the smile looked far better on the blond haired convict than the usual falsely care-free, devil-may-care grin that he offered up to the world on a daily basis.  He opened his shields as wide as they would go and his empathy allowed him to feel all of the emotions that had put such an expression upon Morgan's ravaged face.  He was completely wrapped up in sensation.  And pleasure.  And need, long ignored, at last fulfilled.  There was an undercurrent of self-loathing and regret, but Laine easily reached into the other man's mind and pushed those darker thoughts away, leaving them both with nothing but desire.  His own body was responding to both his own feelings as well as what he was receiving from Morgan, his back arching and hips rising as the other daemon hit the perfect spot within him, his hands coming up to grip strong forearms as his whimper of pleasured need was lost beneath the sound of a howl from above him.

 

Morgan barely registered the change in position that allowed him to thrust deeper into his partner's body, small hands bracing themselves on his arms while lean legs hugged his hips, ankles locking at the small of his back and urging him forward at an ever increasing pace.  All he knew was that he felt alive, free even though he knew that he was still in his cage, and he never wanted any of it to end.

 

Laine could feel Morgan's pace growing even more erratic and frenzied with each snap of his hips and thrust of his sex, and Laine knew that the other man couldn't last much longer.  For this he was glad, because Laine didn't think that his battered and exhausted body could take much more either.  No sooner had Laine thought that his end was near than he felt his body tightening around Morgan's cock, his own hardness surging against his flat belly, stream after stream of his hot, sticky, clear-white essence shooting out of the swollen tip.  His head snapped back against the floor, his vision blurred, and he screamed until his lungs burned and his throat ached.  Then, when he felt Morgan's own release filling his body and overflowing to spill down his heated flesh and onto the floor, it started all over again until Laine was left hoarse, panting, and exhausted on the ground.  He was a sweaty, crumpled heap of flesh who could barely remember his own name, and at that exact point in time Laine could truly care less.  The sated smile on his lips was evidence of that.

 

Morgan fell to his side, fighting for breath, after the most singularly intense orgasm of his life.  He felt weak, left empty and unable to move once he hit the unforgiving wooden floorboards of his cell.  He was certain that he was forgetting something, it tugged at the corners of his rapidly fading consciousness, and he thought that it might have something to do with the high pitched screams that he had heard overlapping his own shouts of ecstasy, but with every passing second it became harder and harder to concentrate.  Then, at last, he lost his battle for coherent thought and Morgan fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.  He didn't even feel his clothes being tugged into place or the well-worn and thread-bare blanket being placed over his body.  And he certainly didn't feel the gentle touch of lips upon his forehead before his cell door was closed and locked once again.

 

***

 

Laine stood outside of Morgan's cell watching him sleep.  He hadn't uttered another sound since falling back to sleep hours ago, and he didn't toss or turn the way that the darminas knew that he was prone to do.  Laine even thought that he saw a slight upturn at the corners of Morgan's mouth.  All and all, it seemed that the evening had turned out better than expected.  Especially with how it had begun.  Laine just wasn't sure what the morning would bring.

 

A sound from the other end of the hallway made Laine turn his head, and he instantly tensed when he saw the two guards approaching him.

 

"Hey, it's Lainie."  One of the guards said, a smirk on his face as he joked with his companion.  "He's gotten so bored here in the isolation ward that he's taken to watching convicts sleep."

 

"What a fascinating hobby you have there, sweetheart."

 

Laine just kept his head down and ignored them, hoping that they would get bored and go away soon.  They usually did.  He let his mind drift, replaying memories from a few hours earlier, watching the steady rise and fall of Morgan's chest as he slept.  Then something that one of the two guards was saying made Laine look up, and he realized that they were talking about the man in the cell.

 

"...thought I heard screaming a while back."

 

"Did you check it out?"

 

"Nah," turning an amused look towards the teal haired empath the guard smiled and said, "'sides, I knew our little Lainie here could take care of it.  You know how possessive he is of his territory.  I wouldn't want to overstep my bounds, after all."

 

The two older men shared a laugh at his expense, but Laine didn't mind since he really was glad for the fact that no one had come to investigate earlier.  It could have been a disaster in more ways than one.

 

"Truth is, I can't really blame the poor sick bastard for screaming like a bitch all night."  Seeing that Laine wasn't bothered by their teasing they went back to talking about Morgan.  "Hell, I'd scream too if I knew that my execution date was this damn close."

 

"After what he did, I don't think that it's going to be pretty either."

 

Laine let the two guards wonder back down the hallway, back the way that they'd come, watching them all the while with a hard expression in his normally gentle tan eyes.  Now that they'd reminded him of the execution, something that he'd tried to put out of his mind for the night, he couldn't let it go.  Within moments of it's mention the upcoming date was all that he could think about.  Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, there was a new thought in his head, and with single-minded determination Laine turned and walked the path that the other two guards had just taken.  He knew exactly what he had to do. 

 

There would be no execution date. 

 

THE END

 

Please feel free to report any and all mistakes to TorchwoodKitty@yahoo.com.  Please label your message with something about MakaiKitty fics or some such so that I know it's not a piece of the ever dreaded spam that seems to plague all of our mailboxes.  Thank you!

Everything above is the property of MakaiKitty.  Don't steal!