Disclaimer: Don't own
A/N: My first attempt at a full-length Hilson fic. Please review!
This story contains material that will definitely be triggery for some. It contains graphic rape and torture, and it includes self-harm, alcohol abuse, and suicidal thoughts. If this is a trigger, tread with caution!
"P-please..." James Wilson pleaded, looking up at his captors as they entered the room. "P-please m-masters, I'm s-sorry, but p-please…" He tugged at the chains that bound him to the wall, insistent but not desperate- at first he had struggled like some sort of animal, but now he was more or less still.
"You deserve this. This is your punishment for being so arrogant," the leader of his attackers replied. Wilson could never tell them apart- the only one he could tell apart from the others was the leader, and that was because he was always the one to tell him he deserved the torture. The room was pitch black; he couldn't see his own nose, let alone his attackers- or masters, since that was what they made him address them as.
"I-I know-" He shivered violently, overwhelmed by the subfreezing air on his naked form. He could barely speak, his teeth were chattering so hard. "I d-deserve this, b-but I c-can't s-stand the p-pain anymore... I'm g-going to d-die, and y-you s-said I d-didn't d-deserve the p-peace of d-death, r-r-remember? S-so if you w-want to k-keep this u-up, you have to s-stop..."
"That's up to us," the leader replied. "You don't need to worry." Wilson could hear the smirk in his voice; his pain brought them so much happiness. "You aren't going to die until we want you to, and that'll only happen when we decide you don't need to be punished anymore."
Wilson didn't even know what he was being punished for, but he believed them. After being here for so long- he had long since lost any sense of time, but he knew it had been weeks, maybe months- he had started to simply absorb everything they said like he was some sort of sponge. They could have told him anything, and he would have believed it without questioning it. Actually, he hadn't questioned them out loud in the first place, because that got him beaten even worse, but he still hadn't believed it and told himself that they were wrong, but now...
He was brought out of his dark thoughts when his masters unchained him from the wall. That only meant one thing, and it was as bad, if not worse, than being chained to the wall. It was even worse than the sensory deprivation helmet they put on him when they were especially furious. He whimpered and curled into himself the instant he hit the floor, desperate to escape the whirlwind of blows he knew would be coming momentarily.
He tugged his knees to his chest, screaming in anguish as a boneshattering kick sent waves of agony through his back. They practically used him as a punching bag,but they were always careful not to cause internal bleeding, because that meant he would die. And he didn't deserve the peace of death; he only deserved the pain.
But this wasn't the worst part of it; the torture session had barely started. It wasn't finished until his captors were completely satisfied, and that meant leaving him as much agony as possible without killing him. And what hurt him the most was…
He fought as hard as he could- even though he knew that would make them angrier, because that meant he didn't think he deserved what they were doing to him- but he was too weak from countless beatings, near-starvation, and dehydration for his attempts to be of any use. All three of them grabbed him and flipped him over, and then they forced his legs apart.
Wilson began to shake with silent sobs, and he silenced them only because they hurt him worse when he cried. It wasn't that he hadn't thought rape could happen to men, or that he hadn't thought it was sheer agony; he just hadn't expected to ever experience it himself, and he hadn't thought it would be like this.
They always either inserted their fingers first, to humiliate him, or they pushed in with no warning, to increase the pain even further. Wilson took shallow breaths, knowing that if he allowed himself more air, he would be unable to hold in his pleas. Sometimes he pled to be let go, to be left alone, to be dropped off at a hospital.
Other times, on days like this, he pled for death.
James Wilson loved life. Even when surrounded by dying people on a daily basis, he always made it his goal to bring them as much life as he could. But here, naked and humiliated and in so much pain, with little to no hope of ever seeing anyone he loved again…
He forced himself to stop thinking about them. They weren't coming; they didn't care about him. Even if they did, they shouldn't; he didn't deserve that.
This time, his masters chose to humiliate him as thoroughly as possible. One of them- the leader, he was sure- kept him pinned down, while another pushed his fingers inside of him and rubbed against that spot, the spot that had his body becoming aroused against his will, even though he found nothing attractive about these men, even though he would rather die than give them such satisfaction. The things they said may have been right, but he still hated them.
His body responded to the stimulation regardless, and his erection grew with every brush. Another one of his masters laughed and gripped the flesh in his hand, squeezing almost brutally hard, and began to stroke. Wilson bit his lip, but was unable to stop the moan from escaping. His body was unable to distinguish this from true pleasure.
The man pulled his fingers out, and Wilson closed his eyes, not that it made any difference in the darkness. But still, it was better when-
He screamed in pain as the first thrust hit, ripping him apart from the inside, driving all thoughts away from his mind except for the primal need to get away. He fought as hard as he could, tried to escape, but it was a hopeless struggle- and it made things even worse, because it upset his masters so.
The man pinning him down growled, "Didn't we tell you that you were to take your punishment without a word?"
Tears streamed down Wilson's face. Every infraction, imagined or real, resulted in more pain. Rape and sodomy were their favorites, because it caused him as much mental pain as physical. But they also along enjoyed burning him, cutting him, whipping him, starving and dehydrating him, putting him in a sensory deprivation helmet… And then there were the psychological tactics, mock executions, sensory deprivation, so many kinds of torture that he couldn't count them all.
He tried to obey them so they would stop, but his instincts overwhelmed him whenever they did this. He was so close to the breaking point, so close to losing it. He couldn't do this anymore.
Wilson inhaled sharply, gasping in pain as his attacker gave another rough thrust. He considered deliberately saying something that would provoke them, so that they might go too far and accidentally kill him, but one thing stopped him, besides the fact that he didn't deserve it.
House.
Wilson loved him. The only reason he was holding on was because of the hope that he would be saved, and he would be able to see him again. He wanted to die, but he wouldn't bring it about himself, if it meant he could hold on to the hope that House would help him. Wilson knew he didn't deserve anyone's love, and he wasn't a lovable person, but he still craved House's affection. He needed it, even though there was no chance of it happening.
One of the men- the one who was still stroking his erection- retrieved a lighter and a cigarette, and handed it to the man who was pinning him down. He slowly lit the cigarette, smirking as he watched Wilson's breathing increase in anticipation of the excruciating pain.
Then he burned Wilson's chest, causing him to writhe and cry out in protest.
"M-masters, I'm s-sorry," Wilson moaned, closing his eyes. He knew better than to ask them to stop, because that meant he thought he didn't deserve the agony. And he did deserve it, and he knew he had to apologize for upsetting them.
"Good," the leader said approvingly, "You remembered not to fight us. But you still deserve this."
Wilson groaned, the searing burn, along with the brutal thrusts causing pain to radiate through his whole body.
He felt a rip and a warm, wet sensation the speed and roughness of the thrusts increased enough to draw blood, and he whimpered in pain. But since he was bleeding rectally, there could be severe internal damage- maybe they had finally taken things too far this time...
Eventually, after what felt like years, his master climaxed and pulled out- but then he traded places with the one who had been stroking Wilson. They kept up the maddening, humiliating sensation, continued arousing his body to further humiliate him.
Wilson felt himself growing weak and lightheaded. His eyes rolled back and his eyelids began to drift closed; his body was able to withstand less pain each time before he was engulfed in darkness. His masters never stopped raping him when he passed out, and they always punished him worse when he regained consciousness, but there wasn't anything Wilson could do to stop it. Yet another reason he deserved the pain- he was so pathetic, more than even his masters seemed to think.
"I-I'm sorry, masters," Wilson choked as he lost consciousness.