It was dark. No, it was black. Like down in a deep cave where no light can penetrate. Your eyes can't adjust, and eventually, you go mad. It was quiet. No, it was silent. Like in the arctic, where it gets so cold that there's no organism outside, willing to waste precious energy to make a sound. And it was hot. No, it was scorching. Like a cigarette burn on your arm, drawing screams from your throat when you can't stop the pain.
A teen boy opened his eyes, to find no light. He strained his ears, to hear no sound. He swallowed, to find no moisture. He raised a hand, fighting down the panic rising in his chest. He felt nothing in front of him. The ground beneath him was smooth, and burning. Almost like asphalt on a hot summer day. He ripped his feet off of it.
But it wasn't just his feet. The young boy found his whole body burning where it touched the floor. Naked. Nudity. He shot up, desperately reaching for something to grasp, to pull himself away from the dark, the silent, and the sweltering.
There was nothing, and the blonde teen lost his balance, and hit the floor again. His arms touched the heat, and he could feel them beginning to peel.
Alex Rider screamed. His whole body was slick with sweat, and there was nothing around him. He coughed, and struggled to his feet again.
They were scorched, and he shot rapidly forward for something. Just like walking on coals. Tripping again, he hit the ground and rolled. His bare ass burned against the heat, and he cried out again.
Alex tried to calm down, to find an explanation for where he was. He found none. He found no memories of where he had been, of why he could be here.
His own voice felt odd in the eerie silence. The teen fell silent, and grit his teeth. He would bear the pain. He would wait.
It was an eternity or two later, or it could have been ten minutes, when the quiet shattered like glass under a hammer. It all penetrated his ears at once. A hot breath on his neck, a cold hand on his hip, and a tsk-ing noise.
"My dear Alex. I was certainly hoping for more of a fight than that. Now look what you've done! You've burnt yourself to the bone. How horrible. And to think that safety was so close the whole time…." The accented voice trailed off teasingly, feinting annoyance.
Alex's brain was fuzzy. He could barely interpret the words. He nodded maniacally, reaching his toward the sound. It echoed in his ears. Yassen.
The Russian grasped his thighs, and pulled the lithe and tired body onto his own. Alex choked when he felt a clearly defined bulge pressing into his ass. He bit his lip to keep from screaming again, and tasted blood. Yassen tsk-ed again. He grasped Alex's wrists, and pulled him onto his lap. Soft gentle lips met his own, and Alex fought to keep himself from sinking into the kiss-which he reminded himself- was sexual assault. It was comfortable in this embrace, not burning, not silent, not dark. His eyes were closed, and he visualized what was happening. He refused to open his eyes.
The soft pair of lips met the teen's full ones. Alex shivered in both pain and fear when Yassen's tongue probed the cut, tasting his blood and request entrance to his mouth-Like a gentlemen. Of course the assassin would be polite about rape.
Alex couldn't take the assault of all the feelings at once, and collapsed from his strained position back to the burning floor. He savored it. Pain was better than the Russian's sick idea of pleasure. A Russian who currently had no qualms about violating a fourteen year olds body.
He felt a movement above him, and sweet kisses were pressed to his neck, trailing down his body to his chest. Alex felt detached from the motions. His body was responding, betraying him.
"I hate feeling." The boy muttered. "I hate feeling." Yassen paused, as if unsure whether to continue.
"I'm sorry my dear Alex. Feeling does seem quite useless at times, does it not? But—" he grasped the boy's cock with a rough stroke. "—it can be quite pleasurable. You're not a child anymore, sadly. I'm sure that you'll understand that some things just aren't easy in the real world."
Alex didn't heed his words. He gave no sign that he even heard them. His member was pulsing angrily, and he felt himself nearing completion too soon. He was numb. So numb.
His hair was plastered to his forehead; the Russian assassin softly brushed it away and kissed his cheeks, still pumping furiously.
Alex didn't make a sound. He didn't moan, didn't gasp. His breath was strained, and his eyes were still pressed closed, refusing to open. He didn't want to see the dark.
"I hate feeling," he repeated monotonously. "I hate it." His tone was so void of emotion that Yassen paused in his ministrations, causing the teen to buck violently into his grasp.
Yassen removed his hand from Alex's cock, and grasped both hands to his chest. "I hate it too." And with that he moved down his body, until his hot breath hit the tip of the teen's length.
Alex hated it. He hated himself for responding, but didn't move. It was so good, so painful, so bad.
He opened his mouth again. "I want to die. I don't want to feel. I hate it," This time, Yassen paid no mind to his words, and engulfed the head with his mouth. The boy jerked his hips forward, but the assassin's hands left his own and pressed his hips down.
It took only minutes of gentle swirling and sucking for the younger spy to finally gasp, and let go into the Russian's mouth. He bit his lip again, and tasted more blood.
Yassen released his hips. There was sure to be purple finger shaped bruises on it tomorrow. If he made it that far. Why would Yassen make him feel good. That means he wants to help him. If he really wanted to help him, he would end it. It'd be painless, pleasure-less. No more feeling. No more emotion.
He finally cried. At first just a few salty tears leaked out from beneath his lids, making his eyelashes shimmer. Then he started to choke out his emotions, sobbing into the loving embrace of his rapist, the man who killed his uncle and saved his life and broke his spirit.
"I'm broken," he realized aloud. He buried his wet face into the chest of the assassin, and dug his fingernails into his back. Yassen winced.
Kiss me, he thought. Kiss . Why won't you love me? Fix me I'm broken please fix me.
Then the darkness came, and he felt no more. It felt wonderful.