Disclaimer: I own not Andromeda. I own only my passion for abusing Seamus.
"Look at me."
Those three words, spoken softly yet with great power and harsh commanding, made chills run down my spine. Almost unwillingly I turned over and stared into eyes of the greatest depth. I read my death there.
I wanted to be strong, wanted to hold on, but my body quailed around my soul. I whispered, "Please, please no more." One thin hand lifted and wrapped around a solid wrist. I brought the hand to my lips and laid light caresses on the appendage that had so recently and so brutally ravaged and shamed me. I was worshipping my demon, for I had no other choice.
He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and leaned toward me. I startled at the sudden move, flinching backwards. He frowned and grabbed me to him. His lips were rough, demanding, and I couldn't breathe. I thought the fight had left me, but I found new stupid strength as I fought for air. His arms wrapped me in a crushing embrace and I felt ribs scream with the strain. Colored lights danced in front of my closed eyes, but he released me before I fainted.
I collapsed back to the tangled sheets and looked up at my master with hooded eyes. He had broken me down to this, a frightened toy to do with what he pleased. And yet I still defied him with my reflexes. I wish he could understand that I didn't mean to duck when he patted me in praise, didn't mean to jerk away when he snatched me from behind. But my training had been so long and so hard that I could not help but try to protect myself from what I knew would be inevitable pain.
His dark eyes swept me, brooding. I knew what he saw: a skinny human kid, naked and ashamed, marked with scars from the wars and from his touch. My hair stuck up in all directions and my red-rimmed eyes pleaded for mercy silently. None was forthcoming. It never was.
I regarded him carefully, warily. He was a tall, broad Niet, dark and powerful with muscles like a statue and long hair that fell around his shoulders like a tide. My language for him could afford to be poetic, as he doubtless expected me to sing his praise from here on out.
Abruptly he left me laying there and disappeared. A moment later I heard the shower spring to life. Knowing that I was alone for a few precious minutes, I let myself lay there and wallow in my misery. It had been months since life as I'd known it had been thrown to a screeching halt.
The day Dylan died.
The epic battle in which Dylan and Rommie had bitten the dust and Beka, Tyr and Trance had taken flight in the Maru. I had taken an escape pod and had the magnificent bad luck to be picked up by a Nietzschean cruiser. The captain took a shine to me and decided to break me.
The Uber- my lord, I must think of him no other way- had wanted a broken slave, something he could pet and play with, tease and torment, and I had had the famous bad fortune to end up the object of his love/hate.
The shower stopped and a whimper escaped my throat. He came out, wringing water from his damp hair and looked down on me with a superior smile. I wished I could hide behind something, anything, to escape those piercing, damning eyes. I hadn't been allowed to really bathe in so long. Good boys get baths. Bad boys get half-drowned in the freezing, filthy water of some unnamed world. A shiver racked my body just remembering the ordeal.
He sat down next to me on the bed and cradled my face in his hand. Lost eyes looked into his, empty eyes, eyes that held nothing but willingness to do whatever it took to stop the torment, stop the hurting. A tear leaked from one eye and he wiped it away with his thumb. I closed my eyes, afraid of what he would do at that sign of weakness. But he just sat and watched me.
Finally I sat up on my elbows and took his hand in mine. I rained soft kisses on his hand, his wrist, his spurs. I claimed with my mouth everything I hated about this man; the beatings, the strappings, the rape. Everything he had ever done to me was done by the hand I held and I laid a kiss for every wrong he ever did me. "I can please you," I murmured between presses of my lips. "Please, let me please you." Perhaps, I thought, if I pleasure him, he will leave me alone for a little while.
He cupped the back of my neck, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes searched my face and storm clouds gathered in his face. He could see my motives. I couldn't help the trembling that started shaking my body. I knew that look. It meant trouble. Mostly for me.
He threw me back onto the bed and clambered on top of me. I made a small sound of fear and twisted to get away from him. His strong arms caught me and pulled me back. His weight crushed me into the mattress and his lips devoured me in a tongue-swallowing kiss. I couldn't help it; I struggled like mad. His body went rigid and he sat back with a disgusted sneer.
"No, no, please no," I whispered, tears actively streaking my sweat tarnished skin. "I'm sorry, lord, please. Have mercy, I can pleasure you, let me-" I reached out for him and he knocked my hands away. His fist came from nowhere, sending me crashing against the headboard. I saw stars and only dimly saw him come in for another blow.
He beat me until my cries echoed in the empty corridors of his ship and I bled from places I didn't know could bleed. He took me then in a savage rape the likes of which I had never known, not even on the first night in this godforsaken place. My anguished screams for help and salvation tore the night until he had enough and gagged me before continuing to use and abuse my body.
My body.
His body.
His plaything.
Forever.
God help me.