A/N: This is a two-chapter story set in the mid-eighties, while Adam Monroe is a prisoner of the Company. He's been held for nearly a decade at this point and he's gone a little bit crazy around the edges. Thompson has been with the Company for five or six years now, being one of their earliest recruits. He's about 30 years old here. This is set in the Shattered Identity AU, but you need know nothing of that series to understand this.

I read a fic by cerebel (called A Challenge Issued - very good, by the way) on LJ that slashed Bennet/Adam for a single encounter back in the early 00s and I realized Adam had a lot to offer someone with Thompson's tastes.

Warnings: All kinds of warnings - and I mean it. This is not for the faint-hearted or weak-stomached. We have graphic, homosexual pseudo-rape, torture, death and snuff!sex here. There's sadism, but it's pretty impersonal and selfish. There would be masochism, but the victim doesn't enjoy it. One of the characters here is determinedly evil. The other is just desperate. It's a bad combination.

Thompson trailed along after Bob Bishop while the other man showed him around Primatech Research in Hartsdale. Bob would be leaving in a few days with his wife and another couple for a vacation in Peru. Sightseeing was the reason Bishop was giving for his trip, but Eric didn't believe it for a second. It didn't matter much to the agent because whatever the story, it put Thompson in charge of the containment portion of the Company's most extensive facility. Right now he was getting 'the tour' and they were entering a self-contained, sealed section of level 3.

He'd seen it before, of course, but never with the express purpose of being in charge of the place and responsible for the containment of the people incarcerated here. They stopped outside one of the two cells in this special ward. Bob said, "This is our most important subject. I assume you've heard of him?" He smiled thinly, amusement sparking in his eyes along with something else less friendly.

Thompson looked in at the lean blond man sitting on the bed. He was staring off at the opposite wall, not bothering to look at his visitors. He had the feeling the man was aware of their presence though – very aware. He merely did not deign to look at them. Eric smiled slowly. This could only be one person. "So that's him?"

Bob nodded and then giggled for no apparent reason.

Eric raised a brow at him, but Bob didn't explain. He'd been erratic of late, which was probably the reason for the 'vacation.' The senior agent looked back in the cell. "He's the one who made it all possible - the whole Company - the one who started it all."

"He still makes it possible," Bob said.

Eric looked back at the director and nodded slowly. "He's the source of the resurrection serum? The man who can't be killed?"

Bob giggled again and seemed to struggle with himself. He coughed and got out, "Yes. Watch out for him; he bites."

"He bites?" Eric eyed Bob intently, but the older man only waggled his brows suggestively.

After an awkward pause, the director said, "We've had him for nearly ten years." Bishop tittered nervously. "The policy is that he's to be kept in complete isolation - no contact of any kind. Deliver meals and fresh clothing; take trays and soiled clothes - that's all. You should even limit viewing like what we're doing to a need-only basis." He paused, then added, "He is never to be out of this cell. Do you understand that? Never." His voice turned angry and harsh at the end.

Thompson narrowed his eyes at the other man. "Of course."

Bob smiled unctuously and waved back the way they had come, for there was nothing else to see in this ward. "Good. Then let's move on."

Eric sent a lingering glance back in the room at the handsome prisoner. He wondered how Bob knew he was a biter if they never went in his cell.

------

A week later, he had been in charge for a few days, getting familiar with the schedule, the guards and the issues. All of the inmates they were holding had been there for a month or more and most for more than a year. As a result, they were fairly settled into their routine and there were few problems. There were case files he could read to understand the histories on each inmate, with one exception: Adam Monroe. His file was a collection of uninteresting trivia and redacted log entries. He'd been here for nearly a decade and he had the thinnest file. The only thing in it of interest was a detailed protocol on how to subdue him in order to draw his blood. Apparently he was not cooperative with the process.

Thompson carried lunch down separately after the guards took around the rest of the meals. The disruption in routine had caught Adam's attention as Thompson thought it would. Walking into his cell like he owned it cemented it. Eric set the food tray down on the table and pulled the single chair out, sinking into it in a relaxed manner. He looked over at the blond man and smiled slowly.

Adam looked at his lunch sitting in front of Eric and recognized the challenge. He snorted softly. "You think quite a lot of yourself, don't you?"

Thompson licked his lips and leaned forward, picking up the plastic spoon. Adam stood up in a single, fluid motion. For several seconds, neither man moved further, then Eric leaned back slightly and lowered the utensil. Adam walked to the back of his cell as far away as he could get. He paced back and forth. He'd been told about Thompson's arrival and he'd seen him on the tour, but he hadn't expected a personal visit. He hadn't had a personal visit in a very long time.

It had taken him most of a year to get one of the guards to tell him the barest details of life beyond his cell. He didn't care about what happened out there - not really. It had been an immense relief just to have his existence and his humanity acknowledged by someone. He'd never realized how much that sort of thing was necessary for a man's sanity. And now not only was it being acknowledged, but he had a man in his cell with him, talking…

Thompson said, "There's not much in your file, Adam. Makes me wonder. Makes me wonder if you'd even starve, were I to quit feeding you." He reached forward with the spoon and stirred it through the sauce of the main dish.

Adam stopped pacing immediately and looked at him with narrowed eyes. It wasn't so much that his dignity rebelled at the idea of Eric eating his food, but clearly the man had issued a challenge and wanted it answered. He was playing at something here, trying to prove a point. "I wouldn't, but you're not taking anything that's mine without a fight." He was across the length of the cell. Eric tilted his head a fraction and smirked, lifting the spoon towards his mouth. Adam rushed across the room far faster than he'd expected - faster than he'd even thought possible, for someone who didn't have enhanced speed.

Thompson threw himself backwards out of the chair as Monroe landed on top of him and rolled, twisting his hands into Eric's shirt and yanking. He took both their momentum and slammed Thompson into the concrete wall, spinning on his back and kicking the other man (hard, but not too hard) in the sternum only a second later. Eric struggled to get a breath as Adam came for him again, this time jerking him to his feet and slamming Thompson's head against the metal door with a carefully calculated degree of force. Before Eric could recover, Adam had his arm twisted behind his back and was knocking his feet back from the wall, shoving his upper body against it.

He stood between his legs and leaned up against him as Eric finally got oxygen and blinked the stars out of his vision. It had all happened so fast… Adam leaned up close to his ear and said quietly, "Now, you either came here to make a deal, or to play a game. Which is it?"

"There is no deal!" he snarled.

He felt Adam's grip relax slightly, but not enough. "Oh? So it's a game, is it? I like games. Is this the one where I get to play the cruel prison warden who tortures his helpless prisoner?" His grip tightened again and he ground himself slowly against Thompson, hardly moving his body other than to selectively press against him. The fingers of his other hand ghosted across his side. Eric froze for a moment, then fought back as hard as he could. He had no leverage, though, and Adam ratcheted up the pressure on his arm until something popped with a white-hot surge of pain.

"Ah!" he cried out and paused in trying to get free. It wasn't doing him any good, anyway. The little man was far stronger than he looked.

Adam said, "Look what you did to yourself, mate. It's dislocated for sure now." He breathed more softly, offering what he'd been told Eric wanted, luring him in, "I think maybe the prisoner has been held for years without the most basic of human contact. Maybe he would do just about anything for that. Maybe he'd even let the warden beat him." Four guards pounded down the corridor. Adam didn't look. He leaned forward and said, "Maybe next time we'll switch roles, eh mate?"

He released him suddenly and backed quickly to the other side of the cell, lacing his fingers behind his head as he went. Eric jerked himself onto his feet and wheeled to face him as the guards triggered the door. He stepped away from it, rubbing his elbow and snapping it back into socket with a grimace. Adam went to his knees at the other end of the room and crossed his ankles, bending over slightly. The door eased open and the guards remained outside as if reluctant to enter, even to save their supervisor. Eric huffed and walked out, letting it slam shut behind him.

------

Later, watching the film of the attack, Eric realized that although he'd felt Adam's body against his own clearly, there was nothing to reveal any special motion on the security footage. The man's face was always turned away from the camera and his voice so quiet it didn't pick up on the audio. The fingers that had caressed him briefly were on the opposite side of Monroe's body from the camera. It looked like they'd had a confrontation over the food - there was nothing on film that implicated either of them in anything more. That, more than anything else, made Eric think Adam might actually play along. The only thing he wondered about was how Adam had realized what he was up to so quickly.

------

Eric Thompson walked into the cell as assertively as before, his conduct giving no sign that he'd been handily defeated the last time he'd entered. Adam was again sitting on his bed, this time with one knee drawn up, this fingers laced around his shin. He waited until Thompson was to him before turning his head languidly to look up at the other man. Thompson raised his chin, the hint of a sneer on his face. Something shifted in Adam's features - they relaxed somehow and he looked open, accepting, and ready. He was waiting.

Thompson hit him across the face as hard as he could and it knocked the smaller man over, breaking his nose and smashing his mouth. Another man would have lost a tooth or two. He started to lift himself up, but Eric was a little quicker, grabbing him by his short hair and pulling him the rest of the way. Adam's throat worked and he stiffened, but he didn't fight back. His eyes shifted up to Thompson's face.

Eric narrowed his eyes and peered at Monroe, looking at where he'd hit him. There was a spot of blood under his nose and a red mark on his upper lip and the side of his mouth. It faded to nothingness while he watched. There was no bruise, no split lip, no other bleeding. He could hit him as much as he wanted and there wouldn't be a mark on him when he was done. Something must have shown on Eric's features because Adam's expression flickered for a moment. He could heal, but he didn't like being hurt. He knew he was going to be.

Thompson pushed him away and straightened, walking off a little. He looked at the gash on his knuckle where he'd torn his hand hitting Adam in the face. He was hurt worse from hitting him than his victim was. He rubbed his thumb across the spot speculatively and turned around. "How did you know about me?"

Adam leaned back, flowing into motion from where he'd remained still after Eric had released him. He didn't really answer, saying, "People are weak. But you've broken enough of them to know that."

Eric waited a beat, then decided he might as well move things along. He stepped forward, fist balled, and Adam said conversationally, "You shouldn't hit me in the face. You'll hurt yourself."

It stopped him. Later he'd think about why Adam was concerned about Eric being hurt. He asked again, "How did you know about me?"

With Thompson looming over him, Adam defied him again and didn't really answer. "People are social creatures. You can't lock them up for years and pretend they're not there, turn away from them, refuse to talk to them and expect them to stay sane."

Thompson slapped him across the face, whipping the blond head to the side. Adam went on like it hadn't happened, just a convenient pause in his statement. "It's worse than being alone. I've been alone. I can do alone. And I can do this, but it affects a person, you see?"

"Yeah, I see," Eric grunted, and grabbed Adam by the throat, jerking him up and away from the bed. He slammed him against the concrete wall, then yanked him back a few inches and slammed the man's head against the hard surface where it rang with a hollow sound. He was gratified to see Monroe's calm expression slacken and his eyes dull as unconsciousness took him for a few seconds. He kneed him in the groin and punched him in the gut before he recovered, following it by yanking up his chin with one hand and punching him in the throat with the knuckles of his other hand.

Adam choked on a crushed windpipe as he regained consciousness and woke to pain flaring across his body. He was thrown roughly over the end of the bed and the thin excuse for trousers they issued around here was pulled down, exposing him. There was a moment of hesitation as Thompson spat on his hand and wet himself, not for Adam's benefit, but so he could shove inside him faster, without friction slowing him so much. He grabbed the blond man's slim hips and thrust into him, having to lean down and press against him to do it, given the bed's height.

He pumped vigorously against the other man until he was entirely sheathed in him, then paused. Adam wasn't resisting him, struggling or fighting at all. He just lay there and took it. Thompson lay across Adam's back, the legs of both men off the bed. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, especially for the bottom, but he wasn't complaining. Monroe's throat had healed - all of his injuries had. Even the torn flesh of his anus had knit between thrusts until he'd finally relaxed and expanded enough to take Eric without tearing.

Adam turned his head a little, glancing back at the break in the assault. Eric had reached down and was doing something with his pants, which he still wore for the most part, though they'd fallen around his thighs. The clothing shifted and turned and a moment later his woven leather belt came into the smaller man's sight. He turned his face away and rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming and just like everything else, he let it happen. He hoped it would be worth it, later, or next time, or the time after that. He could be afford to be patient.

Thompson looped it around his neck and slipped the end through the buckle, tightening it into a choke chain. Adam reached up a hand and slipped his fingers between the belt and his skin. "Mate?" he asked questioningly. "Is this how it has to be?" He knew what the other man meant to do and it fit with everything he'd heard about him, but the Englishman wasn't very happy about it. If there was a way to talk him out of it, he would. The first time wasn't a good time to make demands though, or even requests, given how insecure he judged his attacker to be.

Eric answered him by starting to rock back and forth against him. He shifted them both more fully onto the bed, riding over Adam, lodged deeply inside him. Adam turned his head back face down against the bed and shut his eyes. No answer meant yes, this was how it had to be. He tried to reconcile himself to it. Thompson growled at him, "Get your hands away from the belt."

Monroe complied and Eric jerked it tighter, strangling the smaller man. Adam winced against it, still able to breathe, but barely. After several more thrusts, Thompson yanked the belt again and his victim could barely rattle out a hoarse wheezing for air, but he didn't resist in any way. Eric applied both hands, pulling on the end until Adam couldn't breathe at all and then using the other hand to jam the tongue of the buckle into the weave of the leather so it wouldn't release the stranglehold. It cut into the smaller man's skin and crushed his windpipe. Adam gritted his teeth. His vision was blurring.

The only advantage to this was the rising euphoria of asphyxiation, intensified by Thompson's movements. Now that his hands were free again, the agent thrust into him energetically, shoving into his body with abandon. For a little while, Adam retained consciousness, his ability fighting against the lack of oxygen and keeping him aware far longer than humanly possible. He was still conscious when the muscle spasms began. They were involuntary and he resisted them as long as he could because for one, it actually did feel incredible to be fucked like this and for two, he didn't want to hurt his attacker.

It wasn't a surprise to Eric. If anything, he was surprised it had taken as long as it had for the end to arrive. He'd begun to wonder if Adam would die at all, or if perhaps he didn't need air to live. When the man began to convulse, he held him down with the weight of his body, grabbing the bed frame with one hand and holding the strap around Adam's neck with the other. He planted his feet and continued to push back and forth within him, pinning him, riding him as the convulsions quickly passed into trembling and finally stopped altogether as his heart stuttered and restarted, stuttered and restarted, time after time.

The sensation of Adam's ability trying to jump start his body ran through Eric like electricity. He was so turned on by the thought that he'd literally fucked the man to death that it put him right over. He held the smaller man's life in his hand, in the form of the leather strap around his throat. If he released that, he would live again. Until he did though, Monroe could only exist in limbo, with Thompson's cock swollen and hard within him and no relief for his victim's unconscious struggles. He spilled into Adam's nearly dead, almost living corpse and bowed over him, groaning loudly.

He panted against the other man's perfect, unblemished back, exposed where his shirt had ridden up his body and was now bunched under his arms. A drop of saliva fell from his mouth onto him. Adam shivered and twitched as he tried to live again. It made a delicious aftershock. Thompson pulled himself in and out a few times as he softened. Adam's ass was slack and unresisting, like the rest of him right now. Eric wondered how many times the body would make the attempt before giving up - if ever. Eric wouldn't survive if he actually killed him for good. He slid out and sat on the bed, looking at the man. His face was swollen and discolored, eyes staring in death. Eric had seen death hundreds of times. This was what it looked like, all right.

He swallowed and took hold of his pants so they wouldn't fall down. He walked over to the sink and cleaned himself up. When he was satisfied with himself, he walked back over and finally released the belt, sliding it free from where it had cut into Adam's neck. He threaded it back through his pants as he watched the man's color return within seconds. Moments after that, he started breathing again - first with a slow, shallow intake and then suddenly with a huge gasp like he'd been drowning. He convulsed again and Thompson was hit sharply across the thigh. He backed away.

Adam blinked and looked around unsteadily, focusing on Eric within a few seconds. He reached down and pulled up his pants with a strange presence of mind. Thompson saw that he'd stained them with cum at some point during their romp. The agent wondered if the man had enjoyed the assault that much, or if it was an involuntary side effect of the strangulation. Monroe's expression gave no clue. He sat up on the bed and sorted himself out, rubbing his neck, then his face.

The blond man looked up at Thompson and gave him a pained smile. "Fancy a spot of rape, do you?"

"You let me do it," Eric said evenly.

"Did I have a choice? I thought that was how the game was played."

"Fight me next time." Thompson turned and walked out, resetting the door once he was outside so it would lock again.

So there'll be a next time, eh? I guess you liked the performance. Adam lay back against the bed and shut his eyes, feeling a strange gratitude for the interaction, sick as it had been. He'd accepted that he was crazy for the time being. The prolonged deprivation of human contact was much like suffocation. He knew that once he could get enough, he'd be normal again, sane, but until then he was struggling for it, flailing almost involuntarily as he fought to gain a place in the social construct - any place other than the solitary confinement imposed on him for so long. It was a pity that his first meaningful contact in over three years had to be with a sadistic psycho.