The BLU Soldier's eyebrows shot up, looking at the bruised figure handcuffed to the headboard of his bed. Long purpling streaks across her thighs and torso spoke of his work of the last hours, coloring beautifully. The bandage around her broken ribs would hold, he thought, at least for awhile. More troubling was the degree to which, despite a split lip, a swollen jaw, and the beating he'd just administered, she was still resisting, laughing. This was not what he had prepared for, what he'd been fantasizing about since he'd caught the RED Soldier trying to show her how to shoot.

If the battle can't be won by force, he thought, eyes narrowing in calculation, it can be worn by attrition. They all can.

"Still got some fight in you," he said cheerily, turning on the charm. "Fantastic!" The Soldier took the crop off the bed and tucked it back into the foot locker, turning it in his hands to see if it had broken. To the Spy, he said, "you're damn lucky this has a fiberglass core. If it were bamboo, you'd have shattered it on her ribs."

The Spy shrugged. "It's not like I can't afford to replace it."

The glare the Soldier turned on him contained equal parts ire and disgust, but he didn't comment. When he turned back to the bed, he sighed—an incongruously satisfied sound, like a man sitting down to a favorite meal. "Now," he said, eyes hungrily devouring the battered woman in front of him, "the question is how to make you do a little more crying. I've always found shame works best."

The Soldier pulled a vibrator from the foot locker. "Normally, I'd do a little more coaxing, but if I bent you too far you may take the kind of injury that'll send you through respawn." He chuckled. "And they don't have respawn right now, so that may be a bit of a problem."

"How…" Her voice trailed off, hitching with her breath.

"We blew it to shit with a bomb on a timer a few hours ago. There ain't gonna be a cavalry until they can get that back up. It's going to take at least a few days, and while it's down, you're all mine." He switched the vibrator on, waiting for the horror to hit her face. He wasn't disappointed. Her face drained of color, greening under the florescent lights.

"Remember what I told you, Honey, in the cage? This is my favorite part, this right here. Because I can make you react, while your head screams about rape, while you cry and you hate yourself." The Soldier spread a hand over her thigh, pushing it down to the bed, and slowly lowered the vibrator, watching her face.

The Cook lashed out with her feet, twisting, then took a sobbing breath from the pinching pain in her ribs, joining the chorus from her battered head, the deep heated throb of her jaw, the sharp pain of her split lip and the various aches of her bruises.

He tightened his hand, digging his fingers into the bruised skin of her thigh, with a shiver. "Oh, you can try, Honey, but you're not going anywhere."

She kept twisting until he touched the vibrator to her, then froze out of disgust, horror, and the vain hope that she wouldn't be affected. As she started to flush, he chuckled. "There it is. Let me tell you what I'm seeing, Honey. I'm seeing that blush crawl down your body, watching your cunt plump up."

"But the look on your face—that look is my favorite thing. That horror at the way your body is a dumb fucking dog. It's going to sit up and howl soon, and we're going to get to see it. And after you howl for us, Sweetie, I'm going to fuck you and tell you how the BLU found me." He squeezed his fingers, laying a new line of bruises on her thigh in small spots. "And then you're going to howl again, and I'll pass you over to our friend here."

The Soldier looked over at the Spy. "Assuming you want some."

The Spy shivered, his pupils open. "Fuck, yes."

She bit her lip, teeth popping into the abused flesh easily, trying to distract herself as the BLU Soldier wriggled the vibrator slightly, looking for the minute changes in muscle tension that would tell him where she liked it best. Sweat trickled down her face, the effort of holding herself still, of containing the involuntary rush of pleasure that the vibrator sent through her. She took a deep breath for the stabbing, pinching pain of it, trying to clear her head.

"Swear for me now, Sugar. Give me that fire." The Soldier squeezed her thigh again. "I can see how close you are. Spit a little acid at me before you show us how slutty you can be."

She tried to think of something, anything but the warmth rising between her legs.

"Come on, you poisonous little bitch," he gloated, leaning in to watch the heat in her face. "Let it out."

She opened her eyes, staring at him, the haze gathering around the corners of her eyes. In her memory, the RED Spy whispered in her ear. Desire is a weapon. The warmth trembled, inching up her spine, an irresistible pressure.

The Cook let the orgasm break over her loudly, screaming like one of the damned, her dry, hot eyes on the Soldier's face. Brief surprise flew over his face, and anger followed it—fine, Sugar, he thought. Want to be hard to break in? I can do hard to break in. "No tears, there Rosie-girl? I'll just have to do better." He pulled the vibrator from her and switched it off.

"Here, hold this." The Soldier handed the vibrator to the Spy. Keeping her eye contact, he stripped, dog tags jingling as they were released from his tank top. She watched the thick muscles roll in his arms and back as he stripped, still dry-eyed and dull in terror and hatred.

"Kept your tags," she whispered.

"Yeah, Honey, I kept 'em. I learned too much to resent the Marines. They're my little souvenir." He lifted a foot and stepped out of one boot and then the other. The Soldier turned to the Spy. "Speaking of souvenirs, what do you suppose I should take with me?"

The Spy pointed to one of the Soldier's tattoos. "Got ink and a needle? You could always tattoo 'property of' on her or the company logo."

The Soldier's eyes lit up. "I can do you one better, hang on."

Naked in the comfort of knowing himself to be the best predator in the room, the Soldier walked around the bed to rummage in his foot locker, emerging with a long, wickedly pointed lance and two hoops. "I got this awhile back to use on that short little fuck, but I didn't get to it."

A violent tremor shook the Cook's swollen hands, bouncing them like numb balloons against her wrists.

"You going to sterilize that first?" The Spy rolled the still-hot vibrator from hand to hand, idly amusing himself.

"Nah," the Soldier said. "I'm going to have to take a medigun to her soon because you broke her ribs, and it'll keep infection from setting in."

He swung a knee over the Cook's chest, the pressure choking her before he lifted a leg, cocking it so that he could put his weight on a knee and his foot. "Now, you're going to want to be still for this, Sugar. I actually do know what I'm doing, and you don't want me to hit the wrong area. You'll go numb permanently, since there's no respawn."

The first prickle of tears made her eyes close.

"There it is," the Soldier said. "Well, there's about to be more of that. Take a breath, Sugar, and hold it."

She took a single, choked breath before the lance popped through the skin under her nipple. The grinding, meaty pain dizzied her, joining the agony screaming through her body—the pain of the lance dwarfed them all with the same visceral need to get a foreign object out of her body.

The Soldier stopped halfway through, watching her face. "I'm only halfway done with one, Honey. I have to realign, and I want to see you cry." He jiggled the lance, and the first tear trickled down her cheek. "There we are," he said, and forced the lance through with a grinding pop and a fat droplet of blood from both sides, rolling down the breast below it.

The Soldier threaded the first earring through the hole. "Now let's do the other one." He looked up at the Spy. "I always liked the hoops because they make nice little handles. You can thread a little chain through them, or a bit of leather, and lead them around."

He twisted her unpierced nipple, making it hard again, and set the lance lightly against it. "You ready, Sugar, for round two? Take a breath and hold it."

The Soldier made it slower that time, easing forward in millimeters, time stretching into an endless, burning period that ended in a pop and the feeling of something punching out of her skin. The Soldier knee-walked down her body, ending up between her legs. "Pretty sight, ain't it?"

The Spy smiled and twirled the vibrator between two fingers. "Getting better by the moment."

The Soldier reached between her legs, finding the damning traces left by the vibrator and an involuntary response she had always hated. He lifted his fingers, slick and shining in the light. "I love female masochists. You can hurt the shit out of them and they just get wet. And they Stockholm so easily."

A whimper escaped her before she could stop it, and the Soldier's cock twitched. "And that noise, that little hurty noise…" He trailed off and shivered. "You're going to make it again."

He picked her hips up, tilting them. "Can't bend your legs too much or you'll suffocate, so you'll just have to spread them." Using his hand, he slid himself into her and balanced on his hands.

Her face twisted again, eyes screwing shut. "I'm going to kill you," she whispered. "Kill you."

"No, you're not," he said. "But you're going to wish you were dead."

"Too late," she whispered, and he laughed, a wild sound that had everything she could imagine of cruelty and triumph in it.

The Soldier moved slowly, watching her face, an excruciatingly long push-up that rubbed him hard against her g spot. She glared up at him, hating the slow spray of shocks spilling up her spine in the first alchemy that changed pain into something else. The hungry look on his face—I'm never going to be clean again, she thought, something screaming and screaming and screaming behind her eyes, before she cut the thought off with another stabbing, deep breath.

His face started to soften as he moved, transported by the pleasure of her pain and the knowledge that he had damaged her—truly and deeply, he thought, looking at her pale face. Until you can never forget me and what I taught you about yourself.

She squeezed him experimentally at that, searching for something, anything to keep his face softening, to get it over with. She was rewarded by the goose flesh that swept down his body.

He moaned, then looked at her, hate and a terrible pleasure burning on his face, blush sweeping up it like a flag. "Getting into it, Honey, or just talented? By all means, flex."

The Cook stopped herself from finishing the gag that shook her, but only by mustering what was left of her will.

Every slow push up sent more sparks rushing through her. She let her mind wander, trying to put off the sensation pooling between her legs—how to make sushi, how to field dress a deer, what it was like to duck hunt, trying to recall her last hunt with her father before puberty turned her into his enemy.

"Oh no," the Soldier panted, seeing the distance in her eyes, "you're not getting away from this." He turned to the Spy. "I'm going to move a little. Can you get that thing between the two of us?"

She bit her lip and tried to concentrate on the necessary steps to make a beef wellington, on how to make the pastry by hand, on the comparative merits of an egg wash or butter on the pastry.

The Soldier picked her hips up, sitting back on his knees, and scooted forward slightly. "There, try that."

The Spy switched the vibrator on and turned the chair so he could lean forward. The vibrator descended again and she twitched, the recipes flying from her mind.

"There we are," said the Soldier. "She was starting to dry out a little. Not anymore."

The heat gathered between her legs again, an involuntary flutter around the Soldier making him moan, looking down at her averted eyes, at the pale terror on her face. "Much better," he said. "Try to wander off. Go ahead, Cupcake. Try to think about something else."

A weapon. She had to make a weapon out of this, to do something. From her memory, the RED Spy spoke again. Desire is best as a weapon, Vipere, when only one person is drowning.

She took a single short breath and curled her legs up around him, letting the warmth rushing through her out in a long, choked moan.

Surprised again, the Soldier stopped, irritation on his face. "I was expecting more fight than that."

The Spy shrugged. "We are using a vibrator. Kind of hard to resist."

All right, the Soldier thought, let's see how much resolve you have. "Well shit, Honey, take me to the rodeo." He sat back slightly, so that he could watch her. Let's see how far you'll take this.

She fucked herself on him, rhythm clumsy and fast, feeling him start to throb, letting her mouth hang open, moaning loudly, hoarsely, sloppy, welcoming the jolting pain of movement so that it could drive the thoughts from her head, the part of her that felt like it was fracturing.

The Soldier recovered from his surprise quickly, and dug his fingers into her hips, helping her along and starting to sweat. "Shit, come on, Honey."

Every jolt sent pain through her ribs, every breath bringing her closer to that shining moment where it all became pleasure. She kept her eyes open, watching his face start to become tense again, watching the beads of sweat roll down his chest. He started to grunt with every stroke, fingers tense, spine starting to shake. Her eyes started to try to roll, and she stopped them, still watching while her body spasmed around his and he gave one last grunt, throbbing in her in a liquid warmth.

"I can't say," the Soldier panted, "that I'm not a little disappointed. But that was a good ride, and I'll get another before long."

The Spy turned the vibrator off and pulled it away, putting it on the desk away from his clothing. The Soldier pulled himself out of her with a wet sound, then stumbled off the bed. "Your turn," he said to the Spy.

"I'm not dicking around with the vibrator. She won't need it anyway," the Spy said. "Part of the fun of sloppy seconds."

He laid his pants neatly over the chair with his coat and shirt, then piled his boxers on them. "If you use the chair, don't knock my shit off it."

The Soldier laughed breathlessly and collapsed into the chair, elbows on his knees. "You're such a prissy motherfucker sometimes," he panted. "Fine, I'll put your shit on my desk, see? No knocking anything off. Now get on with it."

Something small and sardonic in her mind looked at the elaborate courtesy between them, and laughed hysterically, watching them maneuver around each other like sharks passing in the water.

The Spy ran his fingers through his hair, raking it behind his ears, and smiled down at the Cook. "Gonna be a whore for me, too? Gonna"—he slid his fingers into her easily—"make noise and fuck me like the little slut you are?"

She simply looked at him, resignation and exhaustion graying her features. The Spy clicked his tongue, scissoring his fingers and waiting for a response. Finding the right spot, he pressed it and her legs twitched. "There we are," he said. "Found it."

He slid himself into her and stayed still, watching her face as she turned it to the wall. "I'll give vibrators this," the Spy said. "They do keep 'em tight."

"So," he said as he started to move, "you got any more of that in you?"

In response, she tightened her legs again, letting herself fuck him. Her eyes prickled, and she tried to remember the layout of the last restaurant she'd worked in—a short entryway leading to tables, primary colors, tables along the wall—her thoughts were interrupted.

The Spy pulled one of the small aching rings, the restaurant dissolving, and bringing her attention back to the mechanical movement of her hips and turning her head toward him. "Make some noise," he said, displeasure clear in his voice. "Make noise now, because if you don't, I'll pull this out and you'll have to lay there, bleeding, until I'm done."

She let her mouth hang open and started a hoarse panting.

"Good girl." He kept the ring between two fingers, rolling his hips to encourage her. She kept moving, staring at him with wet eyes and an endless hate broiling under her face, noise spilling from her lips.

He smirked at her. "That's right. Keep making those whore-y little noises for me, and don't think I don't know that I'm making you make them. I don't care if you like it. I care if you obey."

She winced, a sudden surge of arousal making her moans real. Above her, the Spy took a sharp breath, the pleasure of victory as visceral as the pleasure of making her react. "Was it being called a whore or obeying, I wonder," he panted. "Or maybe it's just that I'm forcing you. Good news. I don't give a shit if the lube is his come, blood, tears, or you. I'm going to fuck you with the ring between my fingers until I'm done, looking at your bruised, cut up, broken body. I'm going to pull it because it hurts you, because it makes you cry. And when I'm done, I'm going to describe this to the next RED motherfucker I catch so they know what I did to you."

Her eyes closed, panic and the desire to die clawing through her arousal. The Spy tugged the ring between his fingers and she made a sad, whimpering moan. He laughed and pulled it so that every stroke jolted it, stretching the skin of her nipple.

"Did they ask you for permission? Did they act like your opinion mattered? Did they act like your pleasure mattered?" The Spy grunted. "We won't make that mistake, here."

She could feel him starting to throb inside her.

"Beg me," he panted, a droplet of sweat falling on her from his face. "Beg me and hope it makes this faster."

When she stayed silent, he pulled savagely at the ring and she screamed. "Please!"

"More," the Soldier said and the Spy echoed him.

"Please, oh god please please please please." Her voice was ragged, the words pouring out of her.

"More," the Soldier said, his voice tight.

"Please, god fuck please goddamn it please." There was a place, she discovered—a thoughtless place behind pain and shame, and emptiness that let her body move and make noise, babble and obey without her, and she welcomed it.

The Spy wrenched the ring between his fingers one last time, body throbbing in hers, and she started to sob, half in the bed with him and half in that numb place. He pulled himself out of her.

"You were right," he panted. "Masochist. And a pain slut to boot. Helen really outdid herself."

She put her elbows together to hide her face.

The Soldier gave a short laugh. "Well shit. Next time I'll know not to bother with the niceties. Did you care, or can we put her in the cage now?"

The Spy stood up and stretched. "You keep the collar in here?"

"I ordered a new one, yeah. Hang on."

The Soldier padded over to his foot locker and emerged with a thick leather band. He plopped down on the bed beside her, jarring her ribs with a flash of white hot pain. "Drop your elbows," he said, "or I'll pry them open."

She took a breath and opened them. He looked down at her swollen eyes and lips and smiled. "Head up, Sugar." He flicked the remains of her braid out of the way and threaded the collar behind her neck, turning it to close the buckle.

"Hey, toss me that padlock in the top drawer, would you?"

The Spy opened the top drawer and tossed the Soldier a heavy padlock, which he closed on the buckle. He turned it, pulling her skin and hair, to let the cold padlock rest behind her neck and a single, heavy ring rest in the hollow between the points of her collarbone.

"Okay, Sugar," the Soldier said, "here's the deal. If you fuck with the collar, I'm going to tie you ass up in the living room and leave you there 24 hours to see what happens. We'll train a camera on you so I have something to watch later." He paused, waiting for her reaction and was not disappointed. "I'm going to unlock the cuffs now, and we're going to show your bruised ass around the base. They won't touch you without my permission, but I want you to see what could happen if you misbehave."

The Spy handed the Soldier the handcuff keys and he unlocked her wrists. Her numb hands fell around her head and he pulled her to sitting with them.

"Up now." He pulled his fingers through her hair, ending the last of her braid. "Nice hair. Makes a good handle, and it's a pretty color."

The Soldier stood up and pulled her to standing. As her feet took weight, the bruises on the inside of her legs started to complain. She shifted her knees apart, responding to the pain.

"That, Cupcake," he said, "is why the inside of the thighs is so much fun to hit. Can't get your knees together without it hurting the shit out of you. You stand right there."

The Soldier and the Spy took turns dressing, and the Soldier hooked a finger through the ring on the front of the collar. "Let's go for a walk."