This took way too long to write and it isn't even GRAPHIC yet.
Previously:
What little color left on her face was gone then, as Emily parted her thighs with terrifyingly slow fear. Stains of blood and fluids dried over her thighs, and her eyes snapped wide as the cold hand of dread and realization grasped the root of her spine and held it firmly in its vicious palm.
"Emily…?"
She gasped at the voice, the heavy shift of the bed as the man moved towards her. Instincts ran rampant; wrapped in the thin and damp sheets, she rolled away and off the bed – away from the man. It was a foolish move in her condition; Emily felt the harsh jolt of pain flare like lightning over her body, but the woman sank her teeth into her tongue and braced the pain. Her body thrummed like a livewire with a cacophony of bruises and aches, and Emily could not stop her eyes from watering at the pain as she stared up at the looming figure.
He leaned over the edge of the bed, frowning down worriedly at the woman bundled in the bloodied sheets; the battered form of a fighter that he couldn't possibly bear to see ever again. Despite the own aches of his body, Hotch reached down to Emily. "Are you alright…?"
Reaching down stretched the skin of his chest and he could smell the fresh rust of his blood, but none of it stung more than the horror and shame he saw flash across Emily's face as he reached for her. He recoiled on instinct, hurt and confused, but the man swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and reached for the woman again, gently then. "Emily, it's alright," he soothed her quietly, sliding closer to the woman. "It's just me. It's okay."
Tentatively, warily, the woman reached out for the man's outstretched hand, staring into his face with such open trust and fear it threw him. She looked so young. So lost – how could he have brought this unto them? The hand grasping the sheets to her chest was white-knuckled and shaking; the hand gripping his in a deathly embrace almost hurt, but the man pulled her to him gently without a word. Wrapping his arm carefully around the woman's bruised body, Hotch sighed heavily in his chest as Emily trembled in his hold; he couldn't pull her any closer without hurting them both.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured, and the words caught in his throat as Emily reached up uncertainly to grasp the broad lines of his shoulders. Desperately she sought more contact; more reassurance in the presence and warmth of her Unit Chief – but every touch and every move warned her against attempting anything of the sort. Every breath shook from her own roiling emotions, and Emily pressed her mouth to the hard line of his shoulder, for nothing more than to feel something more than the agony she was in.
Touching his skin, she took a breath to steady herself – to breathe in the scent of what used to be familiarity and safety. It was hidden, deeply buried beneath the sweat and blood and lord knows what else they'd both been lying in up to that point, but it was there. Only –
Hands shoving her down onto the bed, pushing her face into the sheets and forcing her hips up to him…
The bruising span of his powerful hands gripping at her waist as his hips pressed against her greedily…the harsh rutting of his hips as he took her from behind, deaf to her screams and whimpering moans for mercy….
The guttural growl of her name on his lips as he emptied himself inside her….
There was a frightening gasp from her lips, a look of utter horror and disbelief in her wide eyes as she recoiled away from the man, scrabbling across the bed out of his reach. He called to her worriedly, reached out for her again, but Emily snatched her hands away, curling into herself until the man froze then; sat back on his haunches with an injured and confused frown on his face. Bile rose hot in her throat, threatening to spill; the bitter taste of realization and horror and disgust that came with it lingered permanently in her mouth as her heart forced itself into her stomach.
"It was you," she choked, gasping as the words refused to acknowledge themselves – refused to become the truth. She blanched as more memories came then; she reached out and touched her neck where it met her shoulder and flinched. His teeth were as sharp and vicious as his thrusts had been. She couldn't see it – she didn't want to see, nor did she need to see it to know it would mark her. The tears fell blindly down her face; she was so numb at that point, she could barely register them filling her eyes and then rolling down her streaked face.
How could he -? How dare he -!?
She curled into a ball, as tightly as she could without reopening her wounds, hugging her knees as she began to convulse in her sobs. "It was you," she whispered, and it was broken and defeated. When Abraham had spoken of a son, she didn't understand exactly how…but it was clear to her now.
"Emily, what…?" Hotch stared at her, panic and concern rising higher as the woman whimpered at his voice and curled away from him further. He couldn't understand – it was him, he was the man she knew, and trusted and worked with. What was she going on about?
The glare she cast upon him couldn't possibly scathe him any deeper; he'd never seen such spite and cold disgust in her eyes when she looked at him. It was as if he'd been flayed once more, deeper and more profoundly than any tangible whip could hurt him – he was terrified to think of what Abraham could have possibly done to her to have made her loathe him so passionately then. He moved, and it was then something felt strange; the thin material of the sheets rubbing against his bare skin brought the reality forward in his muddled mind.
He was naked, and so was she.
The lump in his throat refused to budge as he swallowed thickly, lifting the sheets slowly with a trembling hand before swearing in horror at the sight of the fluids and tint of blood there. The realization washed over him like the burning plunge of a blade; Hotch paled as he recoiled his hand from the sheets like they were aflame, staring down at his hands in horror and disgust – the hands that had placed those bruises on her hips and her shoulders.
His hazel eyes were hysterical and wide as they turned back to her, demanding an explanation, beseeching Emily for forgiveness for the acts that he had done. "I – I don't remember -." There was nothing he could remember beyond watching Abraham sedate Emily; he'd fought and snarled and spewed all things vile at the grey-eyed man for it, but beyond that, it was a blur of memories and dreams and nightmares. Pained, so horribly pained and terrified, his eyes searched Emily's frantically, but she offered him nothing but hate. "Emily, please I -."
"Ah. So the lovers wake."
To say that he was hungry would be an understatement if there ever was one. Hours in the sun; back-breaking weights and leathers attached to his body like a goddamn shire horse, bringing their SUVs back to the village – all to the snaps of their whips and the men's jeering. Morgan growled in his throat as he shoved another mouthful of meat between his teeth and ripped the flesh from bone like a dog – manners tossed aside as he rushed to soothe the groaning ache in his stomach. His back stung with blood and sweat, tender and raw where the leather and chains had chafed his skin and where the whips had lashed across.
He scowled as he chewed, washing the gamey meat down with a hearty gulp of water. Bitterly and guiltily his mind wandered to the people sitting around the floor with him; beasts never ate at the table, apparently. Morgan's dark eyes found Reid first, and softened immediately at the quiet way the scrawny boy picked and peeled at his food. He could tell by the way Reid sat that he ached viciously – this was probably the most intense amount of strain he'd put on his body since…Tobias. He watched silently as Reid flinched every time he moved an arm; he hadn't been spared of the whip.
None of them had.
"Morgan."
He grunted, turning his dark gaze to Rossi. The older man seemed troubled, his mouth pulled into a tight frown as he pushed his empty plate aside. "You okay?" He could practically see the steam rising from the burly man's shoulders and ears; the anger that radiated off him unsettled Reid, and it seemed that their captors were beginning to notice as well. Rossi narrowed his eyes sharply when Morgan cast a withering glare at the men standing about in the shade, bearing his teeth when they laughed and jeered at him.
"Sore," Morgan growled, and that was the only response he gave Rossi before there was the sounds of footsteps and trailing whips against the sand. He swallowed the last of his meal, hoping it would last him till whenever they decided to feed them again, and rose to his feet as one of them stepped forward with his leash in hand.
"Come on, young buck. Master wants a word with all of you. You be good and we'll see if you get your pretty little whore back."
"What'd you do to her?" Rossi demanded, but put up no other fight as he was bound by his hands once more.
One of the men smirked from the corner of his mouth, and spared him a glance. "Nothing that'll scar, I promise."
Abraham smiled wickedly. "Enjoyed yourselves, I hope?" He laughed as Emily scrambled away from him, cornering herself away from Hotch as the man rose from the bed and moved towards her protectively. He clicked his tongue at the man when Hotch snarled at him, raising an eyebrow pointedly at his nude form. "Now Aaron, that's no way to thank me for what I delivered to you. She was better than you could've possibly dreamed of, wasn't she?"
His grin widened; his eyes gleamed maliciously at the muted horror in their eyes. Stepping towards Emily, he crouched to her level, smiling sweetly at the woman as she glared him into a long and painful death. "You offered to bear me a son, Emily," he reminded her, shrugging as he rose to his feet. "I just never said who would father him for me." Abraham paced the room, watching indifferently as his men forced Emily and Hotch to their feet, manhandling the pair roughly until they were bare and kneeling at his feet.
"You'll pay for this!" Hotch spat at him, straining desperately to unleash his fury onto the man, but the collar was brutal and his wounds sore. His heart thudded in his chest so hard he thought it would burst forward; filled with nothing but crippling guilt and sheer loathing as Abraham stepped forward and slipped his fingers into Emily's hair. His stomach lurched when Abraham forced her head backwards, deaf to the pained gasp in Emily's throat as his fingers tightened in her hair and the angle narrowed her airway.
Abraham hummed curiously as he trailed his fingers along the taut line of her neck, skimming her throat and frowning if somewhat irritably when he failed to find what he was looking for there. He shoved Emily downwards, forcing the woman onto her wounded back and grinning at the agonized cry. "I see your Alpha likes to bruise," he sneered, and forced her thighs apart, inspecting her cruelly while she thrashed and screamed in revolt. "You modern women and your birth control," he chided her, squeezing her knee in warning before releasing her. "I'll have to increase the hormone dosage to get his seed to take. You've ruined nature's masterpiece with your pills and medication." His lips curled in disgust as Emily huddled into herself, shaking in shame as Hotch swore and spat at him violently from beside her.
It was clear that they'd coupled, and it pleased him to see the amount of damage Aaron's hands and mouth had done to the woman, but Abraham knew it would take more to breed her. He scowled down at Emily and then at Hotch, backhanding the man across the face as he lunged forward. "You're not trying hard enough, Aaron," he told the man harshly, and slammed his steel-toed boot into Hotch's gut. "Perhaps I should remind you what the consequences are should you fail to produce a son for me."
"I would never hurt her!" Hotch roared, spitting blood at the man's feet as he struggled to his knees. His breathing was ragged and hoarse; his lungs and muscles seizing wildly as he struggled to breathe. Black hate roiled in his eyes as he glared up at Abraham with all the loathing he could muster – for everything he'd been forced to do. "This was your doing!" he spat accusingly, glaring when Abraham shrugged. "You – you forced me to take her. You forced me to rape her! I would never lay a finger on Emily -."
"I unleashed what you kept so deeply hidden inside you!" Abraham snapped, done with his patience and full of his temper then. His grey eyes blazed at them almost hysterically, mad with power and rage and barely hidden frustration as he backhanded Hotch across his face once more. "You think too highly of yourself, Aaron. Your high and mighty opinions and your virtuous conscience – you think I don't see what hides behind those blazing eyes of yours?" He leaned in close, cold grey bleeding into black spite as he smirked mockingly at the bleeding man.
"You think I don't see the lust and aggression bubbling beneath the surface of your façade?" he whispered, pulling away with a smirk as Hotch gnashed his teeth at him defiantly. He whirled upon Emily then, smiling coldly as the woman stared up at him with a stubborn set in her jaw – though behind her wide eyes he could see the barriers crumbling already. "Would you like an example of your beloved superior's strengths, sweet Emily? Hmm? What that encounter not enough for you?" He grinned viciously then when Emily flinched. "You see, sweet Emily. Aaron was right."
She stared at him wordlessly, incredulously.
Abraham's eyes narrowed with wicked glee. "He's my pet now." A remote appeared in his hand. "He does what I say, and I say…." He turned to Hotch with a grin. "Breed."
Warning: the next chapter is going to be GRAPHIC.
