Then Neither Can He
Chapter 12
Warning: This chapter contains explicit depiction of non-consensual male rape and sexual violence. Do not read further if this subject matter or content offends or upsets you or you are not of appropriate age.
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It was a dramatic setting. All the qualities of a still shot capture of mood, lighting and art were present in the room. Three bodies, all men, one bound to a chair, one to a bed, the third laying atop the bed bound man. All three caught in a posture of repose, soft light dancing on their sweat soaked bodies. But imbalance marked the graphic picture and spoke of power, pain and inducement of fear.
In the distance the hypnotic crashing of waves provided the perfect backdrop to the frozen scene splayed out in the plush bedroom. Fresh sea breeze through the open window could not compete with the air in the room – thick and redolent with heavy sex and fresh blood. Above the men hung a spectre of fresh violence and suffering, their bodies all inanimate now, perfectly still as though the frame had just been snapped immediately after the event.
The event in fact had occurred more than twenty minutes ago. Each of the three men had retreated to a different place leaving behind this impression of a point frozen in time and space.
The dark curly-haired man cuffed to the bed in a cruel fashion so that his arms were pulled high above his head to the bed railing, was in a zone farthest away from the room. Although his body tainted in blood and bruises was splayed out in a grotesque caricature of a homoerotic sculpture, his mind was far away in another sanctuary of compartmentalizm.
The massive bulk of the naked man above him was in the place of sleep, the heavy sated sleep that comes on the heels of an almighty orgasm and sexual fulfillment. Face down his large body was pressing heavily into the man beneath him, pressing them both into the soft folds of the oversized bed.
The third man was a study in abject emotional pain. Slumped down in the heavy chair his arms were cuffed also, pulled and secured behind him to the chair. Unlike the bound man in the bed his body showed no signs of trauma and yet he appeared almost mortally wounded. His damp blond head was upright with his tortured face staring hard at the bodies on the bed. His light blue eyes wide and filled with pain were red and swollen from tears that had stopped a long time ago.
Suddenly the still frame broke.
A sudden creaking of the bed and a flexing of limbs broke the passive scene.
The large man who had lain heavily on the other man had begun to wake.
No more. Surely no more. Please just let him stand up now and walk away from what he has done. Let him walk away and leave Starsky alone.
Hutch looked away and to the side and told himself that when he turned his head back that Ryan would have answered his hopes. That Ryan would be sitting up and reaching for crumpled clothes. That Ryan would be moving away from Starsky, his appetite for barbarism filled this time at least.
But then the deep voice, that sickening voice, because that's what is was now to Hutch's ears - a sound that brought bile rushing up his throat, cut across the silence.
Ryan was addressing the broken doll that was Starsky. The caliber, the pitch and the content of what he had to say showcased his descent into deeper madness.
"Oh look at you Lover. I've worn you out, left you a little used up. That's a shame because I haven't finished with you yet."
Hutch opened his mouth to plead one more time with the deranged animal on the bed. Hoarse croaks of desperation had the big man turning now toward him.
Ryan sat on his haunches, sweeping the still smooth curtain of blackness away from his now bruising face. Even after prolonged physical exertion the black shiny curtain of hair swung across his face like some black shroud thick and heavy. Hutch thought he was the personification of evil – such was his hatred of this man.
He looked at the blond bound to the chair with what was almost surprise. It was as though he had been so engrossed in his gratification of the brutal rape that he had forgotten about the presence of the captive forced to witness his orchestrated performance.
"Oh For Christ Sake Hutchinson, don't plead with me. I liked it better when you were screaming every filthy name you had in you – you know it was a real turn on in the background. It got me off even more, knowing you were there, watching every thrust of my hard cock up your beloved partners virginal ass. Did it turn you on too Hutch? Did you let yourself believe that was your cock up Starsky's rear end, ripping that hard flesh, making him bleed and clench?"
"You …..are….not well Ryan. So sick…you are so sick, unwell. Not too late to stop. Leave him now, I beg you. Please leave him."
Hutch labored to articulate the hoarse whispers, his throat raw from constant yelling. For his efforts the all too familiar contemptuous half laugh half sneer was still baiting him.
"Not too late? Maybe you are the eternal optimist Hutchinson, but Jesus Christ, look at your friend here on the bed. Look at him!"
He leapt from the bed, revived now from his short but deep post - coital sleep. His big naked form loomed in front of the seated man. Hard fingers pulled up the flattened blond hair and held the head up directing it toward the bed.
"Look at my Lover lying there like that and tell me again that it is not too late. He has bled for me Hutchinson. Blood – his blood for me. Not you. ME! I have broken him and now you'll never be able to have him as yours. Never. So yes. It is way too late for you to save your precious friend and keep him whole for yourself."
And then in the next instant as if the seated man was once more forgotten, he swung back to the bed and moved to its edge.
With hooded heavy eyes that appraised the mute almost lifeless form that in his depraved mind was his lover, Ryan climbed back on to the end of the bed and reached for a body already more than used up.
He stretched his frame out alongside the length of Starsky's splayed one and laying head to head he looked at Starsky's closed eyes.
"Wake up. I want you to wake up. I need you to look at me when I love you Starsky."
His hands wrapped around Starsky's back and hip, rolling him onto his side and pressing the lengths of their two naked bodies skin to skin.
Whispering words of want and sexual longing he began thrusting his hips and pelvis into the pliant body he held against him. Within a few thrusts his flaccid penis began to engorge once more and his pace quickened.
Rutting at the dormant man's pelvis and groin his erection swelled, springing up to rest against his own belly, pulsing and turgid.
"Oh fucking hell look lover. I'm ready for you again. You do this to me – see? My cock just can't get enough of you. It's waited so long to have you, to taste you to pin you down, that it just can't stop. My cock needs more Starsky. You're going to have to give me more."
Jumping up on his knees he pulled himself up the bed so that his pelvis was aligned with Starsky's head.
He reached for the face and mouth that were both closed to him and anger flashed across his strong features. The mercurial mood snapped again.
"Wake the fuck up! I want to ram my cock into your mouth and you are going to suck me down Starsky. I want you to look at me while I do it."
His frustration grew as Starsky stayed still, eyes almost entirely closed and his face in an unresponsive mask. Ryan brought his pelvis closer to his face and trying to use one hand to pull and hold open Starsky's slack mouth he attempted to thrust his large swollen cock into the aperture.
Screaming now he struck out again at the beaten face, slapping it into awareness. His efforts were only minimally successful as Starsky gave out a light groan and opened his eyes briefly before shutting them tight again.
Ryan's sustained abuse drew more anguished hoarse cries from behind him as once more the heavy chair began crashing back and forth on the floor and Hutch tried frantically to break through Ryan's sealed off madness.
"Please Ryan. Please. You have to stop. He can't take anymore, can't take anymore …..Please. Can't you see he is unresponsive? He can't even hear you! Leave him alone!"
As with all other attempts to break into Ryan's psychopathy, the roughened words, hoarse and strangled, were wasted.
With a strangled roar Ryan sat back again and started stroking his penis feverishly while he used his other hand to push his fingers into Starsky's mouth. In a thrusting pattern he established a rhythm using his fingers to ram in and out of the mouth while stroking his cock in the same tempo. The act was finally satisfying some of his need for oral stimulation and for a while he became lost again in his own sexual zone.
When he was once more rock hard he let Starsky's limp head fall back on to the damp pillows, sullied now by a mixture of sweat and blood and he relinquished his hold on his rigid cock. Once more he moved lower onto the foot of the bed as he repositioned his subject for another round of savage penetration.
His hands fondled Starsky's genitals but he was beginning to show awareness that nothing he could do now was going to excite the flaccid penis into life. The black eyes flashed out from beneath the heavy scowl.
"All this time I've waited for you and you can't even get it up for a minute for me. You are so freaking useless. I wanted so much to do things to this cock of yours – but it seems maybe that will have to wait for another time Starsk. Right now though I can make use of my own to fill you up one more time. Like that would you Starsk? Want me in there again? Up inside you? It'll be easier this time – you might even enjoy it. Wake up and feel me come inside you, feel me pour into you."
With Starsky's legs once more thrown over his shoulders he pulled roughly at the torn perineum and plunged experimental fingers into the ripped bloody anus.
"Oh yeah – much looser this time. I won't have to ram quite so hard lover and I can last longer now because I've already had you once. Get ready Starsky – this is gonna be a long fucking ride. "
Ryan plunged, withdrew and plunged again. Pausing mid thrust he looked again at the impassive body. There was now no response from the body he used so cruelly.
His now bloodied fingers came up to stroke Starsky's exposed throat. With his head tipped back and lifeless on the pillow the bare skin of his neck once more captured Ryan's attention.
"I want you to get hard for me. Just once you bastard. Surely you can get hard. Feel me pushing deeper and higher into you? Rubbing my cock along those deep parts of you that have never been explored before Lover…."
Looking down and seeing not a flicker in Starsky's inert cock as it lay still and flat against its nest of dark curls, Ryan's face suffused with red hot anger – his sporadic mood changing yet again.
"Perhaps if I give you a little incentive Starsky? Deprive you of some oxygen for just a little while… a little foreplay asphyxiation for you and me to enjoy together? You know it usually works so well. Gives a crazy rush."
The bloodied hands closed around the throat that was already marked from his earlier encircling hands and squeezing of airways. Ryan steadily increased the pressure to the already traumatized tissues around the neck. Starsky's weak breath picked up in rate and his face began to purple as his blood oxygen dropped. Too weak to struggle now his hands clenched the sheets and pulled as if this his body was acting independently to draw breath into his tortured lungs.
"Ryan! Ryan! OH MY GOD! Stop! He can't breathe, you're going to choke him to death. Let go – take your hands away from his throat he's going to…"
Hutch reached a new level of desperation as Ryan's actions against Starsky were becoming successively more inhumane and unpredictable. When Ryan finally dropped his hands away from the softly gagging throat just as suddenly as he had put them there, Hutch sagged back into his cuffs.
When will this horror end? Please make this end.
Excited by the changes in his victim and his quiet struggle, Ryan settled himself into a steady rhythm and with each thrust his grunts grew louder and his accompanying patter of sex talk more profane.
"Yeah! Yeah! I'm a fucking sexual beast and I'm gonna fuck your ass till your core is so ripped up you'll never be able to have another man fuck you again Starsky. You hear that? Feel that? That's pain – pain for you so you know never never to let another man up this ass but the one that is here now. Your blond lover will never get near your ass now, not after what I've done to it. You'll never forget this ride! You have two scars from me now Starsky. Oh yeah baby…that's it. Two scars that make me own you. The knife wound and now….now….Jesus that is sooooo good babe…..this wound. The wound where I fucked your ass so hard you'll never forget the man who did this to you."
Starsky's body shifted and moved beneath him with each forceful thrust. But the body had no tone of its own , no will of its own, jerking and adapting only to the effect of each physical assault. To Hutch's total despair it reminded him of how a body might jump and fall with each electric current from a defibrillator. It was as though his partner was dead and his lifeless body was jumping with each attempt to resuscitate him.
Don't think that sort of shit Hutch! Don't think it. He is not going to die. Starsky is not going to die and he will not need to be resuscitated. Get that shit out of your head. Don't let Ryan make you think this shit. Stay with this. Keep your head. There has to be a way out of this.
Starsky's body refused to respond to any stimulus now. His legs lying crudely across Ryan's heaving shoulders were perfectly still, the muscles now relaxed, no longer fighting or trying to ward off the harsh penetration of the thick shaft of flesh or the prying squeezing fingers. Starsky's body had become nothing more than a lifeless vessel but the man plundering it seemed to hardly concern himself with its nature. His imminent orgasm had him jerking his big body harder and harder, crying out in his last throes of ecstasy as the climax overtook him.
As he drove his final few thrusts into the bleeding cavity his loud wild cry eclipsed even the violent retching sounds coming from the man in the chair.
As Ryan pinnacled sexually and screamed his delight at spilling more fresh semen into Starsky, Hutch leaned heavily to the side and vomited the contents of his stomach, heaving over and over.
It had been a long while now since Hutch had heard any words or intelligible communication from his partner. Although it was hard to see his full body from where he was sitting, Hutch knew that all movements had ceased for Starsky except for flickers of hands and fingers and clenching of small muscles. In essence the man who had been savagely raped had gone from here. The shock had taken him to another zone where at least he might have found some peace for his mind - if not his body.
Very soon, as there seemed no end to this vortex of pain for them both, Hutch considered that he too would free his mind from this shocking reality.
Whatever Ryan did with them from here on in was out of their control.
Never had Hutch felt more powerless or more defeated. Not even at the receiving end of Forrest's men and their crucifying needles.
Ryan held all the cards and most importantly he held Starsky's life in his filthy God forsaken hands.
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Riley assessed the situation like any good cop should. With Hutch's voice in his head, the valuable training and skills he had already acquired under his tutelage, he climbed out of the black and white carefully and began to take stock of all that he had at hand.
Which wasn't an awful lot he realized.
This time he was here by himself – on a scene with no backup and no guidance. This time there was no tall blond experienced street cop to follow or to give him his cues.
But he had some courage, some instinct and motivation to intervene in any situation where Hutch might be in trouble.
It had to be enough.
The big house was almost in complete darkness from the front. All entries seemed secure. The brown beaten up clapper that was Hutch's hallmark of a car and Starsky's proud and joy, Torino were parked in full view. A third car off to the side of the property was partially hidden. It stood to reason that it was Ryan's, but of course that was just supposition. Smart procedure would have meant calling the car in and getting a lead on who it was registered to but that would take time. Instead, Riley went with pure supposition.
They are all here – but who arrived first Ryan or Hutch?
Within a few minutes he had made his decision. A quick casing of the house suggested that the only open entry was the rear balcony door, high up and leading into the only lit room. A dim light shone inside the sliding door, but he could not see anything more than that.
All three men were no doubt inside – in what sort of scenario he didn't know, but he needed to find out. He could waste time testing access points around the house which might give him a stealthy entrance, but what would that gain now?
The house was entirely quiet. No voices, no sounds.
Something's very wrong in there.
Part of him was frightened. Going in with no back up was stupid – he knew that. But the pull to assist Hutch, to be there for him, was too great.
He debated on calling for backup. Backup for what? He had nothing of note to report and he was a junior officer on a non-sanctioned job anyway. How could he call out a patrol backup on a hunch that there might be something sinister waiting for him inside?
No, he needed to assess the lay of the land for himself. It could be that he would make blunder in to a perfectly normal situation and have to field off embarrassing questions as to why he was there. All three men may be now sitting down and quietly working out their differences over a drink.
The sheer incongruence of that idea had him rejecting it immediately. Remembering the look of pure seething rage on Hutch's face whenever Ryan's name was raised, Riley doubted any likelihood of "Let's talk this over…" scenarios between Ryan and Hutch.
Yeah sure Riley. Like Hutch is going to be sitting down having a quiet man to man talk to Ryan about how he feels about him! But hell! I really can't call anything in till I get a feel for what has gone on here.
Before he analyzed himself and his actions anymore he raised his fist to the elaborate front door and banged hard. He needed to be definitive after all.
"Detective Starsky? It's Officer Riley. I'm looking for Detective Hutchinson. Starsky?"
He waited and knocked even harder.
"Starsky! Detective Hutchinson?"
And again. More insistent. Louder.
"Ken! It's Riley. Please open the door so that I know everything is alright in there."
His young tone was firm now and his voice as booming as he could project it.
"Police! Open the door!"
The stillness from within had Riley's hair on his neck rising. This was it! He was going in. Sweat had already dampened his brow as he tried to keep every one of Hutch's pointers on "How best to stay alive during a forced entry" running through his head. Talking himself through the steps he stood back to fire two rounds into the heavy door and watched as the lock splintered and the door moved slowly inwards on its hinges. With no backup cover he had to do the best he could solo but he hoped the moves he was making would do Hutch proud.
Edging around the now blown open door he ducked low and swept his gun ahead on him in sweeping arcs, pleased to note that his arms were steady in front and not shaking nearly so much like he was inside. The entrance and living room were deserted and the dim light that he had seen outside was coming from what looked to be the master suite off to the side.
His heart rate had picked up even more as he narrowed his focus onto the doorway of the bedroom and edged closer to the entrance.
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It was Riley. Hutch could hear his voice clearly now – loud and firm as his pure young manly voice sang out it's warning of imminent forced entry. His almost catatonic gaze that was focused on the two bodies on the bed wavered, flickered and broke its fixed stare. His head turned to the doorway of the bedroom and his hands which had been still for a long while now, began once again flexing and moving within the constraints of the tight cuffs.
Emerging from his emotionally shocked stupor he desperately tried to summon his attention to the voice calling out and its implications.
Shit No Riley! What the hell? How? How did you find us? Be careful, he's in here, Ryan's in here and he has Starsky….Oh My God please don't do anything to destabilize him further….
At the same time his brain was starting to click into gear again – the stupor was lifting as he fought to think logically and not emotionally. Riley's intrusion would be the catalyst to at least change the dynamics of Ryan's total monopoly on what was happening in this room. He and Starsky were caught here – unless someone or something happened to the present scenario Hutch could not see a way out of this hellish situation for them without further pain and suffering. Starsky was near the end of his physical tolerance – his body had surely reached its limit on what it could endure.
Hutch couldn't begin to fathom the limits his partner's mental tolerance had been tested. Starsky's total cessation of any verbalization had him terrified.
Ryan had again fallen into a post-sex slumber. Was it was too much to hope that Ryan would stay asleep with the sounds of Riley's invasion blasting through the house? Given that he must have felt entirely wasted after the wild sexual orgy he had pushed his body through, it was possible that he may not be able to be roused would for a while yet.
Within moments Hutch's hopes were dashed. Ryan's years of light cop sleeping on stakeouts meant that even after a sexual marathon he was easily alerted to threats.
The big mass of a man who only seconds earlier had been near comatose, lifted his dark head, the sheet of black hair falling across his brow as his eyes leapt to almost instant alertness.
With litheness that one would not expect from his big muscular frame he pulled himself up quickly and rolled off the bleeding and battered body beneath him.
In seconds he had his gun in his hand and was reaching for his pants. He had only just pulled them onto his legs and was securing them at his waist when Riley's extended arms and gun presented itself around the half-open bedroom doorway.
Ryan raised his own weapon at shoulder level as Riley came into view.
Riley's breathing was discernible and his young face was a study in concentrated determination.
The first view of the bedroom had him reeling. What had he expected?
Part of him had imagined human casualties , blood, and trauma, even death. He was not so naïve to contrive a scenario where the three men would be all sitting, talking, working their differences out. This evening was a culmination of so much. He knew that. It was a culmination of the stress and drama that had unraveled over the past weeks and began when Starsky entered the undercover operation with Ryan. Whatever had been waiting for him inside this beach house was not likely to be anything but bad.
And what was before his eyes now as he perfected his sweep into the room, was what he would term "bad". His young inexperienced senses were overpowered by the raw violence that awaited him. It was at once , the very worst he had feared and yet hoped never to confront. With little time to deal with his reaction, he struggled to equilibrate, right himself and still maintain his covered position. The gun in his hand never felt heavier but when the weight and the muscle tension sang out for him to relax his hold, he doubled his efforts to stabilise his stance.
His gaze sought and found Hutch first. Was this the man who had left his side only a scant few hours ago? This hollowed out, distraught and exhausted man with eyes that barely seemed to recognize him, to react at all, let alone react, as a cop should when someone crashes into a closed up house?
His senior officer was bound to a chair and appeared emotionally and physically beaten. Riley smelled the fresh vomit before he saw it, still glistening wet on his senior partner's chin.
Riley tried to read the light blue eyes but it was a skill he was only just beginning to learn and all he could ascertain was that his boss was suffering.
His gaze swung to the bed and he spared only a moment to let his attention linger there. It was too traumatic – too overloading for him to keep looking and he quickly averted his eyes from a naked, vulnerable and damaged Starsky. From where he was standing he couldn't be sure that Starsky was still alive, because he sure as hell didn't look like he was moving or breathing. Riley's pulse hammered hard in his chest at trying to align visual stimulus with ramifications of his next actions.
The big man with the bare chest, black long hair and a gun pointing almost languidly in his direction, demanded the bulk of his attention. Ryan was staring him down, goading him as he had come to know was this man's style – surveying him with cool, superior smugness.
The cop in Riley pushed away the fear of the images in the room and of his friend tied to the chair and hurting. Concentrating hard to focus on only what was important right now, his eyes locked onto Ryan's contemptuous face. Hutch's words were in his head now and he heeded them.
"Do not – ever, ever, take your eyes off a man facing you down with a gun. It will take a split second for one of you to move the trigger finger – assume it will be him."
Ryan, dark eyed with sardonic coolness flickered his gaze over Riley. He had dropped his gun arm from shoulder height, his weapon now held loosely in his hand. He seemed almost bored with what was presented to him in this new Rookie. It occurred to Riley that if he he was trying to project nonchalance, he was doing a good job. He had definitely succeeded. Riley felt suitably underestimated by this cavalier cop. But underestimated, relegated as a something or someone with no real importance - it didn't change Riley's stance.
It didn't matter – Riley's guard was unwavering. He stood ready, poised on the balls of his feet, his own gun pointing squarely at the other man's upper body.
Something in Riley's steely resolve and cold-eyed hold of Ryan in his sights must have nettled the older cop.
"Oh I see. It's like that is it young Officer Riley? Come in here with your guns blazing, want to play the big hero and save your new friend and boss hey? I understand now. Hutchinson's gotten to you too hasn't he? You're as devoted to him as Starsky and he are to each other. "
He swiveled and for a brief moment directed his words at Hutch.
"What is it Hutchinson? What have you got that demands this loyal servitude to you? This undying gratitude and adulation?"
And then once more looking at Riley he scorned.
"Well your big brave Sergeant sure doesn't look like the picture of successful cop right now does he? Look at him! Pathetic. He's a wreck. See, let that be a warning to you young Riley. This is what happens when you let emotions and feelings get in the way of good police work and partnerships. Hutchinson looks like he's in almost as bad a shape as his partner there on the bed.
Fucking devotion! That's where it leads you. You want to end up like this Riley? Like these two? Do you? You obviously must want to because that is why you're here now isn't boy? Devotion. Loyalty. What are you prepared to do with that loyalty Riley?How are you going to use it and how far are you willing to go to save your new partner over here?"
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