Regulations

Chapter 2

After about a week of brutal ass and throat fucking, Silva starts to get a bit more creative. Soon scarves and cuffs and dildos begin coming out of Silva's closet. On the fourteenth day of his captivity, Silva brings him a cream coloured garment bag and sets it on the bed in front of him.

"You will dress yourself in these clothes. I will be back in fifteen minutes. I think you are smart enough to know what happens if you are not ready in time."

The guard holding him releases his handcuffs and leg irons. Silva winds a timer and places it on the nightstand that is bolted to the floor.

"Tick tock."

James doesn't move until he and his thugs shut the door. James had already come to the conclusion that there is no escaping from this room. The lone window looks out into a courtyard thirty feet below without a ledge, scaffolding or deck to speak of. He releases a sigh of resignation and moves to put on whatever costume Silva has laid out for him. Undoing the zipper reveals a knee-length dress made from the same material as Silva's shirts. Also in the bag are black kitten heels, pearl earrings with a matching necklace, and to top it all off, a wig of long, blonde hair. Wonderful. He had twelve minutes to put this all on. Never had Bond been so grateful for his experience with women. He would just have to put the clothes on rather than take them off.

Once his now-rumpled suit was carefully placed in a corner of the room, he began dressing himself. The dress came with built-in breasts and Bond had no idea what to make of that. The wig and jewellery gave him a bit of trouble, but soon the earrings were biting into his lobes and he was stepping into the delicate heels. He couldn't help but wonder where these items had come from and which of the thugs guarding the door had been sent out to retrieve them. He didn't have long to ponder this because just then the timer dinged. His time was up.

Silva opens the door without knocking. James faces him with an icy glare.

"Oh, it seems Mr. Bond has escaped and left us a beautiful woman instead! What is your name, darling?"

James remains silent, and Silva lets out a huff of annoyance.

"James, you always spoil the fun. Don't you want to play a game with me?"

"I've had enough of your 'games'! What else do you want from me? You've already taken everything!" he yells in a rare fit of emotion.

He rapidly tears off the blonde wig and kicks his heels off in the direction of the goons in the doorway, making them quickly advance towards him. Silva calls them off.

"Ah, ah, ah, gentlemen. You forget our guest has had a rough couple of weeks. Why don't you leave the two of us to sort this out, hm?"

This clearly isn't a suggestion. The guards leave and the door shuts again. They are alone now, but still James feels outnumbered.

"Talk to me, James. Tell me what is bothering you so much that you act like this."

"Cold-hearted bastard," he mutters, yanking off the necklace and earrings and not caring where they fell.

"Those are real pearls, you know. I thought you would appreciate them. They reminded me of you when I saw them behind the glass display. Hard, beautiful, underrated and unappreciated. Perhaps even a bit old fashioned. All the traits I admire in you, Mr. Bond. That is why I chose you out of everyone else."

Silva strokes down his cheek and neck to the low collar of his dress. Gooseflesh arises in his path, and Silva smiles.

"If you don't like the dress, you don't have to wear it. Let me help you out of it, if it makes you so uncomfortable."

He places his warm hands on James' shoulders and turns him around to undo the dress's zipper. Silva eases his hands into the two halves of the dress and slides it off his shoulders until it pools in a puddle of fabric at his feet. Silva lets his hands linger on Bond's hips, pulling him back up against his body. James struggles a bit, but Silva has been running him ragged and while he is being fed regularly, he can almost definitely assume he's being drugged.

"There. All better now," Silva purrs, hands trailing around to James' front to caress him.

Silva gently rocks James in his arms as if he were a fussy child in need of a hug. James felt so tired. Silva pulls a small bottle from his pants pocket and uncaps it one-handed. He holds it up to James' mouth like a bottle.

"Drink this."

Bond thirstily guzzles it down. Anything to forget this. Even if it was poison, although he highly doubts it. Silva wouldn't want to kill him now. God, where was Q? Where was M? His thoughts are already starting to get fuzzy.

"Better?"

"Mmm…"

He groggily realizes that he's being laid down on the bed. And if the skin he feels against his back is any indication, he would say that Silva had recently removed his own clothes.

"I want to go home," James slurs.

"Hush now. I know you miss Mommy. But she isn't coming for you." – slick fingers probe at his abused hole – "All incoming transmissions are scrambled. She can't find you here." – A third finger joins the other two – "Don't worry yourself over it anymore... You are safe here, with me."

Silva forces his way inside him again. Whatever was in the vial has taken the pain of penetration away… or maybe he's just used to it by now. He tells himself he doesn't care either way. It doesn't matter. He's trapped here to be used as another one of Silva's fucktoys. His body remains lax and on its side the whole time Silva fucks into him, panting into his ear and telling him how good he is, and how good he feels.

"You're a beautiful boy, James. Jamie. You're so open for me. So pliant and good. Tight as any woman. You feel so sweet, Jamie. Such a good boy…"

Bond barely flinches when Silva comes across his back and ass cheeks. Silva once said it was so he would know who he belonged to, so everyone else on the island would know who he belonged to… whoever 'everyone else' was supposed to be since the whole island was deserted.

Silva kisses his neck before he leaves the bed.

"Why don't you rest here for tonight, hmmm? Have somewhere nice to sleep?"

James nods his head against the pillow.

Yes, sleeping in a bed would be nice. Sleeping in my own bed would be even better. There would always be time tomorrow to escape. What was the hurry?

He closes his eyes and imagines M at her desk, furiously typing away at her computer. Every so often he catches his name. She must be looking for me. She has to be. No, there was no doubt about it. What am I doing, lying here like an injured dog? Fucks sake. Double-oh indeed…

He angrily pushes himself from the bed, the drug making him unsteady on his feet. He uses the pillow case to wipe himself clean of Silva's filth. He carefully makes his way to his clothes left alone in the corner of the room.

He puts his suit back on, fixes his cuff-links because he works for MI6 and England and M, and it will take more than some fucking to take him out of the game. He sits on the edge of the bed, straight backed until the sun comes up again.

He looks Silva in the eye when the man comes into his room, like he's the cat who caught the canary.

"Want something?" Bond asks.

For once, it seems, Bond has the upper hand, and Silva has no witty reply for him.

"I thought so."

And without a moments pause, he launches himself at Silva with every bit he has left of his strength and barrels him out his way as he runs out the door.

He doesn't know where he's going, but if he's on an island, there's bound to be more than one boat lying around. And with it, some stupid thug who won't know what hit him when he comes to commandeer it.

AN: Again, hope you are enjoying it! Leave a comment and let me know! x