Title: Penance
Spoilers: Zero
Rating: R (See my notes at the end of the story if you want to
know why it's rated R)
Category: Angst
Summary: Lex deals with the events that occurred in Zero.
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Millar/Gough and
the WB. No profit or infringement is intended.
My Web Site: http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/
Email: meret118@netscape.net
Feedback is even better than chocolate!
My thanks to Elrond50, DCookKC, Starcat, Scarlett007, and
Alax for information on the club scene. I also want to thank my
beta readers Reetchick, Rivka T, and Jenn. Without their help
and encouragement, the story might not have been posted.
*The timeline in the story shifts back and forth.*
Penance by Meret
"Take off your clothes."
He undresses with quick, efficient movements, putting his shirt
and trousers on the hangers provided. Removing the rest of his
clothing, he stands waiting, head bowed, body tensed. He was
never good at this part. He wishes she would drop the theatrics
and just get on with it.
-----------------------------------
"Dominique's. Name and ID number?"
"Alex 4147367." He'd had to look the number up. It had been
awhile. He heard the click of a keyboard, and then the voice
returned on the line, low and sexy enough to make Jessica
Rabbit jealous.
"Alex. How may you serve us?"
"The same scene as before." More keyboard clicks.
"You'll have to submit to a physical before we'll permit that."
The bruises from the beating by Jude's doppleganger were faded
enough not to cause concern. "Fine. I want it tonight. I'll be there
in two hours." He needed this badly. It had been all he could do
to stay at the Talon's Grand Re-opening for as long he had.
Though judging from Clark's glances when he left, it hadn't been
long enough. Never enough, he thought, leaning his head back
against the velvety upholstery.
"I'll check the schedule."
There wouldn't be a problem fitting him in. He'd pay enough to
make sure of that and they knew it.
"We'll allow that. Confirm the details of your service for me . . .
."
He responded half-heartedly, trying to let the droning noise of
the Lear engine soothe him. He didn't have to worry about the
instructions; Dominique's was the best. Bruce would have never
taken him there years ago if it wasn't. They even had a Supreme
Court Justice on their client list if rumors were true. Just two
more hours till he was in Gotham. He could hang on that long.
Two more hours and he wouldn't have to worry anymore.
Wouldn't have to think anymore.
----------------------------------
When Bruce first said Lex was going to stop killing himself
even if the need had to be beaten out of him, Lex had thought he
was speaking metaphorically.
Bruce found him in Hong Kong, a place where anything and
anyone was for sale. Not that Lex ever had to pay for
companionship. There were always people happy enough to
share in whatever oblivion Lex was using that day. Bruce had
never approved of the way Lex "partied", and he said it just that
way too, so you could almost *see* the quotation marks. That
had only engendered grim lectures, though. He'd been positively
apoplectic however, for Bruce anyway, when Lex had moved
from alcohol, ecstasy and prescription drugs to cocaine, LSD,
heroin and finally conquered his fear of needles.
If it had been anyone else he would have told them to go fuck
themselves - in several languages. But if anyone could
understand seeing someone shot in front of them, it was Bruce.
Of course, Bruce hadn't been responsible for that shooting. That,
and the blackouts he had started having, made him decide to
give Bruce's warped idea a chance. It was fine for Lex to hurt
himself, but he wasn't willing to risk hurting another person
while his atoms were trying to decide whether they were
particles or waves. No one else would pay for his stupidity.
Never again.
Bruce usually went to Michelangelo's. He preferred men simply
because of their greater upper-body strength, but Lex would
never let himself be that vulnerable to another man. His father
had trained him far too well for that to have ever been an option
for Lex.
Bruce's plan succeeded.
For the most part.
He still drank when he felt like it, but he did stop doing drugs.
And when it became too bad: when the nightmares started again,
when he couldn't draw a deep breath, when the ache grew more
and more frenzied until it became a spinning St. Catherine's
Wheel of need so bad he wanted to outrun is own skin, when it
took every inch of his control not to resemble Munch's painting -
he went to Dominique's. It gave him . . . not absolution, nothing
could do that, but an escape, a place to rest, if just for a while.
----------------------------------
Lex knew Amanda wouldn't believe him. She'd known Jude for
years. Lex was a freshman. If he hadn't tested into the graduate
chemistry classes, they would probably have never even met.
Unlike the other students, she didn't suck up to him or hate him
for his money and name. Amanda was warm, intelligent, and
funny; she treated him like a real person, and Jude didn't deserve
to even have her speak his name. He'd been shocked but not at
all surprised that Jude was cheating on her.
Hence the plan. A simple phone call from Kasitch to let him
know when Jude arrived, and she sees Jude for the lying scum
he is. Lex knew Amanda would never date an 18 year old, but he
could still be her friend and provide a shoulder to cry on. She
was much better off without Jude.
The perfect plan. Zero consequences.
For everyone except the guy in the body bag.
----------------------------------
Lex draws a deep breath as she starts to buckle his wrists into
the dark suede restraints above him. He can smell her perfume,
something with sandalwood, but ignores it. His cock remains
flaccid throughout her actions. This isn't about sex. Lex doesn't
care for pain with his sex, at least not this level of pain. And on
the few occasions restraints do appear in his sex life he's never
the one wearing them, regardless of his partner's gender. He tugs
reflexively on the cuffs when she finishes, the sheepskin lining
gripping him snugly enough to hold, yet not tightly enough to
prevent circulation.
He shifts, allowing her to fasten a wide belt on him to protect his
kidneys. Leaning his cheek against the post, he tries not to
hyperventilate. A bead of fear sweat crawls down his chest. He
craves the result, but hates the process. Her shadow moves on
the stone wall in front of him. The first time he'd been in this
room, he'd been shocked at how much it resembled the Luthor
castle. Then he'd laughed so hard it hurt, kneeling on the Tabriz
rug, unable to stand up under the hilarity of it all.
"Repeat your safe word to me," she says firmly, her hand resting
on his back.
"Purple." His mother's favorite color. She would be so appalled
by this, he thinks.
The woman nods, and walks a precise distance behind him, the
slight swish of her silk pants like a hiss in the silence.
He sees the shadow figure on the wall raise it's arm, and
squeezes his eyes shut, flinching in anticipation. *Fuck!* He
gasps in pain at the first blow. He's forgotten how badly it hurts.
No buildup and as hard as she can without drawing blood, exactly
as he'd requested.
Lex loses count as the heavy whip descends againand again. The
eruption inside him builds, gathering momentum. Hisbody jerks in
reaction to each hit. Every lash mark burns vivid and individual.
Lex knows he could diagram where each one lands, from the muscles
on his back, to the sensitive area at the top of his thighs. His
skin is hit by lightning over and over.
*A bolt from Zeus in his shoulder; red, hot, soaking through his
shirt. A thunderclap and Jude is, disbelief on his face, is falling,
falling forever. Not like this. This wasn't the plan How can it
take someone so long to hit the ground?*
In the hands of someone less skilled, the floor would be
spattered with blood. The leather whip moves with the regularity
of a metronome. Each strike sounds like a shot.
*Smoke from the gun, the smell of carbon, and Amanda shatters,
shiny pieces smashed at his feet. 'Stay away from her, Lex. It's
best for everyone. Haven't you done enough damage?' *
Tears flow down his contorted face; refusing the undeserved
comfort of screaming, he twists in torment, struggling
instinctively, grunts forced from him with each impact,
lightheaded as the pain sizzles through his nerves with stroke
after searing stroke. The pressure rises. Not there yet; not yet.
He sucks in loud gulps of air, nostrils flaring to get as much
oxygen as possible.
Ambien and carbon monoxide on the coroner's report faxed this
morning. Lex had done his research. Too late, of course.
"Symptoms include weakness, dizziness, vomiting, and
convulsions, ending in unconsciousness." Alone. So alone. Her
gentle face colored crimson in the police photos. Full circle; he'd
failed her again.
Sweat pours off him, his wet skin increasing the sting of each
blow. His back and buttocks are a blazing mass of crisscrossing,
furious welts. The savage beating goes on and on, stoking the
intensity inside him. Arching his spine against the strikes, the
frenzied clawing at his core, like some enraged wild beast
desperate to escape, stretching for release, reaching, straining
every muscle for that switch, the click to quiet the clamor inside
him. Almost; almost . . . Head back, eyes clenched tight, wildly
pulling on his bonds. His throat swells, the words cutting him as
they come out. "Amanda, I'm sorry! Amanda!"
"I promise!" He should have known better. No matter what the
cost to himself, he'll never let another friend down, he swears.
This is all his fault. He should have never listened to Phelan.
*Anything.* He'll do anything at all to support a friend in the
future. Whatever it takes, he vows. His body goes rigid as the
fire explodes inside of him, a star burst behind his eyes, flooding
him with relief.
Panting unevenly, he sags limply, head lolling forward. Empty,
hollow even in his bones, gliding like a bird on updrafts of
endorphins, he is released. The woman takes off the belt and
guides him to a padded table, helping him to lie on his stomach.
The lights are dimmed and candles are lit, their flickering giving
the room an eerie, underwater atmosphere that matches the
floating sensation Lex feels.
He hears her get the leeches ready as he rests in a half-conscious
haze. The idea disgusts him, but between the bloodsuckers to
reduce the bruising, anesthetic gel, ice packs, and some Tylenol
3, the pain should be just tolerable enough to return to work in a
couple of days. He closes his eyes against those thoughts,
wanting to hang on the sense of weightlessness as long as he
can, shivering as he feels the first slimy bite on his skin.
End
Author's Notes:
This story doesn't contain sex, but it does contain S&M.
If that bothers you, don't read it.
Bruce is, of course, Bruce Wayne.
Munch's most famous painting:
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/scream.jpg
Ambien is a commonly prescribed sleeping pill.
It's powerful and quick acting.
Spoilers: Zero
Rating: R (See my notes at the end of the story if you want to
know why it's rated R)
Category: Angst
Summary: Lex deals with the events that occurred in Zero.
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Millar/Gough and
the WB. No profit or infringement is intended.
My Web Site: http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/
Email: meret118@netscape.net
Feedback is even better than chocolate!
My thanks to Elrond50, DCookKC, Starcat, Scarlett007, and
Alax for information on the club scene. I also want to thank my
beta readers Reetchick, Rivka T, and Jenn. Without their help
and encouragement, the story might not have been posted.
*The timeline in the story shifts back and forth.*
Penance by Meret
"Take off your clothes."
He undresses with quick, efficient movements, putting his shirt
and trousers on the hangers provided. Removing the rest of his
clothing, he stands waiting, head bowed, body tensed. He was
never good at this part. He wishes she would drop the theatrics
and just get on with it.
-----------------------------------
"Dominique's. Name and ID number?"
"Alex 4147367." He'd had to look the number up. It had been
awhile. He heard the click of a keyboard, and then the voice
returned on the line, low and sexy enough to make Jessica
Rabbit jealous.
"Alex. How may you serve us?"
"The same scene as before." More keyboard clicks.
"You'll have to submit to a physical before we'll permit that."
The bruises from the beating by Jude's doppleganger were faded
enough not to cause concern. "Fine. I want it tonight. I'll be there
in two hours." He needed this badly. It had been all he could do
to stay at the Talon's Grand Re-opening for as long he had.
Though judging from Clark's glances when he left, it hadn't been
long enough. Never enough, he thought, leaning his head back
against the velvety upholstery.
"I'll check the schedule."
There wouldn't be a problem fitting him in. He'd pay enough to
make sure of that and they knew it.
"We'll allow that. Confirm the details of your service for me . . .
."
He responded half-heartedly, trying to let the droning noise of
the Lear engine soothe him. He didn't have to worry about the
instructions; Dominique's was the best. Bruce would have never
taken him there years ago if it wasn't. They even had a Supreme
Court Justice on their client list if rumors were true. Just two
more hours till he was in Gotham. He could hang on that long.
Two more hours and he wouldn't have to worry anymore.
Wouldn't have to think anymore.
----------------------------------
When Bruce first said Lex was going to stop killing himself
even if the need had to be beaten out of him, Lex had thought he
was speaking metaphorically.
Bruce found him in Hong Kong, a place where anything and
anyone was for sale. Not that Lex ever had to pay for
companionship. There were always people happy enough to
share in whatever oblivion Lex was using that day. Bruce had
never approved of the way Lex "partied", and he said it just that
way too, so you could almost *see* the quotation marks. That
had only engendered grim lectures, though. He'd been positively
apoplectic however, for Bruce anyway, when Lex had moved
from alcohol, ecstasy and prescription drugs to cocaine, LSD,
heroin and finally conquered his fear of needles.
If it had been anyone else he would have told them to go fuck
themselves - in several languages. But if anyone could
understand seeing someone shot in front of them, it was Bruce.
Of course, Bruce hadn't been responsible for that shooting. That,
and the blackouts he had started having, made him decide to
give Bruce's warped idea a chance. It was fine for Lex to hurt
himself, but he wasn't willing to risk hurting another person
while his atoms were trying to decide whether they were
particles or waves. No one else would pay for his stupidity.
Never again.
Bruce usually went to Michelangelo's. He preferred men simply
because of their greater upper-body strength, but Lex would
never let himself be that vulnerable to another man. His father
had trained him far too well for that to have ever been an option
for Lex.
Bruce's plan succeeded.
For the most part.
He still drank when he felt like it, but he did stop doing drugs.
And when it became too bad: when the nightmares started again,
when he couldn't draw a deep breath, when the ache grew more
and more frenzied until it became a spinning St. Catherine's
Wheel of need so bad he wanted to outrun is own skin, when it
took every inch of his control not to resemble Munch's painting -
he went to Dominique's. It gave him . . . not absolution, nothing
could do that, but an escape, a place to rest, if just for a while.
----------------------------------
Lex knew Amanda wouldn't believe him. She'd known Jude for
years. Lex was a freshman. If he hadn't tested into the graduate
chemistry classes, they would probably have never even met.
Unlike the other students, she didn't suck up to him or hate him
for his money and name. Amanda was warm, intelligent, and
funny; she treated him like a real person, and Jude didn't deserve
to even have her speak his name. He'd been shocked but not at
all surprised that Jude was cheating on her.
Hence the plan. A simple phone call from Kasitch to let him
know when Jude arrived, and she sees Jude for the lying scum
he is. Lex knew Amanda would never date an 18 year old, but he
could still be her friend and provide a shoulder to cry on. She
was much better off without Jude.
The perfect plan. Zero consequences.
For everyone except the guy in the body bag.
----------------------------------
Lex draws a deep breath as she starts to buckle his wrists into
the dark suede restraints above him. He can smell her perfume,
something with sandalwood, but ignores it. His cock remains
flaccid throughout her actions. This isn't about sex. Lex doesn't
care for pain with his sex, at least not this level of pain. And on
the few occasions restraints do appear in his sex life he's never
the one wearing them, regardless of his partner's gender. He tugs
reflexively on the cuffs when she finishes, the sheepskin lining
gripping him snugly enough to hold, yet not tightly enough to
prevent circulation.
He shifts, allowing her to fasten a wide belt on him to protect his
kidneys. Leaning his cheek against the post, he tries not to
hyperventilate. A bead of fear sweat crawls down his chest. He
craves the result, but hates the process. Her shadow moves on
the stone wall in front of him. The first time he'd been in this
room, he'd been shocked at how much it resembled the Luthor
castle. Then he'd laughed so hard it hurt, kneeling on the Tabriz
rug, unable to stand up under the hilarity of it all.
"Repeat your safe word to me," she says firmly, her hand resting
on his back.
"Purple." His mother's favorite color. She would be so appalled
by this, he thinks.
The woman nods, and walks a precise distance behind him, the
slight swish of her silk pants like a hiss in the silence.
He sees the shadow figure on the wall raise it's arm, and
squeezes his eyes shut, flinching in anticipation. *Fuck!* He
gasps in pain at the first blow. He's forgotten how badly it hurts.
No buildup and as hard as she can without drawing blood, exactly
as he'd requested.
Lex loses count as the heavy whip descends againand again. The
eruption inside him builds, gathering momentum. Hisbody jerks in
reaction to each hit. Every lash mark burns vivid and individual.
Lex knows he could diagram where each one lands, from the muscles
on his back, to the sensitive area at the top of his thighs. His
skin is hit by lightning over and over.
*A bolt from Zeus in his shoulder; red, hot, soaking through his
shirt. A thunderclap and Jude is, disbelief on his face, is falling,
falling forever. Not like this. This wasn't the plan How can it
take someone so long to hit the ground?*
In the hands of someone less skilled, the floor would be
spattered with blood. The leather whip moves with the regularity
of a metronome. Each strike sounds like a shot.
*Smoke from the gun, the smell of carbon, and Amanda shatters,
shiny pieces smashed at his feet. 'Stay away from her, Lex. It's
best for everyone. Haven't you done enough damage?' *
Tears flow down his contorted face; refusing the undeserved
comfort of screaming, he twists in torment, struggling
instinctively, grunts forced from him with each impact,
lightheaded as the pain sizzles through his nerves with stroke
after searing stroke. The pressure rises. Not there yet; not yet.
He sucks in loud gulps of air, nostrils flaring to get as much
oxygen as possible.
Ambien and carbon monoxide on the coroner's report faxed this
morning. Lex had done his research. Too late, of course.
"Symptoms include weakness, dizziness, vomiting, and
convulsions, ending in unconsciousness." Alone. So alone. Her
gentle face colored crimson in the police photos. Full circle; he'd
failed her again.
Sweat pours off him, his wet skin increasing the sting of each
blow. His back and buttocks are a blazing mass of crisscrossing,
furious welts. The savage beating goes on and on, stoking the
intensity inside him. Arching his spine against the strikes, the
frenzied clawing at his core, like some enraged wild beast
desperate to escape, stretching for release, reaching, straining
every muscle for that switch, the click to quiet the clamor inside
him. Almost; almost . . . Head back, eyes clenched tight, wildly
pulling on his bonds. His throat swells, the words cutting him as
they come out. "Amanda, I'm sorry! Amanda!"
"I promise!" He should have known better. No matter what the
cost to himself, he'll never let another friend down, he swears.
This is all his fault. He should have never listened to Phelan.
*Anything.* He'll do anything at all to support a friend in the
future. Whatever it takes, he vows. His body goes rigid as the
fire explodes inside of him, a star burst behind his eyes, flooding
him with relief.
Panting unevenly, he sags limply, head lolling forward. Empty,
hollow even in his bones, gliding like a bird on updrafts of
endorphins, he is released. The woman takes off the belt and
guides him to a padded table, helping him to lie on his stomach.
The lights are dimmed and candles are lit, their flickering giving
the room an eerie, underwater atmosphere that matches the
floating sensation Lex feels.
He hears her get the leeches ready as he rests in a half-conscious
haze. The idea disgusts him, but between the bloodsuckers to
reduce the bruising, anesthetic gel, ice packs, and some Tylenol
3, the pain should be just tolerable enough to return to work in a
couple of days. He closes his eyes against those thoughts,
wanting to hang on the sense of weightlessness as long as he
can, shivering as he feels the first slimy bite on his skin.
End
Author's Notes:
This story doesn't contain sex, but it does contain S&M.
If that bothers you, don't read it.
Bruce is, of course, Bruce Wayne.
Munch's most famous painting:
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/scream.jpg
Ambien is a commonly prescribed sleeping pill.
It's powerful and quick acting.