Title: CEREMONY OF INNOCENCE
Author: Marvelous
Chapter Summary: Scott's captor gets frisky.
Chapter Three
Scott held it as a small point of pride that he hadn't screamed, after all. The session of torment had been mercifully short, though still much too long for Scott's liking. He suspected Jordan had grown bored with simply twisting the dial, and bored with his captive's lack of interesting responses to the pain, and had eventually just let Scott fall into unconsciousness. When Scott awoke, he was back in his cell, with no clear idea how much time had actually passed. He spent what he thought was the night in restless sleep. He hadn't eaten since he and the professor had left the mansion, which, his body was telling him, was probably a day and a half ago. He was frustrated with his inability to find any opportunity to escape, or even to formulate any kind of effective plan. He also had heard nothing about the professor's whereabouts or condition; his mental link with the professor was silent, but that might be another side effect of the collar. It looked like their best chance for escape lay with the other X-Men mounting a rescue attempt. Which, with luck, they were planning at the moment.
And here he was in the chair again, facing another fine afternoon - evening? - of torment. He was in no mood for the exchange of bantered pleasantries with Jordan before the torture began, but he played along as gamely as he could manage. It wouldn't do to let the other man see his weariness and frustration.
The pain once again was awful, the metal prongs once more sending their currents of increasing intensity through his body. Scott had to clench his hands and dig his nails into his palms until he broke the skin to channel the pain into some physical outlet other than screaming. Or crying. Or begging. He remained silent through the worst of it, though his jaw ached from clenching his teeth together.
Abruptly, Jordan released his hold on the dial. The pain stopped. He tossed the metal device onto the table behind him. "Well, this is dull," he said.
Scott breathed deeply, getting himself under control. All of his training was coming in awfully handy these past couple of days.
Jordan reached down beside the table. Scott's gaze followed his movement, relieved when the man picked up a water bottle instead of some new instrument of torture. Jordan pulled out the stopper and took a long drink. Scott was feeling a little along the lines of severely dehydrated himself, but he'd be damned if he'd ask his tormentor for a drink. He resisted a strong urge to lick his dry lips.
Jordan suddenly drew close to him. Scott shrank back automatically against the back of his chair. Jordan smiled at his response, then reached out and held his chin in place with his free hand. Scott felt a small tickle of fear at the touch. Jordan tilted Scott's chin up, raised the water bottle, and thrust the nozzle between his lips. Startled, Scott swallowed, aware of Jordan's steady gaze on his face.
Jordan withdrew the bottle. His thumb wiped across Scott's bottom lip before he released his hold on his chin. He drew away and leaned back against the table. He raised one foot and let it rest on the edge of Scott's chair, in between his spread knees. "You're tougher than you look," he said finally. He tilted his head to the side and examined him. "And I sure do like looking at you."
Scott stared at him evenly and didn't reply. Jordan made some noise in the back of his throat. Scott couldn't tell if it were disgust or amusement. "There's about fifty of us in this damned place. We've been here for almost eight months now, day in, day out, not much in the way of leave."
Not sure where this was leading, Scott filed away the information. Fifty soldiers. A lot to take on, even if he had the professor and his mental abilities to help him.
"Fifty of us. All men," Jordan continued. "Unless, of course, you count the Oyama bitch, and she's not exactly receptive to our attentions." He slid off the table and removed his foot from Scott's chair. "So maybe you can understand why I like to look at a pretty boy like you."
Scott kept his gaze locked with Jordan's. "I'm not exactly receptive to your attentions, either."
The trace of a smile deepened. "Yeah, but you don't have any choice." He walked behind the chair, out of Scott's line of sight. Scott flinched at the touch of a hand on his bare neck, above the collar. "You pretty much have to sit there and accept whatever I decide to do to you."
Scott remained still and outwardly composed. Jordan's hand stroked down his neck, across the collar, and slipped beneath the neck of Scott's shirt. "Damn, you're beautiful. Prettiest thing in this whole blasted place," Jordan said. "Too bad for you."
A second hand joined the first. Jordan started unbuttoning Scott's shirt. He pulled it open as much as Scott's restrained arms would allow. Hands stroked his bare chest, moving across his nipples, the flat planes of his abdomen. Scott could hear Jordan's breath quicken. His own breath stuck in his throat when one of Jordan's hands dropped to the front of his pants and began toying with the button.
"Stryker gave me your file to review, Scott," Jordan said in his ear. The top button of his pants was unbuttoned, the zipper unzipped. "You got that pretty mutant fiancee, the redhead, you've been dating her for what, ten years?" A low, mocking chuckle. "Doesn't give you much chance to play the field. Ever been fucked by a man before?"
Scott didn't answer. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mounting panic. Jordan laughed again. "See, that's a shame. Pretty thing like you would have lots of offers. I bet every man in this place would jump at the chance to break you in."
A callused hand dipped into his briefs. Scott made a futile, automatic attempt to bring his knees together. Jordan chuckled.
"Nice, baby. I bet you're tight as all hell," he said into Scott's ear. The hand tightened. Scott couldn't keep from wincing. He turned his face to the side so his tormentor couldn't see his reaction. Jordan laughed. "You like that, huh? I'm going to give you the ride of your life, baby."
Scott closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. A sudden noise at the door seemed an answer to his prayers. Jordan released his grasp on Scott and straightened up. "Damn. Perfect timing," he said.
The door opened. Stryker entered the room. Scott felt an odd rush of relief at the sight, though he knew this didn't mean anything good. Stryker raised his eyebrows as he looked at Scott's disarrayed clothing. Scott looked at his face, hoping to find some sign of disapproval at Jordan's actions. He found none. If anything, Stryker looked bemused.
"There's an approach I admit I hadn't thought of, Lieutenant," Stryker said. He looked at Scott speculatively. Scott met his stare, careful not to show any of the distress he had experienced moments earlier. Stryker's lips pulled back in a humorless smile. "But I think we'll leave that for the time being. Right now, we have more immediate matters to attend to."
He set down his metal case on the table and flipped the latches. Once more, he drew out a thick plastic hypodermic needle filled with cloudy yellow fluid. He held it up for Scott's perusal. "Time for round two, boy," he said. "A fresh batch, plus I took the liberty of concentrating it just a smidgen. Let's see if this proves more effective than the last." He nodded to Jordan. "Lieutenant, if you'd be so kind as to hold him still?"
Jordan stood behind Scott once more and grasped a handful of his hair. He jerked Scott's head forward and exposed his neck.
Scott braced himself. Once more, he felt the burning sensation of the acid against his neck. It might have been his over-stimulated imagination, but this batch burned into his flesh with more intensity than the first dose.
He inhaled deeply. He felt the cold sweat again, the nausea. He was just as glad Jordan was keeping his head pushed down; the blood seemed to be rushing away from his head anyway, so it saved him the embarrassment of swooning.
That seemed to be the extent of his physical reaction. For a moment, Scott wondered if he could pretend to be under the serum's power again. Maybe he could lull Stryker into releasing his restraints. Then he remembered Oyama's strange silver eyes. Stryker would know he was faking in an instant.
He might as well take what joy he could in confounding Stryker's plans to corrupt him. "Did it take?" he heard Stryker ask. Jordan jerked Scott's head back.
Scott allowed the faintest hint of a smirk to cross his usually composed features. Stryker examined his eyes, which, Scott presumed, were unchanged. "Afraid not," Scott said blithely. "Better luck next time."
The answering slap across his face didn't surprise him. His ears rang from the blow.
"Damn it all to hell!" Stryker said. "Why doesn't it work on you?"
"Lucky, I guess," Scott replied with a flippancy he wasn't feeling. He had his own suspicions why it didn't work, something linked in with the scar tissue on his brain from injuries sustained in the plane crash that had killed his parents, but there was no need to tell this to Stryker. He should cool it with the smart remarks, but the frustration he'd felt over the past couple of days needed an outlet. He wondered if Stryker would be upset enough to turn him over to Jordan. He quickly squashed that line of thought. His situation was bad enough as it was; no need to let his imagination make it even worse.
Stryker's gaze shifted from Scott to Jordan. With a lurch of his stomach, Scott realized Stryker was considering that very idea. "Perhaps it's time for a change of tactics," he said, almost to himself. "But first..."
He reached into his case again and withdrew another syringe, this one normal-sized, and a little glass bottle. Scott couldn't read the bottle's label from where he sat. Stryker stabbed the needle through the lid of the bottle and sucked the fluid into the syringe.
Stryker stooped down before him and rolled up the sleeve of Scott's shirt. Helpless, Scott could do nothing more than watch. With a practiced air, Stryker rubbed two fingers along Scott's inner arm to bring up the vein, then stabbed in the needle.
Scott didn't bother asking what it was. A sedative of some kind, probably. That was okay; he could use the sleep. He could barely keep his head up. In fact, everything was getting a little blurry.
Yep, a sedative. The rest of his world faded to black.
Stryker checked the pulse of the unconscious prisoner. "He'll be out for at least the next twelve hours," he said. He looked at Jordan. "Care to take him back to his cell, lieutenant?"
"My pleasure," Jordan answered easily. He unbuckled the restraints around Scott's wrists and ankles. While Scott was still in the chair, Jordan took the precaution of manacling his hands in front of his body. The kid was pretty far gone, but there was no sense being careless. He bent at the knees and hoisted Scott over his shoulder. Stryker looked at him, bemused.
"Do you need any help?" he asked.
"No, sir. I can handle him just fine," Jordan said. He patted Scott's back and shifted his grasp to hold him more securely.
Stryker regarded him thoughtfully. "Very well. And, lieutenant?" he said as Jordan strode toward the door.
Jordan turned.
"Try not to make any detours along the way," Stryker said dryly, with a pointed look at the prisoner draped over his shoulder.
Jordan smiled.
Once in the cell, Jordan deposited his burden onto the bunk, then flipped him over onto his back. Scott moaned softly in his sleep, protesting the rough treatment.
"You think that's bad, you ain't seen nothing, baby," Jordan said. He reached down and caressed the bruised cheek, traced his fingertips along the elegant jaw line. "Too pretty for your own good. Going to cause you nothing but problems," he said. He was aware of a growing sensation in his groin that had hung around ever since he first started torturing the young mutant. He looked down at the unconscious body sprawled across the bunk.
Unable to resist, he climbed onto the still figure. Scott made another small noise of protest. Jordan lay flat across Scott's body, his erection pressing into Scott's abdomen.
"Easiest thing in the world to just do you now, baby," he said. "But I'd rather have you awake when I do." He leaned forward and kissed Scott, biting the lower lip, letting his tongue slide into the slack mouth, before reluctantly drawing away. The cell was equipped with a hidden surveillance camera, and while he knew it wasn't monitored all the time - the compound had a lot of cameras, and it was a waste of time and effort to monitor them all - he didn't need to put on a free show for any possible viewers. He straightened his clothes, tucked his shirt tail back into his pants, gave Scott's cheek a final pat, and left the cell.
Scott shifted on the bunk and drifted deeper into unconscious sleep.
Author: Marvelous
Chapter Summary: Scott's captor gets frisky.
Chapter Three
Scott held it as a small point of pride that he hadn't screamed, after all. The session of torment had been mercifully short, though still much too long for Scott's liking. He suspected Jordan had grown bored with simply twisting the dial, and bored with his captive's lack of interesting responses to the pain, and had eventually just let Scott fall into unconsciousness. When Scott awoke, he was back in his cell, with no clear idea how much time had actually passed. He spent what he thought was the night in restless sleep. He hadn't eaten since he and the professor had left the mansion, which, his body was telling him, was probably a day and a half ago. He was frustrated with his inability to find any opportunity to escape, or even to formulate any kind of effective plan. He also had heard nothing about the professor's whereabouts or condition; his mental link with the professor was silent, but that might be another side effect of the collar. It looked like their best chance for escape lay with the other X-Men mounting a rescue attempt. Which, with luck, they were planning at the moment.
And here he was in the chair again, facing another fine afternoon - evening? - of torment. He was in no mood for the exchange of bantered pleasantries with Jordan before the torture began, but he played along as gamely as he could manage. It wouldn't do to let the other man see his weariness and frustration.
The pain once again was awful, the metal prongs once more sending their currents of increasing intensity through his body. Scott had to clench his hands and dig his nails into his palms until he broke the skin to channel the pain into some physical outlet other than screaming. Or crying. Or begging. He remained silent through the worst of it, though his jaw ached from clenching his teeth together.
Abruptly, Jordan released his hold on the dial. The pain stopped. He tossed the metal device onto the table behind him. "Well, this is dull," he said.
Scott breathed deeply, getting himself under control. All of his training was coming in awfully handy these past couple of days.
Jordan reached down beside the table. Scott's gaze followed his movement, relieved when the man picked up a water bottle instead of some new instrument of torture. Jordan pulled out the stopper and took a long drink. Scott was feeling a little along the lines of severely dehydrated himself, but he'd be damned if he'd ask his tormentor for a drink. He resisted a strong urge to lick his dry lips.
Jordan suddenly drew close to him. Scott shrank back automatically against the back of his chair. Jordan smiled at his response, then reached out and held his chin in place with his free hand. Scott felt a small tickle of fear at the touch. Jordan tilted Scott's chin up, raised the water bottle, and thrust the nozzle between his lips. Startled, Scott swallowed, aware of Jordan's steady gaze on his face.
Jordan withdrew the bottle. His thumb wiped across Scott's bottom lip before he released his hold on his chin. He drew away and leaned back against the table. He raised one foot and let it rest on the edge of Scott's chair, in between his spread knees. "You're tougher than you look," he said finally. He tilted his head to the side and examined him. "And I sure do like looking at you."
Scott stared at him evenly and didn't reply. Jordan made some noise in the back of his throat. Scott couldn't tell if it were disgust or amusement. "There's about fifty of us in this damned place. We've been here for almost eight months now, day in, day out, not much in the way of leave."
Not sure where this was leading, Scott filed away the information. Fifty soldiers. A lot to take on, even if he had the professor and his mental abilities to help him.
"Fifty of us. All men," Jordan continued. "Unless, of course, you count the Oyama bitch, and she's not exactly receptive to our attentions." He slid off the table and removed his foot from Scott's chair. "So maybe you can understand why I like to look at a pretty boy like you."
Scott kept his gaze locked with Jordan's. "I'm not exactly receptive to your attentions, either."
The trace of a smile deepened. "Yeah, but you don't have any choice." He walked behind the chair, out of Scott's line of sight. Scott flinched at the touch of a hand on his bare neck, above the collar. "You pretty much have to sit there and accept whatever I decide to do to you."
Scott remained still and outwardly composed. Jordan's hand stroked down his neck, across the collar, and slipped beneath the neck of Scott's shirt. "Damn, you're beautiful. Prettiest thing in this whole blasted place," Jordan said. "Too bad for you."
A second hand joined the first. Jordan started unbuttoning Scott's shirt. He pulled it open as much as Scott's restrained arms would allow. Hands stroked his bare chest, moving across his nipples, the flat planes of his abdomen. Scott could hear Jordan's breath quicken. His own breath stuck in his throat when one of Jordan's hands dropped to the front of his pants and began toying with the button.
"Stryker gave me your file to review, Scott," Jordan said in his ear. The top button of his pants was unbuttoned, the zipper unzipped. "You got that pretty mutant fiancee, the redhead, you've been dating her for what, ten years?" A low, mocking chuckle. "Doesn't give you much chance to play the field. Ever been fucked by a man before?"
Scott didn't answer. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mounting panic. Jordan laughed again. "See, that's a shame. Pretty thing like you would have lots of offers. I bet every man in this place would jump at the chance to break you in."
A callused hand dipped into his briefs. Scott made a futile, automatic attempt to bring his knees together. Jordan chuckled.
"Nice, baby. I bet you're tight as all hell," he said into Scott's ear. The hand tightened. Scott couldn't keep from wincing. He turned his face to the side so his tormentor couldn't see his reaction. Jordan laughed. "You like that, huh? I'm going to give you the ride of your life, baby."
Scott closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. A sudden noise at the door seemed an answer to his prayers. Jordan released his grasp on Scott and straightened up. "Damn. Perfect timing," he said.
The door opened. Stryker entered the room. Scott felt an odd rush of relief at the sight, though he knew this didn't mean anything good. Stryker raised his eyebrows as he looked at Scott's disarrayed clothing. Scott looked at his face, hoping to find some sign of disapproval at Jordan's actions. He found none. If anything, Stryker looked bemused.
"There's an approach I admit I hadn't thought of, Lieutenant," Stryker said. He looked at Scott speculatively. Scott met his stare, careful not to show any of the distress he had experienced moments earlier. Stryker's lips pulled back in a humorless smile. "But I think we'll leave that for the time being. Right now, we have more immediate matters to attend to."
He set down his metal case on the table and flipped the latches. Once more, he drew out a thick plastic hypodermic needle filled with cloudy yellow fluid. He held it up for Scott's perusal. "Time for round two, boy," he said. "A fresh batch, plus I took the liberty of concentrating it just a smidgen. Let's see if this proves more effective than the last." He nodded to Jordan. "Lieutenant, if you'd be so kind as to hold him still?"
Jordan stood behind Scott once more and grasped a handful of his hair. He jerked Scott's head forward and exposed his neck.
Scott braced himself. Once more, he felt the burning sensation of the acid against his neck. It might have been his over-stimulated imagination, but this batch burned into his flesh with more intensity than the first dose.
He inhaled deeply. He felt the cold sweat again, the nausea. He was just as glad Jordan was keeping his head pushed down; the blood seemed to be rushing away from his head anyway, so it saved him the embarrassment of swooning.
That seemed to be the extent of his physical reaction. For a moment, Scott wondered if he could pretend to be under the serum's power again. Maybe he could lull Stryker into releasing his restraints. Then he remembered Oyama's strange silver eyes. Stryker would know he was faking in an instant.
He might as well take what joy he could in confounding Stryker's plans to corrupt him. "Did it take?" he heard Stryker ask. Jordan jerked Scott's head back.
Scott allowed the faintest hint of a smirk to cross his usually composed features. Stryker examined his eyes, which, Scott presumed, were unchanged. "Afraid not," Scott said blithely. "Better luck next time."
The answering slap across his face didn't surprise him. His ears rang from the blow.
"Damn it all to hell!" Stryker said. "Why doesn't it work on you?"
"Lucky, I guess," Scott replied with a flippancy he wasn't feeling. He had his own suspicions why it didn't work, something linked in with the scar tissue on his brain from injuries sustained in the plane crash that had killed his parents, but there was no need to tell this to Stryker. He should cool it with the smart remarks, but the frustration he'd felt over the past couple of days needed an outlet. He wondered if Stryker would be upset enough to turn him over to Jordan. He quickly squashed that line of thought. His situation was bad enough as it was; no need to let his imagination make it even worse.
Stryker's gaze shifted from Scott to Jordan. With a lurch of his stomach, Scott realized Stryker was considering that very idea. "Perhaps it's time for a change of tactics," he said, almost to himself. "But first..."
He reached into his case again and withdrew another syringe, this one normal-sized, and a little glass bottle. Scott couldn't read the bottle's label from where he sat. Stryker stabbed the needle through the lid of the bottle and sucked the fluid into the syringe.
Stryker stooped down before him and rolled up the sleeve of Scott's shirt. Helpless, Scott could do nothing more than watch. With a practiced air, Stryker rubbed two fingers along Scott's inner arm to bring up the vein, then stabbed in the needle.
Scott didn't bother asking what it was. A sedative of some kind, probably. That was okay; he could use the sleep. He could barely keep his head up. In fact, everything was getting a little blurry.
Yep, a sedative. The rest of his world faded to black.
Stryker checked the pulse of the unconscious prisoner. "He'll be out for at least the next twelve hours," he said. He looked at Jordan. "Care to take him back to his cell, lieutenant?"
"My pleasure," Jordan answered easily. He unbuckled the restraints around Scott's wrists and ankles. While Scott was still in the chair, Jordan took the precaution of manacling his hands in front of his body. The kid was pretty far gone, but there was no sense being careless. He bent at the knees and hoisted Scott over his shoulder. Stryker looked at him, bemused.
"Do you need any help?" he asked.
"No, sir. I can handle him just fine," Jordan said. He patted Scott's back and shifted his grasp to hold him more securely.
Stryker regarded him thoughtfully. "Very well. And, lieutenant?" he said as Jordan strode toward the door.
Jordan turned.
"Try not to make any detours along the way," Stryker said dryly, with a pointed look at the prisoner draped over his shoulder.
Jordan smiled.
Once in the cell, Jordan deposited his burden onto the bunk, then flipped him over onto his back. Scott moaned softly in his sleep, protesting the rough treatment.
"You think that's bad, you ain't seen nothing, baby," Jordan said. He reached down and caressed the bruised cheek, traced his fingertips along the elegant jaw line. "Too pretty for your own good. Going to cause you nothing but problems," he said. He was aware of a growing sensation in his groin that had hung around ever since he first started torturing the young mutant. He looked down at the unconscious body sprawled across the bunk.
Unable to resist, he climbed onto the still figure. Scott made another small noise of protest. Jordan lay flat across Scott's body, his erection pressing into Scott's abdomen.
"Easiest thing in the world to just do you now, baby," he said. "But I'd rather have you awake when I do." He leaned forward and kissed Scott, biting the lower lip, letting his tongue slide into the slack mouth, before reluctantly drawing away. The cell was equipped with a hidden surveillance camera, and while he knew it wasn't monitored all the time - the compound had a lot of cameras, and it was a waste of time and effort to monitor them all - he didn't need to put on a free show for any possible viewers. He straightened his clothes, tucked his shirt tail back into his pants, gave Scott's cheek a final pat, and left the cell.
Scott shifted on the bunk and drifted deeper into unconscious sleep.