Title: Like Fire And Rain
Author: Indigo Night
Feedback: Yes please
Summary: Serial killers don't just stop killing. Except, Derek Morgan did.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or the characters.
Disclaimer 2: Clearly, this is an abusive, unhealthy, distructive relationship. This is not how S&M relationships are supposed to be.
Spoilers: Potentially for Profiler, Profiled
Pairing: Spencer Reid/Derek Morgan
Warnings: AU, extremely dark, implied rape and tortured, character death, abuse, implied drug and alcohol abuse, slash, masochism, sadism, etc.
Author's Note: I'm sorry to say, my dear readers, that you probably shouldn't be holding your breath for updates on this. That isn't to say there won't be any, I certainly intend to keep writing as I can, however I am naturally a very slow writer, and this story isn't exactly easy to write. It sort of requires a specific mood. So while there certainly will be updates, they may be far between. That being said, this chapter contains slightly more detailed torture, as well as Morgan and Reid's budding relationship. Also, a few not so nice words. You are warned. Read, Review,
ENJOY!
He watches the boy like a lion watches a gazelle, eyes tracking every movement down to every twitch and blink.
He watches the boy sit, order a drink but only take a few sips; watches him share a few clipped words with the stuffed deer head on the wall; watches him pull a book out of his bag and flip through it at a rate he couldn't possibly be reading; eventually watches him get up and leave.
He gets up and follows the boy, stealthy and silent like the predator he is. He watches the boy heading for the subway and hurries to cut him off.
When he appears as though a gathering of shadows the boy jumps, but doesn't look scared. He stares at Morgan with big hazel eyes that could belong to a baby of just about any species that is soft and fluffy and prey.
He doesn't have to work at all to convince the boy to come with him, the boy is almost eager to go. He nods and smiles shyly and follows him, complacent as can be.
He wasn't planning on a hunt in this town, so his work place isn't set up; his gear is packed up neatly under the false bottom in his trunk. But that's okay, because he's had so much practice he has no trouble improvising.
He spots the perfect place a mile away. Abandoned, isolated, with a large basement. He pulls in and the boy follows him in, looking around like this is all some vaguely interesting school fieldtrip.
When Morgan grabs him from behind, ties him up, and cuts away his clothes, the boy looks faintly surprised, but doesn't resist.
Part of Morgan knows this is just… off. His other victims struggled and screamed, he had to knock most of them unconscious to get them in the car with him. This boy is unlike anyone he's ever met, but instead of being put off, he's intrigued.
(((((Murderer)))))
It's been almost six hours. The boy's naked body is covered in sweat and blood and it just looks oh so delicious.
Weeping red welts turn his pale body into a grid work of torment. He's crying, but he's also rock hard.
Morgan struggles with himself. He's broken his pattern, lingered too long, cut too many times. He knows he needs to move on to the next step in his cycle. And yet…
Reluctantly he puts down the whip and picks up his favorite knife.
(((((Murderer)))))
It's been eleven hours. The boy's chest rises and falls in quick, successive shutters and gasps. His eyes are closed, teeth biting into his delicate lower lip. His hair halos his head in a mass of unruly tangles. And there's just something about him, the way the light reflects of his skin, the rosy flush of life that decorates his unnaturally pale cheeks that lends him an ethereal quality.
The word 'whore' now decorates his left buttock; 'slut' his right bicep; 'cunt' the oh so soft skin of his inner thigh.
Watching him tremble through the pain, something alien stirs inside of Morgan. Something… something almost… human.
(((((Murderer)))))
By the end of the nineteenth hour, the boy lies limp in his arms. And yet he still breathes.
His feathery eyelashes flutter restlessly, as the darkness of unconsciousness beckons him, but he resists it. His blood-slicked back is pressed against Morgan's chest, Morgan's arms securely around his waist, holding him up.
His head falls back weakly, too heavy for his neck to hold any long, and lands on Morgan's should.
Inwardly, Morgan is lost somewhere between confusion and relief. Why is this boy still breathing?
The boy's eyes open, they're hazy and glazed over, but they focus on Morgan, and the smallest, most delicate of smiles graces his bleeding lips.
"Don't leave me alone," he whispers, his voice soft and roughed by the screaming. He summons just enough strength to lightly kiss Morgan's shoulder. "Stay with me."