Fitting Punishment
by Criss Moody
Date: January 5th, 2001
Disclaimer: Lord Joss owns ‘em.
Distribution: List archives only. Asking will get you nothing but love. Literally.
Summary: Does the punishment always fit the crime?
Pairing: Figure it out for yourself <g>.
Rating: R for vague description of rape, and a bit of other nasty stuff.
Notes: Improv words: Silver, wander, hallow, fitting. I
am not condoning rape as a punishment for any crime. Just wanted that known,
well known, screamed to the heavens. You get the idea. I’m very impressed that
I managed to not mention character names in this story. Not that you will be,
but I am.
Let the punishment fit the crime.
Steal kisses like candy, sticky butterscotch clinging for life to the edges of the mouth, soft, raped red.
Give the gift of self-loathing, wrapped up in whisper soft ties, binding hard, keeping us down.
I wander in the hollow places where no one should go, where no creature can love.
I die in silence, waiting patiently for a last blow, releasing my life into the ground, hot, wet, dark.
My crime births itself in darkest flesh, the moonlight gives no hope to this child, to this creation of hell.
Silver shimmer cascades over my eyes, releases me from darkness just before I lose myself in the comforting end.
His eyes glow gold under the dim streetlight. I focus on them, hoping that he’ll let me go, begging without speaking, please I want death, please I need to go.
I want to wail at the stubborn refusal in his eyes. He won’t release me. He can’t let me go.
My eyelids drift shut, closing out the world. I tense at the feel of his cold hands between my thighs, prying the warm flesh apart. I’m not sure if I’m bleeding anymore, but he presses something into me, hard, as if that will keep in whatever wants to come out.
Suddenly, I’m in air, held in his arms as he dashes through the cemetery, almost flying in his haste. I feel sadness at his desperate need to keep me alive. A wild creature tamed by the mechanisms of man is a great tragedy. Even more tragic, a mangled creature doubly tamed by technology and an unnatural urge to love the tamer.
Flashes of bright light and faces and I float away on a dream of a cloud, bundled up in a soft white gown and crisp sheets. In sleep, I feel the firmness of his hand in mine, still cool, still dead.
The dreams come fast, last night wrapping around my mind, squeezing me. Wandering in the cemetery, stubbornly refusing to admit that I was looking for him without looking for him. Three demons, large, red, slick with blood, like muscle without the skin, behind me, grabbing me, throwing me into a tomb at just the right angle to knock me unconscious.
Wake up, something slimy and thick pressing deep into me, bruising, tearing, breaking.
Didn’t I struggle? Didn’t I use my vaunted strength to get free?
I tried. I failed. Three demons raped me, took turns and delved into my flesh, chuckling in their high-pitched language. Time elapsed, left me half-naked and on the ground with time to think.
Time to know what my life means.
I live, I fight, I die. No in-between, no rest, no real peace. When I love, it kills people. I stop loving, and people run away from me. And now, I just want to go away, to stop hurting, to end.
Just end.
But he won’t let me go, and I awake again to his hand in mine, his brilliant blue eyes fixed on my undoubtedly pale face.
"Good, you’re awake, Slayer." His brusque voice hides the relief I see in his eyes.
"Goodies." I wince at the sound that croaks out of my throat.
He rises for the door, only to turn back and glare at me. I think he may be furious at me, but I’m not sure why.
"Fucking Soldier-Boy ain’t worth it, ya know."
I almost laugh at that, but my chest protests the idea. "What do you mean?"
"You stupid bint. Mr. Straw-and-Corn for brains leaves you and what do you do? You go wandering in the fucking cemetery after bloody midnight for a little pleasure stroll and get yourself messed up by some Miannic demons. Good move, Slayer." His fists punch into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched up near his ears.
"It’s not…"
"It’s not what? Because your latest hunk of meat left you? It’s not because you’re all in a funk ‘cause of your mum? Then what? What the bloody hell made you do something so unbelievably stupid??!!!" His voice rises as he speaks, ending on a near shout. He begins to pace, punching his hand as he goes.
I cough, feeling each and every bruise up and down my body. "Thought you wanted me dead."
He stops, and his eyes hollow into me, and I feel very foolish. "Not like that, not like some stupid human who doesn’t know better than to stay out of cemeteries at night, especially in this town." He walks over to the bed, looming over my tiny frame. "That’s a no-no Slayer. You’re mine, got that? Deny it all you want, luv, but it’s my dance."
I keep my smile inside. I guess…I guess I’m glad he wants to dance. "Ok."
He blinks.
"What the fuck do ya mean, ok? I know you’re all beat up, but aren’t you supposed to get nice and angry with me, show some of that Slayer spark?"
"I mean, ok, if you want to dance, we dance."
Befuddled, he scratches his head, confused by my change of heart.
I continue. "But if you wanted me dead, why take me here?"
He bristles like I said that he was wussier than his Sire and my ex. "I got my reasons, luv. Let you die then, it’s ‘cause of them poncy Miannic demons. Let you live, get you better, we dance."
"Ok."
He growls and flings the door open, his battered leather coat flying out behind him. I stop the laugh before it can hurt. My finger searches for the IV button that will release a sweet silvery stream of pain killer into my blood. As the pain eases, I wonder if this rape is my punishment.
My punishment for loving monsters.