They Will Come
folder
S through Z › Thunderbirds
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
5,249
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Thunderbirds
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
5,249
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
They Will Come
Author's note: This is based on the TV show, rather than the film. It's fairly dark and contains rape, so don't read it if you don't like it.
***
"They will come for me." The soft voice of the slave barely reached his own ears and wasn't enough to disturb the guard who stood outside.
"They will come for me." It was no longer an utterance of hope, but one of desperation. A whispered prayer begging for aid that had so long eluded him.
"They will come for me." It was a last gesture of defiance, breaking the order of silence he had been given. It was proof to himself that he hadn't truly given up, that he hadn't truly surrendered to his captors. He was merely staying alive. Until they came.
"They will come for me. They will come for me." Tears dampened his cheeks as he hugged his knees towards his naked chest, curled up in the corner of his cell, shivering from cold and weakness and the pain that had become his entire existence.
"They will come for me. They will come for me. They will come for me." He didn't even say their names anymore. The past was gone. The person he had been was erased, leaving only this pitiful slave, beaten and broken on the stone floor. All he clung to from the prior existence was this desperate mantra, a plea for mercy from the world that had abandoned him.
"They will come for me."
***
The gnawing hunger growled inside the slave's stomach, as his master teased him with food he could not touch. The slave's eyes followed each morsel of bread his master swallowed, watching the throat as it accepted that glorious substance.
"Are you hungry, my slave?" Master asked
"Yes, master," the voice was a cracked whisper, but the eyes screamed their hunger.
"Beg for me," Master ordered, "beg to taste me."
The hesitation wasn't even long enough for him to repeat in his mind one more time they would come. "Please," he begged, "please let me taste. Let me feel you inside me. Let me know your flavour. Please." The words came instinctively now, the words Master wanted him to say.
He tried not to show his revulsion as he opened his mouth to accept what was shoved in his face. He was kneeling before his master, at once praying to speed what must come and longing to have it put off fer. er. It was only moments before his master came and the salty liquid poured into the slave's mouth. He swallowed it all, taking all his effort not to heave it back up again as soon as the deflating cock withdrew. He took into himself every drop of that foulness, contaminating himself still further with the filth.
Every dirty trace of the waste that had been pumped into him remained, until his pores seeped with sickness. He would never be clean again, never wash away all trace of his master's touch. Even if they came.
***
"Wh I?" I?"
"My master."
"And who are you?"
"Your slave."
"You are mine. You are alive because I wish it. You have only what I give you, pain and joy, suffering and comfort. You are nothing but a tool for my pleasure." His master's fingers ran through the golden hair he was so fond of. Then they tightened, yanking the slave's head back painfully.
"Who is it you believe will come for you?"
"No one." He breathed the answer, admitting to himself and his master the fear that had been growing forever, since he had woken up in his master's bed.
"No one is coming for you. The have abandoned you to me. No one cares for you but me, and I only care so long as you please me." Rough hands left the slave's hair, and shoved him violently to the floor, where he landed in a heap of tangled limbs. "You have not please me."
But the slave didn't feel the physical pain. He felt the emotional anguish that the admission had brought up. No one. No one was coming.
***
The slave's throat was too hoarse to even allow for screaming anymore. His mouth was open but no sound came out except for rasping breaths in the moments when the pain ceased. Master was angry with him for disobeying, for speaking when he shouldn't, for having hope.
His wrists were slick with blood from pulling on the manacles as he thrashed in agony. He could feel the same wetness running down his naked back as the whip cut into already injured flesh. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks as he hung from the chains, leaning against the rough wall, incapable of supporting himself. His limbs shook violently as the whip moved, beginning to strike at his upper legs. His back felt like it was on fire, burning with a heat that couldn't be quenched. The fire was spreading, until his whole body was aflame with the agony.
There was no mantra of hope to run through his mind. No dream of rescue to hold inside himself as a shield against the pain. Nothing but the bleak knowledge of his situation. No one was coming for him. They had abandoned him.
He welcomed the growing darkness as an old friend, and slid gratefully into unconsciousness, the whip still tearing into his skin. The fog gave way faintly to awareness when the sound of gunshots reached the cell. Hope bloomed and flowered in a matter of seconds as the familiar mantra returned to his thoughts.
Barely conscious and still so weak, he tried to turn to see the door as it was blasted off its hinges. The face that greeted him was a stranger's, the uniform not the one he had dreamt of. The flower of hope withered into dust even as his rescuer came over to inspect him.
"Get the paramedics in here," the man called out the door, "This one's in worse shape than the others." The man then turned to the slave and spoke softly, "It's alright. We're going to get you out of here."
But the slave wept. It was the wrong man. The wrong rescuer. They hadn't come. His family hadn't come. Still drifting on the haze of consciousness, the slave let his tears run free at this betrayal, that they would leave his rescue to those to whom he meant nothing. That they didn't care enough to come themselves. They really had abandoned him.
Scott, why didn't you come?
***
Author's note: Please review, I'd like to know how I'm doing.
***
"They will come for me." The soft voice of the slave barely reached his own ears and wasn't enough to disturb the guard who stood outside.
"They will come for me." It was no longer an utterance of hope, but one of desperation. A whispered prayer begging for aid that had so long eluded him.
"They will come for me." It was a last gesture of defiance, breaking the order of silence he had been given. It was proof to himself that he hadn't truly given up, that he hadn't truly surrendered to his captors. He was merely staying alive. Until they came.
"They will come for me. They will come for me." Tears dampened his cheeks as he hugged his knees towards his naked chest, curled up in the corner of his cell, shivering from cold and weakness and the pain that had become his entire existence.
"They will come for me. They will come for me. They will come for me." He didn't even say their names anymore. The past was gone. The person he had been was erased, leaving only this pitiful slave, beaten and broken on the stone floor. All he clung to from the prior existence was this desperate mantra, a plea for mercy from the world that had abandoned him.
"They will come for me."
***
The gnawing hunger growled inside the slave's stomach, as his master teased him with food he could not touch. The slave's eyes followed each morsel of bread his master swallowed, watching the throat as it accepted that glorious substance.
"Are you hungry, my slave?" Master asked
"Yes, master," the voice was a cracked whisper, but the eyes screamed their hunger.
"Beg for me," Master ordered, "beg to taste me."
The hesitation wasn't even long enough for him to repeat in his mind one more time they would come. "Please," he begged, "please let me taste. Let me feel you inside me. Let me know your flavour. Please." The words came instinctively now, the words Master wanted him to say.
He tried not to show his revulsion as he opened his mouth to accept what was shoved in his face. He was kneeling before his master, at once praying to speed what must come and longing to have it put off fer. er. It was only moments before his master came and the salty liquid poured into the slave's mouth. He swallowed it all, taking all his effort not to heave it back up again as soon as the deflating cock withdrew. He took into himself every drop of that foulness, contaminating himself still further with the filth.
Every dirty trace of the waste that had been pumped into him remained, until his pores seeped with sickness. He would never be clean again, never wash away all trace of his master's touch. Even if they came.
***
"Wh I?" I?"
"My master."
"And who are you?"
"Your slave."
"You are mine. You are alive because I wish it. You have only what I give you, pain and joy, suffering and comfort. You are nothing but a tool for my pleasure." His master's fingers ran through the golden hair he was so fond of. Then they tightened, yanking the slave's head back painfully.
"Who is it you believe will come for you?"
"No one." He breathed the answer, admitting to himself and his master the fear that had been growing forever, since he had woken up in his master's bed.
"No one is coming for you. The have abandoned you to me. No one cares for you but me, and I only care so long as you please me." Rough hands left the slave's hair, and shoved him violently to the floor, where he landed in a heap of tangled limbs. "You have not please me."
But the slave didn't feel the physical pain. He felt the emotional anguish that the admission had brought up. No one. No one was coming.
***
The slave's throat was too hoarse to even allow for screaming anymore. His mouth was open but no sound came out except for rasping breaths in the moments when the pain ceased. Master was angry with him for disobeying, for speaking when he shouldn't, for having hope.
His wrists were slick with blood from pulling on the manacles as he thrashed in agony. He could feel the same wetness running down his naked back as the whip cut into already injured flesh. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks as he hung from the chains, leaning against the rough wall, incapable of supporting himself. His limbs shook violently as the whip moved, beginning to strike at his upper legs. His back felt like it was on fire, burning with a heat that couldn't be quenched. The fire was spreading, until his whole body was aflame with the agony.
There was no mantra of hope to run through his mind. No dream of rescue to hold inside himself as a shield against the pain. Nothing but the bleak knowledge of his situation. No one was coming for him. They had abandoned him.
He welcomed the growing darkness as an old friend, and slid gratefully into unconsciousness, the whip still tearing into his skin. The fog gave way faintly to awareness when the sound of gunshots reached the cell. Hope bloomed and flowered in a matter of seconds as the familiar mantra returned to his thoughts.
Barely conscious and still so weak, he tried to turn to see the door as it was blasted off its hinges. The face that greeted him was a stranger's, the uniform not the one he had dreamt of. The flower of hope withered into dust even as his rescuer came over to inspect him.
"Get the paramedics in here," the man called out the door, "This one's in worse shape than the others." The man then turned to the slave and spoke softly, "It's alright. We're going to get you out of here."
But the slave wept. It was the wrong man. The wrong rescuer. They hadn't come. His family hadn't come. Still drifting on the haze of consciousness, the slave let his tears run free at this betrayal, that they would leave his rescue to those to whom he meant nothing. That they didn't care enough to come themselves. They really had abandoned him.
Scott, why didn't you come?
***
Author's note: Please review, I'd like to know how I'm doing.