Haunting Memories I wake, noticing the daylight seeping around the edges of the heavy drapes on the window, however it�s not the light that has awakened me. It�s you Methos, whimpering, almost crying. You�re not awake, you�re dreaming again, only this time you�re lost in a nightmare. You�re already in my arms and I pull you closer, kissing your cheekbones and forehead, but you don�t feel it and you don�t stop whimpering. I try to enter your dream as I did before but you�re blocking me, you don�t want me in this dream, you don�t want me to know what has you in this emotional state. I can feel it, the fear, the pain, and the pleasure. I must know what has you in its grip and I close my eyes and push harder, forcing my way into your nightmare. It�s just after sunset, there are torches flickering and the tents are ruffled by the last hot wind. I can smell the leftover baked-in heat of the day, but soon it will be cold with the sudden chill of night in the desert. I�m standing outside one of the tents, the side toward me is rolled up and I can see inside clearly. I see you and the sight tears at my heart. You�re naked, your skin glistening with the sweat of incredible strain, spread-eagled, stretched out in midair, suspended by the ropes binding your wrists and ankles, held up by the tension between your body and the ropes tied to poles driven deep into the sand. The wind shifts, I can smell blood and I realize that it�s your blood; the sand beneath you is dark and soaked with it. You�re tossing your head from side to side and your long, straight hair is almost brushing the sand. This is too real for a dream; this is a memory, and one that haunts you. You open your eyes, you see me and you turn your head away. You don�t want me to see you like this; you don�t want me to see what�s going to happen next. I�m sorry Methos, but I have to know. A figure steps out of the shadows of the tent. Kronos. I knew it would be you. He�s carrying a heavy wooden staff, worn smooth and rounded at one end. He speaks to you. I�m too far away to hear what he�s saying, but close enough to hear the sickening crack as he brings the staff down hard on your knee. I would stop this, stop whatever horror Kronos is going to inflict on you, but I can�t move, I can�t save you, I can only watch, as helpless as you are to stop this torture. He speaks to you again, this time I hear him, his voice is louder and he is saying, �You will belong to me. Either you will give yourself to me or I will take you, then kill you, and you will always be with me.� He hits you yet again on the other knee, he beats you viciously, breaking bones, turning your ivory skin dark with blood and bruises, then he waits for you to heal so he can torture you again. How do you keep from screaming? I feel only an echo of your suffering and it�s driven me to my knees, moaning softly. You�ve bitten into your lips hard enough to make them bleed in your effort not to make a sound. Kronos uses the staff in a new torment, positioning it between your legs, then forcing into it deep inside you. He finally succeeds in wrenching a scream from you and it pleases him. You�re struggling but you can�t get away from the sadistic invasion, all you can do is jerk futilely against the ropes that hold you. He drives the staff deeper inside you and you stop struggling. You�ve lost consciousness from the pain. Kronos pulls a knife from his belt and cuts the ropes that bind you, then he lifts you from the bloody sand and lays you down on a soft pallet. He takes wet cloths from a bowl and washes the blood from your battered body. You regain consciousness slowly as he begins to massage your legs, easing the pain of the cramped muscles, moving to your arms and shoulders, the agony subsiding wherever he touches you, the pain dissolving into pleasure. You�re still too cramped to move, he rolls you over onto your stomach, his hands caressing your back and buttocks, then he throws off his robes and naked he moves behind you. He pulls you to your knees, opens your thighs, and enters you. I can feel your pleasure as he strokes himself inside you, he�s practiced, knowing, and he moves in the way that gives you the most intense sensation. I can feel your rapture and your revulsion, and most of all your disgust with yourself for feeling such ecstasy from this violation. It isn�t your fault, your body�s response is only a matter of stimulated nerve endings, but you feel as if your own body is betraying you, and it�s made much worse by my being here to witness the betrayal. I close my eyes so I can see no more of this, and I try to send you all the love I feel for you, to let you know that none of this matters, that I love you even more now I know how much you have been hurt, now I know how Kronos twisted you and bound you to him. How many times did he do this to you, give you the pleasure after the pain? Only after he leaves you do you allow yourself to cry. You wake, crying in my arms. I can feel the desperate need in you as you clutch me tightly and say, �Please Duncan, take me. Fuck me so hard you erase that memory, fuck me so hard I can think of nothing else but you.� You roll on your side and I do what you ask, entering you from behind slowly. I can feel that you need me to be rough, even violent, and I start moving inside you fast and deep. You beg me in words I don�t know, but I can feel what you mean and I know what you need, you need me to fuck you even harder. I turn you on your back for better leverage, lifting your legs, my arms braced on either side of you, I�m pounding into you so fiercely I�m hurting myself but I can�t stop, the pain is blending into pleasure and you�re begging me for still more. I can feel what you feel, the agonizing rapture, and I finally, truly understand. I need to hurt you as much as you want me to hurt you, I can feel your pleasure in the pain, and I can feel my pleasure in the pain, both the giving and receiving. I hammer into you so violently I feel something inside you snap and break, followed by a hot liquid sensation, and I realize that I�ve torn you deep inside. You�re bleeding internally but I can�t stop, and you don�t want me to stop, the pain and pleasure reaching a crescendo. You�re moaning my name and coming, coming so intensely, and I can feel it, feel it with you, coming with you, oh God now I know, now I know what you feel, why you need this, why you need the pain. The overwhelming sensation, the combination of ecstasy and agony is fading suddenly, then gone, and I become conscious of the fact that your legs are heavy and limp on my arms and you�re still beneath me, your eyes closed, your mouth open, but you�re not breathing. I�ve killed you. Will this be enough to erase the memory of what Kronos did to you? I pull out of your body and the blood begins to pour out of you, so I grab the bathrobe to staunch the flood before the bed is drenched. I take you in my arms and carry you into the bathroom, lay you gently in the tub, and take the blood-soaked robe from between your legs, dropping it at your feet. You are so pale Methos, almost as white as the porcelain, almost as translucent as the semen splashed on your stomach, and the blood streaking your thighs is so red against your skin. I turn on the water and let the warm downpour wash the blood away, leaving it running until the bleeding finally stops, until you�re clean and unmarked by what I have done to you. Your blood is on me and I wash it away, then I dry you, glad I asked for so many extra towels. I carry your limp body back to the bed, cover you and lie next to you, holding you in my arms, keeping you warm. You�ll come back faster if I keep you warm. I want you back. I want to know that you love me, that I didn�t go too far, that you wanted me to go that far. Why am I crying? I have to ask myself why; I�m so filled with conflicting emotions twisting inside me that I don�t quite know why. Or do I really know and I don�t want to admit it? I felt pleasure in hurting you, I even felt pleasure in my own pain and it�s shocked and scared me and I can�t stop crying. I come back, immediately aware that I�m in your arms and you�re crying softly, with that slow hitch that means you�ve been crying for a long time. I know what�s troubling you, I felt it, your pleasure in hurting me, your pleasure in the pain, mine and your own, and it�s frightened you. Have I finally pushed you too far? You can feel me alive, breathing, you look at me, your dark eyes filled with tears and grief, and you surprise me by asking, �Do you still love me?� I answer you with the only truth I know. �I love you with everything I am, everything I have ever been, and everything I ever will be for all time.� You�re still crying, and I realize that I have to prove it to you, that I still love you, that I love you more than ever. I kiss you, first your tear-wet face, then down your throat to your chest, but you don�t stop. I think I know what you need to hear and I tell you, �It�s all right Duncan, I won�t ask you to do that again, not if it�s going to make you feel like this. You can make love to me however you want, gentle, rough, whatever makes you happy, whatever gives you pleasure,� but you�re sobbing now, harder than before, and now I know what�s really hurting you. �It�s all right Duncan, it�s all right that you liked it, it�s all right that you found pleasure in hurting me.� That�s it, that makes you sob so hard you�re almost howling, and you turn away from me to hide your face in the pillow. Oh Duncan, what have I done to you? Have I dragged a hidden part of yourself into the light and you can�t bear to look at it? I know how that feels, I know how hard it is to face things about yourself you can�t stand to even think of. Or is it all my fault, have you only responded to my need to be hurt? I kiss your back, murmuring, �Stop crying, Duncan, I love you, it�s all right, stop crying.� I can�t bear the pain I feel from you. I turn you over and try to look into your eyes, but you won�t open them. I say, �Please stop crying, it�s all right, I love you. You didn�t hurt me more that I wanted you to. It�s all right that you liked it. Would you enjoy giving me pain if I didn�t want you to?� That makes you think, and your sobbing eases. I know my tender, dark warrior. �I know you would never hurt me if I didn�t want it. You see, it�s not you, it�s me, you felt it because I felt it, because you can feel what I feel. You love me enough to get carried away by my need for pain. I�m sorry, I'm so sorry.� I hold your face between my hands and kiss you. I will show you how tender I can be, taking your lips with mine, kissing you more deeply, probing your mouth with my tongue, catching your sobs in my mouth. My fingers are stroking your chest, feeling your soft hair, turning your nipples into hard little nubs, then I release your mouth so mine can follow my fingers down, first to your sensitive nipples, sucking them gently while my hands slip down, sliding lower into thicker hair, then my mouth finds that part of your body you used to cause me such pain and joy. I take it in and feel it respond. You roll on your back and open your thighs to me. I move between them, taking you cock in my mouth again, and your sobs blend into soft moans of pleasure. Yes, that�s my sensual lover, unable to resist my touch, helpless to fight the sensation. My hands are caressing you, my fingers barely skimming the insides of your thighs, and I feel the slight flutter of the muscles under your skin. I cup your soft sac in my left hand, holding the heavy weight of your testes, caressing the furred skin, feeling it contract and pull them closer to your body. My right hand seeks the warmth lower down, my thumb rubbing your perineum, my fingers deep in the crevice between your relaxed buttocks. I find the exquisitely sensitive entrance and brush against it, and you jump at the contact. My fingertips stroke you gently, rhythmically, and you moan deep in your throat, the sound going through me like a flash flood of living flame. My mouth is filled with you, my hands are filled with you, my heart is filled with you. You�re arching, thrusting, moving to the rhythm of your need, your fingers locked in my hair, but I�m feeling something from you, something I don�t want to recognize. I ignore it, hoping I�m wrong or that it will stop, but it doesn�t, and you finally have to voice what it is you want from me. You say words I never wanted to hear from you, never in any lifetime. �Methos, hurt me. I want you to hurt me.� Oh no, not that. Please not that. You feel my reluctance and stop moving, pulling my head away from you by my hair, looking at me with dark, strange eyes, saying in a rough voice, �I need you to, I need to know.� �You need to know what? Why? You won�t like it; you only liked it because of me. You don�t crave pain as I do. You�ve haven�t been warped as I�ve been, unless it�s me that has warped you, and if I have I�ll never forgive myself.� You won�t change your mind. I feel the irony of the situation, now I am where you have been, loving you, not wanting to cause you pain, you wanting the pain, even if only to prove to yourself that you don�t find pleasure in it. I take my fingers, fingers that have been caressing you, and ram them inside you. You flinch and cry out, a half-strangled scream. The pain makes you almost sick, you recoil from it, repulsed, and I ease out of you, gentling the shock by kissing you thigh, thanking everything that has ever been holy that you didn�t feel any pleasure. I take your cock in my mouth again, moving slowly, sliding one finger back into you gently, moving to an unhurried rhythm until you can bear more, need more, want more. I find the most sensitive spot inside you, stroking it, and you thrust up to me, whimpering, moaning. I can feel you reaching the height of pleasure, coming, trying to cry out my name, your voice caught on the first syllable, saying, �Me�e�e,� as you quiver, then you can only make wordless sounds as you�re falling, lost in ecstasy. Oh Duncan, oh I love you� ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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