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fredbassettTitle : The Darkest Places in Hell
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 18
Characters : Tom/Alex, Yassen, OC.
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Warnings : Rape, non/con
Summary : When Alex disappears, as he often does, Tom tries not to worry, but this time is different. This time Alex comes home, unconscious, in the arms of a total stranger.
A/N Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fififolle’s ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial Gift Box
Tom prided himself on not panicking whenever Alex disappeared – as he often did – without warning.
But when Mrs Jones of MIfucking6 turned up on his doorstep enquiring about Alex’s whereabouts, it was really sodding hard not to panic.
She smiled an insincere smile she’d probably nicked off an alligator in Regent’s Park Zoo and told him that there was nothing to worry about.
Which naturally sent Tom’s anxiety levels off the scale and begged the question why she’d turned up in the first place.
Five days later he was still pacing the house like a caged animal, not wanting to leave in case Alex arrived home and needed him. He shopped online, ate too much junk food and resolutely stayed off the booze. He made sure his phone was charged and on him all the time. He checked his emails every half hour … who was he fucking trying to kid? He checked them constantly. Same as he did text and WhatsApp.
He slept fitfully, unable to lose the nagging sense of dread that this time something really bad had happened and Alex wouldn’t be coming home. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.
Another day passed in a haze of scouring the internet for anything, anything at all that might give him a clue as to Alex’s whereabouts. A mysterious explosion at a car plant in Nuremburg was a possibility, as was a fire in an exclusive resort in Dubai, but he could hardly start jetting around the world examining the site of any smoking ruin he heard about, so at 2am, Tom downed the last of his Coke Zero and headed off to bed.
Halfway up the stairs, the soft click of the front door lock opening sent a jolt of nervous energy through him with the force of a lightning bolt.
“Alex?” He hadn’t used their special knock, but if it was a random burglar, they were going to get a nasty surprise. Tom was in no fucking mood to take shit from anyone. He jumped the last four steps, landing lightly on his feet as the door was kicked shut by a man dressed in a black hooded jacket and dark jeans.
To be precise, a man dressed in a black hooded jacket and dark jeans carrying a clearly unconscious Alex Rider.
“Alex!”
“He’s alive,” the man said calmly. “Drugged.”
“We need to get him to hospital!”
“He wouldn’t thank you for that, Tom Harris. You know he hates hospitals.”
“Get him upstairs?” Tom said, not questioning how the man knew his name. If he knew where Alex lived, then the chances are he’d know who Tom was. “Get him onto the bed. Can you manage?” The man’s face was pale and Tom could see a light sheen of sweat on his forehead as he swayed almost imperceptibly. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Answering in order: yes, upstairs; yes, I can manage; and yes, I’m a friend. Satisfied?”
“Not even remotely, mate, but the rest’ll wait.”
As the man carried Alex past him up the stairs, Tom got a better look at him. Late 30s, maybe younger. Short blond hair a couple of shades lighter than Alex’s but with darker stubble showing around his jaw. Long eyelashes framed eyes as pale as tumbled blue sea glass and about as expressive. Lips drawn together in a hard line. One of Alex’s fucking spy friends. MI6? Seemed unlikely, but what did Tom know about that side of Alex’s life? Not fucking much. It wasn’t as if he got invited to office parties as a plus one.
The man lowered Alex carefully onto the bed and stepped back, his jacket falling open to give Tom the barest glimpse of a shoulder holster and a spreading bloodstain.
“Bloody fucking spies …” Tom muttered, dropping to his knees by the bed and grabbling Alex’s hand. His skin felt cool, but his pulse seemed strong. Tom tried to count the beats then gave up when he realised he had no idea what a normal pulse rate was meant to be. “Alex …”
The man pulled a mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and quickly typed in a number. It was answered almost immediately, and he promptly rattled off their address, adding, “Gunshot wound to my side. Needs cleaning and sorting. Bring a rape kit and tox screen kit. No, not for me.” He ended the call and waved a hand at the en suite bathroom. “Do you mind if I ruin one of your towels?”
Tom’s eyes had widened, and he had to stop himself crushing Alex’s fingers in his hand. “Rape kit?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He nodded again to the bathroom and raised his eyebrows.
Tom snapped out of his mental fog. “Yeah, what else do you need?”
“Alcohol.”
“For your wound?”
“No, for you to drink. Boil a kettle. Make some hot sweet tea and add a large whisky to it. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll watch over Alex. I doubt he’ll wake for a while.”
Tom stared at Alex’s pale, still face, taking in the thin laughter lines at the corners of his eyes, the long dark eyelashes, the messy hair, the lips that he just wanted to kiss … Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s cool forehead. “Back in a minute, mate, I promise.”
The other man was right, Tom could feel the tremors starting, and he knew needed a hot drink with lots of sugar. Alex always swore by it as a sovereign remedy for shock, and it had certainly been a fucking shock seeing his unconscious boyfriend being carried into the house by a total stranger. A total stranger who was now pressing one of the bathroom towels against his side. At least he’d chosen the dark grey one.
“Do you …”
“No. Make that drink, Tom, and then boil another kettle. There’s a medic on his way. Coffee, black, one sugar for him.”
“Are you trying to keep me occupied? Like they do with fathers at a home birth?”
“I have just called out a medical professional in the middle of the night. It is only polite to offer coffee.”
Tom was back up the stairs as quick as humanly possible, carrying a tray laden with a large cafetière of decent coffee, a mug of sweet tea for himself, a sugar bowl, two more mugs, several spoons and a bottle of mediocre whisky.
A series of knocks on the front door reminded him of the coded entry sequence he and Alex used to identify themselves.
The man nodded. “It is safe to let him in, He’ll be alone. Late 20s, Indian, dark hair, short beard.”
Tom took the stairs two at a time and yanked the door open. The man was exactly as described, dressed casually in an open-necked shirt, a scruffy sweater and a pair of jeans. He smiled at Tom. “Where’re the patients?”
“Bedroom, top of the stairs. I’m Tom.”
The man nodded but didn’t volunteer his name. He did smile appreciatively at the coffee, though and took the mug Tom offered him.
“Names,” Tom demanded. “You’re in our house. I want names, even if they’re false. Cough ‘em up, the pair of you.”
“Aarav,” the medic said. “You can call me Rav.”
The blond man hesitated then sighed. “Yassen.”
Tom’s hand shook as he poured a large whisky into his tea. “The assassin.”
“Former assassin.”
Rav opened a large medical bag and started to check Alex over. “What’s he been given?”
“Rohypnol.”
“For how long?”
“He’s been missing a week,” Tom blurted. “Has he been …?”
“I don’t know,” Yassen said. “He was dressed as you see him now when I found him. But there were … cameras set up in the room.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a USB stick. “I took this. There was no time to check further. I had a minor altercation with some hired muscle and left.”
Rav glanced at Yassen. “Just hired muscle?
“Lucky shot. I had my hands full at the time.”
“Let’s get you sorted first. His breathing and heartrate are steady. He’s in no immediate danger.”
Yassen slipped off his jacket, set the shoulder holster within easy reach and pulled the bloodstained black teeshirt over his head to reveal the toned, smoothly muscled torso of a man who took his physical health and fitness very seriously. His chest was marred by a puckered scar just above his heart, almost the twin to the one Alex carried, and a bullet had carved a new bloody furrow across his left side.
Rav quickly cleaned the wound, checked for any fibres driven into the torn flesh, then covered the injury with a large dressing. “You’ll live.”
“I thought I might, but nice to have it confirmed by a qualified health professional.”
Rav casually flipped him the finger, finished the coffee and poured himself some more. To Tom he said, “Do I have your permission to examine Alex?”
“How do you know his name?” Tom demanded. “I didn’t tell you and nor did –” He waved a hand at Yassen.
“MI6 lose their golden boy. Gregorovich calls me out in the middle of the night to a house in Chelsea. Male, early 20s. Blond hair. Doesn’t take a MENSA candidate to work it out. Now do I have your permission to examine him.”
“He made Lasting Powers of Attorney appointing me and Jack. Medical and financial. Said he didn’t trust M16 as far as he could throw them.”
Yassen Gregorovich looked at him with something close to approval in his cold blue eyes. “Good. Now all you need to do is persuade him to go to university and stay away from them.”
“Yas, save the careers talk for when he wakes up. Tom, consent, please …”
Tom nodded. “Do what you need to do, but I’m staying.”
Rav glanced at Yassen and back to Tom and raised his eyebrows.
“He can stay if he wants,” Tom snapped. “He brought Alex here and I want to know what he knows.”
“Bring me a clean towel, please.”
Rav carefully drew the loose sweatshirt over Alex’s head, then placed the towel Tom handed him over Alex’s stomach and thighs before he drew down the sweatpants. Alex wore no underwear.
The medic checked Alex’s chest and arms. “He’s been put on a drip at some point. There’s evidence that a cannula has been inserted. That’s probably how he’s been kept hydrated.” He lifted the towel to examine Alex’s groin while Yassen looked away, then carefully rolled Alex onto his side in the recovery position while he examined Alex’s back and buttocks. There were no obvious injuries. Tom felt hope flare in his chest … maybe … maybe nothing had happened.
Rav gently spread Alex’s arse cheeks. “Is Alex sexually active with men?”
Tom nodded, hope draining out of him like someone had just pulled the plug on his emotions.
“With you?”
Tom nodded again.
“When did you last have anal sex with him?”
“The night before he went missing.”
“That would be six days ago,” Yassen supplied, holding the mug of tea out to Tom. “Drink this.”
Tom gripped the mug, his teeth chattering on the rim, and gulped the hot, sweet, blessedly alcoholic tea.
“Then I’m sorry to tell you he’s been raped. His anus is swollen and there is evidence of a lubricant having been used.” Rav’s voice was coolly professional, but Tom could see the sympathy in the medic’s dark eyes. “Yas, find out what’s on that memory stick. I’ll take swabs so I can run some tests back at the clinic.”
“There’s a laptop in the kitchen. The password is Ratfink1984!” Tom told Yassen as Rav pulled on a pair of thin medical gloves and proceeded to carefully swab Alex’s body, inside and out, putting each swab in a container and labelling then in neat handwriting. “How bad is it?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.
“He’s been raped repeatedly, but there is no tearing or obvious damage other than the swelling and some bruising. Lubricant has been used. I don’t think whoever it was used a condom, but I won’t know for sure until I run the swabs back at the clinic. I will check for sexually transmitted diseases.” Rav took a tube from his bag and squeezed some gel onto his fingers and massaged it gently into and around Alex’s abused hole. “This will help with swelling and will ease the pain when he wakes up.”
Tom took another gulp of tea. “I want whoever did this dead. I don’t fucking care how much it costs.” He surprised himself with how calmly the words came out. He took another gulp of tea and realised he’d meant every word. “And I want it to hurt. A lot.”
“You’ll probably find Yas will do this one pro bono.”
Rav turned Alex onto his back again, changed his gloves and proceeded to take swabs from the inside of Alex’s mouth and then he lifted the towel to examine Alex’s genitals, gently retracting his foreskin and checking the pink head. Tom wasn’t sure, but he thought Alex’s slit looked swollen and redder than usual. “Pass me another swab, please, Tom.”
Tom’s hand shook as he handed over the swab and watched as Rav very gently inserted the tip into Alex’s slit and then wiped another around under his foreskin before proceeding to examine his balls.
“What … what else has the bastard done to him?”
“Alex may have had objects inserted into his urethra. There is some evidence of lubricant there as well as more swelling. He’ll need antibiotics as there’s a high chance of a bladder infection in these circumstances. Remember that if you ever try sounding for fun.”
Tom’s hands shook on the mug. “Never been our idea of a good time, mate.”
Rav was looking at him with open sympathy now. “Finish that tea, Tom. If it’s any consolation, Alex is unlikely to remember any of it if he’s been kept on a benzodiazepine while he’s been held wherever he was.”
“Everything was captured on camera,” Yassen said from the doorway. “If you’ll excuse me, I have someone I need to kill, and I know exactly where to find him.”
Rav shot him an exasperated look. “Yas, for fuck’s sake wait until tomorrow. You need some rest.”
“Make it hurt!” Tom said, desperation cracking his voice. “Please, make the bastard regret it.”
“Consider it done. Rav, stay with Alex. I’ll pay double your usual fee.”
“I don’t charge for rape victims.”
“Then double my invoice for the gunshot wound. I’ll be no more than two hours. Will he wake up before I get back?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Tom, let’s get Alex into some of his own sleepwear and into bed.”
Dressing an unconscious Alex was a lot harder than undressing him, but with Rav’s help Tom soon had Alex in bed wearing a pair of soft brushed cotton pyjamas decorated with cartoon sloths (a present from Jack) and a plain grey faded teeshirt. Tom tucked the duvet around his chest and settled down next to him on the bed, holding his hand, trying to keep his emotions in check but failing, badly.
“I can give you something to take the edge off the anxiety,” Rav offered.
Tom shook his head. “No way. I don’t do drugs.”
“Just a mild anti-anxiety tablet.”
“No, thanks.”
Rav didn’t press the point. He simply tidied away his medical stuff, made some more tea and coffee then settled down in the bedroom armchair, occasionally checking his phone, and sometimes checking Alex’s pulse.
“So what are you?” Tom blurted out, the silence crawling over his nerves like ants. “Some sort of underworld medic?”
“Something like that,” Rav acknowledged. “I run a private clinic.”
“And Yassen Gregorovich has you on speed dial?”
“Yas never outs numbers in his phones. The one he used to ring me with will already be in pieces in a drain somewhere.”
Tom groaned. “I fucking hate spy stuff.”
Rav nodded sympathetically.
Tom decided silence was probably preferable to a game of 20 questions on the murkier aspects of the criminal underworld.
An hour later, almost to the minute, he felt Alex’s fingers twitch in his hand.
“Alex? Can you hear me? You’re OK, you’re at home, mate.”
Alex’s eyelashes fluttered open and a pair of confused brown eyes stared up at Tom. “What … what the fuck happened? I was …” His voice sounded thick, as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. His eyebrows drew together, worry lines replacing the laughter lines. “I can’t remember where I was …”
“You were kidnapped,” Tom said quickly. “Whoever it was had you for a week. MI6 said they had no idea where you were. Yas …” he stuttered over the name, not knowing how Alex would take the news of who’d found him, “… Yassen Gregorovich got you out and brought you here. He got shot. Dr Rav patched him up and he’s checked you over.” Tom waved a hand at the medic who moved around into Alex’s field of vision.
“You’ve been drugged with a benzodiazepine, Alex,” Rav said. “You’ll feel tired and confused. I suspect you’ve been kept drugged for most of the week. You’ve been given IV fluids and possibly had the drug administered the same way. I’ll give you a drink of water to moisten your mouth then the best thing for you is sleep.”
Alex tried to blink away the confusion and just ended up looking like a myopic, irritable owl. “Where’s Yassen?”
“Killing whoever did this to you.”
Tom let out a strangled squawk.
“He’s meant to have retired,” Alex muttered irritably then promptly fell asleep, still holding Tom’s hand.
Tom pressed a light kiss to Alex’s forehead. “We’re definitely going to talk about retirement when you wake up.” He sighed and looked over at Rav, who’d settled back into the armchair. “What the fuck does it say about his life that he gets better back up from a retired assassin than he does from his employers?”
“That it’s time for a change of direction.”
****
Alex accepted the mug of tea that Tom held out to him then dug into the pile of bacon butties that Yassen had just set on the breakfast bar along with a grilled mushroom and tomato bap for Rav.
He’d woken up at 6am desperate for a pee. Staggering the short distance to the en suite bathroom had left him feeling as weak as a kitten and the stream of piss had left him with an uncomfortable, burning sensation in his cock. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but his stomach had developed other ideas and the hollow feeling was making him nauseous.
The contents of the fridge wouldn’t have won any good housekeeping awards, so Yassen had gone hunting and gathering in the nearest Tesco Express while Alex tried – and failed – to reconstruct his shattered memories. The last thing he remembered was a discussion with Mrs Jones about a possible mission in Panama. His heavily encrypted work diary told him that had taken place two hours before his disappearance.
As far as they’d been able to work out, Alex had been snatched from a small park by the river near Whitehall. The good citizens of London appeared not to have noticed the abduction, or if they had, no one had been public spirited enough to phone it in to the Met.
“How did you find out I was missing?” Alex demanded, addressing the question to Yassen.
“The underworld leaks like a rusty bucket. The few enquiries your employers did bother to make didn’t go unnoticed in certain quarters.”
“So how did you find me when they couldn’t?”
“I was prepared to offer a reward of one million pounds for information leading to your safe return, they weren’t.”
Alex almost choked on a mouthful of tea. When he stopped coughing, he spluttered, “Do MI6 know I’m home?”
“No, but I imagine they will sometime later this morning. I may have …” Yassen hesitated a moment then finished, “… sent something of a message with the body of your abductor.”
“I’ve told you before not to play with your food.” Alex shot the former contract killer an irritable look.
Yassen looked genuinely affronted. “No you haven’t. There has been no cause for you to do so.”
“I’m not going to like what you’ve done, am I?”
Yassen pushed a small USB stick across the breakfast bar. “That depends on whether you intend to watch the film your abductor took of his activities with you.”
“Yas, for fuck’s sake!” Rav exclaimed. “That is not how you handle a victim debrief.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “You can all stop dancing around the subject. My arse feels like it’s gone ten rounds with a randy silverback gorilla and lost every one of them. I can join the fucking dots even if I can’t remember a bloody thing.”
The young doctor shot Yassen a quelling look, then turned careful, dark eyes on him. “You can deal with this when you feel ready, Alex. I can recommend an excellent therapist.”
“More than fucking MI6’ve ever done,” Tom muttered angrily. His boyfriend looked at Yassen wide-eyed. “Did you really spring for a million quid for Alex?”
“To be precise, my informant asked for a transfer of £250,000 only and directed me to send the remainder to a series of charities. I made the payments two hours ago.”
“Bloody fucking hell!” Tom let out a long, shaky breath.
Alex reached out and took Tom’s hand, then dredged up a rueful smile for Yassen. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Not so sure about the murder, though.”
“I am.” Tom squeezed Alex’s hand. “Thanks, Yassen. You might be a murdering bastard, but you’re our murdering bastard. I’m sure Alex will send a thank you card when he remembers his manners.”
Yassen’s lips twitched into a surprised half-smile.
Alex picked up the memory stick. “I refuse to go through life with a gap in my memories.” He looked at Yassen and asked the question that had been on his mind from the moment the Russian had produced the memory stick. “How much have you seen?”
“No more than five minutes. Enough to be totally sure I had correctly identified your attacker. I ran through some of the files on fast forward.”
“I’m going to take this upstairs with my laptop. Rav, will you leave a business card or a phone number in case I want to take up your offer?”
The young doctor nodded. “I’ll run the rape swabs and the tox screen and get back to you. In the meantime, take paracetamol not codeine, take the nitrofurantoin, use the pain relief gel and drink plenty of water. Eat small amounts of food regularly. Get plenty of sleep. Got that?”
“Got that,” Alex said. He definitely liked Yassen’s choice of medical professional.
Rav glanced at Yassen. “I’ve left pain relief and antibiotics for you, too. And get some fucking rest, Yas, OK?”
“What haven’t I been told?” Alex’s eyes widened and as he wound back the past half hour in his head, he wondered how he’d managed to miss the fact that Yassen’s movements had lacked some of their usual grace. “Are you injured?”
“A bullet creased my side,” Yassen said simply at the same moment Tom announced, “He got shot getting you out, mate.”
“I told you not to make a fucking habit of that,” Alex said, not bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “You stay here. Tom, keep an eye on him. He won’t admit it, but he likes crappy old sci fi shows. You two can bond over eps of UFO or something.” He held his hand out to Rav. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. And at some stage, I’d be interested to know what a proper victim debrief is meant to be like.”
Rav smiled. “Buy me a beer sometime and I’ll tell you.”
“Oi, he’s taken,” Tom said, good-naturedly.
“So’s he,” Yassen murmured.
For once, Alex was so surprised he failed to come up with a smart comment.
****
Alex settled down on the bed on top of the duvet, but with his favourite snuggle blanket wrapped around him and another mug of tea next to him on the bedside table.
He’d been raped. He was entitled to a blanky.
In the interests of accuracy, it wasn’t the first time he’d been raped but it was the first time he’d not been aware of it. He loathed the idea of a gap in his memories, no matter how bad it had been.
He could do this.
The fact that his hand shook as he plugged the USB drive told a different story. One that Alex Rider was fully intending to ignore.
Numerous file names popped up. All labelled AR + a sequence of dates and times, starting about three hours after he’d gone off the grid, give or take half an hour.
He clicked on the first one.
After a moment of black screen, a tastefully furnished bedroom sprung into shot.
Dove grey carpet. King-sized bed. Pale green walls.
Alex, wearing a pair of loose jeans and a tatty sweatshirt, was sprawled barefoot on the bed like a limp starfish, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. The clothes he’d been wearing to his meeting with Mrs Jones. He liked to dress down to meetings, just to irritate.
A naked man walked into camera shot, wearing a grey balaclava over his head. It matched the fucking carpet,
Medium height, slightly overweight, no body hair. Even his pubes had been shaved, leaving behind the little red pimples of shaving rash. Alex shivered. He’d always hated shaved pubes. Luckily, so did Tom.
The man sat on the side of the bed and ran his fingers down Alex’s face. Sleeping Alex’s expression didn’t change. The man took a tissue out of a box on the bedside table and wiped a thin line of drool from the corner of Alex’s mouth, then carefully tugged off the sweatshirt and the teeshirt he’d been wearing underneath, exposing his chest.
A trembling hand reached out and gently caressed the smattering of hair on Alex’s chest then traced the thin line of hair that led down from his belly button to disappear into the waistband of his jeans. Tom loved doing that …
Alex shook the thought off and reached out for his mug of tea, wishing he’d brought something stronger up with him. His hands were definitely shaking now. There was no point even trying to deny it to himself.
The man took his time exploring Alex’s torso with his hands, running them over his nipples, tweaking them to hardness, then bending down and gently lapping at first one, then the other, with his tongue, circling them with the moist pink tip before pulling back to admire the faint gleam of saliva left behind.
After 15 minutes of watching his abuser map every inch of his chest, shoulders and arms with his hands and tongue, Alex started to fast forward, waiting for something different to happen.
At 35:26 minutes into the recording the man undid the buckle of Alex’s belt.
Alex took a deep breath and slowed the film back down to normal speed.
He’d been undressed by numerous deranged billionaires and their henchpeople (in his experience, deranged billionaires were equal opportunities employers) so there was nothing particularly new about that, but there was something about the slow, careful, covetous way that the masked man drew his zip down and slowly, centimetre by centimetre peeled off his jeans, leaving Alex wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs. Those soon followed, equally slowly, exposing Alex’s flaccid cock, lying amidst a nest of pubic hair a couple of shades darker than the blond mop on his head.
The man sat on the bed next to Alex’s unconscious form, his abuser’s cock now starting to sit up and take an interest. The man looked like he might be a grower rather than a shower and his long, wrinkled foreskin reminded Alex an ancient anteater’s nose, but without the inherent cuteness of the rest of the animal.
For what seemed like an endless moment, the man feasted his eyes on Alex’s groin. The camera caught his face side on, and Alex could see a pink tongue wetting fleshy lips. The man reached out and laid his hand on Alex’s cock and gave it a slight squeeze.
The Alex lying on the bed gave no sign at all that he was aware of being touched.
The Alex sitting on his own bed watching himself be molested felt his stomach turn over in disgust. He knew he was going to see much, much worse and for a moment he was tempted to just rip the USB stick out and stamp it into tiny fragments but that wouldn’t erase what had happened and Alex would be left forever wondering exactly what had been done to him during those missing five days.
Alex kept watching as the man worked his foreskin back and forwards while with his other hand, he did the same to his own cock. The man’s erection grew, but Alex’s cock remained obstinately flaccid. Alex congratulated his unconscious self on the lack of reaction. At least he he’d not given the bastard the satisfaction of getting aroused by his actions.
The man bent forward and suddenly the camera angle changed to close focus, bringing with it the realisation that the man had more than one camera set up to record and that this film had subsequently been edited, no doubt for his abuser to replay and enjoy again at his leisure. Alex watched in horror as the man took Alex’s limp dick between his lips and sucked on his foreskin.
For ten excruciating minutes, Alex watched as the man played with his dick, licking, sucking and stroking it while working his own hard cock, slicking the movements of his hand with his own pre-come.
Abruptly, the man stood up and shot his load over Alex’s stomach.
The screen turned black.
Alex shoved the laptop to one side and dashed into the bathroom, dropping to his knees on the floor just in time to expel the contents of his stomach at speed into the toilet bowl.
He retched until all he was bringing up was thin trails of yellow slime.
Eventually, he levered himself upright, flushed the loo, cleaned his teeth, rinsed his mouth out with the strongest mouthwash he could find in the cupboard (the one Tom insisted he use when he’d been eating olives) and made his way back to the bed, feeling cold and shaky.
The knock on the door a moment later came as no surprise. “Alex?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“OK. I’m not exactly fine, but I’m coping. Just give me a while longer, please.”
“As long as you need.” Tom’s voice was quiet, resigned but accepting.
“I love you, Tom Harris,” Alex said quietly.
“I love you too, Alex Rider. Call if you need anything. OK?”
“Will do.”
Alex turned back to his laptop and played the next file.
****
The next file was short, no more than ten minutes.
Alex watched as the man turned him on his side onto a plastic sheet, pulled his knees up to his stomach then inserted a lubricated tube into his arse and proceeded to administer an enema. His abuser clearly had certain hygiene standards and intended to ensure that Alex adhered to them. He used three bags of fluid to flush him clean until nothing other than the same liquid came out, then he carefully dried Alex and rolled him onto his back on a thick towel.
The file ended at that point.
The one after that was time stamped two hours later.
Alex was more artfully arranged on the bed this time, lying on his stomach with a pillow beneath his hips, raising his arse in the air. His arms were stretched out to either side. He was obviously still deeply unconscious.
The man kissed a wet trail down Alex’s spine, then returned to lave the burn marks on his back with his tongue before kissing each one with almost obscene reverence. Then, after running his hands greedily over Alex’s arse, he used both hands to spread Alex’s arsecheeks wide to allow him to slowly run his tongue around the dark, puckered flesh.
The camera angle changed and Alex could see the exact moment the probing tongue breached him.
His stomach churned but there was nothing left in him to bring up, so he watched as the man thoroughly rimmed him before sitting back on his heels between Alex’s spread legs to admire his spit-slick hole.
A tube of lubricant appeared in the man’s hand, and he squeezed out a generous dollop and proceeded to massage it in with first one, then two then three fingers. Throughout the abuse, the prone body on the bed never moved, showing no sign that he was in any way aware of what was being done to him.
For Alex, it was now as if the abuse was happening to someone else. He was quite clearly not there, not experiencing the rape by tongue and fingers, Unaware. Uncaring. Unknowing. It felt like a good place to be.
Alex did his best to shut off his own emotions, to pretend he was just watching a porno film with willing actors being well paid to do a job. Just a job. Nothing more. Just a job …
The man on the film leaned forward, positioning the head of his thick cock at Alex’s slick hole then slowly pressed himself home. Alex saw the exact moment his unresisting body was penetrated and watched as the man’s cock drove into him to the hilt then equally slowly withdrew, waiting for the tight ring of muscle to close before driving in again.
A long, slow fuck gradually increased in pace until the man was slamming home balls deep into Alex’s prone body. It took five minutes and 45 seconds before the rapist’s gasping pants turned into a loud groan and his hips stuttered to a standstill.
He withdrew, white come dripping from his still hard cock onto Alex’s buttocks.
The file ended.
Alex drew in a deep breath, held it for the count of four, then exhaled for six seconds. Wash, rinse, repeat, He knew the drill.
He’d now watched himself being raped. What the hell was in the rest of the files?
For the next two hours Alex watched as the man raped him repeatedly over the course of the next five days, sometimes with him lying on his stomach, sometimes on his back with his legs draped over the man’s thighs.
On one occasion, he even watched himself get fisted.
No wonder his arse was so bloody sore,
He saw the man tuck his thumb into his hand and slide it slowly into Alex’s body, watching his slicked hole stretch wider and wider until finally the whole hand breached his body and was pushed in up to the wrist and beyond the white line of where the man’s watch usually was.
By now Alex was disassociating so fucking hard that he knew it was going to take months of therapy even to begin to untangle how he felt, but he didn’t care. If this had happened to him, he wanted to know about it. He didn’t want his memories to be stolen by this perverted bastard along with everything else he’d taken.
And he was damned if he would let all this define him.
The next file was date stamped the following day.
This time his abuser spent two hours inserting a variety of slim, metal probes into Alex’s cock. The man seemed particularly fond of one with a round ball on the tip which he used to fuck into Alex’s soft dick while he wanked himself off with his other hand. The only good thing was that he was careful to use a large dollop of lubrication on each implement.
Alex made a mental note to avoid trying that with Tom. It looked a shite way of having fun, and he could feel the pain in his abused cock.
The other files were pretty much the same things over and over, with some slight variations. Alex watched most of them on fast forward. Apart from the sounding, the man didn’t appear to be into sex toys and nothing he did left any mark on Alex’s body, apart from the increased swelling and puffiness around his arsehole after the daily penetrations with cock, fingers and hand.
Alex found himself wondering how many other people had been subjected to the man’s ministrations before being returned home with no memory of the abuse, just a sore arse, an equally sore dick and a raging bladder infection.
Either that or the final act in this sick drama was something even worse.
File 23 of 23 showed the man suckling Alex’s limp dick enthusiastically while finger fucking his reddened arse. Positively vanilla in comparison to some of the films.
Alex slammed the laptop closed and stood up.
He’d been watching the tapes for five hours. Five hours of sexual abuse that he simply didn’t remember because he’d been drugged insensible the whole time.
Presumably the man liked his fuck toys warm, otherwise a body nicked from the nearest morgue would have done just as well.
Alex pulled the fleece blanket around his shoulders and slowly made his way downstairs.
Tom and Yassen were sitting next to each other on the sofa bickering in a desultory fashion over the relative merits of Sapphire and Steel versus The Omega Factor. They turned as he came into the open plan kitchen.
“I’d like a large drink, please,” Alex said quietly, sitting down at the breakfast bar.
The brandy Tom set down in front of him burned a throat raw from vomiting.
Neither Tom nor Yassen made any attempt to dissuade him from drinking a large measure then pouring another.
“What did you do to him?” Alex asked quietly, almost meditatively.
“I cut his cock and balls off and gagged him with them while I removed each of his fingers with a pair of bolt cutters. I think he died of a combination of blood loss and shock while I was halfway through his left hand, but I finished the job, just in case I was wrong.” Yassen’s calm words were at odds with the anger that burnt like a cold flame in his eyes.
“Unsubtle.”
Yassen shrugged. “I said I’d be back here in two hours, That didn’t allow much time for finesse.”
“Fucking brilliant, mate,” Tom said with quiet satisfaction.
Alex got up unsteadily and rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers, emerging with a card emblazoned with a bright green frog, with the inside left blank for his own message. He ripped off the plastic wrapper, scrawled one word inside, wrote Yassen’s name on the envelope and tossed it into the Russian’s lap.
Yassen opened the envelope and read the single word: Thanks.
He turned to Alex and smiled. “You’re welcome. I removed all footage relating to you from his computers and cameras, as well as his back-up copies on the dark web. You have the only copy of those files. I left the rest with his body.”
****
The following day, the news reports were full of the story of the brutal murder of a cabinet minister in his own home amidst shock allegations leaked to all major newspapers of a series of serious sexual assaults against both men and women, all captured on images found with the dead man’s body.
As soon as Alex saw the man’s name, he understood why MI6 had not made any strenuous efforts to find him.
Alan Blunt and his wife played bridge with the man every Tuesday.
He’d deal with Blunt at some point, but that cold-hearted bastard could wait. For now, Alex would simply block all calls from MI6 while he considered his future options.
Later the same day, Alex buried his face in Tom’s neck and cried until there wasn’t a tear left in his body.
He had his memories now. They were his to process in his own way and in his own time.
And he knew he could live with them, the same way he lived with all the others.
He gave Tom the bare bones of what had happened. He didn’t offer to show Tom the footage, nor did Tom ask to see it.
Then he took the burner phone Yassen had left for him and dialled Rav’s number.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 18
Characters : Tom/Alex, Yassen, OC.
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Warnings : Rape, non/con
Summary : When Alex disappears, as he often does, Tom tries not to worry, but this time is different. This time Alex comes home, unconscious, in the arms of a total stranger.
A/N Written for
fififolle’s primeval_denial Gift BoxTom prided himself on not panicking whenever Alex disappeared – as he often did – without warning.
But when Mrs Jones of MIfucking6 turned up on his doorstep enquiring about Alex’s whereabouts, it was really sodding hard not to panic.
She smiled an insincere smile she’d probably nicked off an alligator in Regent’s Park Zoo and told him that there was nothing to worry about.
Which naturally sent Tom’s anxiety levels off the scale and begged the question why she’d turned up in the first place.
Five days later he was still pacing the house like a caged animal, not wanting to leave in case Alex arrived home and needed him. He shopped online, ate too much junk food and resolutely stayed off the booze. He made sure his phone was charged and on him all the time. He checked his emails every half hour … who was he fucking trying to kid? He checked them constantly. Same as he did text and WhatsApp.
He slept fitfully, unable to lose the nagging sense of dread that this time something really bad had happened and Alex wouldn’t be coming home. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.
Another day passed in a haze of scouring the internet for anything, anything at all that might give him a clue as to Alex’s whereabouts. A mysterious explosion at a car plant in Nuremburg was a possibility, as was a fire in an exclusive resort in Dubai, but he could hardly start jetting around the world examining the site of any smoking ruin he heard about, so at 2am, Tom downed the last of his Coke Zero and headed off to bed.
Halfway up the stairs, the soft click of the front door lock opening sent a jolt of nervous energy through him with the force of a lightning bolt.
“Alex?” He hadn’t used their special knock, but if it was a random burglar, they were going to get a nasty surprise. Tom was in no fucking mood to take shit from anyone. He jumped the last four steps, landing lightly on his feet as the door was kicked shut by a man dressed in a black hooded jacket and dark jeans.
To be precise, a man dressed in a black hooded jacket and dark jeans carrying a clearly unconscious Alex Rider.
“Alex!”
“He’s alive,” the man said calmly. “Drugged.”
“We need to get him to hospital!”
“He wouldn’t thank you for that, Tom Harris. You know he hates hospitals.”
“Get him upstairs?” Tom said, not questioning how the man knew his name. If he knew where Alex lived, then the chances are he’d know who Tom was. “Get him onto the bed. Can you manage?” The man’s face was pale and Tom could see a light sheen of sweat on his forehead as he swayed almost imperceptibly. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Answering in order: yes, upstairs; yes, I can manage; and yes, I’m a friend. Satisfied?”
“Not even remotely, mate, but the rest’ll wait.”
As the man carried Alex past him up the stairs, Tom got a better look at him. Late 30s, maybe younger. Short blond hair a couple of shades lighter than Alex’s but with darker stubble showing around his jaw. Long eyelashes framed eyes as pale as tumbled blue sea glass and about as expressive. Lips drawn together in a hard line. One of Alex’s fucking spy friends. MI6? Seemed unlikely, but what did Tom know about that side of Alex’s life? Not fucking much. It wasn’t as if he got invited to office parties as a plus one.
The man lowered Alex carefully onto the bed and stepped back, his jacket falling open to give Tom the barest glimpse of a shoulder holster and a spreading bloodstain.
“Bloody fucking spies …” Tom muttered, dropping to his knees by the bed and grabbling Alex’s hand. His skin felt cool, but his pulse seemed strong. Tom tried to count the beats then gave up when he realised he had no idea what a normal pulse rate was meant to be. “Alex …”
The man pulled a mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and quickly typed in a number. It was answered almost immediately, and he promptly rattled off their address, adding, “Gunshot wound to my side. Needs cleaning and sorting. Bring a rape kit and tox screen kit. No, not for me.” He ended the call and waved a hand at the en suite bathroom. “Do you mind if I ruin one of your towels?”
Tom’s eyes had widened, and he had to stop himself crushing Alex’s fingers in his hand. “Rape kit?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He nodded again to the bathroom and raised his eyebrows.
Tom snapped out of his mental fog. “Yeah, what else do you need?”
“Alcohol.”
“For your wound?”
“No, for you to drink. Boil a kettle. Make some hot sweet tea and add a large whisky to it. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll watch over Alex. I doubt he’ll wake for a while.”
Tom stared at Alex’s pale, still face, taking in the thin laughter lines at the corners of his eyes, the long dark eyelashes, the messy hair, the lips that he just wanted to kiss … Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s cool forehead. “Back in a minute, mate, I promise.”
The other man was right, Tom could feel the tremors starting, and he knew needed a hot drink with lots of sugar. Alex always swore by it as a sovereign remedy for shock, and it had certainly been a fucking shock seeing his unconscious boyfriend being carried into the house by a total stranger. A total stranger who was now pressing one of the bathroom towels against his side. At least he’d chosen the dark grey one.
“Do you …”
“No. Make that drink, Tom, and then boil another kettle. There’s a medic on his way. Coffee, black, one sugar for him.”
“Are you trying to keep me occupied? Like they do with fathers at a home birth?”
“I have just called out a medical professional in the middle of the night. It is only polite to offer coffee.”
Tom was back up the stairs as quick as humanly possible, carrying a tray laden with a large cafetière of decent coffee, a mug of sweet tea for himself, a sugar bowl, two more mugs, several spoons and a bottle of mediocre whisky.
A series of knocks on the front door reminded him of the coded entry sequence he and Alex used to identify themselves.
The man nodded. “It is safe to let him in, He’ll be alone. Late 20s, Indian, dark hair, short beard.”
Tom took the stairs two at a time and yanked the door open. The man was exactly as described, dressed casually in an open-necked shirt, a scruffy sweater and a pair of jeans. He smiled at Tom. “Where’re the patients?”
“Bedroom, top of the stairs. I’m Tom.”
The man nodded but didn’t volunteer his name. He did smile appreciatively at the coffee, though and took the mug Tom offered him.
“Names,” Tom demanded. “You’re in our house. I want names, even if they’re false. Cough ‘em up, the pair of you.”
“Aarav,” the medic said. “You can call me Rav.”
The blond man hesitated then sighed. “Yassen.”
Tom’s hand shook as he poured a large whisky into his tea. “The assassin.”
“Former assassin.”
Rav opened a large medical bag and started to check Alex over. “What’s he been given?”
“Rohypnol.”
“For how long?”
“He’s been missing a week,” Tom blurted. “Has he been …?”
“I don’t know,” Yassen said. “He was dressed as you see him now when I found him. But there were … cameras set up in the room.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a USB stick. “I took this. There was no time to check further. I had a minor altercation with some hired muscle and left.”
Rav glanced at Yassen. “Just hired muscle?
“Lucky shot. I had my hands full at the time.”
“Let’s get you sorted first. His breathing and heartrate are steady. He’s in no immediate danger.”
Yassen slipped off his jacket, set the shoulder holster within easy reach and pulled the bloodstained black teeshirt over his head to reveal the toned, smoothly muscled torso of a man who took his physical health and fitness very seriously. His chest was marred by a puckered scar just above his heart, almost the twin to the one Alex carried, and a bullet had carved a new bloody furrow across his left side.
Rav quickly cleaned the wound, checked for any fibres driven into the torn flesh, then covered the injury with a large dressing. “You’ll live.”
“I thought I might, but nice to have it confirmed by a qualified health professional.”
Rav casually flipped him the finger, finished the coffee and poured himself some more. To Tom he said, “Do I have your permission to examine Alex?”
“How do you know his name?” Tom demanded. “I didn’t tell you and nor did –” He waved a hand at Yassen.
“MI6 lose their golden boy. Gregorovich calls me out in the middle of the night to a house in Chelsea. Male, early 20s. Blond hair. Doesn’t take a MENSA candidate to work it out. Now do I have your permission to examine him.”
“He made Lasting Powers of Attorney appointing me and Jack. Medical and financial. Said he didn’t trust M16 as far as he could throw them.”
Yassen Gregorovich looked at him with something close to approval in his cold blue eyes. “Good. Now all you need to do is persuade him to go to university and stay away from them.”
“Yas, save the careers talk for when he wakes up. Tom, consent, please …”
Tom nodded. “Do what you need to do, but I’m staying.”
Rav glanced at Yassen and back to Tom and raised his eyebrows.
“He can stay if he wants,” Tom snapped. “He brought Alex here and I want to know what he knows.”
“Bring me a clean towel, please.”
Rav carefully drew the loose sweatshirt over Alex’s head, then placed the towel Tom handed him over Alex’s stomach and thighs before he drew down the sweatpants. Alex wore no underwear.
The medic checked Alex’s chest and arms. “He’s been put on a drip at some point. There’s evidence that a cannula has been inserted. That’s probably how he’s been kept hydrated.” He lifted the towel to examine Alex’s groin while Yassen looked away, then carefully rolled Alex onto his side in the recovery position while he examined Alex’s back and buttocks. There were no obvious injuries. Tom felt hope flare in his chest … maybe … maybe nothing had happened.
Rav gently spread Alex’s arse cheeks. “Is Alex sexually active with men?”
Tom nodded, hope draining out of him like someone had just pulled the plug on his emotions.
“With you?”
Tom nodded again.
“When did you last have anal sex with him?”
“The night before he went missing.”
“That would be six days ago,” Yassen supplied, holding the mug of tea out to Tom. “Drink this.”
Tom gripped the mug, his teeth chattering on the rim, and gulped the hot, sweet, blessedly alcoholic tea.
“Then I’m sorry to tell you he’s been raped. His anus is swollen and there is evidence of a lubricant having been used.” Rav’s voice was coolly professional, but Tom could see the sympathy in the medic’s dark eyes. “Yas, find out what’s on that memory stick. I’ll take swabs so I can run some tests back at the clinic.”
“There’s a laptop in the kitchen. The password is Ratfink1984!” Tom told Yassen as Rav pulled on a pair of thin medical gloves and proceeded to carefully swab Alex’s body, inside and out, putting each swab in a container and labelling then in neat handwriting. “How bad is it?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.
“He’s been raped repeatedly, but there is no tearing or obvious damage other than the swelling and some bruising. Lubricant has been used. I don’t think whoever it was used a condom, but I won’t know for sure until I run the swabs back at the clinic. I will check for sexually transmitted diseases.” Rav took a tube from his bag and squeezed some gel onto his fingers and massaged it gently into and around Alex’s abused hole. “This will help with swelling and will ease the pain when he wakes up.”
Tom took another gulp of tea. “I want whoever did this dead. I don’t fucking care how much it costs.” He surprised himself with how calmly the words came out. He took another gulp of tea and realised he’d meant every word. “And I want it to hurt. A lot.”
“You’ll probably find Yas will do this one pro bono.”
Rav turned Alex onto his back again, changed his gloves and proceeded to take swabs from the inside of Alex’s mouth and then he lifted the towel to examine Alex’s genitals, gently retracting his foreskin and checking the pink head. Tom wasn’t sure, but he thought Alex’s slit looked swollen and redder than usual. “Pass me another swab, please, Tom.”
Tom’s hand shook as he handed over the swab and watched as Rav very gently inserted the tip into Alex’s slit and then wiped another around under his foreskin before proceeding to examine his balls.
“What … what else has the bastard done to him?”
“Alex may have had objects inserted into his urethra. There is some evidence of lubricant there as well as more swelling. He’ll need antibiotics as there’s a high chance of a bladder infection in these circumstances. Remember that if you ever try sounding for fun.”
Tom’s hands shook on the mug. “Never been our idea of a good time, mate.”
Rav was looking at him with open sympathy now. “Finish that tea, Tom. If it’s any consolation, Alex is unlikely to remember any of it if he’s been kept on a benzodiazepine while he’s been held wherever he was.”
“Everything was captured on camera,” Yassen said from the doorway. “If you’ll excuse me, I have someone I need to kill, and I know exactly where to find him.”
Rav shot him an exasperated look. “Yas, for fuck’s sake wait until tomorrow. You need some rest.”
“Make it hurt!” Tom said, desperation cracking his voice. “Please, make the bastard regret it.”
“Consider it done. Rav, stay with Alex. I’ll pay double your usual fee.”
“I don’t charge for rape victims.”
“Then double my invoice for the gunshot wound. I’ll be no more than two hours. Will he wake up before I get back?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Tom, let’s get Alex into some of his own sleepwear and into bed.”
Dressing an unconscious Alex was a lot harder than undressing him, but with Rav’s help Tom soon had Alex in bed wearing a pair of soft brushed cotton pyjamas decorated with cartoon sloths (a present from Jack) and a plain grey faded teeshirt. Tom tucked the duvet around his chest and settled down next to him on the bed, holding his hand, trying to keep his emotions in check but failing, badly.
“I can give you something to take the edge off the anxiety,” Rav offered.
Tom shook his head. “No way. I don’t do drugs.”
“Just a mild anti-anxiety tablet.”
“No, thanks.”
Rav didn’t press the point. He simply tidied away his medical stuff, made some more tea and coffee then settled down in the bedroom armchair, occasionally checking his phone, and sometimes checking Alex’s pulse.
“So what are you?” Tom blurted out, the silence crawling over his nerves like ants. “Some sort of underworld medic?”
“Something like that,” Rav acknowledged. “I run a private clinic.”
“And Yassen Gregorovich has you on speed dial?”
“Yas never outs numbers in his phones. The one he used to ring me with will already be in pieces in a drain somewhere.”
Tom groaned. “I fucking hate spy stuff.”
Rav nodded sympathetically.
Tom decided silence was probably preferable to a game of 20 questions on the murkier aspects of the criminal underworld.
An hour later, almost to the minute, he felt Alex’s fingers twitch in his hand.
“Alex? Can you hear me? You’re OK, you’re at home, mate.”
Alex’s eyelashes fluttered open and a pair of confused brown eyes stared up at Tom. “What … what the fuck happened? I was …” His voice sounded thick, as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. His eyebrows drew together, worry lines replacing the laughter lines. “I can’t remember where I was …”
“You were kidnapped,” Tom said quickly. “Whoever it was had you for a week. MI6 said they had no idea where you were. Yas …” he stuttered over the name, not knowing how Alex would take the news of who’d found him, “… Yassen Gregorovich got you out and brought you here. He got shot. Dr Rav patched him up and he’s checked you over.” Tom waved a hand at the medic who moved around into Alex’s field of vision.
“You’ve been drugged with a benzodiazepine, Alex,” Rav said. “You’ll feel tired and confused. I suspect you’ve been kept drugged for most of the week. You’ve been given IV fluids and possibly had the drug administered the same way. I’ll give you a drink of water to moisten your mouth then the best thing for you is sleep.”
Alex tried to blink away the confusion and just ended up looking like a myopic, irritable owl. “Where’s Yassen?”
“Killing whoever did this to you.”
Tom let out a strangled squawk.
“He’s meant to have retired,” Alex muttered irritably then promptly fell asleep, still holding Tom’s hand.
Tom pressed a light kiss to Alex’s forehead. “We’re definitely going to talk about retirement when you wake up.” He sighed and looked over at Rav, who’d settled back into the armchair. “What the fuck does it say about his life that he gets better back up from a retired assassin than he does from his employers?”
“That it’s time for a change of direction.”
****
Alex accepted the mug of tea that Tom held out to him then dug into the pile of bacon butties that Yassen had just set on the breakfast bar along with a grilled mushroom and tomato bap for Rav.
He’d woken up at 6am desperate for a pee. Staggering the short distance to the en suite bathroom had left him feeling as weak as a kitten and the stream of piss had left him with an uncomfortable, burning sensation in his cock. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but his stomach had developed other ideas and the hollow feeling was making him nauseous.
The contents of the fridge wouldn’t have won any good housekeeping awards, so Yassen had gone hunting and gathering in the nearest Tesco Express while Alex tried – and failed – to reconstruct his shattered memories. The last thing he remembered was a discussion with Mrs Jones about a possible mission in Panama. His heavily encrypted work diary told him that had taken place two hours before his disappearance.
As far as they’d been able to work out, Alex had been snatched from a small park by the river near Whitehall. The good citizens of London appeared not to have noticed the abduction, or if they had, no one had been public spirited enough to phone it in to the Met.
“How did you find out I was missing?” Alex demanded, addressing the question to Yassen.
“The underworld leaks like a rusty bucket. The few enquiries your employers did bother to make didn’t go unnoticed in certain quarters.”
“So how did you find me when they couldn’t?”
“I was prepared to offer a reward of one million pounds for information leading to your safe return, they weren’t.”
Alex almost choked on a mouthful of tea. When he stopped coughing, he spluttered, “Do MI6 know I’m home?”
“No, but I imagine they will sometime later this morning. I may have …” Yassen hesitated a moment then finished, “… sent something of a message with the body of your abductor.”
“I’ve told you before not to play with your food.” Alex shot the former contract killer an irritable look.
Yassen looked genuinely affronted. “No you haven’t. There has been no cause for you to do so.”
“I’m not going to like what you’ve done, am I?”
Yassen pushed a small USB stick across the breakfast bar. “That depends on whether you intend to watch the film your abductor took of his activities with you.”
“Yas, for fuck’s sake!” Rav exclaimed. “That is not how you handle a victim debrief.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “You can all stop dancing around the subject. My arse feels like it’s gone ten rounds with a randy silverback gorilla and lost every one of them. I can join the fucking dots even if I can’t remember a bloody thing.”
The young doctor shot Yassen a quelling look, then turned careful, dark eyes on him. “You can deal with this when you feel ready, Alex. I can recommend an excellent therapist.”
“More than fucking MI6’ve ever done,” Tom muttered angrily. His boyfriend looked at Yassen wide-eyed. “Did you really spring for a million quid for Alex?”
“To be precise, my informant asked for a transfer of £250,000 only and directed me to send the remainder to a series of charities. I made the payments two hours ago.”
“Bloody fucking hell!” Tom let out a long, shaky breath.
Alex reached out and took Tom’s hand, then dredged up a rueful smile for Yassen. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Not so sure about the murder, though.”
“I am.” Tom squeezed Alex’s hand. “Thanks, Yassen. You might be a murdering bastard, but you’re our murdering bastard. I’m sure Alex will send a thank you card when he remembers his manners.”
Yassen’s lips twitched into a surprised half-smile.
Alex picked up the memory stick. “I refuse to go through life with a gap in my memories.” He looked at Yassen and asked the question that had been on his mind from the moment the Russian had produced the memory stick. “How much have you seen?”
“No more than five minutes. Enough to be totally sure I had correctly identified your attacker. I ran through some of the files on fast forward.”
“I’m going to take this upstairs with my laptop. Rav, will you leave a business card or a phone number in case I want to take up your offer?”
The young doctor nodded. “I’ll run the rape swabs and the tox screen and get back to you. In the meantime, take paracetamol not codeine, take the nitrofurantoin, use the pain relief gel and drink plenty of water. Eat small amounts of food regularly. Get plenty of sleep. Got that?”
“Got that,” Alex said. He definitely liked Yassen’s choice of medical professional.
Rav glanced at Yassen. “I’ve left pain relief and antibiotics for you, too. And get some fucking rest, Yas, OK?”
“What haven’t I been told?” Alex’s eyes widened and as he wound back the past half hour in his head, he wondered how he’d managed to miss the fact that Yassen’s movements had lacked some of their usual grace. “Are you injured?”
“A bullet creased my side,” Yassen said simply at the same moment Tom announced, “He got shot getting you out, mate.”
“I told you not to make a fucking habit of that,” Alex said, not bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “You stay here. Tom, keep an eye on him. He won’t admit it, but he likes crappy old sci fi shows. You two can bond over eps of UFO or something.” He held his hand out to Rav. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. And at some stage, I’d be interested to know what a proper victim debrief is meant to be like.”
Rav smiled. “Buy me a beer sometime and I’ll tell you.”
“Oi, he’s taken,” Tom said, good-naturedly.
“So’s he,” Yassen murmured.
For once, Alex was so surprised he failed to come up with a smart comment.
****
Alex settled down on the bed on top of the duvet, but with his favourite snuggle blanket wrapped around him and another mug of tea next to him on the bedside table.
He’d been raped. He was entitled to a blanky.
In the interests of accuracy, it wasn’t the first time he’d been raped but it was the first time he’d not been aware of it. He loathed the idea of a gap in his memories, no matter how bad it had been.
He could do this.
The fact that his hand shook as he plugged the USB drive told a different story. One that Alex Rider was fully intending to ignore.
Numerous file names popped up. All labelled AR + a sequence of dates and times, starting about three hours after he’d gone off the grid, give or take half an hour.
He clicked on the first one.
After a moment of black screen, a tastefully furnished bedroom sprung into shot.
Dove grey carpet. King-sized bed. Pale green walls.
Alex, wearing a pair of loose jeans and a tatty sweatshirt, was sprawled barefoot on the bed like a limp starfish, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. The clothes he’d been wearing to his meeting with Mrs Jones. He liked to dress down to meetings, just to irritate.
A naked man walked into camera shot, wearing a grey balaclava over his head. It matched the fucking carpet,
Medium height, slightly overweight, no body hair. Even his pubes had been shaved, leaving behind the little red pimples of shaving rash. Alex shivered. He’d always hated shaved pubes. Luckily, so did Tom.
The man sat on the side of the bed and ran his fingers down Alex’s face. Sleeping Alex’s expression didn’t change. The man took a tissue out of a box on the bedside table and wiped a thin line of drool from the corner of Alex’s mouth, then carefully tugged off the sweatshirt and the teeshirt he’d been wearing underneath, exposing his chest.
A trembling hand reached out and gently caressed the smattering of hair on Alex’s chest then traced the thin line of hair that led down from his belly button to disappear into the waistband of his jeans. Tom loved doing that …
Alex shook the thought off and reached out for his mug of tea, wishing he’d brought something stronger up with him. His hands were definitely shaking now. There was no point even trying to deny it to himself.
The man took his time exploring Alex’s torso with his hands, running them over his nipples, tweaking them to hardness, then bending down and gently lapping at first one, then the other, with his tongue, circling them with the moist pink tip before pulling back to admire the faint gleam of saliva left behind.
After 15 minutes of watching his abuser map every inch of his chest, shoulders and arms with his hands and tongue, Alex started to fast forward, waiting for something different to happen.
At 35:26 minutes into the recording the man undid the buckle of Alex’s belt.
Alex took a deep breath and slowed the film back down to normal speed.
He’d been undressed by numerous deranged billionaires and their henchpeople (in his experience, deranged billionaires were equal opportunities employers) so there was nothing particularly new about that, but there was something about the slow, careful, covetous way that the masked man drew his zip down and slowly, centimetre by centimetre peeled off his jeans, leaving Alex wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs. Those soon followed, equally slowly, exposing Alex’s flaccid cock, lying amidst a nest of pubic hair a couple of shades darker than the blond mop on his head.
The man sat on the bed next to Alex’s unconscious form, his abuser’s cock now starting to sit up and take an interest. The man looked like he might be a grower rather than a shower and his long, wrinkled foreskin reminded Alex an ancient anteater’s nose, but without the inherent cuteness of the rest of the animal.
For what seemed like an endless moment, the man feasted his eyes on Alex’s groin. The camera caught his face side on, and Alex could see a pink tongue wetting fleshy lips. The man reached out and laid his hand on Alex’s cock and gave it a slight squeeze.
The Alex lying on the bed gave no sign at all that he was aware of being touched.
The Alex sitting on his own bed watching himself be molested felt his stomach turn over in disgust. He knew he was going to see much, much worse and for a moment he was tempted to just rip the USB stick out and stamp it into tiny fragments but that wouldn’t erase what had happened and Alex would be left forever wondering exactly what had been done to him during those missing five days.
Alex kept watching as the man worked his foreskin back and forwards while with his other hand, he did the same to his own cock. The man’s erection grew, but Alex’s cock remained obstinately flaccid. Alex congratulated his unconscious self on the lack of reaction. At least he he’d not given the bastard the satisfaction of getting aroused by his actions.
The man bent forward and suddenly the camera angle changed to close focus, bringing with it the realisation that the man had more than one camera set up to record and that this film had subsequently been edited, no doubt for his abuser to replay and enjoy again at his leisure. Alex watched in horror as the man took Alex’s limp dick between his lips and sucked on his foreskin.
For ten excruciating minutes, Alex watched as the man played with his dick, licking, sucking and stroking it while working his own hard cock, slicking the movements of his hand with his own pre-come.
Abruptly, the man stood up and shot his load over Alex’s stomach.
The screen turned black.
Alex shoved the laptop to one side and dashed into the bathroom, dropping to his knees on the floor just in time to expel the contents of his stomach at speed into the toilet bowl.
He retched until all he was bringing up was thin trails of yellow slime.
Eventually, he levered himself upright, flushed the loo, cleaned his teeth, rinsed his mouth out with the strongest mouthwash he could find in the cupboard (the one Tom insisted he use when he’d been eating olives) and made his way back to the bed, feeling cold and shaky.
The knock on the door a moment later came as no surprise. “Alex?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“OK. I’m not exactly fine, but I’m coping. Just give me a while longer, please.”
“As long as you need.” Tom’s voice was quiet, resigned but accepting.
“I love you, Tom Harris,” Alex said quietly.
“I love you too, Alex Rider. Call if you need anything. OK?”
“Will do.”
Alex turned back to his laptop and played the next file.
****
The next file was short, no more than ten minutes.
Alex watched as the man turned him on his side onto a plastic sheet, pulled his knees up to his stomach then inserted a lubricated tube into his arse and proceeded to administer an enema. His abuser clearly had certain hygiene standards and intended to ensure that Alex adhered to them. He used three bags of fluid to flush him clean until nothing other than the same liquid came out, then he carefully dried Alex and rolled him onto his back on a thick towel.
The file ended at that point.
The one after that was time stamped two hours later.
Alex was more artfully arranged on the bed this time, lying on his stomach with a pillow beneath his hips, raising his arse in the air. His arms were stretched out to either side. He was obviously still deeply unconscious.
The man kissed a wet trail down Alex’s spine, then returned to lave the burn marks on his back with his tongue before kissing each one with almost obscene reverence. Then, after running his hands greedily over Alex’s arse, he used both hands to spread Alex’s arsecheeks wide to allow him to slowly run his tongue around the dark, puckered flesh.
The camera angle changed and Alex could see the exact moment the probing tongue breached him.
His stomach churned but there was nothing left in him to bring up, so he watched as the man thoroughly rimmed him before sitting back on his heels between Alex’s spread legs to admire his spit-slick hole.
A tube of lubricant appeared in the man’s hand, and he squeezed out a generous dollop and proceeded to massage it in with first one, then two then three fingers. Throughout the abuse, the prone body on the bed never moved, showing no sign that he was in any way aware of what was being done to him.
For Alex, it was now as if the abuse was happening to someone else. He was quite clearly not there, not experiencing the rape by tongue and fingers, Unaware. Uncaring. Unknowing. It felt like a good place to be.
Alex did his best to shut off his own emotions, to pretend he was just watching a porno film with willing actors being well paid to do a job. Just a job. Nothing more. Just a job …
The man on the film leaned forward, positioning the head of his thick cock at Alex’s slick hole then slowly pressed himself home. Alex saw the exact moment his unresisting body was penetrated and watched as the man’s cock drove into him to the hilt then equally slowly withdrew, waiting for the tight ring of muscle to close before driving in again.
A long, slow fuck gradually increased in pace until the man was slamming home balls deep into Alex’s prone body. It took five minutes and 45 seconds before the rapist’s gasping pants turned into a loud groan and his hips stuttered to a standstill.
He withdrew, white come dripping from his still hard cock onto Alex’s buttocks.
The file ended.
Alex drew in a deep breath, held it for the count of four, then exhaled for six seconds. Wash, rinse, repeat, He knew the drill.
He’d now watched himself being raped. What the hell was in the rest of the files?
For the next two hours Alex watched as the man raped him repeatedly over the course of the next five days, sometimes with him lying on his stomach, sometimes on his back with his legs draped over the man’s thighs.
On one occasion, he even watched himself get fisted.
No wonder his arse was so bloody sore,
He saw the man tuck his thumb into his hand and slide it slowly into Alex’s body, watching his slicked hole stretch wider and wider until finally the whole hand breached his body and was pushed in up to the wrist and beyond the white line of where the man’s watch usually was.
By now Alex was disassociating so fucking hard that he knew it was going to take months of therapy even to begin to untangle how he felt, but he didn’t care. If this had happened to him, he wanted to know about it. He didn’t want his memories to be stolen by this perverted bastard along with everything else he’d taken.
And he was damned if he would let all this define him.
The next file was date stamped the following day.
This time his abuser spent two hours inserting a variety of slim, metal probes into Alex’s cock. The man seemed particularly fond of one with a round ball on the tip which he used to fuck into Alex’s soft dick while he wanked himself off with his other hand. The only good thing was that he was careful to use a large dollop of lubrication on each implement.
Alex made a mental note to avoid trying that with Tom. It looked a shite way of having fun, and he could feel the pain in his abused cock.
The other files were pretty much the same things over and over, with some slight variations. Alex watched most of them on fast forward. Apart from the sounding, the man didn’t appear to be into sex toys and nothing he did left any mark on Alex’s body, apart from the increased swelling and puffiness around his arsehole after the daily penetrations with cock, fingers and hand.
Alex found himself wondering how many other people had been subjected to the man’s ministrations before being returned home with no memory of the abuse, just a sore arse, an equally sore dick and a raging bladder infection.
Either that or the final act in this sick drama was something even worse.
File 23 of 23 showed the man suckling Alex’s limp dick enthusiastically while finger fucking his reddened arse. Positively vanilla in comparison to some of the films.
Alex slammed the laptop closed and stood up.
He’d been watching the tapes for five hours. Five hours of sexual abuse that he simply didn’t remember because he’d been drugged insensible the whole time.
Presumably the man liked his fuck toys warm, otherwise a body nicked from the nearest morgue would have done just as well.
Alex pulled the fleece blanket around his shoulders and slowly made his way downstairs.
Tom and Yassen were sitting next to each other on the sofa bickering in a desultory fashion over the relative merits of Sapphire and Steel versus The Omega Factor. They turned as he came into the open plan kitchen.
“I’d like a large drink, please,” Alex said quietly, sitting down at the breakfast bar.
The brandy Tom set down in front of him burned a throat raw from vomiting.
Neither Tom nor Yassen made any attempt to dissuade him from drinking a large measure then pouring another.
“What did you do to him?” Alex asked quietly, almost meditatively.
“I cut his cock and balls off and gagged him with them while I removed each of his fingers with a pair of bolt cutters. I think he died of a combination of blood loss and shock while I was halfway through his left hand, but I finished the job, just in case I was wrong.” Yassen’s calm words were at odds with the anger that burnt like a cold flame in his eyes.
“Unsubtle.”
Yassen shrugged. “I said I’d be back here in two hours, That didn’t allow much time for finesse.”
“Fucking brilliant, mate,” Tom said with quiet satisfaction.
Alex got up unsteadily and rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers, emerging with a card emblazoned with a bright green frog, with the inside left blank for his own message. He ripped off the plastic wrapper, scrawled one word inside, wrote Yassen’s name on the envelope and tossed it into the Russian’s lap.
Yassen opened the envelope and read the single word: Thanks.
He turned to Alex and smiled. “You’re welcome. I removed all footage relating to you from his computers and cameras, as well as his back-up copies on the dark web. You have the only copy of those files. I left the rest with his body.”
****
The following day, the news reports were full of the story of the brutal murder of a cabinet minister in his own home amidst shock allegations leaked to all major newspapers of a series of serious sexual assaults against both men and women, all captured on images found with the dead man’s body.
As soon as Alex saw the man’s name, he understood why MI6 had not made any strenuous efforts to find him.
Alan Blunt and his wife played bridge with the man every Tuesday.
He’d deal with Blunt at some point, but that cold-hearted bastard could wait. For now, Alex would simply block all calls from MI6 while he considered his future options.
Later the same day, Alex buried his face in Tom’s neck and cried until there wasn’t a tear left in his body.
He had his memories now. They were his to process in his own way and in his own time.
And he knew he could live with them, the same way he lived with all the others.
He gave Tom the bare bones of what had happened. He didn’t offer to show Tom the footage, nor did Tom ask to see it.
Then he took the burner phone Yassen had left for him and dialled Rav’s number.
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Date: 2022-02-15 10:39 pm (UTC)Oh Alex, little soul.
I do like my boys broken and this was a wonderful fic, truly. Tom was so viscerally protective but pragmatic, absolute star. I liked Rav a lot. I'm glad Yassen has him. Yassen is such a legend. Carrying Alex with a bullet wound, rrrrrrr.
Thank you so much, I loved it a lot!!!!
xxxx
no subject
Date: 2022-02-16 08:43 am (UTC)It's always fun to write for you as I can really let rip. *g* Breaking the darlings is such fun.
I have no clue where Yassen/Rav came from. It just sort of happened. *g*
no subject
Date: 2022-02-26 02:18 pm (UTC)Thank you again! You break boys so well :D