When it Rains

Part 3


"You're inexcusably late, doctor."

I jerked awake instantly at the voice, disoriented. I wasn't in my bed, and there was someone beside me, but it was midnight and....

Oh yes.

Oh, god.

"Mister -- Hand." I grabbed for my glasses and fumbled my way out of bed, finding my shorts and trousers - thankfully still bunched together - and yanking them on. "My apologies, I was just --"

"It is more than apparent what you were just doing, Doctor. We will deal with that later. For now, you have work to do." He thrust my bag at me as I struggled into my shirt, my vest and jacket, buttons only half done up, moving toward the window, which had widened to the size of a door. I felt a quiver of fear in my stomach at the thought of flying, and barely managed to stuff my feet into my shoes, casting a longing glance back to the dark haired man where he lay asleep, then caught up my coat before he grabbed my wrist to pull me outside.

I completed the night's tuning in abject terror, barely able to handle the injections. Part of it was frustration at myself - frustration that I'd let them catch me, and fear that it would endanger the sweet man I'd been with. So I didn't fight it when they dragged me down to the underneath, didn't fight the blow that knocked me off my feet and let me seeing stars, hard enough that I was sure it would bruise. I didn't fight when they stripped me and strung me up, flayed me until my voice was hoarse from cries, until I blacked out from the pain and the oxygen that my poor damaged lungs could not provide in my panicked state.

When I finally awoke, I was dressed again, curled on wheel, the my entire backside burning with agony. Hand was in front of me, watching me as I carefully crawled off the table.

"The one you transgressed with has been moved ahead in Our plans," He remarked, almost conversationally. "He will be re-imprinted tomorrow night."

I closed my eyes against the wave of loss, and nodded. "I understand.

I drugged myself to sleep until the next night's tuning, not wanting to think about it, not wanting to face it. Clinging to oblivion to escape the pain of my battered body, the greater pain of loss in my heart. I'd been so foolish to fall, but I hadn't been able to stop myself. I'd seen this man only twice, but... it seemed I needed him as much as he needed me. And now I wouldn't see him again, not until he was no longer the person who'd whispered my name so tenderly.

Or so I thought. I hadn't been at my office for more than an hour the next day when I heard a soft, tentative knock at my door.

I turned in surprise, staring at the silhouette behind the frosted glass. Visitors were unheard of here, where no one knew me, or cared to. "Come in," I said, and as the door opened, my heart stopped.

The expression on Peter's face turned from tentative to relieved, and he stepped in, shutting the door behind him. "Daniel, thank god."

I stared at him blankly for a moment, standing at the top of my stairs, eyes only for me. "How did you -- find me?" I asked, a little hoarsely, and he started down the steps slowly, unthreatening.

"Well, you were in the phone book, Doctor." A slight smile. "I'm sorry I didn't wake up when you left. You left your hat behind." He had my fedora in his hands, along with a single long stem red rose, tied with a red ribbon. He set the hat down on the side of the maze, then took my hand, curling my fingers around the de-thorned stem. "I know you had to leave with the rain. I wish I'd been able to see you off, Daniel."

God, but it was beautiful to hear him speak my name, soft and familiar and just a little worshipful. I looked up at him in soft agony. "You can't stay here, Peter. It's -- too dangerous...."

He gave a little nod, as if he expected that much, fingers coming up to lightly touch the bruise blossoming purple on my cheek, sorrowful. "Did he hurt you because he found out about me?"

I gave a little shake of my head, flushing. I wasn't sure who the 'he' was that he referred to, but whatever idea he'd gotten in his head about me, it was probably easier to let him keep believing it. "I was late."

His fingers trailed down along my jaw, tilting my face up to him to receive his kisses, soft and warm, breath trailing over my skin. "How could anyone stand to hurt you?" I arched up into his kisses with a soft whimper, recalling too clearly Hand's words about him being re-imprinted tonight, and wanting to memorize every inch of him. I couldn't let him go, not yet.

Before I could stop him, one of his hands had slipped around my waist, and the whisper against my lacerated skin made me buck tense against him with a short, gasping cry. His hand jerked back immediately as if stung. "Oh god, I'm sorry... what's wrong? What happened?"

I turned away from green eyes filled with sorrow, with anger. "I was late," I said again simply, feeling my cheeks burn.

"What did he do to you?" He asked softly, but I could only manage to shake my head in reply, lips pressed firmly together against the agony and shame of it. He stepped a little closer, resting a hand gently, carefully on my hip, pressing his lips oh so softly to the bruise that purpled my cheekbone. I almost cried from it, from how overwhelmingly good it was just to have him here.

"Let me see to it," he said softly, cautiously, "just to make sure... that you don't need medical attention. To see if there is anything I can do to help."

I closed my eyes for a moment. There was something he could help with, that I badly needed... I had an ointment, numbing, antibacterial, that I often used when they did this. To prevent infection, to dull the pain. I'd never let another help me - never had someone be willing to - and I had to admit that it would be easier than trying to do it on my own. But the thought of revealing myself like that was perhaps more daunting than I could handle. "Peter... you do not need to see -- this. You do not want to. Trust me."

"I want to help you," he repeated softly, voice agonized. "Daniel, please... let me take care of you."

I closed my eyes at the rush of longing his words brought, pain and emotion and loneliness all wrapped up together. "All right," I whispered, and took his hand, leading him past the maze and through the doors on the other side to where I kept my office proper - desk and files and notes and more bookshelves, along with the required psychiatrist's couch - one of my legs awkwardly unresponsive as the pain in my back pulled and flared at my muscles.

He noticed. "Your leg is hurt as well...?"

"No. Just a -- side effect, I am afraid." I locked the door behind him, limping to the desk and setting his rose down, bright on the dark wood finish. Then I went through the drawers until I found the bottle that I needed, handing it to him, not being able to meet his gaze. "If you... if you could apply this...." I swallowed hard. "I cannot reach -- myself. It would help immensely."

He nodded, fingers moving carefully to the front of my lab coat, starting to unbutton it, and I moved to help him, then the shirt underneath. I wasn't wearing an undershirt - I couldn't, not with the lashes so fresh - and I heard him draw a soft breath as my chest was bared. I knew well what he was seeing, and couldn't blame him - the lattice of thin scars, the ones on my chest mostly from their knives; the small puckered burns, the large, bubbled spiral that sat on the left of my abdomen just under ribs, like a brand. What I didn't expect was the soft moan of pain, gentle fingertips that brushed lightly, then warmer over my poor rumpled skin as his lips pressed to my hair. "God, Daniel... oh god...."

"It's all right," I managed to whisper, closing my eyes tight against his care. "They don't -- hurt me now."

He seemed to have to force himself to pull away, easing my lab coat carefully off my shoulders and down my arms without brushing my back. "How long has this been going on?" He asked softly, reaching for my shirt.

I arched back a little to help him, steeling myself for more pain. "Years."

"And you can't... you can't get away?"

"He is..." I bit my lip to stifle a cry at the agony of the fabric pulling over my back, giving a sigh of relief as it was finally pulled away. "He is very powerful."

A sharp hiss as he caught sight of my back. "He... he whipped you?"

"Yes."

Silent contemplation. "But he doesn't have sex with you?" A statement, phrased as a question, and I gave a sharp nod. Thank god They had never gone that route with Their tortures. I knew it was apparent enough to Peter from my body's reactions to sex that it was not something I often had the luxury of engaging in.

"I am simply -- a servant," I murmured. "I am not permitted to have -- interactions -- with anyone."

"... then this is because of me."

I forced myself to straighten, to catch his eyes, and gave a little shake of my head. "Could you... use that cream on me, please?" I bent over the desk, leaning heavily on it, clenching my fingers on the lip of the opposite side.

He was silent for a moment, "It doesn't look like - like you skin has been broken anywhere, so at least... the risk of infection will be low...."

"Yes," I whispered, though it wasn't entirely correct. They had whipped me until the leather cut into my poor scarred skin, until I bled. The lacerations had been deep. But They at least had the decency to speed the healing, to Tune my abused skin enough that there was no risk of making me ill. It was of course because it would be too inconvenient for Them to deal with, rather than for my comfort.

His fingers smoothed over my arm reassuringly, then I heard the lid of the bottle uncap, cream being squeezed onto his fingers. Hesitation, then the lightest, most careful touch to one shoulder, the cream cool against the burn of the welts, and I drew a sharp hiss despite myself, gritting my teeth. It didn't hurt so much as getting them, and I knew that soon enough, with application of the cream, it would numb to a blessedly dull ache, at least for a while. He continued to smooth it on, fingers gentle and soothing on my skin as they carefully dealt with each welt, each mark of the lash, one by one. As much as it ached, it felt so very good at the same time, to be cared for, stroked so softly, the dance of his fingers making my nerves fire both pleasure and pain simultaneously up my spine, and my breath grew laboured despite myself.

His lips pressed softly against my ear, fingers lingering at the small of my back. "Are you all right?"

I gave a little nod, swallowing hard. "Yes. It... it feels nice. Better. Thank you."

He hesitated, fingers still stroking slowly. "The lashes go down farther, but your pants.... Do you want me to continue?"

I nodded mutely, reaching for my belt. He helped with his free hand, and I knew from the brush of his fingers that he'd felt me, shamefully half hard already. He said nothing though, easing the back of my pants and shorts slowly down over my rear, making little soothing noises to answer my whimpers as the movement aggravated my damaged skin. Finally he let the top of my garments rest just under my buttocks, picking up the bottle of ointment and squeezing out more, carefully stroking and soothing the pain. If I'd thought his touch on my back was intense, this was doubly so, the mixture of pleasure and pain turning me on far more than it should have, shivers of arousal whispering up my spine from the slick caress of his skin on mine.

"Daniel..." he leaned in to press his lips softly to my shoulder, his voice husky and breath hot against my skin, fingers resting lightly on my ass. "I should... I should go...."

"Please stay," I found myself whispering, unable to process the thought of being apart from him when we had so little time left.

"If I stay, they'll hurt you..." his voice was anguished, and I turned into him, bringing a trembling hand up to cup his face.

"The punishment is done," I whispered, bringing his lips to mine, as if to convince him with pleading kisses. "Please, Peter.... I need you."

The kisses he returned belied a passion carefully held at bay by his concern for me, and that made me far more aroused than I'd expected. "Tell me what to do," he whispered hoarsely, and I gave a soft sigh of relief.

"If you please," I said softly, "Wash the ointment from -- your hand in the sink out there. On the top shelf by the door there is -- a bottle labelled Glycerin...."

He gave a little nod, kissing me gently before disappearing out the door, and I fluttered around a little nervously, capping the ointment and stowing it away back in the desk. I looked up as he entered, locking the door behind him again, green eyes dark with soft desire. But he came to me hesitantly, setting the bottle on the desk before catching my face in his hands and leaning in to kiss me, tongue flicking past my lips, tasting me. "Don't want to hurt you," he murmured, but I gave another tiny shake of the head, arching in to his kisses, hand slipping down to palm his arousal, drawing a low groan from his throat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, shamed, "I didn't mean to be...."

"Shhh..." I sucked his bottom lip between mine, worrying it lightly with my teeth, making him moan and arch closer. I caught one of his hands, guiding it to press against me, to where my misplaced boxers barely stretched over the head of my cock. "You feel what you did to me."

"God, Daniel...." His free hand caught my hip carefully, pulling me closer, his fingers tugging my boxers down to curl around my cock, making me whimper and rock up helplessly into his touch. I let my head fall back to his kisses, his mouth hungry on my neck and throat, kissing the top of my chest, nipping lightly at my collarbone and groaning against your skin. "Make me want you so goddamn bad...."

I let my fingers tangle in his dark curls, free hand tugging at his belt, gasping at the tease of his mouth on my skin. "Please. Oh please, Peter..."

He raised his face to look at me, breath in soft pants, lips parting with a groan as I tugged his pants and shorts down around his thighs, enough to free him, stroking him firmly. "How...?"

I glanced around quickly, then pushed him backward and down onto an upholstered, armless chair that sat next to my desk, slipping out of my pants and straddling him, fingers working feverishly at the buttons of his shirt as I kissed him almost desperately. He rocked up against me, one hand slipping between us to wrap around the straining shaft of his erection, press it to mine, stroking us both as I pushed his shirt off his shoulders, trembling hands stroking over his chest. I let myself kiss him now, kiss down his neck to nip at his shoulder, breathing in deep the scent of his skin and cologne and desire, musky and warm. Licking at the muscles I could feel trembling under his skin, biting down a little harder at the crook of his neck as he cried out breathlessly and bucked up against me. "God, Daniel... drive me so damn crazy...."

I moved to catch his mouth, invading, tasting and claiming him as deeply and entirely as I could, needing to savour every moment of this. Reaching back blindly, I caught the bottle off the table, voice a low his. "May I....?"

"Please," he gasped, and I managed to get the top off the bottle, a little awkward due to its size, pouring an ample amount over my fingers that I used to stroke over our twinned cocks, my fingers gliding smooth and slick over them with his, rocking against him to thrust the length of my erection along his swollen shaft.

Setting the bottle aside, I grabbed the back of the chair for support, trusting his weight to keep it steady, then lifted myself and started to rock onto him. This was much, much different then letting him have control, and it took me a moment to school myself, to let my muscles adjust to his girth as I slowly let him fill me, face pressed to his hair, gasping. His hands clenched at my hips, carefully clear of my damaged skin, tugging me down just a little, insistently, until my skin sat flush with his, my weight entirely on his lap, his cock buried hard and deep inside me.

His mouth found mine, trembling, kissing me breathlessly, little moans echoing my whimpers at the pulses of discomfort and pleasure that crawled simultaneously up my spine as I adjusted to him. Then he started to rock under me, just a little, the arch of our bodies giving the smallest shuddering pressure of his cock inside me, almost maddening compared to what I wanted, what I ached for.

"Daniel - !" He groaned, trembling against my mouth, and my fingers tightened on the back of the chair, arching up off of him before sinking back down with a shuddering cry, repeating the motion again, a little faster, whimpering wordlessly at the hot shock of sensation driven up my spine every time I let him impale me. It was more difficult than I'd anticipated, and the muscles in my thighs and glutes and back, already protesting from the whip's damage, started to shiver and burn in response my demands. But it was so very, very good, so intense, that I couldn't bring myself to stop, rocking harder on him, helplessly crying out louder with the increase in sensation.

As if sensing how taxing it was for me, his hands slipped under my legs to grip the back of my thighs, just shy of the lashes, helping me just a little, but it was enough. We fell into a hard, desperate rhythm, his lips pressed to my neck as I let my head fall back, back arching, angling just right to grind against my sweet spot with every thrust. His mouth pulling hard at my skin, nipping at it deliciously, and somehow the raw ache in my back only added to the pleasure of this, every nerve in me feeling almost hypersensitive, pulling me quickly close to climax. I freed a hand to clutch at his hair, tangling my fingers tight in it, emotion surging with the pleasure. So thankful, so very elated that I could have this one last time, once more before I lost him forever, and that was worth whatever torture, whatever punishment They would most definitely throw at me.

He jerked tense under me, fingers digging hard into my thighs, hard enough to bruise, his voice a shuddering cry against my skin. His hips kept bucking up into me even as he came, hard and hot and slick, one hand moving to pump my cock, firm and fast. Then he was pulling me with him, hard and fast and intense, pleasure shuddering through my abused nerves, and I was crying his name against his hair without even meaning to, the sensation and emotion that was too strong to be kept inside escaping my heart in shuddering, sobbing gasps, in tears, no matter how tightly I closed my eyes.

"Shh, shhh...." His lips, gentle on my face, easing me down to rest my full weight on him, fingers stroking over my hair. His voice sounded soft, soothing noises, murmuring my name. I took it all in, trying to memorize the pleasure of being with him, the feel of running my fingers through his hair, the taste of his breath on my mouth.

"I love you for what you -- have given me," I whispered softly, and he smiled, heartbreakingly sweet.

"Will always love you, Daniel," he breathed in reply, kissing me softly, warm and lingering to show his words rung true. Then one hand cupped my face, drawing back so his gaze could search mine, anguished. "Will I ever be able to see you without putting you in danger of... this?"

Before I could figure out a reply, though, I heard the sound of my door clicking closed behind me, even though I knew he'd locked it when he'd returned. My head jerked around, trying to see. "Who was there?"

Peter shook his head. "A dark shadow through the glass, no taller than a kid... how did a kid get in here?"

"Oh god." I pulled away and grabbed for my clothes in a panic, struggling them on despite the burn of agony as I pulled my shirt on. "You have to get -- out of here."

He pulled his trousers back on, watching me helplessly. "I don't want you to be hurt again."

I shook my head. "Now, Peter. Please. He'll be coming. He can't find you here."

He caught my hands as I buttoned my shirt, green eyes holding my gaze. "Come with me."

"He will come after me."

"Then we won't let him catch us." His face was determined, and I leaned in to kiss him, fighting back the agony, when I really just wanted to weep.

"He will hurt you when he -- finds me," I said softly, simply, "And I won't have that. Please go. I will find you again -- I promise."

"When it rains?" he asked softly, and I nodded, though I knew it was an empty, impossible promise.

"The bathhouse. Now, please... through those doors, you must -- take the fire escape."

He nodded, taking a few steps before turning back to me, rushing to catch my face in his hands for a trembling, desperate kiss. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and I shook my head, pushing him gently toward the door.

"Go."

~~~~~~~~~~