"I Have John Murdoch in Mind."

Auth notes: Written in response to a challenge to write John/Mr. Hand. Some spoilers for the movie, this takes place before the final scene with the Strangers. In case you missed the other warnings, yes, this is non-con.

"I Have John Murdoch in Mind."


John Murdoch surrendered, at the hole in the world that was Shell Beach. Surrendered to save Emma. And even though he was terrified, the smallest part of him, the part that reminded him that he'd been living this nightmare without sleep for over 36 hours, was relieved to give in to the command of the stranger. Mr. Hand. To sleep.

He opened his eyes once, in a world that was all metal and cold. On some kind of cart or lift that was rushing through tunnels of blue. The voice again. "Sleep."

And then, he awoke.

He was alone, alone on a bed that seemed strangely out of place in the metal room. He'd been stripped of his coat and shoes, which sat on the floor. He sat up, rubbing his head, his mind going over what had happened and trying to make sense of it.

"Hello, Mr. Murdoch. You are confused, yes?" That voice, like a snake. And the same figure that had captured him, tall and lean and white and not human, stalking from the shadows. "You have given us quite a bit of trouble.... but we found you."

"What did you do with Emma?"

"She is safe. You were meant to kill her, you know. Just like you did to all those whores. We were very interested in whether or not you'd do so." He stood over the bed, watching him, a smug look on the dead face.

He tried to get up, but Mr. Hand moved in a flash, a hand on John's chest, pushing him back into the bed. Sitting on the side. Strange that he was so strong now, compared to when they'd fought before. Strange that John was so weak. "You aren't going anywhere, Mr. Murdoch. The Consensus is discussing your future. But until then... you are mine."

Something about his words, the look in his eyes settled like a cold lump in John's stomach. "Let me go."

A laugh. "Oh no. We... I am far too interested in speaking with you. You see, we have something in common, Mr. Murdoch. I too have the memories of a murderer."

"I'm not a murderer."

"No. But you could have been. Aren't you ever curious? What it was like to kill those women.... I can assure you, it was very.... pleasurable."

John turned his head away, not fighting the hand on his chest. "I was never curious."

"I think you were." The voice, like snakes, lowered. "I think while we make up our minds... I should show you."

John looked back, confused. "What?"

A smirk, and suddenly that spring-loaded knife was in his hand, blade extended, and the Stranger was over top of him on the bed, the blade pressed to his throat. "You always started like this, with the knife," He spoke, pressing the blade just hard enough for him to feel it, without breaking skin. "Sometimes they thought you were just a pervert, that you wanted to play at rape, that you'd let them go when you were done with them. But you wanted it to be real." A hand snaked down his midline, and suddenly John understood. Jerking back on the bed, frantically trying to get out from under him, to stay away from the knife.

"Leave me alone - !"

Hand laughed, not even trying to restrain him, his very presence a brick barrier to freedom. The knife disappeared, and both hands went to work on his clothes, yanking his pants undone, pulling them down. "We won't have that, Mr. Murdoch. You want to protect dear Emma, don't you? Be a good boy now."

He made some kind of panicked noise, his mind not registering any rationality, just the need to escape, to protect himself. He tried to focus enough to Tune, to try and harness the abilities the Doctor had told him that he had - why hadn't he listened to the Doctor? - but in his panic he couldn't seem to make anything happen. Couldn't protect himself as he was man-handled onto his stomach on the bed, pants yanked off. Couldn't shake the cold white fingers that tangled in his hair and pressed his face into the mattress. Couldn't stop the Stranger from violating him, cock cold and hard and slick with -something-, thrusting deep and rough into his protesting body. He cried out into the mattress at it, at the terror and humiliation and pain.

"Ahh, there...." There was no change in emotion in Hand's voice, even as he kept moving, thrusting hard and deep with no concern for John's comfort. "Now you see what the receiving end is like. Yes, scream, they always screamed, and cried. And some of them fought, just like you are doing now, and that made us so very hard. But what you don't know is that it seems some of them... liked it." The hand released his hair, not long enough for him to formulate an escape, but just long enough for Hand to yank his hips upwards, to push John's knees under him and take him again, swift and hard and deep. He cried out again wordlessly, struggling against him, but Mr. Hand held tightly, weight pressing his face and shoulders into the mattress, holding him immobile.

"Lets see if you like it," the Stranger hissed, and John felt a hand push underneath his body, curl around his cock even as the Stranger continued to fuck him.

"Stop - !" he gasped helplessly, trying to pull away, trying to find a way to escape from those cold fingers, the dead, hard cock that penetrated him again and again. Mr. Hand only chuckled, stroking him a little more firmly.

"Stop? But you do like it, don't you, Mr. Murdoch. You've dreamed about being on the receiving end of this for a very long time. That's what made you so angry. Seeing Emma getting fucked by the pretty blonde man, you wanted it to be you!"

"I don't - remember anything!" John managed to gasp from between clenched teeth, eyes shut tight, just wishing it could be over.

"Oh, but I do!" The hand on his cock was warmer now, from friction or the heat of his own body, and despite himself he could feel his body responding, feel himself getting hard in reaction to the touch, to the hard shocks of pain and pressure that Mr.Hand drove up his spine with every thrust. "And it seems certain parts of you do, too!"

"Sick - bastard!" John's words were helpless, driven from his mouth even as his cock drove into him, again and again. And though he tried everything to block it, there was a dark pleasure to it, a spot hot and aching inside him that was triggered through the pain with each thrust. He was crying out helplessly now, with each hard shock of pain and pleasure, the movement of Hand's fingers on throbbing his cock excruciating. "Stop - !" He gasped again, desperately, but only heard another chuckle.

"We will stop when we are finished. I. You." He gave a harder thrust, a hard rush of sensation, the line between pain and pleasure so thin now that John couldn't keep from crying out, from bucking back against him, even as his rational mind tried to push the realization away.

"Please - !" He begged breathlessly, and though he wasn't quite sure what he was begging for, Mr.Hand sped up, harder, deeper, leather clothes slapping against his ass.

"You want this to stop, Mr. Murdoch? You know what you have to do. Ask nicely."

"Let me go - !" He gasped, biting his lip on another cry as Hand's fingers stopped their movement, tightening around his cock.

"Wrong answer, Mr. Murdoch. You know what I want. Beg for it."

John grit his teeth on it, on the cries pulled from his throat at the horrible sensation, helpless and broken. "Please...." he gasped, trying to shut his mind from his words. "Please make me come....!"

A little approving noise, and Hand resumed stroking, hard and fast in time with his thrusts. John was shuddering under him, conscious thought giving way to breathless cries, to hard pulses of sensation that built inescapably. Shuddering shocks of pleasure, despite whatever anger and mortification his rational mind felt. He yielded to the pleasure of it, body bucking back into him, crying out wordless pleasure, craving the climax that would end this nightmare. A few hard, uncaring thrusts was all it took to drive him over the edge, to blackness filled only with the bittersweet shudders of sensation, nerves hot with the bursts of pleasure that eclipsed every other sense.

He was vaguely aware of Mr. Hand pulling away, letting him crumple, curled up on his side. He watched the pale figure examine the semen on his fingers curiously before wiping them on the bed. "That was... most interesting." Standing, no trace of arousal under the long black robes. "We will return for you when we are ready, Mr. Murdoch. Until then, we suggest you sleep."

This time, though, there was no supernatural power to take John to badly-craved oblivion. Mr. Hand disappeared out of the room, leaving John alone with nothing but remembered horror and pleasure.

--Fin--