Title: The Prisoner

Author: The Witch's Lover

Warning: Homosexual sex, graphic rape, and all that entails. This is not a happy story.

...

I wake up and the world's a mess: there's fire and smoke and I'm coughing so hard I feel as if I'm gonna cough up my lungs. Bits of ash are raining down from the sky, and when my eyes adjust I see that I have been thrown clear of the ship, the remnants of the type B class navy transporter we'd been travelling in lying about in pieces. Nothing is moving.

Shit. Where is the prisoner?

I had been one of three officers in charge of a lone prisoner's transfer from a grade 4 prison compound on Helios 5 to the closest grade 5 unit on Nkota Almis after he had killed nine inmates and five officers on some crazy rampage, even going so far as to rape some of them. The most junior of us had gotten sick and had to put in at Goerhuasa about a third of the way along the trip, and so it had just been me, my commanding officer and the prisoner for the past month.

I'd spent many hours watching that man, his eyes flickering under his closed lids. With his muscled arms and his long, tanned body he was bigger by me by an immeasurable degree. Bigger, and stronger too. You could tell that even through his baggy orange prison overalls. Sometimes I talked to him, chatting about stupid everyday things like the crap we were eating for tea that night and whatever came to mind. I liked to think he appreciated the relief from the relentless boredom he must be feeling, confined like that.

It fascinated me how this murderer, this all powerful killer, could be tamed by some needles in his arms and tubes to see to his bodily functions. His feeding and shitting and pissing were all controlled by the machine around him.

We weren't allowed to let him out. We weren't allowed to interact with him at all: that's why he was sedated and half unconscious at all times on the journey. I wasn't really meant to be talking with him either. They couldn't risk him awake with only the three of us (the two of us after Gerry left) even when he was bound in a system that, the superintendent reassured me "could survive a nuclear bomb."

And that nuclear bomb had just happened. Or not a bomb, but something even more dangerous and unimaginable than that had occurred: a wormhole. One moment I had been sat at the controls desk next to Commander John Lee and the next the impossibly wide maw of an Einstein-Rosen bridge had opened up before us and we were hurtling towards it at an uncontrollable rate. We barely had time for a panicked distress call, no time at all for securing the prisoner, and then we strapped ourselves into our seats just before we shot into the hole of the maw. After that it was blackness.

I'd woken up here, on a planet that I don't recognize, not even from data banks from my training or the ship. I'm alone, except for the prisoner and the Commander.

The landscape is bleak and rocky, shades of orange and yellow. Metal from the ship lies scattered around me in a chaotic mess. Luckily, I am unhurt, still strapped in my chair where it had been thrown free of the ship.

I shake my dizzy head, reality fast dawning on me as I realise that I'm vulnerable with a known killer around the place. For all I know, the prisoner could have escaped from his containment unit despite the reassurances from the superintendent. I unbuckle myself from the straps attaching me to my seat, silently thanking it for protecting me, and scramble around for my gun, grabbing at the small weapon when I see it lying half obscured under a piece of debris. I snatch it up with both hands shaking in relief.

Breathing in deeply, I look around me, trying to assess the situation. I'm sitting about ten feet away from the main compartment, and I can't see inside it. Is the prisoner still locked up? Is John still inside? He might be unconscious.

I settle my nerves. Whatever the situation, I know my duty: to secure the prisoner and help my senior officer.

Tentatively I hold my gun out before me and creep around the edge of the debris to reveal the interior of the main cabin, consequently also the control room and the area where the prisoners' containment cell is housed. My heart drops out of my chest when I see the sight that greets me. In the pilot's chair, John… He's sitting there, dead, with his throat slashed and slowly congealing blood trickling from the gaping wound in his neck.

When I see his body I feel the desperate need to vomit. I duck back around and dry heave against the side of the ship. That wound… is not a result of the crash. Nothing 'accidental' caused that. That only means one thing. Fear rising in me, and feeling sick to my stomach, I once again peer around the jagged edge of the cabin.

My blood pumps cold in fear when I see the prisoner's containment unit smashed beyond recognition. The tubes and wires are ripped from their sockets, and the metal door with its small window is bent and twisted out of shape. It hangs open on its multiple hinges. As I feared, there is no body inside.

Shiiit. The prisoner… He's escaped. Oh, god. He could be around anywhere… He could be watching me right now. If he killed John… then it's only me left on this planet with him. I gulp. I know I need to apprehend him before he comes after me. Actually, I know I need to shoot him before he kills me: I don't have any inflated ideas about my own ability to single-handedly apprehend and successfully imprison him for however long it takes for someone to find us. I don't know where we are; I don't even know if this planet has any advanced civilizations.

I pull off the safety catch on the gun I'm holding. I have a responsibility to anyone on this planet to kill him before he kills someone else.

That's when I take a deep breath and duck around the corner of the wreckage and someone barrels into me from behind.

My face smashes into the ground and I suck in a deep gasping breath as the air is forced from my lungs. My arm is twisted behind my back and I gasp in pain. Shit! I panic, struggling. The man straddles me from behind, one knee digging into the small of my back, and as soon as I feel the touch I know who it is. Fuck! In terror I squirm beneath the heavy body on top of me, fear choking my throat as I desperately try to free myself. Shit! I don't want to die!

"You looking for me, fucker?" One hand remains digging into my back as the prisoner leans over me, the other reaching for my face, gripping my chin in dirty hands, dragging it around. I stare in horror at the dark man, dirty black hair hanging in sweaty, dust streaked strands around his face. My tongue doesn't let me speak, heavy with fear. My heart is beating like crazy and I'm scared out of my wits, and I flinch when he forces his fingers between my lips and teeth, forcing my mouth open.

He studies my face, his dark eyes burning into mine, and I'm angry. "Get off me," I growl around his fingers. I glare up into his eyes, squinting at the brightness from the sun behind him, heart beating as if it knows that these could be its last minutes.

The prisoner smiles, and then with a resounding crack he slaps me, and I suck in my breath in shock and pain. "Shut up," he sneers.

He abruptly gets off me, and I breathe in as air rushes into my unexpectedly expanded chest. Confused but full of adrenaline, I try to jump to my feet to turn to face him, and that's when I realise he's bound my both hands with a plastic cable tie behind my back. "Fuck." I spin on my feet, tumbling onto my knees at my abrupt loss of balance, and snickering, the prisoner grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. I tense.

"You'd better shut up and do as I tell you, or you're dead." He draws a knife from his pocket and licks along the blade, grinning at me. His tongue comes away coated in blood. John's blood. My stomach turns over.

"Release me," I grind out between grit teeth, looking up into his black eyes, inwardly amazed at my own audacity. I draw my courage, taking a breath. "I am Federal Ensign Lewis Harding and-" I get another slap to the face, the force of the blow sending me reeling to the ground again.

"I told you to shut up, Lewis." He growls out my name, rolling it on his tongue disdainfully. I flush a furious crimson. He kicks me and I gasp at the painful crunch to my ribs, curling up. "All I had for one and a half frickin' months was you chattering on at me about your pathetic life on that piece of crap." He jabs a finger at the burnt out ship, then turns back to me. "You think I want to listen to that shitty little voice of yours now? You want me to gag you?"

I scowl up at him from beneath my fringe of light blonde hair and he sneers. He uses his knife to push my hair out of my eyes, and he grins when he sees my angry expression. "On second thoughts, babe…" I'm taken off guard when he grabs my neck, choking me with one of his hands and lifting me half off of my knees. A thick wad of unwashed material is ripped off the sleeve of his overalls and forced into my mouth. I try, unsuccessfully, to spit it out, gagging on the cloth. This earns me another slap.

"Now you just do what I say, fucker."

We'd been walking for hours. Once he'd gagged me, he'd chained me to some wreckage whilst he'd scoped out the remains of the transporter, collecting an assortment of foodstuffs and other things which he now carried in his backpack. Then he'd untied me, and without a word, began dragging me towards an apparently 'desirable' destination by a length of chain attached to the cable tie on my wrists. Gagged, chained and restrained: there was little I could do to oppose him, and so I had stumbled along behind him in his wake.

Luckily he hadn't made me carry anything, because as it was I was already dying from the heat of the sun blazing down on the rocky, desolate scenery. Sweat trickled down my forehead and I had patches of salty moisture on my back and head and under my armpits. Even though 'the prisoner' appeared to be sweating as profusely as I was, he made no complaint, and I grit my teeth and told myself that if he could do it, so could I.

It's now dusk. My legs are killing me, and my face is sunburned and bruised from the sun and from his unrelenting slaps when I've unintentionally fallen behind. We've arrived at a cave. For the past few hours now we have been drawing closer and closer to the foot of this mountain range, my captor's apparent destination, and I can only sink to my knees in relief, collapsing gratefully when he sets down his pack.

For a couple minutes he is gone, checking out the inside of the cave, and I'm too exhausted to even contemplate escape. Then he returns, and contemplates my shattered form, sprawled across the floor in a state of exhaustion. I look back up at him. If he wants me to move he's going to have to do it himself. I'm too tired.

When he scoops me up in his arms, wrapping my chain around his wrist, he ignores my weak protests, cuffing me gently, and carries me into the cave, stashing me at the back where the cave roof drops to a more comforting height.

When he pulls the wet rag from my mouth I humbly accept the water he brings to my lips, tipping up my chin with an unexpectedly gentle hand. I drink it gratefully, eyes closing in relief at the sensation of the heated water pouring down my dry throat. He smoothes back my hair as I gulp it down, grunting in satisfaction and petting me, and I know he's pleased at my obedience. Like I'd go against him when he has a knife stashed somewhere on his person, when I'm chained up like this.

When I'm done he wipes my mouth and breaks off some hard biscuit, pushing it through my lips. I open my mouth dutifully, glaring at him, and swallow the food he offers, feeling the burn of humiliation at being treated in such a way. I feel like some pet dog. He chuckles at me darkly. I turn a furious shade of red.

"Get some sleep, bitch." I wince at the casual use of language, and open my mouth to speak.

"Don't you tell me what-" I'm whacked around the head, causing my eyes to water, his dark eyes glinting at me dangerously. My heartbeat starts to race.

"I told you to get some sleep." I glare at him angrily, then huff and lie down. I feel fear rising in me again. I'd unconsciously become used to his presence during that long trek to get up here, but now, in such close, confined quarters, I feel my original panic beginning to surface. I hate being so close to him, within reach of his murderous hands. I only hope that he won't do anything to me since he hasn't done anything to me yet.

I can't get comfortable. My arms are still tied behind my back – they've been like that for the past five hours now at least. I shift on the hard rock, trying to ignore the black figure crowding me into the back of the cave. It's still kinda light, and the prisoner's hand comes out to stroke my hair, ignoring my startled flinch. I lie still, trembling and bound. I feel completely helpless, vulnerable to him. This is my own idea of a personal hell.

Eventually I relax under his touch, my quivering body slowly growing still. I sigh out, and close my eyes. I can sense the prisoner smiling above me. Prick. I know I shouldn't let my guard down around him; I know I shouldn't fall asleep. But I'm so tired…

...

TBC

A/N: I hope you enjoyed…

This is a two-shot, the next chapter contains rape. If you don't like that then please don't read on when I update :)

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