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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Helloooo! Say, did I tell you I spent the day in New York yesterday? I had a great time—we went to a play—Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, which I enjoyed very much. We ate dinner at Tavern On The Green, because my beloved friend thought we should do that and I’m pretty much a sheep when it comes to her so I agreed. We took her wonderful mother with us, and when I got all freezy cold in the theater she snuggled me all up! *happysigh*. It felt wonderful to get mommy snuggles again—you never grow out of wanting them. And wasn’t it great of my dearest to share her mom with me? True love, that!
So, on that note of sweetness and light—let’s have more Torture fic! Blame John Lithgow on you not getting this sooner!
Clark jerked out of a doze, his head was spinning and his mouth was open, dry—so dry it hurt to swallow, felt like his lungs were flat, like he wasn’t getting air…
He thought he’d heard Lex. Another nightmare. Lex had been screaming, and screaming—no, he was calling his name. He was still calling his name. Clark shook. He was having hallucinations again. Not as horrible as the one with his mother explaining to him that they hated him and he should let go and die…
“Clark!”
He jerked, a spasm ran through his body--it really was Lex—this time it was real. Lex was close, calling for him—“Lex!” He gasped and gagged. The pain, it felt like his throat was being torn open again. He steeled himself, and yelled. “LEX! Lex! Lex!” He coughed and tears of pain streamed from his eyes. God. He groaned and tried to get to his feet. He was probably tearing his throat apart for a dream.
******
Lex slowly fell to his side, dirt and leaves clinging to his coat, his trousers. He smashed his fist into the loose dirt and struggled to control the urge to roll into a ball and just-- lie there, but he didn’t have time for the comfort of insanity, he had to find Clark.
After so many failures why this one seemed more crushing than the others he couldn’t explain—he’d been so damn sure, so damn sure. He sat up and swept dirt from his knees, brushed it viciously from his palms. He looked at his feet; his ruined shoes, and an odd shape in the debris caught his eyes. He reached out for it, and the shadows melted away and became a box.
A fucking juice box. He sighed and got to his feet, and a little niggling sensation made him prod the box with his foot. It was full. He stood, staring down at it, and then at the edge of his hearing…a little noise. A cry. An animal? He looked around the clearing, searching the burnt area. Something sparkled and drew him to it.
Against the burnt and cracked bricks of the house foundation, he could see a set of doors. They didn’t lead to the exposed basement. He came closer and he could hear the weak cry again. Something was under the basement.
He yanked on the doors and as he’d half expected, they opened easily onto pitch-blackness. After a moment he could make out a set of stairs under the weak light of the moon. Stairs that led down to another door, and he could hear the noise again. It sounded like his name. He took a step forward and the sound of a car engine floated across the field—someone was coming. He quickly shut the doors and stepped back into the shadows of the underbrush. More than likely it was that crazy bitch. He was besides himself—he knew Clark was there, calling for him, begging him for help—but he had to catch this insane creature in the act of—whatever it was she was doing. And then—punish her.
Swallowing his rage and his impatience, he blended into the blackness around him. He could see a shape coming over the field, a feminine figure…Lana.
The dead girl.
His fingers clawed against his thighs and he worked to slow his breathing. He needed to be cool-headed, clear…he concentrated on schooling his emotions, damping down his anger,like a session of play with his dad—taking himself away from what was happening and into a place of safety.
His breathing slowed and evened and he closed his eyes and reached carefully for that place.
******
Lana set down the bag she was holding, and pulled open the cellar doors. She hesitated a moment…something stroked her skin for a moment, a soft little shiver ran through her, and she turned her head—it was gone. She must have imagined it. Anticipation maybe. She looked down the flight of stairs and smiled. Her true love was waiting for her. It would be cruel to draw it out—not when he needed her so much.
She ran lightly down the stairs and set her bag on the tiny table next to the heavy door. She poured a little soup from the thermos, and slid a straw into the fruit punch box--dinner for her sweetheart.
She moved easily about in the darkness, setting down the tray. “Hello, Clark. Look, I remembered dinner tonight. No need to thank me,” she said brightly. She came closer and noticed blood on his mouth. “You know, you really shouldn’t try to shout, especially when I’m not here.”
She smiled, and crouched next to him. He froze when she reached out her hand, but she ran her fingers over the chains, and frowned when bits of faintly florescent green flecked her fingers.. “These need to be re-coated, I think. How do you feel,” she asked, her forehead creased with concern. “Do you feel less nauseous, less pain? Does it hurt when I do this,” she asked and wrapped a section of the chain around his neck and pulled it tight. She watched the veins in his neck swell and blacken, watched his fingers scrabble weakly at the chains and shook her head. “They definitely need to be recoated. You’re not in nearly enough pain.”
She stood and went to her bag, humming as she removed several small rocks, and placed them around Clark. “It’s wonderful that there are so many of these here, isn’t it? Have you ever wondered why they have the affect they do?” She grimaced at the sound of Clark retching and kicked him, rolling him to his side. “Let me get these chains off, and don’t you fucking dare throw up on my shoes...” She rolled him roughly from side to side as she unlatched the cuffs.
“I’ll bet that’s a nice change, hmmm? You can stretch out a little…oh. Well. I suppose not.”
The stones seemed to make the pain worse. Clark was keening, a high-pitched noise that went on and on, and Lana shivered. “Goodness. That’s…that’s…good,” she gasped. She picked up a small stone and rolled it over Clark’s ribs, smiling at the trail of black and writhing skin it left behind. “Why didn’t I think of doing this before?”
Clark’s breath hitched and stuttered as she rolled and dragged the stone over his skin, lower, and lower until it sat on his groin and he could only open his mouth, and nothing came out—the agony was too intense.
Lana stopped and suddenly dove across his body. He felt a whoosh of air and looked up—into Lex’s snarling face.
Tbc
eta:when will i learn to do lj cuts? *sob*
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Helloooo! Say, did I tell you I spent the day in New York yesterday? I had a great time—we went to a play—Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, which I enjoyed very much. We ate dinner at Tavern On The Green, because my beloved friend thought we should do that and I’m pretty much a sheep when it comes to her so I agreed. We took her wonderful mother with us, and when I got all freezy cold in the theater she snuggled me all up! *happysigh*. It felt wonderful to get mommy snuggles again—you never grow out of wanting them. And wasn’t it great of my dearest to share her mom with me? True love, that!
So, on that note of sweetness and light—let’s have more Torture fic! Blame John Lithgow on you not getting this sooner!
Clark jerked out of a doze, his head was spinning and his mouth was open, dry—so dry it hurt to swallow, felt like his lungs were flat, like he wasn’t getting air…
He thought he’d heard Lex. Another nightmare. Lex had been screaming, and screaming—no, he was calling his name. He was still calling his name. Clark shook. He was having hallucinations again. Not as horrible as the one with his mother explaining to him that they hated him and he should let go and die…
“Clark!”
He jerked, a spasm ran through his body--it really was Lex—this time it was real. Lex was close, calling for him—“Lex!” He gasped and gagged. The pain, it felt like his throat was being torn open again. He steeled himself, and yelled. “LEX! Lex! Lex!” He coughed and tears of pain streamed from his eyes. God. He groaned and tried to get to his feet. He was probably tearing his throat apart for a dream.
******
Lex slowly fell to his side, dirt and leaves clinging to his coat, his trousers. He smashed his fist into the loose dirt and struggled to control the urge to roll into a ball and just-- lie there, but he didn’t have time for the comfort of insanity, he had to find Clark.
After so many failures why this one seemed more crushing than the others he couldn’t explain—he’d been so damn sure, so damn sure. He sat up and swept dirt from his knees, brushed it viciously from his palms. He looked at his feet; his ruined shoes, and an odd shape in the debris caught his eyes. He reached out for it, and the shadows melted away and became a box.
A fucking juice box. He sighed and got to his feet, and a little niggling sensation made him prod the box with his foot. It was full. He stood, staring down at it, and then at the edge of his hearing…a little noise. A cry. An animal? He looked around the clearing, searching the burnt area. Something sparkled and drew him to it.
Against the burnt and cracked bricks of the house foundation, he could see a set of doors. They didn’t lead to the exposed basement. He came closer and he could hear the weak cry again. Something was under the basement.
He yanked on the doors and as he’d half expected, they opened easily onto pitch-blackness. After a moment he could make out a set of stairs under the weak light of the moon. Stairs that led down to another door, and he could hear the noise again. It sounded like his name. He took a step forward and the sound of a car engine floated across the field—someone was coming. He quickly shut the doors and stepped back into the shadows of the underbrush. More than likely it was that crazy bitch. He was besides himself—he knew Clark was there, calling for him, begging him for help—but he had to catch this insane creature in the act of—whatever it was she was doing. And then—punish her.
Swallowing his rage and his impatience, he blended into the blackness around him. He could see a shape coming over the field, a feminine figure…Lana.
The dead girl.
His fingers clawed against his thighs and he worked to slow his breathing. He needed to be cool-headed, clear…he concentrated on schooling his emotions, damping down his anger,like a session of play with his dad—taking himself away from what was happening and into a place of safety.
His breathing slowed and evened and he closed his eyes and reached carefully for that place.
******
Lana set down the bag she was holding, and pulled open the cellar doors. She hesitated a moment…something stroked her skin for a moment, a soft little shiver ran through her, and she turned her head—it was gone. She must have imagined it. Anticipation maybe. She looked down the flight of stairs and smiled. Her true love was waiting for her. It would be cruel to draw it out—not when he needed her so much.
She ran lightly down the stairs and set her bag on the tiny table next to the heavy door. She poured a little soup from the thermos, and slid a straw into the fruit punch box--dinner for her sweetheart.
She moved easily about in the darkness, setting down the tray. “Hello, Clark. Look, I remembered dinner tonight. No need to thank me,” she said brightly. She came closer and noticed blood on his mouth. “You know, you really shouldn’t try to shout, especially when I’m not here.”
She smiled, and crouched next to him. He froze when she reached out her hand, but she ran her fingers over the chains, and frowned when bits of faintly florescent green flecked her fingers.. “These need to be re-coated, I think. How do you feel,” she asked, her forehead creased with concern. “Do you feel less nauseous, less pain? Does it hurt when I do this,” she asked and wrapped a section of the chain around his neck and pulled it tight. She watched the veins in his neck swell and blacken, watched his fingers scrabble weakly at the chains and shook her head. “They definitely need to be recoated. You’re not in nearly enough pain.”
She stood and went to her bag, humming as she removed several small rocks, and placed them around Clark. “It’s wonderful that there are so many of these here, isn’t it? Have you ever wondered why they have the affect they do?” She grimaced at the sound of Clark retching and kicked him, rolling him to his side. “Let me get these chains off, and don’t you fucking dare throw up on my shoes...” She rolled him roughly from side to side as she unlatched the cuffs.
“I’ll bet that’s a nice change, hmmm? You can stretch out a little…oh. Well. I suppose not.”
The stones seemed to make the pain worse. Clark was keening, a high-pitched noise that went on and on, and Lana shivered. “Goodness. That’s…that’s…good,” she gasped. She picked up a small stone and rolled it over Clark’s ribs, smiling at the trail of black and writhing skin it left behind. “Why didn’t I think of doing this before?”
Clark’s breath hitched and stuttered as she rolled and dragged the stone over his skin, lower, and lower until it sat on his groin and he could only open his mouth, and nothing came out—the agony was too intense.
Lana stopped and suddenly dove across his body. He felt a whoosh of air and looked up—into Lex’s snarling face.
Tbc
eta:when will i learn to do lj cuts? *sob*
no subject