Fractures II

Thank you: to Maeve for the beta!
 

The whip was heavy in his hand.

"Do it," Ray urged, his voice a soft contrast to the harsh command.

Florian stood motionless in the center of the room, eyes wide and breathing shallow as he fought the urge to run.

It was a long trip down to the basement, and he'd struggled against the too-fresh memories of this place at every step. The barely healed whip marks on his back ached as he gripped the railing during his descent.

Laila stood at the top of the stairs watching as he made his way downward, and the weight of her gaze added to Florian's discomfort. She'd been tending his injuries for days and her manner had been kind, almost apologetic. She seemed reluctant to relay Ray's message for Florian to meet him in the basement and she chattered nervously as she accompanied him as far as the final set of stairs.

There were several doors leading off into rooms that served as storage and a cold pantry, but Florian bypassed them without pause. There was only one room down here where Florian spent any time; the room where Ray caused him pain.

The door was open, awaiting his arrival, and the faint light inside indicated that Ray was already there. Some part of Florian's mind was busy reviewing every word and deed from the past five days, seeking some error, some misdeed that would earn him the kind of punishment meted out in this room. The other, larger part of him was too numb from the last time to care. It had been a misunderstanding, something that could have been fixed with a few words and a little trust; he'd received neither.

He could have been bitter or angry afterwards, instead he'd been resigned. He'd sacrificed a little more of himself that day, and now he was being repaid. With a whip.

He looked up blindly, his mind avoiding the wrongness of a half-naked Ray hanging in the very chains that had held Florian less than a week ago. Ray was grimly determined, his body tense. It was a terrible sight.

"Strike me," Ray urged, rattling his chains for emphasis. "Do it, Florian." There was a note of almost pleading in Ray's voice, and it made Florian flinch. He took a step back, gripping the whip handle tight enough that it cut into his palm.

It made a terrible kind of sense - retaliation in kind - but the very idea made Florian ill. You couldn't repair broken trust by inflicting pain.

Florian swung the whip experimentally, letting the end skitter across the floor like a snake. A viper he decided with abstract amusement - swift and deadly, even if the victim kept breathing.

"Have you ever been whipped?" Florian asked at last, bringing his eyes up to meet Ray's. It's the first time they'd actually looked at each other since their last time in this room.

"A long time ago," Ray finally admitted, the words forced out as a kind of penance; there are things Ray didn't talk about.

"Then you know." There was no accusation in the statement. Florian looked down at the object in his hand, studying it idly, as if he couldn't quite figure it out.

"I know," Ray confirmed.

"And you want me to hurt you. Make you bleed."

"I've hurt you."

"Yes, you have." There was still no accusation, no resentment, and the mild tone made Ray frown in confusion. He really didn't understand, and Florian wondered if he ever would.

Florian coiled the whip with deliberate movements. He set it down on the floor at Ray's feet.

"Where are the keys?" He scanned the room, seeing them before Ray answered. He claimed them off the small table beside the door. Ray's shirt and jacket were nearby, neatly draped across the back of the only chair. Florian picked them up too.

Calmly, he unlocked Ray's shackles and braced him until Ray was steady on his feet. Without a word he circled to Ray's back where he kneaded the tight muscles for a minute before helping Ray into his clothes. He avoided Ray's gaze as he turned him to fasten the shirt buttons.

Florian leaned down and picked up the whip, handing it to a confused and silent Ray.

"Don't ever ask me to hurt you," Florian said at last, his voice ice over steel. Without waiting for a response he turned and walked away.

Ray watched him leave, pain sharper than the strike of a whip throbbing in his chest.

::end::
 

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