I’ve watched you for a very long time. I’ve given you multiple chances to notice me, to show me that you see ME too. Time and again I’ve watched you. I’ve seen the way you look at Carter, watched you as you’ve spoken with Teal’c, felt the knife of jealousy plunge deep within as you strove to find and free Sha’re. I have admired you from afar, and have spent countless hours thinking of you, about you. I have wanted you for a very long time, and have been willing to take the risk, the chance of being with you, but do you care? Do you notice?
What would you think of me if I were to enact one of my darkest fantasies with you? What would you say? How would you react? What would you do?
I’ve grown tired and weary of waiting, of being patient and each day I see you the knife in my heart twists and turns, burrowing deeper and deeper into my soul until one day it just...snapped.
I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew what I had planned wasn’t right. I knew if I dared give in to my temptation, my need, that you would forever hate me. I knew if I made the move I would most likely lose you...but I did it anyway. It was so easy lying in wait preparing for the moment you entered your home. I waited for a night when we would all be working late and I left ahead of you determined to carry out my sinister plan.
I wanted to stop. I knew I should have stopped, but it was as if I no longer had control over my body, over my thoughts, over myself and perhaps, perhaps I no longer did. I should have stopped and was determined to but once inside your darkened home I felt a new sensation course through my body: the thrill of excitement, of fear, of desire all mixed into one. I felt powerful, and God did it ever feel so good, so incredibly right.
I waited patiently for you knowing that you’d be home soon. I argued in my head about the wrongness of what I was doing. I must’ve been crazy to set into motion such a sinister plan for you, for one I care for more than I should. I turned and opened your door determined to leave your house once and for all, but something stopped me and I closed it again before taking my place. I tensed in excitement and fear as I heard your car pulling up to your home, and I tried to convince myself again that what I was doing, what I was planning was utter madness. Yet still I remained lying in wait for you to appear. My plan was underway and as I heard your key jingling in the lock I prepared to make my move.
You fought me. You struggled against me striking out, kicking at me and attempting to head butt me. You almost got away. You were so very close to victory. When you bit me I felt pride in you. I taught you well, but not well enough. It was a battle I was determined to win no matter the cost. I grabbed you, drew you tightly against me, pinned your arms and held you firmly. You continued to resist me, to flail in my arms and attempt to escape me. Several times you almost succeeded in eluding me, but I was determined to win. Without thought or consideration I drew my knife and placed the blade firmly against the sensitive flesh of your neck. When you still refused to yield I pressed the tip into your skin hearing the slightest wince as I punctured it. I closed my eyes feeling my dick hardening as I envisioned the thin trail of blood I now knew was traveling slowly down over your throat. You froze against me then, your attention now solely focused on that blade, your mind no doubt rapidly assessing the situation, weighing the consequences and filling with options as the battle of wills played out. Everything hinged on the decision you were preparing to make, everything and I waited. When I realized that you had decided to fight me again I drew the knife away from your throat and slammed the handle of it against the side of your head. I hadn’t planned on striking you hard. Hell, I hadn’t planned on striking you at all, but I was determined to take you and as you began to go lax against me slipping rapidly into unconsciousness I found myself grinning wickedly for I knew then that I had won.
It was crazy really. The whole damned thing was crazy. I had planned it all, plotted it to the letter: how to make you mine, and I pulled it off without a hitch. No one suspects it’s me. No one knows what happened the night that you disappeared from your home. They suspect the NID. They say it has to be them, for who else would do such a thing? Who else would snatch you from your home in the dead of night? Who else would?
I smile, frowning as you tug on your restraints and shift on the bed before turning towards me. I can see you trying, struggling to see into the darkness that exists beyond the bed you’re secured in. You know you’re not alone. You know that someone is with you, and you want desperately to see them but the darkness denies you. As your piercing gaze settles in my direction I can hear you in my mind asking your questions, attempting to reason with me, asking me what I want but not a single sound tumbles forth from your luscious lips.
As I continue to gaze at you I see your fear, your rage and your anger so easily. I can see you clearly, but I have kept myself, my face, my identity hidden from you, hidden completely in shadow. I’m rather ashamed of what I’ve done to you, of what I’ve put you through and wish that I could somehow undo it all. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to go this far. I never meant to be so cruel, but I can’t undo what’s already been done. I can’t turn back the hands of time, and I can’t pretend that this isn’t something I’ve wanted all along.
As the charade continues each night plays out eerily similar to the previous one: I stare at you. I watch you sleep. I gaze upon your handsome face for countless hours. I reach for you. I hesitate. I swear I won’t touch you but eventually I do. I see the pain and suffering I’m putting you through. I recognize it and I feel for you. I want to wipe that pain away, to ease your suffering and calm your troubled mind. The never-ending battle with my conscience continues and once again I make the decision to release you. I make the move to free you, but then something takes hold of me and I find that I can’t let you go, that I never want to let you go so I settle back in my seat or I storm out of the room leaving you alone yet again.
You...? You focus on the darkness where I reside and you struggle to see me, to make out any detail you possibly can. You yank against your restraints and proceed to glare at me as questions, frustration and outrage reflect in your eyes. You try to speak to me discovering again that you have no voice. You are silent and you can do nothing. You yank violently against your restraints again setting your fragile wrists to bleeding before your anger merges into hatred and I see your desire to kill me enter in. You stave that desire quickly refusing to allow it free reign and then you turn abruptly away before staring at the ceiling. Your gaze doesn’t wander again. You stare for hours at that ceiling before sleep, boredom or exhaustion take over and send you back into rest once more.
Each night we repeat the cycle, and each night nothing changes. Nothing is resolved. Instead I become bolder. I touch and stroke you. I attempt to please you, but you want none of it for I am a stranger to you. To you I’m the monster who captured and imprisoned you. You’ve never seen my face and you have no idea of who I really am. All you know is that I’m someone who stole you from your home and brought you to a place where I shackled you to a bed and left you. All you know is that I’m very interested in you and love to touch you. You fear I will eventually rape you. I can see it in your eyes and it cuts me like a knife to see that certainty, that fear and that certainty that I will one day go that far, and you will have no voice with which to protest against me. I hate myself at those times and hate what I’ve done to you, what I’m making you go through. I swore to protect you, to keep you safe from harm and here I am holding you against your will. Here I am taking way too many liberties with you and finding myself growing bolder as your body responds naturally to my stimulation of it. You want to refuse me. You want to deny me access to your fire and passion. I see how you resist in the depths of your eyes, eyes blue as the sky above yet cold and icy as the arctic wind. You hate what I’m doing to you. You hate what I’ve done to you. You hate what I can do to you. You hate what I can draw from you in the wee hours of the night. You hate the power I hold over you, and you hate me.
I see your resistance, your struggle in every taut muscle, in every breath you take, in every nuance of your body, in every line that mars your beautiful face.
Your eyes tell me, order me to stop. They tell me of how you desire to kill me where I stand. They tell me of how angry you are, how afraid you are. I can read so much in their fiery depths: disdain, fear, worry, anger and rage. Sometimes even passion sparks in them, only to be quickly replaced with anger and hatred for your self. It saddens me to see that self-hatred in your eyes and again I prepare to end my charade, but every time I try to do so something stops me, something refuses to let me call an end to your suffering and your torment. I love you so much, yet I can’t seem to stop hurting you.
I try to resist my impulse to continue stroking you. I even still my hand, and I see confusion tinge your steady, piercing gaze. I know you can’t see me, for everything is in shadow around you. I can see you, but you can’t see me. I prefer it that way. I can ignore my feelings of guilt if I deliberately conceal my identity from you. After all how could you be angry with me if you don’t know it’s me who holds you here against your will in the darkness of the summer home I had at one time shared with my ex-wife?
I swallow hard, silently ordering myself to stop this madness, this insanity but again darkness intrudes and I find I just can’t do it. I just can’t stop. I should be worried about that really, worried and concerned but I’m not. I’m not worried at all, so I resume stroking you gently.
As you rear up, arching into my touch, tensing and yanking against the chains that bind your precious wrists I lick my lips and pleasure spikes within me. As you release a muffled moan before continuing to resist me, to fight me when it is useless to do so I smile. I’m pleased when I see the beautiful mosaic of red and silver as the chains that bind you to me tighten and bite into your flesh providing a lasting reminder that there is no escape for you.
I see horror flash in your azure gaze every time I dare to go a little further, push you just a little bit more, and as I continue to stroke you, to openly tease you that horror is quickly replaced by panic and terror. I should be upset by that. I should feel sympathy for you. I should want desperately to stop, to free you from your imprisonment, to offer you comfort but instead I laugh in glee as I find you even more irresistible.
As you shudder beneath my touch, quiver upon the mattress before me reluctantly yielding, releasing that which you want desperately to deny me shame filters in and I nearly come undone. Again I try to stop what I’m doing. I try to offer you comfort and aid, but I can’t do it. Instead I find myself reasserting simple facts in my mind: you belong to me. I captured you. I caged you. I made you mine and until you learn to serve me willingly, to accept me openly you will forever remain silent. You will forever remain mute.
How cruel am I to steal such a precious thing from you? How cruel am I to strip you of one of your greatest gifts? How cruel am I to steal your voice from you when I claim to love you? Why would I be so sinister?
It’s simple really, the reason is quite simple. Your voice is your most powerful weapon. Your voice is your greatest advantage, and I know that if I were to remove the gag secured fast in your mouth that you would be able to talk me out of my insanity. I know that if I allow you to speak that you will quickly disarm me. You use your voice for everything. It’s one of your greatest gifts and one of your deadliest weapons. If I had permitted you to speak freely upon capturing you then you would now be free because no one can get through to me quicker than you. You know me so well. You know me too well, so I silenced you in the only way I knew how…by gagging you.
I know it angers and infuriates you to be denied the use of your voice. I know how hard it is for you to be unable to communicate in that way. I know how precious speech, words are to you. It saddens me that I had to make such a cruel decision, but I know that if I allow you to speak freely then all of my carefully constructed plans would be ruined. I know it so I chose to silence you in the only way I could: by gagging you. I have made you mute, and you’ll remain mute until you’re able to accept me into your life. Until then you’ll remain in the dark. You’ll live in shadow and my identity will forever remain a mystery.
I’ve been victorious in my plans to make you mine but that victory is not as sweet as it should have been. Instead I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m left with the guilt and frustration capturing you and holding onto you has and will continue to invoke within me. I chose to make you mine but sacrificed my soul to do so. You now belong to me, but I fear I’ve already lost you in my attempts to hold onto you because without your voice, without your freedom you will eventually die. I fear that I may have orchestrated your own destruction, and I know that I should release you. I should give you back your voice but each time I reach up to do just that darkness fills me and I just…turn away.
|Genres:||Angst, Dark, Drama|
|Warnings:||Adult Themes, Non-Consensual Sex Acts, Sexual Situations, Violence|
|Summary:||When darkness fills the soul what else remains?|