Penance

Penance


You can feel the straps tightening around your wrists, holding you in place. Ankles next, spread wide and holding you open, putting you on display. You still hate this part; still have to stifle the urge to struggle, to fight back and stop this from happening.


You take deep breaths, dragging air into your lungs; trying to focus, to relax. You make yourself remember why you’re here, why you need this so badly. Your life used to be so simple and clear-cut, before the Initiative; before Sunnydale and all its horrors turned your world upside down.


Back then Hostiles were easy to identify. They were the other side, the soldiers in different uniforms. They shot at you and you shot back, simple and clean, easy to understand. You followed orders and fought your battles, us against them. Hostile equals enemy, no thinking required. Then you got your new assignment and everything changed.


At first you revelled in the new challenge, after all the Hostiles were easy enough to identify. Yellow eyed, fanged monsters that came tearing out of the dark to prey on the innocent. Hideous beasts with claws and fur, and teeth that ripped their victims apart; you were one of the heroes holding back the dark.


But then you came across the others, creatures that seemed about as dangerous as a kitten. But they were still deemed Hostile, so you did your job and wiped them out. You tried not to think too hard about the things you saw and heard; tried to ignore the all too human screams that echoed through your dreams each night.


You saw too much death, lost too much of your innocence when the Initiative went up in flames. All those orders you’d followed coming back to haunt you, as you finally faced the truth. Not human didn’t necessarily mean evil, and different didn’t have to mean dangerous. And it would have been so easy to hide behind Maggie Walsh and her delusions, to put all blame on her. But a part of you always knew that was a lie, part of you understood that you should have looked a little deeper, seen the truth that the Slayer and her friends tried so hard to tell you.


You put the Hellmouth behind you, you and all the others who survived. Sent out into the world, to carry on the fight. This time you understood the consequences, and someone back at home was checking up, making sure that the Hostiles you went after really were monsters. Riley came back, fell in love and left again; he never saw the way the rest of you were falling apart.


Everywhere you turned people were losing control. Drunken leave nights, ending in violence and pain, as they all searched for a way to cope. Alcohol and drugs consumed in ever increasing quantities; as they searched for something to quieten the screams in their heads. You never indulged, held yourself apart from the destruction, not daring to let go. Keeping everything you felt locked tight inside, never letting anyone see that you were just as broken as the rest. The others noticed, whispered behind your back; Graham Miller the Ice Man. The one who didn’t feel anything at all; they said it with awe, and sometimes fear, mistaking your silence for lack of care. It wasn’t true; you felt as deeply as they did, you were just better at hiding it. They started to pull away, leaving you isolated and alone. But you’d felt like that anyway, and letting down the walls you’d built was just too scary to contemplate.


Eventually people took notice, and they sent in shrinks and counsellors, wanting to fix you all, make you whole again. Nothing worked, you were all too broken, too messed up to be put back together by a few slick suits with patronising promises. So they cut you loose, patted you on the back for a job well done and let you go. Turned you out into a world you didn’t understand any more, with a pocket full of medals, and an empty soul.


Days turned into weeks, turned into months, and you did nothing but exist. You got up, walked around the city, worked out, ate just enough to stay alive; and then retreated to your empty room. You were silent for so long, you weren’t sure you’d remember how to speak; but it didn’t matter because there was nothing you wanted to say. All those normal people you saw every day; the ones with homes and jobs and friends, they seemed like aliens to you. So distant and remote that they didn’t belong in the same world as you.


In the evenings you’d haunt the rougher parts of town, sliding into grimy bars and drinking through the night. You picked the kind of places where you knew you’d be left alone in your dark corner; you were there looking for oblivion not conversation. One day bled into the next, nothing ever changing as you went through the motions of being alive. Then one night everything did change, you pushed open the door of what you’d thought was just another bar; and you found the answers to your unspoken prayers.


You learned the rules pretty quick, figured out how to attract the Doms who’d give you what you needed. The ones who saw your physicality and your beauty as a challenge, who wanted to break your silence and have you beg for them. It never worked; you took everything they had to give and only wanted more. Tied down, exposed to a club full of avaricious eyes; naked and vulnerable to their every whim. It was the only time you ever allowed yourself to feel; the only time you let yourself remember.


And as the whip cracked down, sending lines of burning fire across your back, you paid your silent tribute to your victims. As your voice counted out the strokes, “One, two, three…..” Your mind was sounding out a different list. Hostile 34, a tiny creature nesting in the woods, wrapped around it’s young in a futile attempt to protect them. Torn apart by bullets fired from your gun, until there was nothing left but blood and guts; and tiny remnants of tawny fur floating in the wind. Hostile 53, who’d stood tall and proud, facing his death with a quiet dignity. He’d looked his murderers in the eyes, and they were the ones who’d turned away. Hostile 7, a beautiful woman who’d have been able to pass for human, were it not for the brilliant violet eyes that had seemed to stare right into your soul. Shot in the back, as she ran for her life, falling in a shattered heap, one more victim in the dark. Hostile 13, he’d looked like a child dressed up for Halloween, with his green skin, tiny horns and pointed ears. His voice still echoes through your brain, a lilting musical sound that you’re never going to be able to forget. You’re reminded of its beauty every time you hear a radio play, but his song will never be heard again.


On and on the list went in your head, as you made yourself recall every detail, the sights and sounds and smells that you were haunted by. You never gave them what they wanted, never broke for them, you couldn’t. You never called a halt, never let your safe word slip from between your lips. It wasn’t about finding relief, it was your self-imposed penance; the punishment you’d chosen for your crimes. Even when the whip laid you open, and blood ran red and sticky down your back, you endured. You felt it right; that you should pay in blood for the blood you shed.


But word soon got around, the smarter clubs turned you away, tried to get you to talk to someone. Told you that you were there for all the wrong reasons, wanted you to get some kind of proper help. Nobody wanted to take a chance on playing with someone who had no limits. It didn’t matter; there were other clubs, seedy dives; where you could find people willing to give you what you’d begun to crave.


The pain stopped being enough, but that was okay, you found new ways to make yourself suffer. And when you felt a hard cock, forcing its way deep into your throat, and heard the words, slut and whore spat at you from one more nameless stranger; you accepted them as your due. Appropriate substitutions for the labels you ought to be wearing, but as you couldn’t confess to being a monster or a murderer, their insults would have to do. It wasn’t about the sex for you, even if your partners were getting off on it; the degradation was just one more way you’d found to make yourself suffer. Adding the humiliation to the pain, still searching for a way to make your penance be enough to silence the screams in your head.


Then things went too far, one night you met a Dom who didn’t know how to stop; and you wound up being dumped in the parking lot of a hospital, bleeding and unconscious. And someone must have been keeping track, because when you opened your eyes, you saw a familiar face staring down at you. Riley fucking Finn, looking healthy and content, nothing like the wreck you knew you’d become.


And it was almost too much to bear, because he didn’t understand, how could he? He’d got his desk job, and his perfect wife; along with a house complete with a picket fence; they’re even working on the two point four kids. He’s got it all, the American dream, no skeletons left in his closet. He’s nothing like you, somehow he made it out with his soul intact, and somewhere deep inside you almost hated him for that.


But he wouldn’t leave you alone, wouldn’t let you crawl back into your darkness. He stayed right there at your side until you were well enough to leave. Then he looked you in the eye one last time, told you that he understood why you felt you needed to punish yourself, but he was damned if he was going to lose you. So he’d found another method, had a place where you could stay until you found a way to live with your past. He wouldn’t listen to any arguments, just told you that he refused to let you take any more chances with your life.


When you walked into the apartment and saw who was waiting for you, you thought that Riley had lost his mind. Hostile 17, in all his glory, with a human pet curled naked at his feet. It took you a few days to recognise the man, the last time you’d seen Xander Harris, he’d had two eyes and he’d been a bundle of nervous energy. Bouncing at the Slayer’s side like an over-eager puppy, flinging insults at the vampire who now held his leash.


You worried about the boy at first; thought that maybe Riley had put you here because Xander needed rescuing from the monster. But little by little you saw the truth, saw the way they bickered and fought over the smallest things, seeming to enjoy every second of their mock fights. You saw the joy they took in each other, the way they touched all the time, and you also saw the love that was evident to anyone who took the time to really see them. One might wear a collar, while the other held the leash; but these two were partners in every sense of the word.


They left you alone, didn’t crowd you into joining them. Just let you watch, and rest; understanding that you couldn’t cope with anything else. They didn’t try to force you to talk, didn’t lecture you about the mistakes you’d made, didn’t once bring up the Initiative, and the way Spike had suffered at your hands. It almost seemed too easy, too comfortable until, bit by bit, you started letting down your walls. Started allowing yourself to feel again.


But that brought a whole different set of problems, as you had to face how lonely you’d become. The days weren’t so bad, you could keep them company if you wanted to; but the nights soon became a challenge. You’d hear them in their room, soft moans and whispers drifting through the walls. And on other nights you’d hear the familiar crack of leather hitting skin, and know that Spike was playing with his pet. At first you tried to ignore it, stayed in your bed, with your hands covering your ears trying to block out the sounds. But after a while you began to creep along the corridor, and you’d spend half the night with your ear pressed against their door, trying to be sure you didn’t miss anything. Wanting to hear every gasp and moan, picturing the way Xander must look, writhing under Spike.


It was a temptation and a torment all wrapped up in one, the two of them became your new obsession. You wanted to run, to turn away from the comfort they offered, but somehow you forced yourself to stay. Until one night you couldn’t take it any more, and you stumbled into their room, kneeling on the rug, tears streaming down your face. You didn’t know what you wanted from them, not exactly, but it didn’t matter because they seemed to know what you needed. You spent that night in their bed, the way you’ve spent every night since. Sandwiched between them, held tight in two strong pairs of arms.


And the next night Spike brought you to this club for the first time. He stripped you and tied you down, and promised to help you break. It was nothing like those other times, those other men. Spike wouldn’t let you get lost in your head, between the blows he talked to you. That soft voice purring in your ear, telling you how good you were, how strong; reminding you that you were there not to be punished, but to find release. And when you’d had enough, when tears once again flowed down your face, they held you through it. Petted and caressed you and made you feel safer than you ever had before.


This thing isn’t permanent, not for you. Spike and Xander have the forever kind of love, but you’re more like the stray they’ve taken in. They’re fixing you up, waiting for you to be ready to be released back into the wild. And that’s okay, because you’ve started to believe in yourself again, started to forgive yourself for your past. Spike’s helped you see that you can’t undo your sins, but that doesn’t mean you have to bleed for them forever either.


You’re not there yet, not quite ready to stretch your wings and fly. But that time is getting closer; yesterday you laughed out loud, for what seemed to be the first time in years. You just threw your head back and let go, laughing like an idiot at one of Spike’s jokes. They’d stared at you for a second, then Xander had launched himself into your arms, and you could see your own joy reflected in his eye. While Spike had watched over you both like an indulgent parent, and you were almost sure you could see a tear of pride glistening in his eye. You’re finally healing, and you know it’s down to them.


So here you are again, strapped down, waiting for Spike to begin. Xander’s there in his usual place, kneeling in front of you. Watching carefully, making sure you’re okay. You know that the second you break he’ll be there, kissing your tears away, helping Spike release you from your bonds. And it’s getting easier, you break so much faster now, and you can go longer without needing this. It’s been almost three weeks since you last knelt here. Since the pain and need drove you to ask for this, and you’re beginning to believe that eventually you won’t need it at all.


You have hope now; you believe that one day you really will be able to start again. To build a new life for yourself, without the nightmares that have plagued you for so long. And as the paddle lands the first blow of the night, you know you’re one step closer to freedom. It only takes ten strikes tonight, and then there are warm lips on your face and cool hands soothing the pain away. This Hostile and his mate have done the impossible, they’ve taken all your guilt and turned it into love. And you know that when you do find the strength to stand alone, they’ll always be here, waiting, ready to catch you if you fall again.


Fin