Secrets

Secrets.


James doesn’t talk about it much – or at all, if he can help it – hiding everything behind his over the top cheerfulness, his melodrama and his particular brand of near-insanity.

He barely even mentions it to Jessie, and then only when she has specifically asked him. Meowth, of course, knows nothing, being relatively new to the outfit – and if James has his way, the smart-mouthed Pokemon would never know about it.

The only time the subject is ever brought up, is when they make one of their semi-regular trips to Head Quarters.

As they step into the building, James feels a light pressure against his wrist. The unexpected touch makes him flinch and he turns to see Jessie watching him, worry etched into her sharp features. He forces a tremulous imitation of her brightest smile, trying to reassure his friend.

It doesn’t work. It never does, but it’s part of the calming routine. For the both of them.

Meowth chatters on inanely, oblivious, as always, to the change of atmosphere between the two human members of the team. Just as James wants him to be. He doesn’t think he could stand the happy, stupid, naïve little creature knowing his secret.

They go through the motions of checking in; handing over their passes, filling forms, signing paperwork, making their reports, dropping off their Pokemon at the Health Centre. James does so in a daze, his mind preoccupied with one solitary, terrified, thought.

‘When will he send for me?’

The call comes as they are preparing to settle in for the night. James tenses immediately and Jessie pulls him into a warm embrace. As she tightens her hold on him, she reaches up and whispers in his ear, “I’ll wait for you.”

He nods, grateful beyond words and leaves the comfort of the twin room, his best friend; his hands are shaking so much he has to clench them into fists to hide his fear.

Giovanni’s Secretary ushers him through with a stiff smile and before he can quite come to terms with it, he is in his presence. He can no longer control the trembling of his hands, the slight chattering of his teeth. He doesn’t want to be here.

His heart booming in his chest, pulse thundering in his ears, he steps forward, into the light and waits for Giovanni to speak. The older man is writing something, his expensive pen scratching across the paper in short, sharp strokes.

James waits, body trembling in anticipation.

“Come here, James.”

James jerks slightly at the voice, but nods and steps forward, slowly making his way toward the desk. He notes, dully, that the Persian is nowhere to be seen. A bad sign. He swallows against the bile in his throat.

The man stands, towering over him and runs a surprisingly gentle knuckle down his cheek. Tracing the memory of tear tracks – he’d seen them often enough. James schooled himself against flinching away, it was always worse if he did.

“It’s been a while, James.”

It had. Almost long enough for the nightmares to calm down, become the formless things they were before. Before. Before the attacks became so…

James blinked, stiffening slightly as a tongue trailed along his jaw. He hated this. Gods he hated this. But Giovanni owned him. Owned him in such ways that he couldn’t dare to even think about one day being free.

The fist connected with his stomach with such surprising speed that he had no time to react, no time to steel himself. He dropped to the floor, gasping, wheezing, clutching at his abdomen, mindless of the scrapes to his knees.

“Strip, boy.”

Shaking, dry-retching, James climbed to his feet and complied, removing his clothing as quickly, efficiently as possible. Once naked, he stood shivering, clutching his stomach and looking at the floor. Giovanni’s gaze trailed his form, pausing slightly at the scars and marks left from the previous attacks, reminders normally left hidden by the uniform. A smirk played about his lips.

“Beautiful.”

James never knew if the man meant his body, or the pattern of scars. He didn’t particularly care by now. Already, he was locking a part of himself away in his mind, seeking comfort in a self-made world that Giovanni couldn’t find or take from him.

As the large square hands touched him, moved him, scarred him, James shut himself off. It was a while before the larger man decided he had had enough of beating him; nearly an hour, James guessed. He lay on the floor, panting, curled into the foetal position, silently cataloguing the various injuries he had sustained.

They were mostly superficial. Plenty of bruises, one cracked rib, bite marks on his shoulders, scratches, scrapes, a solitary burn on his thigh and one single broken toe. Nothing above his neck. Giovanni either liked his face, or didn’t want rumours. James believed it was a little of both.

“Get up, James.”

There was that hint of lust to the man’s voice. It was that hint that scared James more than the beating did. He was sitting at his desk once more, but turned away from it. His legs spread, trousers undone at the crotch. James knew what he wanted.

He made it to his knees and crawled over, watching his employers face, quaking slightly at the large smile. He positioned himself between the spread legs and without direction, freed the straining erection.

There was a sigh above him as he handled the organ. It wasn’t particularly impressive. Slightly above average, with a girth most lovers would enjoy. Uncut, bulging veins and a velvety smooth head. In any other situation, if it had belonged to any other man, James would have enjoyed pleasuring it.

As it was, he simply went through the motions. By now, he had learned what Giovanni liked. A little hint of teeth, lots of tongue, wet. He took the organ in his mouth, tonguing, lapping at the solid heat. He had once thought to bite it off and nearly did, a long time ago. Giovanni had taught him a lesson that stayed with him. So, however much he hated this, he did it.

Bloodied fingers racked through his hair, pushing it aside as he worked. The touch was almost tender, but he didn’t believe it for a second. As expected, before long the fingers tightened and pulled his head back. And now the worst bit.

Giovanni bent him over the desk, pushing his head down into the leather covered surface, spread his cheeks with the other hand and entered him – without preparation, without lubrication, without a care for the pain he inflicted.

James bit down on his own wrist to stifle his cries, closing his eyes and holding on to the desk with white knuckled fingers. Giovanni took him roughly, with deep, hard thrusts. Grunting with effort, his free hand roamed James’ body until finally settling on his limp penis.

“Get hard for me, James.”

Teeth scraped over James’ ear, bit into his shoulder and he tried. He tried to imagine what doing this with someone he loved, or at least liked, would be like. But Giovanni had ruined the sex act for him and he couldn’t do it. But it didn’t matter, the mans groping had created the desired effect and James hoped it would be enough.

The grunting continued, in time with the thrusts and the tugs on his own erection. He could feel slight trickles of what he hoped was sweat sliding between his thighs, but through experience, knew was probably blood.

Finally, but painfully, Giovanni’s thrusts became erratic, deeper, harder. He would finish soon. James willed himself to finish quicker – Giovanni liked the pretence that his ‘partner’ had enjoyed their time together. If he didn’t come, he would have to go through it all again, as if to prove that he really did enjoy it and just needed more ‘attention’.

He came to the thought of someone one day touching him like this not in anger, but in love; releasing himself over Giovanni’s hand, he stifled his cry of despair by biting deeply onto his wrist.

“Good, James.”

With one final deep grunt, his employer gripped his hips and held him still, buried deep within him as he came. They stayed still for long moments as Giovanni rode out his orgasm with gentle twitches of his hips. Until finally, the man let go and pulled out. James slumped to the floor, a hand held over his hole, knowing that any mess would simply be taken out on him.

He watched as the larger man cleaned himself off, then tucked himself back into his pants, zipping up. James didn’t catch the towel thrown at him, simply picked it up and tried to clean himself off. He clamped his anus tightly shut after wiping off, though it hurt terribly, and dressed with care.

No blood anywhere, no semen. He looked presentable, though his toe throbbed painfully in his boot and his shoulders hunched inward, protectively. He whimpered quietly as Giovanni stepped close and once again dragged his tongue along James’ jaw.

“I look forward to our next encounter.”

The slim, firm lips pressed forcefully against his own for a moment. James shuddered.

“Dismissed.”

James nodded and forcing himself not to limp, left the office, ignoring the assessing glare of the secretary as he passed her.

Jessie was waiting for him when he entered the room. As soon as he stepped in, she jumped to her feet and rushed to his side. Thankfully, she didn’t touch him, but she stayed close.

“Do you need help? With anything?”

James shook his head and moved into the bathroom, quietly closing and locking the door behind him. He stripped in silence and stepped into the shower, turning the heat up until it was nearly scalding. He scrubbed his body three times over, removing every trace and then some of Giovanni’s touch.

He emptied his body and cleaned inside as much as he could, checking for tears. Only a handful. By morning they would have started healing. He was unsurprised by the amount of blood washed down the plug-hole.

When he was done, he wrapped himself in the hotel robe, covering as much of his body as he could and stepped back into the main room. Jessie sat on his bed, waiting for him.

“Will you be ok?” She asked quietly. He nodded and sat next to her.

Gently, she moved to sit with her back against the headboard, pulling him with her, until he was resting against her comfortably. Her fingers slowly, carefully moved through his hair, un-knotting the tangles.

Something wet landed on his cheek and he glanced up. She was crying, her face set in a look of deep hatred and anger.

“One day,” she whispered, “One day…”

James nodded and settled his head on her lap, finally allowing himself to drift towards sleep, safe in the knowledge that Jessie would look after him.


FIN?


Author's Note:

yes yes - sick and perverted mind >> I may write a happier sequel to this.