137
Title: 137
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Ryan, Leek
Words: 552
Rating, Warnings: 18, a bit icky, violent.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Primeval.
Spoilers: Set at the end of season 2 so spoilers, but Denial mode in action.
AN: Written for fififolle's fest prompt of 'Leek/Ryan, payback'. Except this isn't slashy, just a bit nasty and I'm fairly sure a sign I need more pain killers. Much thanks to fredbassett for a super speedy beta.
Ryan closed the heavy steel door behind him and paused with his hand on it for a moment before turning slowly around. The man in front of him blinked nervously and swallowed deeply.
“You can’t do anything to me here, you know.”
The words belied the nervous twitch Leek couldn’t hide.
“Really? Who do you think is going to stop me? The guard on the door who has served me for years and will do anything I ask of him? I very much doubt it.”
Ryan leant back against the door, a fixed look of nonchalance on his face. He slid a knife out of a sheath on his thigh and examined the blade.
“One hundred and thirty seven injuries. Stephen had already received 137 individual lacerations, puncture wounds, bites and cuts by the time they pulled him out of there. Do you know what that feels like? Can you imagine what that feels like? They are certain he will recover, but 137 wounds...137 new scars.”
A smile that had nothing to do with pleasure or humour crossed his face and he moved through the room until he was behind the shaking man’s chair. He pressed the flat of the blade against Leek’s cheek and dragged it slowly up. A gentle twist of his wrist allowed the blade to bite into Leek’s flesh. Ryan watched impassively as a line of scarlet welled up in the blade’s wake and the smaller man tensed in the chair, hissing a breath through his teeth.
“That’s just one.” Ryan put his hand on one of Leek’s shoulders, applying enough pressure to keep him in the chair, but not enough to hurt. Then he brought the blade around to the man’s other cheek and drew another line in his skin. This time a small sound escaped Leek’s lips.
“And that’s two. I wonder how many it will take before you are begging me to stop.”
The knife flicked again and nicked Leek’s ear.
“Just 134 left. Where shall we go next?”
Ryan didn’t take his time, he didn’t linger. This was payback, not torture. He used the knife to slice off Leek’s clothes rather than puncturing through them, minimising the risk of infection, a luxury that Stephen hadn’t been afforded by the creatures. Leek had taken it better than expected, but once Ryan had moved to applying his knife to the soles of his feet - cuts 44-56 - Leek had started to whimper and from there on a litany of noise had continued, but he had not once asked for mercy.
Which was as well as Ryan would have shown none.
Ryan finished and slid the blade back home into its sheath, taking a moment to study what he had done. Leek had fallen to the floor now, pale, sweating, shaking, blood oozing from 137 cuts. Ryan had been careful not to slice any major blood vessels and none of the injuries were deep enough to require stitching. Some were long enough to benefit from having the skin closed together before they started to heal, but treatment wouldn’t be forthcoming and the scars would stay with him.
Ryan drew antiseptic cream out of his pocket and laid it on the table before slipping out of the door and back to his vigil over Stephen and his 137 injuries.
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Ryan, Leek
Words: 552
Rating, Warnings: 18, a bit icky, violent.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Primeval.
Spoilers: Set at the end of season 2 so spoilers, but Denial mode in action.
AN: Written for fififolle's fest prompt of 'Leek/Ryan, payback'. Except this isn't slashy, just a bit nasty and I'm fairly sure a sign I need more pain killers. Much thanks to fredbassett for a super speedy beta.
Ryan closed the heavy steel door behind him and paused with his hand on it for a moment before turning slowly around. The man in front of him blinked nervously and swallowed deeply.
“You can’t do anything to me here, you know.”
The words belied the nervous twitch Leek couldn’t hide.
“Really? Who do you think is going to stop me? The guard on the door who has served me for years and will do anything I ask of him? I very much doubt it.”
Ryan leant back against the door, a fixed look of nonchalance on his face. He slid a knife out of a sheath on his thigh and examined the blade.
“One hundred and thirty seven injuries. Stephen had already received 137 individual lacerations, puncture wounds, bites and cuts by the time they pulled him out of there. Do you know what that feels like? Can you imagine what that feels like? They are certain he will recover, but 137 wounds...137 new scars.”
A smile that had nothing to do with pleasure or humour crossed his face and he moved through the room until he was behind the shaking man’s chair. He pressed the flat of the blade against Leek’s cheek and dragged it slowly up. A gentle twist of his wrist allowed the blade to bite into Leek’s flesh. Ryan watched impassively as a line of scarlet welled up in the blade’s wake and the smaller man tensed in the chair, hissing a breath through his teeth.
“That’s just one.” Ryan put his hand on one of Leek’s shoulders, applying enough pressure to keep him in the chair, but not enough to hurt. Then he brought the blade around to the man’s other cheek and drew another line in his skin. This time a small sound escaped Leek’s lips.
“And that’s two. I wonder how many it will take before you are begging me to stop.”
The knife flicked again and nicked Leek’s ear.
“Just 134 left. Where shall we go next?”
Ryan didn’t take his time, he didn’t linger. This was payback, not torture. He used the knife to slice off Leek’s clothes rather than puncturing through them, minimising the risk of infection, a luxury that Stephen hadn’t been afforded by the creatures. Leek had taken it better than expected, but once Ryan had moved to applying his knife to the soles of his feet - cuts 44-56 - Leek had started to whimper and from there on a litany of noise had continued, but he had not once asked for mercy.
Which was as well as Ryan would have shown none.
Ryan finished and slid the blade back home into its sheath, taking a moment to study what he had done. Leek had fallen to the floor now, pale, sweating, shaking, blood oozing from 137 cuts. Ryan had been careful not to slice any major blood vessels and none of the injuries were deep enough to require stitching. Some were long enough to benefit from having the skin closed together before they started to heal, but treatment wouldn’t be forthcoming and the scars would stay with him.
Ryan drew antiseptic cream out of his pocket and laid it on the table before slipping out of the door and back to his vigil over Stephen and his 137 injuries.