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Maybe it was because he was half-conscious. Or maybe it was because is eyes had become so accustomed to the dark in the time that he’d spent here, who the hell knew for sure. It could’ve been for either or both of those reasons that Mark hadn’t noticed the small stream of light darting across the murky, lightless room he’d been forced to call home for what must’ve almost been the past week now.
He hadn’t noticed it, not at first. It wasn’t much and it was faint, but it was light. The door must’ve slid open in the time between his constant drifting in and out of consciousness and his finally noticing, but that wasn’t where it was coming from. It couldn’t have been, when that particular light would’ve softer, dimmer, whereas this one was not. This one was bright, blinding, belonging to the flashlight that was darting around the room, seeming to be in search for something.
Or someone.
For a brief moment, Mark might’ve thought he was hallucinating. He knew he couldn’t have been here that long, but fuck it sure felt like it. The lack of any real food or water, combined with the horrid smells of this place and his own mind’s deterioration had served him with many unwanted visions during his time here, and at this point he would’ve been just as content to write this flickering of a flashlight off as just another mocking figment of his desolate imagination, even as it made its way over him, where he sat slumped against the wall. It completely passed him by at first, until it jumped backed over, like it alone was in shock at what it had just found.
Its brightness seared his eyes as he gave in to fully opening them, faintly lifting a hand to shield them before he could be entirely blinded. Still, he couldn’t be certain that what he was witnessing was at all real and said nothing in response, just blinking, waiting, for something to happen that might prove him wrong.
Except that nothing was happening. Nothing happened, not another minute at least. The light wasn’t moving. It was staying put on him, his entire withering, crumpled up form as if it were afraid he might disappear the minute it moved away, which would’ve made him laugh if he weren’t so goddamn miserable right now.
As if he fucking could go anywhere, not when he was shackled down like this.
“...fucking hell.”
His ears picked up on it, before he could dismiss it entirely.
That voice.
It’d been low, it’d been practically a hiss, but there was no mistaking that voice.
Mark said nothing in response, not even entirely sure that he wasn’t still hallucinating. It could be possible, it could be entirely possible that he was. This voice was one of many that he’d had drifting through his head since being locked here, but it was usually mixed in with several others. Taunting and teasing him as they knew he was powerless to do anything about it.
Not this time though. This time, the voice had stood alone. It had been audible, and it had been clear. He knew who it belonged to, and when the light from the flashlight flicked away and was shortly replaced by the sheer white luminescent overhead, he’d only been proven correct.
However it was because he was correct that he still didn’t know if the person standing in front of him was real or not.
Because they couldn’t be. Because that person should’ve been dead.
Peter Strahm should’vebeen dead.
The last time that Mark had seen him, he’d all but been knocking at death’s door. He’d had the best seat in the house, watching from below while Strahm had been struggling in a futile effort to avoid the fate of being turned into mincemeat, searching desperately for some escape from the walls closing in on him. Mark had been sadly long gone before that had ever occurred, not able to see the final result of all his efforts come together but now. Now, it seemed like that had never actually happened.
Unless he was already on the verge of death and Strahm’s ghost was just here to taunt him into the afterlife. That was always a possibility.
Regardless, he was standing here now.
Much like Mark, he’d also said nothing right away. He didn’t look as shocked as Mark knew he must appear at the moment, but he did look...pensive, if anything. Mark didn’t move from his spot, nor did he lift his head, staying put while Strahm crouched down in front of him. Flashlight turned off and placed on the ground alongside the gun he’d been holding. He could feel his eyes boring into him, never tearing away and studying him closely, inspecting every last inch like this were a crime scene and Mark was the dead body he was checking over.
It stayed like this for an agonizingly slow five minutes, further encouraging Mark’s thoughts that this might be a hallucination. He dared to look up himself, just out of some sheer curiosity, some odd hope. Hope. Why would he feel hope right now? Even if this were real, who said Strahm would be willing to get him out of here.
But then. He might be the only chance he had.
“Strahm—”
His own voice sounded like a strangled cat, and all he could manage was that one, sorry word, and he was interrupted by a wound up fist colliding with his jaw. A sickening crunch sounded and Mark let out a pained yelp, snapping his head back to look at Strahm.
That settled it. This wasn’t a hallucination, he knew that now.
Strahm didn’t appear pensive anymore, as a very, very familiar expression of burning hatred was flashing over his eyes. He was back up on his feet now, hand flexing by his side. He’d given it a good shake but otherwise gave no indication that the hit had hurt him as much as he’d meant it to hurt Mark.
Because clearly, he had meant for it to hurt.
It truly had been foolish to hope that the sight of his pathetic state would’ve enough to elicit some sympathy, Mark should’ve known better. He was probably the most hated man in New Jersey right now, he didn’t doubt that. Even so, there was no one who could’ve possibly hated him more than Peter Strahm did, it just wasn’t possible.
He felt himself being lifted to his feet, barely able to find his footing for a single second before Strahm punched him again. And again, in the stomach this time, with enough force to knock him against the wall, not even giving Mark a moment to recover. He keeled over with another groan, lifting his head upward the best he could manage.
“How…..how?” Was all he could ask, but he wanted to know. Needed to know, how the man whom he had thought died, the man he was so sure had been reduced to a bloody pulpy mess, was here now, and beat the shit out of him. Strahm just huffed.
“How am I here? Easy, I just followed your scent until I found a place that reeked of asshole,” he responded. Mark opened his mouth to explain that wasn’t what he’d meant, but there was no need as Strahm interrupted him again.
“No, I know what you fucking meant. And if you’d thought about it for a second, you might be able to put two and two together. That is, provided you’ve still got a brain in there,” He gestured toward Mark’s head, earning a bitter scowl in return.
“Your little game didn’t play out quite as well as you hoped it would. Soon as you were gone the hydraulics system failed, and I was able to get away. Just barely.”
He elaborated by reaching down to pull up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a nasty scarring circling his wrist like a bracelet, as well as some scarring on his upper arm. Mark blinked at it, at him, slowly.
“Course it wasn’t without some casualty,” Strahm rolled his sleeve back down. “Could’a lost my whole damn arm if those systems had failed any sooner, guess my guardian angel was just looking out for me that day. That or your designs are just...really flawed. Too flawed to work right, even.”
He chuckled a bit, and quite meanly. Mark pursed his lips together, biting down a grumble.
“Is that why you’re here then? To flaunt your survival at me?”
He meant to sound intimidating when he said it, but he knew he’d failed when Strahm hardly looked impressed by his attempt. After all, it was hard to be intimidating when you were shackled to drainpipe and looked and smelled like you hadn’t taken a shower in ages.
“Hardly. I’m not that vain,” He took a step closer, and for some reason, Mark felt the urge to take a step back, would’ve if his back weren’t already pressed against the wall. He felt like a cornered animal, and it was not a good feeling at all. Not for him, not when when it was usually the other way around.
“Then...what? What other reason could you have--”
“You killed Perez.”
Strahm’s answer was prompt. Anger dripping from his words, and Mark could notice his fists clenching by his sides again.
“She was a good agent. She was just doing her job. But you killed her.”
“I…”
Mark’s mouth, his throat, both went dry. Entirely dry, any remaining saliva he’d managed to somehow miraculously salvage gone. Peter had taken another step toward him, closer. Too close. Whether from starvation or intimidation Mark felt his knees wobble slightly, hands pressing against the back of the dirty wall in an attempt to keep from sliding back down it.
“I didn’t want to. Strahm, I didn’t want to--”
“But you did, didn’t you?” Strahm’s fist was back up and Mark turned his head before it could land on his face again, letting it collide with the wall instead. Hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster.
“And for what? Because you got found out? Because you couldn’t stand the thought of someone else being right for once?” His tone was low. It was pissed, and he pressed himself as close as was humanly possible, not leaving Mark any room to squirm.
“Was that your reasoning for killing Erickson then? What about Jill Tuck? What about the entire fucking department? I didn’t see any traps in those photos, Hoffman, just needless bloodshed. Bloodshed, and innocent people slaughtered all because you didn’t get your way.”
His other fist met with the wall, firmly trapping Mark there and forcing him to look back toward him. His eyes were cold, filled with the most indescribable animosity imaginable. Mark refused to show he was at all scared by it, trying to keep a straight face even if he were undeniably quaking a bit on the inside.
It was such an odd feeling. So odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way.
“...and what are you going to do about it?” he challenged. “Are you going to kill me, Agent Strahm?”
His words betrayed him in spite of the expression he wore, and he could see something flashing over Strahm’s eyes. Something dark, as the other man let out a low growl, removing his fists from the walls and stepping back. His gaze flitted to the gun on the ground, contemplatively.
“I could,” he admitted. “I could, right now. And no one would ever know, would they? Everyone already thinks you’re dead anyway…”
He reached for the gun, slowly, picking it up and turning it over in his hands, then looked back to Mark.
“But then again. I’m not you,” The gun was placed back in its holster, and Mark let out a quiet sigh he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Part of it was from what relief, the other from disappointment. Disappointment that he hadn’t just been put out of his misery, been given the death he’d been praying for since Gordon had locked him up in here and threw away the key.
“Then why’d you even bother coming here?” he demanded, pushing himself off the wall and daring to follow Strahm as close as his restraints would allow.
“Why you’d come if you weren’t going to kill me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just needed to see for myself,” Strahm shrugged. “Needed to know what became of you, if you managed to get away this time or not. Can’t say I was expecting any of...this, though.”
He gave Mark another once over, a disgusted one, shaking his head.
“God, just look at you. Jigsaw’s big, scary lapdog reduced to a whiny, shivering mess. I wish you could see how pathetic you look right now, I really do.”
“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Mark hissed back, and Strahm chuckled unkindly.
“Oh, make no mistake. I’m savoring every minute of it,” He reached forward and flicked his hand against the gruesomely stitched up part of Mark’s face, promptly causing him to flinch. “What the hell happened here, by the way? Someone give you a taste of your own medicine?”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Mark spat at him and swatted his hand away, stumbling back and ducking his head. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me, I swear to God--”
“Jesus, you really are pathetic. You know what, maybe death isn’t too good for you after all. Least not a quick one,” Strahm decided with a huff. He reached back down and retrieved his flashlight, finally, dropping into his pocket.
“I’d be perfectly content to just leave you here, you know. Wait a few weeks, see if you don’t end up going insane and gnawing your own foot off before then.”
“You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t do that. It’d go against your morals, I know--”
“What makes you think any morals I have apply to you?”
Strahm had grabbed him again, giving him a good throttle and causing their heads to crash together. To be nose to nose.
“No, I’m pretty sure you robbed yourself of any grace the minute you tried killing me. Twice,” he hissed under his breath, which was hot and venomous. “Oh, and lets not forget the part where you tried to frame me for all of the shit you did—and don’t tell me you didn’t want to do that either, because you and I both know that’s bullshit.”
He released him, harshly, and turned around to leave, igniting a sense of panic that Mark hadn’t expected to feel. No, no no—he didn’t want to be alone again. He didn’t, not here, not in the dark. To be tortured by his own mind, by his own failures and the knowledge that a slow, painful death awaited him. He wouldn’t give Gordon, Strahm, or anyone else the satisfaction, he refused.
But what else could he do? Strahm wasn’t going to help him, whether it was putting him down or getting him out of here, that was evidently the last thing on his mind.
Unless…
“Wait!” There was a yank on his foot as he tried to run after Strahm, reminding him of his chains. “Wait no, no—wait, just wait a minute. Don’t leave me here like this, please, you can’t--”
Please. A word so foreign to even him, just as foreign as the distress in his own voice. It did little to deter Strahm, who was halfway to the exit by now.
“Oh yes I can,” He didn’t look back, either. “And I’ll be able to sleep fine at night because of it, thank you very much.”
“What if we made a deal? What if--” Mark swallowed hard. It was a painful swallow, feeling like he were swallowing stones. “What if we just made a deal, what about that? We make a deal, and you help me out, please--”
“Are you fucking out of your mind? I’m not making a deal with you, besides, you don’t even have anything I want--”
“But I might.”
This stopped Peter dead in his tracks. It might as well have also stopped Mark’s heart, and he held his breath, waiting, watching as Peter turned back around to look at him. Studying him, trying to figure out if he were serious. Taking a few, small cautious steps back toward him.
“...just what are you suggesting?” He’d risen an eyebrow, head cocked to the side. Mark barely met his gaze, keeping his eyes lowered. Strahm caught on to just where he was staring, that seemed to be answer for him.
“I can’t believe it. You’re not only pathetic, but you’re a pathetic whore,” He let out a harsh laugh, smiling just as harsh of a smile and crossed his arms. “Do you seriously think—do you think I’d help you out just because—because…”
His voice trailed off, laugh dying down.
“...you’d...actually do that?”
Mark nodded, carefully. Slowly. He wasn’t going to relent now, this was his only chance to maybe get some relief of this place and by God he was going to make sure it was going to happen. Desperation could often drive a man to his lowest point, could cause him to make desperate choices, and well.
Mark was desperate.
He might’ve only realized just how desperate at this exact moment. Never, had he ever thought he’d stoop to this level, and certainly not for Strahm of all people.
He could already feel some regret when Strahm’s smile returned, only it appeared less harsh. More malicious now, gleeful. The last time Mark had seen that expression on his face was when Strahm had thought he’d had him trapped in the glass coffin, looming over him and proclaiming his victory, thrilled that he finally had some control in their whole twisted dynamic.
And he did. He did have the power again, judging by his face now, he’d just realized it.
“You’re going to regret this. I promise, I’m going to make you regret this,” he said. “I’m going to take my time, and I’m going to make you regret everything.”
“Whatever you want, I swear--”
“Damn right its gonna be whatever I want,” He stopped walking, just a few, good short inches in front of Mark. Not too far from him to reach, but still far enough to taunt him. Reaching back into his holster, he took out his gun. Finger on the trigger, but didn’t aim it. Just dangled it by his side enough that it would make anyone nervous.
“On your knees. Now.” He didn’t have to tell Mark twice. The sight of the gun had been enough to make him drop, not that he thought Strahm would actually shoot him, nor he did he really know what he was even holding it for.
Shit, Strahm actually looked sort of surprised that he’d listened, had he thought Mark was not going to actually go through with doing this? Clearly, he didn’t know him well enough. When Mark decided he was going to do something, he was going to do it, no matter how disgusting it might end up being. He’d killed people, giving a blow job should be the least difficult thing he’d ever had to do in his entire life.
Except he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be as simple as that. He found that out when he reached to undo Strahm’s belt buckle and the other man took another couple of steps back from him, emitting a low growl from Mark in return.
“What is this? What are you doing?”
“I want you on all fours. Crawl to me, like the beast you are,” Strahm’s tone was commanding, and it was now he lifted the gun. Still didn’t aim it just yet.
“Are you serious? I’m not doing that—can we just get this over with--”
“Ah-ah. You said whatever I wanted,” Strahm reminded him of his own words and Mark felt his face heat up. “Maybe check the fine print next time. But until then…”
He made a gesture with the gun. A beckoning.
“Crawl.”
Mark let out another growl, but did as he was told. The tile was cold, staining his palms with their grime the more he ambled his way toward Strahm, feeling more disgrace, more shame than he’d ever felt in his entire damn life. No, of course this wasn’t going to be easy. Strahm was going to make every second count, no doubt of it.
The humiliation only continued when he reached Strahm, and Strahm placed a hand in his unkempt hair, giving it a slight ruffle.
“Good boy, so you can take orders,” he mused, and Mark jerked his head away, grunting. He shifted himself back onto his knees, once more trying to reach for Strahm’s buckle just to have the gun knock his hand down. He tried to smack it away out of frustration, but Strahm wouldn’t move it, determinedly keeping it in place.
“Not yet. Not just yet,” He lowered it only a bit, leveling the muzzle with Mark’s mouth. Mark caught on quick, eyes flicking between it and up and Peter, shaking his head.
“I’m not fucking doing that, are you insane--”
“I told you I was going to make you regret this, remember?” He offered the gun’s muzzle again, practically shoving it onto Mark’s lips to shut him up.
“I meant it. Now suck.”
Goddammit. He was not fucking around. Mark had to remember not to piss him off again, that was, if something like this were to happen again….shit, why would he?
Why the hell would he want that?
He didn’t.
At least, he didn’t think he didn’t.
Not once breaking eye contact, Mark parted his lips and let Strahm slip the gun inside, working his tongue around the freezing cold metal. Bobbed his head back and forth, all while Strahm kept his hand in his hair.
“Its fully loaded. Don’t think I mentioned that,” Mark felt a slight alarm at this but he didn’t stop sucking, didn’t look away. He let out a startled, muffled cry when he felt Strahm feed him more of the gun, not relenting for a single second.
“I could pull the trigger, you know. Right now,” Strahm was toying with the trigger, Mark didn’t have to look to know that he was. He threaded his fingers through his hair, sliding his hand back until it reached the base of Mark’s skull, and he gripped tightly, yanking his head back. The gun had reached the back of his throat now but he didn’t gag, didn’t choke. Wouldn’t give Strahm the pleasure, even if that was the whole point of this.
“Do you think you’d like that? Your brains, splattered all over the floor, before you even had a chance to make good on your word?” Strahm kept on. His breathing had picked up, sounding more erratic, heavier than it had just minutes ago.
“Think of it, think about how cruel that would be. That I actually planned on killing you this entire time and just wanted to have a bit of fun before I went through with it.”
He swirled the gun around in Mark’s mouth, moving it from cheek to cheek, under his tongue, back to the pit of his throat. Deeper, deep as he could manage, finally succeeding in making Mark choke. Tears were pricking at his eyes, no matter how much he tried to blink them away. Strahm seemed thrilled at this, seeing as that smug look had never quite left his face.
“But I don’t think I would do that. I’m not that cruel, after all. Not quite.”
He released the back of Mark’s head and pulled the gun from his mouth, his lips making a resounding pop as Strahm did so. Back into the holster the gun went, and Mark finally broke his eyes away, having to repress the urge to start violently coughing. He couldn’t let think Strahm he couldn’t do this, because he could. He would, even if it fucking killed him.
Because it was. It was killing him. It was horrid, and he felt so low, so wretched already, and they weren’t even done yet.
The apparent bulge in Strahm’s pants was a very good reminder that everything else had just been a warm up.
It was now he allowed Mark to undo his belt buckle and made no moves to push him down or swat him away. Mark discarded of the belt quickly and pulled the pants down to Strahm’s hips alongside his boxers, fully taking in the sight of his throbbing member right in front of him, bulging veins and all. He lifted a hand to touch it, and he felt Strahm shudder underneath his touch, grunting loudly.
It would be a lie. If Mark were to say this were a moment he hadn’t often fantasized about. From the minute he’d met Strahm he was aware of just how absurdly attractive the man was, but he’d snuffed out any thoughts of pursuing anything with him, just because. Well, he’d seen his wedding ring, he’d just assumed…
Clearly, he’d assumed wrong.
Lowering his head back down, Mark swirled his tongue around the veins on Strahm’s shaft, tracing them, before bringing it back to the tip. He closed his mouth around the head of his cock, beginning to suckle on it just as he had the gun. Another grunt from Strahm, which shortly transitioned into a loud groan. His hand was back at Mark’s head, not gripping him this time, but petting, caressing. Just like an owner praising their pet. The motion should’ve made Mark even more disgusted, aggravated that this was the approach being taken, but it didn’t, and it wasn’t about to deter him either. He slid his lips up and down Strahm’s dick, taking in as much of him as he could, just as he had with the gun. It hit the back of his throat, and he let out a strangled, muffled gasp. He could feel his own breathing getting heavier, the tears were back in his eyes – not prickling but streaming down his face this time, he couldn’t stop them.
Strahm pulled back for a moment to let him breathe, and Mark was unable to stop himself from letting out a loud sob as he did so. Panting heavily, his entire body trembling something terrible. He could hear Strahm chuckling above him and looked up while wiping the slick drool from his mouth.
“Had enough already?” He taunted, and while Mark would usually retort with some smart-ass remark, he found he did not have one in him. He could only shake his head, and opened his mouth back up as a sign that he was more than willing to keep going. Strahm huffed, and shoved his dick back into it, with perhaps more violence than he’d even managed with the gun.
“That’s what I thought, you fucking slut,” His petting turned into a swift, painful grab of Mark’s head, gathering up fistfuls of hair. Mark let out a muffled moan between sucks, feeling not only furious but thrilled by Strahm’s demeaning choice of words. He brought his hand up to the sac between Strahm’s legs, letting his fingers trail over them before moving to his thigh, promptly digging into his nails into them as harshly as he could muster. He repeated the motion with his other hand until he was sure he was drawing blood, nearly startled when he heard Strahm letting out a satisfied groan in return.
Jesus. He hadn’t expected that.
Mark twisted his nails in even further and was met with the same response, pain rippling through the back of his head as the motion in turn caused Strahm’s grip on him to tighten to a dangerous extent. Mark could feel something throbbing in the lower half of his body, his own unexpected, strange sense of arousal surrounding these events, that begged be satiated. Without thinking, he freed one of his hands from Strahm and moved it underneath his own pants, almost horrified to find a soaking wet sensation between his thighs.
Horrified yet. Wanting.
He was in such a stupor that he didn’t even care anymore.
He slipped his fingers inside himself, seeking out his clit in desperation. Working them around, while continuing to move his lips up and down Strahm’s cock. He felt a push at the back of his head and the cock slipped in further, causing him to let out another muffled sob.
“God, look at you—fuck. Fuck, some scary lapdog you are,” Strahm panted from above. He wasn’t oblivious to what else Mark was doing, he couldn’t be going off that statement. “You’re getting off to this just as much as I am, you’re just a mutt, aren’t you? Just a pathetic mutt with a pretty mouth, that’s exactly what you are, that’s all you are.”
Again, his words should’ve angered Mark more than they should’ve, but they just made his fingers work even faster. He hated that this was arousing him, but he also couldn’t. Not entirely.
Strahm knew too. He knew Mark hated that his words were having such an effect on him, and he wasn’t about to stop either. He loosened his grip on Mark’s skull and rested his fingers in his hair, letting them become deeply entwined.
“I could put my mouth on your cunt some time, if you really wanted. Is that something you’d like?” Fuck he even sounded smug. Mark looked up at him, his eyes shining with tears that obscured his vision, but it didn’t stop him from letting out a needy moan in response, or as loud as he could given the circumstances.
“I knew it would be,” Strahm purred, he looked all too satisfied, moving his fingers up through Mark’s hair and back up to the top of his head, letting it stay there. Gripped another handful of hair to yank his head back up upon his trying to look back down.
“No, keep looking at me. I want to see your face, I want to see how pathetic you look.”
Mark whimpered, miserably, but he kept his gaze trained up. His mouth around Strahm’s cock, and fingers still working around inside of him. It was overwhelming to deal with all at once and he was sure he could just burst from it all, but at the same time, he also didn’t want it to stop.
He dug his nails back into Strahm’s thighs, earning another vociferous gasp as Strahm tilted his head back, but his eyes stayed locked onto Mark’s anyhow by some miracle. He was having to reach back for the wall behind, to steady himself.
“I’m gonna...I’m about to come,” he grunted. “You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna like it. You hear me?”
Once more Mark could only moan, and just seconds later, Strahm did as he’d promised. He began to come, leaving Mark to swallow the oncoming rush of his seed. He greedily did so, sucking up every last drop like it was his last meal before execution. When Strahm had finished, Mark fell back onto the floor, hand still inside of himself. Working around, as he let out strained pant after strained pant, but he still didn’t move his eyes from Strahm. And Strahm hadn’t stopped looking at him, despite their having separated.
He seemed to be savoring these last few moments, watching intently and for his own sick amusement while Mark gave in to his own oncoming climax. His entire body convulsing and writhing from the intense, cruel wave of pleasure surging through it, and he finally, finally felt himself collapse entirely, limbs going limp, his head feeling suddenly light. His panting slowed as he tried to catch his breath, just staring up as Strahm loomed over him, then knelt beside him.
Wordless. That was how the moment passed, then Strahm dragged his thumb over Mark’s mouth, swiping up any remaining drops of cum. He tucked his thumb between Mark’s plush lips, letting him suckle it all up, then moved to pet his hair which by now, was entirely doused with sweat. When he pulled his thumb free Mark let out a high-pitched whine out of protest, that was shortly cut off by a tender kiss to his lips. Strahm had used to free hand to cup his chin, guiding Mark’s head toward him, the other keeping on with its incessant petting.
When they broke apart for air, Strahm cruelly shoved Mark back to the ground and stood up, wiping his thumb off on his jacket like it disgusted him, and moved to pull his pants back up. Mark made no motion to move, no longer feeling like the defensive, snarling beast he’d been when Strahm had first shown up, but a more tamed, submissive creature.
Strahm had done that to him. Strahm had tamed him, by that measure, having done what was thought to be impossible.
“Wait...wait—” His eyes were still moist as he looked up at Strahm one last time. One last, hopeful time, as the man humored him with another glance.
“You’re going to help me out now, right?”
“Am I?”
Strahm considered, hummed. He readjusted the belt buckle on his pants, giving them a firm snug to ensure they were secure, as well as checking over the gun in his holster. When he finished, he knelt back down one more, looking over Mark long and hard. Then he grinned, purposefully patting the side of his face that was stitched up, that magically hadn’t ripped apart during the whole ordeal.
“Maybe. I’m still thinking about it.”
Mark felt something break inside of him.
“Strahm—”
“I never did technically agree to anything, you know,” He stood back up, with a decisive huff. “If anything, lets just say I’m considering it.”
He started to move toward the door. No, no no—Mark sat up, frantically crawling after Strahm and clawing at his legs in despair, clinging onto them for dear life like a life raft.
“Peter please—please, what are you doing—don’t---” He begged. He was begging. He never begged. “Don’t fucking do this, don’t leave me here--”
“I’m not. Not for long anyway,” Strahm gave him one look. One, final smug look, then shrugged Mark off like he was nothing, letting him fall and hit the floor – hard and fast.
“That is, if you keep on behaving yourself,” He flicked the light off, then slid the door back open, its hinges creaking and groaning.
“Just remember, I’m in charge now. If you really want out of here, then you’re gonna start doing what I tell you.”
“I will. I swear, I will, I’ll do anything, just please--”
Mark didn’t get to finish that sentence. The door was being slid shut, trapping him in the same darkness that he’d woken up in. And no matter much he screamed himself raw, it didn’t open back up.