However I would prefer if you only looked at the picture after reading the little thing I wrote about the scene. I got quite inspired. Many thanks also to elrhiarhodan who did a quick beta!
It's just a little scene not a whole story. So here without further ado - enjoy!
The hard ground dug mercilessly into his knees. The thin layer of carpet did nothing to help against the unforgiving concrete underneath. He debated to subtly shift to at least temporarily release the pressure but thought better of it. Better not bringing attention to himself. Better not make the other man angry. There might be punishment. And if anything Neal didn’t need tonight, it was more punishment.
And he was good at kneeling. He was used to this. He could do it.
Just a little while longer.
He felt uneasy, not knowing what was going on behind him. He was not allowed to turn. He had tried once and received a smack to the head. He didn’t try again. Surprisingly, he had not been blindfolded. He wished he had, it would have made things easier.
Easier to pretend.
To pretend that this was just like any other game they played on a Friday night. To pretend that even though his blood rushed, it was because of excitement and arousal and not dreadful fear. To pretend that if it ever became too much to bear he could use his safeword and Peter would be there, releasing him, holding him, soothing him.
Sadly, no safeword would get him out of this.
At least he wasn’t alone. Peter was there, right beside him. On his knees as well. And right now he looked over, with a worried expression. It was very difficult to keep anything from him. Neal tried his best anyway, tried not to show how excruciating the pain was that his ribs were giving him. One may be cracked, broken even after that harsh kick. It had forced the breath right out of his lungs and made him double over.
And the longer this went on, the harder it got to breathe. He forced himself to take slow breathes. In. Out. In. Out. Don’t panic, Neal. Panicking would only make things worse.
It was hard to tell for how long they already were kneeling here. In such situations, minutes seemed to stretch like hours.
The bad part was, nobody was going to miss them. They had worked late in the office, just the two of them. Elizabeth was out of town and would only return the day after tomorrow. Plenty of time to get into serious trouble with whoever it was that paid them this surprise visit.
He tried to think who could be behind this but unfortunately in their line of work they made so many enemies, the list was very long. And so far they hadn’t said much, just used them as punching bags. It seemed as if they were waiting for something. Or someone? It also seemed as if they were not in a hurry to kill them. Thank God for small mercies.
Of course he had tried to get out of the handcuffs as soon as they had been put on him. But these guys had been briefed well. They seemed to know what he was capable of, and for once none of his tricks worked. The cuffs were so tight that there was no room to wriggle at all. The more he tried, the tighter they became. Until he had to stop because the blood flow to his hands was almost non-existent.
Initially, he and Peter had struggled but soon had to realize that it was useless. Then Peter had switched to talking. He was good at that. He promised they would cooperate, he promised to do everything they wanted; he would have promised to get the moon down as long as it kept Neal safe.
One evening, sitting on the patio with a bottle of beer in Peter’s case, and a glass of wine in Neal’s case, they had mused who of them had it worse in situations like this. Neal, who always seemed to receive more blows and injuries than Peter; or Peter, who only helplessly could watch and not do anything. Peter had admitted then that it drove him crazy, that it was almost unbearable and that he would change places with Neal anytime.
Neal wasn’t so sure he wanted to change places with Peter though.
THE END - that's it already, sorry!