apple seed

AN:
Again, I’m sorry, I’m editing this chapter and flushing it out/adding to it. So, forgive me? A lot of thanks to my betas, again, they are absolutely the best. Now that exams are over, and I gotten my job as situated again, I’ll be updating more regularly now. >D More Roland/Khenbish love to dole out!! Also: Thanks Dut for the review ^^
Oh. And please excuse my French… it’s been a while since I’ve used it… so It’s probably way off mark D:

Chapter II: Rain Our Parade


Honestly, Roland didn’t really remember getting undressed. He didn’t remember getting into the rather pointless paper dress, or laying on the cold, metal table like a subservient sardine. Nor did he remember counting backwards as the anesthesia made the world turn horribly dark and hollow. He assumed that these things had happened and that somewhere, inside his lethargic body lay hidden a few GPS devices, his own personal electric discharger and maybe even a license plate (as some incredibly humorless joke because Roland had probably been less than charming). Feeling his tummy, just a little more than suspicious, he decided that there was, indeed, no license plate. But that didn’t mean a pair of rubber gloves weren’t in there, rotting inside him without his ever knowing. Sighing, he stopped moving around and looked a little angrily at his arm, the left one with an IV taped into it. Some other plastic things were sprouting from it as well, but he didn’t know a thing about the art of medical tubing, so they remained a mystery. Someone had tied a rainbow ribbon on one of the tubes, and he felt his left eye tick when he found it, pretty positive his blood pressure had sky rocketed. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who it was, the dick, though he’d only met the man for a few hours, and he’d already started formulating the master murder plan.

This particular arm was starting to get on his nerves as of late, he thought heatedly. First it sold off his freedom, now it was openly mocking him, what was next? Maybe he should saw it off…? Show it who was boss? He had another arm. One that was more obedient and respectful, at any rate.

He closed his eyes, and started thinking. He had been in a hospital before… he didn’t remember it, but he had been told about it. Once, his foster mother had mentioned in passing that he had been taken from a hospital and moved to the prestigious orphanage in Old Paris from somewhere in Old Germany. It had something to do with a fire, but he couldn’t remember any of it, so his mother had trailed off and started talking about the weather. She never brought up his past again, and try as he might he only remembered a blurry face, which was as good as nothing. Everyone could look like that ‘memory’ if he squinted hard enough.

Rattling, the heavy hospital door opened and in popped someone who Roland was pretty sure he’d never met in his life. Trying to sit up, and immediately regretting it because of the way his head rushed, Roland watched as the person fumbled with luggage of some sort in their arms, back turned to him. The room was empty so he was definitely here for Roland, and obviously this person wasn’t a patient. Pointedly, he stared at the bouquet his mysterious visitor had tucked in the crook of an arm. A rather ugly bouquet if Roland had any say in the matter. /No one/ seemed to have taste anymore.

As his vision cleared a bit, Roland decided to wait patiently to find out what the smaller man was doing. He was, after all, rather content to know someone in the world was more petit than he was. Finally, God had pity on him. As if sensing Roland’s judging eyes, the person turned around smiling brightly at him, and what an eerily cheerful smile it was. He was very young, much younger than Roland. The stranger who could easily pass for a teenager had deep red hair, the kind that spiked up everywhere although it tapered off into a fashion mullet that was long enough to tie, and bright blue eyes that twinkled not unkindly. Holding up a stack of clothes, perhaps some personal objects and the atrocious orange flowers, the boy quickly came over to Roland, laying his fruits of labor on a bedside table. Roland looked at him suspiciously, a scowl planted firmly on his delicate face, giving the bundle of junk a cursory glance at best.

He liked to think it was a common reaction for those who found out everyone they knew no longer existed. Or those forced into a highly skeptical surgery and then thrust in the company of a savage killer. Hell, maybe all three of them put together on a good day.

“Mais qui diable tes-vous?” (Who the hell are you?) Demanded Roland aggressively, automatically lulling into French for a moment in his post-surgery daze.

His strange visitor looked at him uncomprehendingly, appearing almost sincerely sorry he didn’t understand what Roland wanted. That floored him for a minute; many people no longer felt anything sincerely these days, let alone for a matter so insignificant. Quickly he scratched his arm, getting back into the situation and narrowed his eyes.

“You are…?” Roland asked his voice a little raspy from disuse and dryness. Not from ugly manners, mind you.

“Oh! Yea, I shoulda introduced myself. Sorry ‘bout that. Nerves and all, y’know?” The boy laid out a huge, bashful grin. Roland noted he was an American territory native, almost disdainfully curling his nose at the red-head’s accent.

He looked like a rather adorable, long haired Peter Pan. Assassins could be adorable, Roland thought bitterly, right up until they killed you. Send in a fairy to kill a fairy, he thought, acidly. Ha ha.

“No. I don’t.” Roland replied, glaring a little. Really, this kid needed to learn how to speak proper English. If Roland could do it, so could a natural born English speaker.

“Oh… well. Yea. Ok.” The boy scratched a brow, as if he wasn’t sure how to deal with Roland’s unfriendliness and then brightened, “Oh, yea. So, my name’s Huffie. I’m from the prison, ya? Grimsby sent me here, and yea, I’m supposed to show you the ropes and stuff. So, um, yea, nice to meet you. Ya?”

Huffie then thrust out his hand, and when Roland made no move to acknowledge it, grabbed Roland’s in his own and bobbed both appendages up and down for good measure, beaming like a madman.

“…Great! So you work at the prison, what are you? A fellow green?” Roland asked snippily, snatching back his hand and holding it close to his chest, huffing. What the hell was that?! Who did that kid think he was? Snatching other people’s hands like that?! And what’s more, what was wrong with his /name/? HUFFIE? He didn’t know what was worse, Huffie, or Fagg. Well, he guessed Fagg… but still, who was named /Huffie/?

“Don’t need to be sucha woman,” Roland’s eyes almost melted the wall behind Huffie, though the other pretended not to be affected, “An’ I’m /way/ more important that some newbie, ya Green. I’m a Death Watcher. Your superior, an’ as of now, your mentor, yea? Dante’s too busy to mess around with kids.”

“A what?” He amiably ignored the kid comment.

“Oh jeez. Did th’ surgery fry your brains? I thought it was supposed to be standard procedure, yea? What’d they do to ya? Should I go an’ get the doctor?” Huffie glanced around, a little alarmed, and Roland decided it’d be a bad idea to let him get any more riled. Who knows what the redhead would do, seeing as the boy’s hands were hungrily looking for something to clamp onto. He remembered the way his own hand had been throttled up and down… what with the way the boy’s hands were itching, well… That looked dangerous. He decided that from this point onwards, he wouldn’t let Huffie get a hold of anything with those grubby little paws. Unless he wanted whatever it was killed, maimed or throttled to the point of near death. Hmm… Grimsby… master murder plan…

“No! No, it’s fine. I’m just… uh… out of it. How about you refresh my memory?” Roland almost groaned, how cheesy… Refresh my memory? He was killing his cover. It sounded like a bad pick-up line, and he hadn’t done one of those since junior high. How was he going to skin information from the enemy if that was the best he could come up with? ‘Hi, I be the enemy. Now, tell me all your dirty, dirty secrets, you naughty little thing you… please?’ Oh yea, reaaaaal smooth Roland.

“Oh, yea, ok. Ya know, you signed up to be one. A Death Watcher, yea? Remember? You know, we’re th’ guys who watch the solitaries, hence the nickname, Death Watchers. Corny, yea, but ya know, it fits since they’ll rip you apart if ya give ‘em a chance, ya know?” Huffie let a stream of air out of his nose, quickly forgetting his concern and replacing it with excitement. He didn’t seem concerned about Roland’s inner struggles, or notice his bad information ‘pick up’ lines either.

“Oh.” Roland regarded Huffie suspiciously.

This tiny, hyperactive ball of a horrible accent was supposed to be looking after men about three times his size with the will to kill all things; especially those things small, hyper and, most probably, with annoying accents? Yea, right. And Roland secretly liked being called a woman. Roland thought that Grimsby’s crappy hiring procedures seemed to get worse as he met more of his staff. He’d really have to talk to the man about that. Unless, Roland’s worst fears would be recognized and Huffie was, indeed, an assassin.

“Ya aren’t changing your mind, yea?” Huffie worried, confusing the skepticism on Roland’s face for wanting to quit his job at the mere mention of disembowelment. Which, funnily enough, is what most human beings would be thinking about, but Roland wasn’t most human beings. Roland was more preoccupied with the jab at his poorly developed masculinity. Still.

“I’m fine. When do we go back?” Roland questioned after a moment, scratching his arm, grudgingly admitting to himself that he was a triffle miffed at the woman comment from earlier, though he was starting to get over it a little. He was unsure whether he didn’t have an opinion of Huffie, or if he hated him, and decided he’d find out which it was if Huffie made another comment on Roland’s less than masculine image.

“Right now.”

“I just had surgery!” Exclaimed Roland, gesturing to his arm with the tubes running into it, taken aback by Huffie’s demand. He had no bandages that he could discern, so was pretty sure a needle like apparatus had injected microchips or something crazy like that inside of him, but despite the fact there were no visible injuries, it didn’t set his mind at ease in the least. Not to mention, he had a number of sore spots he’d like to investigate on his body. Already, he knew half were bed sores and the rest were either places he’d been altered or were bashed in by a medical hammer to throw him off. Sneaky doctors… Sneaky, glove implanting bastards. To imagine he wanted to be one…

Grabbing the proffered arm, Huffie ripped the tubes out with little effort. Roland turned white and almost squealed like a dying cow.

“You’ve slept for two days. You’re fine. We’re going.” Huffie’s face clouded over, his blue eyes like razors and the grip on Roland’s arm incredibly stiff and painful. Roland tried to pull away but Huffie’s arm didn’t even quiver. Roland stilled as fingers dug hard into his flesh, making his whole body quiver in nervousness as to what was going to happen next. Suddenly Huffie didn’t look quite so cute and Peter Pan like, he looked more like the child Imp from Hell. Then, just as quickly as he’d snatched Roland’s arm, the redhead released his hold and an easy smile came over his lips, “So get changed, yea?”

“…Ok.” Roland managed to wheeze out, rather proud he didn’t squeak.

Huffie smiled, showing as many teeth as he felt needed to be seen, and left the room with a bounce in his step. Deciding he’d never judge a book by its cover again, Roland undressed himself, ignoring the ache in his arm and the sway of his body. He noticed some little red bumps on his right arm, but disregarded them almost immediately. He would investigate them later. Right now, he just wanted to make sure evil Imp Huffie never returned. He quickly slipped into his uniform, noticing that it had been exchanged for a smaller one. When he realized the implications of such a change, he felt his body run cold.

Panicking, he thrust his hands into the slacks, looking for the remote and bracelet. If Huffie or anyone else had found them the mission could already be over, and what else did he have to live for? There was no one to go back to, no home left, and he had no identity apparently. He couldn’t get fucked over for something as stupid as this! When nothing turned up in his pants, Roland checked his shirt pockets frantically. From a shirt pocket on his breast, he pulled out a little piece of paper the shape of a heart in the most obnoxious shade of purple. Scrawled in beautiful, if hurried, handwriting was a note from the Warden. /I’ve gotten your things, don’t panic. It’s not manly. Love Grimsby/.

Roland crumpled the paper and glared at the wad in his hands, deciding he’d show the Warden manly as soon as he saw the other man. Padding to the trashcan, Roland was about to throw the offending paper in when Huffie burst in. Startled, Roland shoved the paper in his mouth, forgetting he had pockets, or that there was a trash bin conveniently located naught but two inches from his feet for a moment. Making a disgusted face and swallowing, Roland gagged on the paper and Huffie stared at him strangely. Coughing, Roland tried to look a little more pleasant, the bitter and dry taste of paper plaguing his mouth. Instead of the look he’d been hoping for, he seemed like he was going to eat Huffie’s first born child. Maybe a left nut too.

“Are you alright?” Huffie managed to ask, still standing at the door, a hand resting lightly on the handle. Just in case Roland wanted to eat that unborn baby /now/.

“Yea…” Roland’s chest heaved, and he kept the vomit down. Paper was surprisingly really nasty, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your arm is bleeding.” Huffie answered easily, pointing to Roland’s left arm.

“Huh?” Roland looked at his arms and almost panicked, when he realized with a great, burning resentment that it was his left arm, the very arm Huffie had torn the tubes from that was gushing out precious bodily fluids. Blood was dribbling down his cursed appendage, threatening to drip onto the floor and smudge his pristine white shirt.

“HUFFIE.”

“You’re bleedin’ a lot, yea? I should get a doctor, ya, right? Roland?” Huffie opened the door nervously, “You alright, yea?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Roland screamed, charging at the redhead who made a break for it. Roland wasn’t starting off his day very professionally, like he’d planned to.

-

Grimsby managed to be polite and not laugh at Roland’s expression, or to comment on his bandaged arm, though he did mention the flowers in passing. Receiving no answer, he shrugged and merely asked the new employee how his trip from the hospital back to the prison had been. When the only reply had been a heatedly rude one, Grimsby merely tsked and turned his attention to Huffie, asking the boyish man if he was ready for his big move. Huffie just smiled, his little face lighting up with excitement and Roland muttered something about Grimsby’s hiring capabilities, which the Warden graciously ignored. He pulled on the collar of his cobalt blue suit jacket, making sure his lapels were in proper order before following Huffie out of the administrative building to a rather small and dreary structure in the back of the prison grounds, Roland in tow.

Grimsby tried to chatter things up on their journey but Roland was a walking, muttering corpse, and Huffie was practically maneuvering himself to stay out of Roland’s line of vision. Sighing, Grimsby gave up trying to be civilized and let himself become the human barrier between a mauling waiting to happen. Honestly, he didn’t know why he thought his job was worth all this trouble sometimes. Rather than run a prison, he thought tiredly, he should be running a daycare for miscreant children. Honestly.

When they got to the building Huffie and the Warden flashed their badges, Roland smoothly followed suit, trying to get comfortable with his role. He was still a little awkward with the whole part he played, but he was reassured with the fact that others would just label him as a newbie and not think much of it. The heavy metal door was pulled open and the guard on duty greeted them less than enthusiastically, shutting and barring the door behind them. He brightened a little when Grimsby gave him a jovial greeting, but he darkened again as soon as they passed by. Roland could understand; working in a stark white building in burning artificial light for long periods of time would do that to a normal human being. He cast a glance at his two companions, both who were joking about something, most probably something completely inane while making wild hand gestures, and stressed to himself the word /normal/.

Huffie led them down some rather blindingly lit hallways, and Roland noticed how cramped the halls were, but more importantly, the lack of any cell units. He knew this was the highest security ward, the solitary cells, but he had yet to see anything vaguely cell like. He’d seen a vending machine in a little corner in the distance, to what may have been a break room, some guard posts, but that had been it. Well, there were emergency alarm buttons, but that was to be expected. At last, they came to a huge titanium door (Grimsby seemed to have a thing for titanium), just like the one Roland had seen on his first visit to Akeldama Prison. Huffie went through the IDs, the name, and the card flashing procedure. It was all taking so very long, and Roland thought the guard on the monitor looked like he was half asleep until Grimsby muttered through the com that he’d like things to speed up, mentioning a pay cut if it didn’t happen, and the door was opened in no time. Roland was ushered in before it closed again. He was glad to see work ethics carried through. Really, he was.

For a second, Roland thought his eyes were raped by the lights, seeing as the whole world went from blindingly white to black. Shaking his head, sending his chestnut hair flying about, he tried to calm his over-stimulated eyes. Grimsby and Huffie waited for Roland and then proceeded on their merry way when Roland could make out their figures and stumble after them. Really, they needed to stop the blinding light thing because Roland thought it was getting rather old and dangerous for his health. He could understand lighting up the place, since no one wanted dark corners for lethal, escaped prisoners to creep in, but they were overdoing it. He looked darkly at the Warden’s stiff suit jacket, the muscles moving underneath, muttering, “Jerk.”

After a few minutes Roland could see normally again, though he had to squint, and spotted the first cell. A while later or so later, he came to realize that these cells were spaced out at incredible, almost ridiculous, lengths from each other. Each door was heavy and had more locks than Roland could count in passing, along with a monitor next to the door with little buttons under it. He assumed that if you pushed a button you could view what was going on inside, seeing as the doors themselves only had a slit at the top and a little movable flap in the center, securely bolted, from where he supposed food was sent through. That was hardly any help if you needed to see what the inmates were doing. Hence, the monitors.

After a while, Roland wondering just how big the seemingly tiny building really /was/, Huffie finally stopped at a door. Above it were the numbers 000 and the letter K on a slip of paper inserted in a clear, plastic case above the monitor. Huffie pushed a blue button on the monitor and the screen blipped on, turning a deep blue before it slowly showed the inside of the cell. Roland peeked over the Warden’s shoulder and was a little surprised. The cells were actually very tiny, only big enough for a hard looking cot, a toilet, miniature sink and a table that was melded into the wall. He guessed that the reason the cells were so wide spread then was to keep the inmates from speaking to each other. Well, he chided himself, it /was/ a solitary ward.

Khenbish was currently sitting on the bed, eyes closed as if he were napping. Two large, powerful, tan hands were lying limply on tensed thighs, and Roland couldn’t help but notice that Khenbish looked a little less than relaxed. Grimsby pushed another button and Khenbish snapped his eyes open, looking dead into the camera. Roland jerked back, glancing nervously at Huffie and the Warden, but neither seemed phased. He peeked back at the monitor to look at Khenbish’s hard, unhappy face. He looked very handsome, with that distinctly displeased scowl. Not that Roland would admit that out loud. Ever.

“Dove, you have a new caretaker.” Grimsby cooed into the com, smiling back at Roland over his shoulder.

“Yea? Is Midget with you?” Khenbish drawled, still staring into the camera. He visibly relaxed a little.

“Humphry is here, yes. Why, do you not want him to go? And here I thought you were quite taken with Roland…” Grimsby mused, his eyebrows quirking. Roland furrowed a brow at Huffie’s real name. Humphry… didn’t that mean… giant? At least Roland’s name wasn’t the only one trying to make fun of its owner.

“Midget, I’ll fucking rip you a new one. Don’t think you’re free just ‘cause I’ve got a new fucker watching my every move.” Ken said calmly, picking some lint from his dirty pants.

“Yea, well I’ll rip off one for ya if that happens then, Giant.” Huffie replied warmly. “See ya ‘round, I’ve got ta get goin’, ya know, yea?”

“Going so soon Humphry?” Grimsby asked, not bothering to turn off the monitor. Khenbish lost interest and looked down at his lap, his eyes lowering, but not quite closing.

“Yea, gotta go get situated with my new bundle of joy, right? He isn’t no Giant, but yea, they’re all pretty grumpy. Hear this one throws fits, again, not like Giant, but, yea. So I’ll be off, yea?” Huffie bowed his head to Grimsby, waved to Roland and scampered away after leaving Khenbish with a cheery farewell.

Grimsby stared at the monitor a little, regarding the Asian. Khenbish had his head cocked up to what Roland could only guess were the speakers, though his almond eyes were still grazing the sides of his pant legs for little bits of fluff.

“Well, you’ve got the collar on, so we’re going to come in and visit you. I hope you don’t mind terribly.” The Warden announced abruptly, turning off the monitor and intercom before Roland could hear the Asian’s retort.

He watched as the Warden showed him how to open the door with the pin specifically encoded to Khenbish’s door, some other complicated numbers and voice commands, and how the badge had to be slid through the slot. Then, he pulled out a key, informing Roland that he would be issued one as well, and told him that it was specifically for Ken’s cell only. He let Roland know that unless told otherwise, he shouldn’t ever open the door and that the main bulk of his job would be to stand next to Khenbish’s door for his shift; something they only did for inmates of the highest security. He also reminded Roland that Khenbish was a high-code killer and that if there was any emergencies whatsoever Roland was to vacate the building and leave Khenbish to die, or whatever. Staff was more important than scum, Grimsby stated bluntly. The last sentence made Roland avert his gaze to the tasteless color of the Warden’s suit because the intensity of Grimsby’s words made him shiver a little.

The door wheezed, the air locks decompressing, and Grimsby pulled the heavy slab open, Roland following behind. The Warden didn’t bother closing the door, and Roland thought him a little foolish, even with the security that Ken had the discharger and whatever the collar was. As they entered, Khenbish regarded both men for a minute and then went back to picking at imaginary lint. Grimsby sat down on the bland table and Roland decided to stand right in front of the door, feeling safest there.

No one said anything, and Roland was feeling a little sick, his head still a little woozy. It didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten all day and that Khenbish smelled like he hadn’t bathed in awhile. Not so much a nasty smell, but a musky, earthy one; Roland didn’t think he liked it much since it made him feel like he was reeling. Although he had to admit it was better than the normal body odor of onions and other disgusting, completely unhygienic things. He had heard that generally Asians didn’t have as bad a body odor than others, but had thought that it was merely a load of crap. He still did.

“Well, don’t you look positively fuckable?” Khenbish purred, breaking the silence as he eyed Roland in his uniform. “Never thought I’d think that the uniform was attractive before. Except for when you can see Molly’s tits in them. Now that is attractive. Makes me fucking hard thinking about them. What I’d give to get under her belt and have a nice tit fuck, maybe some oral, you know....”

“My god, can’t you ever be NOT vulgar?” Grimsby cried, exasperated, “Your mother is probably turning over in her grave because of you.”

“If anything, she’s turning over in her grave making room for you, sweet cheeks.” Ken replied darkly, a handsome smile brandishing his face. He looked at little sinister, as his smile turned feral, and white teeth snapped together to make a little click.

“Well, we can’t let that happen or you’d be terribly heart broken. Anyway, getting down to business and away from your strange mating rituals that involve disgusting vocabulary, Roland’s going to be acting as your guard from now on. You can’t behave any differently or people will know something’s up, are we clear?” Grimsby tried to make Khenbish squirm under his gaze, but the other seemed unruffled. “You too Roland. No funny business.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll save that for later.” Khenbish supplied, winking to the offended man in the door way, “Won’t we, baby?”

“I said none of that, can’t you listen for once?” Grimsby asked, fixing his tie. Roland noticed that though the Warden seemed relaxed, his shoulders were incredibly tense and he never seemed to take his eyes from Khenbish. So even the discharger couldn’t ensure him protection it looked…

“No, I can’t fucking listen to you.” Khenbish said, a little annoyance creeping into his voice, “I’m not your bitch.”

“I never said you were.” Grimsby replied, smoothing his pant leg. “Anyway. Here are the specs, unless Theydon tells me otherwise. Roland will be watching you like a hawk, just like Humphry and Dante have been doing for the last five years. He’ll be there when you shit, when you eat, when you get your examinations. And he’ll have all the stuff needed to knock you out, he’s going to be serious about his job, so don’t you think you can try to trick him and run amok. Humphry’s going to teach Roland himself. So I expect you to be a perfect gentleman and behave.”

“Great. Another fucking thorn in my side.” Khenbish looked at Roland, icily, “I hope you have fun watching me jack off. I know I will.”

“So, when Theydon gives the A-Ok, Roland will open your locks, I’ll have my superiors cut off the lights and you’ll meet me behind the Canteen. I’ll help you out of the compound and Khenbish, you’ll have to grab Roland and run like hell because I’ll be after your asses the second you two step off my prison grounds.” Grimsby said, ignoring Khenbish. Roland tried not to acknowledge the remarks either, but the Warden seemed much better at that than Roland since his face wasn’t flushed. Roland was a little frightened that his might be permanently stained an ugly shade of tomato for the rest of his life.

“Sounds easy enough. Throw the punk on my shoulder and avoid your talentless minions.” Khenbish drawled, scratching his chin with two fingers, already looking bored at the idea.

“I have two perfectly fine legs, thank you.” Roland snapped, before Grimsby could reply. He’d had enough of Khenbish’s smart remarks and his patience had worn out.

“Oh, they’re fine alright. I’m even thinking I’d like to seem them wrapped around me, you little cock sucker. Just maybe.” Khenbish said, smirking and glancing at the long legs.

“You! You’re such a disgusting savage-” Roland was shouting, incredibly insulted when he was slammed into the door, his back aching with the shock of the impact. At first, he only managed to open and close his mouth, much like a fish, unable to say anything more.

Khenbish’s dirty fingers of his left hand were firmly holding Roland’s right shoulder. The Asian leaned down on Roland, pinning him against cold metal, his other hand resting dangerously close to the chestnut hair against the door. Roland cast a somewhat frightened gaze to Grimsby, though he managed to remain relatively calm. When the Warden failed to do anything besides whip out a cell phone and check the time, Roland looked back at the man who had him captured, feeling the warm breath against his cheeks. It smelled surprisingly of chocolate.

“What were you going to say, bitch?” Khenbish asked, his lips brushing against Roland’s cheek. He laughed, feeling the smaller man tense with anger. He was definitely getting a rise out of this.

“Theydon? Oh my, how’s the meeting going?” Grimsby suddenly interrupted, on his hand phone. He walked casually out of the cell, pushing Khenbish into Roland to move him out of the doorway. Turning around, he shoved them both away from the entrance and said, covering the mouthpiece, “You boys work out your problems, I don’t need you two at each other’s throats if you’re to be working together. Now be nice. Ken, if anything… /unfavorable/ happens to Roland, no candy for a month. Oh, yes Elliott? Heavens no!”

Roland almost cried out with incredulousness when the heavy door closed and he heard the airlocks snap together, leaving him alone in the cramped room with his ‘partner’. Trapping him in a room with a notorious killer wasn’t the brightest of ideas Roland thought a darkly and without much humor. Honestly, did these people /know/ what they were doing?! A little more than scared, he looked at the Asian, who was grinning like mad, and inched towards the door. Shooting out, Khenbish’s strong hand grabbed his arm, ignoring Roland’s protest as he irritated his sores. Smirking, he dragged the lighter man towards him, keeping a tight grip on the willowy arm. Roland fought, punching the other man in the face, and gasped when he was flopped easily into the uncomfortable cot. Within seconds the heavier Asian was on top of him, pinning him down, not even a sign of a forming bruise on his high cheekbones. The only blemish to the creamy, tanned skin was the bruise Ken had gotten the other day from the serum, a yellow blue, ugly splotch. They stared at each other, long and hard. Roland’s head was spinning but he tried to look firm, though he wasn’t sure which Asian to glare at, as five of them swirled around annoyingly in his vision with a smirk. Damn the savage.

“I really don’t think I’ll ever like you.” Roland growled, trying to gouge out an eye with his nose.

“Really? I think it’s mutual.” Khenbish purred, “I hate little girls most.”

“You FUCKING PRICK!” Roland roared, trying to throw off his lanky companion. He bucked his hips and tried to jerk up a shoulder. Ken seemed undisturbed. Actually, he seemed to get a little horny, and Roland immediately decided he wouldn’t do that again.

“You’re the one that fucks pricks. But I wouldn’t mind trying…” Ken murmured, bending down and licking Roland on the nose. He grinned when Roland stiffened, “What?”

“Do that again and I’ll… Cut. Off. Your. Tongue.” Desperately, he tried to whip his arms free, to thrash his legs, but Khenbish held him still, chortling at Roland’s vain efforts. Roland wasn’t weak by any standards, but Ken was insanely strong. God, why couldn’t he be that body builder?

“Hm… sounds like funnnn~” Khenbish whispered into a pink ear, kissing it. Man, he hadn’t gotten some in ten years. Even Roland was starting to look like a potential, fun candidate to screw senseless. Scary what abstinence could do to a man or his sexuality he thought amusedly. He kissed Roland full on the mouth, nothing about it sweet as he crushed down on it. After bruising Roland’s lips, he started biting and licking his way down to the collared neck, not bothering to be gentle, leaving behind angry marks. The last time he’d bothered being nice during sex was his first time, and that was well over twelve years ago. He wasn’t going to start either, being nice took up too much time and he wanted that satisfied ‘I just got the best orgasm of my life’ feeling, right about, oh, /now/.

“S-stop.” Roland whispered, sounding a little frightened and a little dazed. He had stopped wriggling by now, and was breathing shallowly. It was slightly sensuous.

“No.” Khenbish said grinning, holding Roland’s unresisting hands in one dirty one, letting the other one inch up Roland’s clothed waist.

“Let me go, or you’ll be sorry.” Roland snapped weakly, his eyes going dark and his face paling. Khenbish loved it and just licked the soft jawbone lazily. It was more angular than a girl’s but Ken liked the distinctly different taste it had. He lapped at Roland’s neck, roughly nipping at the Adams apple. God, he was getting horny.

“Make me.” He purred, brining his hand down to rub a thigh, his chest lowering to touch Roland’s. God, he hadn’t touched another body in ages, it was getting him all kinds of excited. He decided it was about time he just did the good deed and whip out his Mr. Happy and get it over with before he lost his chance. Grimsby was sure to return, and that meant his window of opportunity was in danger of never being taken advantage of. And oh, how he liked taking advantage of advantageous situations… or people for that matter.

“I’m not playing with you.” Roland snapped, almost slipping into French in his anger.

“Bogseig min doloo.” (Lick my ass). Khenbish smirked, knowing that Roland only got more irritated because he didn’t know what /exactly/ Khenbish had said, but knew it wasn’t pleasant or flattering. Ken was having so much fun. He almost felt five again, except, five year old didn’t normal intend to rape others. “Are you ready? ‘Cause I am.”

“I’m… I’m going to be sick.” Roland mewled, managing to buck Khenbish off with the last of his strength and scrambled to the toilet. Half of it was fear, and the other half was just this welling feeling of revolution and tepid feverishness.

“That’s hardly the way you go about seducing a man, baby cakes.” Khenbish drawled, watching Roland retch into his toilet. As much as he wanted to stick his penis in something, he decided he’d rather do it without being puked on. He rubbed his slightly sore thigh, the one Roland had kneed, and frowned. Roland looked like he was going to say something when he just threw up into the porcelain pot some more. Khenbish hoped someone was going to clean that, because /he/ sure as hell wasn’t.

The door opened and Khenbish raised his brows, watching Grimsby rush inside and start patting Roland on the back feverently. Ken knew better than to think Grimsby was concerned for Roland out of kindness. It was more of the concern little children had for their prized toy, guarding it because of its boasting worth and for naught much else. Roland had to have /some/ kind of significance, and Ken was sure the Warden would be extra finicky to make sure Roland was safe and sound. At least, until Roland had to go out into the big bad world with Ken, far from the Warden’s worrisome wing. Then, Ken could test out that usefulness for all its worth until the kid broke, without a man in a suit breathing down his neck ready to barbecue him. He fingered his collar absently, thinking lightly that if the damn thing wasn’t on him or the implants he could’ve killed both these losers by now and been out of there, screwing something with breasts. Oh well.

“Ken, what did you do?” Grimsby snapped, holding Roland’s hair from his face.

“He couldn’t keep up with my charms. He’s so in love with the thought of me stuffing him that he’s sick with anticipation.” Khenbish threw back, laying on his cot and closing his eyes. “Weren’t you doll?”

“I fucking hate you.” Roland seethed, lifting his face away from the toilet, his knuckles clenched and white.

“Yea, you weren’t complaining a minute ago.” Khenbish cooed, blowing Roland a kiss.

Roland just barfed into the toilet, enough of a reply as it were, before he could let out an indignant squeak. Today was /really/ unprofessional Roland though bitterly, not sure if his mouth tasted vile from the vomit or from those hard, demanding lips.

A good thirty minutes later found Roland slumped in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in Grimsby office, his face a dull, white, pasty color with pink blotches. He had been told he was having an allergic reaction. To what he wasn’t quiet sure; Grimsby hadn’t supplied much more and Roland had been forced to sit and take some funny little grey-white capsules. The reinforcement of bad color taste almost made him heave some more, but he managed to eat them without incident. Currently he was wasting away in the ugly office, wanting to die from the pain. After a minute’s struggle, he inclined his head, his vision doubling, and saw that he was alone. Shaking, Roland tried to pick up the paper cup the Warden had left him to take a drink of water, but he let his arm fall back to his side, unable to bear the pain. It was an itchy, burning pain, something that Roland had never felt before at that magnitude. Curling, he tried to make his body comfortable, tried to find some relief. He felt like crying. Did this normally happen to people who had surgery? So much for advanced medical technology and all that… a load of bull was what it was.

Someone had come in the office, the jostling of the door alerted him that much, but Roland decided he didn’t really give a damn who it was unless they were going to behead him and make the pain stop. A cool hand brushed back his mussed hair, and he sighed, finding a little comfort in that brief touch. Whoever it was, rubbed a small circle on his back, and then took the cup and held it Roland’s lips, at which he drank greedily, thankful someone useful had shown up to save him. He felt a little relief that he wasn’t alone anymore, that if he died he wouldn’t be alone. The cup disappeared and Roland groaned, laying his head on his knees, hands clenched into his green slacks. The person’s footsteps retreated and Roland panicked.

«S’il vous plait… Sauvez-moi…n'allez pas.» (Please… Save me… don’t leave.) He whispered hoarsely, tears falling from his dark eyes, his breathe short and ragged. It was hurting him so bad now, as all his muscles cramped together and his stomach clenched like it had been stabbed. As he shivered, sweat started to bead on his burning flesh and his insides started to stoke, as if on fire. In a matter of minutes he was burning up and writhing in his chair. “Puiant!” (Fuck!)

«Où est-ce que ça fait mal? » (Where does it hurt?) A smooth, liquid-hot voice asked Roland, mildly surprised sounding.

«Tout le… » (All of…) Roland choked, falling from his chair and crying out, shuddering. He convulsed on the floor, curling up and clenching his jaw to keep from crying out. Tears didn’t stop falling down, and the pain didn’t go away. He let out a little gasp, his vision blurred by tears. Distantly he thought that he’d never live to be twenty six if this kept up.

«Est-ce que ça fait mal? » (Does this hurt?) The voice said, touching Roland in the sides. Roland didn’t answer, merely bucked, sharply cursing. The hands grabbed him, tried to hold him down, whispering soothingly in his ear. It felt good, to hear French again, but he couldn’t focus on it, his arms feeling like they were being ripped off. To think, he wanted to tear one off earlier, and now, he wanted them firmly in place, no pain, thanks all the same.

“Oh God, oh God… make it go away.” Roland cried, lashing out at the vice-like grip, “It hurts! Merde! Arrêtez-le ! Il blesse!!” (Shit! Stop it! It hurts!)

“Shh, ok, it’s ok. Rolande, oui? It’s going to be ok.” The voice said, becoming rather faint. Roland gave one last heavy, shuddering breathe and blacked out, thinking vaguely that he had been speaking in French, something he hadn’t done in awhile… The last thing he heard was a very unsettled “Rolande?”

At first there was only a large blanket of darkness, smothering everything. It was all so still and untouched that Roland felt safe, comfortable, unquestioning of his surroundings. Then, slowly, voices started to whisper around, some of them familiar, some new, but Roland couldn’t put a name, a face or memory to any of them. He felt, somewhere in the distance of the blackness that he was sore, but it was a muffled ache that did not rouse him. He almost felt that he could drift in this darkness forever, undisturbed, never bothering to escape. That was until he smelled chocolate and felt cornered under a hard body, felt frightened, angry from a memory he couldn’t remember. Agitated he started to thrash, crying out, until something hard and stern pinned him down.

“Roland?”

It all faded away, he knew that voice, “Grimsby.”

“Are you alright? You’ve had an allergic reaction to some of the medication the hospital had administered to you and… chocolate.”

“Wha?” Roland opened his eyes, and found himself in some type of infirmary. There was a little cot he was laying on; he didn’t think it very comfortable. Grimsby was stern-faced, some hair falling into his aged, handsome face, sitting on his bedside with a hand holding down his shoulder. “Chocolate?”

“Uhm… yes. Well, before I jump to conclusions… did you happen to eat any chocolate before you fainted yesterday?” Grimsby looked a little hopeful.

“YESTERDAY?!” Roland cried out, sitting up. He was feeling a little woozy but all together fine. The thought of being unconscious yet another day for that week made him agitated and panicky. What if this was going to become a terrible habit?

“Yes, and I wouldn’t suggest looking in a mirror… you’ve become a human giraffe with a head the size of a baby whale. But come Roland, did you eat any chocolate?” Grimsby said, tapping at a shoulder to get some attention.

“No… no, I didn’t.” Roland looked at his hands, frightened. They were puffy and pink. No longer delicate and thin, his fingers were huge and crude looking, almost making him miss being the old, feminine Roland. He pulled up his sleeves and saw large, angry pink splotches everywhere. He felt like crying. “I didn’t…”

“Oh… well, then I’m going to have to assume the worst than and must reprimand you as your superior. Roland, I will not have you engaging in sexual acts, no matter how innocuous or small, with Khenbish. Please, try to resist with a little more vigor next time. We do not condone relationships between serial killers of any sort and our employees. Since I know /he/ ate chocolate yesterday and that you clearly didn’t, there is no other way to explain how you ingested chocolate. Really, try to control yourself from now on; this would be an embarrassment if it had gotten out to the staff and inmates. Khenbish already finds the situation hilarious as is.”

“Control /myself/?! You think I just laid down on that god forsaken bed and invited him down there to stick his penis… wherever it’d go, with my /superior/ right behind the door?!” Roland’s spit landed on Grimsby’s shoulder, and he was a little sore it hadn’t hit the dirty old codger square in the eye.

“I never said that…” Grimsby tried to reason, pulling on his collar.

“Well, you sure /implied/ it asshole.”

“…So, you’re allergic to chocolate then?” Grimsby suddenly asked, managing a personable smile.

“Fuck you.”

“You barely survived one attempt; I doubt two would do well for your health.”

“………….” Roland lowered molten eyes onto Grimsby throat and declined to comment. His now fat, sore fingers wriggled a little and a devious little snarl started to form on his lips.

“Uhm… well, I’ll go get the nurse… then.” Grimsby muttered, shooting off the bed and making his way to the door. “Oh, Roland. Please, try not to do anything to put yourself out of commission anymore; I really need you to start working.”

Grimsby fled before Roland could lunge out of the bed in all his swollen rage. Expelling a large, angry sigh, Roland fell back into the rather firm, thin mattress. He lifted his hands up to inspect them a little more; he was quickly becoming the most unhappy he’d been for the whole week, in summation. Bitterly, he supposed he must have been given penicillin, which he was gravely allergic to. Aggravatingly enough, he couldn’t blame the hospital. Grimsby had said he had no personal files, so that meant he had no medical records either. In addition, Roland was mildly allergic to chocolate. Usually he could eat a little bit without suffering any severe repercussions, other than his throat swelling up a little or his skin getting itchy for a bit, but he’d never tried it doped on his worst enemy, the miracle drug penicillin. He’d learned they weren’t a good combination.

The light, oak door opened, and Roland turned, expecting either Grimsby or a nurse. He bolted upright when his visitor looked back at him, closing the door and then did a double take, which Roland didn’t appreciate. He had never been so humiliated, his face immediately set on fire and he looked away, trying to hide his blown up blimp-appendage for a head. Fat pudgy fingers clutched at his arms, scratching, and he wished he could just disappear. Khenbish laughed, obnoxiously.

“What are you doing here?” Roland hissed, purposefully keeping his face averted so it couldn’t be scrutinized easily.

“I managed to escape when they took me for exercise. I heard they were keeping you in the infirmary… haha, looks more like you belong on a bad science fiction film.” Khenbish snickered, pushing off the door confidently and strolling up to the bed. “Hm, I hope this doesn’t happen every time I try to molest you.”

“Shut up and go away.” Roland said, exasperated, suddenly feeling tired. He felt Khenbish’s fingers on his chin, gently pulling his face. “Stop it. I don’t feel like being made fun of right now, asshole. Besides, if you don’t go back, they might decide to fry you.”

“Of course, it’s only natural.” Khenbish said, suddenly sitting on the bed, pressing his body into Roland’s and forcefully making Roland look at him. He laughed and Roland became livid until Khenbish said with all seriousness, “You look so cute.”

“What the FUCK are you ON?” Roland screamed, trying to shove the Asian with his aching limbs. Now he was absolutely on fire. “Cute?! You think this is fucking /cute/? I said I don’t want to deal with your shit, you mother-”

Khenbish swooped down, stealing a kiss. This kid was easier than low paid hit jobs or slutty street whores looking for a wild ride on a cold winter night, Khenbish thought lewdly. Roland seemed to always rise to the bait, and Khenbish loved it. He was catching up on years of fun he’d missed in that little cell. Then, out of nowhere he felt something crashing into his skull, and he fell slack against Roland. The only thing he could think was ‘Fuck, another opportunity…’

Roland had gone into shock when Khenbish had plunged down on him, stealing a kiss. Just as he was beginning to thaw out of it and go into full-blown rage, Khenbish slumped against him. Weak and sore, Roland was thrown back onto the bed with the Asian’s weight sagging against him and he cried out. Someone muttered an apology and Khenbish was quickly removed. Roland took the opportunity to take a good look at his savior. He smiled.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Fagg.” The man said, throwing Khenbish’s arm around his neck and hauling the criminal up. “I shall be taking le Monstre back to his cell. Good day.”

“Uh…” Roland watched the dark haired man, almost as tall as Ken, move away from the bed and noticed the nightstick tuck under a leather belt. “Who are you?”

Even monster Asian men could be put out of commission with heavy metal sticks it seemed. Roland stored that away for future reference.

A few seconds paced by, and Roland waited patiently, staring at the back of his savoir. The incredibly handsome, almost statuesque man turned his face slightly, his ice blue eyes sliding slightly as if he were going to look at Roland. But those eyes never met Roland’s, no, the man turned his head back to face the door and Roland was sure he’d never get an answer.

“Dante.”

Roland watched the fellow Frenchman haul Khenbish out of the room, and didn’t move, even when the door clicked shut. Slowly, his fingers touched his lips, and then quickly rubbed the back of his neck before throwing himself onto the bed and curling up under the covers.

“Fuck.”

He blamed it on his aching body…