Love of a Captive

The next three days passed in a similar fashion. Adrian had taken over all aspects of Malachi’s care, from feeding to bathing. The visits were short, as Adrian had many duties as both a host and a high-ranking officer. But Malachi welcomed them nonetheless. It helped that when Adrian came, he was very gentle with Malachi, and didn’t treat him harshly or coldly. More often than not, he was even allowed to move around without his restraints, as long as he didn’t try anything foolish, like trying to escape while Adrian was out and about.

Malachi had contemplated trying to escape the first time, and had been close to doing so, until he had caught sight of the soldiers stationed right below his window. He would be caught, beaten, and dragged back inside to be chained before he had a chance to run. The door to the room, too, was locked, and so Malachi contented himself with his false freedom and moved about the room in a near-constant circuit. He stopped only when Adrian visited, or when he was asleep.

As the day of the visit came close, Malachi grew more uneasy, and more restless. The sex they had grew progressively more desperate, until Malachi couldn’t take it anymore and pushed Adrian away, curling up in a corner of the room and glaring at him with accusing eyes until Adrian gave up and left, leaving him unchained once again.

The day of the visit came, and Malachi sat on the bed, facing the window, his wrists chained to the bed again. The soldiers were no longer below his window, having gone to salute the monsters that would be coming to Adrian’s home. As the moment of truth got closer, Malachi’s eyes grew dull as they stared blankly out the window. Adrian wouldn’t help him, he had no way to break the chains on his wrists, and he had lost his chance to escape while he was unbound.

Perhaps he would not have managed to escape if he had leapt out the window, but at least he would have tried, instead of just sitting here, waiting for a handful of Nazi commanders to come in and use him for entertainment. His body shuddered at the mere thought of what those men would do to him. After all, he was just a Jew. Not blond enough, or tall enough, to be worth more than entertainment. Even that, he realized glumly, was no doubt considered to be an honor for a Jew, to be used for entertainment rather than slave labor or target practice.

Malachi was not ignorant about concentration camps, and he sometimes caught snatches of conversation between the soldiers detailing what went on there – starvation, gas chambers, slave labor, families torn apart as they separated husbands and wives, and took children away from their parents; deplorable, cramp living conditions, guards that had no problem delivering a brutal beating for any reason at all.

While he was grateful to not be in a camp, he yearned for freedom. Perhaps, if he escaped, he would find a way to flee the country. Surely help would be coming from other nations, once they learned of the abomination that had grown in Germany? Or would it take the Nazis attempting to invade their home before anybody made a move against them?

Distracted from his bitter thoughts when a loud cheer went up, echoing across the grounds, Malachi refocused his gaze outside his window. He was in the back of the mansion, however, and would not see the arrival of the commanders. But he would see the soldiers returning to their duties, once their superior officers had walked into the building.

The cheers died down, and Malachi realized that the officers must be giving a speech, no doubt talking about the proud, superior, and righteous Aryan nation that they were trying so hard to build, committing mass genocide in the process. Malachi wondered vaguely if they even realized the irony that tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed men were being led in their path of destruction by a short, dark-haired man, who was no better than any one of them.

A cry of “Hail, Hitler,” rang throughout the field, and Malachi dropped his head against the window. Cheers followed the commanders’ procession into the mansion, and eventually died down again. A few moments later, Malachi saw the soldiers starting to wander around again, going about whatever meaningless tasks they had been assigned. There appeared to be a few less soldiers here, though. Perhaps the others had been sent on a mission? Pity they had missed the big visit, Malachi thought bitterly.

Not really caring if the commanders were coming up now or later, Malachi shifted down onto the bed and closed his eyes. They were coming, and Adrian would not save him, so he would suffer their attentions and survive. They were hardly interested in killing him, although perhaps he could provoke them enough to do so.

The new thought taking hold, Malachi permitted himself to doze, only half awake. Perhaps being killed was the best solution. He couldn’t have his freedom, he didn’t want to be sent to a death camp where there would be no hope, and he was all alone, with no family to protect him. What other alternatives were there? To die, or to remain a prisoner and nothing more than ‘entertainment’ for the Nazis.

Malachi was certain that once the commanders were finished with him, he would be given to even the common soldiers, no longer of any interest to anybody else. Perhaps he’d at least be given time to heal. He knew that it would hurt, because they would care nothing for his comfort. He had asked Adrian one night to make it fast and rough, and the other man had obliged him.

It was that night that Malachi had stopped responding to him, and he could see in Adrian’s expression that he regretted what he had done. Malachi didn’t regret it, though; now he knew what these men were capable of doing to him, though he had no doubt that they’d probably toy with him first.

But he knew now, knew what he hadn’t known before. Knew that Adrian was just as capable of hurting him as these men, even with the bond he had thought they had formed. It was that knowledge that kept Malachi away from the other man, rather than Adrian’s refusal to just let him go.

It was another three hours before the door opened, and Malachi opened his eyes to stare dully at the two men that had walked into the room. Ah, apparently it would be only one man at a time, unless Adrian was going to play as well. Adrian’s eyes met his, but Malachi stared back blankly, not allowing any emotion to show. Then again, he wasn’t sure he had any emotions left to give to the other man. He felt hollow and wrung out, and had no energy to fight them, not unless it would gain him his freedom, one way or another.

The man walked over to him, and Malachi noted disinterestedly that he wasn’t as tall as Adrian, or as slender. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, and he was older than Adrian as well. Fisting a handful of his hair, the commander dragged him upwards and Malachi barely winced at the pain it caused, staring dully at the man, who looked at him in contempt. “Did you break him already, Adrian?” he commander demanded to know, and Malachi saw Adrian’s fist clench as he asked.

Mustering up a little more strength, Malachi reached up and grabbed the commander’s wrists, holding it firmly as he glared up at him. As much as he didn’t care what happened to him right now, he didn’t want to see Adrian get in trouble. The other man’s eyes had widened when Malachi had moved, and Malachi allowed himself a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Broken? Not hardly! You monsters haven’t got what it takes to break me,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. In addition to avoiding Adrian’s touch, he had stopped speaking to the man as well, already starting his retreat. But a part of him couldn’t just hide away while Adrian was in trouble. The commander tossed his head back and laughed, obviously amused at the Jew’s attempts at defiance.

“I see. It just takes a little encouragement, hm?” he chuckled, nodding approvingly at Adrian. Malachi bit back his sigh of relief, and instead swung a leg out, trying to catch the commander off-guard. But the man wasn’t Adrian’s superior for nothing, and easily sidestepped the weak attack, delivering a sharp blow to Malachi’s cheek, and then yanking him the opposite way by the grip on his hair.

This time, tears came to Malachi’s eyes as his body was forced to jerk into the blow. Blinking them back furiously, he just glared up at the commander, whose eyes were now dancing in amusement as he waved Adrian off, dismissing him. With one last warning glance at Malachi, Adrian did as he was bid and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

“Ah, I see. You’ve grown attached to him, haven’t you?” the commander observed, and Malachi’s glare intensified. He snarled at the other man, debating whether or not to take another swing. Adrian might be gone, but if the commander believed that Adrian’s distress was the cause of his defiance, then he might hurt Adrian to get him to react. Malachi wouldn’t give him an excuse. If this man wanted him to fight, then fight he would, even chained to the bed like an animal.

Releasing his hair, the man delivered another sharp blow to his jaw, slamming Malachi back against the headboard, where his body trapped his arms behind him. Wincing as his arms were caught, Malachi wasn’t prepared for the commander to grab him by a fistful of hair again and drag him forward, flipping him over and wrapping a single large hand around his throat, bearing down.

Malachi gasped for air, struggling under the strong grip the Nazi had on his throat. “I’m glad to see that at least one of you has some fight left in him,” he teased cruelly. “The other toys were already broken when we got to them. Actually, Adrian’s broken toys before, too, so I’m rather surprised that you’re barely even cracked.”

Malachi had stilled under him at the other man’s words, and the commander rewarded him by easing up on his grip around his throat, allowing Malachi to gasp for air as he leaned down, stripping him of his clothing. But Malachi was too busy thinking to pay any attention to the manipulation of his body. Adrian had broken other prisoners? Prisoners that were intended for entertainment? How many? And why was he any different?

A sharp slap across the mouth brought his focus back to the commander, who stared back at him. With dawning horror, Malachi realized that while he had been worrying about people who probably weren’t even alive anymore, both the commander and himself had been stripped.

Only half hard, the commander sat back on his heels and dragged Malachi to his arousal. He didn’t say anything, but Malachi knew what he wanted. After all, Adrian had shown him what would happen if he refused, or if he didn’t watch his teeth.

Opening his mouth, Malachi allowed the commander to thrust between his lips, trying not to gag and to mind his teeth. If he scraped the Nazi commander with his teeth, he had no doubt that he’d be in for some heavy punishment. And he still had five more men to get through, who really wouldn’t care what sort of condition he was in when it was their turn.

“Come now, boy,” the commander invited, shoving himself as far down Malachi’s throat as possible and making the boy gag until he figured out how to relax his throat a little more. “Surely you can do more than just open your mouth? Or hasn’t Adrian taught you that yet? Hm? Is that it? You’re his personal little plaything, and he’s been playing nice with you? Then you obviously don’t know the real Adrian. He’s a vicious son-of-a-bitch, and won’t hesitate to tear you apart. Now, suck!” he ordered, and Malachi did his best to comply.

Still, it didn’t seem that he did a good enough job, because the commander – Malachi still didn’t know his name – pulled out with a huff and slapped him again, throwing him back down on the bed. Flipping him over onto his stomach, the commander lifted his hips up. When Malachi tried to get his hands under him to put himself on all fours, his hair was grabbed and he was shoved down into the mattress, where he was slowly suffocated, but stayed down, with only his hips in the air, the shame and humiliation burning through him.

With no more warning than a shift of the hand on his hips, the commander thrust into him in one long slide, using only Malachi’s spit as lubricant. Unable to draw the breath to scream, Malachi jerked forward, trying to escape the burning brand that had been shoved up his body. Shit! He didn’t remember it hurting this badly, even with Adrian. Perhaps that was because Adrian had used actual lubrication.

Malachi felt his insides tear as the other man thrust into him, his weight bearing down on his back. Eventually, the commander shifted his hands from his head to the center of his shoulder blades, and Malachi was able to turn his head and gasp for air, biting his lip until he drew blood.

The commander, not satisfied with his determined silence, slipped out of him and leaned over the edge of the bed, giving Malachi a warning glare that clearly told him that if he tried to kick the man now, he’d probably wind up dead. Malachi toyed with the idea for a moment before discarding it. If he was going to die, it wasn’t going to be at this man’s hands, and especially not in such a pathetic position.

Having grabbed whatever it was he had been looking for, the man stared at Malachi, his eyes darkened with lust and a sadistic pleasure. Malachi swallowed hard; that look didn’t bode well for him at all.

Arching back over top of him, the commander slid back inside, and Malachi cried out, his own blood slicking the way. “Don’t think that whatever Adrian put you through is the worst thing that will happen to you, boy. You’re just entertainment, and if you’re not entertaining enough on your own, we’ll have to force you to be, instead.” He moved faster now, and Malachi gripped the covers in his fist, afraid and praying for him to finish.

Several minutes later, the man pulled out of him and came on his bowed back, and Malachi closed his eyes and flushed at the added humiliation. At least Adrian had done him the courtesy of coming inside and then cleaning him up. He had no doubt that this man wasn’t interested in cleaning him up at all. He wondered if he’d have a chance to clean up between men, or if they’d just screw him while he was messy and sticky from the previous rapist.

He was allowed to sit up, then, but before he managed to do more than to shift to all fours, a cold shaft of metal was shoved inside him, and he screamed now, trying to pull up. The commander wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held his writhing body, forcing it to remain seated on the gun that lay inside him. “I wouldn’t squirm too much, if I were you,” he murmured, and Malachi moaned, hearing the glee in the other man’s voice at his reaction.

“After all, this gun is loaded and cocked. All it takes is one twitch of my finger on the trigger, and you’ll die from the inside out. I wonder if it would travel all the way up and come out of your mouth,” he pondered, giving the gun a vicious twist and making Malachi bleed again. Crying out, Malachi tried to hold himself still as the commander shoved the gun inside of him to the hilt, then twisted it again before drawing it back out.

“Now that’s more like it,” he murmured, pressing against Malachi’s back again. Understanding what he wanted, Malachi dropped his upper body back to the bed, feeling the commander’s hand move from his back. Judging by the sounds, the Nazi was preparing himself for another round. Malachi would welcome it, as it would mean that the gun would be removed from where it penetrated his body.

He had underestimated the Nazis, he realized, as he felt the man latch the safety on the gun and kneel up. In moments, the commander was forcing himself into Malachi’s bleeding channel, rubbing alongside the gun. Stretched further than he had thought possible, Malachi cried out, screaming.

“He won’t come save you,” the commander grunted, thrusting into Malachi at the same time as the gun was shoved deeper inside. Malachi realized that he had been calling Adrian’s name in his desperation, pleading with the other man to save him. “He’s a proper soldier, one of the best we’ve ever had, and you’re nothing but a toy, a plaything. There is no one here who will heed your screams, but by all means, feel free to keep calling for him. Perhaps, when he doesn’t come, you will finally understand your place here,” he taunted.

When he was finally finished, this time coming inside of Malachi, he left, cleaning himself up and dressing back in his uniform before walking out the door, leaving a bleeding, exhausted, agonized boy on the bed behind him.

Moments later, the door opened again, and Malachi turned to stare blankly at the blond haired, blue eyed soldier that had just walked in. Another one? So soon after the first? Forcing his body to move, Malachi managed to kneel on the bed and turn to face him, keeping his head down. He wasn’t sure what this soldier would want, but he’d give it to him, and then he’d go away, and the next one would come.

“Malachi?” the voice sounded alarmed, and very far away. “What did that man do to you?” he demanded. “There’s no way he should have been able to cause this much bleeding and damage!” He was behind Malachi now, and the younger man shifted tiredly, climbing to all fours and presenting himself for what he knew was coming.

“Malachi? What is it? What’s wrong?” that voice demanded, and Malachi shook his head. This soldier was rather persistent, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he see that Malachi was hardly in any condition to answer questions? He was barely conscious, although he felt like he should know this man. After all, how many humans had eyes that same brilliant cobalt blue?

“There was more than just him inside of you,” the voice murmured, and Malachi heard the thread of anger in the words, wincing. Was the anger directed at him? Or at the man who had just left?

Coming back around, the soldier knelt on the floor in front him and reached up, letting his hand drop when Malachi flinched back from his touch almost violently. “Oh, Malachi, what did he do to you?”

There was that question again, and Malachi realized that he had better answer, or else he’d probably be in trouble. “He used his gun, and took me doubly,” he answered the question tiredly, not entirely sure if it had made any sense.

Apparently, the soldier had understood, though, because he stood, swearing explosively. Malachi jerked back from the sudden movement and loud noise, but the motion caused spots to dance behind his eyes. As he slowly slipped into unconsciousness, Malachi heard the soldier again. “Malachi? Malachi! Don’t you dare die on me! You hear me? Don’t you dare!”

Huh. Is that what he was doing? Dying? Malachi wasn’t really sure anymore, but whatever was happening, if it meant no more pain, then it was very welcome indeed. That was his last thought before he slumped to the bed, unconscious and unaware of the frantic Adrian standing over him, ordering him to live and promising that if he’d just survive this, he’d get him the hell out of there.