Content Warning: kidnapping, captive, ambiguous but with heart

“They’ll come for me,” your voice is soft and hesitant. The floor beneath your bare feet is hard and cold. You move back and forth to add warmth and ease the building tension.

“I know,” there is no inflection, no fear, just a statement. Something in you shivers.

“They’ll find me,” the shiver finds your voice. You sound so small in this place.

“Do you want them to?”

You pause, not daring to answer. There is just your breath and silence in the dark.

He moves then, and you jump. There is the heat of him moving past you, but he doesn’t touch you. You’re confused, almost disappointed. What would it mean if you were disappointed?

You hear the sliding of a steel bed frame on concrete. That shiver returns.

“Sleep here,” it is not a request. “I’ll bring you food.”

You nod to the darkness, and he is gone. You sit on the bed. The mattress is thin, but the journey was hard. You are bone-tired. You slump to the side. Shouldn’t you be crying? Shouldn’t you be afraid? There is a pillow and a blanket, and you almost smile as you curl into the mattress and drift asleep.

When you wake, you feel him in the dark. He is watching. The shiver returns, but it is not nearly as cold now. You stretch. You muscles still sore, but the sleep was good. It was quiet and he was there, watching. You smell the food, and your stomach growls.

“Eat,” he slides the tray before you. You only get a sense of him. He is large and imposing. You remember his hand around your mouth and his arm lifting you up and away with ease. You didn’t even try to scream. You just let him take you.

You eat quickly and quietly, too aware of his presence. Your feet curled beneath you on the edge of the bed.

“Can I see you?” you wonder if asking questions will get you hurt. It used to.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” you barely speak the word and there is light. You squint as your eyes adjust. The cell is small and clean. He is a large and dark even in the light. His eyes on yours are a sharp, brilliant blue, and you look away. He is more real, now, no longer a shadow but a man. That scares you. Men are dangerous. Shadows aren’t.

The meal is finished, and he takes the tray and points to a small door in the cell.

“You will clean yourself.” He turns and leaves. You are alone in the cell and for first time you do cry. The thick tears fall, and you do not feel the need to hide them. You weep and sob, a torrent for every year. There is no one watching. There is no one to judge. You mourn a life.

Then you dry your eyes, get up, pad into the chamber attached to your cell. You strip down, look at yourself in mirror and cringe. What are you now? What did you become? Your eyes are hollow and distant. Your flesh bruised and battered. Did he know? Is that why he came for you? You close your eyes and look away, climb into the shower, and the let hot water burn away the memories of the life before.

A pattern forms, he sits with you, brings you food and clean clothes. You sense him watching over you in the night. You learn to ask for things: a book, a pad of paper, a pencil which you feared he would consider a possible weapon. Without fail, they came, appearing the next morning with breakfast.

The world outside ceases to matter. Your past doesn’t either. He never asks. You never offer. Sometimes, you would just sit together, captor and captive. The shiver was always there inside you, and the first time you touched his hand you saw it in him, too. From that point forward you want to feel him, like that first night, trapped in his arms, his hand covering your mouth.

“Why am I here?” It is a dangerous question, you know, but you can’t shake the feel of him. You’re reckless.

“Do you want to go?”

You almost throw the pad of paper. In these moments he is an implacable fuck. You don’t want implacable. You want heat. You want fire. You want him to want you.

“Why me?” you challenge avoiding his question with one of your own. He won’t escape that easy.

“Because you asked.”

Your voice catches in your throat. In the silence of that other room, in that house, in the place, he heard. He came.

“How…what…” they are barely words. Is this a man before you or something else? You reach out, feel him, solid and hard, like stone. You ask anew, “Please…”

And he takes you like you knew he would. He tears the clothes from your body. You are naked before him. He pulls you close. You feel his heat like fire. His mouth claims you, your body already his. You feel the strength of his arms and chest, the hard length of him pressing against you. You fall to your knees, take him deep. The shiver finds him then. You can feel it tear through him as he growls and pulls you deeper, implacable no more. Your eyes water. You don’t care. You can taste him, now. His scent fills you. Your captor. Your savior.

And then, you are flying, lifted with ease, dropped on the bed on your hands and knees. He pushes your head forward, as you present yourself to him, ready and willing. He takes you hard and rough, just as you wanted. Your body welcomes him with a scream. The bed springs creak with exertion. Your bodies are bathed in sweat. You lose track of time and place. You do not know what remains, but you know that there is this: this pleasure, this cock, this bed, and this room. They are yours, forever.