A/N – This story is set in oflymonddreams CollarRedux universe but should be considered AU to their storyline, posted with their kind permission. It is set during the Vogler episodes but before Greg makes the infamous speech. Story contains slavery and a whipping scene.
Doctor Wilson watched from the balcony of the hospital as Greg made his slow way across the foyer of the floor below. He had just finished his nightly clinic stint and he was obviously exhausted and in pain, despite having had Oxycontin only two hours earlier.
Greg had been whipped for some infraction or other three days ago and this was his first day back on the job. Wilson knew that the lash marks would barely have started healing. On top of that Greg had done his morning clinic shift, then worked on a difficult case all day and then put in another two hours at the clinic just now.
When Greg moved he tilted visibly to one side, cane trembling beneath him, at one point half way across the floor he stopped, head hung low, staring at the floor. His polo neck hid his collar and some people stopped and stared at him, wondering if they should go and help. The nursing staff ignored him, they knew that Greg was a slave. A security guard started towards him, hand going to the baton on his hip. Greg was not supposed to linger in the clinic area after his shift.
Finally Greg started moving again, each step obviously agony. He made for the elevators, four flights of stairs were out of the question for him now. Wilson darted to the second floor elevator doors, slipping inside and then sending the cab down to Greg.
When the doors opened Greg looked warily up at Wilson but then shuffled inside.
"You look exhausted."
Greg just stared at him, eyes wide.
Wilson took in the pain lines around his face, the tenseness of his body and couldn't help smiling. Greg looked away.
When the doors opened on the fourth floor Greg hobbled out, each step an effort. Wilson followed behind him, watching as he lurched down the corridor towards Diagnostics.
Greg paused with a hand on the door to his tiny cubicle.
"What are you doing here at night?"
"Patient dying, told the family I'd be here until the end. Just going to catch a nap in my office while I'm waiting."
"Waiting for someone to die. Good luck with that." Greg turned and slipped out of sight. Wilson stared at the closed door for a few seconds, savouring the memory of Greg's drawn face.
Alone in his office Wilson locked the door and sprawled on the couch, pulling a blanket over him. He set his pager aside, the nurses would page him if he was needed. Then he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, thinking about Greg and how attractive he looked when he was in such pain.
It wasn't the first whipping Wilson had attended of course but it was the first time he saw Greg being whipped.
They led him out, two massive security guards practically holding him up. He'd been stripped to shorts and t-shirt, hands manacled behind his back, legs hobbled even further by chains. As he looked up Wilson saw that his face was bloodied, one eye bruised. Cuddy had said that Greg could never resist struggling on these occasions, no doubt the guards had enjoyed his futile resistance.
The guards unlocked Greg's hands and then stripped his t-shirt off, exposing his back to the watchers. The scars of previous whippings criss crossed his back in every direction. Wilson's breath caught in his throat, he'd known that Greg had been whipped often but seeing the marks was different. He longed to go forward and run his hands over the lash marks, feel each one, imagine the pain they must have caused.
Greg lifted his head and stared at him, piercing blue eyes seeming to see right through him. Greg was scared, Wilson could see that, already in pain, fearing what was ahead.
The guards hauled him over to the whipping post, fastening his hands above his head and cuffing his ankles spread far apart to the base.
Cuddy stepped forward and read out the charge to Greg and the judicial officer. Greg ignored her, turning his head away. One of the guards seized a handful of his hair and turned his head back.
"Do you understand the charge Greg?" Cuddy asked again patiently.
"Yes. I understand it." Greg's voice was small, scratchy, his mouth obviously dry.
"Twenty strokes." Cuddy said to the guard holding the whip and then stepped back to stand next to Wilson.
"Someone as intelligent as Greg, you would think he would learn Doctor Wilson. He'll be off work again for two days." Cuddy shook her head. "You need to tag him, he needs discipline, a close hand." She pressed a silver tag into his hand and he looked down. It was engraved with his name.
He clenched his fist over it. Imagined slipping it onto Greg's collar. Claiming him for his sole use.
The first stroke sounded loud in the basement. The whip was a nine tailed flogger and each strand connected with Greg's back with a snap. Greg arched in pain, a low whine leaving his lips. The guard smiled and waited until the pain had peaked and begun to ebb before striking again. The next stroke overlapped the first, the whine became a muffled moan. By the fifth stroke flecks of blood began appearing on Greg's skin and he was screaming.
"I could have him gagged but this is harder on him. He hates to show his pain." Cuddy was watching with detachment, having seen this many times. Wilson was enraptured. Blood was pounding through his veins, his heart was racing and he could feel himself becoming rock hard as he watched.
Greg slumped against the whipping post in between strokes and then arched away with every blow of the whip. By the fifteenth stroke he seemed resigned to his fate and he no longer struggled. His throat was too raw to scream and he let out a pitiful moan as the lashes fell down onto his back. Blood was trickling down his back now, welts standing out against his pale skin.
The guard put all his strength into the last stroke and as he called out twenty Greg let out one last scream and slumped forward against the post, eyes closing and tears rolling down his face. His sobs could be heard in the sudden quiet of the basement.
Cuddy signed off on the paperwork and dismissed the guards, thanking them for their efforts and assuring them that she and Doctor Wilson could handle the slave. Ignoring Greg she turned to Wilson.
"Tag him Doctor Wilson and you can have this done to him whenever you need. I will leave him with you. Release him when you like and either send him to the slave ward or take him with you. No pain killers for forty eight hours. I expect him back at work in seventy two hours."
Wilson stood silently as she left, embarrassed that she had realised how turned on he was by what he had seen. He was still hard, a fact she couldn't have failed to miss.
He approached Greg, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair and taking in the marks on his back. His fingers ghosted over them and Greg moaned. Wilson bent down and released Greg's ankles and then reached up and unfastened his hands from the post. Greg slumped to the ground on his knees, shaky legs unable to support him.
Wilson knelt beside him, savouring his pain. He threaded his hand into Greg's short hair and gently tugged his head up until Greg's tired blue eyes met his.
Wilson reached out and fingered the plain black collar around Greg's neck. He took the shiny tag that Cuddy had given him and clipped it into place. Greg shied away but Wilson held him in place.
The tag shone out proudly on Greg's collar, Wilson's full name was engraved on it – James Evan Wilson.
"I've tagged you now so no-one else can have you."
"Great." Greg's voice was hoarse and low and his eyes were hollow and red rimmed. Tears had dried on his face and Wilson reached out to brush them away.
"It will be. Trust me."
He tugged Greg to his feet, slipped his t-shirt over his bloody back. No use displaying Greg to everyone they passed in the corridor. Greg was his now. He clipped a leash onto Greg's collar and handed him his cane.
He led his tagged slave away. Every pained step that Greg took gave him pleasure.
Wilson woke up with a start, his dream still vivid in his mind. He was rock hard, completely aroused by his dream. Quickly he slipped his pants down and finished himself off, coming over his hand as he envisaged Greg wearing his tag at the end of his leash. After a few moments he composed himself, then he cleaned himself off and straightened his clothes. Time to go check on his patient. He slipped out of his office and then paused at the Diagnostics box. The door was unlocked of course and he entered, going through to the tiny cubicle where Greg should be sleeping.
He stopped in the doorway looking in. Greg was lying in his bunk, earbuds in his ears, listening to his Ipod. He looked up startled to see Wilson and froze, his expression rigid.
Wilson stared at him.
"You need to sleep."
"Can't." Greg ground out.
Wilson reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a sample packet of painkillers he'd stashed there earlier. Coming over to Greg he knelt beside the bed.
"Open your mouth."
Greg did, his expression both wary and hopeful as he eyed what was in Wilson's hand.
Wilson popped a couple of pills into Greg's mouth and then watched as he swallowed them down dry.
Wilson wanted to lie down with Greg, to hold him as the pain ebbed away. His hand reached out to stroke Greg but then he froze as he caught sight of Vogler's tag again. Shiny against Greg's skin it proclaimed the slave off limits. Wilson stood up and nodded.
"Good night Greg."
There was no answer until he got to the door and then he heard the quiet voice.
"Thank you Doctor Wilson."
He smiled, pleased. Greg would be his one day.
He could wait.