Title: ad infinitum
Author: unwinding fantasy
Disclaimer: Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde doesn't belong to me. More's the pity.
Rating: M
Warning: Slash abounds and it ain't fluffy. If blood and (vague) sex isn't your thing, you won't enjoy this.

The liquid swirled in the vial. It rippled, disturbed by some unknown force.

It was then he realised that the movement was caused by his own unsteady hands. Tiny tremors had begun working their way along his forearm, making it seem as if some flesh-devouring insects lurked beneath the skin, poised to burst forth and scatter the remnants of Henry Jekyll. He stared at the object that seemed so difficult to maintain a hold on, despairing at his lack of control while the colours shifted and changed.

Fact: his hands had lost all their usual elegance.

"Potions again?"

The twitch became a spasm; the vial nearly went to the floor. Jekyll, implacable in his pursuit for the ever-elusive, concentrated on his work, on the feel of warming glass between his fingertips, the sulphurous smell wafting from the test tube, the stuttering flame of the burner that threw odd shadows against a workbench worn smooth over the years. His body was failing, he observed with the detached interest a condemned prisoner might notice his execution date had been moved forward. It was the knowledge that he may not attain his goal, that his life's work could amount to naught rather than any concern for his own well-being that compelled him to quicken his pace.

"Getting a bit old to be playing with toys, aren't you?" came the insidious whisper.

Even now, the distorted face peering out from the mixture made his breath catch. Jekyll tried to control his expression, frustrated that his other side could materialise there, could taint his experiments. Throwing an old drape over the mirror, the first item to be moved from his bedroom to the laboratory after that initial transformation, was not enough to keep his demon away, it seemed. Any reflective surface would suffice.

The elongated face in the test tube twisted in a parody of a smile. "Don't get too angry. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." The deep chuckle pressed on Jekyll's eardrums.

Calculating, the doctor's eyes went to the pinch of carefully measured powder sitting beside the burner. Hyde caught the analysis, made a noise. Whatever he had meant to say dissolved along with his form as his better half added the final compound, watching the resultant concoction bubble and hiss like an angered snake, the tiny pockets of air grow and rise to the surface until the froth almost escaped the edge of its glass prison. He pushed up his soot-stained shirtsleeves (the maid was going to chastise him again). Using metal tongs, he lowered the glass over the flame with his right hand, cradling one arm in the other so as to keep steady his hold. With one elbow resting atop the bench, he observed Hyde's face swirl and disappear in the now-blue, now-crimson liquid.

Fact: Hyde was a controllable force like any other.

He waited for the ebullition to subside, moving his feet restlessly, desiring immediate results. When he couldn't school himself to patience, Jekyll tilted back his head and swallowed the concoction, choking when the still-hot liquid scalded his tongue and stripped the back of his throat. Smacking his palm against the workbench served as a distraction -- the move jolted various items, making beakers clink together, tongs jump. Disgusted at his idiocy, at the way his curiosity was consuming him, Jekyll ran a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sudden sweat that clung to him like a greasy film.

Pause.

Arm raised at eye-level, he could clearly discern he was still shaking. His heart missed a beat. At once, Hyde's monstrous voice filled his ears, "Thought I'd left you for good? I'm wounded, doctor! A stuffy git like you can't keep this animal chained up."

Teeth clenched in response.

His other laughed darkly, "Losing our cool?"

And as if the thing had turned some hidden lock inside the doctor, frustration at this latest failure made Jekyll slam both fists down, scattering tinctures and antidotes and apparatuses. A hiss escaped his lips. Fingers fluttered across the mess of broken beakers, two feeble moths caught in the rain and, "Leave me be!" he managed, blinking rapidly now as strength leeched from his limbs, a side effect that was equal parts unwelcome and unanticipated. The smallest inkling of fear sprouted in the back of his mind.

"Not today," Hyde breathed. Jekyll's legs gave way. Slumped over the bench, through a haze of pain Jekyll lifted his gaze and saw Hyde stepping out of the mirror.

He groaned, letting his head thud back against the wood. Looked up again. Saw Hyde stepping out of the mirror.

'I'm hallucinating,' he told himself, blinking to dispel the visions.

"I think I'm hallucinating," Hyde's voice was behind him, a low whisper that made his nerves spike, "Why else would a respectable gentleman be in such a… interesting position?" This last punctuated by Hyde grabbing a fistful of the doctor's hair, yanking his head backwards until the latter could feel his muscles pulling, could imagine the tendons in his neck as rubber bands being stretched further and further and further. Hyde brought his mouth to Jekyll's ear. He tried to move his arms, hands, fingers, anything but his body was too weak and his body was too strong. Hyde's breath smelled of lies and sex and murder. It hung stagnant in the air like a cloud of cigar smoke as the madman's free hand took hold of one wrist, pressing it to the bench, pinning Jekyll's other arm beneath his. Slowly, the pressure increased until the force exerted was near unbearable and this was a hallucination, his mind screamed, and for sure his bones would shatter now.

The paralysis hadn't completely spread. Jekyll shifted his feet and tried to kick Hyde away. It was a flimsy gesture, a superfluous gesture made more for show than out of any hope of escape. He twisted his head, trying to slip from the painful grip.

Hyde obliged him. He gave him some small reprieve.

A moment later, Jekyll was staring at a smear of blood across the workbench, head ringing from the impact. "Bad doctor," Hyde hissed and abruptly laughed at his own wit. Jekyll felt sick. He felt sick and afraid; he had turned to find the ivy sproutling had taken over the garden, stifling all other flora, scaling the house's walls, invasive. He heard a pained sound -- maybe he made it -- when he rolled over and slumped down, head lolling against the bench's side. The floor was cold. The hand that grabbed the nape of his shirt was cold. The shard of glass that shone in Hyde's hand was colder still as it bit into Jekyll's forearm, drawing a quiet gasp from his lips like a musician coercing his instrument into life.

The man above him seemed so much bigger. "A hallucination, was it?" he jeered.

Anger lurched in his chest. "Yes," he grated. The word became a choked cry as the makeshift knife pushed deeper.

Hyde dragged a finger along the other's arm, cutting a small channel through the thin coating of blood. He lifted the dirty digit to his nostrils, sniffing. "The price of your defiance," he said, making his victim's skin crawl as he slowly drew his tongue over his finger. Desperate to alleviate the pain, Jekyll groped for the weapon but his limbs weren't working, the signals interrupted. All he could see was his other's feral grin, the finger in his mouth that was then withdrawn, now sliding from the top of Jekyll's forehead down the bridge of his nose, a mockery of a loving gesture. "How far are you willing to go?" was the question even as that finger reached his mouth, hushing him.

His head was swimming but he bit down. Hard.

The answering sting in his own finger made spots dance in his vision, white-in, white-out though it was surprise that made him stop, one reflex that was still left. Numb, he looked down where his hand lay leaden in his lap. A set of hollows trailed along the index finger, tiny grooves where teeth had sunk into skin, a set of rolling hills and valleys. His teeth, Hyde's teeth, his skin, Hyde's.

He didn't have time for confusion -- a rough tug and the weapon came free and the world tilted dangerously. Jekyll saw the mark on his body, the evidence of violation, the red leaking from the fissure and his fear seemed to drain out along with his life-force. The shard traced lightly over his body, a sort of lazy grace in Hyde's movements, the curl of his wrist, the set of his body, which was hunched over like some stray dog hungry for any scrap of meat. A shudder lanced up Jekyll's spine for the anticipation was perhaps worse than the actual deed. Through some foggy recess of his mind he recognised he was at the end and the only reason he refrained from asking the thing to do away with him was that doing so would be admitting defeat.

Hyde's tongue clicked, giving Jekyll the impression he'd been reading his mind as he carelessly tossed the bloodied fragment aside. Matter-of-factly, the madman went about popping open the buttons of their shirt. "Stop," he managed, the word spilling from lips in a tone devoid of authority and when he saw amusement light in Hyde's eyes he instantly regretted the lapse. Hyde pushed the folds of the shirt away, exposing his shoulders. Awareness snapped back, compelling Jekyll to take a breath and, ignoring the effect the movement had on his battered body, he demanded, "Now."

Once, Hyde backhanded him, splitting his lower lip. He then imposed his own mouth on this newest wound, a bruising gesture that could not have been described as a kiss. A serpentine hand curled around the doctor's neck, holding him firmly in place while his mouth assailed his senses, while his lungs sucked away his hopes and aspirations. When he tried to pull away, Hyde surged forward, the impact jarring the wound in Jekyll's arm, making him gasp. Immediately, Hyde's tongue invaded his mouth and began to tangle with his own, pillaging without remorse.

All too abruptly, Hyde pulled away, letting his other gulp for air. He sat back on the balls of his feet, tilted his head to the side, watched. Cowardly as it was, the gentleman wanted to avert his eyes but Hyde's glowing gaze rooted him to his place on the floor. Blood shone on Hyde's suit, dark splotches in the moonlight, little mementos of themselves. His luminous eyes flicked down in a quick appraisal and he said, almost thoughtfully, "It shouldn't bother a doctor."

Hyde's thumb found the crack in Jekyll's lip. Experimentally, he followed the ruptured curve, leaving a red trail behind, eyes now alight with a kind of curiosity that Jekyll thought he recognised. Hyde's fingers ventured to the cleft of his chin then splayed out to tiptoe down his neck, a spider creeping across a windowpane, raising gooseflesh on Jekyll's bare arms. Their pulse was racing beneath their skin. Fingertips turned into palms, both hands now skimming the exposed flesh of his chest questioningly, running along the curve of his shoulder blade, his ribcage, making him tremble even as his stomach revolted. The thought came to him that the false gentleness in Hyde's actions would soon revert to viciousness once he'd satisfied whatever mad impulse had possessed him -- a fleeting thought that was whisked away as another hand came to rest heavily on his leg, as Hyde leaned forward to obliterate all sense of rationality and Hyde groaned and Jekyll groaned and they lost themselves. Nothing about this was right but it was and thoughts chased thoughts around his head, aimlessly, uselessly, as if thinking was enough. As if it was ever enough.

Hyde was still close when he moved away. One of his knees had wound up between the other's legs, the other resting at the far side so he was straddling the limb. His expression was cool but his hands on Jekyll were hot now, fever hot, and he looked at the doctor dispassionately. "Your dreams, your aspirations," he murmured, "You cling to grand ideas, shutting yourself away while the world turns. By the time you found a cure you would look up from your work and realise everything around you is dead. How comes it you're part of me?"

Jekyll blinked then threw back his head and laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Hyde's eyes flashed. The hand that had been idly caressing him now found his throat, darting out like the crack of a whip, clenching around the soft flesh in a manner just shy of damaging. Jekyll had to stop to collect his thoughts before pressing on in stuttering bursts, "You are a product of science. Evil manifest. A shadow, nothing more."

The larger man leaned forward and Jekyll became uncomfortably aware of the knee pushing against him, the unrelenting pressure in a place he dared not touch himself. The maddening sensation strove to tear away all logic, making heat rise in his cheeks at the shameful reaction, anger curl in his stomach at the creature that elicited such an undeniable response. This time he was the specimen, pinned down and primed for dissection.

Hyde chuckled lowly, "A shadow, is it? A creature of the night?" Rough fingertips were suddenly at his nipples, squeezing them into hard nubs so quickly, so easily that Jekyll barely had time to process the onslaught. The angry rebuttal he'd meant to deliver hitched in his throat as if in silent testimony to the fact words could not help here as he flinched at the nails cutting into the sensitive flesh. "Too bad for you," he brought his head to Jekyll's ear, "the sun doesn't come out until tomorrow."

His other's mouth crushed against his, robbing him of breath and thought once more. Nails clawed into his shoulders like two powerful talons, leaving circles of bone-white skin behind when they moved down his chest, which was now heaving from a deadly mixture of emotions culminating in some kind of euphoria as Hyde asserted dominance. He'd never felt so weak; he'd known Hyde was capable of monstrous deeds, had wanted nothing to do with the dark entity but all he could do now was emit feeble words of protestation as a hand began palming him through the fabric of his pants. Hyde's left hand, unbearably warm, shifted away from Jekyll's shoulder and closed around the open wound in his arm, the joint sensations rendering him near blind with pain and arousal. Muttering and laughing and the lower half of his garments was discarded heedlessly, thrown somewhere to soak up spilt chemicals and collect dust. Inadequacy bubbled in him like a heated potion but before the emotion morphed into thought Hyde's calloused palm was around him and he could hardly talk, breathe, think.

'This is madness,' the words fragmented even as he formed them with his broken lips.

'There's a thin line between genius and madness,' came the echoing response.

It was when he opened his eyes -- when had they slid shut? -- and saw the fever-high light dancing in those of his shadow's that the last shred of rationality flared up. Desperate, he moved his good arm and grabbed at the offending hand. "H-Hyde," he stumbled over the word, aware that such a dismal effort would not stay the other but compelled to try something, anything. The potion he'd taken was cloying; his thoughts flickered like a candle's flame dancing in the corner of his vision. A thumb ran over the head of his member and he jerked away or bucked into the hand holding him. "Hyde!" he pitched his voice low, a final pleading note though he could not have said what for.

For a wonder, Hyde ceased his ministrations. He did not relinquish his grip but still, he stopped. "Yes?"

"Stop… Stop…"

"Yes?" he drew the syllable out teasingly, pushing his nose up against the doctor's, flashing a horrible grin.

"Stop… playing with me."

Hyde tilted his head back, raised an eyebrow. Jekyll averted his gaze and stared down at his hand around himself. He didn't know who he was anymore, if he was a doctor or a lunatic, Hyde or Jekyll.

Wait, he was Jekyll.

He didn't know if he was a doctor or a lunatic or Hyde or himself.

He blinked, confused. 'What point am I trying…?' he wondered, unable to discern exactly what he'd been attempting to prove with that thought.

"Nothing makes much sense, does it?" Hyde told him, pulling his hand away, causing Jekyll to mutter something unintelligible, "Easier to just take instruction if you ask me. On your knees, doctor."

He couldn't have got to his knees if he'd wanted to. Hyde spat, shoved him over and told him to keep still. Hands found his hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh possessively and he was unable to stifle an involuntary gasp. Waves of heat beat against his back as the body behind him came close, leaning over to nip at his ear, neck, shoulder. A brief pause then the warmth became heat and the heat became an unbearable inferno as Hyde pushed into him without warning, rending him and enveloping him all at once.

He passed out. If he believed in a god and had the presence of mind, he would've given thanks.

When he awakened he tried to take an inventory of his injuries. He managed to get past the one in his arm before the pain made him squeeze his eyes closed again. His jaw hurt where it was pressing into the stained floor, the cut in his lip stung as his tongue ran over his teeth, making sure they were all accounted for. Gingerly, he rolled onto his back, blinked rapidly at the cobweb-strewn ceiling. Glancing down revealed the skin on his chest to be raw, red, weeping; Hyde must have taken the Bunsen burner to him. The muscles in his hands ached from being too long contracted -- he hissed at the sharp pain that greeted him when he tried to flex his fingers -- and the unpleasant sensation in his head was such that he felt if he moved again it would split like an overripe melon.

There were other, worse things that he dared not categorise.

All in good time, he rationalised, even then knowing he was a terrible doctor for putting off treatment, for refusing to analyse himself. This experiment had gone far beyond anything he'd imagined. What good was distilling evil if there was no way to eliminate it, if it was left to wreak havoc on people who stood no chance against such a force? Mentally, he added the combination of ingredients of this latest potion to his ever-growing list of failures, wondering how long it would take before he found the solution.

He permitted himself some minutes to regain his composure then went about straightening his disheveled clothing. He pulled himself to his feet. Wincing at the fresh flood of pain, he leaned over his bench to steady his breathing. Swallowed, pushed back his sleeves. Flicked on the gas, firing his Bunsen burner. Kept working.

Next time. If not then, the time after, or the time after, or…