Chapter 1

Hotchner came back to consciousness slowly. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt dead.

Where? Was his first groggy thought.

Memories of a man with a gun at his head were beginning to flit across his mind. They'd been at a crime scene in downtown Dallas, searching through the old warehouse where the last body had been found, when a voice had made him stop in his tracks.

"Freeze," the man had whispered. The sound had slid straight down Hotch's spine, stopping his body cold. He could feel a heavy weight pressing at the back of his head, and he knew the man was armed. Furthermore, the last three victims were still fresh in his mind; making him more than aware of what the man was capable of.

All three had been men; all three had been brutally raped, molested, beaten and then finally shot.

The fear of his situation was finally cutting through the haze in his mind, bringing him the final steps to full wakefulness. He was cold where he was laid out face down across a cement floor, and it was with a sickening start that he realized he was completely naked. The floor was rough and had a slimy feel to it, only increasing his chill.

Carefully, in deference to his pounding headache, he tried to sit up, not realizing that his wrists were tied to posts on opposite sides of the room. Thwarted, he sunk back down to the ground with a barely suppressed groan.

Unbidden, a memory of Foyet popped into his mind and he felt a shiver work its way through his body at the helpless feel of it. When Foyet had taken his shirt off and crouched over his body, time had stopped for him as he had realized just how helpless he was. Foyet's hands had touched his torso lightly, before skittering down lower to press against his groin. He remembered looking into the other man's eyes and seeing insanity staring back down at him. He had never told any of his teammates, not even Rossi, that before stabbing him again, Foyet had fondled him through his trousers.

God, he could remember that moment of his life so damn well. It haunted him in his nightmares and assaulted him at odd times of the day. He remembered the sick feeling in his stomach and throat as Foyet had held his cloth covered cock in his hand. He had been completely at the other man's mercy, and they both had known it. Foyet could have done anything to him, and he wouldn't have been able to stop him.

"It goes in so much easier if you're relaxed," Foyet had whispered, pressing his knife into his body.

Aaron couldn't stop the words from springing into his mind.

"Now I understand that profilers think that stabbing is a substitution for the act of sex. That if somebody's impotent, they'll use a knife instead. Is that what you think, Agent Hotchner? Maybe this will change the way that you profile."

If he hadn't mentioned anything about Foyet molesting him through his slacks, then he certainly wouldn't have said anything about what Foyet did then.

Aaron closed his eyes tightly and tried to make the memory stop, but it didn't work—it never worked. He could still hear the sound of his zipper being pulled down, allowing Foyet access to his cock. Thank god, thank god that it hadn't gone much further. Foyet had pressed his knife to him; all while leering at him with that twisted face of his.

"I could make you more than impotent," the monster had whispered in his ear.

And then he had completely lost consciousness. The next thing he had known was being in the hospital, thankful to still be physically intact, if not sound. The threat had been very much there, and Aaron didn't know why Foyet hadn't gone through on it. Perhaps it had been because he had lost consciousness, and a victim isn't nearly as fun to taunt when he isn't aware of his tormentor.

It still gave him chills to think of what else Foyet might have done to him while he hadn't been aware. He had given up trying to make himself believe that it wouldn't have mattered. It did matter. It was still his body.

He couldn't contain a shudder, but he could keep his surprise from being voiced when someone spoke from behind him.

"So pretty," the unsub whispered, his soft voice loud and piercing in the deafening silence that surrounded them.

The other man had likely been watching him the entire time. Aaron could have kicked himself for not realizing it. True, the headache had (and still) muddled his brain a bit, but that was no excuse. It was mistakes like this that got men killed.

Now he could hear it, the sound of another man breathing in and out as he slowly stepped closer to Hotchner's prone form. He tried not to tense, to not show fear. He forced himself to stay relaxed.

Like Foyet had said, was the whispered voice across his mind. Shut up, he told it firmly, even as a calloused hand reached out and touched the back of his leg.

He jerked a little, he couldn't help it, but then he forcibly stilled himself as the man's fingers crept up his body. His hands were bound tight, with very little give. For all intents and purposes, he was still completely helpless.

The man's hand lingered on his ass, and Hotchner tried not to imagine the look on the unsub's face as he beheld his future prize. All three victims had been brutally raped, but perhaps that had only been at the end. The men had each been missing for at least a week before turning up brutalized, and one man had been gone for as much as ten days before showing up dead.

"So pretty," the words were spoken again, much closer this time, and Hotchner closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. He needed to keep his head now, and not lose his focus.

He felt the rough scratch of another man's hairy chest on his back, and he didn't need to see him to know that the unsub was completely naked. Hotch could feel the other man's cock from where it pushed against his lower back, and he could tell that his kidnapper was aroused. It sickened him to think of what was likely to happen, but there wasn't much else he could do, except try and stay alive long enough for his team to find him.

"Who are you?" Hotch whispered out against the pressure of the man's weight lying atop him.

Silence and Hotch wondered if he was going to be struck for daring to speak. From what they could tell already, this unsub had a need to be in control, to be the strong one. He was likely very smart, but probably worked in a position below his intelligence level; something that allowed him the time it took to kidnap and torture another human being, all without being missed. In turn, he was also probably a loner, someone with very few contacts outside of his work. There was no one in his life who really knew him, really knew what he was capable of. This unsub was potentially the perfect chameleon.

"Michael," the unsub finally whispered in his ear. "Call me Michael."

"You don't have to do this, Michael," Hotch tried next. "Let me go and I promise that we'll help you."

Hotch could feel wet open-mouthed kisses being placed along his neck and spine, and the feeling only added to the slimy sensation already present on his skin. He balled his hands into fists, but didn't react in any other way.

"I don't want your help, Aaron," Michael whispered seductively into his ear and then reaching his tongue out to lick his earlobe. "I want you."

Hotchner was not a small man, but he could already tell that Michael was much bigger. With a frightening amount of ease, Hotch felt his body being pulled up until he was left resting on his elbows and knees. The cold rough cement dug painfully into his joints, and he knew that it would get worse before it got better. The unsub's hands that had been sliding up and down his sides abruptly reached under his body and made for his groin.

"Oh my, Aaron," Michael's voice chuckled good naturedly in his ear. "You really are a prize. All that talk about the 'big FBI man,' and I never once guessed that you would actually be big." One of Michael's hands curled up around his cock, and Hotch felt his cheeks burning with the combination of the other man's words and actions.

Belatedly, he realized that his headache was not a solitary symptom. Now that he was partially upright on his knees, he could tell that his balance was seriously compromised. He was also very nauseated and he realized that the room was dipping and swirling around him. Even if his hands hadn't been tied, he still wouldn't have been in any shape to fight back.

Distantly he could feel large fingers reaching out and squeezing his nipples tightly, the nubs themselves being twisted painfully in his kidnapper's hands. It was clear that he was still fighting off the effects of whatever drug Michael had shot him up with shortly after getting his gun away from him.

Once more, he felt a hand moving towards his ass, and mentally he stilled himself. There was a sound of something being opened, and he breathed a silent 'thank you' to the Fates. Slick fingers touched his anus lightly; just enough to make him twitch, and then he felt a burn as one of those fingers pushed itself into his body.

In comparison with being stabbed, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't something that he wanted to have happen to him either though. His rectum had only ever moved things out, never in, and the feeling now was one of wrongness. A second finger was added a moment later, just as he had become somewhat used to the intrusion of the one finger. He could feel the two fingers working him, stretching him, and he fought against himself to remain still, to be obedient. He didn't want this. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't—and he gasped aloud as a third finger was added. Now it hurt, and he wondered why some men enjoyed this, because he sure as hell didn't.

He couldn't feel the cold anymore. Sweat was beading across his face and back, and he could feel Michael from where they had begun to stick together. It was not at all a pleasant sensation.

And then, just as he thought he wouldn't be able to take anymore of the pain, the fingers in his ass moved to the side slightly and touched something within him that made stars flare in front of his eyes. Pleasure arched through him and he gasped again as he felt his cock twitch, becoming partially hard. Apparently Michael had found his prostate.

It did not escape Hotch that his tormentor was purposely using his own body against himself. He knew that his cock's reaction was only a physical one, but even that knowledge didn't help the shame for his situation.

"Ah, I see that at least part of you liked that," Michael said knowingly from behind him, three fingers still buried to the knuckles within him.

"Let's see how you like the real thing," the man added, finally removing his fingers. Hotch breathed a sigh of relief as the tight feeling in his ass disappeared for a moment. And then it was all he could do not to fight back as he felt the heat of a bare cock being pushed into his unwilling body.

He could tell that Michael had slicked himself up much like he had done to Hotchner's rectum, but even with that knowledge, he still didn't know how he was going to survive this without breaking in half. He couldn't breathe as the impossibly large object slowly shoved its way into his innards. The other man's cock felt like a tree trunk pushing into him, and he could feel every vein, every bump of it as it became part of him.

Hotchner was gasping, sweat streaming into his eyes as his rapist made him take the slow burning insertion of his cock into his ass. His own dick had fallen quiescent and he was at least thankful for that. It hurt, oh god it hurt, and he didn't care that he was silently crying; he didn't have any dignity left to lose as he was taken, opened up and violated by another.

Finally, finally, it was in him, all of it, and he could feel another man's pubic hair scratching his ass. He forced himself to breathe more deeply in an attempt to calm himself. His muscles in his legs and arms were shaking with the effort of remaining upright, and his nausea had not yet abated.

"You're tight," Michael panted out against his neck.

Really? He thought angrily, not quite willing to voice the thought.

He felt Michael shift and he nearly vomited from the unexpected burst of pain. He swallowed hard, and then did it again when the bile continued to rise unabated. Clenching his eyes tightly, he tried to see his situation from an objective stance. How long had he been gone? Surely his team had noticed his absence by now.

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Michael began moving again. He could feel the man's large fingers clenching down on his hips as he withdrew most of the way from Hotch's ass. If the insertion was painful, then this was excruciating. It felt as though his guts were being pulled roughly from his body, and he couldn't help but give voice to a small whimper.

"Relax," Michael's soft voice brushed over his senses, and he tried not to shudder further when an image of Foyet popped into his mind.

Those fingers clenched again and Hotch readied himself as best he could for what he knew was coming next. He grunted as the unsub drove himself back into his unwilling flesh.

"Getting used to it now?" He barely heard over the pounding of his heart as the unsub began to rape him in earnest.

The big man's body covered his as he pounded in and out of his ass; one arm closely wrapped around his abdomen, while the other was propped against the floor, giving him the leverage needed. The grating feel of having a cock pushing and pulling within him was echoed in part by his elbows and knees as they were rocked unrelentingly back and forth across the rough cement floor underneath his body.

He was held tight between an arm and a cock, and the feeling filled him with an animalistic level of fear. He could smell the smell of their comingled sweat, as well as other familiar scents such as blood and semen. Out of nowhere, a hand reached up and grabbed his cock, and roughly began pulling on that too. Into his ass went the large cock, his knees and elbows further shredding as they were pushed hard across the floor, and down his cock he felt the rough hand push, reawakening a part of his anatomy that he much rather would have forgotten. Pushing and pulling, scraping and rubbing; his breath was caught in his throat and lungs, wheezing painfully in his throat, and he could feel the panting breath of his rapist against his neck as though a beast was slobbering against his neck.

He knew it was pointless to struggle, but he couldn't help but do so as the feel of his arousal grew in his monster's hands. He didn't want this, didn't at all! Push, pull; pain blossoming anew against the numbness of his joints as the unsub's steady motions became increasingly erratic. Push pull, scrape pant, friction building, pressure increasing, the hand on his cock burning horribly, even as he felt his balls begin drawing up. The unsub was hitting his prostate again, making pleasure rock through him, blending with the pain into an overwhelming wash of sensation. He was gasping, barely aware of the unsub's hand around his throat, severing his flow of oxygen every third or fourth wild thrust. Nearly on autopilot now, one frenzied motion as his insides were beaten hard by the thrusting cock within his rectum. His knees were bloodied, he could feel his legs being spread even more as the man above him sought to get the best angle. The unsub's body was tensing, burning into him like a brand, like a hot coal being pressed against his skin. He could feel the pain and sweet pleasure of his orgasm coming on fast and horrible, ripping through him like a train, like a bullet through a gun; being squeezed out of him like a nearly empty tube of toothpaste. Michael was holding him tightly, almost upright and he could feel the remaining circulation of his fingers fade as they were pulled painfully tight against his restraints. The hand on his cock was squeezing him like there was no tomorrow, and maybe there wasn't.

And then one final thrust, brutal in its intensity and he cried out helplessly as he felt his orgasm being pulled from him, against his will or want. A warm heat spread over his chest as his seed erupted onto him. Teeth were biting him fiercely on his shoulder, one final burst of pain served to herald Michael's own orgasm into his ass, filling him with the other man's hot seed.

It rolled through them both; Hotch shuddering, shaking as he tried to find his breath, tried to regain his sense of the world around him. The unsub's arms were still around him, holding him tightly enough to bruise, restricting the flow of blood through his body. He could feel uncomfortable fullness in his ass, and knew that the other man's ejaculation had only added to that ultimate violation.

Finally—finally—Michael was releasing him, laying him back down on the blood dampened floor. Were those strips of skin his? His knees and elbows were beginning to sting and make noises through the waning fade of the euphoria of his orgasm.

Pulling once more, Michael was pulling, removing himself from his ass, from his body. It hurt, gods it hurt, but finally they were free. Hotch could feel the warm spunk dripping from his ass, marking him as the unsub's whore, and he jerked away from the other man, curling up around himself. His breath was still pounding painfully in his lungs. He could taste the mucus and tears that had run down his face, and he dearly wanted a shower away from this man, this monster. He wanted his team and he wanted to be gone from this nasty place.

In a way, he got his wish as he felt the small bite of a hypodermic needle being thrust into his thigh, making the world fade back to black.