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Darkest Nights	By : Bucken-Berry Category: G through L > Law & Order Views: 1451 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own SVU or it's characters and I'm not making money from this.

Chapter List
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Elliot waited until George's attackers had been sent out of the courtroom, and they were more or less alone, before leaning over to shake George's shoulder. "George, wake up," Elliot said softly.
George startled awake and looked around. "Are we done for the day?" George asked hopefully.
Elliot nodded, giving a reassuring smile. "Yeah, we are." He decided not to mention his concerns about George's sleeping pattern just yet.
A look of relief presented on George's face, and he sighed as he stood. They walked out of the courthouse, deliberately avoiding any discussion of the trial.
"We need groceries; want to go to the store before we go home?" Elliot asked.
"Yeah. That would be nice," George said. Losing himself in a mundane task sounded perfect.
He opened his mouth to say something as Elliot started the car, but then he froze from horror. Someone was smoking, and the open window allowed the scent of cigarette smoke to reach him. It overwhelmed his mind, and instantly the memories assaulted him, making him relive the attacks again, despite his attempts not to.
Blood was drying on his skin, and he tried to move to get it off, because the sensation was maddening. But his arms were pinned above his head, preventing him from escaping. His attackers laughed, as always, at his attempts to alleviate the discomfort and pain.
"You'll be better off if you just accept that you deserve it, and stop fighting back," one of his attackers informed him.
"I don't deserve this; no one does," George argued. "This is sick and wrong."
"If this is wrong and you don't deserve it, why hasn't anyone come to arrest us?"
George snorted his contempt. "Is that really the best logic you can think of? They haven't arrested you because we're in the middle of nowhere, and they haven't tracked this place down yet, obviously! But once they do, you'll regret ever doing this to me."
A dramatic sigh echoed in the room. "You talk too much. But I'll take care of that," his attacker vowed. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, watching gleefully as George's eyes widened. George tried to escape, but that only increased his attacker's delight.
The searing, blistering burn on his stomach made George cry out. He was pinned in place by the others, but he still tried to get away. "Stop, that hurts!" he yelled desperately.
"That's exactly the point! But I might stop, if you do what I say," the man said coldly.
"What do I need to do?" George asked, ready to give in to almost anything. He expected that they were going to make him perform oral sex, or something else that was equally humiliating. He had been forced to several times already.
"Tell me that you deserve it." The order was accented with the sharp, burning pain of the cigarette, and George could feel himself breaking down.
George obeyed immediately. "I deserve it, I deserve it!" he yelled. His voice sounded strangled, like he was gasping and panting at the same time.
"Because?" The attacker prodded, pressing the cigarette harder into his skin.
"I don't know!" George cried frantically. "But I deserve it!"
"I'll give you a while to think about it… in the meantime…" The attacker trailed off. But he didn't need to finish the sentence, because he had already removed his pants, and then he pushed George's legs apart. George reflexively tried to squirm away, but that only earned him a kick to the ribs from two of the attackers, and a bruising grip on his hips from the one who was about to push in. They pinned his arms, and George began to cry, knowing that he was, as always, completely helpless to stop them.
His attacker stroked George's thighs, trying to arouse him. The man laughed and pushed two fingers inside him, deliberately brushing against his prostate. George used every bit of willpower he had not to moan; his body was becoming aroused, an automatic response. But he refused to give them any satisfaction. He refused to show them that their attempts to make him aroused by them were succeeding, except for his erection. He wasn't going to participate.
The man added a third finger. George cried out as he was stretched uncomfortably wide, but his attacker merely moved his fingers rougher and faster inside him.
Then the fingers were yanked out. Before George could brace himself- as if that was possible- the attacker was inside him, pumping mercilessly and letting his delighted moans fall freely. George's agonized screams only made him increase the speed and force of his thrusts, creating a cycle. The more sounds of pain George gave, the more pain was inflicted on him, until he couldn't scream anymore; the only thing he could do was whimper and occasionally give a small moan.
An intense pain, combined with a warm, wet sensation, indicated that the rapist had drawn blood, and he gave another whimper. He would be sore for days on end, and there was no chance they'd give him a break while he healed. He'd be subjected to this again as soon as his attackers wanted to hurt him. It sounded impossible, but the pain would get even worse.
"Tell me how much you like this," one of them purred. George didn't- couldn't- say anything. He couldn't breathe, let alone speak.
He felt so dizzy… that was the breathlessness, he was pretty sure, or maybe he'd lost more blood than he thought- or the dehydration- he couldn't think, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. His entire body, eyelids included, was made of lead… His eyes rolled back, his vision darkening rapidly-
"No passing out. You take the punishment- you don't deserve the escape from pain unconsciousness would bring," his attacker snapped. "Now say it! Say how much you like and want this!" One of the others moved a hand, resting it on George's throat; not squeezing, but the threat was there. He was on dangerous ground- if he did anything to upset them…
He was so weak, but he managed to whisper the words. "I… like this… want it…" His voice was faint.
"Louder!"
"I like this! I want this!" George choked, barely managing to force the words out.
The hand left his throat, but then a knife was set on his shoulder. "How much?" his attacker prodded.
"A lot, I guess…" George whispered.
"You guess?" His attacker's voice was getting louder, and he flinched in anticipation. A second later, a ripping pain flared from his shoulder, where his attacker cut his flesh.
"No, I like this a lot!" George amended immediately, trying to reach to stop the flow of blood- but his arms were still pinned. The cut, exposed to the open air, began stinging, and he barely managed to bite back a cry of pain.
His attacker went over the edge, spilling into George. George winced at the uncomfortable sensation the warm fluid caused. Every inch of his body seemed to be sticky with dried blood, sweat, and his attacker's fluids, and he was covered in dirt- which was getting into his cuts. Several of them were infected already, red and irritated, simultaneously itching and screaming not to be touched. He was getting worried about the possibility of the infection spreading, because he had no medicine to put on the lacerations.
"Did you like this?" One of the rapists asked as the other pulled out.
"No," George said. He realized a second too late that he'd answered wrong- wrong to his captors, at least. "I mean yes, yes!" he gasped.
"Tell me why." The man's voice was husky.
"I don't know…" George said helplessly. "Please, I know I deserve this, but I don't know why… please…" Did he believe that he deserved it? He couldn't tell anymore… He supposed it might explain why he was here in the first place, but he couldn't figure out anything specific he had done. He'd tried, so hard, to be a good person… But didn't they say the road to hell was paved with good intentions?
"This one time, I will help you," the attacker said with an exaggerated sigh.
"T-thank you," George stammered, knowing that it was expected of him, perverse as the idea sounded- or maybe he just wasn't getting it. He couldn't think clearly; he could just react.
"You want this because you know you deserve it, and even though it hurts you, you know that this is what you need. We're doing you a favor."
George obediently repeated what his attacker was saying, rephrasing it to sound more convincing. "I want it because I know I deserve it. It hurts, badly," He bit back a groan, "But I n-n-need this." The words caused him pain, but he would do anything to escape with his life. "I d-deserve it, and you're doing me a favor by making me see." He tensed his muscles, preparing himself in case he upset his attackers.
He sobbed with despair when they returned to their assault. Nothing he said was convincing them…. "What did I do wrong?" he asked desperately. He got no response; apparently he was on his own now. They dragged the knife over the still-healing skin, clearly wanting to cause as much scarring as possible.
They cut into one of his infected wounds, and the agony flared beyond what he thought possible. He screamed, feeling himself breaking. He tried, again, to convince them to stop. "I'm sorry I can't get this right… I know I deserve this, but please, stop- please, just for a little while… You're being unfair, I tried to do what you wanted, and you don't need to convince me, you already did…"
He screamed as another cut was made to the sore, stinging wound. "Please, I'm begging you, just STOOOOOP!" he shrieked.
He panted and gasped for breath for a second as he realized that he was making his attackers angrier- they were cutting his skin rougher and faster. "No- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that…" Christ, he couldn't win! Either way, he was asking for more abuse- if he begged, they'd be furious with him, but if he didn't, they'd just continue for as long as they wanted…
Wasn't that the point? No, he was trying to escape this, alive and in one piece. That was it- Right?
He closed his eyes again, wondering how he had gotten to this waking nightmare- no, nightmare wasn't enough of a description. Even his worst, most violent and twisted nightmares paled in comparison to this; he would gladly live any one of them, all of them, if it meant not being here. If he had known this would happen-
Elliot blinked in surprise when George entered a flashback, and immediately tried to bring him out of it. He touched George's shoulder, murmuring George's name, but that didn't help- George seemed more afraid, if anything. Elliot became more concerned as the minutes passed, with no sign of George being able to escape the throes of the flashback.
"George, come on, snap out of it! Those monsters don't have you anymore; you're okay..," Elliot said. George began to shake, shivering and occasionally giving a small kick, squirming in an attempt to escape whatever the sick bastards were doing to him.
None of George's flashbacks had lasted this long before. He'd had panic attacks, sometimes lasting for hours at a time, but the flashbacks had never lasted longer than a few minutes.
George started breathing heavier and faster. His eyes had the classic distant look, the "thousand-yard-stare" that came with PTSD, but his eyes were also wide with terror. George began to whimper and cry out from pain and fear, clenching his eyes shut. This was the worst flashback George had had yet, and he showed no signs of coming back to reality anytime soon.
"How do I get him out of the flashback?" Elliot asked the air.
He got no response.
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Darkest Nights