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Underground to Upperground but still no Escape

H

Hakumei_Ryu007

Super-Earth
Joined
Nov 23, 2009
Adrian’s breath was thick behind the large potato sack bag that had been tied over his head. His arms were bound behind his back and then against his waist with what he could gather. He could hear ever pound of his frightened heart in his ears. “THUMP…THUMP…THUMP…” was all that it wailed as he tried to get it to calm enough for him to think. He tried not to cry more as he didn’t want to seem frightened to whoever was on the other side of the bag. He could feel the bumps on the road as they moved over it in the car. It wasn’t a typically paved road, but a dirt one. One that was found on the edges of nowhere these days.
His shoulders were cramping terribly as he tried his best to shift to ease them, but every time he made the littlest move, he got slammed in the gut by a fist. Grunting, he swore he saw bright white spots spread over the inside of his eyelids before slumping against the side of the car and lost consciousness again.
When Adrian finally came out of unconsciousness again, he was bound to the wall of a dungeon. Looking around, he noticed the stone walls that had rusted chains hanging down ever three feet. He noticed blood over a few areas where someone had been beat to death, or at least a good three quarters of his life. Managing to move a bit from the wall, he could see that there was a door that seemed to lead out of this hell hole. Reaching out, he managed to slip his tiny hands out from the shackles. He had always had a tiny body, but it seemed that he had lost weight since being captured. How long had it been since he was captured? Days, weeks, even a month. Standing slowly on shaking legs, he moved to get toward the door but was stopped short by a metal shackle around his neck. He struggled and pulled until the latch on the metal shackle broke.
Heading toward the door, Adrian was astonished to find it unlocked. He had no preparation for what was to come. It was a house, well an underground house anyways, that was furnished and stocked full. He went through all of the rooms, searching them all.
 

The tall, slender male sat very still in the darkness, his pale hands folded delicately in his lap with his dispassionate eyes focused straight ahead. While some people may react to his situation with horror or fear, or perhaps wonder or curiosity, he simply remained as he was, taking in his surroundings with a curious sense of calmness. He was seated with his long legs folded awkwardly beneath his body, his dark curly hair curving elegantly around his ears and falling in delicate strands around his eyes framed in long lashes that curled away from his slate gray irises. His face was slender, white, with beautifully sculpted lips and tender aquiline features.

He was dressed in the same crisp white dress shirt he had been wearing when he was abducted, the same starched trousers, but his leather shoes were missing and above each slender ankle a cuff of cold hard metal was clasped, fastening him to the dungeon wall. He couldnâ??t remember what he had been doing before he was clobbered gruffly over the head and lost all sense of awareness. He hadnâ??t been unconscious, but he was limp and placid as a ragdoll the entire trip. At the memory of having been struck, as though to spite him, a stinging pain traveled the length of his spine and jarred him into awareness. He grunted as he moved, raising a hand to his head to move the hair from his brow where it had begun to stick to his skin because of the sweat. He felt dirty, and he felt as though he were moving in slow motion. He was in shock, and the cuffs on his ankles, digging into his sensitive skin, were brutal reminders that what he was seeing was reality and not some strange nightmare that would at any moment come to an abrupt end.

â?Is someone there?â? he croaked in a voice that wasnâ??t his own, a strange strangled cry mingled with the tones of his speaking voice. He was not surprised when he received no response, despite the fact that he could have sword he heard someone close to him struggling against, perhaps, a similar restraint. He would have fought against his own, but he knew better than to fight a battle that could not be won; he was not a large boy, but he was by no means week. His body, while pleasingly soft was coursing with lean muscle, and each of his movements were with the practiced grace of a man who knew his own beauty and the power of his angelic presence and used it to his advantage. He lit up a room, breathed life into the conversation, purely by being. It was a feeling which is impossible to describe.

He blinked in confusion when a thin bar of light fell across the floor and reached almost to where his knees rested, created by one of the guards opening the door to the home above. â?Hey,â? he called, more powerfully. â?Wait! â?¦ please.â? His voice was insistent, but pleasant. He begged the stranger to stay, come back and rescue him. He no longer wanted to be alone in this dusty place. He cleared his throat carefully, and moved his legs beneath him to rise, the sound of metal dragging against stone grating on his ears. â?Iâ??m trapped.â? But there was no response, only silence, as the door fell heavily shut and left Graeme to his own thoughts and devices. It was him and the darkness, once again, and the boy took on the appearance of a doll once again, staring at the wall before him like a lifeless doll until he found the strength to struggle against his own restraints. It would take time, and how was he to know just how much of that he would have?

---

That was Graeme several months before he was â??markedâ??, before Adrian was brought into his mistressâ??s home. He was sitting, eerily in much the same manner, in one of the bedrooms of the home above the prison where he and Adrian would probably be spending a great deal of their time. He was not currently in any kind of trouble, having adapted a very passive outlook on his bleak existence, so he was permitted to sit in the house for a few hours a day and write short stories for the Madame. He was a writer before he came here, a novel already written and prepared for publication. He was an English major in highschool, seeking a career in literary fiction writing, but this was all stolen from him when his life was changed.

He was granted permission to sit in this room and write out stories and plays for the entertainment of their keeper on the premise that his good behavior continue. It was such a simple request, but it was vastly important to Graemeâ??s young mind. It kept him from falling apart.

He turned his head towards the door as Adrian entered, his brows arching in surprise. â?Are you lost?â? he asked him, confused. As far as he knew, there were no others. There was a hint of irritation in his voice, as well as a streak of fear for reasons unknown. The boy was small, dirty, and probably not dangerous to Graemeâ??s own wellbeing.
 
Adrian's head whipped around when he heard someone's voice. He had been sure that he was completely on his own but obviously he had been mistaken. "If only." was the only response that his dry throat could manage to get past his chapped lips. His mouth tasted as if it had licked the sand on the beach and then cleaned a bloody wound afterward. The metallic taste of the blood was reinforced when he spoke as the slight movement made the dry skin of his lips crack and start to bleed.

Bringing the back of his hand to his lips, he wiped away the blood as the clang of the shackles made a ruckus from such a minimal movement. "Where am I?" he managed to get out, wishing that his voice wasn't so dry so he could interrogate the man and figure out if he was another victim or the sick bastard that had placed him here.

Turning his head to look around, he practically jumped out of his skin when his eyes caught a mirror on the far wall. Walking over, he looked at the sunburned man that stood before him. Reaching a shaking hand up, he touched the dark red skin that used to be his face. The redness of his face very nearly matched the color of his hair, wish was quite the remarkable feat. Oh his hair. It was as if someone had laid him on an ironing board and then places and iron on top of his hair for far too long.

The thick metal collar around his neck only slightly covered the branding that lingered on the right side of his neck. Reaching out, he touched the mark on the mirror as he was still quite woozy to remember that the man in the mirror was actually him. Turning, he looked back at the man. "What....what am I doing here?" he begged to know, his blue eyes looking terrified as he watched.
 
The pale boy shifted, moving from gracefully into a standing position with an uncharacteristic look of tenderness in his eyes slate gray eyes. He approached the other prisoner slowly so as not to startle him, and when he spoke his voice was quiet, soothing. â?Donâ??t be so loud,â? he advised, â?Itâ??s easier not to ask questions.â? He didnâ??t mean it cruelly, but figured he was actually doing Adrian a favor by offering him the same advice he wish someone had given him when he arrived here.

â?My name is Graeme,â? he informed him, looking passed him for a moment to the mirror that he had just been staring into in such a heartbreaking manner. He focused again on Adrianâ??s face with a critical eye, perturbed by his state of dishevelment.

He had long since stopped wondering â??howâ?? or â??whyâ??. It was far too painful for him to live in the past, and his companion would learn the same lesson he had. He gingerly touched the shackle around the other boyâ??s right wrist, pressing his hand into his own, marveling at the darkness of his skin against his own. He was only permitted to marvel for so long, for just as he raised his eyes to stare into Adrianâ??s, he came to an abrupt realization.

â?You arenâ??t supposed to be up here!â? He looked horrified. â?What were you thinking? Weâ??ll both be punished!â? The cool male suddenly seemed stressed, his demeanor changing as suddenly as his movements. He was attempting to usher the other boy towards the door he had entered through, his mouth a thin line.
 
Adrian looked scared at the pale man approached him, getting closer and closer. He didnt bolt though as the wack to the head had made his body a bit slow in response. He stared at the man for a long time, seeing the beauty within him even if a piece of the man had seemed to be lost to wherever the hell they had been.

This man had obviously been here a lot longer than he had and would have answers. Answers that Adrian desperately need, but soon he was being told not to ask questions. How could he not ask questions. Someone had wacked him over the head, put a bag over his face and transported him far far away. This would not do. He would not be silenced by some guy that was too afraid to speak.

He jumped softly when the man's cold skin touched his blazing, sunburned hand. He sat there for a minute letting the man feel before he was being herded back toward the room. "Wha..." he said before he stumbled backwards at the doorway of the dungeon. Going through the door head first, he fell down the four or five stairs that were there before the back of his head collided roughly with the pavement and then he world went quite upside down and hazy.

The last thing that Adrian saw was that beautifully pale prisoner standing in the doorway before his world went completely black again
 
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