FicWad

30 bloody chapters people!

Slash is upstairs, curled up and shivering. I've left a bucket beside the bed; I know he's going to be sick at some point. Know that the virus that is heroin has to come out some way or another. He says he wasn't in deep but his body says otherwise. He's currently in a state of delirium; he has no idea where he is or what's going on. I'm not even sure if he knows who I am.

Gripping the wooden handrail, I quietly descend into the basement. Go into the bowels of hell to confront him. It needs to be done so I'll do it while Slash is sick. Do it before any kind of tenderness returns to my heart.

Gritting my teeth, I walk through the darkened room and to the bed. In the low light, I can see Axl, curled up and asleep. The light forms shadows around the chain that runs from his neck and to the wall, a metal collar clamped around his throat. He didn't seem to mind when I fitted it. Didn't seem to complain. Just watched with the doe-eyed contention of someone who knows that he's now owned. I switch on the bedside light, watching as Axl's eyes flutter beneath his hair. Reaching out, I unscrew the chain from the collar, fitting a leather leash in its place. Do you honestly think we'd let this man wander free around our home? What he's about to receive here is going to be far worse than anything he'd have to face in prison.

Arms stretch to wrap around me and I bat them away. "Not tonight, Axl."

He pouts at me from beneath his hair, lips curling seductively. But I'm not going to give in. Not tonight.

I tug on the leash. "Get up."

Silently, he does as he's told, still watching me from beneath his hair.

"Izz..." he whispers. "Wanna play..."

"Not tonight," I repeat, turning from him as I do.

I can feel my heart tugging in my chest, every fibre of my being wanting to just crack. Wanting to just throw him over the desk and fuck him till he bleeds. But I won't. He's going to bleed in other ways.

"Jeff..."

I stop in my tracks, turning to look at him with wide eyes. So rarely do I hear that name, the name that was whispered to me beneath dark skies and white sheets. The name that he only uses when he really wants to get under my skin, when he wants to see me arch beneath his touch. When he wants to hear me cry his name, the name he buried deep within himself.

"Bill..." I quietly sigh, swallowing as I look at him.

He brings a hand up, sweeping the hair from his face as the chain rattles from his neck. His eyes are wide and sorrowful, as if he knows what I'm planning. Tugging on the chain, I attach it to the hook in the ceiling, my eyes dropping from his. Kneeling by a big wooden box that Slash dragged home, I listen as Axl tugs on the chain. Trying to get free. I'm quickly on my feet, pulling his arms behind him and restraining them with handcuffs. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at me, snarling as his eyes flash.

"Jeff..." he hisses again, voice changed from the sultry one he used earlier.

I shake my head and stoop down to the box. Reaching in, my hand wraps around a slender piece of cane. I straighten up and walk behind him, watching as he snarls at me.

"Shut up," I whisper. "I ain't gonna help you this time."

My arm snaps back before slamming the flexing cane into the tender flesh of his back. Axl arches, screaming as it cuts the skin apart. Snarling to my self, I grab a discarded bandanna from the floor, tying it into his mouth. I look at the hate-filled face for a second longer before pulling my fist back and slamming it into his nose. He recoils back, blood beginning to drip from his nose.

Brushing the hair from his ear, I whisper, "I'm gonna make you bleed, Axl and you're gonna like it." I yank on his hair, snarling as I sink my teeth into his throat. "It's been a long time comin' asshole."

Axl's head swings round as he headbutts me. With the feeling of blood in my nose, I change weapons, instead choosing something I managed to procure for just this occasion. To many, it looks like a traditional cat o' nine tails. But if you look a little closer, each tail has a tiny hook of lethally sharp surgical steel. I knew I was going to make him bleed and now I have just the instrument for it.

Grabbing his hair, I pull his head back and force it into his face. "I'm gonna tear you to pieces, /Bill/. You know you fuckin' deserve. And you better be glad it's me doing it and not Slash. Because, seriously, he will kill you."

I drop his head and pull away before I snap his neck. As the memories of what he's done flood my mind, I can feel the rage building. Storming behind him, I raise the whip and slam it into his back. The hooks catch his flesh, tearing at it and blood bubbling to the surface. Axl howls and arches his back, stretching away from the pain. Again I do it, fascinated by the way the hooks tear apart his skin like butter. Slick, red blood slides down his back, pooling in his ass crack before dripping onto the floor. Axl gives up screaming, realising that no one is going to help him now.

Not even me.

Again and again and again I apply the viciously hooked whip, growling and snarling, letting the anger vent from me. Again and again and again, Axl trembles and whimpers, occasionally begging. Again and again and again the steel hooks catch his already tattered flesh, flecks of it caught around the pointed barbs.

Eventually, drained and tired, I drop the whip. Panting, I let my head drop forward, my muscles aching and sweat dripping from my body. My fingers uncurl and the whip drops to the floor with a quiet thud. From beneath my hair, I look at Axl. His body hangs limp, equally as tired but far more broken. The carpet at his feet is soaked red. He looks to have lost a lot of blood but I don't care. A few days of rest and good food and he'll be on the mend. He slowly breathes, rattling, pained breaths escaping from his mouth.

"Izz..." he croaks around the fabric gag, too weak to even look up at me.

Walking up to him, I tiredly wrap an arm around his waist and reach up to uncouple him. He lets out a groan and collapses into my arm. As gently as I can, I drag him to the bed and lie him on his front, my hands working the gag from his mouth. His punishment isn't over yet. The wounds need dressing and I have just thing.

Reaching beneath the bed, I bring out an airtight tub. Unscrewing the top, I reach in and take out a handful of the white grain. Liberally I sprinkle it over Axl's back before rubbing it in.

The howl of anguish should have shaken the house down as I rub the salt deep into the wounds. I grin and hit him around the back of the head, forcing his mouth into the feather pillow.

"Shut up," I hiss. "It'll help 'em heal."

Holding his head into the pillow, I rub in handful after handful of salt, feeling him wince and tremor and buck beneath me as it sears into the wounds. I hate what I'm doing to him but it has to be done. I hate ruining that perfect pale skin in the same way that his father did but he needs to learn his place. He needs to know that he's no longer at the top of the food chain. If he wants to stay with us, he needs to be punished. And not just sexually. What he did to us can never be reversed. My soul will forever be scarred by what he's done to me and Slash will never recover from the death of his mom. And that's a terrible thing to have to live with.

Slash has never spoken about it till now. Never spoken about what it's like having his mom's killer live beneath our roof. But I suspect that he might now. Might come out of his cocoon. Axl's next punishment will be coming from him. Whether Axl will survive it or not is another matter.