DISCLAIMER: Not mine, nope. They belong to Henson. No money being made here, just some smut. Story copyright Aiobheann, 1999.

NOTES: The continuation of the round robin begun by Xen. This portion places John in PeaceKeeper custody -- I have no intention of explaining how or why -- I leave that up to the next person who continues the tale, should they see fit. I just wanted to put poor John firmly in Crais' grasp so we could get into some John/Crais action. Hope my Crichton Muse will forgive me for this. Oh, and this one is for Xen -- hope there's enough John-angst here for ya! No beta, so any mistakes are mine own.

"Keep it down in there. If I were you, I'd save my screams until the Captain comes. You'll need 'em then." The shutter slammed closed, and John was alone again in the dimly lit, cramped cell. This cell was very different from the ones on board Moya -- smaller, with a solid door, no light except for what filtered through a small grille in the ceiling. Close and claustrophobic. A punishment cell.

John shifted on the narrow cot, trying to get comfortable. He was naked, his clothes taken from him shortly after he was captured by Crais, and put in this tiny, dark cell. /Probably trying to break me down/, John thought. /Fuck if it isn't working. I've never been this scared before in my life./ As he moved, he became aware of the dried come on his thighs, a reminder of the horrible dream that had jarred him awake. The dream about...about Crais, doing...that. To him.

Disgusted by it, he struggled over on his stomach and tried to rub it off against the thin blanket. Disgusted that he had been turned on enough by it in his sleep to come. /It was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It was just a dream./ But he could not stop thinking of it, probing at it, like picking at a barely healed wound...the way he had responded so readily, welcomed another man's touch, another man's cock in his ass. The friction of his cock against the blanket as he tried to rub his own semen away was pleasant, maddening...inflaming. He found himself remembering the feel of Crais' hand on his cock, pulling, stroking, teasing. Even so soon after the dream, he was hardening again, responding to the memory, the remembered sensation overpowering the reality of his cock sliding against fabric and being replaced by the feel of a rough, warm hand encircling him. /God, this is not me! Not with Crais, not after everything he's done.../ He closed his eyes, willing the dream away, but instead an image, a feeling, from the dream rose up in him and he nearly moaned aloud from the force of it...

/Pleasure shot through every nerve ending in his body and he gasped again,almost sobbing from the intense feeling. John felt like all the blood in his body rushed into his aching cock and he throbbed with every stroke of those talented fingers working deeper into his body./

Cursing, he started to roll back over onto his back, angry at himself, at his traitor cock, hard and aching now from the remembered sensation. Before he could turn over completely, he heard the chime of the door lock, heard the door opening. He flipped back over onto his stomach as quickly as he could, his face coloring. /I'll be damned if they'll see me like this. They can beat the crap out of me. I'm not getting up./

He refused to look over his shoulder, even though lying there, naked and exposed, with his back toward his captors made him cringe. His stubborn cock refused to soften, and he found with a twinge of disgust and loathing that the thought of someone seeing him like this was actually almost...exciting. /Damn, I have lost it. I'm officially crazy now -- there is no *way* I'm liking this./ He squeezed his eyes closed and waited, ruthlessly shutting away any excitement, chalking it up to exhaustion and fear. Heavy footsteps -- more than one person, it sounded like -- came to a halt behind him and stopped.

"Search him." Crais' voice, low and full of contempt.

"For what?" John snapped, his eyes still closed, face turned to the wall. "You can see I don't have any pockets to hide anything in, Crais."

"You were not searched...properly...when you were captured. That is an oversight I intend to rectify."

Cold hands grasped his hips, lifted him to his knees on the cot. Realizing exactly what kind of "search" Crais was ordering, John twisted and struggled, seeking to break way from the soldier pulling him up and positioning him. Even with his hands cuffed behind him, he managed to present enough of a fight to prevent the soldier from accomplishing his goal.

"Idiot." The blow to the side of his head stunned him, blanketed his vision with blooming spots of blackness. John fell to his side, gasping with pain. "Hold him."

He was pulled up again, unresisting and limp, and by the time he recovered enough to fight, it was too late -- he was held up at the waist, knees tucked under his chest, ass exposed. He craned his head back to look behind him, and saw Crais retrieving something from the end of the cot.

"Your failure to carry out your orders will be noted on your record, lieutenant. I will perform the search myself." A snap as Crais pulled some kind of thin glove over his hand. John was still dazed from the blow to his head, and bit back a fit of giggles, thinking disjointedly that this was the prerequisite body cavity search, essential in every good prison movie. /Should I be calling Crais "Boss" or "Warden"?/, he thought, and barely managed to smother another fit of laughter.

The urge to laugh abruptly disappeared when he felt one impossibly warm hand on his ass, parting him, felt a slick finger probing inside him. There was a moment of intense, burning pain as he was stretched and invaded with no preparation or finesse, and he bit his lip again, this time to hold back a hiss of discomfort. Then the finger turned, twisted inside him, seeking out all the hidden crevices of his passage, and brushed against that spot he remembered too well from his dream. His cock, softened in fear, hardened again, all the blood seeming to rush from his lowered head to his groin, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy with the sudden, blazing arousal. The moan he was trapping behind clenched teeth escaped --now not a sound of pain, but of pleasure.

The finger was swiftly withdrawn, and John dropped his face to the mattress, face flushed with shame.

"Leave me, lieutenant."

"Captain?" The guard's voice was puzzled.

"Now. Must I repeat a direct order? Yet another item to be added to my report."

"Yes, sir." Footsteps receding, the sound of the cell door opening and then slamming shut.

"Well, John Crichton. What is you told me your kind was called? Human? I see that I have discovered something very important about you."

John pressed his face further into the mattress, willing away the sound of that smooth, deep voice, the edge of amused contempt in it increasing his shame. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching the head of the cot, stopping near his shoulders. He could not restrain the shudder that wrenched through him as a hand came to rest on the nape of his neck, fingers combing through his hair, almost gently, caressingly, before tightening into a fist and pulling his head up and around to look into the Captain's face.

"I believe I have found a method of...encouragement, that your kind responds to rather well. Hmm? Can I encourage you to talk, to tell me what I need to know about the other escaped prisoners? Perhaps you will respond to --" A hand, slipping down his back and parting him again, a finger thrust deep into his anus, probing for that sweet spot with insistent, relentless pressure. " -- another form of stimuli better than to pain. Although, make no mistake, John Crichton -- I am just as willing to cause you more pain than you ever imagined could exist. So," Crais continued, his voice still smooth and deceptively jovial. "Which will it be?"

TO BE CONTINUED