The Cow

[A/N: Named for and inspired by Andrew Hodgins' poem The Cow. Read it, it's beautiful.]

When she grows too feeble to give us fresh cream, we'll slit her red throat, hang her from a beam,

And pull out her insides to throw to the dogs, just as we do when we slaughter the hogs.

There was an elevator ride. It seemed to go on forever, Eileen and Henry standing in tense, traumatized silence until the speed of the motion slowed, and things weren't quite as disorienting. They stumbled out of the enclosed space, Henry helping Eileen keep her footing when she almost fell. There was a hole behind them, with the red symbols painted around it, the promise of his apartment - sleeping in the white noise – hardly tempting. Instead, the brunette went through the door in front of them.

He should have expected it. Usually, when the male went through a doorway, every muscle was tense, whatever weapon he was holding at the time ready to attack. Not this time, though. There was a feminine scream, a guttural sound he couldn't quite place, then white-hot pain and laughing. Laughing. Henry's vision went out, and he crumpled to his knees, realizing that he was mumbling something incoherent that almost sounded like 'Oh thank God'. He shook off his primal fears - the panic associated with the threat of death – when the world went black.

Henry's shoulders ached. His mouth was cotton dry, his head pounding with the rhythm of his hard pulse, something stinging his wrists. He opened his eyes, finding himself in the observation room, lifting his head from where it was awkwardly bent, his back arched over the chair, realizing that his throat was sore because his mouth had been forced open by the angle. There Walter was, just as he expected him to be, standing directly in front of him.

"You have a nice nap?" The blue-clad man asked with a twisted grin, Henry trying to kick at him, finding his feet bound to the desk chair he had been forced into.

He tried to move his arms, but they didn't budge, the sting in his wrists increasing when he pulled. They were straightened behind him, bound at the wrists, then again at the elbows, the joints secured to the metal bar holding the flimsy back to the base of the chair. The angle made his fingertips tingle with a lack of circulation, the rope digging brutally into already-bloody skin.

"Untie me." Henry demanded, disgusted by his weak, ragged voice.

"Why?" Walter replied, close enough for the brunette to taste the malicious intent.


"No." The monster moved forward, landing on the floor in front of the other man, Henry kicking futilely again.

Walter's hands were on either of Henry's thighs, inching forward, something akin to wonder in the blonde's eyes. He rested his palm on the front of the jeans Henry was wearing, pawing until there was a reaction, then yanking the button through the hole. Every click of the brunette's zipper made his blood pound furiously, and he forced himself to look away, glaring at the ceiling, the wall.

Henry decided to fight harder than he had in the forest, thinking about the horrors he had read about, little notes left around the prison, but Walter's hand was prying. He had pulled his pants off of his hips, his underwear inched downwards, and even though Henry couldn't see the other man, he could feel his crooked half-smile, the satisfaction in his eyes at the blatant betrayal of his own body.

He stopped caring when he was enveloped in white-hot moisture. The brunette hissed through his teeth and threw his head back, a wet sound stinging at his ears, the quiet grunt that Walter let out vibrating against him. He was painfully hard, closing his eyes tightly and opening his mouth, sounding more pained than anything else. Henry wasn't sure why Walter was demeaning himself the way he was. There was nothing for the murderer to gain, save another piece of his soul, and Henry found that he didn't mind it at all, not when Walter's tongue was pressing and rolling over his arousal, when his hands were pushing his legs a little further apart, when he could feel the hot contraction of the other man's throat.

"W-Walter, what…" Henry tried, finally looking down at the bobbing head of yellow hair, moaning aloud at the sight.

"Faster, I'm…" The shorter of the two was suddenly an incoherent mess of profanity and squirming, wishing he could grab onto Walter's head and fuck his face, make him gag, yank him back and take him in as violent a way as possible.

"St-stop, I'm g-gonna-" Walter sped up his motions instead, and Henry reached the edge, keeling over as much as he could with his arms bound, shuddering a few times. Walter pulled away, swallowed, and brushed white from the corner of his mouth, Henry still reeling.

"Eileen will find you. I told her where you are." The monster said as he stood and made his way over to the door to the cylindrical surveillance room. He left Henry tied to the chair, pants still around his thighs.