Chapter Text
Elias' eyes were condescending and infatuated, directing Jon from a comfortable chair at the side of the cavernous bathtub. Jon shrunk and smarted at the thought that the plausible deniability of bubble bath, his only comfort in this farce, might have been chosen by Elias with precisely that in mind. He knew there was no way to be sure of privacy, that he was unlikely to have any such thing ever again now, but at least if Elias was watching from another room he wouldn't be able to touch Jon.
As he scrubbed at the dirt under his nails with a brush, Jon thought about Georgie and Melanie, and Basira. It was far too soon for them to have noticed anything amiss yet, but he wondered how long it would take. What they would do with the assumption that he and Martin had failed.
"They don't care about you."
He startled, not expecting Elias to say anything before he finished with the nail brush. Or to be watching his thoughts so closely. When he recovered, venom snapped out of him without thinking. "Yes, because people love harboring any passing acquaintance who becomes a fugitive from justice."
"You don't believe that," Elias said. "Not anymore. That loyalty died alongside your pretense at humanity."
Jon shrunk. His thought churned with all the times he'd entertained that idea, and he had no idea if Elias was watching. If Elias was maybe even responsible for how neatly all those doubts floated to the top. It was a hideously intimate kind of violation to be constantly wary of having his thoughts plucked out or bent into a new alignment.
Elias leaned forward, folding at the waist so he could set his folded arms on the rim of the tub and lay his chin on them. "They don't understand you. They can't. And moreover, they don't want to. Even Martin-"
"Don't," Jon snapped, anxiety calcifying in his chest at the sound. "Please," he added, praying it was enough to keep Elias from turning harsher thoughts Martin's way.
Elias smiled sadly, as if Jon's reactions broke his heart. "We aren't like them, Jon. We never were. I chose you for this. I chose you, because we're the same."
"We're not," Jon croaked. Embarrassment at how clearly he was holding back tears just made his eyes sting more.
"Oh, Archive," Elias sighed. He hooked a finger under Jon's chin, turning his face and tipping it up so that Jon was conveniently positioned before Elias leaned down to kiss him.
Jon snapped his eyes shut a long moment after he should have. He didn't believe it was a coincidence that Elias' sole condition obligated Jon to tie himself to puppet strings and hand them to Elias, as surely as the Web might have done. It terrified him. Voluntary loss of autonomy left space for dangerous errors that being directly steered didn't give the breathing space for. When he broke the kiss, Elias kept his face close, trailing a hand down the side of Jon's face. It was a long while before he dropped it, and Jon could shudder away the feel of it and carry on washing.
They didn't speak of anything with substance again until Jon was wrapped in a robe and seated in a chair, watching Elias comb through a closet.. The clothes were uncanny office and formal wear, fabrics too opulent and all replete with eyes, shining in near-invisible patterns on silk and glinting from tiny jewel buttons. Jon felt stirred to weighty fears by the amount of thought Elias had apparently put into it all, long before he and Martin made it to what was left of London. There was still a robe monogrammed JM hanging in the bathroom; Jon's was monogrammed JS.
"You're endlessly fascinating. Beautiful. Unique in all the world. You're interesting." Jon was starting to hate that word. He hated the sound of Elias' voice from the slimy memory of it falling from his own lips, impossible to stop. Elias' love of both promised that Jon's future would be drowning in them.
Unique in all the world. He bit back remarks about the definition of individuality. He wasn't here as himself; he was here as a ransom for Martin's safety. It didn't matter how wrong Elias was, just that he had power over Martin, and by extension Jon. If Elias wanted a unique treasure, that's what Jon had to be.
Wearing the clothes Elias finally selected for him felt like he'd been flayed. There wasn't anything particularly offensive about them, but Jon hadn't truly changed clothes since leaving Daisy's cabin. Even in the blind spot he couldn't remember, he walked out wearing the same clothes he walked in with, just cleaner.
Elias smiled at Jon as he fussed at his cuffs and collar, feeling too stiff even though the clothes were technically only half a step more formal than what he wore to work. When Jon's hands finally started to settle, Elias said, "Kiss me." The light in his eyes as Jon jerked to face him betrayed that even if he really hadn't helped himself to Jon's earlier musings on the topic, he was well aware of the power he had over Jon. And completely unafraid to use it arbitrarily and cruelly.
Jon didn't dare disobey, but he moved slowly, unable to ignore the fear in his heart and unsure of how he ought to be interpreting the instruction, even though he was painfully sure that being too slow to act would enrage Elias into hurting Martin. He brought his face nearer Elias' clumsy with fear, but the moment their lips touched and Jon could well and truly be said to have initiated the kiss, Elias buried a hand in Jon's hair and bloodily deepened it. The kiss Elias initiated had been chaste and unremarkable, in a different context Jon might even have called it romantic. Elias took obedience as permission to kiss deep and demanding, all teeth and tongue.
When it was finally over enough for Jon to open his eyes without worrying about what Elias might do about the kiss being wrong or unenthusiastic, his mouth felt swollen and there were tears on his cheeks. Elias drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed a tear away, then went after the bloody saliva hanging from Jon's lower lip. He looked besotted all the while. An image unfolded in Jon's mind, Martin in the dim little cell, seated on a cot that wasn't there before and hair in frantic disarray. Jon's breath caught.
"Please," he forced from his chest, "will you at least let him know I'm alright?"
Elias' smile was sly, and Jon knew what he was choosing to offer Martin as proof of life. "Anything you ask." The promise was sealed with a kiss to Jon's cheek, drawn away into a smile that was somehow lovestruck and sadistic at the same time. Or maybe Jon was just reading in what he expected to see there.
Jon could read between the lines. He gathered his courage leaned into Elias' mouth for another kiss.
-
Elias never seemed to tire of leading Jon to a precipice and ordering him to jump. By words or implication, he was told to kiss, to touch, to allow himself to be touched and petted, to step into bathtubs, to step into beds. His pores felt clogged with Elias' touch.
It was impossible to keep track of time. The Panopticon seemed even worse for it than the rest of the world. Even the ability to gauge time by the frequency with which he felt compelled to make a Statement was robbed from him. The hunger didn't suffuse him like it did before, and he knew it was because he was his own object. Horror soaked into him more efficiently in the Panopticon, and his own fear supplemented it.
"Here," Elias said, handing Jon a silk scarf. It took dread and time to figure out what he wanted.
Jon's obedience was rewarded, though. Once the blindfold was on, Martin filled his vision. He had grown worn and tired from the stress of captivity, from the stress Jon put him through with his own error and complacency. It was a dizzy feeling, to be led forward by Elias' hands with a fixed perspective set before him.
The quality of ambient sound shifted, and Jon thought they were in the closet. He wasn't allowed to cheat around Elias' surprises and ask. "Undress."
Somehow, it was more humiliating to be forced out of his clothes with the blindfold on. His eyes smarted, and he tried to keep hold of his control. Martin was still before his eyes. This was for Martin.
"Put this on."
It took too long for Jon to piece together the reason for Martin's distant gaze, turning a bit sicker with every passing minute.
Elias ordered him into costume, then directed him around, through poses and actions. The movement of his blood cells wasn't allowed to exist unobserved, but the click of a camera made the ordeal worse anyway. He stood or knelt dutifully still as Elias styled and re-styled his hair for each outfit, swiped on and wiped off lipstick. He watched Martin. It was worth it to see Martin.
Jon flinched when something seemed to break in Martin and he shot to his feet. "Bastard."
Elias slapped Jon, not hard, and Jon hardly dared breathe as he cleaned up the line of lipstick the sudden movement had drawn over his cheek.
"Bastard," Martin said, sounding near tears. He started to pace. "Stop it, leave him alone."
Jon's breath caught, and somehow Elias' silence sounded satisfied.
Tears he'd been so good about locking away behind numbness started to soak the blindfold, knowing that everything he did was being shown to Martin, just as everything Martin did was shown to him. He didn't mind it when it was just Elias. It was hardly anything he hadn't seen before, and it was for Martin. It wasn't supposed to be for Martin.
He didn't know what Elias dressed him in, but he knew it all felt indecent. "Ah," Elias said, like something he'd been expecting happened. "You look lovely with a bit of color in your cheeks, Jon." Jon clenched his teeth and held back the pathetic whimpering that wanted to join the soaking blindfold and flaming blush.
Martin sat on his cot eventually. Jon couldn't keep from reacting to his anger, every time he spoke. He tried, but he felt so miserable it all seemed aimed at him. When Martin realized, he started murmuring with hardly a stop for air. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Jon, I'm sorry. I love you. You're so brave. I'm sorry, I love you."
Jon expected the words to force a stop to the ordeal or well and truly shatter the dam and leave him sobbing on the floor. He clung to as much of the facade of calm submission as he could. He didn't know what was in it for Elias. He hated mention of Martin in romantic connection to Jon's name. The fact that Jon was allowed Martin's reassurances and affection frightened him.
At the end, Elias paused so long Jon though he might have been abandoned, though he was too afraid to check by either mortal or eldritch means. He was back in normal clothes, or what passed for them with Elias. He didn't know if it was meant to be over or not.
Eventually, from somewhere in front of Jon, Elias said, "Kiss me."
He didn't offer any help. Jon had to nervously shuffle forward, arms out, and slide a hand up from Elias' shoulder to his face to meet his lips.
The camera clicked half a dozen times from somewhere to Jon's left, sitting somewhere with a timer.
-
The next day, or at least the next time Elias pulled Jon into bed with him for a few hours and then let him back up, Elias led him down the same stairs they came up.
The suite at the top of the Panopticon had been entirely sealed off since Jon had been brought up. Sometimes he was left somewhere and told to do something or not to move until Elias gave him permission, and he suspected that Elias was using these tests to go down to his office or wherever he felt like, but he wasn't sure. He hadn't even seen the stairs again, gone as soon as they arrived until Elias wanted them again.
Elias led him all the way down and out of the Panopticon, hands swinging between them with rigid attention being paid, on Jon's part, to holding Elias' without being too firm or too limp. His questions only elicited laughter, shining eyes and caresses. "Don't worry," Elias said. "Martin won't be bored."
Jon's voice was stolen with a brief view of Martin, seated on a real bed. The happiness of the small comfort after Martin spending so long with a cot identical to the one he used when he was living in the Archives what stolen by the tears in his eyes and the photo album in his lap. It was filled with pages and pages of photos of Jon, blindfolded and posed, on display. Martin set it aside and wiped at his eyes. The cover was a large picture of Elias, smiling expectantly with his hands behind his back, and Jon, hands on Elias' shoulder and face and leaning up to kiss him.
"Why?" Jon choked. The world stretched long and terrible before them. He'd half-forgotten the strange dusty scent of the places without their own overpowering odors hanging about.
"Why wouldn't I want to see my Archive in action up close? Lead the way."