Resurgence of the Fallen Commander

Episode 12

David’s voice intertwined with Evan’s, a convergence that felt oddly synchronistic, as if this truth was unassailable, more pressing and significant than anything else.

His gaze locked onto Hank, unflinching and direct.

As his scattered thoughts realigned with the path of societal norms, David confronted the issues he had deliberately sidestepped.

A beast on the brink of death will muster an unprecedented will to survive, and those saved, clinging to the slightest hope of life, even more so. The former unleashes defiance; the latter often bends its spine, enduring agonizing pain to persevere.

Some disdain such a transformation, viewing it with a subtle condescension despite understanding its universal significance, but in this isolated cabin, judgments from another world couldn’t reach them.

In this moral island, survival instincts were rational, and there lay a world markedly more merciless than any so-called "ideal" domain.

Here, David could impose his will upon Hank without breaking laws or norms, righteous and justified.

"I understand what you prefer," Hank whispered, his words heavy with an urgency that transcended their shared fantasy.

Hank had crawled from beneath the blankets, kneeling cold and uncaring of the pain from the unyielding floor beneath his knees—where David remembered a piercing wound that incapacitated him completely.

Hank, like a newborn or a figure from Greek mythology, embodied a living epitome of strength and beauty. Golden eyes, profound as deep pools, burned with a ruthless fire. Tormented and stained, the fall from grace left Hank cloaked in blood and muck—his beauty magnified by the raw allure of his suffering.

Believing he was granted a reprieve only to find deeper depths of hell, Hank sought survival through a bargain with the lord of his own abyss.

"Is this acceptable?" Hank’s voice rasped with near-desperate calmness. "Your pleasure, my survival."

There was finality in his proposition, a grim acceptance, as David reached out to touch soft white hair, sensing a shiver.

"No."

David's voice, light yet resolute, cut through as if it were a solemn vow. "I won’t exploit you."

Honesty dictated that David's attraction to Hank ignited at first sight—an allure persistent enough to compel him to bring Hank home. Yet, attraction was one thing; acting upon it was another entirely.

To impose his will on Hank to satisfy personal indulgence in exchange for survival resources was an abomination. It would strip him of his humanity, and David couldn't forget that fact about himself.

David frowned, his voice dropping with firm resolve. "No matter who or what I am, the words I spoke initially remain unchanged."

He nudged Hank's shoulder, urging him back to the warmth of the blankets. "Focus on recovering for now; we'll discuss anything else once you're better."

Recalling Evan's advice made David realize that healing was hardly a refusal.

"Bringing you back was impulse, pure and simple. I do like you, but not 'in that way’…”

David struggled to verbalize his feelings, groping for the right words. Mentioning wanting to 'raise a panda' felt absurd. "Let’s just be roommates. You can repay me with double the rent or something later."

Hank's world, enveloped in darkness, heard gentle tones touched with soft perplexity, devoid of arrogance or hysteria. The man's demeanor smoothed confrontational edges into peace.

Trusting this illusion felt naïve; Hank preferred the semblance of normalcy—anticipating abuse while revealing vulnerability.

"I'll play my role as a toy—for your entertainment," Hank forced a smile, like a server unskilled but earnest.

True to his word, Hank became the consummate actor; each blink and faux smile gradually more palatable.

"You can chain me to the bed, go about fulfilling your whims day or night. Dress me in ridiculous outfits; maybe you’d find it amusing to do so," Hank listed potential desires, presenting himself as if he were discounted merchandise near expiration.

Perhaps worse than that—unlike soon-to-expire goods that still required purchase, he was practically free.

Before David could respond, Hank, through gritted teeth, forced out, “I am willing.”

Yet David interpreted the words more as "I’m willing to defy you."

Hank continued speaking rapidly, as though pausing would unleash an unseen terror to devour him whole.

Fear and dread emanated, alarms triggered less by Hank’s past actions than by something inherently threatening about this environment’s isolation—a place where vulnerability is guised as insult.

David exhaled slowly, furrowing his brow as he tapped fingers against his knee. They couldn’t communicate like this.

Transformation of Hank’s mindset couldn’t be instantaneous. Forcing a once abused stray to trust a giant toy stick that resembled its tormentor's weapon was deeply unfair.

"Alright."

David interrupted Hank’s monotonous listing, carefully selecting his words.

"If we're going to play, you'll follow my orders, entertain me, and I’ll provide what you need."

David emphasized, “Follow my orders.”

"I dislike messy games. Kneel any longer till your knees bleed, and you’ll spend the night on the floor."

Settling back on the sofa, David nudged Hank's leg with his slipper-clad foot and lightly warned.

Hank’s lashes flickered, breath catching, arm tensing and then releasing, as if fluctuating between opposing forces.

David paused, the warmth from Hank’s skin and sturdy yet supple muscles prickling underfoot through the thin sole, curling his toes instinctively.

"...Yes." Hank's taut body complied, adjusting position amid the blankets. Muscles defined beneath taut skin, David lingered upon lines reminiscent of defense captured on footage—a reflexive coil, guarding vulnerable underbelly and life.

David’s eyes clouded, thumbs caressing thoughtfully, resisting the urge to ruffle Hank’s hair, opting instead for the warm milk now tepid.

Hank anticipated violence—a kick, an offense—but instead, David instructed gently, “Drink.”

His throat tightened as open lips poised; soon, the glass rim pressed against them.

“Drink the milk.”

…

Midnight pressed in as David turned toward his bedroom, blinds standing shut as relentless night settled. Hank remained where shadows lingered, the tension dissipating like a storm clearing the horizon—a fragile truce brokered in weary silence.

Observing Hank's tender vulnerability, David left, reluctant yet hopeful that perhaps tomorrow might bring clarity or new revelations. The digital glow flickered bright against insomniac eyes, tracing lines over unfamiliar landscapes of empathy he found strange yet promising.

David pondered long past night giving way to morning, determined that understanding would shape resolution into something tangible—beyond fear or hurt—a place where both he and Hank could build trust from wreckage.