It's Huckleberry Flavour

Chapter Three

WARNING!!! THIS CHAPTER IS A BIT TOUCHY WITH SOME READERS, SO IF YOU DON'T THINK YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT THEN DON'T READ IT. I'VE WARNED YOU. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT.

Arthur is binded to a chair, never feeling more closed off in his life. His breathing was as good as it could get, a rackety, uneven hiccup. He's still crying, why would he not? They had scrubbed him 'clean' before they set him in the chair. There more touches directed towards him than necessary. He feels more dirty than he had before. He's in a plain hospital gown that stays open in the back except for a few ties in case of easy access, the dirty men joked. He didn't like the jokes. They were not funny.

They hurt his pride more than anything.

He's ripped from his thoughts as there was a window he hadn't noticed before. Behind it stood Dr. Devoe, a devilish smile.
"Ah, you finally noticed," Came the smooth, dangerous voice," Oh, what's wrong? I know my men are a little on the touchy side, but its really not as bad as what I'm about to do to you."

A click echoed in the room, and the door where they had brought him in had opened again. There was more of them. Not the same ones, but the glint in their eyes told him he might as well just count this as just another 'experience'. They had strange equipment with them as well, which he stole multiple, long glances at. He assumed they were to set it up on his frail body.

They pulled the gown down to his dismay, earning a cry of dissaproval and disdain from his part.

"Stop it, you nasty tossers!" He cursed them out some more, trying in vain to curl in on himself. They continued to set up the machine, attaching plain little pads connected to wires of the equipment. Again, he felt the unwanted touches sliding against his body. Gripping his waist to 'keep him still', or sliding their hands across his chest or thighs. He wanted to vomit. He felt disgusting.

"Alright, lads, that's quite enough. You're done setting it up." The doctor walked into the blank, spacious room towards Arthur. The filthy men left him in disarray, his face contorted with fear and disgust. He looked up at the doctor with all the strength and anger he could offer.

"My, my, the boys seem to enjoy your cherubic innocence..." He chuckled darkly, while tapping lightly on Arthur's cheek.

"But we're getting sidetracked here, are we not? Let's begin."

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Percival cried, not only of pain, but for his brother.

He weakly pulled his restraints, not caring for the lacerations it caused him.

"Let me go, you bastards!" He shrieked in anger and sadness,"Let my brother go!" Eventually, he heard an unwelcomed click echo in the blank room. Three, tall men dressed in green like the last few made their way to his bedside. They began pressing him into the mattress, and loosening his bindings. He spat on one of them, seeming to be an almost completely different Percival.

The man rose slowly, a dark look passing through his feaures.

"Watch what you're doing, young lad." He growled, grabbing Percival's jaw painfully tight. Percival cried out in pain, grabbing weakly at the Constable's arm.

"L... Let go, please, I'm begging..." Percival scrambled for words, immediately regretting his actions as soon as it happened.

One of the other Constables smacked lightly at the angered man," Leave the lad be, wouldn't want the pretty boy all bruised because of little nuisances, eh? Wait until we can leave bruises for other reasons." Percival didn't quite understand what he'd meant, but all he knew was that it wasn't good.

They pulled him off the bed, easily throwing him over one of their shoulders. At this point, Percival decided to let it be. There was no point in fighting if it only ended in pain. They entered a rather warm, humid room. He could see condensation building on the tiled walls.

A shower room. Maybe he'd get some privacy to bathe alone. They dropped him down, Percival barely managing to stand on his own withough an arm around his waist. He rather it not be there, feeling too close.

IF THIS KIND OF THING UPSETS YOU, OR TRIGGERS YOU, READ WITH CAUTION OR SKIP IT. IT IS NOT NECESSARILY IMPORTANT TO THE STORY LINE.

"Strip," came the abridged response for, 'Strip so we can bathe you with freezing cold water and perverted touches.' He didn't like this one bit. Percival stayed still, no longer willing to listen.

Apparently, it wasn't a choice. One of the constables tore his plain, white clothes off with a strong yank. Percival let out a dissaproving warble of curses, trying to cover himself up.

"This is bullocks, I can't... bathe my-myself?" He squawked with embarrassment, trying to escape the grasp of the tall men. One grabbed him by the neck, pressing down until he slowly crumpled to the floor on his red knees. The hand lingered before releasing.

"Stay put. You had your chance to do this the easy way like your brother, but you didn't listen." One of the Constables said darkly, holding onto Percival's small arms, pressing them behind his back forcing him to sit straight.

"What do you mean..." Percival started thinking of Arthur in this situation. Poor Arthur... He had a tongue, that was for sure, but he had no muscle. Its not like he could fight off the disgusting touches. But neither did Percival, which he realized as soon as the showerhead above him sputtered to life with an almost too hot spray of steaming water. Hands immediately started 'scrubbing' him down with sponges, straying further off track than Percival wanted.

He felt dirtier than he was before this supposed bath. Percival wanted to scratch and itch his skin till he couldn't feel those touches anymore.

"Remember, Percy, Arthur." It was their mum. She sat them down for a serious talk. "If anyone, ever, ever, touches you where you don't want them to, don't be afraid to tell them off and get an adult. Promise?" Her look told them she meant business, so they nodded slowly, eyes wide open like little owlettes.

If only there were an adult responsible enough that he could run to right now.