Work Header

My Fair Lady

Chapter Text

Stan heard how Craig was referring to him, speaking to Bebe and telling her that he was a woman and that he didn't know how to dress himself or act like a proper member of high society. He also raised his brows when Craig called him a Mistress... So, did that make him the Mistress of the house? The match to Craig as the Master? He decided to just keep listening, hoping maybe he could hear some more information and figure out what exactly was going on.

He didn't really know what vitamins were, he had heard they were good for you, so, that must have been what was in those vials... He guessed that wasn't too bad... Craig was a doctor, he wasn't going to do anything to hurt him... That would go against his ethics...

But those thoughts of Craig wanting what was best started to fly out of his mind when he was referred to as Leia again and told him he would be made into a proper woman.

He picked up a piece of toast and started to nibble on it. He was hungry, but, he had been scolded every single time he tried to eat normally, and, the corset was really restricting his appetite. He accessed the room and saw their was a window. Perhaps he could try and escape... He just had to build some strength up. Hopefully this time he would successfully be able to get away.

"Thank you Bebe, this is very good." The brunette said, flashing the maid a smile. "Just what I needed." He added, hoping Craig wasn't going to hurt the girl, she seemed so scared...

"I'm glad it pleases you, miss," Bebe replied, returning her mistress's smile. She glanced at the master, still feeling uneasy even though he seemed so calm. He'd been so serious about her orders, more serious than usual, and that was saying something. He'd always had an exacting, perfectionist way about him, and he expected the same from his staff. She'd been working for him for over five years and this truth had been ground into her: follow orders to the letter, or else. 

Sensing Bebe's uneasiness, Craig finished his tea before speaking.

"You can go and attend to your other duties now, Bebe," he said, setting the cup down. "I believe we'll be well enough on our own here. Oh,  and before I forget, you're to outfit her in the blue gown in the wardrobe tomorrow's on the far right. I was able to have at least one suitable garment made before your mistress decided to take an impromptu tour of the village on her own. Without permission, might I add."

Not sure how to respond to that, to anything related to this situation, really, Bebe merely nodded before she vacated the room. She threw one last curious look at her new mistress before shutting the door softly behind her.

"I dare say, you gave McCormick more excitement in one day than he's had in years," Craig commented, chuckling lightly. "It's not really part of his repertoire to track down wayward little girls."

"He is a very...strange man." Stan said, looking over at Craig when he mentioned McCormick. "Why is he missing an eye?" He decided to ask, taking a sip of his tea as he eyed the window in his peripheral vision. He had to make a run for it as soon as possible. He was still very weak from the drugs, but, that didn't matter. The longer he stayed here the more at risk he was putting himself in. He felt his eyes starting to close on him. He was still so tired from that strange drug Craig had given him. If Bebe wouldn't have woken him up, he would probably still be sleeping.

"Oh, it's just because he's quiet," Craig said, waving Stan's comment away. "Although, he has hinted at being a descendant of William Poole." He paused and leaned forward, smiling slowly. "Otherwise known as 'Bill the Butcher' in certain circles, but I imagine those involved in gangs tend to pick up colorful names in their line of work." 

Pouring himself some more tea, Craig dropped a lump of sugar into it before stirring the liquid slowly.

"I found McCormick half-dead several years ago," he continued, taking up the cup and blowing on it lightly. "In an alleyway while I was in New York City for a surgeon's convention. He'd been beaten almost beyond recognition, one of his eyes hanging by a thread." He grimaced at the memory; his manservant laid out on the dirty pavement as the blood spread out around him. 

"I took pity on him," he added, shrugging. "Perhaps it was the doctor in me, or maybe it was my last thread of humanity rearing its head, who can rightly say? At any rate, I gathered up that pitiful sack of a man and took him to the nearest hospital. I couldn't save his eye, but I saved his life, so I suppose the endeavor could be considered a success."

Reaching out, he brushed some crumbs from Stan's cheek, trying to be as tender as possible.

"Anyway, when he was cognizant enough to understand what was going on, he explained that he'd been jumped by a ruthless gang, the Dead Rabbits, over a money dispute or some such thing," he waved his hand, "and been left for dead. He was so grateful for my assistance that he pledged his allegiance to me, even though I told him it was unnecessary."

Finishing up his tea, Craig set the cup down and stood, looking down at Stan fondly. He was weary and needed to go to his study to be alone for a while. Conversation always tired him out; he was unaccustomed to them, nor was he usually so accepting of answering what he considered idle questions. 

"You should ask him to show you what's under that eye patch sometime," he teased. "It's horrifying, but it's fascinating, too; from a clinical standpoint."

"That's horrible!" Stan cried out, putting a hand over his mouth when he heard what had happened to McCormick, and, how he lost his eye. He was starting to understand why the frightening manservant was so loyal to Craig. He probably felt that he owed him his life, and, he had a feeling Craig would never let the man forget what he had done for him. Craig seemed like the kind of man who would hold anything he could over someone's head... That was why he needed to get away from him as fast as possible.

"N-No...I don't think I would want to see that..." Stan said, wincing a little at the thought of what was under McCormick's eye patch.

"How very demure of you," Craig laughed, patting Stan on the head. "See? You're acting like a proper lady already." Drawing away, he headed for the door, stopping as he settled his fingers on the handle.

"I'm going to retire for the evening, I think," he said, stifling a yawn behind his hand. "You should do the same, after you've finished your tea. I imagine you're still exhausted from your ordeal, and there's so many things we need to discuss tomorrow."

Opening the door, he glanced at Stan over his shoulder.

"I'll be interested to see how well you turn out with Bebe's assistance. Oh, and you must tell me if there's anything else you need with regards to your accommodations." Pointing to the vanity against the far wall, complete with a large circular mirror, he smiled. "I had McCormick bring in the bag your brought from home. Hopefully that will stave off any homesickness you might have." 

He was halfway out the door when he stopped, turning.

"And if you need Bebe just pull on the cord next to your bed. It will ring a bell in her quarters and she'll come to you." Sighing happily, he gave Stan one last look of tenderness. "Well, good night, and I hope you have sweet dreams. Maybe I'll be in them." He laughed before shutting the door behind himself, taking care to turn the key in the lock before retreating down the corridor toward his study.

Once Craig had left Stan slowly got out of the bed. He winced a little as he tried to keep steady, he still felt so lightheaded... Craig had been acting very sweet, but, it was an unnerving kindness, a kindness that at the root of it still had him pretending Stan was a woman. He took in a deep breath as he moved to lift the window up, letting out a small cry of pain as he did so, he was so weak...but he couldn't wait any longer... He just couldn't! He looked at his bag full of his mementos and sighed, he couldn't take those with him...they would just weigh him down. 

Crawling out the window was a chore, he use to be quite good at scaling walls, but, it seemed things had changed. As he descended to the manor grounds, he found himself losing his grip and falling, falling right into a muddy bush.

"Ahh!" He cried out, quickly putting a hand over his mouth to silence himself. He groaned as he tried to sit up, basically crawling at this point out of the mud. Glancing around, he saw the stables. Their was a man by them but he seemed preoccupied, he was smoking and reading a book. 

"M-My...leg..." He said softly, feeling a bruise already forming on the area he fell on. He started to crawl towards the stable, seeing a horse that was some what close to him. He had never ridden a horse before, but, he figured it couldn't be too hard, and, he would be able to get out of the Tucker Estate faster.

When he was sure the smoking man wasn't looking, he went to the hose and slowly tried to crawl on top of it. It had no saddle and he had no idea really what he was doing, but, he held onto the beast tightly and dug his heels into its side, letting out a cry as the white horse took off.

It wasn't until Craig had made it to his study that he started feeling off, though he couldn't place where his unease stemmed from. Stan had seemed tired, almost on the cusp of sleep even as he'd sat propped against the pillows and nibbling on a piece of toast, but still...

"Something isn't right here," he muttered, going to the wet bar and pouring himself some brandy. Taking a small sip, he held the liquor in his mouth as he opened the door and peered into the hall. As expected, McCormick was sitting on a chair while leafing through a Montgomery Ward catalog, having said at one point that he was rather taken with their selection of Bowie knives and various other weapons. He looked up when his employer presented himself.

"Sir?" He said, setting the book aside and standing.

"I'm probably being ridiculous but I'd like you to check in on Leia," Craig said, taking another sip of his brandy. "Just for my peace of mind, you understand."

"As you wish, sir." Without hesitation, McCormick was striding away toward Stan's room, cracking his knuckles on the way. Upon coming to the door, he was momentarily surprised to see the key jutting from the keyhole but he didn't dwell, twisting it instead and pushing the door open. 

"God-fucking-dammit!" He yelled when he was greeted with the sight of an empty bed and a wide open window; the curtains being blown back by chilled breezes. "Not again!"

Taking flight, he raced across the room and crawled through the window easily, taking a hold of the trellis and scaling it quickly. When he'd gotten close enough to the ground to jump down safely, he leapt away, neatly bypassing a decimated bush. He studied it for a split second; clearly, Stan had not had such a graceful landing. Glancing at the ground, he saw drag marks leading away toward the stables and he groaned, beginning to run again. On the way, he allowed himself the luxury of having thoughts he'd never speak aloud.

I'm going to snap his scrawny neck, he seethed, gritting his teeth. I swear to God, when I get my hands on him he's going to wish he'd never been born. I don't care if the master is taken with him - he isn't fucking worth all of this!

Coming upon the stables, he was met with Christophe, who was smoking and reading instead of tending to the horses like he was paid to do.

"The girl," he snapped, allowing some of his composure to slip. "Where the hell did she go? Tell me, now!"

Christophe or the Mole as he was known in some circles, looked up at the blond manservant and blew out some smoke. "Where do any of us really go?" He asked in a thick French accent. "We live, we die, we rot in the dirt." He mused, closing his book as he put the cigarette back in his mouth. His chestnut locks were rather messy but it didn't seem like he really cared. He was simply dressed in a pair of trousers, a white button up, and some suspenders. 

"I did, however, see the little bird fall from her nest." He said, pointing to the window. "She took quite a fall, then, she grabbed the white horse and took off down the road." He said simply, blowing out another puff of smoke. "I don't get paid enough to notice these things, you understand of course, when you do not have your head shoved up the Master's ass, oui?"

Rolling his eye, McCormick had to fight back the urge to knock Christophe into next week but he refrained, knowing that time was of the essence. Instead, he took the small amount of meaningful information in while weeding out the Frenchman's nonsensical philosophies. So, it would seem the little troublemaker stole a horse on top of all his other indiscretions? It sounded about right.

"Remind me to kill you later," McCormick sneered before running into the stable and retrieving a shiny black Arabian, the proud creature one of the master's fastest horses. He was temperamental, but so was McCormick, so he considered them a matched set. He climbed onto the horse swiftly, not bothering with a saddle and galloped away down the road.


Stan was actually feeling confident, like he was going to get away! He smiled and held onto the horse, letting it take him down the road. If he could just get into a town he could hide and hopefully he would never have to go back to the Tucker Estates ever again!

Of course things were going to well for the little brunette. It was starting to rain, causing the brunette's white nightgown to stick to his skin. He just shook it off, thinking that it would be better to be wet than to be in the hands of that doctor.

He smiled brightly as a town was coming into sight, well, until a crack of thunder echoed through the valley and spooked the horse, causing the white beast to throw Stan off of his back.

The brunette screamed and found himself hitting the ground rather hard. He put a hand to his head and noticed blood gushing from his forehead. Looking up he watched as the horse ran, ran away with his hopes and dreams.

It wasn't too long before the skies opened up and began pelting them with rain, the horse fighting him on occasion as they flew along the path. McCormick steadied the animal easily, holding onto its rough mane and nudging it with his knees, easing into the horse's rhythm as he tried to keep his rage in check. After some time, thunder rolled through the clouds above them and the horse almost sounded like he was shrieking but they kept moving, McCormick nearly blinded by the onslaught of rainfall.

He was almost beginning to feel fingers of panic crawling up his back when the horse rounded a stand of trees and there was Stan, lying on the ground and looking dazed, his nightgown decimated from rain and mud and -

"Jesus Christ, he's bleeding," McCormick said, stopping the horse and jumping off, taking care to soothe it before running over to Stan and kneeling beside him. There was an open gash on his forehead that was leaking blood furiously, the crimson streaks falling down his face, along his neck, and staining his neckline. He was disoriented and crying, but that didn't stop McCormick from taking a hold of his nightgown and yanking him forward, close to his face.

"You've run away for the last time, my girl," he said, his hand shaking from wanting to slap him so badly. "But I'm not the one you need to worry about...not when the master gets his hands on you."

Stan let a whimper escape his lips when he felt his nightgown grabbed and being yanked close to the face of Craig's loyal manservant. He didn't know what he did to anger God so, but, whatever he did, he was being punished for it right now. He had tried to run twice, both times he had failed. He was starting to feel like it was hopeless. He felt tears run down his cheeks, blood still running down his face from the gash on his forehead. He was so weak, so lightheaded, he just wanted to pass out...

"I-If I' much trouble...why don't you just leave me here to die?" Stan decided to ask, giving up and collapsing against McCormick. His breathing was shallow and his body was shivering from the cold rain.

"I would if I could," McCormick muttered, hefting the boy into his arms easily and carrying him over to the horse, which thankfully hadn't decided to run off like Stan's had; the beast nowhere in sight. Clenching his jaw, he managed to prop Stan on the horse before he swung up himself, holding the trembling, rain-drenched body close to his own. Turning the horse, he headed back for the manor at an easier pace, stopping at the stables on the way to return the creature and stick it to Christophe at the same time.

"Because you were unwilling to do your job, you now get to attend to this beast and go looking for the one that ran off somewhere," he said, cradling Stan in his arms while patting the horse's flank. "You wanted to know where any of us really go? Well, it looks like your ass is heading out into the rain to look for a needle in a haystack." He managed a smile, but it lacked any mirth. "Have fun with that."

Christophe kept his same apathetic expression on his face but sighed, stubbing out his cigarette. 

"Connard." He murmured in native language, looking up at the sky and shaking his head.

"The sky weeps for you Little Bird, it also weeps for me, I don't get paid enough for this merde." He grumbled, before taking one of the horses and taking off in the direction the brunette had ran off to.


The fire was crackling and throwing its light on the walls of Craig's study as he appraised the sorry situation he'd been saddled with: a disheveled, furious manservant holding a bleeding, nearly-unconscious Stan, both of them tracking mud and God knew what else onto his fine Oriental rug. Clenching his hand around his snifter of brandy, Craig could feel the first stirrings of anger building up in his belly, and he knew that what was about to happen was not going to be pleasant - at least, not for his wayward charge.

"Lay him on the davenport," he said, standing and coming around his large cherry wood desk. Taking another drink, he set his glass aside before slowly approaching Stan, the anger evolving into rage and bubbling inside of him, making his entire body tense up. It wasn't often that he allowed himself to feel anything strongly, but being crossed like this...well, it just wasn't done. He wouldn't accept it; he refused.

McCormick settled the boy on the couch as instructed and stepped back, watching impassively as Craig went to assess Stan's condition. He was silently glad that he was not on the receiving end of his employer's obvious fury, fury that might not be detectable to an outsider's perspective but he knew; the clenching of the jaw, the faint twitch of his eye. He was livid. McCormick had lived on the streets for several years and had run with gangs, but even the most ruthless of them did not compare to the doctor when he was in a passion.

"What happened?" Craig asked, lightly touching Stan's forehead. 

"Fell off a horse," the manservant replied, tone clipped. "I guess he hit his head on a rock. I didn't come upon him until after it had happened."

"Let me guess, the horse ran off, too?" Craig looked up sharply, his eyes flashing. "Don't tell me it was my Arabian."

"No, but don't worry, sir; I sent Christophe to fetch the creature."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Craig snorted, standing and going to retrieve his black doctor's bag. "That frog is lucky that he can tell the difference between a horse's muzzle and its croup. But, no matter, he's going to need sutures." He opened the case and began withdrawing the necessary tools: black thread, a large needle, a small bottle of iodine. He held up the latter.

"It's newfangled and not necessarily widely accepted for sterilization yet, but we'll see how it works, won't we?" He held the needle over a candle to sterilize it before threading it. He glanced at Stan and smirked. "Ordinarily, I'd use ether before beginning my work, but I don't feel you deserve it in this instance. Wouldn't you agree?" 

Methodically, he rubbed some of the pungent iodine on Stan's skin after he'd cleaned the area with warm water and a little soap; he looked at McCormick.

"Hold him," he said, holding up the needle. "If need be, give him your handkerchief to bite need to upset the entire household with his screams once I start."

Stan was shaking like a leaf when Craig mentioned he wasn't going to use ether to dull the pain. He started to cry when he saw the needle. It was so big, so sharp... He clenched his eyes shut and knew their was no getting away from this. If he didn't get stitches he would bleed out and die, but, Craig was going to make it as painful as possible.

Feeling the needle start to pierce his skin the brunette started to scream bloody murder. God! It felt as though his flesh was being ripped from his body. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he found a piece of fabric shoved in his mouth to silence his screams of pain.

He kicked his legs and clenched his hands, screaming as loud as he could, though, it came out muffled thanks to the cloth.

"Shh, it'll be over soon enough," Craig said softly as he made quick work of the wound, his deft fingers passing the needle through Stan's skin and cinching it closed. He tsked while ignoring Stan's muffled shrieks and groans, annoyed by the potential of an ugly scar marring his skin. "We'll just have Bebe apply vitamin E oil to your forehead every morning," he added, continuing on with his needle; leaving a trail of ugly black knots across Stan's forehead. He looked up at McCormick, his expression wry.

"Listen to him go on," he commented. "You didn't make half as much of a fuss when I found you in that alley."

"Crying never helped anyone, sir," McCormick replied, holding Stan as he thrashed. "I learned that the hard way."

"Haven't we all?" Craig asked, tying off the thread and snipping it. Sitting back on his heels, he appraised his handiwork. "Well, it looks hideous, but you only have yourself to blame, don't you?"

Stan had never been so relieved when he felt the needle pull away from his flesh. It had hurt so bad, he didn't know if he had ever experienced anything so painful before! Tears were still running down his cheeks as he felt the cloth taken out of his mouth. A whimper escaped and then a sob, he was still crying, he just couldn't help it!

"I-I'm...sorry..." He decided to say, hoping that might spare him from further pain. He felt his body shaking a bit as he looked up into the cold grey eyes of the doctor. " more...want to sleep..." He begged. 

"Oh, no. No, we won't be going to bed yet," Craig said, shaking his head, almost with regret, but not quite. "I was tired, but you decided to -" he stopped, looking up at McCormick.

"The door was locked, how the hell did he..." trailing off, understanding ignited in his mind. "The window, I should've known. Well, I guess I'm partially to blame for not thinking of everything. I just thought you could actually behave like a good girl; silly me, hmm?" Sighing, he stood and began putting his things away. He went to a small washroom attached to his study and rinsed his hands; drying them on the rolling towel.

"McCormick, secure all of the access points in Leia's room. This foolishness needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. It's doing nothing for my sanity."

"As you wish, sir," McCormick replied, glaring at Stan for a moment before snapping back to his usual stoic demeanor. "I'll handle it first thing in the morning."

"Good," Craig said, rubbing his hands together. "Now, how are we to punish such a naughty girl?" He cocked an eyebrow at his manservant. "How were you corrected as a child, McCormick? You've never really told me much of your youth."

The servant shrugged, his tone nonchalant when he answered.

"My father had a habit of putting out lit cigars on my back, and my mother was very able with a cane -"

"No, no, that won't do," Craig said, waving his hand. "Good Lord, I don't want to disable him, I just want to send a message."

"If I may make a suggestion, sir?" McCormick spoke up, surprising his employer; he very rarely spoke out of turn. Craig nodded, waiting.

"Well, most children are spanked, aren't they? Isn't that the way of things in civilized households?"

Rubbing his chin, Craig considered this while eyeing the exhausted figure on the couch, head slumped to the side as the firelight glowed on his face. Suddenly, he smiled, his mind filled with excitement at the notion.

"Yes, a spanking, that's perfect," he said, snapping his fingers. "But not with my hand, no; that won't be enough." Smacking his forehead lightly, he groaned. "Of course, why didn't I think of this sooner?" 

Smoothly, he began unbuckling his belt, the soft leather hissing as it passed through the loops of his slacks. He held it up for Stan to see.

"You may step out of the room, McCormick," he smiled, advancing on Stan. "This is going to involve parts of Leia's anatomy that I don't wish you to see."

"Yes, sir," the manservant replied, quickly retreating from the room, closing the door softly.

Sitting down, Craig watched Stan for a moment before he quickly reached out and took a hold of his wrist, pulling him toward him. Very soon, Stan was settled across Craig's lap, and he was yanking up his nightgown to expose his pale, naked backside.

"This will teach you to be naughty," he purred, raising the belt high into the air, his mouth watering at the sight of so much tantalizing flesh; on display just for him.

Stan screamed in pain when he felt the belt snap against his skin. It stung like hell and Craig had quite the arm on him. He was never beaten, even as a child, his parents thought punishment like that was cruel. Tears started to run down his cheeks again as he tried to wiggle off of Craig's lap.

"I'm sorry!" He cried out, almost sounding hysterical as he sobbed from the pain. This coupled with the injury to his forehead was almost too much "Please stop! Please!" He begged, letting another scream escape his lips as the belt was brought down on his bare backside again. "I won' it again...I won't!" He promised. It almost felt like their was no hope even thinking about escaping again. He couldn't do it... It was like a supernatural force was preventing him from running away.

"Your words don't mean anything to me at this point," Craig replied, continuing to strike Stan with the belt until his ass was a pretty shade of rose red, the round cheeks warm when he caressed a hand over them; nearly shuddering. "Your actions have proven that you can't be trusted, so until I've seen for myself that you can behave, I'll punish you like this every time you cross me."

Rearing back, his words were punctuated when he brought down the belt now:

"Every. Single. Time."

It wasn't until Stan's shrieks became almost deafening that Craig finally threw the belt aside and dragged him to his chest, the gasping boy cradled in his lap as he held him close; hugging him as he kissed his cheek, his neck, his throat. Craig was breathing heavily now as he tried to let the rage go, but it was so hard...he just wanted to take care of Stan. True, his methods were unorthodox and even he could admit that they were selfish, but being here with him had to be better than living in squalor; it had to be!

"Why do you keep running? I want to make sure you're comfortable, I want to dress you in pretty things and make sure you're waited on hand and foot," Craig said, clenching his hands in Stan's sodden nightgown. "I never want you to go without ever again...I'll make sure you live in luxury for the rest of your life. I'll be kind to you if you can just stay by my side."

He pulled away, studying Stan's face.

"Is it so hard to accept that I might be able to love you in some capacity; in my own way? Even if it isn't what you expected? Isn't there something about me you might come to like someday?"

Stan’s screams started to die when Craig took the belt away, throwing it to the ground. He let out a sigh of relief and felt his cheeks moist with tears. 

"I'm afraid of you..." He admitted, his voice trembling as he spoke. "I don't know what you are going to do to me...I don't know why you want me to be a girl... I'm not a girl...I must look foolish dressed like one..." Stan admitted, tears silently running down his cheeks still. "I've never had anything like this...I'm afraid it will all come with a price that is too much for me..."

"Why...would you want to love me? I don't understand. Am I your charge...your servant...or something else?" He asked softly.  He really wanted to know what was going inside of Craig's head, though, he was afraid to get an answer. He had a feeling a darkness surrounded Craig in his heart and his mind.

"A little fear is a good thing, trust me," Craig said, beginning to rock Stan back and forth; not wanting to let him go. If anything, he wanted to pull him into his bed and have his way with him, but he knew the time for that hadn't come. He'd have to wait, even though it would be agonizing. "Fear breeds respect, don't you think? Eventually, I want you to respect me."

Reluctantly, he helped Stan stand so he was before him, his eyes falling over him in his shattered state: the threads in his skin, the blood and dirt staining his nightgown, the droplets of rain clinging to his hair; the dampness of the cloth sticking to his skin, so saturated it was transparent. Unable to help himself, Craig slid his hands over Stan's waist and pulled him close, resting his forehead against him, breathing in the vague scents of sweet talcum beneath the earth and metallic notes from the blood.

"You don't look foolish at all," he said, rubbing his cheek against Stan now while shutting his eyes. "You look beautiful...I didn't realize you were just what I wanted until I saw you for the first time. I stepped out of the carriage and there you were, your face dirty, but in the sunlight it was almost like I was seeing a vision. I don't know just seemed like someone I could try to love; maybe I'll actually succeed."

Lifting the nightgown slowly, Craig exposed Stan's pale thighs, his private parts, his abdomen. Holding the material up, he kissed along Stan's belly, even though it was still swathed in the corset. God, if only he could kiss him without any kind of barriers! Dragging a hand down, he clutched at Stan's thigh, squeezing it.

"You aren't my servant, and while I want to take care of you, you aren't my charge," he whispered, standing while running his hands over Stan's flesh. Throwing caution to the wind, he drew him close and before he could stop himself, he was kissing Stan's mouth deeply; his tongue slipping between his lips and tasting him.

"You're my mistress," he said softly next to Stan's ear, marveling at how sweet he'd tasted. "I want you to be mine, in a place where I can help you realize your full potential."

Stan felt his blue eyes go wide when he felt Craig kiss him, slipping a warm tongue in. He didn't know what to do, and even more so, he didn't like that he liked it... He took in a deep breath as he felt his nightgown lifted up and his body exposed. After a few moments he closed his eyes, accepting the kiss the doctor was giving him. He hadn't ever had anything like this before. Sure, he had been sucked off once or twice by Red, but, that was it. Never had he been kissed so passionately, have someone whisper into his ear, run their hands over his body. He knew he couldn't trust Doctor Tucker, but now, it was going to be even harder... How could he accept the kiss of a man who had just beat him black and blue and stitched up his head with no ether.

When Craig pulled away Stan still felt his breath caught in his throat.

"M-Mistress?" He managed to say. "Full potential? What do those mean?" He asked softly, his body betraying him and starting to relax into Craig's embrace.

"You'll understand in time, dear, but for now it's so late," Craig said, laying more kisses along Stan's clavicle, his body pressed to the diminutive figure in the ruined frock. He could also tell that the boy was slowly but surely sinking into the sensation of being held and kissed, so they were already making progress. He smiled while pressing another soft kiss against Stan's sweet-flavored mouth.

"You're so tired, I can tell." Gently, Craig leaned down and pulled Stan into his arms, cradling him. "Rest your head against my shoulder, darling; I'll carry you back to your room and stay with you until you've fallen asleep."

Moments later, they were back in Stan's suite and Craig lay him on the bed before going around the room and locking all the windows. 

"I know it's useless, it's not like they're chained or anything, but at least the room will be warmer," he said, shrugging. "Here, let's get you washed up. I should have Bebe doing this but given the night's circumstances, I feel the need to be close to you."

Handling Stan as gently as possible, Craig slipped the ruined nightgown from his body before wiping him down with a warm washcloth. He even combed his hair until all the tangles were gone, and applied a soothing cream to the boy's reddened, puffy buttocks.

"We'll give you more aspirin before you nod off," he promised, sliding a fresh nightgown over Stan's head. Going to the bed, he pulled back the covers and patted the mattress. "Come," he said, beckoning with his hand. "Rest for a while. You don't need to worry about something happening...I'll just stay here until I'm sure you'll be fine."

Stan couldn't help but let a small moan escape his lips when Craig kissed him again. How could someone be so brutal with you one moment and then so tender then next? He did as he was told, resting against Craig as he was brought back to his room. He was so tired, so sore, he could barely walk on his own. 

He allowed the doctor to gently clean him, rubbing off the dirt and the blood that were covering his body. He was surprised Craig was still giving him that tender touch, the man even combed his tangled black locks and put something on his behind to help with the swelling. 

"T-Thank you..." He said softly, feeling a new frilly nightgown put over his form before given another aspirin to help with the pain. He gladly took it and moved to sip some water to wash the pill down.

"O-Okay..." Stan said, still sounding apprehensive about being so close to a man who had beaten him, now, he was going to have to sleep with him.

Lay with the devil it seemed.