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Room of Angels	By : HarlotOhara Category: S through Z > Saw (All) > Saw (All) Views: 2324 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Saw or any of the characters in this story, they are all owned by their respectful investors. I am not making profit off of this story; it was written for fun.

Chapter List
- 1-Room of Angels
- 1
It wasn’t that Dr. Lawrence Gordon was never happy a day in his life. He could still remember a time filled with pink iced cupcakes, playing on monkey bars at the park, and being given piggy back rides by his father as the sun began to set in Buffalo, New York. Those memories however, were simply overshadowed by the need for perfection that overwhelmed him as he began to grow up. The simple pleasure of life began to vanish under the pressure, university applications, grades, even the jealousy that built in him as he watched his roommates leave to party. No, Lawrence would have to stay in again because he would enter medical school if the world had to burn behind him.
Then, there was the posed enjoyment of the dates with the cheerleader, putting on a smile and acting as if he cared for her. They didn’t marry until he had Doctor in front of his name and he could afford the perfect ring for Alison, along with a wedding that cost him what little savings graduate school loans had left him. They truly enjoyed the first few years together and he was never more proud than to bring his own child into the world. That pride faded however, as he struggled to keep up the lifelong façade of perfection. He was seeing as many patients as his secretary could fill in for him, simply out of duty and urge to seem capable, though he found that he cared for each of them less and less. He talked to them with a hand on the doorknob, speaking with barely veiled apathy about their progressing cancer before he returned to a disenchanted wife and a daughter desperate for his attention.
“Daddy has to go to work, angel.” He would mutter when he reached for his pager at Diana’s birthday party, and he pretended that the doll house wrapped in pretty pink tissue and ribbons made up for his absence. “Daddy is busy, princess.” He would say in the early morning when he picked up his briefcase instead of her, doing his best to ignore her tear-filled eyes. He would buy her a new teddy bear on the way home and then he’d read her a book some other night, he told himself, and soon, someday soon, he would take her to the park. He would see her first ballet performance even if he couldn’t make it to the practices, but who really wanted their father at a practice? Wasn’t that what Alison was for, anyway?
Alison wasn’t worth much more these days, he felt, as she nagged him at every moment. “Come to bed!” She’d demand, “You’re spending too much time at work!” He’d shrug her off. This was how he paid for her to stay at home with no more difficult task than tanning herself, and how he kept his trophy wife as that. Why should he go to bed anyhow? She hadn’t offered him any reason in years; those lacey negligees had long since been lost and the struggle to keep their romance alive had vanished. He wondered though, that even if she had made that effort if he would have been able to work up the interest. He’d long grown disenchanted, not in her so much, as in life. Life was pushed through with a coldness that she must have seen in him now, past his mask of calm doting husband. That coldness was what was losing her, and pretend as he might have, he knew she would inevitably leave him.
That had been a year ago. Now, Dr. Gordon was at every dance practice, holding Alison’s hand tightly in his own as they waited for their daughter. Things had changed for the better, and though he woke up at night in a cold sweat, he had yet to be consumed by the fear. These days his wife was beside him in bed, and he was overcome by the appreciation that her gentle little hand still found his in sleep. He was overwhelmed with joy that every morning he could kiss Diana goodbye before the sun rose, tucking her tighter under the blankets. His patients he also treated differently, and though he had released many from his care, the ones who still remained were no longer nameless. Jon had made sure of that.
That was what made Lieutenant Hoffman hate the doctor so much. Along with that pretty boy blond hair that was still so meticulously kept, and that awkward crippled stumble so evident in Lawrence’s walk, there was now the complete lack of torment left in his soul. It wasn’t so long ago that the good doctor had been lying on the dirty floor, sobbing, shackled and trembling with fear; a patient of Jigsaw’s treatments. He had been so insufferable to Jigsaw before that day that seeing him seated beside the great genius now sent waves of rage through Mark. Dr. Gordon had somehow won Jon’s affections more quickly and surely than either Mark or Amanda could ever dream of.
It should have been Hoffman who was sitting to the right of Jigsaw, sipping coffee casually from one of Jon’s cups as if this were his real father. It should never have been the little Judas who sat beside him; the little whore may have repented but he was still dirty. Hoffman was the only messiah here, the only man who remained untested for lack of a sin. He was Jesus to Jigsaw’s God, yet he did the work of a grunt for barely a nod of encouragement while Dr. Gordon needed only to speak for that appreciative smile to appear on Jon’s face. Little whore knew how to play him, acting as if he really benefited from this mentor more than the rest of them. Perfect son; but he had already been handed all the pieces of his puzzle.
Hoffman wanted to make a point to Gordon; if he thought he needed guidance now, they would see how he felt when he had been broken again. If he wanted Jon as a father, he’d have to be made into the child.
That chance arose quickly as it wasn’t long before they were together, alone in the warehouse while Lawrence set up the items for a new surgery to be preformed. He treated these surgeries as any of his others, as if he hoped that the patients would survive the trails and he would be able to pat himself on the back again. Job well done, Dr. Gordon, Amiee doesn’t have drug twitches anymore now that she’s dug her own eye out with a spoon. He was checking the implements one by one, dropping them into a bowl of alcohol, silent and engrossed by the process. Clearly, he hadn’t learned everything if he had no questions to ask of Hoffman’s presence now and he worked with his back turned to the detective.
It remained clear that he wasn’t done learning when he was pushed down against the surgical so quickly; Hoffman’s grapple easily knocking him down. A steady trickle of blood ran down from where his mouth had struck the metal edge of the table a suiting start to their night, but still his free hand grabbed the detective’s testicals tightly in warning. So now they were both at a disadvantage; Gordon wasn’t quite as naïve to their rivalry as he had presumed. “Let me go, Mark.” Dr. Gordon demanded in his coolly collected tone and he tightened his hold painfully, swallowing back the blood that was filling his mouth. The detective grunted in response and pulled Lawrence’s head up before smashing it back down against the table. The world went black at Hoffman’s hands for the second time in the doctor’s life.
When Dr. Gordon came to he was looking into the eyes of the man who hated him more than anyone in the world, and he could feel his heart begin to race. “Let’s play a game, doctor.” Hoffman sneered down at him, patting the other man’s cheek in a mockingly tender motion and putting on his best Jigsaw impression. It didn’t take long for Lawrence to realize the vulnerability of his position; he had been shackled to the ground at his ankles, his wrists chained on either side of the table and he was laying down over the surgerical bed. There weren’t too many options to escape that he could find, though he did his best to try. “I didn’t do anything!” He growled to the other apprentice, trying to pull himself up as much as the shackles would allow.
He wasn’t sure what would make Mark so angry with him, or why he would choose to confront him like this. He did know how much more than the rest of them, Hoffman enjoyed the struggle of the game, and he had seen that sadistic pleasure in his eyes before. It was there again, and this time it was aimed at him. Lawrence tried to keep his breathe even, but he was fighting anger now. He had already played his game and he had come out grateful to be alive and repented of his sins. Mark was breaking all of the rules now, punishing him for no mistake and forcing him through another trial.
Hoffman slid a finger into Lawrence’s mouth, running it against the edge of smooth white teeth and enjoying the look of discomfort and hate that was reflected back at him. “If you bite me, I’ll take out each one of your teeth, one by one, with your very own tools.” He whispered, and he wondered how much the other man would cry as his teeth were torn from his mouth with the pliers that sat so close to them. The thought brought a wave of pleasure through him and he eagerly pushed another finger into Lawrence’s mouth as he spoke. “I know that you played your first game already, and you came out on top. I saw you crawl your way to Jon and cling to him like a little lost lamb.” He was moving his fingers back and forth, penetrating his partner’s mouth with a quickening vigor. Lawrence’s eyes were growing darker with his fury, and Hoffman barely removed his fingers in time for them to be fully intact.
“Do you really think that’s how you’re going to make along it in our world, Larry? You may have the claws of a tiger now, but I’ve seen you crying like a baby. I don’t think you should ever forget that moment that you realized you were a failure.” The detective said with a tone that betrayed his growing arousal; Lawrence’s heart was racing harder now. He spoke as calmly as he could, though there was evidence of his mixed emotions in the speed of his words his anger was mixing with fear. “I haven’t done anything wrong, Mark. You know that. You can’t do this to me!” He insisted, and Hoffman laughed as he began to untie the doctor’s tie, throwing it on the floor casually. “Why?” He asked mockingly, “Are you going to tell Jon what happened to you?”
Lawrence swallowed back what had begun of his fear; it was being replaced by that rage that he kept pushed so far back inside of him. He had always told himself that he was a good person, even when he had aided Jigsaw he told himself that he had done it to help the ‘patients’ appreciate their lives. Now he could feel that heat running through him and he snapped out the next reply. “No, Hoffman, because I’ll fuck you up.” The reply startled Mark, but he smiled with appreciation in response. That was an answer he would accept from one of the apprentices, though the confidence was misplaced. He removed a scalpel from its bowl as he contemplated that, and he slid it down the back of the other man’s shirt.
“That’s just the thing I should be hearing. It sounds like you’re learning already.” He said and when the scalpel came down against the other man’s skin, he barely heard the scream. It was the puzzle piece that should have been on the doctor, and he could feel his arousal growing at the threats. Lawrence had the anger in him, and the hate in him that it took to really play the game, but he knew it was the calm that Jon valued so much. It had taken so long to break this man, and seeing the rage fly out so quickly proved that he was not as perfect as Jigsaw seemed to think.
“It’s only fair, Lawrence.” Hoffman said of the cut, working the scalpel under the skin carefully to lift away the piece of the puzzle. The alcohol must have burned as it entered the wound because he could see it dribbling down from the soaked scalpel into the wound and as it entered, Lawrence trembled with every drop of it. “You really cheated us out of this when you finally played your part in the game. I wouldn’t have let you go, personally, but Jon just couldn’t say no to you when he saw what you did with that steam pipe.” Lawrence let out an angry and pained breathe; closing his eyes so he didn’t see the piece of his flesh fall to the ground in front of him.
“You’re not in charge, Mark. Jon chose for me to live because I won the game, because I learned my lesson!” He insisted, each breath that came now more forced than the one before it. Hoffman’s arousal was pressing against his partner, and he stood close enough behind Lawrence that he could feel it rising as he traced the line of the bloody wound with his finger. The doctor’s mouth had not stopped bleeding yet and a pool was forming under his face, encouraging him to believe that he had truly shattered his teeth. One of the detective’s hands was on his hips now and the other grasped his hair tightly. Lawrence gritted his throbbing teeth as he felt Hoffman bite his neck deeply , marking him as if he were truly the vampire he emulated. Hoffman’s tongue lapped at the blood that was trickling from the bite, and he tightened his hold on the blonde hair.
Mark rubbed his victim’s cheek back and forth against the hot red pool of blood as he spoke. “Oh, you’ll live through this, Larry. Just with the knowledge that you’re still. My. Bitch.” His hand tightened at the other man’s hips, leaving the bruising reminder of his fingerprints in their wake. Now he had began to touch the doctor gently, stroking that soft blonde hair that he hated so much, running his hand across the smooth cheek and feeling the lack of tears with despair. “This has never been about you,” Lawrence tried to convince the killer. “It was between Jon and I.” The only reply that Hoffman could muster was to bring his fist into the other man’s face. Blood spurted further across the table and Lawrence sobbed for breath past the blood. Lawrence never had considered himself to have been submissive to the punishment at Hoffman’s hands, never at Amanda’s mercy; it had only been in the scheme of Jon’s plan.
It had been Jon who had taught Lawrence to walk again, and Jon who had sat at his bed in those first nights and whispered away the nightmares. Amanda and Hoffman had only hovered in the darkness for those long days, trusted enough to be allowed this freedom. However, abandoned to their own endeavors; the detective had quickly learned how easily he could make the woman cry and how much he loved it. He had Lawrence in the same position now, and he picked up a bone saw from the table of medical items, moving it to sit in front of the other man. A tremble of nausea ran through the doctor; Hoffman could see that he had paled. Kneeling, he began to undo the prosthetic, looking over it with mock intrigue before he allowed it to drop onto the ground without ceremony. Dr. Gordon felt naked suddenly, felt broken, felt as if something important was missing…
Dr. Gordon could hear the heavy breathing behind him; Hoffman was aroused by the sudden change of aura and judging from the sounds he was stroking himself to full mast. His arms came around the other man’s waist then and he unbuckled his belt slowly, sliding it through the loops with a matching speed. When he had freed the belt, he wrapped it around the other man’s neck like a noose. Lawrence’s heart was raising and he tried to pull up from the shackles desperately, cursing that he himself had the key in his pocket just moments before this. His pants were on the ground then, and the leather noose tightened around his throat as Mark positioned himself against him. “I’m sure this is a game that you’re familiar with.” The detective smirked, and he pushed himself into the doctor.
Lawrence was reminded of reading about impalement as a torture as he felt the unlubricated cock being pushed inside of him; the process was slow and the pain he felt from it was like no other. It felt as if he was being beaten with a steal rod, first inside of him, then gradually in his stomach and his throat. Mark was panting hard behind him, free hand holding his hip tightly, fingernails digging into his hipbones hard enough that blood trickled down in warm thin lines. The noose offered an unintended mercy as it cut off his breathing enough that he was growing dizzy and couldn’t make out all the words that Detective Hoffman was growling at him. “Never…shown me….affection….you’re not even…never…love…”
Then there was air again and Lawrence gasped for breath, tears rising in his eyes from the sudden reflex. There was the pain again, intense as the first thrust had been but now quicker as the blood had sped the motions. Knowing that this violation would have to end soon, Dr. Gordon swallowed back his hurt; he had barely cried that day in the bathroom and he’d be damned if he would now. The tears that had fallen were only from the reaction to his breathing restriction, and not from shame or fear. This sick feeling in the pit of his stomach would vanish, this pain would leave him soon enough, and in the end it would be Hoffman who would burn in the pits of Hell. “I just wanted him to love me, and then you took that away!” The detective shouted, and Dr. Gordon’s heart stopped.
This was all over Jon’s affection, this was all over seeing Jigsaw as his mentor and respecting the treatments he had been given. He was being punished for success; his perfection had gotten the better of him once more. The pain was fleeing from him physically and there was that emotional numb, that sickness begging to be let back in. A tear trickled down his cheek and he rested his face against the surgical table, letting himself cry in silence as the assault continued. Within minutes Mark came, pulling out and releasing into his hand. He smeared the seed across Dr. Gordon’s face then, the anger and hate in his eyes now joined by a strange hurt. There had been tears of his own, judging by the streaks of dampness on his cheeks and that terrified Lawrence more. He had brought about unintended emotions in the apprentices, he had taken their place, he had fucked them all over…but he had never known!
Mark grabbed Lawrence’s face tightly, pushing him into a desperate and bruising kiss. There was a hint of possessiveness to the cruel affection now, one that Dr. Gordon wished would vanish from Hoffman’s heart. Pure hate would have been so much easier to accept than this sick game; this was something he would never know how to approach. “Don’t forget who inherits you.” Hoffman snarled, sure that he was to be the next Jigsaw and that Dr. Gordon would stay; mindless of whatever chances he would have of finding another family. He threw the key close enough for the doctor to struggle for, and as he left the room he turned off the light, leaving Dr. Gordon trapped and shackled in the darkness once more.
- 1
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Room of Angels