A/N: Okay, you know how my ego's usually so damn big? Well, even if you don't, my ego about this fic isn't as big as it is with the other ones, because… Well, I didn't write all of it! I co-wrote it with a fellow ChainShipper, jigsawl8n8, so she deserves half of the credit. And I'll take the other half. And I guess some of it should go to Leigh Whannell and James Wan and those guys, but… Let's say they didn't do anything for Saw!

A/N#2: Something you should know: This is a crossover between Saw and Kiss the Girls, in which movie Cary Elwes plays a very sexy and evil rapist. And in this fanfic, he meets Adam, who doesn't change, no matter what universe he's in! :)

Prologue: Some Guys Do Drugs

Completely quiet.

There are usually at least some noise. Some rattling with the chains, some pounding on the doors or the walls, sometimes two of them knocking gently on the walls, trying to come up with some sort of Morse code with the person in the cell next to them.

Trying to get contact. As if Lawrence didn't give them enough of that.

But now, it's completely quiet. That almost annoys him. Only the dull thumps from his boots against the floor are heard, and what's he supposed to do with that?

Thumps don't give him a high. Thumps don't remind him that he has all these people, grown men, in the palm of his hand, with more power over them than he'd have over his own children.

Thumps aren't the same as whimpers, sobs, incoherent squeals that no one hears but people that can't do anything about it, anyway.

And that thought fills Lawrence with a feeling that he doesn't want there. Because then, it's like he put this much effort into nothing, because it was that feeling, this very feeling he was trying to escape by doing this.

The feeling of having no impact.

And it worked. Now, he has more impact than most people, the presidents and those big-shot Wall Street-workers and those cops that are chasing after him, he's more powerful than they'll ever be. He got what he wanted. It's just that he forgets it sometimes.

And to remind himself of it, he has to walk up to the door closest to him, take the keys out of his pocket.

He likes to rattle the keys a little while they're in the lock. That makes them even more scared, that little needlepoint of fear will already be lightened when he walks through the door this way. He won't have to light it himself.

He can focus fully on his job.

But he doesn't think that right now. That part of this is analyzed by his subconscious, since the majority of his brain is so aroused by now that his fingers are stiff and moist when they put the keys back in his pocket, the doorknob almost slips in his hand when he grabs it and opens the door.

He's so young.

The man in the room can't be more than thirty, hell, he must be around twenty-five, young and fit, his tanned chest have gotten pale from a few weeks down here, and his eyes widen so much when the door opens that Lawrence can actually see his pupils retract.

The dull glistening when the light from the open door reflects on his handcuffs.

The dried blood from an earlier session that's seeped from the diagonal wound on his stomach, found a way in between the little hairs below his navel.

It's so beautiful.

So beautiful that Lawrence can't even be as slow and tentative as he'd like, but is at the young man's bedside within a few heated, blurry seconds.

Strokes his cheek roughly. The brown eyes shine up on him in the darkness, and Christ, Lawrence is so horny that the lips that part and says those words feel like someone else's.

"Say that I own you."

And the young man says it, but Lawrence doesn't really care. He doesn't even hear it past the roaring of blood in his ears, and he's taken the pocket knife out of his sleeve before the words have even left the mouth beneath him, quivering in horror.

…Yup, the guy's pure evil. But we know who can change that, don't we? (Wink wink) Anyway, please review!