Little Beast

Whumpee let out a shaky breath. A stray tear slipped down his cheek.

Whumper watched him for a long moment. His shoulders trembled beneath the oversized shirt, head bowed, fingers still pressed against his eyes.

Then something caught his attention.

A bead of water rolled off Whumpee's elbow and landed on the mattress with a soft pat.

Another drop followed.

"Uh... Whumps?" He leaned closer. "Are you... wet?"

The captive offered no explanation. He didn’t even lift his head. 

Whumper pinched the hem of Whumpee’s sleeve, squeezing it until beads of water dripped into his hand.

“The hell?” 

His confusion quickly curdled into irritation. “Are you fucking kidding me? I told you not to fuck around.”

He caught Whumpee by the front of his shirt, dragging him forward until their faces were inches apart. “I swear to god, if you pulled another--“

“I didn’t…” Whumpee interrupted. “I washed my clothes.”

He paused. "Oh." His grip loosened.

"Is that okay?" Whumpee asked softly.

The soggy fabric fell back into place.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"It's fine."

A strange pang of guilt settled in Whumper’s chest.

His gaze snagged on Whumpee’s neck, the mottled bruising dark against his pale skin. He didn’t comment on it as he silently turned to take a seat next to the shivering man on the small bed. 

The cot sagged beneath the added weight. Their thighs touched as the thin mattress bowed in, the rough denim of Whumper’s jeans rubbed against Whumpee’s cold, bare thigh. Whumper gathered up the thin, worn sheet bunched up behind them and threw it over the captive’s legs.

Whumpee’s heart raced. It would be the last time he ever sat on this bed, the last time he’d be in this room. This was how the last hours of his life would pass: bleak and claustrophobic.

Really, it wasn't much different from the life he'd already been living.

Even so, dread settled into his bones.

He couldn’t rid himself of the anxiety gnawing at every thought. Surviving a single minute of this day without breaking down felt like a small victory.

He didn’t cry or lash out, even as the man who would kill him draped his heavy arm over his cold, sagging shoulders.

Whumper’s hand tucked under the back of Whumpee’s sodden shirt, tracing along the ridges of his knobby spine.

“You seem pretty exhausted, huh.”

His response was barely above a whisper: “I am.”

“Yeah.” I’m tired too, he almost said, but thought better of it.

Whumper let out a yawn, removing his warmth to stretch his arms over his head. “Fuck, gah,” he winced. He smeared the back of his hand across his mouth, smothering another yawn.

He rested his back against the wall. “Goddamn…”

Ironic thing was, Whumpee had probably gotten more sleep than he had.

It had been a restless night. His hands were itchy and every inch of him reeked of bleach. His eyes were red and heavy from staring at the computer screen all night, burning from the lack of sleep. But preparations had to be made, and his partners were useless. Fucking typical.

Whumper sighed, leaning back onto the thin mattress. The darkness of the cell tempted him to rest his weary eyes. He allowed his heavy eyelids to close for one peaceful moment.

Whumper’s breathing sank deep and heavy. 

Just one moment of rest…

After about a minute, his hand fell limply onto Whumpee’s leg. His breathing turned deeper, into low, pulling drags.

Bile crept up in Whumpee’s throat as he tried to maintain his calm, but the killer dozing off next to him made him want to scream.

“What’s that smell?”

Whumpee jumped when Whumper suddenly shot up to his feet, scanning the room. 

“What is that?” He repeated. “It fuckin’ reeks in here.”

His gaze drifted to the corner, fixing on the rusty spigot that dripped in an endless, slow rhythm.

He knew what it was the moment he saw it— the shallow puddle by the drain, thickened with chunks that hadn’t washed through the metal grate. The acrid smell hung in the air, pungent and faintly sweet.

Whumper glanced back at Whumpee, this time noticing the faint blue-green vomit stain on his shirt.

Oh.

Cheap Mexican food was a pretty shitty last meal, now that he thought about it.

The larger man sighed, giving Whumpee’s shoulders a strong squeeze. “I guess you really did have a rough night.”

“Stop.” Whumpee pulled away, tossing the blanket to the side.

He draped his legs over the side of the bed, the bottoms of his feet pressing against the concrete floor.

“I don’t feel good.”

“Fuckin’ Taco Bell. My bad. I just thought that, y’know, baja blast was always my favorite...” he trailed off.

Whumpee’s fingers curled around the metal support bar under the mattress.

“...I thought I was your favorite.”

Whumper cracked a smile, teeth gleaming in the dim light as he chuckled to himself.

“I gotta ask you something.”

His smile dropped.

Whumpee let out a deep exhale, hunching forward and hugging his bare legs. “I have to know…”

“What?”

The captive hung his head, tangled blonde hair tumbling over his eyes. “On the cardboard, from the—ransom demand.” He swallowed hard at the bitter memory. “When you took those pictures of me. There was a phone number on it.”

Whumper’s eyebrows lifted. “… and?”

Whumper’s eyes blazed in the dim light, daring Whumpee to say something stupid.

“Did anybody… call?”

He sat up suddenly, voice brimming with desperation.

“Did anyone say anything at all?”

“Why?”

“I gotta know.”

“You don’t gotta know.” Irritation crept through his tone. But he backed off, sighing. “That’s not what you should be thinkin’ about right now.”

“What else should I think about?” His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet and dark. He’d been crying all night, he barely had energy left to press for answers.

“It’s the only thing I can think about.”

Whumpee’s pulse drummed in his hot ears. In his head a voice screamed at him to persist: Whumper said his ransom went public.

“Please.”

Someone out there knew he’d been taken. His coworkers. His parents. Caretaker.

“Please!”

Whumper rubbed his temple, annoyed.

“…please…”

Whumper’s thigh tapped against the other’s. He shook his head slowly.

“Knowing ain’t gonna change things, Whumps.”

“You’re… really not gonna tell me…?” Whumper noticed his breathing change. “Why can’t you…?”

“Sorry.” Whumper whispered. “I just can’t. Sorry.”

“Why does it…” Whumpee completely deflated. A gut-wrenching sob escaped his lips. “What’s it even matter?!”

Whumper huffed, looking away.

He wasn’t going to tell him. 

It wasn’t going to change anything.

His eyes drifted back to the raw marks circling Whumpee's neck. 

There’d be more before the day was over.

“Hey. Earlier you asked me if you were my favorite.”

“Yeah,” he said smoothly, swiping at the tears on Whumpee’s cheeks. “You are.”

“I’ll make this easy for you. But you have to let me.”

His eyes flicked to Whumpee’s knuckles, turning white as his grip tightened around the bed frame.

“Are you gonna put up a fight today?”

Whumpee exhaled, hands falling open.

“...no.”

“Good boy.”

Whumper tipped his head back.

Eyes heavy from exhaustion, Whumpee rolled onto his side.

“What’d you use? The goddamn sheets?”

Whumpee shook his head. His eyes dropped to his lap. Slowly, he drew his shaking hand from his pocket and opened his palm, revealing a tangled knot.

Whumper snatched it away. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“...my pants.” His voice was weak, and barely audible.

“That’s no good, Whumpee.”

Whumpee bowed his head.  “I know.”

“Pffft.” Whumper had to stifle his laughter. He walked over to Whumpee’s bed, dropping the Taco Bell bag on the floor as he leaned forward. “Let’s see the damage.”

He hooked two fingers into the shirt collar and yanked it down.

The flesh was dark where the cord had cut in, broken capillaries arranged in neat, crisscrossed lines over his throat.

A vein bulged above Whumper’s temple.

What a glorious fucking waste.

He drove both palms into Whumpee’s chest and followed the force down, climbing on top of him.

The back of Whumpee’s skull struck the metal bed frame where the pillow had fallen with a sharp, hollow clang. The sound flooded his ears, his vision exploding in stars.

“Do you know what you fucking did?”

Whumpee bucked and thrashed, arms flailing, trying to squirm free. Blind and desperate, he swung his fist, knuckles connecting with Whumper’s cheekbone.

It felt like a solid punch. But it didn’t slow him down. 

Whumper didn’t hesitate. One hand closed around both Whumpee’s wrists and drove them overhead, the mattress dipping under their weight.

“Damn it!” Whumpee cried, twisting, muscles screaming. “Get off—get off!”

Whumper’s other hand slid down, hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband.

“These’ve gotta go.”

“No—fuck—!” Whumpee shrieked. “Get off me!”

The sweatpants snagged around his ankles until Whumper tore them free with a sharp yank, balling the fabric in his fist.

“These,” he snapped, “are a fucking liability.”

He hurled them into the corner like garbage.

Whumpee lunged for the thin sheet at the foot of the bed and yanked it over his bare legs.

“I could’ve just taken them off,” he muttered, his voice scratchy and faint. “Asshole.”

“Should I take this away too?”

He ripped the billowy fabric away. Cold rushed in as it drifted to the floor.

“You wanna sleep naked tonight?”

Whumpee’s jaw tightened. “No,” he huffed.

“Good.”

Whumper stood back, finally getting out of Whumpee’s face.

He stood there a beat too long, breathing through his nose.

Fuck. He hoped the other couldn’t tell how exhausted he was.

“You emo little shit.”

He lowered himself onto the cot next to Whumpee, the cheap springs screaming. The denim of his jeans scraped against Whumpee’s bare leg as he reached out for the Taco Bell bag slumped on the floor.

Whumpee shivered and pulled his knees to his chest, edging away from the warmth of the other man’s legs.

“I just wanna go home,” he muttered into his knees. “I wanna leave.”

Whumper pawed through the soggy fast food bag.

“Don’t make me stay here.” Whumpee’s voice broke apart. “Please.. don’t make me… god…”

Whumper selected one of the cold tacos wrapped in thin, soggy paper and offered it to him. “Here. I think this one’s a Crunchwrap.” 

Whumpee stared back blankly, and blinked.

“No? There’s some other stuff in here too. Burritos, uh, some soft tacos and whatever. But, you know Mexican food. It’s all basically the same shit.”

Whumpee shook his head, but Whumper didn’t take no for an answer.

“The icee is a Baja blast."

He turned his face away.

“Don’t want anything.”

“I got all this shit so you could pig out, Whumps. It’s kind of a special day for you. Might as well enjoy it.”

“Whumper…” He started and stopped. 

“I know there’s…” It took everything he had not to break apart. “Some part of you that cares. Ah- about me.”

Whumper sighed.

“Not this.”

“Please,” his hollow voice shook. “Please, listen. If I get out of this, I-I want you to know, I won’t say anything.”

He munched on a cinnamon twist, the same texture as a styrofoam packing peanut. “I know you won’t.”

“Whumps.” Whumper exhaled, flicking the sugar off his fingers. “Even if I wanted to, there’s no way. Your ransom is too public.”

“I will never get you in trouble.” His ice cold hand clutched above Whumper’s elbow. “You’ve been kind to me.”

“Have I?”

His lips twisted into a slow, sharp smile.

“How ‘bout the time I beat you so hard you pissed yourself?”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes dropping. “That was a long time ago.”

“Don’t forget. You tried to kill yourself last night.”

“...I don’t care about that.” A tear streaked his cheek. “I mean it. I’d never tell anyone about you.”

“Mmn. So you say.” 

It was almost funny, how oblivious Whumpee was to the larger situation at hand.

Really, ending things would put both of them out of their misery.

His eyes traveled to Whumpee’s neck and he couldn’t resist anymore--

He wrapped his huge hands around him.

His fingers pressed down experimentally at first, his grip overlapping the bruises.

Whumper’s eyes shone with delight. Oh how he’d like to…

“Do it.”

Whumper’s nostrils flared as he drew in a powerful breath.

“Do it!!”

His hands squeezed down. 

Heat washed over him and the world narrowed. He felt the sinewy tunnel of Whumpee’s throat come pinched to a close in his grasp, the bruised flesh bulging between the gaps of his fingers.

He felt where the cartridge twisted into the muscle. All it took was a little more pressure…

Whumpee’s eyes rolled back.

He didn’t kick or claw. His hips bridged helplessly into the air.

Whumper let go.

Whumpee sagged forward, hacking, air rasping into his lungs with wheezy pulls. Coughing, he rubbed at the outside of his bruised throat. His hands stayed there defensively, limp and shaking.

Boneless, the frail man slid against the wall.

Their eyes met.

Six weeks of exhaustion, fear, and restraint passed between them in a single look.

It was almost done. The both understood, silently, that whatever twisted relationship they’d built together had finally met its brutal end. 

Soon they could both sleep.

Whumper was the first to speak.

“Here.” He fished around the inside of his jacket, pulling out a pen and folded piece of paper.

His voice was disarmingly gentle. “For your letter.”

Whumpee accepted the folded sheet of paper, tears flooding his eyes. Inhaling sharply, his voice scratched, “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah. So you can write your letter.” He got up off the cot and stood.

“You just got here.”

“Mm. I’ve got a lot of shit to do.” Whumper put the pen in Whumpee’s hand. “And you wanted to do this, remember?”

 Whumpee stared at the paper, then back at him.

“Are you coming back?”

“Sorry. I really can’t take any more of it.”

Whumper crossed the room to the door, scooping up the discarded sweat pants crumpled on the floor.

“I’ll leave the food. Eat something, okay.” 

“Please don’t go.”

He cracked one last smile. “You’re a sweet thing, Whumps.”

 “I’ll be back early,” he said, already turning away.

Whumper

I never get used to seeing you like this.

This isn’t your first time having something up your ass, is it? But it'll be the first time for real.

It's no fun if you don't fight back a little. C'mon Whumps, entertain me for a bit...

Did you actually just piss yourself?

Haha. Disgusting.

God damn it. Look what you did. You came all over my sweater.

How's my cock taste?

Fuck him until he screams, Caretaker, or I'll gut him like a fish.

You’re gonna endure every second of this. You’re gonna be awake and present--stop closing your eyes. Stop begging.

Are you actually resisting? Haha. Cute

You like it, I can tell. Too bad… now I have to make it hurt.

Yeah. That’s the face I wanted to see again.

Caretaker / Bad Caretaker

I wish you didn't do that.

You don’t need to worry yet. I’ll tell you when the pain’s coming.

I said... wider. If I feel your teeth again, I swear to god...

It's okay for you to have a crush on me. Just... don't make it my problem.

If you want things to go well for you, here’s a hint: do what I tell you.

Hey. You don't have to run away.

Shh.. if you hold still this won’t hurt as much.

This is what happens when you don't do as you’re told.

Why would you cry over something like this?

Lie back down, Whumpee. Seriously. I don't wanna have to make you.

I can't help it anymore.

You're really gonna keep resisting?

Crying's not gonna get you anywhere.