Enter the Void

The instant reality crashed into his thoughts, tears began to seep from his eyes. Jonah clutched Sawyer’s leg and cried, shuddering and burying his face in the fabric of the other man’s trousers. He wished he could clip right through the ship's wooden walls and disappear into the water beyond the porthole. 

Sawyer groaned, roused by the sounds of muffled sobbing. His wrist chains clanked as he instinctively tried to pull his arms down. He grunted when he failed and met only the cold bite of the metal that kept his arms locked to the bars above his head. He hissed in pain as he raised his gaze. Sawyer flexed his head from side to side, trying to stretch the soreness from his neck when his attention met the quivering boy in his lap. 

“Hey– kid. Hey kid, what’s wrong?”

“Oh god, oh god oh godohgod—” Jonah whimpered, fingers twisting and balling up in the cloth between them.

“Hey,” Sawyer said, a little firmer this time. “Tell me what the fuck’s wrong.”

“I forgot— I can’t believe I forgot..” Jonah wailed, his words muffled against the fabric of Sawyer’s pants. “They’re— They’re gonna b-brand me t-today.” 

Sawyer closed his eyes, and after a beat of heavy silence, he let out a deep sigh. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, kid,” he said, his voice full of what sounded like genuine regret. 

“I—,” Jonah inhaled sharply as another sob wracked his body. “I d-don’t know how, how t-to get out, out of this— I—” 

Jonah hiccupped. He slowly raised his head, suddenly aware that he was embarrassing himself by breaking down like this, but then his vision aligned with the brand on Sawyer’s chest, peeking out above the wrapped gauze on the young man’s torso, and he broke down all over again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into Sawyer’s bandages.

“I.. I don’t know if there is a way,” Sawyer said, his voice low, gentle but dismayed, like he longed for a way to help. Alas, he was chained by the ankles and the wrists, in an even more helpless position than Jonah himself. 

Jonah blinked his wet eyelids open and brought a hand to the surface of Sawyer’s brand. He traced his fingertip along the curled tail of the siren. Sawyer shivered ever so slightly, but let the boy touch his chest anyway, let him trail his fingers above the hem of the gauze. 

The mark still looked so red and angry, despite how old it was—raised and delicate and furious and violent. Jonah couldn’t help but remember how painful his branding with Carlisle had been. His hands trembled and he clutched Sawyer’s back with his other arm. The gesture forced a pained gasp from Sawyer’s lips, but Jonah didn’t notice it through his own sharp, unsteady breathing. 

Though the boy’s grip squeezed right up against his still-healing lashes, Sawyer didn’t ask him to let go. Perhaps he felt it was the least he could do, in the early blue glow of that fateful morning, to provide Jonah some tiny scrap of solace. He found himself a touch dismayed that he didn’t have use of his arms to wrap around the boy. It was a strange instinct, one unfamiliar to Sawyer, but he felt it nonetheless. Instead, Sawyer bent his knees slightly to cradle Jonah’s trembling form. He didn’t want to think too hard of how fond the gesture might seem to outside eyes, but fuck, he wasn’t completely heartless. The poor kid was in shambles.

“Come ‘ere, kid,” Sawyer said, keeping his voice as soft as he could manage. Jonah didn’t even seem to register how unlike Sawyer’s typical nature this really was, he was too preoccupied crying into the young man’s bandaged chest. Sawyer felt truly bad for the kid—he knew how it was. He’d been in the same position for two fucking years. He knew from Jonah’s ridiculously skimpy outfit that the Captain had taken him to his bed chambers the previous night, even if Jonah hadn’t mentioned it. Sawyer knew how it felt, being fucked and used against his will, being forced to please the Captain or the crew under the threat of further torture. He remembered how hellish his own branding had been—he remembered it like it was yesterday, despite the years he’d had to forget. He knew he never would. The memory—the feeling—would haunt him for all his living days. Jonah was in the same position. He hadn’t wanted any of this either.

They sat like that for a while, huddled in the sapphire glow beneath the waves, the silence between them only punctuated by Jonah’s muffled sobs and sharp, uneven breaths. Finally, Sawyer spoke once more.

“Look, it’s.. It’s gonna fucking suck. It always fucking sucks.” He wasn’t sure if he was helping, but his rambling thoughts were spilling from his lips now, and he let it happen, hoping something would land in Jonah’s mind as comforting. 

“You.. I know you know what it’s like. I know you do. We.. We both do.” Sawyer paused for a moment, clumsy in his attempt at reassurance—a muscle he hadn’t built. Jonah hiccuped against his chest. Sawyer felt like he was talking in circles, repeating himself, so he said the only thing that he thought might mean anything. 

“I’m sorry, kid. Fuck.” 

Sawyer wished he wasn’t so utterly fucking useless in this situation, but he could do nothing but twist his wrists in their handcuffs and hold Jonah with his legs as the boy wept in his lap. Their embrace was awkward, made inelegant by Sawyer's restrained position, but the two boys sat there and let the weight of fate hang over them—Jonah’s own sentence, and the one they shared here, together. 

The swirling currents beyond the brig caused the blue light to waver and flicker as if cast through a kaleidoscope, and they let the seconds pass, huddled together in matching ankle cuffs, soon to have matching brands. 

༻✦༺ 

Jonah was still crying when the door finally creaked open. Jaxon stepped through the threshold, keys jingling from his outstretched hand. 

“Big day for you, eh puppy?” Jaxon called as he crossed the room to the iron cage. 

Jonah sniffed, trying to stifle his crying and pressing his face into Sawyer’s bandaged stomach. 

“My god, look at you two!” The mockery in Jaxon’s tone gave away that awful sneer on his face, even if Jonah refused to look up at him. “Little fuckin’ slut, already cuddling up to the mutt, are you?”

“Fuck off, Jaxon.” Sawyer snapped. 

“Aww,” Jaxon chided, unfazed. “I’d love to leave you both in here all day so I wouldn't have to fuckin’ deal with either of you, believe me. But I’ve got orders, you know.” 

Sawyer said nothing, just stared Jaxon down with a burning hatred in his glare. Jonah hid his face with his hands and balled himself up in Sawyer’s lap as small as he could manage. The instinct to curl up and hope to disappear didn't escape him, even now. His doomed fate loomed over him like an executioner's blade, as horrifying and inevitable as the promise of death itself.

“You little lovebirds had fun in here last night, I take it?” Jaxon sneered, unlocking the cell door. 

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” Sawyer retorted, and Jaxon didn’t miss a beat—his face twisted, and he abruptly stepped forward and kicked Sawyer hard across the face. Sawyer gasped sharply and his head snapped to the side. He reeled at the force of the blow, groaning in pain as it reverberated through his skull, but he didn’t say anything more. Jaxon smirked to himself, satisfied he’d managed to silence the prisoner, at least for the time being. 

Shocked by the sudden outburst, Jonah scrambled back off of Sawyer to press himself into the corner of the cell. Surely, if he just made himself small enough, the violence couldn’t reach him. If he shrunk down into a tiny pinpoint, Jaxon wouldn’t be able to grab him and haul him out of here. 

“Up, mutt,” Jaxon ordered, when Sawyer’s hands were unchained from the bars. Sawyer groaned again and stretched his shoulders, sore and stiff from being locked over his head all night. He grunted in irritation but stood nonetheless, rubbing at his sore cheekbone in the spot where Jaxon’s boot had made contact. 

“You too, puppy,” Jaxon warned. “Don’t make me drag your arse out of there.” 

“No— No wait, please—” Jonah begged, his head spinning with dread. “Don't do this, please! Y-you don’t have to do this!’ 

Jaxon just laughed. “‘Fraid it's not up to me, now is it, pup!” he said, sounding delighted to be the one sending Jonah to such a painful destination.

After a moment so tense the air seemed to crackle, Jaxon’s patience withered entirely. 

“Mutt, grab him, would you?”

“Fuck you. Grab him yourself,” Sawyer shot back.

Jaxon hurled a fist for Sawyer’s face, colliding his knuckles against the same cheekbone he’d just kicked. Sawyer cried out as his head snapped to the side, and the force of the blow sent him stumbling back along the wooden floor of the cell. He braced himself against the iron bars and clutched his face, willing his head to stop fucking spinning. 

“I said, fucking grab him,” Jaxon hissed, his voice thick with pure venom. 

“Fuck— Fine, Jesus—” Sawyer relented, still breathless from the second attack. When his vision wasn’t wavering so badly, Sawyer approached Jonah, who still huddled in a terrified, shaking ball in the corner. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, remorse and resignation weighing down his words as he reached for Jonah’s wrist. Jonah didn’t pull away, but Sawyer did have to physically drag him up into a standing position. Jonah just cried, stuffing the fabric of the cloak over his mouth as Sawyer led him out of the room to follow Jaxon out to the upper deck. 

༻✦༺

Jonah squinted as he was led up the staircase into the bright sunlight. Dawn crested over the horizon, casting dazzling yellow beams across the deck and drawing harsh shadows beneath the tall masts that bisected the ship’s wooden surface. 

Jonah hissed against the sudden, piercing light, only to be met with a matching onslaught of noise. The crew had gathered in a large semicircle around some sort of portable furnace—coal burned a brilliant orange in its lower chamber. A grisled man with thick forearms held a long iron rod, pointing the end down into the furnace’s heat. 

Jaxon ripped the dark cloak from Jonah’s shoulders, revealing the silky blue slip-dress that barely clung to his form. The crowd of sailors erupted—they jeered and hollered at Jonah with a fervent vigor as he was dragged towards the center of the gathering. The men whistled, barking catcalls and slurs at him while Jaxon led him across the deck. 

Captain Vale stood before the crowd, a confident smile on his face. Voss stood behind him with arms crossed, his expression an impassive scowl that dared any of the men to take a step out of place. It was the glare of a fierce guard dog, ready to pounce—a look that said, ‘don’t any of you dare touch what is not yours,’ and it was felt by all those who gathered around on the deck that morning. 

Miraculously, the crew managed to keep their hands to themselves as Jonah passed them by. The boy was squirming in Jaxon’s grasp, desperate to avoid the scene. He missed the brig so terribly now. The crew’s fervor rose, proverbial foam gathering into their mouths—they cast hungry eyes upon the young slave, eager to watch the spectacle that was about to unfold. 

Jonah cried the whole time he was led up to the Captain and that furnace that burned beside him, trying and failing to stifle his sobs as the sailors taunted him. 

“Look at him!” 

“Captain’s teasin’ us, showing the whore off like that when we can't even touch him yet!”

“”He’s already cryin’! Pain ‘asn’t even started!” 

“Imagine how ‘e’ll sound once the burnin’ starts up!”

Jonah, in a desperate act, blinked through blurry eyes up at Sebástian, hoping for some sympathy, but he found it a stupidly naive endeavor when all he was met with was a satisfied, closed-lipped smile. 

Sawyer had dropped off at a certain point when another man in the crowd caught his arm, and Jonah mourned his close presence as Jaxon dragged him to his position. Despite the fact that Sawyer’s presence should have been anything but comforting, the events of the past night had caused Jonah’s guard to falter around him. Sawyer was the only one who had yet to actually hurt him. He’d even seemed a bit remorseful. Jonah didn’t have much time to dwell on it, for Jaxon’s grip was relentless and unwavering, and he pulled Jonah harshly forward until the boy was situated between two masts. 

Jaxon gripped Jonah’s shoulder and whirled him around to face the crowd. Before Jonah could steady himself, two unfamiliar, burly men surrounded him on either side, gripping both of his bony wrists in their respective grips and fastening them tightly to the ends of two long lengths of coarse rope. 

“Please! Please, Captain, M-master—” Jonah cried, pleading at Vale through tears. “Y-you, you don’t ha-have to do this— Please! I’ll, I’ll be good—I’ll be good! I belong to you, I belong to you—”

“Silencio, dear boy,” came Vale’s commanding tone, his presence rising to silence the jeering crowd until his voice alone dominated the entire deck. “You will endure this for me, to cement my ownership, for nobody will ever own you but me, after this.”

Jonah gasped when he felt his arms being yanked out to the sides. The men who held the ropes attached to his wrists yanked them hard out to either side of him and began to fasten them to the masts that stood tall to his right and left. Jonah cried out when he felt himself being pulled apart—they tied his wrists so tightly out to the sides—he felt his muscles completely stretched, so taut he thought his tendons might snap. 

His wrists ached with the pull of it, and he tried to writhe against the ropes, but once he’d been tied expertly into place, Jonah found himself unable to move his torso at all for how tightly he’d been stretched apart. He stood there, crying and helpless, arms wide open, waiting for the brand that would inevitably burn itself into his chest. 

Captain Vale sauntered slowly up to Jonah, taking his sweet time and relishing in the theatrics of the performance he was about to direct. He slipped a finger beneath the fabric on Jonah’s slender shoulder, sliding the pale blue silk off of the boy’s shoulderblade. He gingerly completed the task on Jonah’s opposite shoulder, causing Jonah to wince at how mocking his gentleness felt now. It was almost sickening, in the wake of what was to come. 

“Please,” Jonah pleaded, willing himself to look the Captain in the eyes now, in their close proximity. “Please, Master, please—! I can b-be good— I, I want to be good! Please, don’t do this to me, please!” He cried, trying and failing to keep his voice between himself and the Captain. His tone cracked with terrified sobs as he forced the words out. 

Vale lifted a tender hand to swipe Jonah’s hair out of his face, before cupping the boy’s cheek almost lovingly. 

“Oh, my dear, beautiful slave,” Vale cooed, his voice dripping with that same warm honey that had laced his words the night before. “I’m doing this for you, my pet.” 

Jonah blinked up at him, incredulous and horrified. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

“Yes, darling, don’t you believe me?” Sebástian smiled. “This will make you better. Surely you want to be better for me. Surely you want to be good, don’t you? You want to be mine.”

Jonah stared up at Vale with glistening eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably as he was faced with the horror of his poition—just how inevitable it was. He’d stupidly thought that Vale, if anyone on this ship, might appreciate his efforts, might reward his obedience with some semblance of mercy. But terror and bile rose up his chest at the full realization that he could truly do nothing to stop this. He was a squirming insect cocooned in a spider’s silk, fully ensnared by the will of the man before him. 

This had all been Vale’s idea, after all. 

How could he?

Jonah felt so stupid for feeling the bitter heartbreak of betrayal. He’d been so foolish for falling for the man’s faux gentleness. 

But even as the thought hit him, Vale lifted a finger to Jonah’s face and almost lovingly swiped away the tears that streamed down his cheek, and Jonah felt himself melt again almost instantly. He instinctively leaned into the touch, automatically eager to earn the man’s favor again. Maybe if he groveled, if he prostrated himself and opened, pathetic and willing before the Captain, he might be spared. 

Somewhere in the crowd, Sawyer bristled. What the fuck was this pathetic display? Jonah was leaning into the Captain’s hand like a well-trained lapdog—he was about to be fucking branded and he was leaning in? Sawyer felt a twist of loathing in his stomach at the way Jonah’s eyes pleaded up at the Captain. It was fucking pathetic. Jonah really did have no spine at all. 

With the boy’s silken garment now barely hanging off his shoulders, Sawyer couldn’t help but notice just how small and fragile Jonah was—the way the boy’s ribs jutted out from his skin, the way his shoulders looked almost sharp, the way the light cast deep shadows into the dips above his prominent hip bones. Shit, did his last owner even feed the kid? At least Sawyer could count on one meal a day, most of the time.

As much as Sawyer hated the way Jonah kissed up to the men in charge, even he could admit he had no idea what Jonah had been through before he’d stowed away. The way he leaned into the slightest gentle touch from the Captain’s hand, it was nauseating to watch, but it fit the assumption that his life before this must have been even worse, somehow. Though Sawyer had a hard time imagining what would be worse than the ship. His lashes still fucking hurt whenever he moved. 

They’d strung Jonah up the same way they’d done to Sawyer only the day prior. Sawyer wanted to look away, but he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself. Despite it all, he really did feel for the kid. His own branding was one of the worst things he’d ever experienced.

The Captain swiped his thumb over Jonah’s lower lip and the boy took the man’s finger into his mouth, desperate to prove he didn’t need a branding to prove he was a good pet.

Sawyer’s eyes widened when he saw it. Oh that was fucking vile. Sawyer wanted to believe it was acting, that Jonah was only pretending to enjoy it, but the glassiness in the boy’s eyes, the way his eyelashes fluttered when he gazed up at Sebástian, it made Sawyer’s stomach churn with fury, disgust, and something akin to betrayal. He felt like he was going to throw up if Jonah kept being so fucking pathetic. 

When the iron brand glowed red-hot in the furnace, the burly man holding the rod nodded to Vale, and the Captain turned from Jonah to address the crowd of men once more. 

“Gentlemen! On this morning of Tuesday, the twenty-fourth of May, we will initiate our vessel’s newest slave.” The crowd grew restless, ready to erupt into cheers the moment the Captain was finished speaking. Vale reached into the furnace and withdrew the long iron rod, and Jonah’s stomach dropped in terror when he saw the glowing red insignia at the end—the siren with the tail curled up above her head. 

“We hereby mark him with the mighty symbol of La Sirena herself!” Sebástian’s voice bellowed across the deck, riling the crowd up further with his every word. “Her mark binds this slave, Jonah, as property of myself and of this fine ship. May her spirit bless our crew and bring us bountiful fortune!” 

A split second later, the crowd of sailors burst into a frenzy of whoops and hollers, cheers and eager cries, some waving hats and handkerchiefs as they buzzed with anticipation to watch the violence unfold. The noise drowned out Jonah’s sobbing entirely, though he never stopped crying. 

The Captain turned to face Jonah, whose terrified eyes stayed locked to that glowing red siren. She drew closer and closer towards his chest, and the moments passed like eons in Jonah’s terrified mind. He was fully hyperventilating, dizzy with terror, sure his knees would buckle if his arms weren’t being held up by the ropes at his wrists. 

And then, like a blast of blazing lightning, the iron struck. Jonah’s eyes squeezed shut and he screamed louder than he had in years. His skin sizzled and hissed beneath the siren’s magna-hot touch, melting like candle wax and morphing itself around her fiery kiss. Jonah shrieked like a banshee until he couldn’t breathe, until he felt like his vocal chords were shredding apart in his throat. He was a ball of pure instincts now, lit up like a live wire, and he squirmed and shook against the restraints as his body desperately tried to get away, away—away—

He screamed for what felt like days, convulsing as though electrified—when Vale finally pulled the iron brand from his chest and handed it off to the burly man at the furnace. The crowd was feral now, a shouting and hollering pack of coyotes—a snapping school of piranha around a fresh, bloody corpse.

Jonah’s ears were ringing so loudly he hardly heard them. He’d collapsed in the restraints, no strength left in his knees. He just wanted to fucking pass out already. Even with the iron gone, the fleshwound burned away, searing and red and furious—nearly all the blood in his body now pulsed beneath his chest. It was absolute agony, and Jonah sobbed so hard he thought he’d break apart. His chest was spasming, and he found himself choking as he tried to gasp for air—he could hardly inflate his lungs through the hellfire that radiated through his body.

At some point, Jonah felt the blessed grace of darkness seep into the corners of his vision, and he welcomed it like a gentle embrace. The pain had become too much, at last, and his body was extending a hand of mercy to end his suffering, if even for a moment. Jonah let it consume him, grateful for any reprieve. The darkness slid in like black syrup from his periphery until it overtook his sight entirely. Jonah’s head fell forward, limp, as he slipped from the deck of the ship into pure inky blackness. 

༻✦༺

To be continued!

LA SIRENA DE SANGRE TAGLIST

@spookyboywhump @livelaughwhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @unforgivenn @befuddled-calico-whump

@writing-for-gold @thesecretgardenofmymind @unorganisedalienrubbish @thekneelingdoll @victimeyez 

@veilofvoices @the-scrapegoat @ladygwennn @atomicsandwichprince @hueningplushie 

@girlsdogmotif @hikari-hat @whumpedydump @morning-star-whump @whumpwhittler 

@thegravylady @ilyaswife @pigeons-are-cool @whump-slump @ohnowhoops 

“Mmn,” Jonah hummed affirmatively, burying his head back into the pillow. It was probably nothing. He was so warm here, nestled in the silken sheets atop the Captain’s luxurious bed. He just wanted to go back to sleep. 

Vale slipped on a robe and padded out of the bedroom to the main entrance. Jonah heard the wooden door side open, then he heard a voice. 

“Captain,” Voss’ low voice reverberated from outside. “We have a situation.”

“What on earth is so important as to wake me in the middle of the night?” Vale hissed. He sounded clearly irritated. 

“Ship’s headed right into a storm,” Voss said matter-of-factly. “We need you to approve the new heading. Alejandro’s already identified several ways around it, but you have the final say, Sir.”

Jonah could hear the rushing of the rain now, if he focused his ears to listen—a rushing wind echoed from the open door like white noise. He could hear the raindrops hitting the side of the ship, pattering against the dark window on the wall to his left. 

“Agh,” Vale let out an irritated grunt. “Fine. Let me put on some real clothes.” 

“Right,” Voss said. “And what of the boy? Surely you don’t intend to leave him in your quarters alone.”

“No, no,” Vale concurred. “It’s far too soon for that. Take him to wherever you’re keeping Sawyer tonight.”

“Aye, that’d be the brig tonight, Sir,” Voss reported. “Mutt’s earned it with his shit behavior today.” 

Jonah’s world crumbled. He was so incredibly comfortable and warm right now—it was the most incredible bed he’d ever slept in, truly fit for a royal. And now they were going to send him to the brig? After all he’d endured? He’d tried so hard to be good for the Captain. He’d earned this! Jonah buried his face in the pillow and groaned, wishing he could just disappear. 

Jonah heard the Captain sigh. “Very well. It’s not my first choice, but it’ll do. Do give him a bedroll, though, won’t you? He’s been quite well behaved this evening and I don't want him messing up his bandages.”

Jonah’s heart jumped a little when the Captain called him well behaved. He was relieved his efforts had at least been acknowledged by someone on this god forsaken ship.

“Fine, fine,” there was a growing impatience in Voss’ voice. “Just hurry up and get dressed. Alejandro needs that heading.”

“Come in and get him now, then,” Vale said, sounding far too tired for this. “And don’t forget the shackles.” 

“As if I’d forget,” Voss muttered, but the Captain ignored him, beckoning him into the room and sliding the door shut behind them. 

Two pairs of footsteps echoed along the wood as they approached the bedroom. Jonah hid under the covers—a childish instinct really—but some tiny part of his brain wanted to hope that if he just hid from it all, they’d let him sleep. 

Jonah winced sharply when the covers were abruptly ripped off of him. He curled in on himself, suddenly freezing cold—the open air snapped all that warmth out of his body instantly. He looked up, wide eyes dismayed and pitiful, and was met with Voss’ stony expression staring down at him. 

“Get up,” Voss ordered sharply. “And put your clothes on. You’re coming with me.” 

“Oh, I do apologize, darling,” came Vale’s voice from the other side of the room. He pulled the ruffled midnight blue shirt over his head and reached for a pair of folded trousers. “But I have some urgent business I must attend to now and I’m afraid I just can’t leave you here unsupervised.” 

He buttoned his pants and walked over to Jonah, fondly cupping the side of his face. 

“You’ll be good for Voss, won’t you, dear boy?” 

Voss rolled his eyes, but stepped back to allow the Captain some space. 

“Y-yes, Master,” Jonah said, his tone exhausted and dismayed, nearly a whimper. But he obeyed, he agreed, he did as they expected of him.

Jonah heard the familiar rattling and looked up to see Voss holding the chain, shackles dangling down threateningly at him. 

“Legs out,” Voss ordered, cold and stern. Jonah obeyed without thinking, stretching his legs out in front of him on the mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut as Voss snapped the shackles around his ankles and locked them in place with the padlocks. Jonah felt the weight of them instantly—the freedom of motion taken from him once more. His heart sank in his chest. They’d never let him forget his place here, and the shackles were integral to that, it seemed. 

“Arms up,” Voss commanded, holding the bunched up silken dress he’d worn earlier. Jonah felt his lip wobble as he raised his hands above his head, allowing the first mate to slip the meager garment over his body. Were they really going to take him out in the pouring rain like this?

“Stand,” Voss said curtly. Jonah slipped his body off the bed, mourning the loss of those silken sheets. He shivered in the cool air of the room. 

Voss grabbed the thin gold chain that held the garment together and simply draped it around Jonah’s neck. No time to lace it up properly, he figured. 

Voss was growing impatient. Jonah could feel it, and it made him uneasy. He just had to be good. Be good, and they would allow him to go back to sleep.

“Give him a cloak or something, would you?” Sebástian said, slipping his coat over his shoulders. “I don’t want that silk getting wet.” 

Voss gave a low hum, not bothering to hide his irritation and urgency. This was taking too long, clearly. 

Sebástian tossed a bundle of fabric at Voss, who caught it and let it hang from his fingers before wrapping it around Jonah’s slender frame. It was a long dark cloak—smooth fabric draped over Jonah’s shoulders and engulfed him down to his knees. Voss tugged the hood up, and took Jonah’s wrist in a vice grip and began to pull him out of the room. Jonah spared one last look at Sebástian, who was slipping on his boots now. 

“I’ll see you later, darling boy,” he said, a fond smile curling at his lips. 

Voss pulled Jonah from the room without another word, and when the door to the main entrance slid open, Jonah nearly gasped as he was hit with a sudden wave of bitter cold. He clutched the sides of the cloak and wrapped it around himself as tightly as possible, trying to shield himself from the wind and rain as best he could while Voss dragged him across the deck towards the staircase that led down below. 

They descended, and Jonah had to walk slowly to avoid tripping over his chains on the dark stairs. It was warmer down here, shielded from the brunt of the storm, and Jonah was grateful he at least would be able to sleep inside tonight. He shuddered, remembering the nights Carlisle had chained him up outside for the night. The brig wouldn’t be comfortable, surely—nothing compared to the Captain’s luxurious cabin—but it was better than suffering the elements. Jonah tried his best to be grateful for that, at least.

Voss pulled Jonah through the corridors of the ship’s underbelly until they reached a room with a large metal cage along the far wall. Its walls were made of iron—thick rows crosshatched back and forth to create a grid-like pattern. More barrels and crates lined the walls on either side, resting beneath the lanterns that illuminated the space in a dim glow.

As they approached the cage, Jonah’s brow furrowed when he saw another figure was already locked inside. The man’s torso was wrapped in bandages, seated on a sleeping mat with his hands chained above his head, locked to the iron grid. Jonah recognized Sawyer instantly. The young man was slumped over in the sitting position—his head hung down limply, black hair dangling over his face. He appeared to be sleeping. Jonah’s heart clenched in trepidation at the thought of being left alone with him, but he found a tiny bit of solace that he was at least chained up. Sawyer couldn’t hurt him like this, even if he wanted to. 

Sawyer startled awake when Voss unlocked the padlock on the cage and the heavy metal door creaked open. He gave Jonah a rough shove, causing him to trip as he stumbled into the cell. His chains caught on metal at the cage’s threshold and he tumbled to the floor, nearly colliding into Sawyer, who sat back against the far wall. Jonah scrambled up into a kneeling position, ignoring the ‘tch’ he swore had just come from Sawyer’s direction. He could be as smug as he wanted—Jonah was not trying to incite Voss’ ire right now. 

Voss reached into a nearby crate and pulled out a folded bedroll. He wordlessly tossed it into the cell and slammed the door shut. 

“You two play nice,” he ordered, staring down at the boys through the bars. His piercing blue eyes now appeared light gray in the orange glow of the lanternlight. 

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah answered automatically, his voice small. He was still shivering. He curled his knees up to his chest and huddled in the cloak. 

“Could you at least fuckin’ unchain me so I can lie down?” Sawyer drawled. The layer of sleepiness in his tone did nothing to mask the irritation.

“You already asked that, and as I already told you—not happening,” Voss hissed. Jonah flinched at the edge in his sharp tone, even though it wasn’t directed at him. “I already said I don’t want you fucking up those bandages.”

Sawyer let out a dramatic groan in protest, but Voss ignored him. He walked to the side of the room, extinguishing all but a single lantern. Without so much as a ‘goodnight,’ Voss thudded impatient footsteps towards the room’s entrance and disappeared into the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Jonah sat in silence, grieving the loss of his comfortable accommodations. This was truly a dismal downgrade. He pressed his face to his folded knees, trying not to cry again. He didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, least of all Sawyer, who he knew would tease him for it.

“You can at least lay out the bedroll, you know.”

Jonah blinked and lifted his head up. He’d nearly forgotten. He nodded, crawling forward to grip the folded roll in his hands. He stood on shaky feet, chains rattling beneath him, and laid out the mat against the cell wall adjacent to Sawyer. He didn’t want to be near him, but he didn’t want to block the entrance either, in case Voss came back for them. 

Jonah settled atop it, resuming his earlier position, huddling in the wet fabric of the cloak and trying to conserve enough body heat to rid his bones of the deep chill that had followed him in from outside. 

Jonah felt Sawyer’s eyes on him. He looked back, unsettled by the unreadable expression on the man’s face. 

An awkward discomfort overcame him. They were alone in the cell, nothing to distract them now but the heavy silence and the pattering of the rain that thudded against the wooden walls of the ship.

“I’m sorry, um, about your uh, your wounds,” Jonah stammered out. 

“Fucking bastard,” Sawyer mumbled, and it took Jonah a moment to realize he didn’t mean him. “Voss wants to pretend I bring it all on myself, but the truth is that sadistic fuck likes it. Probably gets hard under his trousers every time he gives me a whipping.” 

Jonah didn’t want to say the obvious. He hadn’t seen what Sawyer had done to instigate today’s particular whipping, but based on what he’d seen of the young man’s behavior, Jonah was certain it wouldn't happen to him so much if he just held his tongue. 

“Is.. Is he like that with everyone?” Jonah asked, trying to gauge the probability of landing in the same situation. 

Sawyer scoffed. “Agh, he’s a right sadistic prick that’s for sure. Cactus up his arse, I swear.” Sawyer paused. Then, his voice lowered a bit. “But, he isn’t quite as rough on the others,“ a bitter resentment and a hint of dismay laced his tone. “Seems he’s got it out for me in particular.” 

He took a deep breath, looking down at his chained feet. “Though, suppose it makes sense, to a bastard like him. Anyone else would just quit if he beat them like this.. But I’m the only one who can’t leave.” 

Sawyer looked over to Jonah, who was staring down at some spot on the floor. 

“Though, I guess, now that you’re here, that makes two of us.” 

Jonah felt his stomach twist. He hated this conclusion, that Voss just beat Sawyer because he could, because he was a slave. Jonah was in the same position—was he doomed to the same fate, even if he tried to be good? It was clear Sawyer didn’t even try to behave, and Jonah had found solace assuming he’d be spared if he just obeyed and didn’t talk back. But Sawyer seemed convinced that his torture here was inevitable. Dread rose up Jonah’s throat as he thought of Voss’ whip, of the deep bloody lashes that lined Sawyer’s back beneath the bandages. 

They let the heavy silence hang over them for a few moments, before Jonah spoke up again. 

“How, how long have you… been here? On the ship, I mean.”

“Tch,” Sawyer turned his head. “Fuck’s it to you, anyway?”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry,” Jonah deflated. He was just trying to make conversation. Trying to learn more, if he could. He didn’t want to make Sawyer mad, but he needed to figure out how he could avoid the same fate as the ship’s resident whipping boy.

Sawyer sighed, relenting. “‘Bout two years,” he said. “They captured the vessel that held my contract—I used to be a paid man, you know—killed most of the men, sold another few to other ships, but the Captain kept me for whatever fucking reason.” Sawyer paused, and Jonah let the silence form between them, listening intently. “Haven't stepped foot on the land since the day I was captured.” 

Jonah’s heart sank ever further down into his gut. “They- They don’t even let you off the ship? Not ever??” He was trying to suppress the panic that crawled up his throat now. How on earth would he ever escape if they didn’t even let him on land at ports? 

Sawyer gave a grave chuckle. “No, fucking pricks just chain me to the mast while they all go ashore and fuck around. Or lock me up down here. Must be fuckin’ nice for them though,” he said bitterly.

Jonah thought of the shore, the sand between his toes, the waves kissing the land—the trees and the birds, the bustle of a morning market, the music of a tavern fiddler. He’d only been off land for a day, and he already missed it all so much it hurt. The knowledge that he didn’t know when, or even if, he would ever see any of it again made his throat clench up and moisture prick at his lashes. Don’t cry in front of Sawyer. 

“We’ll— We’ll do it,” Jonah swore, finally looking up at Sawyer. “We’ll be on land again, together. We’ll escape, we will. We have to.”

I have to.

Sawyer gave him a puzzled look, then just laughed bitterly. “That’s nice, kid. You sound fuckin’ crazy, but it’s kinda refreshing, you know? I’ve been trying to escape this damn place for two fuckin’ years now, and every time they just fucking hurt me worse than before.” 

“Oh..” Jonah said, trying not to let despair overcome him.

“But that doesn’t mean I won't try again, you know,” Sawyer said, and Jonah’s head perked up a bit at that. 

“R-really?” he asked. 

“Look, kid, if you can come up with some kind of genius plan to get us the fuck out of here, then I’ll do whatever I have to to make it happen. But as it stands, I’m fresh out of ideas.” 

“I’ll.. I’ll think of something. I will,” Jonah promised himself aloud.

Sawyer sighed, the hint of a smile ghosting his expression. He leaned back against the iron bars, clinking the cuffs as he adjusted his wrists overhead. 

“Sure, kid. You just loop me in if you think of something. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” He exhaled sharply, the hint of a laugh, as though he couldn’t believe it. “I’d be willing to try fuckin’ anything at this point.” 

“Just wait,” Jonah promised, trying to reassure himself it was still possible. “I’ll think of something. We won’t be stuck here forever.”

Jonah wasn’t even sure if he believed the words that came out of his own mouth, but it was better than the alternative. Better than sinking into endless hopelessness and despair. He had to remain alert, had to be ready for any opportunity to present itself. He had to grab it by the throat and jump at any chance fate would gift him. 

But for now, Jonah could do little more than shiver in the damp cloak. At least they’d given him a bedroll, so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the bare wooden floor. 

Sawyer studied Jonah’s huddled form as the silence stretched between them once more. 

“You look cold,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jonah mumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric as he pressed his face into his bent knees. 

Sawyer sighed again. “Look, kid, we’d be warmer if we were closer together. Share body heat and all that.” 

Jonah looked up at him suddenly. “What— What are you saying, exactly?”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me— Look, I’m not some blushing bride, okay. Just get over here and you can, like. Lean back against me. I can’t use my arms, but… you’d be warmer that way.” 

Jonah looked at Sawyer like he’d just grown a second head. Did he really just ask Jonah to fucking cuddle? Sawyer seemed like he’d try and bite anyone that came near him. He was practically feral in front of the crew. But perhaps Jonah was different. They did share a fate after all. Jonah shuddered against the cold for a moment longer, then thought, ‘Fuck it.’ 

“If you bite me, I’ll fucking punch you,” Jonah mumbled, climbing off the bed roll to drag it over next to Sawyer. 

Sawyer chuckled, his chains rattling a bit as he twisted his arms. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ bite you, kid. Jesus, you really think I’m some kinda rabid fuckin’ animal, huh?”

“No!” Jonah backtracked. “I just— You...” Jonah trailed off, not sure how to finish his sentence without offending the other man. 

Sawyer chuckled. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, kid. No biting, okay? Promise.” He flashed a smile. Jonah thought it was likely meant to be reassuring, but maybe he was just too jumpy from the day’s events, for Jonah thought he looked like a fox who’d just spotted an unsuspecting mouse. 

Nonetheless, Jonah was freezing in here, and beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers. He settled himself upon the bedroll and tentatively scooted closer to Sawyer, until his shoulder touched the man’s bandaged torso. 

“I’m not gonna bite you, Jonah,” Sawyer said again, a hint of impatience at the boy’s hesitation. “Can’t even touch you like this.”

“I— I know,” Jonah said, leaning up against him. He couldn’t lie, it felt nice. Not nearly as nice as being wrapped up in those silken sheets, but nice enough to warm his body up a bit. 

Jonah maneuvered the cloak around to his front to act as a blanket, sliding the fabric over himself and Sawyer, hoping to trap their body heat together. When the blanket was situated, Jonah’s arm instinctively wrapped around Sawyer’s warm torso. He flinched when Sawyer hissed in pain as Jonah gripped his side. 

“Shit!” Jonah grimaced. “Sorry–”

“‘Ss’okay, kid,” Sawyer’s voice sounded strained. “Just, yeah, uh, mind the lashes, could you?”

“Y-yeah,” Jonah said. “Sorry um, about that.” 

Jonah let his arm rest across Sawyer’s bandaged torso without gripping at his ribs, simply laying his fingers across the gauze gently. Sawyer gave a low hum in approval at the adjusted position. 

Jonah still couldn’t believe he was basically cuddling with Sawyer, of all people, but he couldn’t deny that it was working—he felt himself warming up by the second. Their shared body heat gathered steadily, trapped beneath the makeshift blanket. The goosebumps on Jonah’s arms and legs settled back down into smooth skin—the shiver in his chest seemed to melt away as the minutes passed there between the two boys. 

Jonah leaned up against Sawyer in the dim lanternlight, listening to the pattering of the rain until his eyes flickered shut. The steady beat of the storm ravaged the walls of the ship, but none of it reached them here. Eventually, Jonah slumped over into Sawyer’s body, his head falling into his lap as he slipped beneath the waves of slumber once more. 

༻✦༺

LA SIRENA DE SANGRE TAGLIST

@spookyboywhump @livelaughwhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @unforgivenn @befuddled-calico-whump

@writing-for-gold @thesecretgardenofmymind @unorganisedalienrubbish @thekneelingdoll @victimeyez 

@veilofvoices @the-scrapegoat @ladygwennn @atomicsandwichprince @hueningplushie 

@girlsdogmotif @hikari-hat @whumpedydump @morning-star-whump @whumpwhittler 

@thegravylady @ilyaswife @pigeons-are-cool @whump-slump @ohnowhoops 

Vale set the shackles aside and slipped his shirt off. He climbed onto the red silk bedcover, settling himself atop the boy that lay bound and helpless beneath him. He slid his broad hands down Jonah’s slender torso, feeling the way his skin stretched over his ribs, the dip of his naval, the way his little hipbones jutted out just a bit. Jonah twitched and hissed as he touched him there. One of Vale’s hands rose to pinch lightly at one of his nipples and Jonah let out a small gasp. Vale smiled down at him. 

“Oh, pretty thing,” Sebástian mused. “You’re going to be so much fun to play with, I can already tell.” Jonah merely winced in response, trying to turn his head away. He didn’t want to have to see the Captain’s smug expression.

Sebástian kept working at him, rubbing his nipples between his fingers and tugging at them ever so slightly, relishing in the way Jonah’s back arched up into it. He thumbed at his hipbone with his other hand, rubbing slow circles on the peak of it, before replacing it with a fingernail, dragging it along his skin. Jonah’s eyes widened and he gasped in shock at the feeling—Sebástian didn’t miss the way the boy’s hips twitched upward to meet his touch. 

“Oh, so you do like a little pain,” Vale commented smugly, deepening the gesture and digging his nail in a bit harder into the dip just above the boy’s hipbone. His other hand tugged at Jonah’s nipple sharply, and the motions forced an embarrassing moan out of the boy. 

Fuck—he was giving Vale exactly what he wanted, again. Jonah bit his lip to try and hold back his reactions, but Sebástian seemed to play his body like an instrument, quickly figuring out his most sensitive areas and thoroughly exploiting them. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Vale cooed. “How pretty and delicate you are…” 

The Captain slowly raked his nails down Jonah’s torso, from his chest down to his naval, and smiled wide when the boy’s eyes rolled back a bit and he fucking groaned.

Jonah’s head was spinning—from the pain, from the exhaustion, he didn’t know which—but the way the Captain was touching him now was electrifying in a way he loathed. It was gentle, but dappled with just enough pain to make his body light up with little electric sparks that made it so hard to think. He wanted to resist, deep down he wanted to, but he neither had the strength left to put up a good fight nor the bravery to face the consequences of doing so. He writhed on the bed as the Captain tormented his body, wishing he could move his hands to at least cover his face and stifle the embarrassing, pathetic noises Vale was forcing out of him. 

Vale took his time exploring the boy’s reactions. He parted Jonah’s legs, spreading his knees wide and settling himself between them. Jonah’s exposed body trembled beneath him, and Vale almost laughed when the boy started whimpering.

“Wa-Wait— N-no, please— Master—“

“Sweet little stupid thing…” Vale’s voice was blissful, soft as the silk beneath Jonah’s skin. “It’s adorable you still think you have a say in anything that happens now,” Sebástian cooed, stroking his slave’s inner thighs. He started with his fingertips, so gentle it raised goosebumps over the boy’s skin. 

Gradually, he shifted to using his nails, dragging them closer and closer to that sensitive place between the boy’s thighs. Jonah’s legs were shaking harder now. Vale smiled smugly when he saw the effect he was having on his little slave’s trembling, helpless body. Jonah whined as he slowly began to harden against his will, his body was betraying him again—giving in to exactly what Vale wanted. 

“Oh my,” Sebástian remarked, feigning surprise. “Seems you really like this, don’t you. And I haven’t even touched you there yet, pretty thing.” 

He leaned down over Jonah, his long honey-colored hair cascading like silk over the boy’s chest. 

“Would you like me to?” 

Jonah froze. Vale was really going to make him beg for it, wasn’t he. The bastard—he seemed hell bent on making Jonah not just an endurer, but an active participant in his own undoing, his own molestation. 

He wanted to plead with the Captain to stop—he’d already tried it so many times, but it only seemed to invigorate him further. Vale continued his ministrations over Jonah’s body as he waited patiently for an answer, twisting at the sensitive nipples on his chest and dragging slow fingernails up his inner thighs. Jonah was far from immune to it—he was panting now, the blood was rushing to his groin rapidly, and he could feel how hard he was even without seeing it. 

He felt frozen, staring wide eyed at Vale’s warm, expectant expression. Suddenly, he felt Vale’s fingers dig into the sensitive spot where his leg met his torso, tantalizingly close to his now twitching erection. He gasped and his hips jutted upward, chasing friction where there was nothing but thin air. 

Jonah’s mind flashed with the thought of what it might feel like to have the Captain’s hands wrapped around him, stroking him and playing with him until he finally released. Jonah wanted to feel good—he deserved this, right? Fuck it—maybe—

“Please!” Jonah cried—he couldn’t take the relentless teasing any longer. “Please, please, t-touch me there, Master..”

Sebástian chuckled darkly above him, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction. He wrapped a hand gently around Jonah’s length and gave him a light squeeze, delighting in the gasped moan it drew from the boy as his hips twitched up into his Master’s hand, chasing moremoremore— Oh, he was coming undone now, right into the Captain’s hands. 

One hand stayed wrapped around the boy’s pulsing erection, the other delicately pressing a fingertip up against his entrance. 

“W-wait—!” Jonah cried out. “Master, master, I, I—“ He couldn’t even think of what to say that would stop this from happening. He’d just wanted to feel good, if only for a brief moment—he’d stupidly hoped the Captain would just touch him, that he was rewarding Jonah for taking him down his throat so well. He should’ve known better. This night was always going to be about the Captain’s pleasure, nothing else. Jonah crashed back down to his place, at the lowest rung imaginable. He was a slave—he was here to please Vale, nothing more. If Jonah felt good too in the process, it was merely an accidental byproduct. 

“Oh, dear boy,” Vale pressed a little harder, smiling down at him with a mockery of gentleness. “What did I say about you having a choice?” 

Jonah blinked up at him, tears in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Vale prodded at his entrance again—he wanted him to answer.

“Th-that I, I d-don’t— I don’t get w- one, Master,” Jonah whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to resign himself to it. This was always going to happen. There was nothing Jonah could do about it. Just be good, just be good justbegood— Just be good, and maybe he’ll be gentle.

Jonah’s lip quivered in despair as Vale reached up to grab something off of the nightstand. He held it up, and Jonah identified the object as a small bottle of oil. He felt a flicker of relief at the sight of it, despite himself. At least Vale wouldn’t try to fuck him dry. That would be infinitely worse. Jonah knew from experience that it could always be so much worse. 

Jonah watched in trepidation as Vale uncorked the bottle and poured out a little bit into the palm of his hand. He resealed the cork, settling the bottle aside before lowering his hand to stroke himself. He was already back at nearly full mast just from playing with Jonah’s body, pulling those gorgeous reactions from the boy’s tender pink lips. 

Sebástian swiped his slicked fingers across the puckered skin of Jonah’s entrance, before teasing in a fingertip past the tight ring of muscle. Jonah’s breath caught in his chest—he let out a little shocked gasp at the feeling, even though he knew it was coming. Sebástian slid his finger further, wiggling it a bit to loosen up the taut muscles inside him. Jonah gasped when he felt a second finger slide in, stretching him open and slickening his insides. 

“Aren’t you grateful I’m taking the time to do this for you, pet?” Sebástian mused, beginning to slide his fingers back and forth and teasing the boy open. 

“Hnnhhyyes, Master,” Jonah whined, his head fuzzy with the sensation. “Th-thank you, Master,” he knew what Sebástian was really asking for. He felt lightheaded, the pulsing feeling in his erection growing more and more urgent as the Captain continued to open him up. Carlisle was never this patient, Jonah truly was grateful that he was at least getting prepped first. Carlisle would just shove right into him half the time, hardly caring if his slave tore and bled and cried as he used him. Vale was being so gentle, trying to make Jonah feel good. Jonah knew he should be grateful, all things considered. It could be so much worse, he reminded himself. 

Vale had managed to work his fingers in up to the knuckles now, the rest of his hand now pressing flush up against Jonah’s skin.  He twisted his fingers a bit, looking for that one special little place that would—

“Aaahh!”  Jonah gasped suddenly when Vale’s fingertips brushed up against it, his hips twitching automatically and his hips nearly rising off the bed. 

“Mmnn, there we go,” Sebástian mused, pulling back just a bit before pressing into that spot again. 

“Hnnngaahh!—“ Jonah cried out, panting hard now as he tried to get his head to stop spinning. 

Vale jabbed at the spot again, and again, and Jonah was writhing and coming undone beneath him. 

“Haah.. hh-haah..” he panted under Vale’s fingers, his eyes lidded and glazed over. “P-please,” Jonah was far past maintaining pride now. He had none left to protect. “Please S-sir—Master!” Jonah corrected himself quickly—he was losing the ability to think around the heavy waves of electricity being forced up through his delicate body. 

“Tell me, what is it you want now, darling?” Sebástian’s voice was dripping, sickeningly sweet. 

He wanted Jonah to beg for it. An active participant. Jonah didn’t even have to think about it. 

“P-please!” He cried. “Please, M-master please, please fuck me, Master, pleease—“

Jonah’s tears streaked down his cheeks at the sheer humiliation. He didn’t want this—he didn’t—but Vale was playing his body like a violin and he was losing himself to the sensations forced upon him. 

“Mmn,” Vale hummed, more than pleased at the way his little toy was coming apart in his hands. “Good boy.. I suppose you deserve a reward after all.” 

Jonah felt the fingers slip out of him, and he felt agonizingly empty in the moments it took the Captain to wipe his fingers off on a spare handkerchief. 

Vale took a moment to lower his cock down over the boy’s stomach, smiling to himself when he saw how far it would press up inside of him once he was all the way in. It looked huge up against Jonah’s petite proportions, and it only made him all the more hungry to be inside him now. 

Jonah squirmed as Sebástian drew his tip downwards to press against his entrance. The boy’s body was slick and malleable now, and Vale bit his lip and groaned as he pressed the tip inside. 

“Haah!—” Jonah gasped sharply as Sebástian slowly pushed himself inside him. Vale breathed in deeply and relished in the tight heat, taking his time to feel Jonah’s walls clench around every inch as he invaded the boy’s body. 

“H-hurts!” Jonah cried when Vale pressed impossibly deep inside him. “M-master, it hurts— please—“ 

“Sh, shhh,” Vale hushed him, pausing his movements for a moment to stroke Jonah’s face with his hand. “It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay. Just relax for me darling, and it will feel good soon. I promise.” 

Sebástian’s voice was like thick, sweet honey in Jonah’s ears, and he whined in protest but knew he couldn’t do anything to stop his Master. He squirmed at the intrusion as Vale began to press in further, wincing at the impossible stretch he felt inside. 

Jonah’s gasping breaths were rising into higher-pitched keens as Vale slowly forced himself all the way in to the hilt. The Captain loomed over Jonah, his hands on either side of the boy’s head, and they both panted heavily now, breathing each other's air as Vale let Jonah’s body adjust to the feeling of being so achingly full. 

“Please— pleeease,” Jonah whimpered. “Can’t— can’t take it— please, Master I—“

“Oh, but you can, my dear.” Vale lovingly wiped Jonah’s bangs from his sweat slicked forehead. “You’re already doing it, and you feel fucking amazing squeezing around me like this.” 

Jonah only let out a pathetic-sounding whine in response, knowing there was nothing he could say to get through to the man that towered over him, that forced his way in. Vale controlled everything about this moment, and every moment that would come afterwards.

“Now,” Vale said, lightly panting, his eyes lidded with lust. “Be a good boy, and keep taking it for me.”

“Nonono—wait!” Jonah wailed as the Captain started to move his hips again. Vale simply ignored him, pulling backwards and drawing a gorgeous moan from his slave before pressing back into his boy’s tight insides once more. Jonah cried out and weakly kicked his legs around him, but he was so exhausted, so hazy between the jolts of pain and waves of pleasure, that it didn’t do much of anything at all. 

Vale chuckled at the boy’s weak struggling, he found it unbelievably cute. He was so bad at it, he was so small, there was absolutely nothing he could do. Vale would have his way with him like this time and time again, whenever he wanted for the rest of his life. The thought of it—that this boy was his forever—sent a thrill sparking through his chest, and he slid himself out and shoved himself back in a little rougher this time. 

Jonah cried out at the feeling—too full too full—he was impossibly full— He was sure he couldn’t take it, but his body was doing it anyway. He felt as though his organs were being shoved around to accommodate the impossible stretch. 

He bit his lip and whined pitifully as Vale slowly stretched him out over and over, taking his sweet time to savor the way Jonah’s muscles spasmed around him as he pushed the boy’s body further than what should’ve been anatomically possible. 

All of a sudden, sparks lit up Jonah’s torso and gasped sharply, feeling his head spin. Oh fuckfuck— He moaned in pleasure as the head of Vale’s cock brushed up against that spot he had pressed on earlier. Vale snickered, then did it again. Fireworks flashed in Jonah’s vision, and he cried out, his back arching up into the motion on pure instinct. 

“Oh god—fuck—! Fuckfuck— Master please!” Jonah was falling apart at the seams now, crumbling at the force of the sensation being pressed up into his body with every push of the Captain’s hips. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He heard Vale coo from somewhere above him. He could barely see, white was edging at the corners of his vision—everything was growing fuzzy and all he could focus on was the stretch and that spot the Captain kept hitting. 

“Tooslowtooslowtooslow!” Jonah whined. It was agonizing now—Vale was toying with him, seeing how long he could tease him before the boy cracked and begged to be fucked relentlessly into the mattress. 

“What do you want, dear?” Vale prompted, a satisfied smile on his face. Everything was going exactly as he’d wanted. 

“Please—! M-master—fuck me, p-please, please fuck me Master please—-!!!” Jonah wailed, squeezing his eyes shut and straining his body to rut back up into Sebástian’s hungry cock. 

“That’s what I wanted to hear, sweetheart,” Vale smiled, before pulling back his hips and thrusting into the boy with vigor. Jonah cried out at the feeling, spurting precum from the tip of his little cock now as it twitched, untouched and aching against his stomach. 

Jonah gasped and sobbed as Vale punished him relentlessly, fucking into him like he was starving and Jonah was the wettest, tightest thing he’d ever felt in his life. God, he really might be. Vale loved how he squeezed around him, how tiny he was compared to himself. And he took him so well—he was so needy—and his sounds, God, fuck—

Vale was losing it along with Jonah, jabbing into the boy’s prostate over and over and gripping his slender waist for better leverage. 

The room was filled now with the sounds of both of them, the thumping of the mattress a steady beat against Jonah’s whines and gasps and Vale’s blissful groans. 

All of a sudden, Vale lowered himself to meet Jonah’s open, panting mouth with his own. He tasted divine, and Jonah moaned into his master’s mouth so willingly as he returned the kiss. 

Sebástian slipped his tongue past Jonah’s soft lips, letting it explore his mouth and slide as far in as he could towards the back of the boy’s throat. It was intrusive, invasive—it would’ve been so revolting to Jonah in any other moment, if he hadn’t been getting split open in the best way on his Master’s cock in that very moment. Instead, he could only groan around Vale’s tongue, panting hard through his nose and bucking his hips up against the man above him to try and get some friction against his leaking erection. 

Vale explored Jonah’s mouth as he ravaged his boy’s body, thoroughly dazed at the feeling of filling both of Jonah’s holes at once. He was perfect like this. Vale wanted him like this every night for the rest of his life. 

At last, Vale pulled back, separating their lips once more with a thin, wet string of saliva hanging between them as they panted the same air. 

Vale painted open mouthed kisses down Jonah’s neck, tonguing at the red lines left behind by the knife before biting down and sucking bruises into his neck, drawing pained gasps and beautiful cries from the trembling boy beneath him. He worked his way down to Jonah’s collarbones, biting down once more and relishing at the feeling of gnawing the bone between his jaws. So delicate… He bit down on the space where Jonah’s neck and shoulder met, sucking deep bruises into the boy’s flesh. He wanted him all nice and marked up, so that everyone who saw the slave would know he was claimed and owned. Vale alternated between kissing and biting at Jonah’s skin, swirling his tongue along the boy’s flesh before gnawing at it with his teeth. It was a kaleidoscope of sensations for Jonah, who couldn’t think at all now—he could only lie there and take it, twitching up into the empty space between them, dizzy to near delirium now with everything he was forced to feel.

“Fuck, fuck fuck—-“ Jonah whimpered. “Master, please! Please touch me, Master, please—!” 

Well, Vale thought, if he was going to beg like that— He smiled and indulged him, reaching a hand down and wrapping his fingers around the boy’s aching length. He slowly squeezed him, with just enough pressure to make Jonah’s eyes roll back in pleasure, before beginning to slide his hand up and down. 

He’d only done it a couple of times—Jonah’s voice rose higher and higher as he moaned against him, until it reached a fever pitch and the boy threw his head back. His voice cracked sharply as he moaned, all his muscles tensed up so hard Vale felt as though the boy might snap in half. Jonah’s back arched up off the mattress and his hips spasmed up into Vale’s hand as he began to shoot his release all over his own stomach. 

Vale kept fucking him the whole time, stroking and squeezing him with his hand until he was sure he’d wrung every last drop from the boy’s body. After several long moments, Jonah went limp, collapsing back to the silken sheets and gasping for air. 

Fuck— The sight of him like that— it was driving Vale over the edge— Fuck— He drove into him harder, picking up the pace and fucking in and out of him even faster. Jonah started whining at the overstimulation, wriggling beneath him as his muscles twitched and spasmed around Vale’s cock. 

Vale drove deep into Jonah as he came, groaning against the boy’s carved up throat as he shot into him as far as he could. He saw white as he fucked him through his orgasm, and it was the best thing he’d ever felt—even better than Jonah’s mouth. Jonah could feel it gushing out of Vale’s tip, liquid heat coating his insides and he cried out—it was too much—his nerves were on fire—it was too much—

Finally, Vale collapsed onto his elbows over Jonah’s trembling body, completely spent. He panted deeply, trying to catch his breath, still lightly thrusting up inside of Jonah to fuck it deeper as he slowly went soft inside of him. 

Jonah couldn’t feel his legs. It was almost as though he was floating, somewhere high above where his body lay. In the dark, misty clouds above the ship, perhaps, lifted by a midnight wind. 

Eventually, Vale climbed off of Jonah to get himself cleaned up, though Jonah hardly registered it through his haze. He felt a cool wet cloth swiping down his skin—Vale was wiping the remnants of his release from his torso. Jonah lay there limply, his arms still trapped beneath him, still bound in the red silk ribbon. 

At some point, Jonah felt himself being rolled over onto his front. He groaned lightly at the motion as Vale worked at the knotted ribbon to free his hands at last. For the first time in hours, Jonah flexed his arms, drawing them in front of him and hissing in pain as his sore muscles clenched. Vale slid onto the bed beside him, taking the boy in his arms. 

“You did so well for me, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Jonah’s head. 

Jonah made a small, muffled sound against the pillow, content to lie here for now. Peace at last. Vale slid an arm beneath his neck and wrapped another around the boy’s torso, pulling him in close. Jonah could feel the Captain’s bare chest rising with his breath, pressing warmly against his back. 

In the afterglow of the praise, Jonah didn’t think at all about what would come in the morning. He rested in the present, between Sebástian’s arms in the dimming lantern light. He’d done well. He’d pleased his new master. He wouldn’t be punished any more tonight. Jonah let that thought reassure him as he drifted off into a blissful sleep. 

༻✦༺

First night with the Captain is officially complete! Yay we did it folks. Thanks for reading my porn uwu. Stay tuned next for some actual plot!

LA SIRENA DE SANGRE TAGLIST

@spookyboywhump @livelaughwhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @unforgivenn @befuddled-calico-whump

@bloodthirsty-squirrel @writing-for-gold @thesecretgardenofmymind @unorganisedalienrubbish @thekneelingdoll

@victimeyez @veilofvoices @the-scrapegoat @ladygwennn @atomicsandwichprince 

@hueningplushie @girlsdogmotif @hikari-hat @whumpedydump @morning-star-whump 

@whumpwhittler @thegravylady @ilyaswife @pigeons-are-cool @whump-slump 

Jonah let the light blue chiffon slide down his back, turning slightly and allowing his hips to sway with the motion. He was so deeply uncomfortable, mimicking the body language of some tavern dancer, but Vale seemed to be enjoying it—Jonah could see the slight curl in his lips and the hunger in his eyes. Jonah slid the fabric down to expose his hipbones, and tried not to visibly react when he saw the Captain lower a hand to palm himself over the fabric of his pants. Just like Jaxon had done, only slower, merely teasing himself the way a lover might. Unlike Jaxon, though, Sebástian had all the time in the world. And Jonah was certain that he would drag this out until—

The inevitable. 

“Turn around for me, muñequito,” the Captain ordered, his voice smooth like molten caramel. Jonah’s heart raced in his chest. He’d been trying his hardest to please Captain Vale—it had been working—but this was the moment it would all fall apart. Any hope for a peaceful, non-violent evening would end after this. 

Jonah stood frozen for a moment, but when Vale cocked an eyebrow at him impatiently, he knew he had no choice. This would end badly either way—it was better to just obey. He was bound to see it eventually. Just get it over with.

Jonah grit his teeth and forced himself to turn, the fabric slipping down below his hip bones and exposing the dip of his spine. 

With his back to the Captain, Jonah stared at the floor. 

“What on earth is that?” Vale growled. Jonah heard him rise to his feet, then he felt a hand gripping the back of his neck. Vale’s other hand jabbed at the initials burned into the right side of Jonah’s lower back, just over his kidney. CM. Carlisle Montague. 

Tears were streaking down Jonah’s face now, and he was shuddering horribly. “A—” Jonah’s voice cracked. “A, a b-brand, M-master,” he whimpered. He hated this. He wanted to disappear. Vale was just as angry as he’d expected him to be. 

Vale’s hand twisted up into Jonah’s hair, and the boy yelped when he felt himself being yanked harshly from the bedroom, back into the main living room.

Jonah sobbed as the Captain dragged him back to the entrance of the quarters, unlocking the door and calling out across the deck. 

“Voss!” Sebástian’s voice boomed out over the deck of the ship. “Get in here now.”

Jonah shook in his grasp, trying and failing to stifle his panicked crying. He was going to be punished for something he hadn't even wanted. He’d screamed the whole way through the branding, that fateful day back in Carlisle’s workshop. Carlisle had only laughed as he pressed the burning metal to the boy’s tender flesh.

Voss arrived in less than a minute, “Captain, what seems to be the—“ Vale gripped Voss’ shoulder with his other hand and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Why the fuck wasn’t I notified about this?” Vale hissed, abruptly spinning Jonah around and pointing to the brand, accusingly pressing down on the initials with his finger. 

“Oh my—“ Voss said. “Frankly, I didn’t see it earlier. The boy was facing me front ways and—“

“Well we have to do something about this, don’t we,” the Captain snapped. 

“Of course,” Voss agreed. His voice was calm and cool in the face of the Captain’s ire, like he was used to it. “I can have the brand heated up tomorrow and we can give him a nice new one to match the mutt,” Voss punctuated his words with a toothy grin. 

Jonah felt the world fall out from beneath his feet. He bit down on his hand and sobbed around his fist. It was going to happen again—again. Jonah wanted to wake up from this—he’d do anything to avoid this fate. His branding with Carlisle still played over and over in his nightmares. He couldn’t imagine going through that a second time. 

Vale, on the other hand, seemed reassured at the promise of a new brand. 

“Very well,” Vale said, past the peak of his anger now and descending down the crest of it. “A new brand in the morning. And I'm going to slice this one up tonight so it’s clear which one stands.” 

Jonah felt his vision wavering, black was closing in around the edges. Everything in him was buzzing with panic—he wanted to sink into the floor, to curl into a ball and sob until he disappeared, but the Captain’s tight grip in his hair kept him miserably upright. 

“Very good, Captain,” Voss agreed, ignoring Jonah’s stifled sobbing, his voice steady and businesslike as ever. “Is that all then?”

Vale sighed. “Yes, yes. I just wanted you to be aware of our little… situation so we can make proper arrangements.”

“Consider it done, Sir,” Voss flashed a smile—perhaps it was meant to be reassuring to the Captain, but it just looked sinister when Jonah peaked a teary glance in his direction. He regretted it almost immediately, and hid his face in his hands. 

“Very well,” Vale said, and Jonah felt so invisible standing there between them. Though he’d cried through their whole conversation, it was as though he weren’t in the room at all while they discussed his fate. 

“That is all,” Sebástian said. “You may return to your station.” 

“Can’t let these idiots go unsupervised for too long. You know how it gets,” Voss said. “Sir,” he addressed the Captain with a nod of his head, then slipped back out into the night. 

Vale abruptly shook Jonah’s head around by the fist in his hair, “it’s alright, pretty thing,” he said it with a menacingly sweet tone, but Jonah still heard that fervent intensity buzzing through his every word. “We’ll get that nasty old brand all fixed up for you.” 

Jonah was inconsolable, crying into his hands as he was dragged back into the bedroom. 

Was there even any use in begging at this point? He was terrified of making the Captain any more angry than he already was. 

“I’m so- sorry,” he said instead, his breath hitching as he choked out a sob. “I’m sorry, M-master,” the apologies were bubbling out of him like water from a hot spring, pouring out of him fresh and hot like the tears from his eyes. 

“It’s alright, dear boy,” Vale’s words would seem comforting if he weren’t gritting his teeth as he said them. “We’ll get you all fixed up now, won’t we.” 

Vale shoved Jonah face down on the bed so he was bent over the side of it. Sebástian yanked the chiffon dress the rest of the way down, letting it pool at his slave’s feet. Jonah trembled against the plush comforter, tears streaking the silken cover as he heard the metallic shing that meant the knife had been drawn once more. Jonah tried to stay still, terror freezing in his chest, when he felt Vale’s left hand grip him fiercely on the back of his neck, pinning him down against the mattress. 

“P-please, Master—” Jonah pleaded through broken sobs. “Please don’t—”

Jonah screamed as the dagger dug in, gripping the comforter until his knuckles turned white as the knife twisted deeper into his flesh. It hurt almost as badly as getting the brand itself, though Jonah was sure nothing was as painful. And he had another one tomorrow. Jonah’s heart careened down a pit of hopelessness, dropping further and further into a dark cavern in which no light could reach. 

Vale chuckled darkly, a deep satisfaction swelling within him as he carved through Carlisle’s brand. He dug the knife in deep enough to scar—he would mar this brand like his life depended on it, and then after tomorrow, there would be no question who Jonah belonged to. 

Jonah wailed like a banshee while Sebástian dug the blade in and dragged it through his flesh, carving a wide red X over the face of those wretched initials. Blood ran in scarlet streaks down Jonah’s lower back, sprung free from the confines of his skin to ink red rivers down the boy’s tanned body. 

“Please!” Jonah wailed, wishing he would pass out instead of being forced to endure another second of this. “Please— Master please st- stop! Pleease!”

Vale ignored him, eager to keep drawing more beautiful noises from his new slave. He could feel himself stiffening once again at the boy’s screams. It was a reaction beyond his control, but it was welcome. He relished in Jonah’s little shocked gasp when he pressed his clothed groin flush to the curve of the boy’s behind. Vale knew Jonah could feel how this was affecting him. In response, Jonah sobbed even harder—his throat was starting to get hoarse from all the screaming shredding his vocal chords. 

When he deemed the bloody X deep enough, Sebástian withdrew the knife from the wound and twisted his other hand into Jonah’s hair again. He yanked the boy’s head back and grinned at the startled cry it drew out of him. Vale leaned down and held the blade of the knife right in front of the boy’s face. 

“Lick. It. Clean,” he commanded, a new type of frenzy electrified his voice now. It all made his heart pound with excitement—the sheer thrill of it—he was delighted with the way his toy reacted.

Jonah cried the whole time, but forced himself to open his mouth and slide his tongue along the flat surface of the knife. He tried to be careful not to cut his tongue, but he was shaking so badly he was relieved he managed it. He panted, open mouthed, as he lapped up the blood, his head still dizzy with the pain radiating from that spot on his back.

Vale pulled the knife back once he was satisfied, tucking it back into its sheath at his hip once more. He wanted to flip Jonah over right then and there—to shove all the way inside him and see how far he could push his tongue down the boy’s throat—but he didn’t want to get blood all over the bed covers. It almost pained him to withdraw at a moment like this, but he managed it, ordering the boy to stay while he retrieved some bandages from the adjacent bathroom. 

Jonah didn’t have the strength left in him to move, even if he wanted to. The silk of the bedspread felt wet beneath his face as he collapsed back down upon it. Tears still slid down his cheeks, and he panted and gasped between shuddering exhales, trying to catch his breath, to stop crying, anything to regain some semblance of composure before the inevitable happened. He hated the way he always cried like this whenever he was in pain.

Jonah felt limp, ragged, spent, as he came down from the panicked adrenaline and settled into a wave of exhaustion. Vale returned to patch the wound with gauze, and Jonah’s limbs felt heavy, sprawled out there on the silk. Vale applied a thick gauze pad to catch the bleeding, before reaching an arm beneath Jonah’s slender torso to haul him up a bit. Jonah let him, didn’t fight it, and he obediently held the position so Vale could wrap the gauze strip around his body and tie it in place. He didn’t want to find out what Vale would do if he were to get his blood all over the man’s expensive bedcovers.

When Vale was finished, Jonah slumped down into the bed again, saying nothing. He felt almost numb now, the pain dulling his senses as it reverberated from the brand on his lower back. Vale lowered his hand to slowly pet Jonah’s hair in what might have been intended as a calming gesture. 

“There you are. You’re okay, pretty thing,” Vale cooed. “I’m making you better for me. Aren’t you lucky? You’re already so much better now.” Vale leaned in close, his voice low against Jonah’s ear. “I’m proud of you,” he said, and Jonah felt as though he would start crying again. He hated that he felt it, but his heart clung to the praise like a lifeline. He’d do anything to keep this man happy with him. 

“Now, be a good boy while I play with you,” Vale said into his ear, and Jonah only let out a weak moan. He couldn’t get his tongue to form words. Everything felt too heavy.

Vale stepped back momentarily to retrieve a long, silk red ribbon from a drawer behind Jonah. He pulled Jonah’s limp arms behind him and began to wind the strip of fabric around the boy’s thin wrists. He cinched it tightly, tying a sturdy knot to keep Jonah’s hands in place at the small of his back. Jonah let him, a despairing resignation weighing him down. 

Sebástian tugged Jonah up by his hair and dragged him back over to the dressing bench. Jonah only let out a morose whimper at the pain in his scalp, but allowed himself to be maneuvered, his legs shaking and unsteady. When he reached it, Vale gave Jonah’s head a forceful shove downwards, dropping the boy to his knees. Settling himself atop the bench’s plush velvet surface, the Captain ran his hands through Jonah’s hair. His touch felt almost loving, and Jonah instinctively leaned into it before his hazy mind could process it. 

Vale could feel the blood pooling low in his abdomen, tugging his attention downwards incessantly. “I’ve taken such good care of you, my pet—relieving you of that distasteful symbol.” His voice was sweet yet dangerous, as if every word were dripping with poisoned honey. “Now it’s your turn to take care of me.”

Jonah flicked his reddened eyes up to Sebástian’s face, with an expression that looked downright pitiful. His eyes were wide and wet, his lip wobbled, like he was trying not to cry again. Vale felt himself twitch again between his legs. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. 

Now that the boy was clearly out of it from all the pain, Sebástian knew he could use Jonah’s mouth without much resistance. His throat would be nice and pliable for him to mold.

“It’s important for a slave to learn how to please its master, is it not?” Vale said, freeing his leather belt from its buckle and working the button on his pants open. 

“Y-yes, Master,” Jonah felt the blood drain from his face—he knew what came next. 

“And you’ve just got such a pretty face, dear, it's only right that I use it, don’t you agree?”

Jonah felt a tug at his hair, before uttering another miserable ‘Yes, Master’ as he felt his head pulled forward. He tried to close his eyes and imagine he was somewhere, anywhere else. On a beach, on the sand, resting somewhere warm. Vale pressed the boy’s face up against his clothed bulge, feeling himself twitch against the heat of Jonah’s breath. 

“I’ll teach you to worship me properly,” Vale promised, that sickening warmth ever present in his voice. “It starts here.”

Jonah played along, eager to keep the dagger in its sheath and away from his skin for the rest of the night. He could feel tears rising once more, a lump forming in his throat. But he played along just as he was supposed to, mouthing and panting against the fabric between the Captain’s parted knees. He choked back a small sob, and that seemed to drive the Captain further—he gave Jonah’s hair a small tug, before unwrapping the seam of his pants and freeing the hardened length that had been trapped beneath. Jonah winced when he saw the size of it—he knew his throat would be hurting in the morning, from more than just his screams. 

“Look at me, darling boy,” the Captain ordered, and Jonah’s eyelashes fluttered as he gazed up at him. Vale could see the tears welling in the corners of his slave’s eyes, and knew that they could be spilled at any moment, if Jonah blinked too hard. He looked forward to watching them fall once more. 

Vale began by simply toying with the boy’s mouth with his fingers. He slipped a thumb past Jonah’s pink lips and slid it over his tongue. He pressed down on it, experimentally. Jonah gave a weak little moan, and that went straight to Vale’s aching length. He wrapped his other hand around it, stroking himself as he swapped his thumb for two fingers. He lazily fucked the boy’s mouth with his fingers, feeling himself grow and stiffen even further in his other hand. 

“No, no. Keep your eyes on me,” Vale corrected when Jonah tried to look away in shame. “I want to see your pretty face while I use you, dear.”

Vale pressed in further, forcing Jonah’s mouth open wider until his fingers hit the back of his throat. He felt the muscles therein spasm as Jonah choked at the intrusion—he was pleased the boy knew better than to try and pull away. Beads of moisture leaked from his tip now as he invaded Jonah’s mouth, and above all else, Sebástian knew he had to have that gorgeous, tight throat wrapped around him immediately. 

At last, he withdrew his hand slowly, letting the string of saliva lengthen from his fingertips to the boy’s glossy lips. 

“Now, querida,” Sebåstian smiled. “I want you to worship me.”

Jonah felt Vale’s hand at the back of his neck, slowly, eagerly, drawing his mouth forward towards the tip of his now leaking erection. 

“And If I fucking feel teeth,” he warned, “I will pull them out myself.”

Jonah shivered at the threat. “Yes, Master,” he nearly whispered. He blinked up at Vale, half-cocking his head to the side, expecting further instructions, but the Captain just returned his gaze, waiting expectantly. Vale wanted to see what his new pet already had trained into him. 

Jonah felt terror grip his chest and bubble up his throat—he was nothing without instructions, without force. He was terrified of upsetting his new master, and he only knew what Carlisle had enjoyed—usually taking him forcefully and fucking his mouth like a fleshlight, or lying back in a drunken haze and dragging Jonah’s face up and down on his cock with a fierce grip in his hair.

Nearly spilling tears once more, Jonah let his jaw go slack and pushed his tongue out from between his bitten lips, just the way he was trained to. He shuffled forward a bit on his knees so he wouldn’t have to lean over so far—his balance was offset with his hands tied behind him.

It was a whole different territory now, here, between the Captain’s knees. Jonah wasn’t used to being given the reins like this, to taking initiative on his own. Usually his job was just to endure, to take whatever Carlisle wanted to do to him without complaint. But he knew Vale wanted a show. He vowed to himself, for his own good, not to disappoint him. 

Ever so slowly, Jonah brought his lips forward until their skin touched, and he began kissing and mouthing up Vale’s length, ignoring how his owner’s precum dripped down onto his cheek, mingling with his tears. The tightness in his chest only gripped him more sharply as he continued. He was so not used to doing it like this—he felt so observed, like hot stagelights were burning up his cheeks.

Once he reached the tip, Jonah remembered what Vale had said about eye contact. Fearing having to be reminded, he blinked up at him through his blonde eyelashes and gingerly wrapped his lips around the Captain’s tip. Jonah forced his eyes to unfocus a bit, so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Vale’s face as he nursed the tip in worshipful, open-mouthed kisses. 

Vale gazed down at him almost lovingly, a heat behind his eyes and a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Take it now, dear,” Sebástian instructed, and Jonah obeyed, feeling a tinge of gratitude to be told what to do for a moment. Slowly, he lowered his head, taking inch upon inch into his mouth until Sebástian’s tip jabbed at the back of his throat. He gagged when he felt the man’s hips twitch upwards, pushing himself in even further back. Tears were leaking from the boy’s eyes as he tried not to keep choking around the intrusion, but that was made all the more difficult with what the Captain demanded of him next. 

“Good boy,” Vale stroked his hair fondly. “Come on, little thing, take it all now.” 

Jonah whined around him—for all his efforts, he still hadn’t fully fit his master’s length all the way inside his mouth, and he balled his hands into fists behind his back and forced his head down ever further, pushing the tip of his owner’s cock past the wall of muscle at his uvula and down into his throat. 

“Mmhnn, good boy,” Vale moaned, “Now stay there—hold it—just like that.” He let his hips twitch upward again and felt Jonah gag around him, the muscles in his slave’s throat spasming and squeezing him so perfectly. 

Jonah couldn’t breathe—the width of it filled every centimeter of space in his throat, nothing could get past the intrusion. He tried breathing through his nose, focusing on drawing in little pockets of air as best he could. He was getting lightheaded, and he couldn’t stop gagging. He was semi-decent at controlling it, most of the time, but for all Carlisle’s years of abuse, he still hadn’t managed to train Jonah’s gag reflex entirely out of him. Jonah was worried Sebástian would punish him for it, but truthfully the man seemed to be taking great pleasure in it, letting out low, pleased moans whenever Jonah’s throat spasmed around his length. 

“God, yeah that’s good—you feel amazing, pet,” Vale leaned his head back and relished in the feeling of that tight heat pressing in around him. He fit down Jonah’s throat like a puzzle piece—it was just snug enough to feel amazing. 

Sebástian floated there for a while, nestled in the taut muscles of Jonah’s throat, imagining the boy warming him beneath his desk. He looked forward to having the little thing present and bowing at his feet to keep his cock warm while he filled out innocuous paperwork. 

At last, Sebástian spoke. “Alright, you can move now, little pet.” Jonah groaned in response, and the vibrations sent jolts of pleasure up Vale’s length. Tears streaming down his face. Jonah began to pull his head back up, choking a bit as the Captain’s tip slid out from the back of his throat and onto his tongue once again. His mouth opened against it and he panted desperately, sucking in as much air as he could, feeling the weight of his master’s cock weighing down on the surface of his tongue. 

From here, Jonah started to feel a bit more confident. He knew how to make a man feel good. Maybe, if he pleased his Master well now, this night wouldn’t have to go any further. He dutifully wrapped his lips around him once more and pushed his head back down, sliding him in and out of his throat and finding a slow, steady rhythm that sent pulsing waves of electric pleasure through the Captain’s groin. 

Jonah slipped his tongue over the tip each time he pulled his head up, lapping at the precum that beaded out like glue. He could taste it—bitter and somewhat salty, but different from Carlisle. Jonah’s face was hot with humiliation, bound hand and foot and forced to pleasure the Captain on his knees—but some part of him still clung desperately to a silver lining, and he told himself that he didn’t mind this quite as much compared to getting face-fucked mercilessly. It wasn’t so bad, he told himself. He could do this. He just had to be good. 

Dutifully bobbing his head up and down the Captain’s shaft, Jonah internally grimaced when he felt Vale’s hand curling and twitching in his hair—he knew his Master was drawing closer. He chased it—shoving down the agony and the disgust and the self-pity. Now was his chance—make him feel good now and get sent away and you won’t have to do anything else. The tears never stopped flowing, but the Captain only seemed turned on by his little slave’s misery. 

Jonah felt some sickening mixture of anticipation and dread when Vale’s hand twisted in his hair and he roughly shoved the boy’s head all the way down, only to drag him back up again. Fuckfuck—it fucking hurt—Jonah had started audibly crying again, more than just tears—muffled little choked cries were forced out as the Captain ravaged his face. Vale repeated the motion again and again while Jonah gagged and sobbed brokenly around him. 

“Fuck, so fucking good for me,” Sebástian groaned, gripping the boy’s hair with both hands now and fucking his mouth at a relentless pace. 

At last, just when Jonah thought he’d lose consciousness entirely, he felt the Captain shove himself all the way down his throat as far as he could go—nose pressed to skin—before hot liquid came spurting out of his tip and shot straight down into Jonah’s esophagus. The way the boy’s throat spasmed around him as he choked and cried was heaven, and Vale saw white as he pressed his hips forward. He threw his head back and moaned loudly, his eyes squeezed shut. Jonah didn’t even have a choice in whether to swallow—Vale had pressed in deep enough to shoot it directly down his throat.

Sebástian slowly rode out his pleasure, twitching deep inside the boy, before panting heavily as he came down and slowly slid himself back out. Jonah nearly collapsed when his mouth was finally empty again, and he crumpled on his knees and gasped furiously for air—unobstructed, sacred air.

Vale chuckled breathlessly, beyond pleased with his new toy’s performance. “God, pet,” he mused. “With you on your knees in my quarters, at my command, how on earth will I get anything done?” 

Jonah barely heard what he’d said—he was too busy trying to catch his breath and still the thundering heartbeat in his ears. He rested his forehead against the Captain’s thigh unconsciously, clinging to any scrap of relief he could get. 

They sat there together for a few moments, both trying to catch their breath. Vale, emboldened and delighted—Jonah, dismayed and thoroughly humiliated, yet relieved it was finally over. He’d done it. He’d pleased the Captain, and now maybe he would even be allowed to sleep. His limbs felt so heavy. His throat ached from the screaming and the abuse. He was so tired. He wouldn’t dare ask it, but he wanted so badly to be dismissed. 

As though he’d jinxed his fate with the mere thought of a merciful end to the evening, the Captain’s fingers returned to comb through Jonah’s hair and he spoke down to him once more in that voice that oozed like warm honey.

“You did such a good job, pet. Such a good boy for me,” he said, and Jonah let the praise wash over him, taking it wherever he could get it. “But don’t delude yourself into thinking I've finished with you.” 

Jonah’s blood froze. 

“No no, pet,” Vale cooed, an amusement in his voice now at the boy’s panicked reaction. “I intend to thoroughly enjoy you tonight, and we’ve still got a long night ahead of us.” 

༻✦༺

Yes that’s right this also got long so it will be extended into a part 3! 

LA SIRENA DE SANGRE TAGLIST

@spookyboywhump @livelaughwhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @unforgivenn @befuddled-calico-whump

@bloodthirsty-squirrel @writing-for-gold @thesecretgardenofmymind @unorganisedalienrubbish @thekneelingdoll

@victimeyez @veilofvoices @the-scrapegoat @ladygwennn @atomicsandwichprince 

@hueningplushie @girlsdogmotif @hikari-hat @whumpedydump @morning-star-whump 

The Captain’s face slid into view when the doorway was ajar, and Jonah’s eyes widened at the way the light of the lanterns seemed to lavish the man’s features in their orange glow. He had changed his earlier light-colored tunic for a dark midnight-blue garment with ruffles down the sides that lay unbuttoned down his torso. His face was all sharp, dramatic angles—shadows cast across his forehead and the light seemed to cling to the tip of his nose and the top of his cheekbones. His skin looked dewy and youthful in the golden glow, and Jonah found himself briefly wondering how old he was, and what someone so young would’ve had to do to become captain of his own ship—a ship like this nonetheless. 

“Evening, Captain, Sir,” Crowe addressed the man. Sebástian gave a polite nod to Crowe before fixating his gaze on Jonah. 

“Oh my..” he mused, reaching a hand out to cup Jonah’s face. “You are just breathtaking like this.” The Captain smiled, as if listless, and his hazel eyes nearly sparkled as he gazed down at the shivering boy. 

Jonah felt frozen in place. He didn’t speak, only returned the Captain’s gaze and tried not to pass out from trepidation alone.

“Alejandro really did ‘im up nicely, eh Sir?” Crowe commented. 

“Indeed, such a little treat,” Sebástian smiled. “I look forward to finding out how he tastes.” 

Jonah gulped, the shiver that ran through him was from much more than the cold now. 

“Well, he’s all yours Captain,” Crowe said, giving a little shove to the back of Jonah’s neck. The Captain reached out and took Jonah’s hand, leading him inside the chamber. Captain Vale’s hands were smooth and soft, not quite what Jonah would have expected from a pirate captain. Though, he supposed, nothing about this place seemed to be what Jonah would have expected. 

The doorway opened up to a large central chamber. There was a large mahogany desk on one side of the room, a lounge area with a sofa and a few chairs arranged around a wooden coffee table. Shelves and glass cabinets lined the walls, filled with an array of treasures—ornate plates and goblets shone brightly in the lantern light, necklaces, pendants, and rings rested upon plush black velvet stands. A large piano stood on the far side of the room beneath a wide bay-style window that looked out onto the starry seascape. It looked truly glamorous—befitting of someone like Captain Vale. Jonah could see another open doorway to the right side of the room, which seemed to lead into a bedroom. Jonah could glimpse the edge of a large, luxurious-looking bed through the threshold. 

“Welcome to my chambers, dear Jonah,” the Captain said, a warmth in his voice that reminded Jonah of Alejandro in a way he found deeply unsettling. Alejandro had seemed ever so pleasant, so warm—until he wasn’t. Alejandro had nearly drowned Jonah for daring to resist him, and Jonah would hate to find out what awful punishment would befall him if he were to disappoint or, god forbid, anger the Captain of all people. 

Jonah didn’t know what to say. He knew why he was here. He knew it wasn’t for a friendly conversation over tea. 

“It’s very nice, Sir,” Jonah said nervously. Suddenly, there was a hand in his hair and he was being shoved back until his head hit the now closed door. Jonah gasped at the impact—he’d hit his head way too many times today and was starting to feel concussed.

“First rule, dear boy,” hissed the Captain, his voice suddenly low and menacing. “Do recall what I reminded you of this morning. I’ll give you one chance to fix it. How are you to address me, slave?”

“M-master! I’m sorry—! It, it w-won’t happen again, Master,” Jonah was close to tears out of sheer panic alone.  

The fist in his hair relented as quickly as it came, and the Captain let his fingers relax as he gently petted Jonah’s hair. 

“There, that’s better isn’t it?” Vale said, almost too gently. “Isn’t it better to do as I say and keep me happy?” There was a heavy condescension in his voice, and though he loathed it, Jonah hated to admit he was somewhat getting used to being talked to this way.

“Y-yes, Master,” Jonah panted, leaning back against the door. “Thank you, Master.” He wasn’t sure why he said it, it was pure instinct and panic—but he really was grateful to be given a chance to correct himself. 

“If I have to remind you again,” the Captain warned, “Let’s just say I might have to open up a few new scars on your body.”

Jonah paled, squeezing his eyes shut at the threat. ‘Yes, Master,” he squeaked, too afraid to say anything else. 

“Now then,” Sebástian seemed to recover instantly. “Let’s have a good look at you, shall we?” Jonah nodded, trying to still the trembling in his hands. The Captain led him back into the center of that grand room and positioned him facing the large window. 

“Stay,” came the order, and Jonah obeyed. Sebástian circled him slowly, like a lioness looking for the best angle to pounce, and Jonah could feel those sharp hazel eyes raking up and down his skin. The Captain’s hand traced up Jonah’s torso, gliding smooth fingertips over the lines of gold chain that held the thin pieces of sheer fabric to his body. The Captain stepped around him and that same hand slid down his back, so slowly that Jonah had to clench his hands into fists to suppress the urge to flinch. 

“My, my..” Sebástian’s voice dipped and he tutted his tongue down at Jonah, pausing his prowl to further study his back. “Badly behaved for your old master, weren’t you?” He’d already assumed. The tendons in Jonah’s neck tightened like strings on a violin bow. It wasn’t true.

“N-no! Master..” Jonah fought to keep his voice steady amid the rush of panic. “I- I wasn’t! I mean— I,” he was scrambling for the right words. “I always tried t-to be good, M-master,” he said a bit more quietly, a sheepishness lacing his tone as his face reddened in shame. He knew how this looked—all the years worth of whip scars layered over one another like brushstrokes on a bloody painting. The evidence was damning—and the Captain hadn’t even seen the brand yet—oh, Jonah loathed to have to live through the moment when he did. But for now, the pale chiffon seemed to just barely obscure the spot where it sat on his lower back. 

“Well, don’t worry, my darling,” Sebástian leaned in, wrapping his hands across Jonah’s torso and bringing his lips close enough to the boy to murmur into his ear. Jonah felt the Captain’s long hair sliding down his skin at their close proximity.

“I’ll simply paint over it,” Sebástian said, and Jonah could hear the dark smile lacing every word. “Just have to give you another few layers of lashes—really make sure that the marks you bear for the world to see are the marks given to you at my hand, at my command.” 

Jonah shivered against the Captain’s breath—hot on his neck, in the shell of his ear. He could feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Moisture was building behind his eyelids, and he bit his lip to ensure he didn’t react. 

It wasn’t even a threat—it was a promise. 

That perhaps stung worst of all—that even if Jonah behaved perfectly aboard the ship, he still had to suffer, just for what had been done to him by another man, his former master. Carlisle didn’t own him anymore, but he felt stupid for holding onto the hope that something here would be better. 

His mind returned once again to the brand. He didn’t want to think about what the Captain would say when he saw the brand. Don’t think about it.

Sebástian clicked his tongue, a short hiss of irritation, and Jonah instantly knew what it meant. He was supposed to answer. 

“Y-yes, Master,” he said morosely, trying not to start crying again. Fuck—why was he always crying. He loathed that part of himself—that it always seemed to be his automatic reaction. Why couldn’t he bite back like Sawyer? Though, then again, a lot of good it seemed to do Sawyer, whose back was in an even worse state than his own, by a long shot. 

“Good boy,” Sebástian cooed, running a hand through Jonah’s sandy hair and bringing his other hand up to cup the boy’s face. “I will make you completely mine. Every mark on your body will belong to me. Your every reaction, every word or sound you utter, will be only for me.”

Jonah wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer that, but he did anyway, just to be safe. Anything to be a little bit safer than he would otherwise be if he didn’t give this man exactly what he wanted. 

“Yes, Master,” Jonah said it like a promise, breathless words against his tongue. 

༻✦༺

Vale gave a practiced swish of his wrist, drawing a long dagger out from its sheath at his belt. Jonah winced when he saw the flash of the blade against the flickering light of the lanterns—he hadn’t even realized it was there. In an instant, Jonah blinked and Vale was holding it up against Jonah’s back, pressing the tip of the knife into the dip of the boy’s spine. Jonah’s heart beat like a racehorse running at breakneck speed, and he instinctively raised his hands above his shoulders in surrender. 

“Walk,” came the Captain’s order, and Jonah obeyed with a squeak of fear, allowing himself to be steered towards the doorway that he knew led to the bedroom. 

Inside was a slightly less large but nonetheless luxuriously designed room. A large bed sat on one side of it, covered with a plush, red satin comforter and adorned with a plethora of decorative pillows. The bed was flanked by intricately carved dual nightstands, atop which rested two hand-blown glass oil lamps—the glass had been blown in such a way to create the image of two birds taking flight. Jonah took note of how expensive they must have been. The whole room frightened him with how easy delicate things like the lamps would be to break. If he were to tip one over— Stop. Don’t think about it. He had to shove the thought of it away—he was only scaring himself with hypotheticals. He needed to take in his surroundings while he still could.

A long dressing bench, plush and upholstered, rested at the foot of the bed. On the other side of the room stood a large wardrobe and a tall, ornate mirror, its frame adorned with gold and jewels. It felt like the room would belong to a king or a prince of one of the many kingdoms beyond the great Atlantic. Jonah had only read of them in books before. He’d never been anywhere half as nice as this, and was afraid to touch anything at all. 

But the tip of the knife pressed him forward. His body obeyed the knife’s edge almost eagerly, melting into something malleable and moldable with its every movement. With every bit of pressure, the knife easily pushed him forward as if its wielder were a puppeteer, holding Jonah’s limp body aloft on tiny strings. 

“Sit,” Vale ordered when Jonah had been pushed up to the dressing bench. Jonah waited until the tip of the blade no longer pressed into his skin before he slowly turned. He sat obediently, trying and failing not to fidget with the hem of the dress. It was far too short—he was still clinging for any scrap of modesty he could get. 

The way Sebástian’s eyes slid over his body as he loomed down over the boy promised anything but modesty. The Captain held his hand out to run the blade up Jonah’s exposed chest. He slid it upwards, and Jonah let out a tiny gasp when the dagger’s edge caught on the boy’s sharp collarbone and left trickling beads of blood in its wake, before rising to tilt Jonah’s chin up to force him to look up into his master’s hungry visage. Jonah clenched his fists into the fabric of the dress and tried not to move—not to breathe—as the knife’s point slowly pressed against the thin layers of skin beneath his jawline. 

“I collect all sorts of treasures here, as you can see,” Vale mused, playing with the dagger’s edge and forcing Jonah’s head back as far as it would go. “You, my dear, shall be my prized possession.” His voice was a low, pleased hum as he slid the tip of the knife up and down Jonah’s neck. Jonah kept his head all the way back, terrified of moving suddenly and causing the knife to slice up his throat. The boy shook in place as he drew in a slow, cautious breath, trying to stay as frozen as a statue as the Captain played with the dagger. 

The tip pressed in deeper, and Jonah bit back a small, shocked cry—that had definitely broken skin, he thought miserably. He grit his teeth and hissed as the Captain dragged the blade of the dagger down, down, to his collarbone again, before suddenly swiping to the side like the stroke of a paintbrush, leaving another thin, bloody slice across the dip in his collarbone. 

Jonah didn’t dare move, didn’t dare crane his head down to try and look at it, to see whether that slow, warm trickle he felt was indeed his own blood. He kept his head back, neck bared submissively, and let the Captain slice him open—and slice him he did. Vale left long, decorative lines down both sides of Jonah’s neck, just deep enough to get a nice trickle of blood from each of the wounds. 

Jonah was shaking in fear, tensing every muscle in his body to avoid twitching into the blade. A pained, terrified whimper escaped his bitten lips at one particularly agonizing slice, and he nearly winced when he anticipated the Captain’s ire at his reaction. 

“Oh now, don’t be scared little one,” Vale cooed, his smile all teeth, like that of a wolf discovering a rabbit in a trap. “I like the little sounds you make.” 

Jonah whined in fear at that—he wasn’t even trying to give the Captain what he wanted, it just seemed to happen anyway. Vale gave a low chuckle, seemingly pleased with the way his new slave boy was responding. 

At last, the knife left his throat, and Jonah finally, tentatively, allowed himself to draw a full breath. Vale loomed down over him, leaning forward until he was in the boy’s line of sight. He worried the tip of the dagger against Jonah’s bottom lip, using a downward motion to pry the boy’s mouth open and lower his head a bit. Jonah panted against the blade now, his head dizzy with fear. The tears in his eyes made the Captain’s face waver above him as if he were gazing up at him from beneath the surface of a pool. He blinked, and a droplet broke the confines of his eyelids and slid down his cheek. He didn’t risk raising a hand to wipe it away. 

Sebástian held the knife sideways at the entrance to Jonah’s mouth, laying the metal surface across the boy’s bottom lip. 

“Lick it clean, now, slave,” Vale ordered, his smile wide and his voice smooth like the dark velvet beneath Jonah’s thighs. 

Like a horse that could be spooked by the snapping of a mere twig, Jonah tentatively pushed his tongue out of his mouth to lick at the tip of the dagger. It tasted metallic, like iron, as he lapped at his own blood. When the blood had been licked away, Jonah carefully wound his tongue beneath the blade to polish its underside with his saliva. More tears were falling now. He just wanted the knife to be put away. He could still feel blood running slowly down his neck, mixed now with the saltiness of tears that ran unburdened down the sides of his face.

When Vale was satisfied at last, the dagger was pulled away and sheathed back into its holster, and Jonah began panting hard—realizing only now how little he’d allowed himself to breathe throughout the entire time he’d been held at knifepoint. He felt so lightheaded—perhaps from the sudden rush of oxygen after what felt like ages of partial deprivation, or perhaps from the sheer terror of how close he’d come to getting fatally sliced open—likely a mix of both.

“That really is a lovely little number they’ve put you in,” Sebástian commented, trailing his fingers down the fabric that barely clung to the edge of Jonah’s shoulder. “It looks so nice on you. In fact, I think I’ve decided not to slice it off of you this time, just so you can wear it again for me.” 

“Um, thank you M-master,” Jonah whispered, still trying to get his head to stop spinning, trying to will away that nauseating feeling—all his fear and adrenaline had mixed now with the relief that the dagger was no longer being pressed up against his skin.

“Now, let’s get you out of that so I can fully enjoy you,” Vale smiled as he said it, beginning to unwrap the chain from the fabric loops at Jonah’s torso. 

Jonah tried to gulp down the heavy lump that trapped itself in his throat—there really was no getting out of this. This was going to happen. The man was armed and he would see the brand and he would— he would— 

There was nothing Jonah could do to stop whatever happened next. 

༻✦༺

First night with the Captain will be split into multiple parts! I was having so much fun I got carried away with just the foreplay! Actual noncon will start in the next part, stay tuned <33

LA SIRENA TAGLIST

@spookyboywhump @livelaughwhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @unforgivenn @befuddled-calico-whump

@bloodthirsty-squirrel @writing-for-gold @thesecretgardenofmymind @unorganisedalienrubbish @thekneelingdoll

@victimeyez @veilofvoices @the-scrapegoat @ladygwennn @atomicsandwichprince 

@hueningplushie @girlsdogmotif @hikari-hat @whumpedydump @morning-star-whump 

“Alejandro,” Crowe greeted the man with a friendly tone and a nod of his head. “I’ve brought you the new little plaything.” Jonah winced. He didn’t like the implications of that word one bit. 

Crowe gave Jonah a shove from behind, causing him to nearly trip in the chains as he stumbled forward to catch himself. 

“Ah, so good of you to deliver him,” Alejandro’s voice was smooth and warm, almost too warm. He stepped closer, and Jonah felt his cheeks flush at the way the lantern-light illuminated the man’s face. 

Alejandro was stupidly beautiful—with caramel skin that seemed to glow in the golden gleam of the lanterns, brows that arched in perfect symmetry, and long, dark eyelashes that fluttered when he blinked down at Jonah and let his lips curl up into what Jonah might have interpreted as a comforting smile, had it not been for the devilish twinkle in his brown eyes. His hair was long, down to the middle of his spine, and he let it hang freely without the use of a ribbon to hold it back. The man’s cream-colored tunic hung loosely off his shoulders, unbuttoned down to his mid-torso. His sleeves had been rolled up to just above his elbows, revealing several gold bracelets around his wrists.

“Hello, dear Jonah,” Alejandro purred, and Jonah felt a chill run up his spine for a reason he couldn’t pin down. Perhaps it was the surprise that someone had actually addressed him by name. 

Jonah had to crane his head upwards as the man approached him, and he fidgeted with his hands, nervous to be essentially trapped between the two men who were exchanging him like he was a parcel at a postage station. Alejandro extended a hand and slowly trailed a tanned finger down the side of Jonah’s face, and Jonah felt himself shake a little as he tried not to move. He flicked his eyes down, suddenly more nervous than before. He had no idea what kind of man he would be dealing with now, and he did not want to anger him so soon. 

“Ay.. Que bonito..” the man hummed, and Jonah felt his face redden deeper as that single finger lifted beneath his chin. 

“Mírame, amor,” Alejandro said, and Jonah knew it was an order, despite the smooth and almost gentle way the man had said it. ‘Look at me,’ and Jonah did, lifting eyes to meet Alejandro’s dewy brown gaze.

Suddenly, Aljenadro broke their eye contact to look behind Jonah at Crowe, and his expression instantly narrowed to something bordering on irritation. 

“He reeks of sex, Crowe,” Alejandro said, his tone flat when he addressed the other man. “Why is that?” There was a hint of accusation in his voice now. “You know he’s not to be—”

“Yeahh, yeah,” Crowe cut him off impatiently, as if he’d been expecting this very question. “Don’t look at me. He only got that way after I left him with Jaxon,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

“Pinche cabrón..” Alejandro muttered. “Can’t he fucking keep his hands to himself for once?” There was annoyance in his tone, but the warmth returned to his eyes when he looked back at Jonah. 

Alejandro’s finger traced Jonah’s jawline. “Though,” he mused, “Seeing the little thing in person, I can see why he wanted to sample a taste..”

“Yes, yes, he’s very pretty,” said Crowe, who seemed keen on rushing the interaction. Alejandro, on the other hand, took his sweet time, touching Jonah’s face before sliding his fingers down to the bruises on his neck. 

“Hm,” Alejandro frowned. “Captain won’t like this,” he said, tapping at the quickly darkening bruises on Jonah’s neck. “Don’t suppose you know anything about these finger marks do you?” Alejandro quirked an eyebrow at Crowe. 

“It’s as I said. You can fucking ask Jaxon.” Crowe gritted out. “I’ve hardly touched the brat.” Jonah might’ve laughed at the irony if he weren’t so unsettled—he was still sore from Crowe kicking him into the floor.

“And the bruise on his cheekbone?” Alejandro questioned, like a detective investigating every little clue at a crime scene.

“Ahh.. Ahah..” Crowe chuckled a bit nervously, scratching at the back of his head. “That might’ve been my doin’. But Graves an’ I had to get the little rat to stop thrashing so we could restrain him this morning. I’m sure you understand.”

“Hmn,” Alejandro gave a less-than-enthused, flat hum at the confession, but didn’t push it further. 

“Well, nothing a little touching up won’t fix,” his voice ricocheted back into warmth and he smiled back at Jonah, as if to reassure him. “Sí, mi amor?” 

Jonah was more than willing to let them talk over him, it nearly surprised him that he was being directly addressed. 

“Um, y-yes, Sir,” he said quietly, hoping that was the correct answer. 

“Good boy,” Aljenadro cooed, petting Jonah’s hair with his hand.

Jonah’s shoulders slumped just slightly in relief. Despite his slight invasiveness, this man was being nice to him so far, and Jonah hoped things would stay that way. As long as he obeyed perfectly. He would. He’d be perfect. He swore it to himself. 

“Look, I’ve got shit to do,” Crowe said abruptly, cutting through the moment of silence. “So if you don’t mind—”

“Sí, sí,” Alejandro said, waving him out with his hand. “Puedes ir, por Dios.” 

Crowe exhaled sharply and handed something small over to Alehandro, who took it in his hand. Jonah didn’t see what it was, but he saw Alejandro slip the object into his pocket. 

Then, Jonah heard Crowe’s impatient footsteps as he exited through the door, sliding it shut behind him. Alejandro’s eyes watched the door close over Jonah’s shoulder, before looking down at the little slave once more. 

The smile crept back onto his face—it looked warm, encouraging even, if Jonah pretended not to notice the mischief in his eyes. Perhaps Jonah was only imagining it—he wanted to be so lucky. At the very least, Jonah was hoping he’d get a bath. The idea of it sparked hope in his chest—he so desperately wanted to get clean after everything that had happened with Jaxon. 

“Now then, cariño,” Alejandro was cooing at him again. “Let’s get you all cleaned up for the Captain, shall we?” 

“Yes, Sir! Th-thank you, Sir,” Jonah exclaimed, thrilled at the prospect of a bath. He was so beyond grateful to hear it that his brain seemed to filter out the second half of that sentence—’for the Capitan.’ He just truly couldn’t believe he was about to be able to bathe in that glamorous tub. 

Shoving down the thought of his inevitable fate, his heart filled with hope so quickly he felt as if it might spill over, and he let Alejandro take his hand in his and lead him over to a changing area behind a folding paper curtain. 

Alejandro positioned Jonah and circled him slowly, his hand on his chin, as if appraising him. Jonah didn’t take his eyes off the bathtub, hungrily eyeing the clear water within.

“You’re in quite a state, amor,” Alejandro commented, running a finger down the lash scars on Jonah’s back. “I’d almost hate to see if what’s beneath the trousers is worse.” Jonah felt chills rise to the surface of his skin. It sounded like a warning. 

“It's, it’s not as bad.. Sir..” Jonah promised sheepishly. It was true, the state of his torso and back really was the worst of it. Between all the burns, the whip scars, and the brand, Carlisle had really done a number on him over the years. 

“You’re lucky you’ve got a pretty face,” Alejandro remarked, his voice warm once again, as though it were a simple compliment and not laced heavily with implication. He ran his hand down Jonah’s front as he walked around him, until they stood face to face once more. 

“I’m going to need you to strip for me, pretty.” There was the order, Jonah thought. He should’ve expected it. Although the purpose of the folding curtain seemed lost on him now, if Alejandro was just going to stand there and watch him change. He’d been hoping he’d get some time alone in the bath, though in hindsight that dream felt rather stupid. He should’ve known they wouldn’t just leave him alone unsupervised, especially in a room like this. 

“Sir..” Jonah said quietly, desperately not wanting to anger him—he didn’t know Alejandro well enough yet to know the limits of his temper. ”How should I.. Um, the, the chains, Sir, um.. They’ll catch on the fabric..” Please don’t snap please don’t snap please don’t—

Alejandro just gave a small hum. “I’ve got just the thing for that, but you’re going to have to be very good for me and do just as I say.” Jonah nodded eagerly, and Alejandro reached into his pocket and withdrew a small key. Jonah’s heart leapt—so there was a key—the chains could be removed.

“Try anything stupid, and I will make you instantly regret it,” Alejandro warned, bending down to unlock one of the padlocks on Jonah’s right ankle. Jonah flexed the joint when the shackle was removed, grateful for the moments of freedom from the bite of the metal. Jonah’s heart sank a bit when Alejandro didn’t undo the other side, and simply stood up once more, pocketing the key. 

“Off,” he ordered, gesturing to Jonah’s trousers. Jonah turned around, shuffling awkwardly as he maneuvered himself with the chain dragging from his left foot.

Alejandro chuckled behind him. “You can go ahead and turn around, but you won’t have any modesty to protect here.”

Jonah didn’t say anything, trying to ignore the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks as he slid his trousers and boxers from his thin waist to the floor. Balancing on his right foot, he pulled the fabric free from the chain, and tried to ignore the feeling of Alejandro’s eyes on his bare body as he folded the pieces of fabric and set them on the nearby dressing stool.

“Look at me,” came Alejandro’s order, and Jonah bit his lip as he turned back around, instinctively bringing his hands down between his legs to try and retain even an ounce of dignity. Alejandro knelt once more and re-fastened the shackle around his right ankle, locking the padlock into place, and Jonah felt a pang of dismay when he realized he wouldn’t even be allowed to bathe with his ankles free of the chains. 

“These stay on as a safety measure,” Alejandro warned, flicking his eyes up to Jonah’s disappointed expression. The taller man stood and slid his fingers fondly through Jonah’s hair. “I’m sure you understand, mi amor,” he cooed warmly, in a way that made Jonah want to agree with everything the man said.

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah said quietly, trying not to look too disappointed. He felt foolish. He shouldn’t have expected it in the first place. 

“Now, ven acá,” he said, like he was luring a small animal out from its hiding place. Alejandro brought a gentle hand to the back of Jonah’s neck and led him over to the edge of the tub. Jonah was suddenly fine with the presence of the shackles. Anything if it meant he got to sink into the water that filled that luxurious bathtub.

With the chain fastened to his ankles, Jonah couldn’t lift his foot high enough to clear the edge of the tub, so Alejandro lifted him into a bridal-style carry and set him down into the water below. Jonah tried and failed to suppress a sigh of relief when he felt himself engulfed in the cool, clear water. 

Alejandro left him there to go rummage through the many bottles and jars that lined the shelves along the wall, and Jonah took the chance to sink all the way in, closing his eyes and sliding himself down until his head slipped below the surface. He let the water engulf his face and soak his hair, enjoying a few moments of true peace and silence before he rose back up to breathe. It was the first good feeling he’d felt since he’d woken up in that barrel.

Alejandro had lined up several products on the little side table beside the tub, and was already uncorking one of the bottles. He tipped it into his hand and let a decent amount of the shimmering pinkish soap fill his palm, before he set it back down on the table. 

It was at this point that Jonah realized he wasn’t just going to be given soaps and left to his own devices. Of course not. Alejandro reached his hands out and began to rub the soap into the boy’s hair. Jonah didn’t protest, and when he let it happen, it actually felt kind of nice. 

Alejandro had Jonah dunk his head once more so he could rinse the soap out of his hair, and when he resurfaced, he saw Alejandro sitting back on the small stool, pouring a second liquid—light blue this time–into the palm of his hand. 

“I’m going to ask you to stand up now, cariño.”

“W-wait,” Jonah paled. “I— I can wash myself, I can d-do it myself, Sir, please—”

Alejandro’s eyes snapped up at him, suddenly narrowed and stern. Jonah let out a tiny fearful squeak at the look alone—it scared him to be so vulnerable with someone that was angry. He didn’t want Alejandro to be angry. 

“S-sorry, I’m sorry, Sir—” Jonah immediately pivoted into damage control, and the apology seemed to melt the irritation from Alejandro’s eyes. His brow unfurrowed, and he gave a small smile in its stead. 

“That’s better,” he hummed, standing along with the boy and beginning to rub the soap into Jonah’s chest. 

Jonah swallowed the lump in his throat and flicked his eyes away, trying to pretend there weren’t hands on him right now, trying to mentally sink back into the water where he could float in peace. 

“Arms up,” Alejandro ordered, a level of sternness back in his voice that made Jonah obey immediately. Jonah could smell the fruity scent wafting through the air as Alejandro spread it along his skin. He ran the soap down Jonah’s arms, neck, face, and torso, scrubbing away at every inch of skin, before circling behind him and repeating the motion on his scarred back. 

“The captain has an affinity for luxury soaps—you’re lucky he’s letting me use them on you. Probably more expensive than any you’ve used in your life.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” Jonah said timidly, hoping that was the correct response.

“He’s truly a man of taste, you should know. Enjoys the finer things,” Alejandro spoke as he scrubbed, his voice smooth as the scented soaps he lathered over Jonah’s scarred back. “I suppose he’s a lot like me, in that regard,” Alejandro mused. 

“Perhaps that’s what drew him to recruit me in the first place.. Though I’m not like you,” Alejandro said with an audible smirk. “You’re… special. And we’re going to make you shine for the Captain.” 

The lump his throat seemed to double in size at the implication, and Jonah said nothing at first, but when a moment of silence extended between them, he murmured a “Yes, Sir,” just to be safe, in case Alejandro wanted a response. 

He heard Alejandro’s pleased hum from behind him, the low vibration in his chest was audible to Jonah in their too-close proximity. He could feel Alejandro’s breath on the back of his neck. 

Jonah lowered his arms when Alejandro instructed him to. He was being the perfect doll. His heart froze for a moment when he saw Alejandro pour more of the blue soap into his hands and he realized what came next.

“Sir, c-can I— please—”

“Ay, don’t test me, niño,” Alejandro hissed, his eyes narrowed to serpentine slits, and Jonah snapped back into obedient silence once more. 

The pleasant expression was back on Alejandro’s face the moment Jonah obeyed, and Jonah felt he was going to get whiplash with the speed at which the man’s demeanor seemed to change. Just be good, just be good, Jonah repeated in his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Alejandro’s hands sliding down to his lower body. 

Jonah balled his fingers into fists until he felt his nails digging into his palms. Alejandro was in no rush, it seemed, and he took his time feeling Jonah’s skin between his legs, rubbing the soap in little circles against his most sensitive areas. Jonah bit his lip and bit back a whine—he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to the stimulation. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Alejandro’s hands finally pulled away, and Jonah found himself panting slightly, his head spinning a bit when he allowed himself to reopen his eyes. 

“Sit, mi amor,” Alejandro instructed, and Jonah obeyed, grateful to sink back into the water. Alejandro sat upon the low stool and rinsed his hands in the bath, before taking one of Jonah’s arms and scrubbing his skin beneath the surface of the water to get all the soap off. 

Jonah supposed there was no point in insisting again that he could do it himself. He’d accepted, with a healthy layer of dismay, that that wasn’t the point. Alejandro was to do it, and to make sure it was done perfectly. 

When he’d rinsed the boy’s upper body, he slid his hands even lower until he was rubbing Jonah between his legs beneath the surface of the water. Jonah’s eyes squeezed shut again—Alejandro’s nimble fingers forced a small gasp and an embarrassing whine out of the boy before Jonah could catch it, and he quickly held his breath again, gripping the sides of his legs with his hands.

Suddenly, Jonah felt Alejandro’s fingers probing at his entrance. He whimpered uncontrollably, but when those fingertips started pressing inside him, he gasped, panic gripping at his chest like the claws of a tiger, and his hands snapped up and seized Alejandro’s wrist fiercely. Jonah cried out and shoved his hand away furiously—not even thinking—just running on sheer frantic panic at the way he did not want those fingers probing through his insides—

Alejandro’s hand shot up and fisted into Jonah’s hair. Without warning, Alejandro shoved Jonah’s head down hard, down beneath the surface of the water and held him there. Jonah thrashed as he was forced underwater, his hands clawing and scratching frantically at Alejandro’s arm, trying to free himself. Jonah breathed in a gulp of water in sheer shock—fuckfuckfuckfuck—- His fingernails tore at the other man’s skin, desperate to free himself from Alejandro’s vice grip. 

Alejandro added a second hand, pressing down on Jonah’s face to bolster the grip in his hair. He held him all the way under, gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath as the boy thrashed and kicked and scratched against him. The water Jonah kicked up splashed on Alejandro’s tunic until it was soaked, and Alejandro growled as he shoved Jonah’s head down harder until it slammed against the base of the tub. He dragged him up a few inches and slammed him down again, and again, and again, until finally, Jonah went limp beneath him. 

At last, Alejandro dragged Jonah’s head back above the surface. The boy heaved and wretched, coughing up mouthfuls of water and letting out rough, full-body sobs that shook his entire form as he shuddered in Alejandro’s grip. At last, Alejandro released him, and Jonah continued to cough and gasp for several more long moments, tears running down his face to greet the bath water that soaked him. 

“You stupid fucking mutt,” Alejandro snapped, every ounce of vitriol he had layered thick in his voice. “How dare you. I fucking warned you what would happen.” 

Jonah sobbed into his hands. “I’msorry—“ he slurred. “I’msorry I’msorry—hiic— I’msorry, Sir—“  his voice cracked into another broken cry. 

Alejandro only huffed a breath of irritation. Giving Jonah almost no time to recover from his near-drowning, Alejandro suddenly reached into the water and gripped the chain that bound Jonah’s ankles together. Jonah gasped, still breathless, as Alejandro tugged the chain upwards and dragged Jonah’s body forward until he could prop the boy’s feet up on the edge of the bathtub. Jonah really did feel like a doll—being touched and shoved and posed and manipulated like he couldn't do a damned thing on his own. He hated the feeling, but his head was still spinning, and he feared Alejandro’s wrath enough not to try to resist again. 

More soap in his hands, and Alejandro was rubbing circles into the skin on Jonah’s legs, making his way down to the boy’s feet. Jonah tried not to twitch too much when he felt the man’s fingers between his toes, but it was weirdly sensitive there in a way that almost felt ticklish. It was still a thousand times better than feeling Alejandro’s fingers molesting him between his legs, or shoving his head underwater, so he endured it without a word, only sniffling and trying to suppress the tears that still leaked stubbornly from his eyes.

Eventually, his crying gave way to a sort of numbness, and Jonah felt himself zone out as Alejandro lay his legs back beneath the water once more and scrubbed the soap from his skin. He let himself drift away in his mind, to a calming seashore, the waves lapping and kissing at the white sand, a serene sunset overhead dappling the clouds with shades of pink and orange. 

He let himself float there, drifting somewhere in the seafoam, until he felt a sharp tug in his hair and heard an audible snap that yanked him away and shoved him back into reality—back into the ornate bathtub, deep below the decks of the ship. 

“Oye, niño,” Alejandro said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of Jonah’s face. “Parate,” he ordered, and Jonah obeyed numbly, standing on shaking legs and trying to stop the room from swimming around him. 

Alejandro stood and walked to retrieve a large towel from a nearby cabinet. He wrapped it around Jonah and worked the fabric into Jonah’s soaking wet hair before drying the rest of his upper body. With no warning, Alejandro scooped Jonah up into a bridal carry and set him down on a mat on the floor beside the edge of the tub, and when Jonah caught his balance, the man dragged the towel down his legs before wrapping it around his shoulders and releasing him. Jonah gleaned that Alejandro was finished drying him, and he reached up to grip the edges of the towel now and hold it tightly around himself, eager to recover some semblance of modesty in the presence of the man who controlled everything in his life right now. 

Jonah’s eyes flickered up to the man’s face to assess whether this was allowed, and was surprised when he was once again met with a warm dewy gaze. 

“You’ll need to be better behaved with the Captain, you know. He won’t be as forgiving.” It was a terrifying warning, but he said it so pleasantly that his tone would’ve felt comforting if Jonah didn’t understand the meaning of the words. It was jarring to hear promises of pain presented with such warmth. 

“Ven, cariño,” Alejandro said, leading Jonah over to the vanity to sit upon the stool that rested in front of it. 

Joanh stayed very quiet and very still, save for the little “Yes, Sir,” he uttered automatically out of force of habit. 

Alejandro busied himself with touching up the bruising on Jonah’s face and neck, dabbing a bit of skin-colored cream on with a sponge and dusting it with a thin layer of powder.

“There, that’s much better, don’t you think?” Alejandro mused, and Jonah glanced into the mirror. Indeed, the bruises had virtually disappeared, though the makeup did nothing for the dull pain he still felt throbbing in his neck where Jaxon’s hands had nearly squeezed him into unconsciousness. 

Jonah watched, still and pliant, as Alejandro retrieved a bundle of sheer fabric from a trunk on the other side of the room. When the man unfolded it and held it out, Jonah felt a spike of dread in his chest and a flash of heat beneath the skin of his cheeks. 

The garment was barely something one might consider clothing. It was a short slip dress, with what looked to be large gaps on the front and back of it. When Jonah allowed it to be slipped over his head, the shape of the piece made his eyes widen at the way it hugged at his body. The pale fabric was practically see-through, and was almost completely backless. The front of it was cut so deep it didn’t even have a neckline, exposing his chest and torso all the way down to his waist. 

A series of small loops lined the hems at the front of it, and their presence began to make more sense when Alejandro produced a long length of the thinnest golden chain Jonah had ever seen. He watched, embarrassment and dread twisting like a python in his stomach, as Alejandro wove the delicate chain through the loops of the garment in a corset-like pattern. When he was finished, the gold decorated Jonah’s torso in long zig-zag stripes. 

Alejandro stepped back and hummed in approval. “Ay, que bonito.. It looks so beautiful on you, cariño,” he purred, running his fingers down Jonah’s exposed skin and cupping his thin waist.

Jonah felt like he’d been wrapped up like a present, designed to tempt and tantalize before finally being opened. His hips and lower regions were barely covered by the short dress, and he felt far more like an object than a person dressed in this ridiculous getup. He felt the tears returning to his eyes as he looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he was getting dressed up to be devoured. 

“Oh, I’ve really outdone myself this time, haven’t I,” Alejandro hummed, sliding a hand down Jonah’s bare back. “The Captain will love you like this.” Jonah felt the serpent in his stomach twist his insides around as the creeping dread spiked into a hopeless, humiliated terror.

“Please..” he said softly, though he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing Alejandro would do, to stop what was about to happen to him. 

It would make what had happened with Jaxon seem like a sunny walk in the park. Jonah shook as tears streaked down his face, and choked back a small cry of despair when he saw Alejandro’s face twist into a frown of disapproval.

“Ay, don’t cry, niño,” Alejandro ordered, swiping away the droplets that ran down his cheeks. “You’ll mess up your makeup.”

Jonah sniffled and hiccuped, trying to stop the tears. “I— I’m s-sorry, Sir, I’m sorry—” he was feeling like a broken record again. 

Like the everchanging winds, Alejandro’s expression suddenly melted into that of sympathy. “Pobrecito..” he cooed, wrapping his arms around Jonah’s shoulders and guiding his head to rest on the man’s exposed chest. “You’ll be okay, amor. Just be a good little boy and obey, and it will all be okay.” 

Jonah hiccuped into the man’s chest, and tried desperately to convince himself that Alejandro was telling him the truth. 

༻✦༺

Ohhh poor baby Jonah’s really in it now…

LA SIRENA TAGLIST

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