Enter the Void

Madam Sibella scoffed and Elliot caught a glimpse of her rotting teeth in the flickering candlelight. “This ain't a fucking punishment, you stupid dog!” Elliot flinched. No matter how many times she used that nickname, it never got any easier to hear. “As of about forty minutes ago, you ain't me fucking problem anymore!”

Forty minutes ago? What was she talking about? Confusion clouded Elliot's features. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to shield his exposed flesh from the cold and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He didn't understand. One moment, he was sound asleep atop his wooden mattress, and the next, he was being shoved out the door and into the rain.

Elliot opened his mouth to speak again, but that's when the realization hit him. His eyes went round as saucers and his frantic breathing ceased for a beat. “N-No,” he mumbled. “No, no, no, please! You can't do this!”

Madam Sibella smirked at the sight of his panic. “Yer eighteen now, boy. The law say you ain't mine anymore and I won't have you taintin’ this house any longer.”

“But that's not fair!” Elliot shouted, several stray tears mixing with the rainwater on his face. He crawled a couple steps forward until he was nearly at the porch again, desperate for a reprieve from the relentless rainfall. “Fletcher's twenty-one and you let him stay as long as he wants!”

Madam Sibella's smirk fell and her eyes darkened. An icy shiver scurried down Elliot's spine and he couldn't tell if it was from the rain or his former guardian's frosty glare. “Fletcher's worth his weight!” She shouted. Elliot flinched again, a soft whimper slipping past his lips. “He's got a job that helps pay for the rest of you wee brats! He helps to carry me heavy shipments in! Fletcher's earned his keep!”

Elliot was trembling now, the frigid rainwater soaking him to the bone as his tears fell free. “P-Please, Madam Sibella. I-I can w-work t-too. Just-Just give me a chance, please!” He begged.

Madam Sibella cackled at that, her heavy laughter flickering the candle's flame. “You?” She exclaimed, eyeing his small, emaciated form. “What could you do?”

Despite the cold night air, a heat crawled up Elliot's neck and onto his cheeks. “I-I could c-clean. I could help entertain the-the younger boys. P-Please, just-just have mercy. I have n-nothing. You can't l-leave me out here. Wh-What am I s-supposed to do?”

“Not me problem, boy. Get a fucking job, why don't you? The brothel's always lookin’ for new whores, I hear.”

Elliot gasped. His trembling lips were parted in shock and he wound his arms tighter around himself in an attempt to shield his shivering body from view. “You-You can’t s-say that to me.”

“Ain't like yer good for anything else! Now get the fuck off me property!” Madam Sibella shouted.

Elliot flinched, but he didn't move. “Madam S-Sibella, I-I'm b-begging you—”

“Fletcher!” Sibella shouted into the house. Elliot gasped. “There's a rat on me porch!”

Elliot scuttled backwards a little, but not before a large, hulking man appeared in the doorway. The man was shirtless and his blond hair was cropped all the way to the scalp. He had a nasty scar trailing from his eyebrow to his chin and his icy blue eyes zeroed in on Elliot instantly. His lips curled up into an ugly, crooked grin, flashing his missing teeth in full display.

“Get rid of it for me, would you?” Madam Sibella said. Without sparing Elliot a second glance, she maneuvered around Fletcher and disappeared into the house.

Elliot's stomach twisted into a knot. He scrambled to his feet and attempted to run, but the slick mud sent him tumbling back onto his hands and knees before he could make it three steps. Elliot whimpered and sobbed as a large hand tangled itself in his sandy-blond locks and hauled him to his feet. The boy whined in pain as Fletcher dragged him into an empty alleyway not far from Madam Sibella's.

“P-Please!” He begged as Fletcher shoved him against a stone wall. “P-Please, Fletcher. I-I'm s-sorry. I just—”

“Quiet, mutt!” Fletcher's booming voice commanded as he pushed Elliot to his knees. Elliot wept. Fletcher harshly shook Elliot's head from side to side with the hand tangled in his hair, laughing as he did so. “You're fucking lucky Sibella ain't selling you, Córdova. She could make good money off a pretty face like yours.” He tightened his grip on Elliot's hair, bringing the smaller man's face ever closer to his groin, despite the boy's struggling.

Elliot whimpered and thrashed against the tight grip in his hair.. “P-Please, n-no! Please don't!”

Fletcher chuckled as he pinned Elliot's head against his thigh and carded his fingers through the boy's rain-soaked hair. Elliot sobbed, squirming and punching while Fletcher laughed. “You poor thing,” Fletcher mocked. “Tell you what, mate. I'll come by and visit you at the whore house someday. Maybe then I'll give you the honor of letting you swallow my cock.” Fletcher roughly threw Elliot to the ground and pressed a foot to his back to keep him there. Elliot whined. “But until then,” he continued. “Don't show your pretty face here again, mutt. Or I'll sell you to one of the merchant crews at my dock. They're always in the market for a pretty little thing to join them.”

Elliot sobbed, his shoulders shaking. The boot between his shoulder blades kept his face pressed firmly into the mud.

When Fletcher finally removed his foot from Elliot's back, it was only to deliver a swift kick to his ribs instead. Elliot yelped and curled in on himself, shielding his head with his arms while the rest of his body trembled and shivered. He didn't know how long he lay there, but by the time he finally looked up from the protective cage his arms had created, Fletcher was gone.

Elliot sniffled and pushed himself into a sitting position against the stone wall at his back. He hugged his knees to his chest in order to fully conceal himself beneath the overhang of the building behind him. It did little to shelter him from the rain, but it was enough.

As Elliot sat there, eyes fixated on the muddy ground, the full reality of his situation started to catch up with him.

It was his eighteenth birthday.

He was homeless, penniless, and without any friends or family to turn to. He had nothing but the torn, muddy clothes on his back.

Elliot hugged himself a little tighter. Madam Sibella's home for boys had never been kind to him, but it gave him a roof over his head. It gave him consistent meals, as lackluster as they were. Now he had nothing.

Elliot couldn't help the burning rage that boiled over in the pit of his stomach. Fuck Madam Sibella! Fuck Fletcher! Fuck Port Iryss for treating him like this, for leaving him orphaned and unwanted.

Hot, angry tears welled in his swollen eyes. He was cold, tired, hungry, and completely alone. There was no place in the world that wanted him and no person that cared enough to remember his name. As far as the world was concerned, Elliot Córdova was nothing but a ghost.

…

In Captivity

“Looking good, mutt,” a deep voice commented, followed by a quick slap to Elliot's raised backside. Elliot flinched and suppressed a whimper. The slave was on his hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the gun deck in an attempt to rid it of the leftover gunpowder residue. He hated the fact that he was starting to recognize the voices of the crew. He hated how familiar he was growing with his buoyant prison.

Elliot didn't even have to look at the man to know who'd spoken. It was the ship's navigator, Hess. Elliot's face burned red-hot and he wordlessly returned to his scrubbing. That was, apparently, the wrong choice, as Hess's fist tangled itself in Elliot's hair and wrenched his head back. Elliot squeaked, his neck straining against the angle at which Hess held him.

“I'm payin' you a compliment, rat! What say you?” Hess growled, his long salt and pepper hair threatening to brush against Elliot's face. In any other circumstance, the navigator may have been considered attractive. But his grimy skin, stringy hair, and overgrown scruff took away from his more desirable features.

Elliot choked on the air in his lungs. His scalp was burning and his eyes began to water. “Th-Thank you, S-Sir,” he choked out.

Hess grinned and released the slave. Elliot's head fell forward and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to catch his breath. “Good boy,” Hess praised before moving on to continue his duties.

Elliot bit down hard on his tongue until he tasted blood. He hated this. He didn't know just how long he'd been aboard the Serpent's Wrath, but he hated every inch of this ship. He hated every slimy member of the crew, every degrading nickname they called him, every little touch. He hated all of it. He wanted off of this ship, away from these revolting pirates. He wanted to go home.

Elliot lifted his eyes just enough to peer at the open ocean through the gun ports. There was longing in his eyes and a deep ache in his chest as he watched the sun glint off the tips of the waves. He wondered how long it stretched, if it truly was as endless as it looked. He wondered if the sea could hear his screams, if it pitied him. He wondered if the ocean would welcome him, wrap him in its arms as it drew the breath from his lungs and lulled him into a tranquil slumber. He wondered if the sea would spare him. Or grant him the mercy of a peaceful escape.

That's when he saw it, a sliver of hope cresting over the horizon. An island. He didn't know if it was a hallucination borne of his exhaustion, but the lightest glimmer of hope ignited in his chest.

The gun port was about one square meter wide, and Elliot was sure his small frame could easily slip through. All he would have to do is swim to that island and he'd finally be free of this place.

The sound of wood banging against wood stirred him back into reality. Elliot flinched and turned his gaze over to the other end of the gun deck, where Hess was swiftly slamming each gun port shut. Elliot's heart began to race as his eyes returned to the port in front of him. His opportunity was slipping. He had to get out of here, even if it meant he'd never get home. But he was terrified. He didn't know what would come after, if he would survive or if darkness would swallow him instantly. He just needed to escape, however that would look. He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to be a slave anymore. Freedom was right there. All he had to do was—

“Who the fuck said you could stop working, slave?” Hess shouted.

Elliot flinched again, his eyes finally lifting to meet the navigator's. Hess stood only a few feet away, in front of the gun port directly beside Elliot's. The boy was out of time. If he didn't do this now, he'd never taste freedom again.

Despite his emaciated state and the chains around his wrists, Elliot had always been fast due to his small stature. It didn't even register in his mind that he'd started moving until he had maneuvered around the cannon and dove into the water.

The warm air falling back to allow the frigid ocean to wrap around him was a shock to Elliot's system. The bright, vibrant light of the sun broke beneath the surface of the water, the shards dancing in tandem with the gentle ocean waves. The sound of Hess's panicked screaming was snuffed out, replaced with the gentle hum of the open sea.

Elliot felt weightless. Every move he made was in slow motion. His long braided hair danced with the current, as did his torn poet's blouse and maroon petticoat—his former barmaid's uniform. Even his heavy iron shackles, which normally served to remind him of gravity's constant presence, offered absolutely no resistance beneath the surface.

Elliot had never been a strong swimmer and it wasn't until he attempted to kick back up to the surface for air that he realized his grievous error. The chains around his wrists didn't allow for much movement, which made maneuvering through the water that much more difficult.

When his head breached the surface, chaos assaulted his senses.

“There he is!” Someone shouted from above. Elliot craned his neck to peer upwards, using his bound hand to block the ruthless sun. Dozens of crew members were leaning over the side of the ship, pointing and staring at him with expressions that Elliot couldn't see.

“To the longboat!”

Elliot gasped. He didn't have long. He peered over his shoulder at the stretch of land that suddenly looked much further away. He didn't have a choice.

Elliot kicked and paddled as best he could, his chains yanking relentlessly at his wrists. He dove beneath the surface, hoping to hide his location from his pursuers, but he could only do so for so long. He forced himself to remain submerged until his lungs ached and his head began to swim. Gasping desperately for breath as he surfaced, Elliot kept his gaze firmly planted on the island, which, to his dismay, didn't look any closer. He dove again.

Each muscle in his limbs was on fire and still the island looked no closer than when he started. But he knew he had no other choice than to carry on, lest he face the punishment of a lifetime. He continued his routine of diving beneath the waves, swimming until he could feel his consciousness slipping, and coming back up for air. Over and over and over for what felt like hours. Elliot couldn't make out any shapes beneath the ocean, just the endless blue abyss and the blurry refractions of light splitting at the surface. The next time his head broke the surface, a fist tangled into his dripping locks and wrenched his head to the side, tearing a yelp from the boy's throat.

“Going somewhere, slave?” Hess hissed through clenched teeth. Elliot blinked the stinging sea water out of his eyes, giving way for a longboat captained by two serpents to seemingly materialize beside him. Hess glowered at him.

Elliot didn't have time to respond before the second pirate grabbed him by the arms and attempted to haul him into the longboat. Elliot screamed and thrashed, fighting with all his strength to break free, but the sea had sapped all of his energy. From the pirates’ perspectives, the boy's desperate attempt to free himself was nothing more than a pathetic wriggle at best.

Without issue, the pirates hauled their prize out of the water and into the longboat where Hess made quick work of restraining him while the other man rowed back to the ship. Once the adrenaline of his escape started to wear off, Elliot's exhaustion crashed into him like a wave against jagged rocks. All he could do was stare at the gargantuan ship that, to his horror, was no more than a dozen or so meters away.

As the longboat began its short journey back to its mother ship, a devastating realization brought burning tears to Elliot's eyes.

Escape was never a possibility. The ocean had toyed with him. It had taken his greatest hope and presented it to him just out of reach. It was close enough to see, but still much too far. He never had a chance. This was always going to be the outcome.

…

Elliot whimpered as he was unceremoniously deposited back on the deck of the ship in a sopping heap. His drenched, translucent clothes clung to his skin and shivers wracked his small body.

“Well, well, well,” an unfamiliar voice said. Elliot's head snapped up, eyes wide as he gazed upon the stranger towering over him. It was a woman, which confused Elliot more than anything thus far. In the few days he'd been aboard the ship, he had never seen this woman before. In fact, he hadn't seen any women since his final shift at the tavern. He'd assumed the crew was made up entirely of men. Then again, he'd hadn't seen much of anyone since they left Port Iryss. He'd been spending an awful lot of time in the brig lately.

The woman was tall, though that could've been attributed to her heeled boots and the fact that Elliot was kneeling at her feet. Her hair was the color of the sea and it lay in a pattern of long, wavy strands and tightly woven box braids. She had two thick braids framing her face that were adorned with silver jewelry, a stark contrast to her midnight hair and skin the color of oak. Her left eye was a warm, deep brown and her right resembled that of the sky, though it was impossible to tell if that was natural or simply due to the large, jagged scar running through it.

Elliot froze, terror seizing control of his heart. Was he on the right ship?

The woman smirked and chuckled at the way his face paled, but she didn't say a word to him. Instead, she shifted her gaze over to the men stepping out of the longboat. “Fetch me the captain,” she instructed.

“Aye,” one man said before scurrying off to the captain's quarters, leaving Hess to linger behind the slave.

The woman looked back down at Elliot. Her gaze was like ice. If Elliot wasn't already shivering, her gaze alone would send chills down his spine. He tore his eyes away from hers, desperate to escape them, but to no avail. He could still feel the weight and the chill of her gaze on him.

The woman lowered herself onto one knee, the other acting as an armrest while she took in the sight of him. “You must be Whitlock's latest acquisition,” she said, her voice like soft leather. “I've heard much about you.” When Elliot didn't respond, she scoffed. “Scrawny little thing, ain't you? You've a name, boy?” Elliot still didn't speak, which would normally earn him a good backhand, but the woman simply waited for his answer. Elliot still had no intention of giving one, and Christian's sudden entrance gave him the excuse he needed not to.

“Hess!” The captain shouted, footsteps reverberating through every plank of wood on the ship. Elliot flinched in tandem with the planks as the captain grew closer.

Hess stepped out from behind the slave and approached the furious captain. “Aye, Capt—” a sharp smack rang through the air as the captain's fist collided with Hess's face, sending the navigator tumbling to the ground.

“You let my slave escape on your watch?”

Hess clutched his nose as he righted himself. “Aye, Captain, but I got him back—”

“I gave you one job, Hess! One!” the captain interrupted. “And you couldn't even do that. What use have I for you if you can't keep an eye on one little slave?”

Hess was speechless, but the way his face blanched betrayed his fear.

“Calloway?” the captain said. The woman stood to her feet and brandished a blade from her hip. The captain said nothing as the woman twirled the blade between her fingers before slicing cleanly across Hess's throat. The navigator wobbled backwards, hands clutching the oozing slit across his neck. Blood spurted out of the gash, dripping down Hess's lips and between his fingers as he stumbled on shaking legs over the side of the ship. Choked gargles and gasps were cut off by a sudden splash as the ocean accepted her gift, dragging Hess's body to the depths in the wake of a trail of red.

Elliot couldn't breathe. It had happened so quickly and there was no processing what he'd just witnessed.

When Elliot finally shifted his gaze from the droplets of Hess's blood on the deck, he found the captain's eyes searing through his skull. If the woman's gaze was like ice, the captain's was fire, and Elliot couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be joining Hess in a matter of moments.

The captain's glare shifted from his slave to the gathered crew. “Seems our guest hasn't quite grasped his role here.” Christian's voice was deceptively calm, given the way his face contorted with rage. After gracing each pirate with a single glance, his gaze landed on the woman. “Remind him of his place. And make sure he doesn't forget this time.”

The woman smirked and Elliot's blood ran cold. “Aye, Captain.” The captain spared one last glance at his slave before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the captain's quarters. The woman's gaze fell upon the shivering slave at her feet. There was a hunger in her eyes that Elliot was far too familiar with, a level of bloodlust that sent icy tendrils down his back. She didn't take her eyes off of him as she said, “Tie him to the mast.”

Hands wrapped around Elliot's upper arms, curling beneath his armpits and around his waist, one even tangling in his hair, in order to drag him from his puddle and haul him over to the mast. Elliot screamed, fighting with all his strength to avoid whatever was about to happen to him, but exhaustion had already settled over his body once the adrenaline had worn off. His limbs were practically useless.

Why Whitlock wasn't overseeing his punishment, Elliot didn't know. But this woman, whoever she was, terrified him. She'd killed Hess in less than a second without hesitation. If the bloodlust in her eyes was any indication, Elliot wouldn't be walking away from this in one piece.

“I don't believe we've been formally introduced,” the woman said as she began her slow saunter over to Elliot. His hands were quickly relieved of their shackles, only to be wrenched behind his back, coarse rope wound tightly around his wrists. Elliot sobbed, heart pounding relentlessly against his ribcage. “Name's Na'Krisha Calloway. But you, little thing, will refer to me as Sir and nothin’ else. Savvy?”

Elliot could barely hear her over the pounding of his own heart. He hadn't registered that she'd asked him a question until her blade was at his throat. Elliot gasped, neck straining to avoid the dagger still dripping with Hess's blood. “I asked you a question there, darling. You ain't ignorin’ me, are you?”

Elliot shook his head as much as he was physically able, tears steadily trickling down his face.

Calloway smirked, but her eyes narrowed. “I'm gonna need a verbal answer from you there, love. Show me that you heard what I said.”

Elliot gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing against the sharp blade. “N-No, S-Sir. I-I'm not ignoring you, I-I s-swear.”

She dug the blade in deeper, drawing a sharp hiss from the slave. She leaned in so close their foreheads were nearly touching. Elliot could feel her steady breath against his cheek as she whispered. “The captain may be your master, but I am his first mate.” Elliot's stomach dropped. “You will treat me with the same respect you show him, slave. Savvy?”

Elliot whimpered, tears stinging his bloodshot eyes. “Y-Yes, S-Sir.”

Calloway's amused smirk shifted into a pleased grin. Elliot's heart slowed ever-so-slightly as she retracted her blade, only to trace it down his collarbone, bringing it to rest just over his chest. Elliot squeaked. He braced himself, tensing every muscle and squeezing his eyes shut as he awaited the pressure of the blade plunging into his heart. Instead, the dagger fell away, slicing cleanly through his shirt instead and exposing his chest for all to see.

Elliot whimpered and curled up as tight as he could to maintain any semblance of dignity, but to no avail. With his hands so tightly bound, he had no means of protecting himself from the prying, hungry eyes of the crew.

Na'Krisha grinned at the way his cheeks reddened and the soft quivering of his lower lip. She could see why Whitlock had chosen this one. He really was a precious little thing.

Elliot gasped at the feeling of Calloway's cold touch near the base of his hips. She traced lines across his bare skin, a trail of goosebumps rising in her wake. Elliot's skin tingled wherever she touched him, and despite her gentleness, there was an anxious twitch to her fingers, like the urge to tear him apart was becoming more difficult to suppress. She drew shapes into his skin, trailing upwards until she reached a spot directly over his heart. She tapped it once, twice, and drew a circle around it with her finger. “Right there,” she whispered, meeting Elliot's eyes with a look of pure, unsullied bloodlust. “Light the iron,” she commanded, her eyes staying locked on her victim's.

As the crew scrambled to obey her instruction, Elliot's stomach shriveled. He still didn't understand what was going on, but the excitement in the woman's eyes wrought fear into his own. “P-Please,” he mumbled, because he had nothing else to do but beg. “Please, h-have m-mercy.”

Calloway chuckled and raised her hand to gently cup his tear-streaked face. Elliot flinched, but the touch was so gentle that the boy couldn't help but lean into it, which only made the woman smile wider. “You poor, sweet, stupid thing,” she said in a voice that, under any other circumstances, would almost sound comforting. “This is for your own good. This way, you won't ever forget who you belong to.”

Elliot didn't understand. They had tied him the wrong direction to be whipped. If they were planning to slice him up, she wouldn't have put her dagger away. He didn't know what light the iron meant. What was about to happen to him?

That was the question he'd meant to ask, but fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't have to. A pirate he'd come to know as Paxton entered his field of view, carrying a long, glowing branding iron.

Elliot's mind went white.

The glowing image at the end of the iron was that of the serpents’ insignia; a human skull flanked by two hissing snakes.

Elliot screamed and thrashed against his restraints as Paxton happily handed the branding iron over to Calloway. “Sir, please don't do this!” He shouted. Though his pleas seemed to go unheard, Elliot didn't stop. “Please, I'm begging you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”

Calloway inspected the iron as she sauntered back over to the bound slave, looking wildly entertained.

Elliot sobbed, his sore muscles straining against the coarse ropes as she brought the iron closer. “P-Please, Sir! I-I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson, I-I swear! I-I'm just a s-stupid slave. I wasn't thinking. Please!”

Calloway took a moment to look him over, as though genuinely considering his pleas, before drawing a circle with her finger on the spot over his heart. “Stay still, pet. If you mess this up, we'll have to cut off the skin and try again.”

Elliot wept, his knees struggling to hold his weight. There was no escaping this. She was going to brand him like cattle, burn the serpents’ insignia into his skin so no one would ever question who he belongs to. After this was done, he would well and truly be owned.

Elliot squirmed and thrashed, though he knew there was no chance of escape. Calloway was directly in front of him, the deck was crawling with pirates. Even if he did somehow slip his bonds, he had nowhere to go from there. Despite that, he couldn't stop.

Na’Krisha giggled at the boy’s pathetic attempt at resistance. As entertaining as he was, the iron was cooling quickly and she didn't have another second to waste. “Paxton, Reynolds, hold him still.”

“Aye, Sir,” the two men said in unison. Each of them took hold of one of the boy's arms and wrestled him still, though the poor thing continued to cry and wiggle, as though he had any chance of escaping. It was adorable.

Once Elliot was sufficiently immobilized, Calloway hovered the iron over the spot she'd chosen. “Ready, slave?” She asked.

Elliot violently shook his head. “N-No, please—” Paxton's hand clamped over the boy's mouth, keeping his head pressed flush against the mast as Calloway leveled the iron. Elliot whimpered and moaned against Paxton's palm, brutally awaiting the agony that was only seconds away.

As if on command, Calloway pressed the glowing iron squarely over Elliot’s heart, pushing in as deep as she could, as though trying to puncture a hole in the boy's chest.

Elliot was deaf to his own screams, the intensity of the white-hot pain replacing each of his other senses. His skin sizzled and seared, nerve-endings burning alive as his skin formed around the shape of the insignia. The pain was worse than he could've ever imagined, overloading his senses and shutting down every other part of his brain until all that was left was pain. Burning, agonizing, relentless pain.

The iron was pulled away after no more than five seconds, but the slave screamed for at least ten before his body went limp.

Na'Krisha's eyes roamed over the flawless insignia seared into the boy's chest. The skin was glossy and an angry shade of red, but the image was beautiful. She examined the artwork she'd created for another few seconds until the slave began to stir.

Na'Krisha grinned, a sense of pride swelling in her chest as she stepped back and motioned for the semi-unconscious boy to be relieved of his bonds. Almost as soon as he was untied, the boy's knees buckled, sending him tumbling directly into Reynolds's waiting arms.

“Take him to the med bay,” Na'Krisha commanded. “He will remain there until he's healed, or until the captain requires some stress relief. Until then, should any of you lay a hand on him, you'll be returnin’ home without it. Savvy?”

A chorus of affirmative grunts rose from the gathered crew as Reynolds and Paxton both worked to haul Elliot's limp body down to the med bay. Na'Krisha watched until the boy disappeared below deck.

In all the years she'd known Whitlock, she had never before been on board with his desire to possess a slave. In her mind, they were dirty and useless and nothing but cargo that needed to be fed. She couldn't control the captain, unfortunately. So when he told her he'd picked up a slave from that tiny coastal village they'd stopped at for a booze restock, Na'Krisha had been more than pissed off. A slave was an investment that the crew simply couldn't afford.

But after seeing the boy for the first time, drenched, shivering, and kneeling submissively at her feet, she couldn't deny the slave's appeal. He was tiny and adorable, and the sight of him triggered something within her, something that longed to tear him to pieces and watch him helplessly writhe in pain.

Needless to say, she couldn't wait to play with him again.

-

I will be posting picrews of Na'Krisha Calloway soon. I'm a little bit in love with her.

I hope you enjoyed this!! This ended up way longer than I expected it to be, but it changed directions like three times while I was writing it. I'm pretty happy with the end result though! My next chapter will be a post-rescue chapter. So those of you that have been itching for some comfort for my boy, don't worry. Its coming.

If anyone else has any requests for things they'd like to see in my pirate au, feel free to send me an ask!

Taglist:

@phoenixpromptsandstuff @ofclrosewriteswhump @whump-queen @melpomenelamusa @hueningplushie @paperprinxe @neuronalwhip @written-in-the-stars135 @ieattoenailsforlunchlikearealone @lolrpop @butterflywhump @writing-for-gold

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!

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