Enter the Void

Jonah hissed—a shot of pain seized up his lower back when the contact pressed against the red ‘X’ that Captain Vale had carved in over his old brand. He winced and blinked his eyes open—it was that same medical room he’d been in earlier, when he’d been tasked with assisting Jaxon in bandaging Sawyer’s lash wounds. The surface of the table felt different, though—softer. Jonah felt linen beneath his fingertips and realized that a sheet had been placed over the varnished wood. Perhaps Jaxon had finally gotten sick of scrubbing the bloodstains out of the bare table every time.

Jonah squeezed his eyes shut and groaned against the fire that still radiated through his chest. He just wanted to pass out again. He’d give anything not to feel that incessant, cruel burning any longer. He didn’t want to look down at his own body, terrified at what he might see—the mess of marred skin waited, charred and red and burnt and sickening. 

Vale had done this to him. He’d held the molten siren to Jonah’s chest until her image seared itself into his flesh permanently. Jonah couldn’t help but feel that same stomach-twisting betrayal he had earlier. How could he..? Vale had seemed so patient with him, even kind at times. He was demanding, certainly—capable of cruelty, sure— But.. This? 

The notion felt stupid in hindsight, but Jonah truly hadn’t thought it would happen—not with how obedient he had tried to be. Vale hadn’t seemed like Carlisle—at least, not before. Not until Jonah saw the look in the Captain’s eyes as he held the siren aloft and pressed it, burning and hellish, into his new slave’s left pectoral. 

‘I’m doing this for you, my pet.’

Jonah’s breath hitched painfully as he recalled the Captain’s words. What part of this could possibly be for his sake? 

“Stop fucking moving,” Jaxon snapped. Jonah flinched at the man’s tone and realized he’d been writhing on the table. He felt Jaxon’s hand pressing down against his throat, nailed fingertips digging into the thin red lines that ran down Jonah’s neck—yet another mark that Vale had left in his skin. 

Was it not enough? 

Jonah hissed and fell still. Panting slightly against the blonde man’s grasp, he willed himself to lay pliant on the wooden surface, forcing his body to resign and await what was to come. Jonah just hoped to God this wouldn’t hurt any worse than the burn already did. 

He watched through blurry eyes as Jaxon lifted his hand from Jonah’s throat and turned around to rummage through the cabinets on the wall across the room. When he turned to face Jonah once more, Jaxon was holding a hand-labelled glass jar, similar to the one he’d taken out to treat Sawyer’s lashes. Jonah flinched automatically as Jaxon approached him. Jaxon merely chuckled down at him and twisted the lid open.

“Oh relax, pretty boy. So jumpy today…” Jaxon mused, setting the lid on the table beside Jonah’s hip. Jonah thought that was a rather stupid thing to say. Of fucking course he was jumpy.

“Just stay fucking still,” Jaxon warned. “Trust me. This will help,” he said, reaching into the jar. “Honestly, you should be fucking thanking me. If it weren’t for my orders to make sure this healed right, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about helping you out."

“I.. I’m sorry,” Jonah apologized instinctively, wilting beneath the edge in Jaxon’s tone. “Th-thankyou, S-sir— Thankyousir,” he slurred, barely able to comprehend that he was speaking at all. 

Everything just hurt too fucking much to think. Jonah didn't want to think or talk or even be anymore. He just wanted to pass the fuck out again. 

Maybe, if whatever Jaxon did to him hurt enough, that peaceful, silent darkness would take him once more. 

Jonah watched as Jaxon lifted his fingers from the pale, lotion-like substance within the jar and began to spread it onto the fresh burn on his chest. Jonah flinched and gasped at the contact, but found himself exhaling in relief a moment later when Jaxon’s touch didn’t rip a scream from his throat. 

To Jonah’s amazement, the salve seemed to soothe the angry heat instead, sending a cool, almost numbing effect through the burned skin on his chest. 

“Yeah, feel good?” Jaxon hummed, an amused condescension in his voice. Whatever it was, it uplifted his tone, mimicking the way one might mockingly speak to a small, helpless creature. 

Jonah morosely supposed that that was probably what he was to a man like Jaxon. He’d been reduced to something analogous at best. Though—his mind prodded further—had Jonah really ever been anything but? 

This pattern had repeated itself again and again, for as long as he could remember. Jonah seemed to only exist to get tossed around, from one cruel master to another. Always at their beck and call and mercy—helpless and enslaved to their whims. 

He had never just belonged to himself.

Jonah tried to ignore the implications—whatever the pattern inferred. He tried to ignore what it meant on a grand scale. He felt as though even his own mind had taken one look at him and chosen the side of his tormentors. 

That voice in his head—it told him that he deserved this. That this was all he was good for. That this was what he was meant for— 

Shut the fuck up, Jonah snapped in his own mind, trying desperately to silence that internal voice that seemed to loathe him as much as everyone else did. 

He was just so tired. He just— 

He didn't want to think anymore, at all. 

Jonah lay still, as ordered, panting there on the table, letting the salve work its way through his burned flesh. 

Jaxon, perhaps growing restless at even a moment of peace, pressed a hand of cruel fingernails into the cuts on Jonah’s throat. 

“I asked you a question, mutt,” he hissed, voice suddenly cold as ice. 

“Y-yes, Sir!” Jonah cried, voice cracking at the pain of the blonde man’s sharp nails digging into the cuts. “Um, I-I— C-could you a-ask it ah-again— Sir?” He was losing his grip on the present. How on earth could he carry on a conversation while enduring so much pain?

Jaxon stared down at him with narrowed eyes and a frown that told Jonah he’d already fucked up. He hadn’t been listening—he’d only been hearing that stupid voice in his head. 

Jaxon let out a dramatic, tense exhale, as though it was taking him every ounce of self control not to ring Jonah’s neck.

“I said. Does. It. Feel. Good?” 

“Yes, Sir!” Jonah barked, desperate to quell the man’s ire. “Th-thank you, Sir,” he added for good measure, praying to keep Jaxon’s fingernails from reopening the freshly scabbed wounds along his throat. 

“Hm… Better,” Jaxon mumbled. “Aren’t you lucky I’m helping you out?” 

“Yes, Sir! Uh-uhm— Thank you— Thankyou, Sir,” Jonah blurted out obediently, scrambling to give the man what he wanted. 

He felt so fucking vulnerable right now—especially now. One press on the burn was all it would take to have him screaming his lungs out again. He knew Jaxon had that in him and more, and Jonah would give anything to avoid meeting the true extent of it—the full horror and cruelty within the Pandora’s box that was Jaxon’s mind.

Jaxon hummed, the corners of his lips slowly upturned. Jonah held his breath as Jaxon stared down at him with intense, amused eyes. 

After a moment so tense Jonah’s heart seemed to forget itself, Jaxon snickered and returned his attention to the burn, seemingly satiated by Jonah’s scrambling panic—at least, for now. To his relief, Jaxon kept his motions gentle as he continued to work the salve into the surrounding area with his fingers. 

The room was quiet, apart from Jonah, who couldn’t help but lightly moan and whimper at both the contact of Jaxon’s touch and the unexpected relief the potion gave him. 

Jaxon found himself relishing in the pretty noises his fingertips forced from the boy beneath him. He smirked and glanced up at Jonah’s blushing face, fixating on those parted, delicate lips. They looked so soft, balancing perfectly with his flushed cheeks and lidded eyes. Jaxon saw easily why Vale had claimed him. The slave made for a truly wanton image. 

Was he trying to look so slutty? 

He must know he was doing it, Jaxon thought, not bothering to stifle an amused, closed-lipped exhale at his conclusion. 

“Little whore..” Jaxon mused, leaning down and gripping Jonah’s face with his free hand. “You’re just fuckin’ asking for it at this point.”

Jonah shook his head frantically, as best he could in Jaxon’s grip. “W-what do you mean, S-sir?” He was starting to panic again. “I-I didn’t, I didn’t do anyth—”

Jaxon abruptly cut him off, harshly squeezing his cheeks. The shocked squeak it forced out of the boy only egged him on further. 

God— this kid was gonna be the death of him. 

In Jaxon’s eyes, Jonah was the poster-boy for cuteness aggression. 

Jaxon released Jonah’s face, and Jonah felt a momentary hit of relief, foolishly thinking he was done being manhandled. His heart sank through the table when he felt Jaxon’s free hand sliding down his exposed torso. 

“W-wait, wait— Sir—” Jonah stammered out in weak protest. Jaxon only chuckled darkly and ignored him. Jonah’s breath hitched as he felt the man’s fingertips slide along the sharp angles of his hipbones before settling in the center to palm the boy between his legs. 

Jonah let out a gasp of surprise, though he instantly felt foolish for being shocked. He should’ve known this was coming. Jonah’s hips twitched against his will as Jaxon continued to force stimulation through his groin.

“I mean.. What the fuck else am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Jaxon smiled cruelly and continued palming Jonah over the baby-blue chiffon that barely clung to his hips. “Lookin’ at me like that.. Like you don’t want it. Like you're so innocent. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I- I wa-wasn’t trying to, to d-do anything, Sir!” Jonah whined in protest, baling up his fists where they lay on either side of his head. It was useless, an expression of frustration, really. Jonah knew that there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t hurt Jaxon even if he tried, and he’d certainly pay dearly for trying. 

Jaxon’s other hand was still working at the burn, still rubbing slow circles along the fresh brand, even though the salve had already been applied and there was no medical need to continue. Jonah knew it was a threat before he even heard Jaxon say it.

“Dare to resist me, boy, and I’ll press these fingers down into this pretty burn.” 

Jonah squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered. He didn’t want to have to look at Jaxon—not like this. He kept his hands where Jaxon had put them, balled up fists pressing into the wooden table on either side of his head. 

In Jaxon’s mind, it would be plain stupid to let Jonah’s slutty sounds stop just because he was finished handling the burn. Bandages would come next, eventually, but Jaxon wasn’t finished with the boy’s gorgeous little body. Just the sound of him like this was already getting Jaxon hard beneath the fabric of his trousers, which now felt uncomfortably tight, and he didn’t intend to let that slide without making it Jonah’s problem. 

Jaxon’s eyes roamed hungrily over Jonah’s bony, scarred torso, relishing in the way his handling forced Jonah’s back to arch and his ribs to jut out even further. He wanted to make Jonah come undone— Force the pretty slave boy to come apart in his hands, just for Jaxon’s own entertainment. 

It invaded his mind like a drug, sweet and intoxicating, addictive as the feeling of Jonah’s skin beneath his hands. Pressure pulsed behind Jaxon’s eyes as he slipped his hand beneath the thin layer of blue chiffon to dip his fingers into the heated skin between Jonah’s thighs. 

Jonah gasped and writhed as Jaxon wrapped his hand around his length. The poor boy was already half-hard at this point, with Jaxon’s hand drawing blood to his groin and forcing his body to react against his will. 

“Please,” Jonah begged, whining and writhing into Jaxon’s invasive touch, despite himself. “Please— Please, Sir, please—“ Jonah didn’t want Jaxon to grow angry and lash out, but fuck— He had to do something, right? 

“S-sir—” Jonah begged, “Sir please— D-don’t, I—” 

“Shut up and let me enjoy this, brat,” Jaxon growled, flashing narrowed eyes up to Jonah’s pleading gaze. 

The look alone made Jonah’s words freeze in his throat. He gasped as he felt the fingers on Jaxon’s other hand dig into his burn a little firmer, sending a piercing jolt of agony through the numbing effect of the salve. 

“I— I’m sorry! S-sir please, please, Sir— Please d-don’t—don’t h-hurt me!” he cried out, desperate for the pain to stop but utterly humiliated at the way Jaxon was pumping him to full hardness now. He didn’t want this—he didn't! 

Jonah knew he should've been used to it by now. He should’ve accepted that it never mattered whether he wanted it or not. Hell, it seemed to make them more invigorated that he never wanted any of the treatment he got. 

That was the whole fucking point, wasn’t it? That was his purpose here—before—everywhere. With Carlisle, on the ship, it didn’t matter where. He was always going to be used. That was what he was. It was what he was for. 

And just like that, the voice Jonah had fought so hard to tune out slipped its head above the water’s surface like a stalking viper. It hissed in his ears— Its voice shrill in the space behind his eyes—

This was what he was for. 

Jonah sniffed back a little sob and felt beads of water wet his lashes. 

God— Why— Why was he so fucking patheitc? 

They were right about him. 

The voice was right about him. 

This was all Jonah was good for. 

He thought of Sawyer. 

Jonah knew he was right. He was every bit as pathetic as Sawyer saw him. 

But Jonah’s mind—his body—was working against him. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned against Jaxon’s motions, at the way he seemed to squeeze Jonah’s length just right—just the right amount of pressure to send his back arching and his hips bucking up into the blonde man’s grip. 

Jaxon lightly dragged the nails of his other hand along Jonah’s inner thighs, giving the burn a break for a blessed few moments, but sparing Jonah no time to recover. His focus simply turned downward, and he felt his hips twitching, his thighs quivering against Jaxon’s hands. 

He squeezed his fists tighter, trying to focus on the pain of his own nails digging into his palms instead. He longed to fight back, to thrash and kick the shit out of Jaxon, to pummel him with his fists until he no longer moved. 

But as quickly as he pictured it, Jonah imagined Jaxon’s retaliation—the brutal beating that would ensue, the molestation that would continue anyway, but would then be even worse because he had struggled. The overwhelming hopelessness of reality knocked him back like a huge ocean wave, thrashing his will to fight and throwing it down against the sand. 

“Fuck—“ he heard Jaxon curse under his breath, before he released his grip around Jonah to fumble with his belt buckle. 

When the leather strip was pulled free, Jaxon reached up and quickly cinched Jonah’s wrists together above his head with the length of the belt, before returning his attention to the button on his trousers. Jaxon thumbed the button open and freed himself at last from the confines of his too-tight clothing. 

“Gotta feel you for myself, pretty boy,” Jaxon grunted, pulling Jonah forward by the chain around his ankles until his calves dangled off the side of the table. 

Jonah’s wrists struggled against the belt, writhing uselessly above his head as he was manhandled into position. 

Jaxon wrapped his hand around himself the moment his length sprung free. He groaned against the motion, pumping himself a few times to relieve some of the built up pressure in his groin. 

Jaxon was fully erect now, his cock standing tall as he lined it up with Jonah’s. Jonah gasped when he felt the contact of their bodies pressed together, their most intimate parts now forced into a tight embrace. 

The small vial of oil—Jonah didn’t see from where Jaxon had procured it, but the liquid now slickened the fingers of Jaxon’s free hand, leaving a shine upon his skin in the lanternlight. 

Jaxon wrapped his hand around them both and began to stroke. He slid his hand up and down, slowly at first, and Jaxon sighed in relief, letting his eyes roll back a bit. 

Jonah panted in disbelief, eyes wide and horrified. Before he could adjust to the touch, Jaxon began to squeeze his fingers a little tighter—began to move a little faster—and it wasn’t long before Jonah’s grip on himself slipped, and he was moaning like a tavern whore, arching his back into the motion. 

For every ounce of relief, it brought him humiliation tenfold. Jonah felt a choked sob well up in his throat as he bucked uncontrollably into Jaxon’s hand—pleasure forced into him and reactions wrung out of him like he existed only to be a toy to whoever had their claim over him in that moment. 

But Jonah was so tired of fighting, of resisting in his mind and meeting only torture. And Jaxon’s hand—his skin, stiff and sliding against him— It felt so fucking good—

He cried out when Jaxon’s fingertip swiped over the tip of his length, smearing the beads of precum that had trickled out. Jaxon trailed his finger down, sickening both their skin. 

Jonah cursed himself for sounding so fucking easy—for making Jaxon so bloody smug with the way Jonah gasped and bucked up into his hand, sliding along the other man’s length. Why was he always so damn sensitive? 

As the pressure in his abdomen grew and grew, something in Jonah snapped. After so much torture, his body relented and chased it, desperate to give in and feel even a glimpse of pleasure after suffering so much brutality. At the very least, Jaxon’s hands finally served as a distraction against the pain of the brand on his chest. 

Fuck it—fuck it all—he thought. He was allowed to have this. Jaxon would see him like this anyway, whether he wanted it or not. 

Jonah, finally relented in his mind, moaned against the pressure, his length slick beneath Jaxon’s fingers. Jaxon continued to gather the precum that leaked out of Jonah’s tip as he worked them both in his hand, sliding slick fingers along both of them and squeezing them together just hard enough to make Jonah’s hips shake as he trembled upward, mindlessly chasing the forced pleasure. 

Jonah came apart on the table, worked up to a feverish and panting thing, writhing and arching his back, rutting like a dog up into Jaxon’s hand. 

Jonah’s hips bucked upwards again and again, causing Jaxon to groan at the friction and pick up his pace. Jonah’s body responded instantly, and he was moaning and panting and chasing his own high without a single other regard in the world. Every part of him was laser focused on reward—reward—reward.

In what felt like no time at all, the pressure in Jonah’s groin reached a fever pitch and he cried out, his bound hands gripping the edge of the table above his head as his body shuddered with the force of how amazing it felt. His back arched so hard his spine looked unnaturally contorted, and Jaxon’s breathy laugh rang out over Jonah’s uncontrolled moans as the boy came so hard he nearly blacked out, squirting white over and over onto his own stomach. 

Jaxon kept his hand moving, pumping the boy faster and faster as he wrung the pleasure from him. At last, Jonah’s back collapsed down against the table and he fell limp, gasping for air, twitching and shuddering in the aftermath. 

“Mmnn,” Jaxon hummed in a low voice above him. “That was fuckin’ pretty. But I’m not finished with you yet, pup.” 

Jonah didn’t even hear him, he just panted hard where he lay, vision swimming, still reeling with the power of the forced orgasm. He couldn’t move—he felt as though his body was tingling all over. There was no strength in his limbs left at all. 

Jaxon couldn’t resist it. Jonah was too pretty like this. He swiped two fingers through the sticky mess on Jonah’s torso and pressed them to the boy’s parted lips. Jonah let out a muffled cry when he tasted it—he writhed in disgust, but Jaxon pressed his fingers in deeper, gagging Jonah as he tried to wrench his head away. 

“Clean them off, boy. Come on, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t fuck it up by resisting me now,” Jaxon warned. 

Jonah let out a whine of dismay, but obediently licked and sucked at Jaxon’s fingers until they were cleaned off. He hated this, forced to taste his own release just for the amusement of his tormentor, but he had no strength to resist, especially now. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Jaxon, who seemed to buzz with fervent energy. 

To his relief, Jaxon withdrew his fingers and stepped away. Jonah let his eyes close and tried to focus on recovering from what had just occurred. He tried not to think too hard about it—lucky for him, thinking wasn’t coming naturally in his state. He simply let himself drift. 

Jonah blearily registered it—a cool, damp cloth was sliding down his torso, and he realized Jaxon was cleaning him off. He felt a tinge of gratitude that he even cared. He’d half-expected Jaxon to just leave him there for someone else to find. 

When Jonah’s stomach had been wiped clean, Jaxon discarded the rag and walked back to the other end of the table once more, his hips aligning with Jonah’s head. 

༻✦༺

To be continued! I have a part 2 of this scene planned out~

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