the spiders web

The hunger was tolerable, childsplay, for Henley at least. He'd long grown accustomed to that constant painful nagging in the pit of his stomach that never seems to subside.

But the thirst? Henley's lips are sore, dried and cracked like desert sandstone, desperate for even a droplet of water. Not even saliva wets his tongue or throat. So he can't imagine how dehydrated Izaak must be. Henley’s eyes scan over all his welts and scabbing wounds. Picturing how much blood he must have lost, the agonising pain, how much energy his body must be devouring to heal him.

But Izaak's running on an empty tank, all out of fuel. Scraping the barrel for whatever's left and by the way he's shaking violently on the ground, his eyes screwed shut and whining in pain - there’s not much energy left in him.

Henley can’t die here. Trapped with Izaak in his final days, to suffer through both life and in death. Was there really no mercy in this world?

If Ronan doesn't come back soon, Izaak isn't long for this world, and Henley knows that it will be his fault. That Izaak will have succumbed to the injuries that he gave him, he'd be a murderer. 

That's not the person he is, who he wants to be and fights so hard to continue to be. He could never live with himself, fighting to survive, knowing it should have been him. He's cheated death one too many times for him to send someone else his way.

“Izaak?” 

His eyes don’t snap up, flashing with malice like they always do. They struggle to drift open, like he’s fighting against invisible weights forcing down his eyelids and when they finally do open, his eyes are glassed over and unfocused. Bloodshot red, glazed over with pain.

“If - I… Well, I don’t know if Ronan is coming back. Like… at all,” Henley's rough, scratchy voice manages to force the words out, Izaak performs a weak bob of his head to signal he’s listening, and that he agrees, "And if he doesn’t, then I want to say my piece about what happened the other day" Henley fiddles nervously with his hands, picking at his fingernails, now averting his gaze from Izaak.

Redundantly. Izaak’s head has already flopped back down to his chest, too exhausted to even hold it up to maintain a few seconds of eye contact.

“I am… so sorry about what I did to you. I hurt you. No matter our fucked history, despite everything you did to me, despite-”

He won’t finish what he was about to say. He can’t think like that.

Despite how much you deserved it.

“No-one deserves that,” Henley states, more so to reiterate that to himself than to comfort Izaak, “I didn’t want to do that to you. I hope you can forgive me. And if I could go back, maybe I’d take Ronan’s offer to switch our places."

Despite how much you don’t deserve that.

Ronan has to come back. He will come back. Henley has to believe that, otherwise... he's killed Izaak.

"He's coming back, Izaak. I-I know he will. Even if we don't want him to, we need him to."

Izaak's eyes narrow, glaring up at him from underneath the brow of his forehead. He's not buying a word of it, buying into all that optimistic, glass half-full bullshit that Henley seems to live by. Why set himself up for failure and disappointment?

He tries to trap, swallow the pained moan that sounds from low in his throat. Every wince, every shiver sends ripples of pain through every single inch of him.

Ronan won't come back. Not for him anyway.

*!*!*!*

Rise… fall.

Rise… fall.

Henley watches intently, counting each breath to make sure that Izaak’s chest continues to rise and fall, albeit staggered and erratic but at least he’s still breathing. Dreading the moment where it may potentially come to a stop, where his chest puffs out and doesn’t retract back down.

There's just one thing he's glad about: that Izaak has finally fallen asleep, or what he hopes is sleep - and not dragged into a deep unconscious, slowly deteriorating. 

The basement door swings open at the top of the stairs, slamming against the wall in an almighty bang that jolts Izaak awake with a startled, muffled screech, squirming in his restraints to quickly shuffle upright and stare at the source of the noise. Henley’s heart beats out of his chest, panting for breath - his eyes burn at the sudden and blinding light streaming through the doorway.

A shadowy silhouette lingers in the doorway, with the rays of yellow light shining around its figure, looking down upon the two pets. It looks almost celestial, like a guardian angel finally there to rescue them.

Only when the figure takes a few steps down, that harrowing familiar face comes into view. Ronan had come back for them - his eyes darting between the two pets, to be met back with looks that question if he’s real. That look at him almost as if he’s their saviour, a look of hope and relief in their eyes at the sight of him.

Henley looks at him with wide, pleading eyes, blinking slowly and wearily. He’s close to passing out too.

“Sir..?” Henley whispers, questioning if he’s really there, if he can trust his scattered and exhausted brain. He may aswell reach out to try and touch him, some tangible proof. Ronan strolls right past Henley, wordlessly. No-one says a single word, dares to break the eerie silence.

Beelining straight for Izaak, unclipping his muzzle and peeling it away from his face, holding his head up for him and allowing him to cough hoarsely. Sucking in breaths of fresh air, his eyes streaming with how much each breath scratches and irritates his dry throat.

“Drink.” Ronan commands, gently lifting Izaak's head upwards with a delicate finger under his chin and begins to pour a water bottle down towards his lips - the water glugging and sloshing about and Henley gasps at the sight of it. Like it's a rarity, like Ronan's holding the holy grail in his palms.

Izaak greedily gulps the water down, pressing his mouth closer to the bottle to get every last drop. Ronan pulls away when the water is half-drunk, Izaak groans in devastation, dissatisfied and his thirst still not quenched. Green-eyed jealousy, watching Ronan then tip the remaining half to Henley, chugging the rest of the bottle and panting for breath once he’s done. Ronan crushes the plastic in his hand and tosses it across the room, before sitting on the bottom of the basement steps. Resting his head on his knuckles, blinking dotingly at both of his pets.

“Fuck. I’ve missed you both” Ronan sighs.

“T-Then… why did you leave us, s-sir?” Henley questions, concerned he's speaking out of turn but the fear is wiping any clarity from his mind.

“Have you forgotten your own tale, little one? How your tormentor left you for days. Alone, afraid? No water, no food?” 

Henley remembers that ‘tale’ like it was yesterday. He just didn’t realise Ronan was still playing around with that god awful memory, and he definitely didn’t realise he’d have to go through that part all over again.

“I am a bit disappointed, though,” Ronan looks over to Izaak, a bit of life slowly coming back to him, “No hallucinations yet, pet?”

Izaak rolls his eyes at that little retort, infuriated, “What do you want?” his voice scratchy and frail, like he’s not spoken in decades. Although he means it to sound tough.

“To play a little game. You don’t know how bored I’ve been without my little pets to keep me entertained. I’m sure you two are bored out of your skulls, too. We could all use a little lighthearted entertainment to raise the spirits, hm?”

Nothing good can come of this. They’re already so hurt and so drained. Was half a bottle of water really worth whatever pain was about to follow? 

“What…what kind of game?” Henley dares to ask, knowing he’ll soon regret asking. That he’s only enabling Ronan in his sick little ideas.

Ronan smiles, a scheming and threatening smile, “A competition.”

Hopping up from his step, he begins to pace around the room, deep in thought. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ronan starts explaining, retrieving a long coil of rope out of the cabinets against the wall, unwinding it in his palms, “We’re going to see who can outlast the other. I’m going to tie you both into a position, and I won’t lie - it’s going to hurt. It’s going to stretch and pull at all your muscles, press on all your weight, but where’s the fun without stakes? Whoever wins… wins dinner tonight. I mean, a proper meal and water. Not the usual bland shit I give you. So who's in?"

Neither of them jump at the idea. They exchange a questioning glance at one another and keep their lips sealed shut.

"Henley? Would you like to play? Shall I tie you, little one?"

"No…" Henley casts a glance to Izaak, guilt-ridden with what he was forced to do to him, at how bad a shape he's in now because of him, "Izaak needs to eat. More than I do. I concede."

"Oh, maybe I haven't explained fully. If one of you refuses to play, neither of you eat. You both get to starve as a reward for your pathetic selflessness. Does that change your mind? Will you play?"

Henley instantly nods.

“Izaak? Are you playing?”

“...Do it" Izaak snarls - refusing to let his pride kill him, he's got his eyes set on the prize. Determined to beat Henley, if it's the last thing he does. That meal is his. He deserves it.

It's game on.

Ronan winds the rope around Izaak's wrists first, ten times over, binding them tightly behind his back, at the base of his spine before he even considers unlocking his handcuffs to get him into position. He's not a mind-reader, but it'd be foolish to assume Izaak will waste an opportunity to tackle him.

The rope is looped through a ringlet in the ceiling, pulling at it until Izaaks arms are wrenched high above him, forcing his shoulders down, facing him towards the ground. Howling in pain as his arms are pulled higher... and higher above him, nearly snapping at the impossible angle. His muscles burn, shaking from the pressure - trying to breathe through the pain but it comes out as animalistic grunts.

Next, Ronan attaches rope around the D-ring of Izaak's collar, pushing down on Izaak's head to force it lower as he connects the rope between his collar, and wrapping them around the top of his thighs to tie them in place. His head secured, unable to pull it up or even move an inch.

He's tied in a bowing position, his forehead pressed hard into the ground, on his knees. He's fucking bowing to Ronan like a good submissive pet. Like Henley.

Everything throbs and aches, he can feel his heartbeat in every part of his body. Piling on to all the pain he's already battling against. One twitch of a muscle and his screams will echo throughout the room.

He thought it was over. That Ronan was done with the last of the restraints, until he feels the rope slither around his ankles, tying them together.

And then his feet are lifted off the ground, his one source of balance. All his body weight, all the crushing pressure pushed down onto his knees and skull. All the blood rushes to his head, a dizziness manifesting from the intensity of it all.

He doesn't notice that Ronan's left his side, going to tie Henley in the exact same manner, the same horrific stress position. He can hear the rush of blood in his ears, his strained gasps of breaths slipping from his lips. His muscles tremor like an earthquake rattling the ground underneath him and only him.

"Let's begin!" he hears Ronan clap.

*!*!*!*!*

Had it only been hours?

It felt like a millennia, suspended hopelessly in time. Stuck forever in pain. With no relief, Izaak's kneecaps threaten to shatter underneath him, the only way to ease the pressure to pull up on his arms but they'll break.

They can't see Ronan's face, but they imagine he's absolutely thriving off of this. May aswell get the popcorn out and sit back.

As if to taunt them, to remind them of what they're competing for, of what they risk losing - the sweet aroma of food wafts in, through the open basement door that Ronan's left open in an obvious attempt to tease them.

Izaak can't help but whine, and simultaneously Henley grimaces and twists in discomfort in his position, only succeeding in sending waves of agony coursing through him. Ronan pouts, strolling over towards him and stroking down the curve of Henley's spine

“How are you holding up, my boy?”

Henley whines, pressing his forehead deeper into the ground, gritting his teeth. 

“G-Good...sir…”

“Aw, you sweet thing. You’re in pain. Do you want me to untie you, pet? Here-” Ronan’s fingers trace along the cords of rope, about to fiddle with the knots when Henley’s body jolts and he cries out in protest.

“No!...Sir. Please don’t untie me.”

Henley wants to win, too. The hunger is starting to eat at him from the inside out. And as Ronan's reminded them for the past few hours:

'If you lose... who knows when you'll next get to eat again'

That's not a risk he's willing to take.

“What about you, Izaak? How are you faring?”

Izaak doesn’t answer, his muscles trembling violently with strain, his skin slicked with cold-sweat. Ronan tugs at the rope tugging Izaak’s arms to an impossible angle, and Izaak gasps in pain, one pull too hard and there’s no doubt Izaak’s shoulders will pop and dislocate. A low growl roars up in his throat at Ronan's touch.

“Doesn’t dinner smell nice tonight?” Ronan attempts to torment him.

“Shut the fuck up-”

“I can make you lose right here right now if you’re going to talk to me like that, pet. Declare Henley the winner and give him his food?”

Izaak remains quiet, biting his tongue to stop himself screwing this whole thing up for himself.

“That’s what I thought.”

*!*!*!*!*!

Izaak sounds like he’s in immense pain. Like he’s seconds away from passing out. Henley can hear him whining and whimpering, shaking violently, gritting his teeth. He'd twisted his head to the side on the ground as best he could against his collar to see: he's not looking good.

Henley knows he can last longer, that he could win this. He could go to sleep tonight with a full belly and rid the thirst. But what would be the point? the endgame? When Izaak needs it more.

Izaak deserves the win right now, Henley gives in.

“I give in, sir. I can’t take it - please untie me" Henley's voice waivers.

“You’re giving up?”

“I can’t go any longer. I’m sorry, I tried.”

“Well then...congratulations, Izaak" Ronan smirks, slow clapping Izaak as condescendingly as he can. It doesn't feel like much of a victory right now, his world is just constant pain.

As long as he gets out of these restraints, that's the win. Lining his stomach is just a bonus.

Ronan unties him, his body collapses with a thud, gently helping him by propping him sitting against the wall and retying his hands in front so he can eat. Fighting back isn't even on his mind right now, only the pain is. He just lets Ronan move him around how he pleases. Leaving to go fetch his prize.

And god, does it look amazing. The plate is huge, so big that Izaak isn't convinced he can stomach it all, and a huge bottle of water is handed to him. The hot plate placed down in his lap.

“All yours, pet. You were so good. And good pets get rewarded. Are you starting to understand that now, Izaak?”

Izaak takes a forkful, looks up at Ronan. He doesn’t answer, he continues to wolf down his food and drink before it can vanish in a puff of smoke and be told it's a cruel trick. Ronan strokes and ruffles his hair and crouches before him.

“I’ll put it in ‘Izaak’ terms for you, bud. Comply. Obey me. And your life will become a hell of a lot easier.”

Izaak stares back blankly. Uninterested and continuing to chew the food. He can feel the threats on his tongue, and the spit in his mouth ready to go.

Fuck his obedience. Fuck being a good little pet.

Izaak carries on eating, ignoring every word. He’ll stay silent this time. He’s not giving Ronan a reason to snatch his hard-earned food off him and give it to the little puppy-eyed bastard across from him.

"Enjoy your dinner, Izaak. You performed very well today. I'm impressed," Ronan places a hand on his cheek, full of food, paused in his eating as he stares up at his captor, "You've got more stamina than I'd thought. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

It's an unbelievable relief when Ronan leaves. Yet terrifying when they realise they may not see him for days again, maybe to have a repeat of this. Or something far worse.

And Henley's still tied in his excruciating position. Beginning to sob when he realises this is his punishment for losing, for giving up. He doesn't regret it, Izaak needed to eat and drink tonight but the pain still runs through his bones.

The smell of Izaak's dinner hits his nostrils, his mouth waters. He's shared his food with Izaak before, showed him mercy and helped him out. Would it be far-fetched to hope he'd show him the same leniency?

Henley twists his head on the ground, his cheek planting, smushed on the cold floor to look at Izaak.

“Izaak…? I - I wouldn’t ever normally ask this but - pl-please can I have a bit of your food? I-I’ve shared with you before. I’m just so hungry.”

“Oh wow, that’s rich. You’re so sly and manipulative, Henley. After what you did to me, you expect me to give up my food to you? To share? Count this as your payment, your debt paid for fucking torturing me, you little freak."

Henley turns his head away, to hide the tears tracking down his dirt-stained cheeks. More so from Izaak's words than the pain.

Everytime he tries to help Izaak. To show a speck of humanity for the man who stripped his away, he's the one who is left at a loss. Berated, humiliated and abused.

That stops from today. Henley's not helping anymore. Now they can suffer equally.

-