#captor bonding

Jameson hitches in a breath. They're still slipping through the city like an eel through ocean, winding around neighborhoods as if avoiding beds of green plants waving in the water. The lights are purple in some spots and bright in others. Jameson wonders if Nanda's taking him-

... what used to be home.

"I read the bottles," He whispers. "I could-... I could always read."

Another long pause. Nanda glances behind him, then pulls over - still without using his turn signal, and that sure hasn't changed. The car's tires crunch along the gravel beside the road, then settle into a rumbling smoothness as they move into grass. Nanda cuts the lights, and leaves he and Jameson sitting in total darkness, without even a streetlight to see by. Only the dim hint of moonlight and stars.

"You weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I... I know. But I can."

"You never told me you could." Nanda's palm is heavy and hot on his neck, now. Jameson twists his fingers into his sweatpants to keep his hands from shaking as Nanda's voice drops low, too. "You lied to me."

"I was-... scared to tell you."

"You should have told me anything. Everything. There shouldn't have been anything I didn't know."

"No, I know, but... fuck. What if you had them take it away?" He looks, now. He finds the courage to raise his head, to turn and look Nanda right in his eyes. They're just a gleam in the night. "I needed it. I, I'm alive because I can read. If I couldn't, and you died, I wouldn't have... been able to read, to, to know-"

"You lied." No anger. Just calm certainty. "To me."

"... yes. I lied." He jerks away from Nanda's hand finally, raking a hand back through his hair, hating it again. It used to be thick, and kind of pretty actually. Used to look good. Even this long after escaping Robert, it still grows in unevenly, different lengths. And some places never grew back at all, so he has to grow it out to cover the bald spots up, but then the uneven bits are obvious, and... "I fucking lied, okay?! I had to protect myself. I had to, to keep safe."

"From me?" Nanda's voice is empty of emotion. It's worse than anger could ever be. "You had to protect yourself from me?"

"More than anyone, you fucking asshole!"

He's going to cry again. He forces the heat of the tears back, lets them turn into a twist of acid anger in his chest alongside his racing heart. He doesn't lower his gaze. He looks Nanda right in the face.

He thought he'd never see this face again.

"You-" His voice cracks, and he fights to get it back. Not to go silent now, when he has to say this, the thing he's always held inside. There's never been a grave he could cry at, there's never been a body to bare his heart to. Not since-

"You could have killed me yourself, and I'd have let you do it." The words come out too quickly, they run together and he's breathless at the end of the sentence. He grabs at Nanda's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he can feel Nanda's bones move, can hear the slightest hiss of breath as he winces. "And you might have. Even if all you did was send me back, they'd wipe it all away again. I'd lose too much, I'd lose you, you shit, and I didn't want to lose you. When you died, I thought-"

"I wasn't dead-"

"I didn't fucking know that!" He can't scream anymore, not like he used to. His voice only turns to wind, the rasp of an oncoming storm. Nanda is a rumble of thunder, and Jameson the leaves shivering on branches about to blow down and die. "If they found me, they'd blame me, and they'd send me back, for being defective, for being a fucking reject, for-... they'd take you away. They'd take you away from me, from my head."

He pulls Nanda's hand to him, leans forward, his forehead resting against the warmth of Nanda's palm, those fingers curved slightly over the top of his head. Like a god giving benediction, maybe. Like he could be lifted up or shoved off a cliff with just one motion.

"I couldn't lose you, not because I wasn't right. I couldn't fucking lose you. If you knew I could read, if you sent me back-... if they sent me back after you died-... they'd take you. I couldn't, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. You're mine, god damn it, you were mine!"

"Pet-"

"I had to keep you mine." He drops his grip on Nanda's hand, but it doesn't move away, and neither does he. "I had to keep you in my head, because-... because if you were gone, and I didn't know you, then why was I ever here?"

He's talking about Nanda, and he isn't. There's some other face beneath it, another voice, another taste. A smile he'd known from his first memories, a loss he couldn't recall because it had been a loss too great to bear losing.

He doesn't let that other face surface. Some part of him knows the name but he holds it deep, deep down. "I'm what I am because I thought it was okay to lose, to forget, but when you were gone, I, I couldn't, I couldn't lose again. I couldn't forget you again. Don't you fucking understand that?"

Nanda stares at him, slightly wide-eyed, an expression Jameson has never seen before in his handsome, angular face. There's so much more silver in his beard now than there used to be. But they both look so much older, so much different, now.

The silence draws out, between them, and Jameson twists. Lightning threatens. There's no rumble of thunder, only the weight of something about to break overhead and if it does, he'll drown.

"Well?" His voice shakes, but he covers it up with rage. He always covers up his fear with anger. It's the only way he's lived this long. It's safe and easy. "Lost your fucking voice now, all of a sudden? Huh? You gonna fucking say something to me, you piece of shit, you were dead and how goddamn dare you come back and take me like nothing ever happened, like I didn't-... like I didn't have to live without you, for so long without, like I-"

He never finishes the sentence.

"Shut up," Nanda snaps. It's a growl, a snarl, and Jameson thrills to the sound of his voice. His hands are there, they shove Jameson to the side and then back. Nanda hits something along the side of his seat and the back drops flat. Jameson gasps as his head bounces back against the headrest, and then Nanda is on top of him again, yanking his shirt up with a ferocity that feels like the cloth burns along his scarred skin as it goes. His wrists are tangled in the cotton and Nanda grunts, irritated, and leaves it there as he works at Jameson's sweatpants, yanking them down off his hips until he's nearly naked, on his back in the passenger seat of a car, on the side of the road.

"Nanda-"

"I said shut the fuck up-"

Nanda's hand claps over his mouth, and his protests are muffled at first. Then they aren't protests at all, as Nanda's lips are hot against his neck, and then his teeth dig and his tongue works against the reddening skin he's just bitten.

Nanda's hand closes around him, between his legs, and Jameson cries out, all but levitating off the seat into scorching touch. He's dizzy, with the way all his blood suddenly shifts to meet that hand. He can barely think. Nanda's strokes are rough and fast, and Jameson rolls into them, again and again. All his thoughts are washed away by the lust that floods him.

Somewhere under that, though...

He's still afraid.

It could end any second.

It could all have been a dream.

This might have been the wrong choice.

Or it wasn't a choice at all.

Nanda yanks his hand back and Jameson whimpers at the loss, whines like an animal in heat, only to have Nanda grab him and roughly turn him over, throwing him back down. They're closed in this car, the space too small for it. His elbow bangs on something, his feet are pressing up against the rough carpet under the dashboard. But that hand is off his mouth, then. He can breathe, and he can make a sound that isn't entirely human as Nanda's mouth is back on his neck, the heat of his chest against Jameson's shoulder blades, the hardness of him pressed just where Jameson wants it, always wanted it

Didn't always want it-

"Nanda... please-... just wait-"

"I don't wait for you," Nanda whispers against his ear, nips at the shell. He can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling, as broken as that sound is now from his ruined throat. "You wait for me, when I say. You don't tell me when."

Jameson's eyes open, then. He's staring into an expanse of stars through the back windshield, and the sky is so goddamn empty between them, isn't it? Between the tiniest points of light, dead suns, and maybe their planets still revolve around them in the darkness.

"... I was learning," He whispers.

Nanda pauses. His breath is deafening against Jameson's ear. "What?"

"... I was learning how to say when."

He's a planet orbiting a dead star.

"Pet-"

"... I loved you."

"Loved?"

He's crying again. Goddamnit, he's crying again, and his shoulders shake with the sobs he can't hold back any longer. Nanda exhales and drops, weight against him, reassuring and real, alive. "I still love you, but I love-... I love-... I loved that I learned to be-... to b-be Jameson, fuck, stop it stop it stop crying, you shit, you fucking, just stop fucking crying!"

"Sssshhhhh. It's okay." Nanda's voice is a rumble, and the world shakes a little, gentle as a shower of rain. But he can't taste the rain here, not so far away from Allyn.

He can't taste the rain, only copper and sweet.

The stars blur into nothing, they're lost to the darkness when he tries to look through the tears. Even if his vision clears, it isn't even the stars he'd be seeing.

"Nanda... there's someone else."

“Then come help us unpack.”

He lifted himself slowly, afraid that if he stood up too fast he would stop breathing altogether. Inching towards his suitcase, he crouched to unzip it but paused when the first thing that popped out was a coil- two coils of metal, shining in the streak of sunlight.

Hayko stilled.

He hadn’t moved for a minute when his body grew cold. He took a slow breath, keeping his eyes on the handcuffs despite the shadow. The silence was filled by haphazard scuffling of feet, zippers, grunts, the faint rumble of the engine still going outside. He could almost hear a chirping from the woods over the rush of blood in his ears.

“You packed this?” Hayko asked numbly, reaching out to touch the now warm metal. It stung at first, fading under his fingertips as he shivered.

Nick hummed in affirmation. He set his hands on Hayko’s shoulders, squeezing them when he tensed up. “Don’t take it personally. I’m obviously not going to-”

“You just can’t leave me alone,” he gritted out. The two circles grew hot, flush against his fingertips. “It’s been-... you still don’t trust me?” Hayko swallowed against a painful sheet of dryness, a pang of hurt in his chest.

Nick scoffed and tightened his fingers enough that the shoulder muscles relaxed on cue. Don't get angry. There was silence again, pushed against by their shallow combined breaths. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“You think I’m going to run.”

“Of course not.”

Hayko barked out a laugh whose vibrations didn’t go further than Nick’s hands. He felt his inside shaking, a perpetual, cold shudder that slowly heated the longer he stared at the handcuffs.

A full two years earlier was the last time he’d seen any action with them. Afterwards, negotiation on negotiation. Terms and conditions for general freedom. Differing consequences for disobedience that didn’t involve being cuffed to the foot of a bed.

When he refused to be his, refused to do his job until Nick had made him, cursed and spat that he wasn’t his, he wasn’t a criminal like him only for the affirmations to go underwater as soon as he got comfortable.

And now it was back to square one - his victim.

Hayko noticed his voice shaking and kept it low, still touching the handcuffs. “You don’t trust me.”

He felt small breaths on the back of his neck coming in little puffs. Nick’s hands were fixed on his shoulders and he wondered how much harder the man was willing to press before they bruised him. Knowing him, he was willing to press even beyond that as long as the result looked pretty. Suddenly, they loosened, fell away, and Hayko braced himself.

A shadow fell on his face once Nick crouched at his level. Hayko resolved not to look at him, not until he was forced to.

Little rebellions like those kept him afloat.

“Look at me,” Nick said quietly, betraying no real anger or frustration. Nonetheless, an order was an order and Hayko knew that better than anybody else.

He wearily met Nick’s eyes, his touch staying on the handcuffs as if leaving them would leave himself vulnerable. Hayko could have laughed at the flash of that thought, the idea that he wasn’t already.

Nick sighed and raised a hand to Hayko’s cheek, touching the scarring there gently. “You know that I love you. You know that I’ll kill for you - have, actually. That I’ll sacrifice whatever, whoever, needs to go for you to stay with me. You know that. I don’t need to remind you.”

Hayko listened, grimacing slightly if at all.

He knew that. Nick had made sure he wouldn't forget.

“But what I know is that your fire isn’t gone, beautiful. You’re a fighter, and a crafty one at that, and if that means I’ll need to chain your pretty wrists until you shake off whatever instinct you have to run away from me,” Nick said, keeping his strokes over his scars gentle, “then I will do that.”

Hayko listened, not entirely as the rest of his mind was occupied with the scratching of suitcases and automatically leaned into the gentle kisses against his scars. “But you love me.”

Nick quirked a small smile and nothing more. The hand wrapped around the back of Hayko’s head and he leaned in.

Hayko didn’t freeze this time. He turned his head until the kiss just grazed his cheek, far enough away from his lips. Far enough from the hurt, like they were right now. He felt Nick stop too and for once, didn't let his terror overtake his courage.

“You love me just enough so I won’t leave.”

Nick didn’t seem blunted by the avoidance. He thought for a moment then, unfazed, leaned in and kissed his cheek. Soft with a hint of sandalwood. Chaste. “It’s working though, isn’t it?”

Hayko gave him a sudden look. The anguish in it shimmered too shallow to be hidden and he needed to hold back the emotion threatening to burst.

The satisfaction he saw under Nick's soft smile made him too sick to move.

“Yes,” he whispered.

"Then kiss me."

It’s working though, isn’t it?

It had for nearly two years. Hayko pressed harder into the kiss, put his own hand around Nick's head and pulled himself closer so he wouldn't feel the heat of the tears when they broke.

—

Elvan glanced down at her slave before replying. “Why would you think that?”

“Because...you hurt me.”

“Hm. I don’t hate you; I enjoy you.” She looked away. “Hate and hurt are two very different things.”

Esir was quiet for a bit, then, “Did you hate Xayanat?”

A hint of a smirk came to Elvan’s face at that question. “Did you?”

“I don’t know. I used to love him.”

“And did he love you?”

Esir let out a bitter laugh. “Apparently not.” Their voice caught in their throat as they said the words.

“Do you miss him?”

Another pause. “No.”

“Good,” the Regent said flatly. “He hurt you in far worse ways than I ever have.”

She was right, of course. Xayanat might not have made them bleed with his own hand, but he had lied to them, betrayed them, shown how little they actually meant to him. They disagreed on a lot, but they had had one truly serious fight the last night they had been together before everything. He was taking too many risks. At the time they had no idea how embedded in the resistance he was, but they had found out that he was involved and confronted him. This was too dangerous. It wasn’t worth it. But that was the problem with Xayanat; he didn’t know when to stop. Worse than that, really -- he’d make assurances and promises that he wouldn’t overstep, then would entirely ignore those boundaries.

That was the biggest difference between Xayanat and the Regent. Elvan never pretended to be a good person. She never made promises to them that she wouldn’t keep. From the very beginning, she made it clear what she wanted from them, and made sure they knew the consequences of disobeying her. They were under no illusions that she would heed their begging and pleading, but she knew exactly what their physical limits were. And when they received a beating that wasn’t a direct consequence of something they did, she would patch them up afterwards and hold them as they cried, making sure they knew it wasn’t their fault.

In that sense, this was far better than their previous life. This was predictable, stable. The life of a stray was one of uncertainty -- when they would next eat, where they would be able to sleep at night, whether they could trust other people (and Esir had made the wrong call on that one with Xayanat) -- not to mention the abysmally low life expectancy. It was all too common for younger strays to not make it to adulthood. Esir had successfully made it through childhood without succumbing to illness, but they were small for their age, and it would have been a matter of time before they ended up in a fight they couldn’t win. They were almost 20 now, so there was a high chance they wouldn’t live more than another couple years if they had stayed on the streets. Here in the palace they had no say in what happened to them, but they always had food and a roof over their head if they were good, and belonging to the Regent protected them from those who would seek to cause them harm.

Esir looked up at their master. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For...everything. For keeping me.”

The Regent smiled down at her slave and pulled them close, dipping her head to plant a kiss in the curve of their neck. Esir’s lips parted slightly and they shivered as she spoke close enough for her breath to tickle their ear.

"Who is it?" His voice is mild. Spoonful of sugar tinted pink, sweetness and salt on Jameson's tongue. He could drown in the taste of Nanda's voice. Used to feel like he did drown, under voice and hands, tied up in ropes and brought to the good kind of screaming.

"... They're called A-Allyn. They, they ran away like I did. Well, not the-... Their owner died, too. They... They understood that I missed you..."

He reaches a hand up, hesitantly, trying to touch Nanda's face. The older man's big hand snaps up to close painfully tight around his wrist, forcing it back down.

"I wasn't dead," Nanda says mildly.

"I already told you, I didn't exactly goddamn know that-"

"No, you were dumb as rocks the one time I could have used the brains we both knew you had." Nanda's voice stays mild, but the insult stings regardless.

"I'm-... not-"

"Oh, you're not? You didn't know how to check a fucking pulse, but you're not dumb, huh? You ran off instead of waiting or calling for help but you still love me, right? Hell, you fuck someone else, but you're not a slut anymore. Isn't that what you're saying?"

Jameson's wrist feels like it creaks as Nanda tightens his grip further and further. The man's other hand drops down to unbutton and unzip his own pants in quick jerky motions. They're down low off his hips in seconds.

Jameson grits his teeth against the pain, refuses to be seduced by it. Or by the way Nanda punctuates the accusations by rolling his hips, the low warmth remaining stoked back into a flame.

God, he feels so hot.

They're both burning.

"If you were d-dead-... Ah! I would have lost you when they took you out of my head, I already s-said that-Jesus that's fucking good-"

His other wrist is grabbed now. He tries to pull it away, but they both know he isn't trying very hard. Nanda's mouth drops to graze against his. To catch him in a kiss, brutal and firm, until he's whimpering and rocking his hips like some mindless fucking idiot, like he used to do.

Nanda chuckles bitterly, pulls back and listens to Jameson's angry hiss at the sudden loss of connection. "If there's someone else, why did you get in my car when I came for you?"

He swallows, closing his eyes. Nanda's burn too much for him to take. Those hips roll against his again and he meets them with his own, arches his back, lets legs shift apart to welcome Nanda between his thighs. He could come from this, if it goes on long enough. "I don't-... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No! Fuck you, no I don't know! You were dead and now you're here and I, I forgot who I am for a second, but I'm-... I'm not that anymore, and I want-... I want to-..." God, he feels it so much, his skin is all raw nerves and sensation. "... I want-"

"You want me."

Nanda had let go of his wrist at some point. He only realizes it when that heavy hot hand closes around his neck.

His breath stutters, gets lost trying to find his lungs. His head spins as the hand tightens, he feels his Adam's apple move against Nanda's palm. "Wait-"

" I spent all these years trying to find you, pet-"

"Jameson," He rasps, barely able to force the word out in a whisper. "Use... Use m'fucking name-"

"Fine. Jameson." God, it sounds so good in Nanda's voice, his own name tastes perfect in his tongue when Nanda is the one to say it. His eyes nearly flutter shut at the simple pleasure. "I have been searching for you-"

"Doing a shit j-job of it, could've used your help a couple y-years ago when I was in some asshole's dog cage-"

"Let. Me. Finish." The grip on his throat tightens even more. There is so little room for him to breathe, chest heaving. He never moves his hands to try and push or fight, though. He knows this tone, the look on Nanda's face. "However you feel about someone else... I looked for you. And I found you. I searched every goddamn corner of California trying to figure out where you fucked off to, and I find you all fucked up for someone else, another pet, huh?"

"I... I loved you... I still-" His voice catches, his throat clicks when he swallows. His eyes are wide, and he sees the anger in Nanda's and wonders why it used to thrill so much more to see it than it does now. "But I-... grieved-... Rebuilt, built n-new... life... I, I fucking deserve to l-live-"

Nanda's lip curls. But he doesn't say anything while Jameson fights for enough air to speak again. They're both still hard, still moving together, and the pleasure mixes with the pain in his throat and the dizzy lack of air, crossing all his wires and leaving him squirming in helpless unwanted arousal beneath Nanda's familiar perfect weight.

"I... deserve s-someone... who l-loves me... back-"

He expects mockery, black spots flashing bright like camera lights around Nanda's face as his vision starts to go, tunneling in on those eyes.

He sees, in the center of the closing tunnel, the whites of Nanda's eyes.

"Please-... If you e-ever... loved m-me-... Please, fuck, please s-say-... it..."

Nanda's thumb pushes against his windpipe as he kisses Jameson. Their mouths open to each other, and Jameson's arms move, finally, only to grip onto Nanda's shoulders. An anchor as he drowns on land, fighting for air.

Then the grip loosens.

Jameson's head pounds as he groans, his throat aches as he gulps air desperately. He'll be marked, bruised. He's been bruised there before. "N, Nanda-"

Nanda's head drops to Jameson's shoulder.

"... Nanda?"

A pause.

‘Get in there,’ Vincent ordered, pointing to the left side.

Utterly confused, Jonah turned around - and blanched. The space under the stairs that had been used to store boxes and other stuff was empty now - except for a cage suitable for a big dog. Or a human of average height.

'You can't be serious,' Jonah muttered, shying away, 'This is some fucked up joke, isn't it?' 

The electric shock that followed instantly made him drop to his knees, catching his breath.

'First rule?'

'Speaking… decently and… only when spoken to,' Jonah choked out through gritted teeth.

'Good boy, very good. Now get in there, I promised you a reward and I'll make sure you get it.'

‘You… you think this is a reward? Vincent, please - I can’t, don’t make me… I’m… that’s… so small and I-’

‘You’re claustrophobic, I know. That’s why you’ll be locked in a cage, not a trunk - you’ll still be able to see everything and won’t have trouble breathing. Get in. Now.’

‘Vincent…’

‘Do you want me to turn your reward into a punishment? No? Then get in already!’

He grabbed him by his hair and shoved the struggling man into the cage, locked the door the very second both his feet were inside and left. Jonah huddled up, not able to move, let alone get into a somewhat more comfortable position. 

He was scared; it was too cramped in there and he felt his heart beating wildly in his chest, he just wanted to get out. Why did Vincent say something about a reward if he was going to lock him in a goddamn cage? His muscles grew tense and he knew that his legs would start to hurt real soon. His breathing accelerated with every passing minute and he felt like screaming; screaming so Vincent would come and take him out again, even if that meant that he would be punished for making such a fuss. But he couldn’t stay there any longer, he already was on the brink of a panic attack. His knees hurt from kneeling on the bars at the bottom of the cage and he couldn’t turn his head properly anymore; every single muscle in his body was aching.

‘Let me out!’ he cried desperately, banging his fists against the bars. ‘Vincent, please! How much longer do I have to stay in here? I’m begging you, let me out!’

His voice broke as the horrible feeling he had tried to fight for so long returned with full force. It didn’t help at all that this was just a cage, not a trunk - being locked in a confined space was the absolute worst for him, the feeling of not being able to move, of having nowhere to run, that devastating feeling that the walls were closing in on him... He couldn’t breathe anymore. His whole body was shaking and he wanted to scream, but he choked on the words, he felt like he was about to faint-

‘Jonah.’

He hadn’t realised that the cage door had been opened, Vincent kneeling in front of it.

‘Come here, my love… wait, let me help you…’

Once he was sitting on the floor again, he started crying. If this had been a reward, he already dreaded the next punishment.

‘No, don’t cry my darling, let me help you… Can you walk? No? That’s okay, put your arm around my shoulders… yes, that’s my good boy…’ 

Gently he lifted him up from the ground, carried him into the bedroom and lay him down on the soft mattress. When he started to open the buttons on his shirt, Jonah froze.

‘Turn around,’ Vincent whispered into his ear, ‘close your eyes and try to relax…’

‘No, please..,’ Jonah whimpered as his shirt was removed and Vincent grabbed his shoulder to make him lie on his stomach.

Thinking about what was going to happen next, he started shaking again, waiting anxiously - but nothing happened.

‘Relax,’ Vincent whispered again, unlocked the collar and put it on the nightstand. 

Suddenly Jonah could smell the scent of lavender, followed by warm and gentle hands that started massaging his shoulders. Shivers ran down his spine, but this time it wasn’t because of fear. Even if it was Vincent who kept rubbing circles into his back, it felt so good after being stuck in the cage for so long. His breathing slowed down and he struggled to stay awake. How could this feel so good? A warm and slightly damp piece of cloth was pressed against his neck, the warmth seeping into his skin where it was still raw from wearing the shock collar. He sighed, enjoying every second of the unusual treatment. 

After he was done with his back, Vincent started massaging his legs, carefully avoiding to apply too much pressure, but still effectively making his aching muscles go soft again. Jonah tried very hard to stay quiet, but whenever he felt the tension leaving his body, he couldn't help but moan. Finally it dawned on him - this was the reward Vincent had talked about. Even if he had also been the one causing the pain he was now trying to relieve, Jonah didn’t really care for once; maybe he just missed being touched in a way that didn’t make him scream in agony. Lulled by the scent of lavender oil, the warmth and the soft hands that made the pain fade away, he fell asleep.

***