#multiple whumper

As Morris fished for a plate full of leftover pancakes on the bedside table, he strained to keep his rough voice gentle: "It's not an act, I worry about you." 

An invasive finger tried to caress Elliot's cheekbone.

"Hands off!"

Disappointed, Chris dropped his arms back on the blanket.

"I don't want to scare you. I apologized, I-I thought you were fine, you're fine."

Fine. The word felt like salt in his wounds. Elliot was a wreck of the man he used to be, he couldn't even remember the different phases of his life. By now, there was only before and after Morris.

"So the best way to show your worry was taking me against my will again?"

"I saved you," Chris replied sternly, like he had to convince a jury.

"Saved me. Saved!" Elliot couldn't believe the unending delusions he had to tolerate.

"Yes."

"YOU RUINED MY FUCKING LIFE!"

The shrill cry hammered the undisputed truth in and let them both recoil.

But Elliot didn't even think about stopping, ignoring Morris' desperate attempts to shush him: "I lost my job, my passion, I can't even look my parents in their eyes without imagining what you'd do to them!"

"Nothing!" Chris yelled back and tried to present his outstretched hands as proof, "I don't plan to hurt you or anyone for that matter. I had no idea about the piano thing, I truly didn't know."

"Oh! Oh, you knew where I lived and when to get to me, but the chapter about my job was just too boring to give a single shit about."

"I didn't know, when I did that..." Chris began to trail off, his gaze fixed on the cushioned hand, "I thought you did stock trades, remember? Amber should've-"

"Amber? Yeah, go ahead and blame her, why not! But of all the crap she did to me-"

"To both of us-"

"GOD," Elliot was already kneeling on the bed, successful in ousting his opponent to stand on his own, "at least she didn't turn me into a fucking cripple!"

That bastard was lucky Elliot was chained up now, he never imagined how great it felt to let all bottled-up anger burst through its thickly veiled prison. Morris had to listen and could do nothing but stand around, mortified. Even if he changed his mind any second, beat him to a pulp and threw him into the ocean, it didn't matter: this was worth it!

"I understand why you're mad, but I'm trying to make amends. You forgave me," how Chris' little fish brain was even able to let him breathe on land was a mystery to Elliot, "but if that's not enough, tell me what is."

"You know a good neurosurgeon?" he scoffed instead.

Morris knew Paula-Marie, the veteran nurse with the face of a bulldog who would stitch him and Dutch's men back together when a tour had become ugly. He doubted this would help.

"Let's start small. Baby steps, okay?" Morris was sure Elliot could still play a bit if he really wanted to, but was just too lethargic to try. Another reason to keep him far away from those pills.

"Sure, I tell you how to get even: you'll take this damn chain off, you're going to open the door and never harass me or my family again," Elliot demanded with absurd nerve, given how obviously inept he was to stop his body from shaking. Not only that, countless goosebumps sprouted on his skin despite the heater running high and the sweat-drenched clothes that stuck to even damper skin. Watery eyes gave a hunch of what was happening and hit Chris with welcomed ease. This fight wasn't his fault after all.

"Oh, I get it now. It has already started, huh? That's why you're lashing out at me."

"What started? Don't sidetrack," Elliot replied, nervous about the sudden lack of defensiveness.

Everything was becoming so clear now. Forgiveness, recompense, the taming of Elliot's prejudice: these were all topics for later, when he could get his feelings straight. It had been more than twelve hours since Chris brought him home, so withdrawal was right on time.

"Are you feeling nauseous too?" Chris' voice became impossible soft, "Does it itch?"

Once again, his hand reached out to dab the beads of sweat from Elliot's forehead. A desperate kick to the stomach was all Morris got rewarded with.

"Never ever touch me again!"

Never was a big word; as for waiting, this Chris could do. But first, he had to be sure he still had a good nose in that regard.

"Do you need your meds?"

Yes, oh sweet Jesus, yes! Elliot was desperate for a chance to numb himself. Even though he had to behave for it, he could play along for a while.

"Please," he whispered, dropping to sit hopeful on the bed's edge.

Yet instead of pellets made from synthetic calm, a disappointed sigh escaped his chaperon: "Wrong answer."

Chris plumped down on the armchair again and tried his best to ignore the tirade of curses and insults spewing from Elliot's fair lips. No matter how hard the next days turned out to be, it didn't matter: this was worth it!

--------

For the whole night, nobody in the apartment slept. Chris tried to get some more breakfast into Elliot, but to little avail, he was turning more and more irritated by the second.

Meanwhile, Morris had found the time and energy to tinker a wrist brace, so Elliot wouldn't hurt himself sleeping. Or during other pastimes Chris hoped to initiate soon. Between cardboard, hot glue and the turned back Elliot gave him whilst sulking in bed, the morning had been blissfully quiet. 

Until there was a rustle at the door. 

First, Chris thought it was his steady-drunk neighbor fiddling with the wrong lock again, but when the first peg clicked dutifully into place, his heart skipped a beat.

Elliot had noticed it too, someone was joining them. Maybe Berry, or whatever his name was, the Montreal angel who could release him into freedom.

Their eyes met.

Before Elliot could even use the fleeting chance to cry out, a handful of fabric was already shoved into his mouth. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"One noise and your hand will be the last of your worries," Morris hissed in his ear, choosing a tone Elliot definitely recognized.

Nevertheless, he tried to kick the man straddling him off again, but a hard slap to his right cheek whacked his head against the metal frame. Elliot saw stars.

"Sorry," Chris stressed voice whispered and threw a pillow over his face as if to hide the dazed man, "just let me sort this out."

Jumping up again to slam the door between the kitchen and bedroom shut, Morris too suspected who tried this little break-in. Admittedly, yes, he was supposed to be available, but to treat him to a few days of sick-leave surely wouldn't kill Belanger. Adopting a wide stance to welcome the fucker who dared to show up unannounced, Morris was ready. Said man finally opened the door to let Chris' face drain off all color. Oh, no.

"Good morning, Christoph!" The cheerful greeting trickled down his spine like acid.

"Hello, Dutch." 

Head not only hung low in terror, but also to keep the conversation at eye level, Morris went through his options. Lying, at any rate, seemed necessary. The man himself felt free to take the first steps into the kitchen, eyeing it from grout to ceiling as he wiped the condensate from his glasses. His judgement-filled stare came to rest on Morris, who unconsciously picked dead skin from his fingers until they bled before opening his mouth again: "You...uhm, you got a spare one?"

"If I have a key to my own apartment, Christoph? Do you want to ask me that again?"

"No! I-I just didn't expect-"

"I do, as you can see. What I don't have is the nerve to tolerate your biannual hissy fits," he started to berate, the speech placid and in tune with his gestures. "I give you a bed to sleep in, a car to borrow and this what I get back for my aid?"

He didn't look irate, though that was rarely the case. The beast disguised its snarl as a laugh.

"No, of course not! I'm very thankful for-"

"Well, somehow it doesn't feel like it, but even your thankfulness doesn't bring in any money. I should be working too, but instead I'm spending my time here…with you."

This was even worse than the lecture Chris had brought onto himself last winter. His knee stung with every gibe.

"So then you go on and cause poor Belanger to lose it. He's practically seething, as you are aware of. And you also know what happens every time he gets fed up." Chris' fingers twitched imagining what he would do to that snitch, still praying Elliot was stunned enough to hold his tongue. "I won't have to stand him, and I doubt he'd like to take a stroll in this part of town, so you know who has to, don't you?"

"The girls." Chris swallowed hard.

"Of course, his poor girls. Now imagine: the whole day you freeze by the slip road to have some greasy cocks shoved up inside you, just to be appreciated by the receiving end of a fist because a certain someone can't be bothered to pick up a call. It's tragic."

"Sorry." Besides all the bootlicking Chris shuffled in front of the door that he needed to keep closed under all circumstances.

"Well, you're going to be sorry when I make you sell your ass out there. Is there anything I must know about?"

"Personal reasons, I was…distracted."

"See, that is where-"

A muffled scream from next door cut them off. Oh, god.

The thin smile which appeared on Dutch's face couldn't make his mild facade budge: "Is there anything I must know about?"

"'S'all good," Morris lied, but couldn't stop the treacherous shiver running down his neck.

"Christoph, what are we doing here?"

Another, more enraged cry was all information necessary. Dutch simply clicked his tongue.

"I can explain!"

Pushing Morris aside, the door swung open to reveal, well, not exactly what the stranger had suspected.

Elliot, for one, tugging loudly on his cuff and not even dreaming to stop making noise for even a second, could hardly believe his luck. His noble savior just had to get him out of this room and he would never bother them again. Just inches behind him, Chris followed, revealing a face he had never seen him in before: true, genuine fear.

"I'm aware I'm not allowed to bring someone over, but look, this is a-a-an emergency, and I didn't know where else to put him."

The older man's eyes lit up further the closer he came.

"He's usually not a screamer!"

All the hassle about missed shifts was forgotten, Dutch powered through this farce with unhealthy patience: "I'm disappointed, to be honest, we could've made a playdate out of this."

The innuendo caught Morris off guard, though he hadn't repressed his last visit to the office. Stepping over to the bed, Dutch examined the man struggling to sit upright. It was clear he was less than thrilled about his current position.

"¿Eres de por aquí?"

What the-, Elliot thought as his chin was roughly grabbed by a leather-gloved hand and turned to the side. Help me, you asshole!

"Is he, Christoph?"

"Huh?"

"You need to know what they are when you want to sell them." Oh, fuck.

"I don't- that's not what's happening here," he yelped and for the first time, Elliot's muffled protest supported him.

"Is that what the H was for? Can't be, it's been forever," he wondered, "Loans? Not that I'm insinuating you to be in the position to lend in general."

"No." Chris felt like he was going to hyperventilate until the eager look of his boss finally got him where he wanted, suddenly tired of the interrogation Dutch expected nothing but straight answers. A lie, Morris decided. No, even better, a true confession that animated Dutch to respect boundaries.

"He's my boyfriend."

The bedroom went deadly quiet. Face held firmly in position, Elliot didn't even react. No yelling, no crying, but simply looking on in silent disgust as if the word itself made him rot internally.

"And does he know that too?" Dutch cared to learn, whirling back to the man under him, "Did you know that?"

Elliot's mind suddenly decided to bow out.

"That's a no, I'm afraid" the stranger pouted back at his employee and this time the comment stung in hot embarrassment. "Apologies, I didn't intend to ruin the pining, but you have to admit that this is…unexpected. I feel like a principal catching you two petting behind the gym in seventh grade."

This man was not shocked by a tied up hostage, not outraged at imprisonment; at best, he acted mildly irritated. He appeared to be in his fifties, Elliot guessed, his thin wire glasses and soft face marked with laugh lines made him look like your favorite neighbor down the street.

Ultimately, his distasteful cues left a foul aftertaste on Elliot's tongue, but as the man picked the gag out of his mouth and sighed deeply, the world turned a bit more peaceful. Elliot couldn't afford to be picky, if this were the only rescue available he'd gladly take it.

"Please help me, sir," he whispered in the best customer-service-voice he could muster, ignoring all of Morris frantic signs to stay quiet.

"You beg so beautifully, do it again."

The world had gone to the dogs and cursed its children to be devoured by the very same. Nobody here wanted to help, and underneath the tweed coat and corny tie Elliot saw the stranger for what he really was: an apex predator.

Observing an erratic, twitchy Christoph at the far side of the room, who was not coming closer but obviously desperate to get him out of the room, Dutch allowed himself to be the only one enjoying the scenery: "Glad I took the walk, this is lovely! But you are confused, so let me explain: your sweetheart here refuses to do what he's told, and I cannot let that stand, now can I? First he neglects his duties to start a late summer romance and the next thing you know, he'll make a deal with the competition to get me out of Chinatown."

"Dutch, I would never-"

Who the fuck is Dutch? This was all backwards.

"I love when he gets like this, all jittery." Helpless, Elliot's head lolled over to see Chris in all his nervous glory.

There was a gleam in the stranger's face he quickly blinked away. An idea had spouted.

"Should we tease him a bit?"

Elliot didn't want to figure out what that tease would entail. Too late.

"No, no, nononono!"

Without warning, the gloved fingers that only just held his face were shoved inside his mouth. Others pressed into his flesh until he was forced to open even wider as he tried to curl away from the brash intrusion.

STOP! Just why wouldn't they stop touching him?

All the squirming to no achievement only earned him a disapproving hum from the man, who seemed horrifying precise in how to toy with his body.

In and out, the vulgar rhythm of his knuckles let him slide deeper and deeper down Elliot's throat, all under the watch of indifferent eyes. Despite the writhing and mewling and arching away, resistance was futile. Elliot's angry left wrapped around the glove with all his might but got swatted away, so the last chance to free himself was to lock his jaw and-

"If you dare- Hey! If you even think about using your teeth, I will break them out of you one by one."

Every word hit a nerve. Elliot couldn't breathe, couldn't stop retching and gasping around Dutch's fingers until he was used as he pleased.

Frozen in place, Chris leaned on the wall with his mouth pressed into a thin line and his gaze fixed onto the carpet floor. If anyone listened, he prayed for it to stop already. Another sin to amend for stacked up.

"Look at him, Christoph," the man demanded coldly, "not at me, at him." 

Morris eyes darted full of panic between his duties, fists clenched and released with each heartbeat until his head threatened to explode at any second. All those present knew he was unable to do a thing about it.

Fear beats rage any day.

"This is your fault, and the next time I stick something in him will not be as proper."

"Yes, sir," Chris pressed out between clenched teeth.

Not intruding further, just resting inside Elliot, the leather-gloved hand paused as if to think about its next choice. Yet, the lesson already caught on. Without wasting any more effort, Elliot was released. 

Only being held down now, the pressure inside him was slowly vanishing. Despite Elliot retching around the palpable ghosts of the invasion, a gasp of relief came over his spit-smeared lips. Every cough freed him from the dirty taste of leather and fumes. 

"Badly trained as well," the man stroked a thumb over his Adam's apple, "Did he try you out already?"

Try me? Try to kill me?

Morris decided to answer for him instead: "No."

"A true gentleman. But you're missing out, Christoph here can suck you off like a champ."

Unsure of how to take this compliment, but no less flustered, Chris doubted the man in his sheets was enticed by this kind of flirting, judged by his horrified stare. Though Elliot had allowed for similar speculation in the past, he never thought it could lead up to this. His mind was granted a useful answer, just a filthy one it couldn't possibly accept.

Luckily, Dutch's attention was pinned down on Morris again: "Are you expecting someone else to join? East Hasting and Kaslo, don't let him wait."

Without another word, Chris darted through the room to grab the bare essentials, leaving a helpless Elliot panting for air. At last, the stranger had pulled his disgusting hand away and also disappeared from his focus. All the vile flavors of worry and weakness tumbled over each other. 

By the time he came back to the present, Chris was fully dressed and hovering over the bed again. He, too, was speechless, the cursed word hanging over them like a bad omen.

"I'm not your- What the fuck, Morris?" This had to be a bad joke, not the reason he was brought here. A ruse to get that guy off him.

"We'll discuss it later."

"There's nothing to discuss!"

"You're too loud," Chris had to take a deep breath, "Sorry, I know I will regret this."

Trying to muffle a possible desperate scream that Elliot long hadn't in him, Chris pushed the fabric back into his abused mouth. He hated how Elliot wasn't even trying to fight back anymore, Dutch tended to cause this reaction in people.

Gagging him once seemed insufficient; a roll of duct tape circled around the lower portion of Elliot's face, and he did nothing but simply lie there and take it until the ripping of the tape stopped. The restless tears had begun their trek again.

"Shh, don't cry," Morris whispered sweetly and nodded over to the kitchen, "Seriously, he likes that."

A little peck on the tape stayed unnoticed through Elliot's paralysis.

"I'll be home soon."

Though he would not be not alone, no. Rather, Elliot was left with Dutch and the consequences that would entail in his absence. He'd stay if he had the choice.

Before strutting to the apartment door, he met his eternally poised boss between the pantry and dinner table to interrupt his inspection of the thermostat. Chris prayed that his parting words would calm leftover animosities: "I take full responsibility. He's not-"

"You're running late," Dutch stated, his amusement outlasting the last sliver of patience. All had been said.

Leaping down the staircase and praying for safekeeping, Chris ran west into the unknown.

"There he goes," Dutch's whispered. Now, he was free to take his time looking through strange property and pulling open every single drawer he pleased. The one thing he wouldn't complain about was the well-kept state of his home, it was nearly impressive how well organized a man on the run could be. Dutch kept himself busy by browsing through the few books he discovered between old clothes until his interest got caught on Christoph's latest possession. One with a very pretty mouth. The man was assessing…contemplating.

"- try you out already?"

Locking his knees together just earned Elliot a dirty grin.

"If he doesn't perform like usual, I'm going to blame his incompetence on you. Would you like that?"

He quickly shook his head.

"Speak, boy."

"No, sir", Elliot muttered through the restrictive layers between his teeth.

"Good. In that case, keep your legs spread," came the sober response, "I don't intend to waste any more of my time."

The man grabbed the TV remote from the nightstand, turning on some program about endangered birds Elliot couldn't care less about, the volume high enough to suppress any wayward screams for help.

"Will I hear a single noise complaint from my tenants?"

"No, sir." Being stuck in that piercing stare made shakes wreck through Elliot that didn't come from a lack of artificial opioids.

"Entonces sé un buen chico y escucha a tu novio," was the last thing he was told before the stranger turned on the spot and let the door lock into place.

His wish was granted at last, Elliot remained in solitude.

--------

Somewhere near the harbor, a pleasant walk from city parks and small cafés, an office door swung open. Hanging his thick attire on the coat rack, Dutch let unopened letters drop haphazardly onto stacks upon stacks of paperwork.

They had to get the new shipping load to arrive tomorrow, otherwise the supply chain on the main land would be delayed pretty quickly. He ran a stressed hand through his hair and sighed. He truly couldn't afford to waste more time like this, even if a quick indulgence always lightened the mood around the office.

Speaking of which, his personal joy had to have woken up by now. Dutch circled the room to finally catch a glimpse of the scantily clad figure kneeling on the floor, always securely collard to the desk. A single knuckle under the chin was enough to make once bright eyes stare back in apathy. A view to be savored again and again, one that made Dutch's inside stir in wild pleasure.

"You won't believe the day I had."

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