Professional Victim

Crowe ordered Jonah to sit up on the high table, and although it was awkward without the use of his hands, Jonah managed it, jumping up a little to reach the edge and settling himself atop the wooden surface. 

Jonah heard Graves chuckle from behind him. “Oi, I didn’t really get a good look at you earlier, boy—your old master really did a number on you, didn’t he.”

Crowe was quick to dart behind him, eager to see what Graves was talking about. A moment later, he heard Crowe let out a sharp laugh. Jonah kept his eyes down on the floor as a fierce heat rose to his face.

“Um, y-yes, Sir,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to be a spectacle. He wished they would just ignore the state of him. 

“Wow! You must have been really disobedient!” exclaimed Crowe between fits of laughter. 

“I—I wasn’t!” Jonah exclaimed fearfully. He didn’t want to make these men think he was bad—that would surely only set him up for a life of punishment here too. He was going to be good. So so so good. He’d do anything to avoid being hurt again.

When his handlers recovered from gawking and laughing at him, Jonah watched as Crowe ran his eyes along the wall, studying the various tools and implements hanging on hooks, and Jonah gulped when Crowe pulled a length of chain from a particular hook. Crowe held the chain up in front of Jonah’s face—jingling it a little and chuckling to himself—and Jonah’s blood ran cold when he saw what the chain actually was. Two heavy metal shackles hung from either end of the chain. Jonah watched in silent horror as Crowe bent down on one knee to wrap one of the metal cuffs around his left ankle. 

Shitshitshit— They were going to—

“Wait—!“ Jonah cried out. He would bargain however he could to avoid being chained again. “Surely that’s not necessary, um, Sir— Y-you don’t need to—“

“Oi, you questioning the first mate's orders?” Crowe challenged, flicking his dark eyes up to Jonah with a dangerous expression.

“N-no!” Jonah squeaked. “N-no, Sir, no,” he was scrambling now. “I just.. I… There’s nowhere for me to run.. Sir.. I, I just thought it wouldn’t be—” 

He winced when he felt the heavy snap of a padlock securing the first shackle in place.

That it wouldn’t be necessary. That he wouldn’t have to live with his ankles in chains again. Jonah had really thought he’d put that all behind him when he’d escaped Carlisle. But now here he was, about to be chained up again. It was just the same, only somehow worse—at least Carlisle only restrained him at certain times—namely when he was hurting him, or when he needed him out of the way… And that was better, right? Surely, Jonah thought, it must be. At least Carlisle only chained one of Jonah’s ankles at night—but now, he was going to have to wear these for… how long, exactly?

He knew he should just keep his fuciking mouth shut right now—he could feel how volatile the energy in the room was, like the air itself was crackling with electricity. But he couldn’t stop himself—he had to know how bad this would be, whether it was truly time to catastrophize or not.

“Um.. Sir? H-how long do I… do I have to wear these for?” he asked timidly, as Crowe hooked the second heavy padlock on the shackle around his right ankle. 

“Oh,” Jonah could hear him smile. “These don’t come off, mate,” Crowe chuckled, looking up at Jonah with a wicked grin as he clamped the final padlock into place. 

Jonah felt tears pricking the corners of his eyelids again at the sheer finality of it. He didn’t see a key anywhere in sight. Hell, there might not even be a key for these shackles at all, if they weren’t even meant to come off. 

Crowe stood up, and Jonah tested the strength of the chain, yanking his feet apart until the chain stopped the motion cold and he felt the unforgiving metal pressing into his skin. He could get his ankles about two feet apart before the chain went taught. 

“It’ll be enough to walk, slowly, and crawl of course,” Crowe snickered. “But we can’t have little slaves like you running all over the damn place, now can we.” 

“N-no, Sir..” Jonah sniffled, trying not to cry again.  

“Good boy,” Crowe grinned, ruffling Jonah’s hair condescendingly, just as the Captain had done minutes earlier. 

Graves chuckled again from behind him. 

“He’s an obedient little thing, ain’t he!” Graves exclaimed.

“He really is… so far anyway,” Crowe leaned in. “Best keep that up, eh, boy? I’m sure you’d hate to find out what would happen if you chose to be difficult.” 

A lump rose in Jonah’s throat. He blinked up pleadingly at Crowe, who towered over him with that sneering, scarred visage. 

“N-never, Sir! Wouldn’t—wouldn’t, d-dream of it, S-Sir,” he hoped he’d said it convincingly. He really did mean it. He did not want to face that whip. Jonah would be happy if he never got whipped again for the rest of his life. He hoped with everything he had that, maybe, if he earned their favor, they might consider letting him leave at the next port. He clung to that hope, however unrealistic, like a lifeline, for the only alternative was a hopeless collapse into despair. 

Crowe gripped Jonah’s chin between his fingers, studying him.

“W-want t-to be good, S-sir,” Jonah stammered, shaking like a leaf as he was scrutinized by his new handler.

After several agonizing seconds, Crowe cracked a smile. 

“Alright little slave, let’s see you make good on that promise,” he said. 

Jonah bit his lip and nodded as best he could with Crowe’s grip on his face. “I-I will, Sir. I pro-promise.” 

He heard Graves cackle behind him again, no doubt thrilled at Jonah’s little performance. 

“Well, isn't he just a treasure,” he heard Graves jeer.

“Indeed,” mused Crowe, stepping back and releasing Jonah’s face at last. “Let’s see how well you handle your first task, eh, boy?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” Jonah said meekly, although it was lost on him how he was meant to perform any tasks at all with his hands still bound behind his back.

As if reading his mind, Crowe stepped aside to shuffle around in a drawer behind him. A moment later, he withdrew his hand, holding a large pair of shears. He gave them an experimental snap in the air, making Jonah flinch automatically. Crowe gave a sharp exhale of amusement at the boy’s reaction. 

“Jumpy little thing, aren’t you,” he teased, leaning forward and beginning to cut away at the ropes that wrapped around Jonah’s torso and bound his wrists behind him.

“I could’ve just untied it, you know,” mumbled Graves. 

“Oh, shut it,” hissed Crowe. 

Jonah tried his best to stay perfectly still despite his shaking, for he didn't want to accidentally get nicked by the huge blades in Crowe’s hand. Once the ropes were pulled off of him, Jonah rubbed at his raw wrists and squeezed his hands to get the circulation back in his fingers. 

He was truly grateful to at least have the use of his hands again, although the ankle chains posed a new issue. He wouldn’t be able to run in these, so they’d effectively stopped him from booking it as soon as the ship docked at the next port. He wouldn’t be able to swim well in them either, and they’d keep him from kicking properly and would no doubt weigh him down in the water—they already weighed him down as it was. He ran through the scenarios, his prospects of escape growing bleaker and bleaker, while Crowe put the shears back in their drawer and rounded back to face Jonah once more. 

“Voss’ got an assignment for you,” he said, suddenly all business. “Let’s see if we can trust you with arm privileges. Those ropes will be back on you so fast if you try anything stupid.”

“So don’t fuckin’ try anything stupid,” echoed Graves’ smug voice from behind him.

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah said automatically, and his mind started running wild with what his task might be. 

Crowe ordered Jonah off of the table, and he was gripped by the arms again by both men and steered out of the room, back down the dark wooden hallway.

༻✦༺

Jonah was marched down another corridor into another lantern-lit room, though this room had a porthole which allowed beams of sunlight to stream through. 

This room looked similar, with a wide wooden table in the center, and various cabinets, counters, and drawers against two of the walls. 

Jonah barely noticed the presence of the man who rummaged around in the cabinets, for all of his attention was caught instantly by what—or who—lay face down on the table. Jonah gasped when he saw those bright red bloody lashes up close, running all down the man’s back, from the hem of his trousers all the way up to his mop of black hair. Sawyer.

Crowe and Graves seemed to ignore Sawyer’s presence entirely, and the man didn’t even look up from his spot on the table when Graves spoke. 

“Aye, Jaxon,” he greeted the blonde man at the cabinets with that signature gruff tone, but there was a friendliness to his voice when he addressed him. “Voss sent this little rat to help you. Keep a close eye on him, though he’s been behaving alright for us so far.”

The man turned. He had an almost too-handsome face, a head of tousled blonde hair, and a dimple on one side of his face when he greeted the men with a sneering grin. He raked his green eyes up and down Jonah’s shirtless form, and Jonah felt a shudder crawl up his spine at the way the man was looking at him.

“Boy,” Graves nudged Jonah with his elbow. “This ‘ere’s Jaxon. He’s got one hell of a job cut out for him today, as you can see.”

“Well, hello pretty thing,” mused Jaxon, and Jonah could see now that his sneer might just be a permanent feature of his face. 

With a thrill in his eye, Jaxon rounded the table and reached right for Jonah when he was close enough. Jonah shuddered as Jaxon slid his hands down Jonah’s face and neck. Jonah bit his lip, clenched his fists, and tried not to react, but the man set him on edge. Jaxon seemed to take great pleasure in touching Jonah all over, running his hands down Jonah’s chest and bare torso. He pinched at one of his nipples and Jonah let out a small gasp—he hadn’t been expecting that.

“My, my…” Jaxon sounded beyond amused. “You’re that little stowaway they found this morning, aren’t you.” Jonah gulped.

“Actually, it was us who found him,” remarked Crowe, hell-bent on getting his credit where it was due. 

“Well, seems you gentlemen have struck gold!” Jaxon exclaimed. “He’s an awfully beautiful thing, ain’t he?”

“Aye,” Crowe agreed. “Quite the addition he’ll make to our ship, provided he can behave better than the fucking mutt over here.” He shot a look of disdain down at Sawyer, who still hadn’t looked up—who until that point, had been content to let the men talk over him at each other. 

“Oh, fuck off,” came Sawyer’s muffled voice. He kept his head down still, but wasn’t going to let the insult go unchallenged.

Crowe smiled wide, taking a step closer to where Sawyer lay. 

“Oh my, you are really not in a position to be talking back, mutt,” Crowe sneered, pressing a hand roughly down onto Sawyer’s bloody back. Sawyer groaned sharply in pain and bit his lip hard to avoid crying out, though Crowe smiled, seemingly getting what he wanted anyway. He dug his nails in and Sawyer whined, forcing a cruel laugh out of Crowe as he twisted his fingers in the bloody mess.

“Would it kill you not to make it worse, mate?” Jaxon sighed. “I’ve already got my fucking work cut out for me as it is.” 

“Serves him right for running his fucking mouth,” Crowe shrugged, wiping his bloody hand off on a hankerchief.

“Whatever,” Jaxon mumbled, displeased but clearly not willing to start a fight over it. Everyone knew Sawyer deserved what he got, after all. “Just leave the little puppy with me and I’ll take good care of him.” 

Jonah flushed when he realized he was the little puppy in question. Would it kill them to use his name? He had given it freely for a reason. Though, Carlisle never seemed to call him by name either, only by a series of degrading nicknames. The parallels between this situation and his last were making Jonah nauseous.

“Enjoy his company, then,” Graves grinned, growing smug at the way Jaxon continued to eye Jonah the way a coyote eyes its prey. 

“And do try and teach him a thing or two, if you can,” Crowe added. “It’d be nice if he learned to be useful. Would please Voss and all that. You know how he gets..” 

“Aye.. Aye...” Jaxon said, waving them away, never taking his eyes off of Jonah. 

The two handlers left the room without any further fuss, and Jonah paled when the door slid shut and he was left alone in the room with Jaxon and Sawyer.

༻✦༺ 

Next chapter is already written! I’ll probably post it tomorrow :>

LA SIRENA TAGLIST

@spookyboywhump @livelaughwhump @phoenixpromptsandstuff @unforgivenn @befuddled-calico-whump

@bloodthirsty-squirrel @writing-for-gold @thesecretgardenofmymind @unorganisedalienrubbish @thekneelingdoll

It was an unexpected turn when Caius walked him up the stairs to his own room and closed the door behind him, locking them both inside. Tommy watched the key disappear into his pocket. His desire to get his punishment over and done with had evaporated bit by bit over the journey home, and now his heart was in his throat.

You knew this was coming. Time to face the music.

Caius stood in front of the door, his expression grim. He looked almost sad, calm but angry, eerily still. Tommy swallowed the fear down. As he stepped forwards, he imagined wading into a pool of warm, numbing water. His short approach to Caius brought him deeper with every footfall, until an apathetic acceptance lapped at his knees - his waist - his chest - his chin - and finally swallowed him whole. 

Kneeling before him didn’t hurt so much anymore. Sinking to his knees slipped him under the surface, and there was a peace below the waters, dulling the sounds and worries of the real world outside. He closed his eyes, imagining the gentle tug of the water in his hair as he sank lower, pressing his forehead to the floor in front of his master’s shoes. 

They shifted forwards, parting to frame the sides of his face. Close enough that he could feel the cool leather on each cheek. He didn’t move, just waited to let it happen. 

Caius sighed. 

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself baby, I really don’t.”

The tip of the cane pressed down into the base of his neck and he shivered. The calm would only last so long - once the whipping started, he knew he would break. 

The leather was starting to warm against his face, and he felt a cool rush of air when Caius stepped around him, pivoting behind his back. A hand caught the bottom of Tommy’s shirt and twisted it into a fist, dragging it up his spine slowly to reveal his skin to Caius’s hungry gaze. It stopped at the nape of his neck, where the cane had touched him.

“Hold it there, baby. Hold it up for me.”

Tommy reached back with shaky hands, pulling the bunched cloth up to keep it in place. Caius smoothed a hand up his back, watching the shaking start, only intensifying as he passed each vertebrae. He helped him push his shirt up over his shoulders, still hooked under his arms, but fully baring his back for the kiss of the cane.

Caius leaned forwards, pressing himself against that naked skin and reaching in to tuck Tommy’s hair behind his ear. He could feel him quivering underneath him, anticipating the pain. When a dog bites you, you bite them back. Tommy’s ear was soft between his teeth when he bit down. It elicited a breathy whimper from him, and Caius set his cane beside them to cup his throat, just to feel that whine escape. He eased up, sealing the mark left behind with a kiss. He knew Tommy was paying attention now. 

“I’ll give you one chance to apologize. I suggest you take it.”

Tommy’s ear stung. It was hard to take in full breaths, barely filling his lungs with short gasps as he started to hyperventilate. He was strong now, after years of this. Caius was stronger. He took to his body like a master to his favorite instrument, long studied on how to play him just right.

Still he did not apologize. He could not. His need to see the sun was an innate part of him, starved for far too long, and Caius would let him outside whether by permission or by body bag. He had sewn this knowledge into himself so nothing could take it from him. 

Now Caius would try to take.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Caius murmured in his ear, and his stomach churned. His weight left his back, revealing his bare skin again to the cool basement air, and Caius took up the cane. 

The first strike hit his left side and he jolted from the impact. He took a shuddery breath in and pulled his shirt up harder, stretching the fabric to wrap around his fists. It would help him hold on a little longer. 

The second hit followed the same path, and the third, a moment after, all targeting his left. His spine was carefully spared to avoid permanent damage. His right side was completely ignored so Caius could brutalize him deeper and faster; the miniscule mercy of alternating strokes was denied. Each stroke was layered over the one before so that there was not a moment spared to let the pain wane before it was doubled upon.

Tommy could take a beating. He could shoulder far more pain than most, but this was unbearable. He ached for a stroke to his right, a break from compounding the agony on his left, but it was forbidden. 

“Ah, ungh, uggh - uhn - uhnn - uh! - ehngh - uh -” The grunts and groans of pain Tommy made punctuated every thud of the cane, a music that sent pleasurable waves through Caius as he beat him. He relieved his anger through the cane in a rhythm of therapeutic release, soothed by the physicality of his retribution. Some people painted, some sang, some screamed or journaled or worked out to express emotions. Some made the object of their ire writhe in physical pain instead. 

Everyone needs a way to cope. 

Tommy ripped the back of his shirt over his head and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing the wad of fabric to help work out the pain without cracking his teeth. It was a matter of mechanics to keep breathing - focus on pulling a breath in, pushing it out, one-two-three in, one-two-three out. Changing it up, counting it like a drum pattern, trip-el-et trip-el-et trip-el-et…

Caius took his time with slow, heavy hits, but it was effective in defeating Tommy’s resistance. Try as he might to hold still, his will could not override the needs of his flesh. Shaking turned to squirming turned to writhing in pain on the floor, breaking his deep bow. Caius would not punish him for that, at least not this time. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be satisfied if Tommy could just lay there and take it. 

Grunts of pain gave way to sharp cries. Screams of agony burned in his throat, the wet gag cutting into the sides of his mouth. Tommy gnashed his teeth in the fabric, drooling in his rabid desperation to release the pain. He wriggled onto his left side, trying to shield it. Anything would be better than another layered blow. He got a swift kick to the stomach for his insolence, but Caius granted his wish, laying into his right ribs.

Tommy’s chest heaved as he sobbed, another shout torn from him as he was pounded into the floor. He tossed and turned under the blows until Caius had enough, circling him up to his head. A firm foot planted on Tommy’s throat pinned him in place on his back, his soft belly exposed to Caius like an animal in submission. 

He battered his sides by pure feel, his eyes fixated on Tommy’s face. Pink, strained, thrashing his head side to side as if in the throes of exorcism. Caius watched his eyes roll back, fresh tears streaming down the sides of his face into his hair as he struggled. Tommy’s jaw was working, sobbing hopeless pleas for mercy into the fabric between his teeth. 

It only lasted a few minutes, but Tommy was undone. Caius dropped the cane, easing his foot off before kneeling on the carpet beside him. His hands framed the boy’s anguished expression as he shuddered on the ground, wheezing softly for air. His hands were bound beside his head, twisted hopelessly in his shirt at that point. Better to have kept his hands out of the way, otherwise Sam might have fingers to fix. He was gentle as he eased the bindings off, coaxing him to relinquish his gag. 

“There there, little one.” He patted his cheek with a sensitive touch. Trembles wracked Tommy’s frame as he laid defeated on the floor. His sides were striped red from his punishment, and Caius knew his back was bruising quickly beneath him.

Caius stood, looking down at him as his sobs spluttered out to hiccups. His misery cooled to a humbled resolve as Tommy looked up to him and gave a wordless nod. 

Clothes pooled at Caius’s feet as he shed. The telltale rattle of chains rang out, and Tommy didn’t have to look over to see Caius pull them from his bedside table. Standing naked in front of Tommy, he beckoned to him, a chain leash dangling from his hand.

Tommy sniffled as he made his way onto shaky hands and knees, and he crawled to Caius with his head down. At his feet, he sat back on his haunches and offered his throat submissively. Caius clipped his leash on and lowered his hand to let the sagging length dip onto the carpet. Setting the slack in place with a careful foot, he pulled the leash up, dragging Tommy’s collar down to the floor where it was held. 

“Worship me.”

Meek kisses worked their way up the top of his foot to his ankle, and Tommy’s hands started to rub and massage his calves. More chain was afforded to him as he made his way up, every touch and press of his lips graced with reverence. Tommy could hear Caius’s breathing slow as he watched him and felt his efforts. 

Rubbing, touching, squeezing, massaging, no inch of skin was spared from Tommy’s worshipful caress. His lips followed, soft and slow, each press to his skin meaningful and earnest. His eyelashes tickled his flesh in butterfly kisses, gentle in his seduction as he praised him with tongue and hand. 

Great adulation was given to his thighs as Caius wound the chain around his fist until only a short lead remained. Guiding it slowly to his hip drew Tommy closer, and he leaned in to nuzzle his cock.

“That’s it. Don’t take it until I tell you, understand?” Tommy nodded slowly, rubbing the apple of his cheek against the hollow of Caius’s hip with the motion. One hand kept his chain taught, the other caught his jaw with light fingers and guided him to his groin. Tommy on his knees looked up at Caius with stars in his eyes as he nursed the tip of his cock. 

“Fuuuuck,” Caius breathed out. “Hold it, hold it.” He reached over for his phone, trying not to dislodge Tommy too much. The red light blinked on the phone as he flicked over to start a video, capturing the coquette at the end of his leash. Tommy batted his eyes for the camera, making eye contact with the lens as he worked him in his mouth. 

He licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock and flicked the tip of his tongue under his head. Stray tears overflowed when he closed his eyes, following the trail he’d laid by tongue with soft presses of his lips. He opened his mouth to take his cock between his lips, laying it on his tongue like he was taking communion. A sharp tug to his leash suddenly forced him down, pressing deeper until his lips were pursed around the base of his cock. He was held there easily, cockwarming him down the back of his throat. Caius caught his wide, fearful eyes in the lens, looking to him for direction. 

“Now that I have your attention, you’re going to sit pretty for me and listen. Do you understand?”

Tommy blinked twice. 

“Good, because we are going to have a talk.” Caius set his phone to the side for a moment and buried his free hand in Tommy’s hair, further faceting him in place. 

“Look at me.” Caius, ordered, and Tommy did.

“What you did was inexcusable. It is not your place to demand anything of me, anything at all. You will never, ever try to dictate what we do or how we do it ever again. You are entirely out of line. I’m going to dedicate some time to straightening you out, and you are going to thank me each and every time. I am your god, and you have failed to act accordingly. I have half a mind to let you try to suck your only meals out of my cock for the next week or two. Is that what you want?”

Tommy blinked twice again, but this time it was deemed insufficient.  The hand in his hair relinquished him long enough to slap his face. He cringed and whined, flinching when it neared again.

“Is that what you want?”

“Nnnnnhhhh,” Tommy hummed around him as best he could manage. 

“Good. Depending on your behavior, I’ll consider it.”

“Mmmh nnnngh….”

“You’re welcome. Now, here’s the deal.” Caius released his leash from his fist just to wind it slowly back up between his fingers. Tommy swallowed around him and stayed put.

“I’m going to give you some time outside three times a week. You’ll be under my supervision for every second of it. Michelle is going to install an invisible fence around the backyard. If you cross it, it will shock you unconscious. You’ll be put right back in your room, and I’ll black out your little window in the basement. No more time outside. Do you understand?”

“Mmmm-mmm,” Tommy whimpered. His heart was pounding - he was really going to get to go outside, three whole times a week! The fear of losing the window - the cloudy glass brick at the top of the basement wall - threatened him with cold teeth against the nape of his neck. But that wouldn’t happen, he wouldn’t try to run. 

Tears pooled in his eyes, happy ones now. He felt overcome with gratitude towards Caius, even as his body still stung and ached in pain. 

Caius petted his hair, letting his hand trail down the back of his neck to the base. He flicked his fingers down to draw Tommy’s attention back to his punishment, as if he could forget. 

Who owns you?”

“...Nn.”

“Who did this to you?”

“...nnn.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Gghhhhh...”

“Do you need me to do it again?”

“Mmnnn!”

“Are you sure?”

“Gghhh!”

“Alright. Now…” He dropped the chain again, lazily rolling it back up around his hand methodically.

“Convince me you deserve it.”

He slid out of his mouth and hopped onto the bed, laying back on his pillows as he tugged on the leash. Tommy crawled up the bed between his legs, following his lead when he pulled the leash here or there. He’d been tending Caius according to his training, to five years of learning the man’s body and testing what got a reaction. But now he returned to it with a new gusto, no longer performing just to try to stave off further violence. 

He paid penance, and he was grateful. 

Caius took up his phone again to capture it, every adulation given in delectation from his personal pornstar. Every demure and loving glance, the idolatry he bestowed with every reverent kiss. Tommy went slow, just the way he’d trained him, without trying to rush through the pleasure. When Caius gave him some slack, he traced the curves of his body up his chest to paint cursive on his neck with the tip of his tongue. It surprised him when Tommy pressed a kiss to his lips, but Caius fisted the chains tight to hold him as he licked into his mouth. Tommy eagerly sucked on his tongue, one hand reaching down to stroke him as they kissed. 

Before too long, he shifted back down to worship his lap. Wordless prayers whispered into the hollows at the base of his thighs were sealed with a lingering lick. Caius groaned when Tommy started making out with his cock, opening his eyes only to shoot a sultry look at the camera. 

Even Caius couldn’t take the teasing anymore and pushed his head down to take him fully, sighing in pleasure as Tommy took to doing what he did best. 

He held Tommy’s mouth open when he came, pouring onto his tongue in fast pumps. “Hold it, hold it, fuck, fuuuuck…..huff…jesus…....Show me,” he told him, but even to his ears he sounded like he was begging. Tommy obediently opened to show he hadn’t swallowed, and Caius let out a breathy laugh, still catching his breath. 

“Swallow.” Tommy swallowed, and opened his mouth again to show his clean tongue. Caius pulled the leash up just to hold him curled up against his chest, and traced lazy fingers along the welts he’d driven into him before. 

“I shouldn’t even let you leave my bed when you can do all that…but I gueeeesssss a little time in the sun wouldn’t hurt.”

Tommy was exhausted, and used, and Caius’s fingers left sharp little trails of pain in their wake. A thought nagged him, echoing Caius’s speech earlier. 

I’m going to spend some time straightening you out.

But the bed was soft, and he’d see the sun again soon. 

“You can sleep here tonight.”

He looked over at Caius, shocked.

“Just this once. I don’t feel like going all the way downstairs, you sucked the life outta me. Let’s get ready for bed.”

His leash was secured properly to his collar and locked to the bedpost, but he had enough slack to sleep pretty comfortably. Caius fed him hits from his weed pen until his head was foggy and his body relaxed, the worst of his pain mitigated. He laid in that big soft bed, lulled to sleep by the beat of Caius’s heart as he rested his head on his chest. Words couldn’t express how bad he needed this after Dae-Ho. Caius caused all his problems - it was about time he helped fix a few of them, too. 

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Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

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@galactic-worm @whumpwhittler @there-will-always-be-blood

However, it wasn’t even a day after he’d been brought to Carlisle in exchange for a hefty sum that he realized he’d be far worse off here. At least his father only hit him when he was drunk and angry. Carlisle seemed to do it for the sheer fun of it—for some kind of a sick thrill. He loved to chain Jonah up in his blacksmithing workshop and beat him with whatever tool struck his fancy that day—a whip, long metal rods, pronged sharp tools. Sometimes he’d stick the metal in the furnace and press it flush against Jonah’s exposed skin. Jonah’s only tunic had been cut off of him that first day, and he was never given anything to wear as a replacement—Carlisle always said he liked to see the marks.

His title may have been ‘apprentice,’ but Jonah knew what he was to the man—a slave. He’d been exchanged for money, for crying out loud. He wasn’t paid a dime for the years he’d worked in Carlisle’s blacksmithing workshop—hell, he served the man hand and foot, from dawn until dusk, but never got so much as a word of thanks. Carlisle always seemed much more preoccupied in abusing Jonah and trying out various cruel and unusual punishments than he ever did actually training the boy in his craft. 

So Jonah dreamed of freedom, even though he spent most of his nights chained by the ankle in the workshop, sleeping on a pile of hay. 

One evening, when he’d been permitted to accompany Carlisle to a supply run at the market, he spotted it, just out on the horizon of the sea. A ship—unlike any of the ships of the local merchants and foreign magistrates. Its flag was a deep, bloody red, with a grinning skull across the face of it. He could just make out the insignia as he stared out at the sea. The ship was approaching. 

That night, he knew it was his chance, when Carlisle passed out drunk off too much rum and forgot to lock the chain to Jonah’s ankle before retiring himself. This had happened before, on occasion, but everyone in town knew Jonah belonged to the blacksmith and would drag him back to his master the moment they discovered him, so there was never anywhere for him to go, unless he wanted to walk off barefoot into the jungle and get bitten by a snake or die of starvation. 

But tonight was different. The moon had risen high in the sky. Surely, the ship would have docked by now. Jonah snuck out of the workshop and slipped out onto the dark streets. His heart leapt as he approached the shore and saw it. Large and majestic now,  the ship towered high above the waves. Its masts rose up into the star-lit sky. Its decks were quiet—no doubt the crew had all gone ashore to… sample the local cuisine, as it were. 

Jonah took his chance, his heart racing in his chest. He leaped from the old wooden dock and caught a rope that dangled from the ship’s side. He summoned every ounce of strength he had left to climb up and hauled himself over the ship’s railing and landed on the wooden upper deck. He spotted a guardsman on the opposite side, an oil lamp flickering in his hand. The man hadn’t seen Jonah, thank god. Jonah scanned the floor of the ship until he spotted the gap in the floorboards that led belowdecks. Slowly, he crept through the darkness and descended the ladder. 

He wove through a maze of dark passageways below, looking for a place to hide. The cargo hold was the obvious choice. He crept past a snoring sailor in a hammock, the man’s slumbering body swaying with the rocking of the waves. At last, Jonah reached a larger room full of barrels, trunks, and crates. The crates were all nailed shut, so he tiptoed to a set of barrels, looking for one empty enough that he could slip inside. 

At last, he found one barrel at the end with a loose lid. This was his. He carefully lifted the lid and climbed inside, curling himself up before resetting the lid atop the barrel. So long as nobody came and nailed it down, he would be safe here until the ship docked once more. Then, he’d finally be free, on some new Isla, in some new town where he could start over. Get a real job, rent a room of his own—the visions of a new life invigorated Jonah as he curled up in the confines of the barrel. He was really doing it—this was really happening. He could barely contain his excitement. He was finally on his way to a new land. 

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At some point, Jonah must have fallen asleep, for he startled awake at the sound of muffled voices wafting through the corridors of the lower levels. His eyes snapped open, only to see absolutely nothing. He tried to stretch his limbs out, then panicked for a moment when he found he couldn’t, before he remembered where he was, and tried to calm his nerves. 

It’s okay, he told himself. Nobody is coming to check the cargo. He focused on his breath—in, and out. In… and out. 

Soon, however, he heard footsteps growing louder as they approached the cargo hold.

“Surely one of these has the rum,” said a gruff voice. 

Jonah froze, holding his breath. 

“I’m telling you, we drank it all,” came another, “Best pick up some more at the next port.” 

“Agh,” groaned the first, “You’re so full of shite.” 

Jonah, to his horror, heard the sound of wood against wood, mere feet away from where he sat. 

“Oh yes, pop them all open, why don’t you,” the smoother voice said sarcastically.

“I fuckin’ will!” grunted the gruff one.

Jonah felt tears of panic in his eyes. This couldn’t be happening—please don’t check this one please don’t check this one please don—

The orange light of a lantern flooded Jonah’s vision, and he squinted hard against it as the lid of the barrel was thrown open. He froze, panic like ice in his chest, and gazed up into the light at the two shocked faces above him.

Their shock quickly turned, as two crooked smiles overcame their faces.

“Well well well…” said the gruff voice, a man with a scraggly beard and a bandana around his head. “What ‘ave we got here?”

“Seems we’ve found ourselves a little stowaway,” smiled the smooth-voiced one, a taller man with a scar on his cheek and a gold earring. 

“Don’t suppose you know this one, do ya Graves?”

“Can’t say I do,” said the gruff one—Graves—eyeing Jonah like he was a freshly grilled steak. “Though he sure is a pretty little thing, ain’t he?”

“Please—I’m sorry, just, just let me leave, I’ll—I’ll get off as soon as we’re at the next port—please!” Jonah pleaded, tears rapidly welling up in his eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone I’m here!”

Jonah paled when the two men laughed and laughed, before strong, rough hands reached in to haul him out of the barrel. The two men dragged Jonah out and threw him onto the floor. Jonah hastily turned to face them in a kneeling position. 

“Please!” He cried. “Please I beg of you, just don’t tell anyone—I mean no harm!” At least, for all his time with Carlisle, he’d had plenty of practice at begging for mercy.

“Aww, you hear that Crowe?” Graves chided. “He says he don’t mean no harm.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he don’t,” Crowe laughed, knocking Jonah over easily with a single sharp kick to his side.

Crowe stepped his foot down onto the side of Jonah’s face, leaning down to press the boy’s cheekbone hard into the wooden floorboards. 

“We’re just gonna have to see if the captain believes you.” 

Crowe kept his boot pressed down firmly on the side of Jonah’s head to hold him down. Jonah groaned in pain against the floor, convinced his head would split clean open if Crowe put even an ounce more weight on it. 

“Grab something to tie him up, would ya Graves?” 

“Already on it, mate,” came Graves’ rough voice, now a few feet away. Jonah couldn’t see what he was doing, but he heard his heavy footsteps approach once more and struggled weakly on the floor, still pinned down beneath Crowe’s savage boot. 

“Aye, that’ll do, won’t it,” Crowe clapped Graves on the back as the man bent down to wrestle Jonah’s arms behind his back. Jonah tried to writhe against the man, but Crowe was quick to lift his foot for a moment before stomping down hard on the side of Jonah’s head, sending white stars popping through his vision and making the whole room swim. Jonah cried out and went limp for just long enough for Graves to tie the boy’s hands roughly behind him with thick, coarse rope. Crowe stepped off of Jonah’s head only to lean down and wrench a fist into his hair, hauling the boy back up onto his knees. 

Graves, seemingly reading Crowe’s mind, wound the rest of the rope around Jonah’s torso, pinning his arms tightly against his back. Jonah tried to thrash against Crowe’s hold, but he only succeeded in making his own scalp burn as he twisted against the hand that held him. 

Crowe stepped around to Jonah's front to deliver a sharp slap across the side of his face. His head tried to snap to the side with the force of it, but he was still held in place with Crowe’s other hand in his hair, so Jonah’s face absorbed the full impact. Jonah gasped and hissed in pain, a fierce heat radiating through the side of his face. 

“You’re a firstly little one, aren’t ya?” Crowe’s crooked smile loomed down over Jonah as he said it, the amusement thick in his voice. 

“Ple—ease..” Jonah’s voice cracked as he held back a sob. This was the worst possible way this escape could have gone. He just prayed whoever this captain was, he would take mercy on Jonah. He tried not to think of how slim the likelihood of that really was.

When Graves had secured the ropes around Jonah’s arms and torso, Crowe hauled Jonah to his feet by the grip in his hair. Jonah stumbled up to follow the motion, his head still spinning with the force of getting kicked into the floor—the impact of Crowe’s boot against his head. 

“Ohh the captain’s gonna love this,” Graves grinned wide, rubbing his grubby hands together as he stepped back. 

“I’d say he might even reward us for finding the little rat, wouldn’t you say?” Crowe smiled back at Graves, his eyes narrowed to delighted slits.

“Aye..” Graves hummed, his voice a low rumble in his throat. 

“Let’s go, pretty boy. Move.” Crowe snapped, beginning to drag Jonah out of the cargo hold and down the wooden corridor. Jonah tried to resist at first, keeping his feet stubbornly planted, but a fierce yank on his hair was all it took to have him hissing in pain again and obediently following Crowe through the passageway towards the upper decks, Graves trailing behind them. 

Jonah let the tears fall silently, praying that this wouldn’t turn out as badly as he feared it would. He saw sunlight stream down from the gap in the ceiling as they neared the staircase, a loud mix of voices sounded from above. As he was marched up the stairs to the upper deck, Jonah pleaded in his mind to anything that was out there that this captain of theirs would be merciful. 

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PART 2 is up!!

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