ezwhump

[ezwhump]

The Middleman - Hair Dye

content: (defective conditioning, dehumanizing language, mentions of previous abuse, mentions of forced body modifications)

The car rattled to a stop in the parking lot of a dingy motel. It was a squat, murky-green building near a closed section of outlets, with glitching neon signs and rusting guard rails on the second floor.

Benzo shut off his engine and pocketed his keys, turning to the boy in his front seat.

“You’re not going to make a scene. We’re just checking in.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the dashboard, and Benzo unbuckled his belt before going around the car and opening the passenger door. The boy got out, the cuffs of his sweater balled into his fists, standing pigeon-toed and shaking.

Benzo cupped a hand to the back of his neck and moved the boy with him in quick strides until they were out of the cold night and at the front desk.

An older blonde woman stood smoking behind the counter, leafing through a magazine with thick acrylics.

“Room for a week would be great, thanks doll.” He could hear how tired he sounded, despite trying not to.

“Mmhm, leave an ID and a credit card.”

Benzo tossed both onto the counter, the woman sliding a set of keys with a room number tag in exchange. He took it and guided the boy out until they’d reached room 45, on the second floor.

There were two single beds, a desk by the window, and a bathroom that could barely even be called a bathroom. The wallpaper was peeling and the whole room reeked of stale smoke and cheap detergent.

“Strip and put the clothes on the bed. I’ve only got four days til we have to drop you off so we haven’t got a lot of time.”

Benzo turned around, shucking off his jacket and tossing it on the bed closest to the door along with his keys and burner phone. It wasn’t like it was a hard job, being the middleman. The pit stop between the trainer and the buyer. Honestly it was mostly superficial things that he was in charge of. Ensuring that training had sunk in properly, making the final cosmetic changes to fit what the client wanted, and then just keeping an eye on them until the time came to drop them off in a blindfold, gag, and cuffs. He’d gotten ridiculously good at it over the past few years.

The trainer had given him a file on the boy; hair, tattoos, detoxes needed. This one was twenty-five, a natural blonde with fifteen tattoos and a penchant for smoking weed. But since he’d been handed off, Benzo had picked out the changes the client had requested. It was like a game for him, like Spot the Difference.

Weight loss was the most obvious. He’d been listed in the two hundreds but that was clearly not the case anymore, small and curled in on himself as he stripped off the clothes and folded them on the bed.

Next was the tattoos, probably the most uncomfortable part. Fifteen of them, none visible, now just patches of darker, mottled skin in various places on his body; the back of his neck, behind his ear, big chunks of it sectioned in neat, geometric shapes along his arms.

They’d cut them out.

Benzo would be in charge of the hair, the client wanted a redhead but there was only so much you could do with a cheap box dye and some vaseline. Regardless, he emptied the color cream into the color activator before shaking it and pulled on the thin latex gloves, rolling up his sleeves and dropping one of the towels on the floor.

“Come in.”

The boy shuffled into the bathroom in a pair of boxers and kneeled on the towel, bowing his head.

“We’ve gotta wait twenty minutes once I put this on.”

Benzo dropped into a squat, using a hair tie to section out the boy's hair. It was long, stopping at his nape, parted down the middle. He made sure to smear vaseline from a travel tub along the hairline, ears and neck before he started in on the application, the dye already processing in the bottle.

Once it was fully covered, Benzo peeled off the gloves and shoved everything back into the box before tossing it away.

“Stay there, I’ll come back when it's time to rinse.”

The boy made a noise and Benzo stopped cold in the doorway, fixing his eyes on the carpet.

“What was that?”

His voice was quiet and hoarse. Benzo could hear his vocal fry.

“It’s burning.”

They never talked. Not once. He’d had hundreds of them, whining when they had to pee, licking off the plate at the end of a meal, dropping to their knees at the slightest hint of his displeasure, although he never showed it. But none of them had ever once talked. What kind of client wanted one that could talk back?

Still, he’d take it in his stride.

“It was four bucks. It's gonna burn.”

And then he left and shut the bathroom door behind him because if the boy could talk then god knows what else the client was allowing him to do. He decided to review the file again, to make sure there were no more surprises waiting, and slumped onto the bed to skim through it.

“Surgical cosmetics to perform, blah blah, mmhm, filing teeth, jesus. Filing teeth? Okay. . . aha. Commands, actions, performance, demeanor, training.”

Benzo felt around his cargo pants pockets without looking away from the page until he found his cigarette carton and bit one out of the box by the filter, fumbling for his lighter.

“It is to be completely subjugated. . .”

Benzo’s eyes flitted to the end of the section as he lit his cigarette.

Mute.

He could feel a migraine settling in. Usually things went smoothly, without a hiccup. The training bled any fight out of them and by the time they arrived on his doorstep they were practically gift-wrapped for the client. Benzo’s work was strictly superficial, and he felt his stomach knot up with the knowledge that this was a bigger pain in the ass than he was willing to handle.

Still, maybe it was a fluke. It would be the training system that got the reprimand, not him. He was just the delivery boy. Stubbing out the cigarette on the underside of the bedside table, he got up and opened the bathroom door, light cutting across the boy's face.

“Rinsing time.” The boy crawled over to the tub and Benzo twisted on the faucet. He used to ask if the temperature was okay, but the smaller things had been pushed to the wayside since his clientele numbers had grown the past year, and the newcomers were a little more severe about how freely he got to interact with their purchases.

Pushing his hand through the cream of the dye, Benzo scrubbed over the scalp and lifted the length of the hair, squeezing the excess off until the water ran a diluted copper.

The boy was shaking, jaw clenched to prevent chattering, white-knuckling the lip of the tub as Benzo took a towel to his head and dried most of it off. It was a saturated auburn, a stark contrast to the earlier blonde, but it suited him a little better.

“Put your clothes back on.”

The boy nodded and Benzo tried to ignore the blood pulsing at all his focal points. If he just didn’t talk for the next week then Benzo could forget he ever did. That he was unfinished. That the whole aversive stimuli model didn’t work and he’d get punished for it the second Benzo dropped him off. The second he was left for the wolves.

Once the lights were off he could feel his headache abating, and knocked back a mouthful of rum from a half-empty flask in his jacket before climbing into bed. A few feet away, the boy was turned towards the wall, the curve of the blanket lifting with every breath.

He was almost asleep when a voice cut through the dark of the motel room.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

Benzo pretended not to hear it.

-

-

(I am so sorry for dropping off the face of the earth! Things got stressful and I neglected a lot of areas in my life, including writing. But here's a short morsel to warm up my typing muscles and just let you all know I'm happy to be back. - ez)

p.s. please let me know if there are any tags I'm forgetting, I'm chronically bad at tagging.

[ezwhump]

Can I be added to the Russel and Lennon tag list? Thanks!

of course! :)

[ezwhump]

Bo, meet the garage

part 1/ part 2

cw: captivity, wounds, open wounds, bruises, touch-starved, caretaker knows whumpers, and is working with the whumpers, dubious caretaker figure, sympathetic whumper could be another title for nick. Bo is sweet.

Bo was in a small space, not much bigger than most walk-in closets. His new captor put him there. He also gave him a small paper cup filled with peanut m&m’s and put a hand in his hair before he left. The latter made Bo’s heart pound in well-learned fear, but he found himself thinking of it for half an hour afterwards, a hollow ache in his chest.

Keep reading

[ezwhump]

i didn’t know i needed this dynamic until now. you’re always astounding at writing tense, unpredictable situations so concisely. can’t wait to read more 🖤

Bathtime, Bo

Nick & Bo, part 2

part 1

cw: burns, bruises and more injuries from beatings and torture, bathing, nails through hands, non sexual nudity, multiple whumpers, caretaker knows whumpers, captivity, drugging and drug mention

Keep reading

[ezwhump]

Your writing is so excellent!

thank you ☺️ 🖤

[ezwhump]

The Nights Are Getting Warmer - Russ & Lennon

!!! NSFW !!! - vague deconditioning, blow job, smoking, drinking, pet regression, bodily fluids, adult themes, lewd behavior, begging, self-degradation.

Summer was making them lazy.

Hot mornings in the shade of the back patio, afternoons spent laid out on the hammocked lounge chairs or in the pool, balmy evenings wasted with catnaps only to wake up again and smoke on the back patio at night.

Russell had cut all the sleeves off his older t-shirts and replaced all the protein shakes in the fridge with lemonade (Lennon liked raspberry lemonade, it was the first thing he got when he woke up). They slipped into a pleasant routine; waking up late, eating breakfast together, and most nights Russell would finish the day off with a cigarette.

He’d hooked up speakers outside now, and The Smiths played softly while they let dinner rest. Lennon was practically golden these days, his face a honey colour, his hair sun-bleached. Russell stayed in the shade for the most part, but Lennon had spotted a rosy tint to his skin whenever they were in the pool together, or when Russell slung his arm over Lennon’s chest at night. And the freckles. . . Lennon wanted to lick Russell clean of them.

“We should make that again sometime.”

Russell looked over hazily, eyes almost half-closed, pushing a small stream of smoke from his lips. He’d picked up smoking again once the nights got hot, said that cigarettes smelled better in the still heat.

“The peppers? Yeah, definitely, I think they’ll keep me full all week.”

Lennon pushed experimentally at the slight swell of his stomach and rolled his shoulders back into the lounge chair. He wanted to crawl over to the adirondack swing and fall asleep kneeling, Russell’s hands in his hair. He’d wait until Russell stubbed out his cigarette.

The heat hadn’t just made them languorous, it’d made Russell more lenient. He’d let Lennon kneel by his recliner or work chair most days without saying anything, gave into the polite nudging of Lennon’s head under his hand while he worked at the desk. Occasionally, he’d feed Lennon whatever he was snacking on, and Lennon would pray it was a finger food (Russell had been tossing back handfuls of chocolate M&M’s and when Lennon nudged him for attention, and Russell just pushed a blue M&M into his mouth with casual fingers. Lennon had spent the rest of that night testing out the feeling with his own hands to no avail).

But he’d never pushed it too far. Never referred to himself as pup, rarely addressed Russell as ‘sir’. Godforbid, ‘Master’. He’d taken off Pete's necklace as soon as they left the house and stuffed it under the clothes in his part of the bedroom dresser.

Russell stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray on the table and got up, lifting his fingers nonchalantly in a gesture to Lennon. Be right back, stay.

It was deliciously easy for them to understand each other lately.

Lennon spent the brief moment Russell was inside looking at the night sky. It was a warmer colour here, more of a purple than an unforgiving expanse of black cloud, and there were more stars now that the skies were clear, even with the yellow patio light on. The air was warm and mild, and if he pulled in a deep breath he could smell their earlier meal, sunscreen, and the flowers from the back of the yard. He felt full, safe. And a little restless.

The patio doors slid open and Russel shouldered out holding a dark green bottle in one hand and a wine glass in the other, settling back into the swing. Lennon didn’t look at his cut offs or his worn, almost-too-small shirt.

“Sorry, figured after today I could use a glass,” he took out what looked like a swiss army knife and twisted a metal spiral into the cork at the top of the bottle, prying it out with a firm pop and pouring the wine into the glass.

“It’s alcohol.” It wasn’t really a question. Old Master had made him drink worse.

Russell nodded, exhaling into the wine glass and fogging it up as he took a sip. Lennon watched him, rapt, and eased himself up from the chair, crossing the few feet between them and lowering slowly to his knees.

Russell stopped rocking the swing with his feet and drank deeper, swilling the pale fizz around the glass.

“‘S’sweet wine. Not a big fan of the shit that burns going down.”

His cheeks were already a little pinker, his eyes partially closed. Fully at ease.

“Was work bad?” Lennon asked, moving his hands between his thighs to feel the soft warmth of the patio wood, dropping his head onto Russell’s bare knee. Hair tickled his cheek.

“Nah, but we closed a deal that’ll be really good for us moving forward.”

It had taken Lennon a while to figure out that when Russell said ‘us’, he didn’t always mean himself and Lennon.

“The company,” he clarified, his lips catching on the skin of Russell’s knee.

“The company,” Russell confirmed, and Lennon felt something thin and hard nudge against his head. Russell knocking him the base of his wine glass. Good job, kid.

From his position, Lennon could only really see the top of Russell’s other thigh and the side of the house. Maybe a little grass. But he could taste Russell’s skin under his mouth and tried not to drool.

“You tired, kid?”

He just shook his head against Russell’s leg.

Russell tried again, his voice a little softer.

“Still hungry?”

It sure feels like hunger.

“Not really.”

Russell leaned down and tugged gently at the hair near Lennon’s neck. He lifted his head and Russell tipped the wine glass to his mouth. It was mostly bubbles, sweet but with an underlying sting that made Lennon grimace.

“It’s. . . fruity.”

Russell laughed and swallowed the rest of it. “Yeah, that’s not the worst way to describe it. Trust me kid, this is the kinder stuff. There’s shit out there that makes you feel like you’re drinking straight canister fluid.”

Lennon felt his head buzz a few seconds later, and a tight heat in his chest. It didn’t feel bad, just different. It almost made him brave.

“You want some more?”

Whilst Lennon had been touching at his face to feel at the heat there, Russell had poured another drink. Maybe this was the way to get rid of the uncertainty.

Lennon let him tip the glass against his mouth again and took a small sip that burned a little. He tried to focus on the sweet part; it tasted like Kitty’s perfume.

Russell took a smaller sip and set the glass down. “Before I moved out here, whenever I got close to a bottle I’d go off the fucking rails.”

Lennon rested his chin on Russell’s thigh and shuffled closer.

“Pete could hold his liquor no matter how much he knocked back, but I was notorious for going too far.” He looked down at Lennon and smiled crooked. “Which is not a good thing. So now I sip wine on my back porch like a tired mother.”

Lennon laughed and he felt the heat of his breath. Russell must’ve felt it too, and held his arms down in a get up gesture. Lennon stayed put, feeling his brain mull over the simple concept of getting what he wanted.

“You don’t wanna sit with me?”

Russell mock-pouted and then split into a grin. Lennon brought his arms up onto Russell’s thigh and rested his head on top of those instead. “I am sitting with you, sir.”

Russell cocked his head and took a piece of Lennon’s hair, rubbing it between his fingers and thumb. Lennon leaned in, still feeling the familiar prickle of do as you’re told.

“Why do you call me that? No matter how hard I try, I can’t really get you to stop.”

Lennon felt panic seize him for a brief moment, before he found a neat blanket answer that wasn’t untrue. “I don’t want to stop.”

Russell jerked his head up, almost incredulous. “Oh. I guess I never really considered that. But you know you can call me Russ, if you want. The option’s there.”

“I know, sir.” Lennon grinned and lolled his head in his arms, and Russell leaned down again. Russ felt special, like it should be reserved for important moments. It felt wrong saying it so casually, even though he’d been practising.

“Kneeling like that doesn’t hurt your knees, does it?”

Had this been his master’s plan? Get him all pliant and happy and comfortable and then tug answers out of him bit by bit? Pup found he didn’t really mind.

“No, it's more familiar to me than sitting beside you. I get to see all of you at once, and you get to see me.” Pup let his head drop back, and felt his Adam’s apple in his throat. “See?”

He didn’t want to ruin the moment with the truth. I can’t run away or make sudden movements if I’m in front of you. You have full control. I’m subservient, ready to do whatever you want. I don’t deserve to sit with you.

Master nodded lazily, and then pushed a hand into pup’s hair. Pup pursed his lip so he couldn’t let out any noise and pushed his chest up against Master’s leg. He was practically sitting on his foot. Suddenly not every movement felt all that significant, and he moved his hands down so he could pet the back of Master’s calf. He wondered if Master’s whole body felt this strong and soft simultaneously.

“Sir?”

The night was so warm and quiet and Master had turned off the porch light when he’d come out with the wine. The only light came from inside the house.

“Mhm?”

Pup looked up through the darkness and watched carefully as he pushed his hips forward.

Master sat up a little further, jostling pup, and swallowed hard. Pup wanted his entire throat.

“Do you, like it when I sit beside you?”

Master opened his mouth and shut it again, and then opened it. “Sure, kid. I want you to know you don’t have to do all that stuff you did, before. That you’ve got free reign to do whatever you want.”

Lennon shook himself a little at those words. Whatever I want? They held new meaning with his hands on Russell’s leg and his mouth working at the skin of his knee. If he was independent, if he was in control, maybe he could be more honest.

“Russ?”

Russell was staring at him, one hand in Lennon’s hair and the other on his free leg.

“Yeah?”

Lennon thought about it for a moment, and then decided it was better not to ask, if he had free reign. He’d just show Russell he was grateful. He moved from the right side of Russell and knelt between his legs instead, moving until his sternum was level with the seat of the swing. Russell’s hand went slack in his hair.

He was eye-level with the zipper of the cutoffs, and brought his hands slowly to it, not daring to look up at Russell’s face. Hoping that the singeing heat of his face wasn’t evident, even in the semi-darkness. That he didn’t look like some desperate, panting thing between his knees.

He edged the zipper down until he could see the olive green of Russell’s boxers, and felt his knuckles graze the skin of Russells abdomen when he undid the button.

“Kid.”

Lennon snapped his head up and drew in a sharp breath, dropping his hands to his lap almost immediately. He could feel himself straining under his own shorts and let the groan sit in his throat, already forgetting free reign and whatever you want.

Russell dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and dragged his palms down his face. Lennon looked at his stubble, and his mid-cheek grooves, and the flaming pieces of his hair that were backlit by the house light.

“I’m not drunk.”

“What? No, that’s not-” Russell made a face, exasperated. “It’s not that, Lennon. I just don’t want you doing this out of some kind of- I don’t know-”

Lennon watched him grapple for words for a moment, and then realised what Russell was getting at, albeit clumsily.

“I want it.”

There was that voice, back again after so long. Head down, knees apart, practically begging. Russell felt himself come apart a little more.

“You what?”

Lennon had his lower lip in his teeth and let it go, and Russell wanted a blanket, a pillow, anything-

“I want it. That’s why you stopped me, right? You think I’m doing it because I’m. I’m a pet.”

And in that moment, Lennon looked so hurt, so anguished, that Russell would’ve done anything to make it better. He thought about every time he’d had to take care of himself in the shower, in the dark of the office while Lennon was sleeping, sometimes in the car, and felt his gut wrench with guilt. And then he felt relief.

Because he did want it. And it felt too easy.

“Are you sure?”

He needed to be certain, certain enough for both of them.

Lennon brought his hands up again and Russell leaned forward until Lennon was holding his face, inches away.

“Please.”

“Lennon, I don’t want you to regret anything, or-”

Lennon looked like he was at the end of his rope. He let go of Russell’s face and grabbed onto the waistband of Russell’s open cutoffs instead, tugging.

“Please, Master.”

Russell felt his breath stick, heard himself make a noise like a wounded animal, and then felt the apprehension give way to sheer want.

Lennon moved quickly, like any second Russell would snap out of it, or recoil, or light another cigarette and put it out on Lennon’s sunburnt shoulder.

But he didn’t. Lennon worked Russell out of the shorts and then out of his boxers and then put him in his mouth just to take the edge off.

He heard Russell grunt and felt him buck beneath his hands, letting him move further into Lennon’s mouth. Russell’s hands were already kneading the back of Lennon’s head, threading through his hair and petting softly.

Thank you.Thank you. Thank you.

Lennon moved his head up, let his saliva run down, felt the soft press of skin on his tongue and moaned into it. He could smell the scent of Russell’s bedroom, the sunscreen on his thighs, the citrus body wash Russell used that morning. He was drunk on that more than he ever could be on the wine.

“Fuck.”

Lennon gagged softly and felt Russell’s hands immediately try to lift him off, but he pressed them back into his hair and kept going, adjusting to the fill of Russell, looking up through his lashes.

Russell was watching him with something akin to awe, lips shining, breath coming in quick, soft pants through clenched teeth. It felt good to be doing this. To make him feel this way. Maybe he’d crossed a line by begging like that, but if he was allowed freedom, then surely he was allowed to be this selfish.

Lennon felt Russell jerk a little, and pushed his thumbs into the crease above Russell’s hips, lathing his tongue over Russell’s head and then taking him into his mouth in a smooth movement.

“Lennon, Lennon,” Russell sounded strained, aching. Almost urgent.

Lennon let a strange, guttural noise leave him and Russell pushed him off, hunched forward. His t-shirt was stretched and damp at the neckline.

“Sorry, couldn’t- gonna-”

Lennon nodded sincerely and moved forward again, placing a hand on Russell’s chest and pushing him back slowly until he was sat up.

“It’s okay. Let me.”

He licked up the side of Russell’s cock and moved his mouth over the head, pushing down. He felt Russell’s abdominal muscles twitch, felt the hands in his hair pull, and then Russell stilled over him. Petting him again.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

“Thank you, pup.”

--

tag list: @yesthisiswhump @deluxewhump @whumpsy-daisy @queenofthedark @highwaywhump @yet-another-heathen @whumpzone @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpadump1939 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-me-all-night-long @shiningstarofwinter @whimperwoods @meetmeinhellcroutons

[ezwhump]

god this was brilliant 🖤

Bo, meet Nicolas

pt 1

cw: unconscious, whump, cigarette burns, smoking, other burns, handcuffs, bruises, abuse, implied abuse, blood, fear, drugging mention, self defense attempt, whumpee thinks caretaker figure is going to hurt them

****

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Anonymously message me (3) things you want to know about me.

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The Nights Are Getting Warmer - Russ & Lennon

!!! NSFW !!! - vague deconditioning, blow job, smoking, drinking, pet regression, bodily fluids, adult themes, lewd behavior, begging, self-degradation.

Summer was making them lazy.

Hot mornings in the shade of the back patio, afternoons spent laid out on the hammocked lounge chairs or in the pool, balmy evenings wasted with catnaps only to wake up again and smoke on the back patio at night.

Russell had cut all the sleeves off his older t-shirts and replaced all the protein shakes in the fridge with lemonade (Lennon liked raspberry lemonade, it was the first thing he got when he woke up). They slipped into a pleasant routine; waking up late, eating breakfast together, and most nights Russell would finish the day off with a cigarette.

He’d hooked up speakers outside now, and The Smiths played softly while they let dinner rest. Lennon was practically golden these days, his face a honey colour, his hair sun-bleached. Russell stayed in the shade for the most part, but Lennon had spotted a rosy tint to his skin whenever they were in the pool together, or when Russell slung his arm over Lennon’s chest at night. And the freckles. . . Lennon wanted to lick Russell clean of them.

“We should make that again sometime.”

Russell looked over hazily, eyes almost half-closed, pushing a small stream of smoke from his lips. He’d picked up smoking again once the nights got hot, said that cigarettes smelled better in the still heat.

“The peppers? Yeah, definitely, I think they’ll keep me full all week.”

Lennon pushed experimentally at the slight swell of his stomach and rolled his shoulders back into the lounge chair. He wanted to crawl over to the adirondack swing and fall asleep kneeling, Russell’s hands in his hair. He’d wait until Russell stubbed out his cigarette.

The heat hadn’t just made them languorous, it’d made Russell more lenient. He’d let Lennon kneel by his recliner or work chair most days without saying anything, gave into the polite nudging of Lennon’s head under his hand while he worked at the desk. Occasionally, he’d feed Lennon whatever he was snacking on, and Lennon would pray it was a finger food (Russell had been tossing back handfuls of chocolate M&M’s and when Lennon nudged him for attention, and Russell just pushed a blue M&M into his mouth with casual fingers. Lennon had spent the rest of that night testing out the feeling with his own hands to no avail).

But he’d never pushed it too far. Never referred to himself as pup, rarely addressed Russell as ‘sir’. Godforbid, ‘Master’. He’d taken off Pete's necklace as soon as they left the house and stuffed it under the clothes in his part of the bedroom dresser.

Russell stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray on the table and got up, lifting his fingers nonchalantly in a gesture to Lennon. Be right back, stay.

It was deliciously easy for them to understand each other lately.

Lennon spent the brief moment Russell was inside looking at the night sky. It was a warmer colour here, more of a purple than an unforgiving expanse of black cloud, and there were more stars now that the skies were clear, even with the yellow patio light on. The air was warm and mild, and if he pulled in a deep breath he could smell their earlier meal, sunscreen, and the flowers from the back of the yard. He felt full, safe. And a little restless.

The patio doors slid open and Russel shouldered out holding a dark green bottle in one hand and a wine glass in the other, settling back into the swing. Lennon didn’t look at his cut offs or his worn, almost-too-small shirt.

“Sorry, figured after today I could use a glass,” he took out what looked like a swiss army knife and twisted a metal spiral into the cork at the top of the bottle, prying it out with a firm pop and pouring the wine into the glass.

“It’s alcohol.” It wasn’t really a question. Old Master had made him drink worse.

Russell nodded, exhaling into the wine glass and fogging it up as he took a sip. Lennon watched him, rapt, and eased himself up from the chair, crossing the few feet between them and lowering slowly to his knees.

Russell stopped rocking the swing with his feet and drank deeper, swilling the pale fizz around the glass.

“‘S’sweet wine. Not a big fan of the shit that burns going down.”

His cheeks were already a little pinker, his eyes partially closed. Fully at ease.

“Was work bad?” Lennon asked, moving his hands between his thighs to feel the soft warmth of the patio wood, dropping his head onto Russell’s bare knee. Hair tickled his cheek.

“Nah, but we closed a deal that’ll be really good for us moving forward.”

It had taken Lennon a while to figure out that when Russell said ‘us’, he didn’t always mean himself and Lennon.

“The company,” he clarified, his lips catching on the skin of Russell’s knee.

“The company,” Russell confirmed, and Lennon felt something thin and hard nudge against his head. Russell knocking him the base of his wine glass. Good job, kid.

From his position, Lennon could only really see the top of Russell’s other thigh and the side of the house. Maybe a little grass. But he could taste Russell’s skin under his mouth and tried not to drool.

“You tired, kid?”

He just shook his head against Russell’s leg.

Russell tried again, his voice a little softer.

“Still hungry?”

It sure feels like hunger.

“Not really.”

Russell leaned down and tugged gently at the hair near Lennon’s neck. He lifted his head and Russell tipped the wine glass to his mouth. It was mostly bubbles, sweet but with an underlying sting that made Lennon grimace.

“It’s. . . fruity.”

Russell laughed and swallowed the rest of it. “Yeah, that’s not the worst way to describe it. Trust me kid, this is the kinder stuff. There’s shit out there that makes you feel like you’re drinking straight canister fluid.”

Lennon felt his head buzz a few seconds later, and a tight heat in his chest. It didn’t feel bad, just different. It almost made him brave.

“You want some more?”

Whilst Lennon had been touching at his face to feel at the heat there, Russell had poured another drink. Maybe this was the way to get rid of the uncertainty.

Lennon let him tip the glass against his mouth again and took a small sip that burned a little. He tried to focus on the sweet part; it tasted like Kitty’s perfume.

Russell took a smaller sip and set the glass down. “Before I moved out here, whenever I got close to a bottle I’d go off the fucking rails.”

Lennon rested his chin on Russell’s thigh and shuffled closer.

“Pete could hold his liquor no matter how much he knocked back, but I was notorious for going too far.” He looked down at Lennon and smiled crooked. “Which is not a good thing. So now I sip wine on my back porch like a tired mother.”

Lennon laughed and he felt the heat of his breath. Russell must’ve felt it too, and held his arms down in a get up gesture. Lennon stayed put, feeling his brain mull over the simple concept of getting what he wanted.

“You don’t wanna sit with me?”

Russell mock-pouted and then split into a grin. Lennon brought his arms up onto Russell’s thigh and rested his head on top of those instead. “I am sitting with you, sir.”

Russell cocked his head and took a piece of Lennon’s hair, rubbing it between his fingers and thumb. Lennon leaned in, still feeling the familiar prickle of do as you’re told.

“Why do you call me that? No matter how hard I try, I can’t really get you to stop.”

Lennon felt panic seize him for a brief moment, before he found a neat blanket answer that wasn’t untrue. “I don’t want to stop.”

Russell jerked his head up, almost incredulous. “Oh. I guess I never really considered that. But you know you can call me Russ, if you want. The option’s there.”

“I know, sir.” Lennon grinned and lolled his head in his arms, and Russell leaned down again. Russ felt special, like it should be reserved for important moments. It felt wrong saying it so casually, even though he’d been practising.

“Kneeling like that doesn’t hurt your knees, does it?”

Had this been his master’s plan? Get him all pliant and happy and comfortable and then tug answers out of him bit by bit? Pup found he didn’t really mind.

“No, it's more familiar to me than sitting beside you. I get to see all of you at once, and you get to see me.” Pup let his head drop back, and felt his Adam’s apple in his throat. “See?”

He didn’t want to ruin the moment with the truth. I can’t run away or make sudden movements if I’m in front of you. You have full control. I’m subservient, ready to do whatever you want. I don’t deserve to sit with you.

Master nodded lazily, and then pushed a hand into pup’s hair. Pup pursed his lip so he couldn’t let out any noise and pushed his chest up against Master’s leg. He was practically sitting on his foot. Suddenly not every movement felt all that significant, and he moved his hands down so he could pet the back of Master’s calf. He wondered if Master’s whole body felt this strong and soft simultaneously.

“Sir?”

The night was so warm and quiet and Master had turned off the porch light when he’d come out with the wine. The only light came from inside the house.

“Mhm?”

Pup looked up through the darkness and watched carefully as he pushed his hips forward.

Master sat up a little further, jostling pup, and swallowed hard. Pup wanted his entire throat.

“Do you, like it when I sit beside you?”

Master opened his mouth and shut it again, and then opened it. “Sure, kid. I want you to know you don’t have to do all that stuff you did, before. That you’ve got free reign to do whatever you want.”

Lennon shook himself a little at those words. Whatever I want? They held new meaning with his hands on Russell’s leg and his mouth working at the skin of his knee. If he was independent, if he was in control, maybe he could be more honest.

“Russ?”

Russell was staring at him, one hand in Lennon’s hair and the other on his free leg.

“Yeah?”

Lennon thought about it for a moment, and then decided it was better not to ask, if he had free reign. He’d just show Russell he was grateful. He moved from the right side of Russell and knelt between his legs instead, moving until his sternum was level with the seat of the swing. Russell’s hand went slack in his hair.

He was eye-level with the zipper of the cutoffs, and brought his hands slowly to it, not daring to look up at Russell’s face. Hoping that the singeing heat of his face wasn’t evident, even in the semi-darkness. That he didn’t look like some desperate, panting thing between his knees.

He edged the zipper down until he could see the olive green of Russell’s boxers, and felt his knuckles graze the skin of Russells abdomen when he undid the button.

“Kid.”

Lennon snapped his head up and drew in a sharp breath, dropping his hands to his lap almost immediately. He could feel himself straining under his own shorts and let the groan sit in his throat, already forgetting free reign and whatever you want.

Russell dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and dragged his palms down his face. Lennon looked at his stubble, and his mid-cheek grooves, and the flaming pieces of his hair that were backlit by the house light.

“I’m not drunk.”

“What? No, that’s not-” Russell made a face, exasperated. “It’s not that, Lennon. I just don’t want you doing this out of some kind of- I don’t know-”

Lennon watched him grapple for words for a moment, and then realised what Russell was getting at, albeit clumsily.

“I want it.”

There was that voice, back again after so long. Head down, knees apart, practically begging. Russell felt himself come apart a little more.

“You what?”

Lennon had his lower lip in his teeth and let it go, and Russell wanted a blanket, a pillow, anything-

“I want it. That’s why you stopped me, right? You think I’m doing it because I’m. I’m a pet.”

And in that moment, Lennon looked so hurt, so anguished, that Russell would’ve done anything to make it better. He thought about every time he’d had to take care of himself in the shower, in the dark of the office while Lennon was sleeping, sometimes in the car, and felt his gut wrench with guilt. And then he felt relief.

Because he did want it. And it felt too easy.

“Are you sure?”

He needed to be certain, certain enough for both of them.

Lennon brought his hands up again and Russell leaned forward until Lennon was holding his face, inches away.

“Please.”

“Lennon, I don’t want you to regret anything, or-”

Lennon looked like he was at the end of his rope. He let go of Russell’s face and grabbed onto the waistband of Russell’s open cutoffs instead, tugging.

“Please, Master.”

Russell felt his breath stick, heard himself make a noise like a wounded animal, and then felt the apprehension give way to sheer want.

Lennon moved quickly, like any second Russell would snap out of it, or recoil, or light another cigarette and put it out on Lennon’s sunburnt shoulder.

But he didn’t. Lennon worked Russell out of the shorts and then out of his boxers and then put him in his mouth just to take the edge off.

He heard Russell grunt and felt him buck beneath his hands, letting him move further into Lennon’s mouth. Russell’s hands were already kneading the back of Lennon’s head, threading through his hair and petting softly.

Thank you.Thank you. Thank you.

Lennon moved his head up, let his saliva run down, felt the soft press of skin on his tongue and moaned into it. He could smell the scent of Russell’s bedroom, the sunscreen on his thighs, the citrus body wash Russell used that morning. He was drunk on that more than he ever could be on the wine.

“Fuck.”

Lennon gagged softly and felt Russell’s hands immediately try to lift him off, but he pressed them back into his hair and kept going, adjusting to the fill of Russell, looking up through his lashes.

Russell was watching him with something akin to awe, lips shining, breath coming in quick, soft pants through clenched teeth. It felt good to be doing this. To make him feel this way. Maybe he’d crossed a line by begging like that, but if he was allowed freedom, then surely he was allowed to be this selfish.

Lennon felt Russell jerk a little, and pushed his thumbs into the crease above Russell’s hips, lathing his tongue over Russell’s head and then taking him into his mouth in a smooth movement.

“Lennon, Lennon,” Russell sounded strained, aching. Almost urgent.

Lennon let a strange, guttural noise leave him and Russell pushed him off, hunched forward. His t-shirt was stretched and damp at the neckline.

“Sorry, couldn’t- gonna-”

Lennon nodded sincerely and moved forward again, placing a hand on Russell’s chest and pushing him back slowly until he was sat up.

“It’s okay. Let me.”

He licked up the side of Russell’s cock and moved his mouth over the head, pushing down. He felt Russell’s abdominal muscles twitch, felt the hands in his hair pull, and then Russell stilled over him. Petting him again.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

“Thank you, pup.”

--

tag list: @yesthisiswhump @deluxewhump @whumpsy-daisy @queenofthedark @highwaywhump @yet-another-heathen @whumpzone @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpadump1939 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-me-all-night-long @shiningstarofwinter @whimperwoods @meetmeinhellcroutons

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sorry for the radio silence everyone, i’ve been very ill lately and having to start a new job 🥲 but i’ll be posting something (spicy) soon! 🖤

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Hi! I’m not sure if I already asked this, sorry! Can u pls add me to your Lennon series tag list? I love it so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️

of course! you’ve been added ☺️🖤

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gosh this was so much fun! a really unique idea and beautiful execution; thanks for the tag @whumpzone 💖

This is really cute and I love it.

Make yourself into a planet!

@thedeductionmistress, @mercury-morganite, @maison-simon, @clichenuance, @quirkykayleetam and anyone else who wants to give it a go, go for it!!

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Do you think we could get a piece/snippet where Zee “reverts”? Maybe Cam says something that triggers him or grabs him a little too rough by mistake and Zee just slips back into Box Boy before he can catch himself.

Alex and Zee: Accidental Whump/ Zee acting like Z2

I ended up making this from Roman's POV, because I love the perspective of an "outsider" looking on. This is Alex and accidental whump, and not Cam, but I hope you enjoy all the same!

cw: accidental whump, bbu, finger whump, fear, cowering, past trauma, past conditioning, hurt/comfort , pet whump, brief addiction mention

---

The first Time Roman saw evidence of the way things used to be with his hosts' boxboy, it was a complete freak accident.

He was helping Alex move his old desk out of his room, down the narrow hall and through the sunny midday apartment to the front door. Zee was awoken from a nap, probably by their shuffling and bumping into things as they maneuvered the heavy old thing through narrow doorways. He stood with his thick, coppery hair an almost comical mess from sleeping, blinking at them in an oversized t-shirt.

"Get the door for us, wouldja Zee?" Alex asked.

Zee went ahead in stocking feet over the bare floors to open the front door. He waited near it while the two of them approached more slowly, waddling with the desk between them. It was difficult to grip the top of it. There wasn't much space to get their fingers under in order to lift its weight with any kind of ease. They had to stop at the doorway to get better grip, and to tilt it twenty-five degrees, which they'd figured out was the best method from the other two doorways they’d squeezed it through already.

This time when they tilted it, one of the desk’s drawers began to slide out, slow but gaining momentum. Zee reached for it on reflex at the precise same time Alex and Roman quickly righted the desk back to level to correct the problem. The desk smashed into Zee's fingers, pinning them for a moment between the heavy top slab of wood and the doorway.

Somehow, all he did was whimper as he jerked his hand back, cradling it to his chest. Alex’s face fell with realization, and he dropped his side of the desk so fast that Roman lost his tenuous grip and dropped his end on his own foot.

“SHIT!” he barked in surprise. “Goddammit.”

His outburst spooked an already hurt Zee. The poor kid slammed his back into the pantry door, breaking one of the flimsy slats as he sunk to the ground and covered his head like a schoolkid in a drill.

Roman removed his foot from beneath the desk. He wiggled his toes in his sneaker. He'd be fine. He wasn't so sure about their boxboy’s fingers, but his toes were fine.

He heard the jangle of keys, turned to see a woman in black slacks and a silky silver blouse locking the door to her apartment across the hall. He was standing in the front door with half of a desk jutting out of it, and couldn't really close it in a hurry. Normally, he would've waved to her and smiled, made a comment about moving furniture in the heat, but he didn't want to be seen by anyone, especially some neighbor lady. Who knew what miniscule tip could be his undoing? Some tiny detail, someone who knew someone who knew someone. He turned his back to her and waited for her heels to click down the hallway and reach the stairwell, turning slightly as she went so if she looked back she would not be able to glimpse his face.

Alex was squatting on his heels in front of his boxboy, talking softly to him. Zee was visibly shaking, like Ivan used to when he was jonesing. His posture was so different it was like he'd been possessed by someone else, someone Roman had never seen before. He was making himself as small as possible, as if he was trying to protect all his vulnerable points at the same time. Head, ribs, the hurt fingers, shins.

Alex lowered himself all the way down onto the kitchen floor in front of him, scooting real close and putting his legs, bent at the knee, on either side of Zee like extra protection. An extra barrier between him and the world. Roman watched, mildly horrified but utterly unable to look away as Alex soothed him down from whatever this was.

"Cam's gonna be home soon, too," he was saying softly, with so much affection in his voice that Roman felt a stab of it towards the poor kid himself. "And you know he's probably gonna bring you something, because he loves you so much, right?" His tone grew lighter, just a little teasing. "How come he never brings me anything, huh? I like blueberry cheesecake. It's only ever for you. Why is that?"

Zee smiled. It was a weak, watery smile, but Alex took that headway and reached out to pet his wild, slept-in hair.

"Let me see them, sweetheart. Please?"

Sweetheart, Roman thought. That was not how Alex and Zee normally operated. This was a glimpse into another time.

Reluctantly, Zee handed him his banged-up fingers. Alex touched them so gently Roman could almost see it had happened before, or something like it. Alex coming to the rescue was formative to their relationship.

"Can you bend them?"

He could.

Alex leaned in and kissed Zee's knuckles in a chaste, kiss-it-better sort of way. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to."

Zee, who had not spoken once since he came out from his nap, nodded that he knew this.

Alex stroked his cheek. "What do you wanna do?"

Roman couldn't quite catch Zee's answer, it was too quiet and meant for Alex’s ears alone. But Alex got up and helped him to his feet. Roman, not knowing how long they would be, leaned his elbows on the desk and waited.

Sure enough, Alex came back a minute later speaking in his completely normal everyday voice. "Wanna try that again?" he said, picking up his end of the desk. Roman didn't mention his foot, and they managed to get it to the curbside without further incident.

Later, when Cam came back from work, Roman learned though overheard conversation that Zee had acted strangely. He'd acted like he was "back at the house", and Alex had apparently granted his request to lie down on a sleeping bag in his closet.

Why he wanted to lie down in a closet was unclear, but Cam seemed to understand just fine. The two of them disappeared soon after, into Alex's room for what Roman could only assume was to check on their (rather beloved, it seemed to him) boxboy.

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Could you tell us more about Lennon’s time with Stu? Was he left alone a lot or did he get a lot of attention? Did Stu like Lennon at all or not?

I was initially planning on writing a little flashback where you get to see more of Lennon and Stu in the trailer but after all the Russell stuff it felt like fishing in dead waters. But! I am more than willing to divulge in asks.

Lennon was kept in Stu’s bedroom most of the time, in a cage. Stu operated under the pretense of “not having a useless pet” so he taught Lennon to read and write and when the weather was nice he let him out into the backwoods and made him hunt rabbits. He got as much attention as Stu would’ve given a regular dog, feeding him and reprimanding him and chaining him outside if he did something wrong. But on nights when Stu got lonely, he chose to forget that Lennon wasn’t a person, a human. A warm body. I think he “liked” him most in those moments.

Hope this answers your questions, if you have any more or want clarification my inbox is always open ☺️

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The lord of the castle has a cruel and vindictive son. This son has a grudge against a particular stable boy who once humiliated him by winning a game of chess against him in the yard, making him look stupid.

He gets the other young man thrown in the dungeons for some minor infraction, simply so he can torture him personally with no repercussions or anyone who will come to his aid. It goes so well and the lordling is having so much fun, he leaves him there. Who would dare challenge him, the eldest son and soon to be lord of their land?

He starves the other boy, beats him, whips him unconscious, keeps him chained in stress positions for long stretches of time where the only people who might hear his cries for mercy are guards who will not bat an eye. He begins calling him pet names. He makes him beg and perform degrading acts for his daily ration of water, or bread, or a bucket of water to rinse off the filth.

There is a war, and the castle and its lands change hands. A lesser noble who fought fiercely for the new king is awarded the old lords territories and a greater title. He wants to tour the entirety of his new castle, from the battlements to the dungeons.

He is shocked when he finds the slain lordlings plaything, once a strong young man, barely recognizable and cringing from the light of his torch, terrified of him. No one can remember his supposed crime, and the guards do not even want to look in his direction.

He opens the door of the cell, noticing the heavy chains used to restrain someone who no longer looks like they could climb out of the dungeons unshackled.

"Its alright," the new lord says cautiously. He wouldn't keep an enemy in these conditions, let alone a stable hand. "Im going to take you out of here. Can you stand?"

The prisoner tries, but his legs are weak and have old injuries that have not healed correctly. The guards remove the heavy chains and there are open wounds where they have been so long against the skin.

The prisoner becomes distressed when the new lord attempts to physically carry him from the cell himself.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks.

But the prisoner is only concerned about getting the lord's clothes dirty. He manages to convey that he is no longer fit to be touched by another person, certainly not by nobility such as himself.

"I've seen worse than you in the battlefield," the young lord tells him gruffly. "Now put your arms around my neck. I don't belong down here and neither do you."

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thank you for the tag CB! ☺️

(gah i was always so bad at these in school)

1. i’m from the UK but moved to the US a while ago so my accents a little muddled

2. i’m growing out my hair from a pixie cut which is, tedious, to say the least

3. i love love love autumn so i’m excited for when it gets cooler and i can go on walks more without melting 🙃

no pressure tag! @deluxewhump @briars7 @whumpzone

If you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not. Let’s get to know the person behind the blog :)

Thanks! @stevesbestgirl

1. I’m currently in college getting a degree in English and Theatre with a minor in Classical Studies. I have been in a theatre production every semester of school since Freshman year of High School.

2. I got a Kindle Unlimited subscription in March to find a new escapism method and read thirty books while actively in four college classes.

3. My favorite flavor of things in Cotton Candy, and I will try anything that says it is cotton Candy flavored. My favorite is Cotton Candy fudge!!

Your turn! @imaginedreamwrite @whumpsorbet @iam-markdelfigalo @punemy-spotted @youngshiiva @hejetermig @thestaticworkshop

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Pete’s Visit pt 2 - Russ & Lennon - dehumanizing language, petting, smoking, collars, Pete

Russell didn’t bother greeting them at the door the next day. Pete shouldered his way in, gracing the entryway in a breeze of clean cologne, a black pea coat, and saddled with a few expensive-looking shopping bags. Lennon shut the door behind them and fought the instinct to push in front of them and run up the stairs into Russell’s office as fast as he could. Maybe Russell would even let him curl up under the desk by his legs.

“Bit rude of him to send the dog to the door,” Pete huffed, bags rustling at his sides as they made their way to Russell. He was in his office chair, a pair of reading glasses propped up in his hair, rubbing a hand tiredly over the day-old stubble on his jaw.

Lennon had slept on the loveseat the past two nights to keep him company, and felt a lance of guilt every time he saw Russell’s eyelids drop closed at his desk. He hadn’t missed a detrimental amount of work, but wasn’t exactly used to the amount of leniency in his schedule.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Pete quipped, dropping the bags and roughing a fist into Russell’s hair. He batted at Pete half-heartedly and rolled his eyes, pushing back from his desk so he could turn to face them.

Kitty picked up the bags and stood in the open doorway, rubbing the toe of one shoe up and down the back of her other leg. She’d had her roots touched up and was wearing makeup now, her lips shiny and her eyes bigger.

“Please tell me you didn’t come here just to harang me about work, Pete. I’ve caught up on everything, unless you’ve got something extra laborious in your back pocket?”

Pete shooed Kitty out and shut the door, shooting a cursory glance at Lennon who was sat on the floor in front of the loveseat, a book open in his lap.

“You gotta help me with Kitty, man. She’s fucking miserable. I took her out around town yesterday, got her hair and nails done, booked a reservation that made a dent in my wallet, and she still won’t put out. It's like highschool all over again.” He was bouncing a leg, his fingers tapping along the top of Russell’s office chair. Agitated.

Lennon wanted to bolt.

“Hey kid,” Russell was looking at Lennon softly. “Go hang out with Kitty, yeah? I’ll be out soon.”

Lennon got up and put the book back where he got it and hesitated at the door. Russell winked conspiratorially and Lennon left, shutting the door with a quiet click.

Kitty wasn’t in the hallway, but Lennon found her in the living room, digging through the shopping bags on the coffee table. She flinched a little when she saw him.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

She seemed flustered, jutting out her bottom lip to blow her hair out of her face while she rummaged.

“Can I help you find somethin’, ma’am?”

Lennon moved toward the closest bag, a small matte black one with something embossed in silver on the side. He wondered how much money Pete made.

“No, no, honey. I’m just a little disorganized today. We’ve got to sort through some of our purchases before we head back home. Can’t haul this mess through the airport.”

She gave up after another moment of digging and sat on the couch, patting the empty seat beside her. Lennon wouldn’t, usually, but it seemed like Kitty needed it more than he did.

He sat and drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and knocking his temple softly against his knees. Kitty took out a carton of cigarettes from her purse and bit one out, tugging it with her teeth and lighting it in quick succession.

Lennon wanted to say something but he didn’t know if smoking was allowed or not. He made a mental note to ask Russell later, and prayed silently that he wouldn’t get in trouble for it.

“C’mere, sweetie.” She tugged on his upper arm and he let himself move down til his head was in her lap, her hand in his hair. He felt the light scraping of her salon nails on his scalp and thought of Russell’s big, warm hands moving through his hair. Kitty’s hands were cold and it made a shiver jerk through him.

“This’s nice.” Her voice sounded far away, like she didn’t realise she was speaking out loud.

Lennon made an agreeable sound and moved his cheek along the itching fabric of her skirt. It was nice, she smelled like the inside of a church and lilacs, and even the cigarette smell was comforting after a while.

They sat in companionable silence until the office door opened. Lennon sat up and moved around the coffee table until he was sitting on the floor in front of Russell’s chair. He felt a little dirty, a tight tingling in his stomach as he watched the bottom of the stairs. Like he’d betrayed his master somehow.

Pete hopped the last three steps and took off his coat, an open black dress shirt underneath with a matching black belt and slacks. The monochrome of his outfit was cut by the gold at his belt, and the class ring on his hand.

Russell walked past him and slumped down into his chair, moving his hand over Lennon’s hair. Lennon pushed into it and turned to Russell, keeping his eyes on Russell’s chin.

“Come here.”

Lennon must’ve been willing him to say it, but the voice didn’t come from in front of him. It came from Pete. He turned around slowly and let his eyes trail up until they settled on Pete’s neck.

Surely he wasn’t talking to Lennon? He turned back to Russell and set his mouth against Russell’s jeans. His voice came out hot and muffled against the fabric.

“Is it okay to smoke in the house, sir?”

Kitty giggled across the room and Russell grinned. One of his canines was turned in slightly, Lennon noted.

“Yeah, kid. I used to, all the time.”

That was the tinge in his room, in his sheets. Lennon tried to shake the image of his master smoking in the bed they shared, the filter pinched between his lips, his eyes hazy behind the smoke. He moved his legs closer together and nodded, his lips moving against the seam of Russell’s jeans.

“Lennon.”

Lennon whipped around. Pete was standing a foot away from him now, the black shopping bag hooked on two of his fingers. He could kick Lennon from here. Step on his fingers, press the heel-

“Yes, sir?” It felt like a violation to even call him that.

“Got a little somethin’ for ya,” he drawled, proffering the bag. Lennon reached for it but Pete snatched it back, smiling. “Ah, ah, ah. It’s a surprise, for Russ. C’mon, kitchen.”

Russell was smiling at Pete (oh look, brother’s playing nice) when Lennon went to check, so he got up and followed Pete into the kitchen. The muted sunlight washed everything out and made it colder somehow, and Lennon found himself wanting to reach for the light switch.

Pete set the bag down and took a small, black box from it, shuffling the lid off.

“Cost a pretty penny but it's nothing but the best for my brother,” he said, almost reverently, as he put the lid in the bag.

Lennon stared at it.

Slightly on the thicker side, looped twice into a white cushion. A silver chain.

He felt all the air leave his body at once, his head spun, and he clutched at the counter for any sort of purchase.

Pete moved forward and used his free hand to keep Lennon up, stepping closer until he had Lennon pinned against the island. He took the necklace out and unclasped it, wrapping it around Lennon’s neck and clipping it again at the back. It settled, cold and blunt, against the skin of his throat, the second loop stopping in the middle of his sternum.

Pete’s voice was soft, laced with venom. “I think it suits you.”

Lennon made a telling noise in his throat and watched as Pete’s mouth curved into a pleased smile. “Happy to have your collar back, dog?”

--

ag list: @yesthisiswhump @deluxewhump @whumpsy-daisy @queenofthedark @highwaywhump @yet-another-heathen @briars7 @whumpzone @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpadump1939 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-me-all-night-long @shiningstarofwinterfun @whimperwoods