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writereleaserepeat · 10 months ago

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Rescue and Reprieve

Kirin awakes to find himself in the hands of the only person more terrifying than his former captor. With his spirit all but defeated, and his body broken, he prepares to fight for his survival in the only way he knows how. But admist his terror, and despite his life hanging in the balance, Kirin finds small mercies in the most unexpected place.

One shot. Named characters.

WC: ~10,000

CW: carewhumper(ish), mentions of past noncon, foul language, noncon touching, noncon nudity, noncon medical care, head trauma, broken bones

Pain dug its claws into Kirin’s soul and began to drag him out of unconsciousness. First came the familiar ache in his leg, like a railroad spike had speared his shin and been left to ossify. This pain was his oldest companion, and it was always the first to greet him when he woke.

The sharp fury of broken fingers followed soon after, and then the ribs that groaned with every shallow breath he took, then the dull roar of the never-healed patchwork of bruises that mottled his abdomen. His nerves came to life while his wits were still scattered, and Kirin took a few shaky breaths to soothe himself as he emerged from a sea of dark nothingness.

Kirin blinked his eyes open, and the low light pierced his skull like daggers. His vision was still blurry from the darkness of not-sleep, and his mind was clouded with a thick fog of confusion. A wave of nausea washed over him, rolling through his body like the tide, only to ebb with a few more carefully paced breaths. His tongue was as dry as sandpaper in his mouth, but he was still haunted by the bitter taste of his own blood.

Hearing returned along with his vision, and he could make out the pathetic sound of his own ragged gasps, punctuated by the softest hint of a whimper he couldn’t swallow down.

The nausea spiked again. This time Kirin couldn’t run from the inevitable, and he turned his head to the side as his empty stomach contracted and twisted in on itself. A thin stream of acid burned his lips as it dripped to the floor, and his head swam with a wave of vertigo from the sudden movement. Every cough to clear the bile from his throat made his fractured ribs cry out, begging him to stop, threatening to cave in his lungs. Shame burned nearly as hot as his esophagus.

For a moment, all he could feel was disappointment that he wasn’t dead yet.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but no, no, he wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not out of pain, or anger, or confusion. Not until he figured out what had happened and where the hell he had ended up.

His vision was almost clear now, and although the pounding in his head was fierce, he slowly regained an awareness of his senses and surroundings. This was how it always went after a few serious blows to the head, something he’d more or less grown used to in captivity, and he knew he had to take this slow if he didn’t want to get sick again.

The familiar weight of the metal collar sat heavy on his neck, a thick chain attached to the ring at the front, its steel cold and heavy where the interlinking metal grazed Kirin’s collarbones. The chain was short, just a few feet long, and secured into the nearby wall with a thick bolt.

Much to Kirin’s surprise, his legs were no longer shackled as they had been for so long. Where cold metal should have clamped tight, his ankles were instead touched by cool air. Similarly, the familiar metal cuffs that had long bound his wrists together were also missing. Their absence made Kirin feel more naked than his actual nakedness now did.

As for the rest of his aching, broken body, it laid naked and limp against a polished cement floor. Kirin could feel the cool stone leeching any last bits of warmth from his tired body, throbbing in pain where it pressed against the bones that were palpable through his pale, taut skin.

He was in a cell, he knew that much. He’d spent quite some time in places like this, so much so that it was as familiar as home. He’d suffered, and he’d bled, and he’d almost died in places like this before. But this particular cell was new to him. There were no familiar bloodstains underfoot where copper had long since stained the grey. There were no scratches in the cinderblock walls where he had raked his fingernails down to bloodied nubs, or where his shackles had chipped desperately away at the stone.

Somehow, this place was more comforting than he could have imagined a cell to be. The overhead lights were a soft yellow, not the piercing fluorescent white that made it almost impossible to sleep. The walls were cinderblock, but they were painted with a wash of white paint that nearly hid their abrasive texture. And the floor was not only missing his own bloodstains, but any at all – the slab of grey stone was continuous, smooth, as though it had been poured and polished new.

And then there was the door. It was a proper door, almost certainly made of thick steel, rather than the rusted bars he’d stared at for so long. For better or for worse, there was also no glimpse at a hallway to freedom that would never come. This new door was also painted white, in perfect harmony with the walls, and it was almost certainly barred and bolted from the outside. The side of the door that faced him was smooth, save for its hinges and the translucent window at eye level.

Wherever Kirin was now – be it a new prison, purgatory, or hell – it didn’t really matter. It might not have been Fen’s lair, but the chain that tethered him close to the wall told him all he needed to know.

He couldn’t remember how he ended up here. He’d been laying in his cell, stuck in the unpleasant fugue between sleep and waking, the pain not allowing him to slip fully under. Then he’d heard violent crashing and shouting from the complex above him, a cacophony of voices, a thunder of footsteps. The building itself had begun to shake around him, the walls had groaned, and then-

Then nothing. Emptiness occupied the place where memories should have been, just as it did whenever he’d had his head kicked in. Hunting for those memories now would be futile. Whatever he’d done to earn the beating was likewise forgotten. Given the sounds that had come from the compound above, there was a fair chance that Kirin himself hadn’t done anything wrong, but had instead been a convenient punching bag for Fen to find catharsis.

Now, it was time to survey his wounds. While his memory still failed him, and certain details escaped his comprehension, all he could do was determine whether these latest agonies had caused any permanent damage. Were there any new bruises painting his abdomen, new hues to add to the shifting canvas of yellow, blue, and purple beneath his skin? Had any more of his ribs cracked beneath a steel-toed boot, or had another finger been spent and snapped like kindling? Did he have another tooth missing, a new ache in his jaw?

The groaning of a lock coming undone snapped Kirin’s attention back to the door.

Kirin grit his remaining teeth and tried to gatherer both his wits and his limbs. It was never good to be caught how he was now, laying prone and with his limbs splayed, naked body exposed to whoever walked through that door. This position left him vulnerable to any spare kicks that Fen and their compatriots felt like delivering, and it opened his soft abdomen to any number of blows.

Whatever his new keepers had in store, Kirin had learned enough lessons at Fen’s hand to last a lifetime. And until he knew who his body belonged to now, he wouldn’t let himself be seen so vulnerable, so unprepared.

He pulled his left hand beneath him and pushed down hard on his palm, trying to haul himself into a sitting position. His broken fingers and leg cried out as he did so, but through the pain and the shaking of his atrophied muscles, Kirin pulled his torso off the floor. The chain attached to his collar rattled as he moved, each link clinking against the next, and the sound grew louder as Kirin settled his back against the wall. He could feel blood and pus from his open wounds slick against the painted cinderblocks that now held him upright. It was all he could do to breathe steadily through his nose, try and still his racing heart, anything measure to disguise his utter weakness.

Kirin knew it didn’t truly matter. He looked more like a corpse than a human at this point, and even if he used the last of his energy to display an illusion of strength, it was just as likely his keeper would see right through him.

Despite his efforts to keep a cool, steely exterior, Kirin felt his eyes widen as the door swung open and a broad silhouette filled the doorframe. Kirin’s gaze swept over muscular arms that strained against a tight grey shirt, then wandered up to a sharp jawline that was dusted in stubble. Rich brown eyes glowed even in the low light of the cell, and black curls caught the golden glow above with the radiance and omnipresence of a god.

With a knowing half-smile on his lips, Alekos stepped through the threshold of the cell and closed the door behind him.

Alekos walked forward with steady strides, each footfall sending a new shock through Kirin’s body. His heart began to race at a staggering staccato as his stomach twisted in knots. Kirin recoiled in spite of himself, and he pushed his ragged back even further into the wall behind him, ignoring the sting that came from the added pressure. It was the animal instinct in his mind that told him to flee, and it was this same instinct that told him to put as much space between himself and Alekos as possible, even at the cost of reopening his wounds.

Alekos came to a stop just inches before where Kirin sat, his broken leg splayed out awkwardly, the chain still against his naked chest. Cold eyes glanced Kirin over once before Alekos sneered and scoffed.

“Well, they told me you looked like shit, but I didn’t think they really meant it. You’re a wreck, little thing, nothing but scars and bone. What a waste of a life.”

Kirin bit down on his tongue until it bled, and he could feel his eyes begin to burn of their own volition. No. He couldn’t be here with Alekos. Not like this, not now, not as a prisoner at the man’s utter mercy. Even on his best days - those strong days before Fen turned on him - Kirin had never stood a chance against Alekos. And now, helpless and imprisoned at Alekos’s feet, he was certain that Alekos would make Fen’s torment pale in comparison.

In a brief flash of lucidity, Kirin realized that the history between them was both a blessing and a curse. That same history would bring Alekos’s wrath down firmly on Kirin’s shoulders, a biting retribution that he arguably deserved. But it also meant that Kirin knew just what he had to do to appease Alekos, should Alekos entertain the idea of letting Kirin live another day. And as much as Kirin was certain that this would be a death sentence, he knew that he wanted to live. He’d always wanted to live, survive, escape all of this.

Now, he had to survive Alekos.

Kirin drew in a deep breath, deep enough that his ribs gave him an angry reminder of their damage, and he looked Alekos in the eyes. The tightrope of strength, defiance, and obedience wavered beneath him. Alekos loathed weakness, so Kirin wouldn’t show it. Alekos hated disobedience, so Kirin would obey. Alekos liked to feel powerful, so Kirin would subjugate himself.

There was no anger in Alekos’s face as Kirin had expected there to be. Instead, those terrifyingly familiar eyes held something that Kirin would have dared call curiosity.

“So,” Alekos began, voice level but commanding, “do you know where you are?”

Kirin could make a few educated guesses, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. Only a few seconds had passed since Alekos had come in, mere moments since he’d decided his course of action, and he didn’t want to ruin his odds too early. Instead of speaking he gave a measured, cautious shake of his head. The chain rattled in response.

Alekos crossed his arms and puffed out his chest with a deep breath, as though Kirin wasn’t already intimidated by his sheer size and presence. The man’s gravelly voice threatened to tear away what remained of Kirin’s courage.

“You’re back at our base of operations, and that’s where you’ll be for the indefinite future. Perhaps the entirety of your future, depending on how generous I’m feeling. I’m sure you don’t need me to give you the subtext, but in case the head trauma means you can’t read between the lines, that means you’re in our custody. I’ve never been fond of the word ‘prisoner,’ but it’s fitting, and it should help you remember your place. Do you remember how you got here?”

Again, Kirin shook his head. That was an easy, honest answer. It didn’t seem that Alekos expected him to know the answer in the first place, and there was nothing in Kirin’s mind but a blank space.

A short sigh escaped Alekos’s lips, the sound laden with disappointment.

“Consider your forgetfulness a blessing. Rest assured, despite your own forgetfulness, my team will remember this day for a long time. They’ve told me in great detail how much trouble you gave them, and just how hard you fought. Apparently, they’d never have expected such resistance from a malnourished pile of bones. It’s almost like you knew what waited for you once you got here.”

Kirin felt his mouth tighten as he swallowed a wince. As if he hadn’t done enough to make Alekos hate him before, and as if he hadn’t already condemned himself to a lifetime of torment, he’d certainly secured it through whatever he’d done prior leading up to his concussion.

A final step was all it took to close the gap between the two men, and Alekos smoothly knelt a hair’s breadth away from where Kirin sat in an awkward pile of bruises and broken limbs.

His heart in his throat, Kirin forced himself to swallow. He’d vomit again if he didn’t get his nerves under control. There was nowhere to run now, of course. Even if Kirin had been strong enough to push Alekos away he hadn’t been able to stand since Fen had broken his leg, and the limb was still crooked from how it had healed. The ache of his broken fingers would have made it impossible to manipulate even the most simple door handle, much less grapple with a series of locks and bolts.

Still, he knew he had to be strong, and that he had to show Alekos he had enough spirit left to be worth saving. So now, with Alekos mere inches from his face, Kirin let out the only sign of defiance he could muster. A low growl rose in his throat, mimicking a cornered feline, his lip twitching up ever so slightly as he did so.

The rumble hadn’t so much as left his mouth before Alekos reached forward and grabbed Kirin’s chin. Alekos moved so fast that Kirin didn’t even have the chance to jerk backwards, his jaw swiftly secured in Alekos’s massive, calloused palm. The grip was firm, almost painfully so, and Kirin knew he wouldn’t be able to pull away.

“Hey,” Alekos growled back, throat full of stones. “I don’t want to hear that kind of attitude coming from you. You’re certainly in no position to bargain. Whatever’s left of your life is in my hands, understand? You’re going to sit there, you’re going to shut the fuck up, and you’re going to let me look you over. I’d rather not be forced to subdue you again.”

And in that moment, Kirin felt something inside of him break. The fear bubbled to a head, a torrent of adrenaline rushing from his veins and into his eyes. Oh, his eyes burned, and his pledge to bravery wavered as the lump in his throat grew bigger.

Much to Kirin’s horror, a hot tear rolled down his cheek and landed between Alekos’s unwavering fingers.

Alekos barely blinked, and he made a disapproving click of his tongue as his already tight grip on Kirin’s face tightened further.

“Crying already, poor thing. Are you in pain? Or are you just afraid?” The words hung in the air as sarcastic taunts, their acerbic edge biting almost as sharply as Alekos’s touch.

Kirin didn’t move. As much as every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run, he knew that resistance would be a futile exercise, and one that would likely lead to his untimely demise. He felt like a mouse between the paws of a lion, nothing more than a plaything for Alekos. His own fear meant nothing to his captor.

Fear had never stopped Fen before - in fact, Kirin figured they probably got off on it. From what Kirin knew of Alekos, his own pain or discomfort wouldn’t stop the man either. Hunger, pain, and head trauma had already shattered most of who Kirin had once been. It wouldn’t take much more for him to be completely broken, not a whisper left of Kirin’s soul left in a useless bodyl. Maybe that’s what Alekos wanted.

“Can you speak, Kirin?”

The way Alekos said his name made a sob rise in Kirin’s chest, even tighter and more pressing than the tears he was swallowing back. Fen hadn’t granted him the luxury of hearing his name in so long, and to hear it now, even on Alekos’s lips, was a blessing so welcome that he almost broke down. It was embarrassing just how badly Kirin wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear his name, to be seen, more than he wanted to be brave. Perhaps even more than he wanted to survive. He hadn’t known until that very moment how desperate he was for it.

But still, Alekos had asked a question, and the rational part of Kirin’s brain was fighting to stay afloat above the fear and confusion. As such, Kirin knew that he would be prudent to answer

With his face still gripped in Alekos’s unmoving grasp, he was unable to nod. Rapid blinks of confirmation followed instead.

“Then speak.” Alekos’s voice cut through Kirin like thunder. The grip on his chin loosened just enough that he could part his lips.

What was Kirin to say? He didn’t want to show even more vulnerability by pleading for his life, and he didn’t want to throw meaningless platitudes at Alekos for his mercy thus far. The undercurrent of fear quieted just long enough for Kirin to think back to one of Fen’s first demands, the demand that Kirin subject himself to their power. It was one simple word, and perhaps it would succeed here to show Alekos that Kirin was aware of his position here without giving up his weakness.

“Sir, you-”

“That’s enough of that,” Alekos cut him off almost immediately, and fully released Kirin’s chin in the same breath. Kirin was tempted to curl in on himself, the abruptness of Alekos’s denial as sharp as though he’d been kicked, but he held firm against the wall.

“You can use my name,” Alekos continued, settling back onto his heels. “Grovelling doesn’t become you.”

“Unless-” Alekos paused then, tilted his head to the side ever so slightly “-unless that’s what Fen wanted you to call them?”

Kirin nodded, the response automatic. He felt like he was going to pass out again. Only two words had made it out of his mouth and Alekos had already shut him out. For all of the effort it was taking to pretend to be strong, composed, and brave, his progress was abysmal. It increasingly felt like it would take a miracle for Kirin to see another dawn.

A small cough broke the silence, and Alekos gave a brief shake of his head, curls bouncing.

“Well, that egotistical bastard has always had a knack for sadism, I’ll give them that. It’s not surprising they want to think themselves a both god and master over their prisoners. I’ll say that you have no need to use such honorifics with me. You already know the power I hold here, so there’s no need to make a charade of it, and I’m not particularly fond of titles. So, with that out of the way, let’s try this again. Speak.”

Again, Kirin was frozen in place. What could he say? What would buy him another day, another meal, another week breathing? Would the wrong word drive Alekos to a rage that would end Kirin’s life on the spot? Fen had never liked it when Kirin begged, and if Alekos was so determined to set himself apart from Fen, Kirin figured that something close to begging would be worth a shot. The trouble came in walking the line between weakness and determination. All he had to show now was that he truly, deeply desired to be seen as someone who was still fighting to survive.

“Alekos, thank you for sparing my life,” he started, trying to whet his tongue on nothingness. “I swear, sir-”

“Okay, you know what? Enough of that.” Alekos was more aggressive this time, cutting Kirin off with noticeably less patience. “That fucker did a real number on you, didn’t they? Is this what Fen does with all of their unwanted playthings? Turn them into little dolls that can’t do anything but beg and cry? Or was it you, Kirin? Were you just not good enough for them?”

Kirin didn’t respond. It was clear that whatever he had to say, whether it was begging or outright defiance, Alekos didn’t want to hear it. This only confirmed Kirin’s growing suspicion that nothing he did now would alter Alekos’s preconceived notions. Alekos had come into this cell with a plan, and he was going to follow through with that plan regardless of how carefully Kirin responded.

Even if this was true, Kirin knew he had to still try, still fight. Silence was something that Kirin could sit with for now. He was parched enough as it was, every word more difficult than the last, and it seemed that Alekos was more than content to do the talking.

Hands freed from clutching Kirin’s face, Alekos let his palms rest idly on his thighs, and his eyes gave Kirin’s naked body another once-over. When he spoke again his voice was commanding, sharper than it had been yet. The tone was enough to make Kirin sit up a bit straighter, spine a bit more taught, pain more muted as he paid attention for a command.

“Here’s the deal, Kirin: we’re going to fix you up. You’re not much use to us dead, and if we left you as you are, there’s little question you’d be dead in a matter of days. Not that I particularly care if you die, of course: it comes down to the simple fact that you’re only useful to us alive. What I want is you, both alive and lucid, able to answer my questions. As for why I’m here in this cell, personally, it’s because I don’t trust you. I don’t want anyone else from my team down here with you, especially not alone. So before the good doctor gets her hands on you and tries to piece Humpty Dumpty back together again, it’s my turn. I’m going to ask you some questions and I’m going to do an examination of my own. I want to see and feel for myself what’s wrong with you before I let anyone else get anywhere near you.”

Ah, there it was. Kirin had known from the moment he’d awoken here, but the confirmation was as comforting as it was soul crushing. His body was not his own here, and perhaps it never would be again. He was a plaything meant to scream, bleed, and heal at its keeper’s command. At least Alekos was being honest about it upfront, whereas Fen had once pretended to care about him.

“Will you behave for me?” Alekos asked.

“Yes,” Kirin rasped, trying to steel his nerves. “Yes, sir, Alekos. I’ll behave for you.”

A glint of fire flashed in Alekos’s eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what did I just say about that? Just ‘yes’ is fine. That’s all I need from you, if you need to speak at all. Fuck. Just - dammit - sit still and shut the fuck up.”

And with that, Kirin still desperately swallowing his sobs, Alekos put his bare hands on Kirin’s broken skin.

No matter how much he prepared himself Kirin always flinched at the first touch. It was an instinct he hadn’t quite managed to train out of himself, and it was apparent now, as he winced ever so slightly. Alekos certainly noticed, a thoughtful blink accompanying a knowing hum, but he didn’t stop or question his prisoner any further.

Alekos began by running his hands in rough strokes over Kirin’s matted hair, then took his thumbs more gently across Kirin’s temple and cheekbones, before coming to rest over the long-healed bump from a severely broken nose. Alekos paused there, lingering for just a moment. Kirin fought to remain impassive and statuesque.

“Did this happen recently?�� Alekos asked. Kirin shook his head, the only answer he could think to give. His memory was poor, but his nose hadn’t bled in quite some time, and that break had happened shortly after Fen had taken him as their prisoner. However long ago that had been, it wasn’t dishonest to say that some considerable time had passed.

Alekos took the answer at face value. Those hunting fingers continued their journey, and this time a thumb slid between Kirin’s lips. Kirin let his jaw drop open without comment. If Alekos wanted to see his mouth, determine if it would be of any use, Kirin certainly wouldn’t stop him. There were a few teeth missing, after all: Fen had yanked them clean out, once with their fingers, twice with pliers. Kirin could still remember what it felt like to nearly drown in his own blood, the liquid hot and coppery on his tongue, the glinting roots of his molars scattered haphazardly across the prison floor.

Another breath passed and Alekos’s thumb retreated. Kirin closed his mouth, tongue running over the gaps where his teeth once had been, and he swallowed a sigh of relief. It was always painful when Fen took out anger on his mouth, and Alekos’s brief visit there was enough to startle him.

Where Alekos ventured next was natural. It was natural, yet no matter how long he’d been collared, Kirin had to focus on the pain elsewhere in his body to distract him. Alekos slowly moved his hands from Kirin’s mouth to his throat, fingers probing the tender and bruised flesh above the soldered metal collar. Kirin put his energy into breathing deep, smooth breaths, not just to maintain an illusion of composure, but to prepare himself in case Alekos decided to cut off his supply of air.

To Kirin’s great relief, Alekos didn’t do anything of the sort. Alekos instead ran his fingers softly over the collar’s edge, and then over the scars where the hot metal had seared Kirin’s flesh when the collar was permanently bonded around his neck. Another hum came from Alekos’s mouth, more thoughtful than it was accusatory.

The next few minutes passed without incident. Had Kirin more dignity, he would have been proud of how still he had sat, how much he had suppressed to let Alekos explore him so freely. He was perfectly still as Alekos stroked his fingertips against new and old fractured ribs. Alekos had coached him to breathe, when to draw in and, and when to gesture as he experienced pain. This process had taken some time, Alekos lingering on each rib with care, and Kirin slowly came to the conclusion that more of his ribs were damaged than he initially thought.

Alekos then counted the broken fingers on Kirin’s hands, both the breaks above and below the middle knuckles, and probed as though he were taking note of how old the breaks were. The disapproving hums came thick and heavy, but Kirin neither had the courage nor the death wish to ask Alekos what he could possibly be thinking. Even a glimpse would have told any sane person that Kirin was broken goods, but here Alekos was, taking the opportunity to inspect for himself.

As uncomfortable as it was, Kirin made sure to follow Alekos’s commands. He followed them silently and swiftly, moving his aching limbs as instructed, breathing or nodding only as necessary. It would fulfill the promise he had made to himself, make himself more than trash meant to be discarded.

Things changed in almost a heartbeat. Alekos had spent a fair amount of time on Kirin’s abdomen, pressing on Kirin’s stomach and bruises with a soft tutting. After a moment, Alekos moved his hands lower.

An animalistic scream tore itself from Kirin’s throat before he could stop himself.

He hadn’t meant to scream. He hadn’t meant to gasp, hadn’t even meant to blink. He’d channeled his energy into being placid, behaved, a model prisoner that was brave enough to look Alekos in the eyes. Yet that single touch, a few fingers over his hips and snaking towards his nakedness, had shattered him entirely. The fear he’d so dutifully meant to swallow had struck like a wounded snake, and it had wrest the cry from his lungs.

It had taken so long before Fen had hurt him so intimately. Fen had waited until Kirin was a shell of his former self, entirely incapable of fighting back, and so mentally exhausted that he couldn’t even bring a refusal to his lips. When Fen had taken him the first time, Kirin had been nothing more than a husk of a living being. What Fen had done ensured that Kirin would never fully be human again.

Now, with Alekos, it was different. Kirin had been pretending to be brave, pretending to be a model prisoner. It was a gambit on his life, and the animal that commanded his fear had ruined it. That one soft touch, nothing so nearly as terrible as Fen, had rattled him to his core and made him cry out like a beast that had been struck.

Alekos withdrew his hands as though he’d touched fire, as though he were genuinely startled by Kirin’s cry. It didn’t take more than a moment for the man to issue a stern correction.

“Hey now,” Alekos muttered from the back of his throat, “none of that here. You said you’d behave for me, didn’t you? That means I shouldn’t have to fight you, isn’t that right, Kirin?” There was no avoiding the fact that Alekos’s tone was scolding, condescending. He was disappointed.

What he’d said was also true. Kirin had, even if not in those same words, agreed to sit still for Alekos’s inspection. His body was all he could offer up, however much it terrified him. If he broke apart now, and if he showed that neither his body nor mind were salvageable, it would mean certain death.

Still, he realized in that moment that death would be more favorable than returning to Fen.

His breaths grew shallow once more, and as much as he fought to pull in a full breath, he failed. It was as though he was drowning on nothing but clear air. Blackness crowded in at the edges of his vision, his view of Alekos already blurry and dark through tears that refused to fall, a pitiful display.

A hand grabbed the chain connected to Kirin’s collar and pulled hard. Kirin’s body jerked in response, and when he gasped, his lungs finally filled with air.

“Stop the histrionics,” Alekos growled. “If you keep up this little act, you’re going to pass out, and that’s going to piss me off more than I’m already pissed off. So take a breath and answer this: have I hurt you so far?”

“No, sir,” Kirin managed to choke out. His voice broke as he spoke, but it was the truth. In those few minutes that had passed since Kirin had awoken, Alekos hadn’t hurt him. The fact that Kirin felt such terror was entirely a product of his own mind.

“That’s right. I could hurt you, but I haven’t, and I’ve no intention to if you keep behaving. And what about Fen? Did Fen hurt you?”

Kirin screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to answer, he didn’t want to think about Fen any longer, he didn’t want to remember what had happened to him before he woke up in this cell.

Perhaps even more than that, he didn’t want Alekos to know what had happened. Enough indignities were written across his skin and broken bones that he had no need to put those experiences into words. As for the scars Alekos couldn’t see, Kirin wasn’t sure he could ever voice those quite so clearly, not even at Alekos’s command.

Still, his new keeper had demanded an answer, and he had sworn to himself that he would prioritize strength and obedience. To break down like this was a failure, and it clearly tested Alekos’s patience.

“Yes, sir. They hurt me.”

“I don’t think you’re answering the question I actually asked. I can see they hurt you, little thing. You’re bleeding all over my wall, so of course they hurt you. But what I’m asking is if they fucked you. Did they like to have their way with you? Did they break your leg so you couldn’t run and then take you for themselves? Did they turn you into a plaything for their own pleasure?”

Ah. So Alekos had figured it out on his own. It couldn’t have been hard, Kirin knew, given how much he’d recoiled and screamed the moment Aleko’s hands had dipped below his waist. But it was a knife in his heart to hear the truth of it spoken aloud, each of Alekos’s accusations hitting harder than a whip ever could.

For the first time since Alekos arrived, Kirin found himself stuttering.

“Ye- I’m- y-yes, sir.”

A huff of breath from Aleko’s nose sent another tremor through Kirin’s body. And when Alekos’s voice returned, it was softer than before.

“As I’ve already told you, and as your concussed mind might have already forgotten, I am not Fen. But much like Fen, I do expect you to behave for me. You’d been doing well, just as you should, before all of this crying and hysteria started. You belong to me, now, Kirin. I expect you to listen to me, and sit still for me. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.” Of course. Of course. No matter what Fen had done in the past, it was up to Alekos to determine what happened to Kirin now.

“Good. I’m glad you understand. And since you’re lucid enough to understand, I expect you to listen. So I’m going to hold onto this collar of yours just to make sure you don’t try and wriggle away from me again, and I’m going to continue my inspection. Since this is obviously difficult for you, I’m going to give you some more instructions. Close your eyes, count to one hundred out loud, and then I’ll be done. Can you do that?”

It was a mercy Kirin hadn’t been afforded before. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could force the words from his lips, past the lump in his throat. Undoubtedly this was Alekos’s way of offering kindness, as much as it was a reminder where Kirin stood.

It would be easier if he couldn’t see Alekos. It would be easier if the man that knew what had happened to him, saw through his shame, was hidden from his sight. So, Kirin closed his eyes. He felt Alekos’s steady grip on the front ring of his collar, commanding, ever-present. He took a breath, aware it whistled with a nascent sob, and he started to count aloud.

“One… t-two… three… four…”

The numbers were punctuated with small gasps that failed to disguise growing terror. After a few moments, Alekos’s hand returned to Kirin’s skin.

Kirin continued to count as Alekos snaked his touch between his legs, gentle and probing, before moving to Kirin’s thighs, buttocks, and hips. The counting went on, the numbers creeping higher, as Alekos ghosted his touch over Kirin’s broken leg.

The counting had indeed distracted Kirin from the hands roaming his skin, each number drawing his focus. And when he reached one hundred, he opened his eyes. The exploration of his scars and his still-open wounds had come to an unceremonious end.

Alekos let the collar go, and Kirin slumped back against the wall, uncaring how it dug into his open wounds.

“You’re pretty fucked up.”

Kirin didn’t know if he was supposed to answer.

Alekos let out the most dramatic sigh he’d made since first setting foot in Kirin’s cell.

“If we want you to live much longer, we’ve got some serious work to do. Both physically and with whatever the hell Fen did to that head of yours. You’re not much use to anyone in this state. Well, unless they’re looking for a quivering wreck of a punching bag.”

The sobbing had since stopped, and Kirin’s breathing had evened out, but he could still feel that his cheeks were wet with tear stains. Was it over? Would Alekos not just let him live, but actually heal some of his wounds?

“Actually,” Alekos said, seeming to muse, “I’m curious. You’ve been mostly well-behaved so far, quite impressive for the precious spitfire I always thought you were. I suppose that’s a testament to Fen’s handiwork, no? I’ve only given you some simple commands so far, but I’d like to see if you’ll listen to all of the commands your master gives you. Your cooperation will be needed if you want to make it much further than the four walls of this cell. So, will you listen to me like you listened to Fen?

Nerves made Kirin’s throat tighten. Had he not obeyed enough commands so far to prove that he was not just alert and intent on surviving, but that he wasn’t interested in fighting back? That he’d listen, that he’d obey, that he didn’t have the strength to harm Alekos in return?

Maybe his faltering had been enough to undermine Alekos’s confidence. Maybe that fear, that brief moment of weakness, would cost Kirin his life. If this was a chance to fight for Alekos’s mercy, a chance to show Alekos that he was as obedient as he was determined to survive, he’d gladly take it.

Kirin nodded, and a small smile crossed Alekos’s lips.

“Delightful. Lie down.”

Kirin obeyed. He took a deep breath to brace himself for the pain that would wrack his body and he lowered himself to the cement floor. He let the wall guide him down, chain rattling, but he made it without much movement of his leg. Meanwhile he still looked up at Alekos, trying to gauge the man’s expression, to see if he’d done something wrong. His captor’s visage remained stony.

As soon as he was prone on the cement, smears of blood on the wall where he’d used it to slow his descent, Alekos spoke again.

“Sit up.”

Just as when Alekos has first entered the cell, sitting up was an extraordinarily difficult task. It required Kirin to once again jostle all of the broken bones in his body, including his crooked fingers and aching ribs, but he did it nonetheless. As quickly as he could Kirin leaned back against the wall, pushed his palm against the floor, and hauled himself upwards. His head spun, but he sat still and looked expectantly up at his keeper.

Alekos hummed.

“Bark for me. Like a dog.”

This command was easy enough that Kirin didn’t have to hesitate. No indignity was below him anymore, and certainly not this.

“Arf! Arf!” It came out dry, a product of his parched throat, but it was undeniably a facsimile of an animal’s cry.

A pregnant pause hung thick in the air. It could have spanned seconds or an eternity, but when Alekos broke it, Kirin’s veins filled with ice.

“Stand up, dog.”

Vertigo seized Kirin as the world tilted on its axis. Alekos had to know that Kirin couldn’t stand, right? He’d probed the broken mere minutes ago, verbally noted the way that Kirin’s bone was crooked and protruding beneath his skin.

This was a test of obedience, then. It was a test of whether Kirin was truly ready to fight for his life, fight to show Alekos his obedience and loyalty.

Maybe he could stand now. Kirin hadn’t tried in quite some time, but he’d almost certainly be able to bear weight on his unbroken right leg, and he could likely stay upright so long as he wasn’t asked to walk. As for making it to a standing position, he figured he might be able to use the bolt on the wall to heave himself upwards. That would have to be enough - after all, he thought to himself, what’s a leg for a life?

With a deep breath that sounded uncomfortably close to a whimper, Kirin reached beside him and grabbed onto the bolt that secured his chain, gathered his right leg beneath him, and prepared to push himself to standing. It would hurt - and it already hurt - but he’d been hurt before. He knew this would only last a little while.

Just as he began to push himself onto his knees, Alekos’s voice cut through him like a knife.

“Stop! Jesus, stop. Sit back down. Fuck.”

It was the command Kirin had been the happiest to obey yet. A wave of relief washed over him as he slowly shifted his weight back to the ground, limbs splayed where they were most comfortable. There was no mistaking the disgust that now glimmered in Alekos’s eyes, but it wasn’t disappointment. Disappointment was an expression Kirin had come to know well.

“Your leg is broken, Kirin, seriously broken. You can’t fucking stand on that thing. I’ll give you credit for trying, though. I saw how much it hurt for you to even lay down, bleeding all over my floor in the process, and shaking like a leaf in a gale. You’ll bark like a dog for me, and you’ll even try to stand on a broken leg. Honestly, it’s incredible, if not just what I needed from you. You’re a resilient creature if nothing else.”

Kiring blinked and didn’t move. Was that praise? Was that Alekos saying that he’d been enough, that he’d live another day?”

“If this isn’t an act, well, I suppose that will make life easier for all of us, including you,” Alekos carried on. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t fight back, but this is more than I’d ever dreamed. It seems like you’ll listen to anything I ask, and I presume I could do just about anything except have my way with you - which, I’m sure, I could achieve with a little more convincing.”

Fear rolled through Kirin’s empty stomach. So, Alekos would- he was still going to- Kirin would have to, again, he’d-

“Hey,” Alekos snapped, and Kirin looked back up at him. He hadn’t even realized his gaze had dropped to the floor.

“That really scares you, doesn’t it? Of all the things I could do to you, a little pleasure is what makes you cry? It would be sad if it wasn’t just so… pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirin managed to breathe, the words tumbling out of his mouth despite no command to speak. “I’m sorry, sir, I swear- I swear I’ll do what you want. Even… even… even if it’s me. You can have me. You can take me for yourself, and I’ll be good.”

If that’s what it took for Kirin to survive, he’d do it. I’ll do it, he swore to himself, I’ll be brave.

“Is that so?” Alekos said as he tilted his head slightly to the side. “I’m glad to hear it. But there’s no need for that now. You’re filthy and can’t even sit up on your own, much less give me what I’d want. We can worry about that another day. But in the meantime, I have a question for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Kirin was relieved to know that he’d be spared for now, and there was further relief that he’d remain untouched just a little longer. His lingering confusion was enough he knew he might be missing nuance, but it was clear that Alekos wasn’t preparing to put him out of his misery. Now he had to fixate on the question. He didn’t like questions - with Fen they were usually tricks - but he could do his best to answer now.

“If you could have one thing right now, anything in the world, what would it be?”

This was most certainly a trick. There was no other reason the question would be crafted to be so open-ended, so easy for Kirin to incriminate himself, so easy for Alekos to take what Kirin wanted and turn it against him.

But at the same time, there was so much Kirin wanted. He hadn’t dared to want in so long. He stopped wishing for comfort, for safety, for freedom, but his body still had its demands. He could tell he was dangerously dehydrated, his stomach ached with a hunger that never dissipated, and his body throbbed with never-ending currents of pain. Anything to alleviate some of that agony, however slight, would be welcome. And if Alekos was as merciful as he’d claimed to be, and in fact had been so far, maybe he would truly grant Kirin a small mercy.

“Water, please,” Kirin begged. “Please, if it’s not too much trouble, just some water to drink.”

“Ah,” Alekos sighed, “I can’t do that. Doctor’s orders. You’re headed up for surgery soon, so no food, no water. I’m sure you’ll be given fluids, but nothing to drink by mouth at the moment.”

That answered a nagging question in Kirin’s addled mind. It seemed that they were planning on actually giving him medical treatment, not tossing a roll of gauze into the cell and expecting him to bandage himself. He supposed it would be more effective to interrogate him if he was a blank slate, rather than an already broken one. Any torture inflicted would certainly be more entertaining if Kirin could move, and his answers would only be useful had his wits about him. Right now he wasn’t capable of putting on much of a show for his tormentors, and Fen at least had always liked some theatrics.

He wasn’t going to push his luck in asking for more.

“There’s nothing,” Kirin said. “I don’t want- I don’t need anything. You’ve already been kind to me, sir Alekos, and you say you’re going to help me. I need nothing else.”

“Pretty bold coming from a half-dead pile of bones in my holding cell, but hey, that’s less work for me. If you’re not going to ask for anything, let’s get you out and up for surgery. And, hey, maybe you’ll finally stop with the ‘sir’ bullshit once you’re unconscious.”

Alekos reached into his pocket and fished out a small vial, as well as a syringe still wrapped in sterile plastic. Again, Kirin’s heart sped up. He could hardly manage a swallow as his imagination ran wild, visualizing what pain was going to come out of the bottle and into his veins, how it would torture him before he was granted reprieve.

“You get so worked up over every little thing,” Alekos mused as he opened the syringe and uncapped it. He slid the needle into the vial and began to draw liquid back into the syringe. “Though given the state of you, I’m not surprised. As entertaining as it is to see you go all wide-eyed and shake like a chihuahua every time I move, I’ll spare you the wondering. This is ketamine here, that’s it. It’s a fast-acting sedative that will keep you quiet until our anesthetist gets you under proper sedation. Our doctor is going to run some tests, take some imaging, and the surgical team is going to work on your leg and any other bits that need to be fixed. When you wake up you’ll be a new man.”

Promises aside, Kirin couldn’t stop eyeing the syringe. Alekos hadn’t lied to him so far, and he’d shown plenty of mercy, but the uncertainty still gnawed at him. It had been long since he’d had command over his own destiny, and as much as he was resigned to that, there were some fears he couldn’t escape.

“Give me your arm, Kirin. You’ve done well so far, now do this one last thing for me. A pinch and we’ll be on our way.” Alekos knelt down again.

Kirin offered his arm wordlessly, palm up, hovering just above Alekos’s lap. He tried to stop it from shaking, but the trembling of the atrophied limb was unavoidable. Whatever happened next, Kirin knew he wouldn’t even have the privilege of being awake to experience it, for better or for worse.

Much to Kirin’s surprise, Alekos reached out the hand without the syringe and placed it atop Kirin’s head. The touch was gentle, and the man’s palm rested soft on hair that was matted with blood and dirt. Despite this touch coming from his captor, from the man that would likely be his final undoing, Kirin felt something like relief flood his veins. The terror of Alekos’s earlier threats dissipated.

God, he couldn't remember the last time someone had simply tried to comfort him, if that was indeed what Alekos was doing. He melted, his body still shaking, but he bowed his head into the touch with a whine of pleasure he couldn’t contain.

“Woah. Okay, fuck, alright,” Alekos muttered. It was the gentlest he’d sounded yet, a surprised softness that wasn’t lost on Kirin. “Do you like this? Is this good?”

With those words Alekos moved his hand slightly, running the tips of his fingers light across Kirin’s tired scalp, thumb stroking gently as he went.

Sheer bliss washed over Kirin in a thousand colors, drowning the fear, easing his tremors. It was a respite he hadn’t known he needed, something as simple as a gentle touch, a gesture designed to neither wound him nor terrorize him. Admittedly, shamefully, it was euphoric. And it gave Kirin the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, Alekos wouldn’t be so bad. If this is what awaited him at Alekos’s hands, he swore he would sit quietly, gratefully, obediently.

And so Alekos continued, petting Kirin’s head with cautious and gentle motions, and with Kirin’s small sighs filling the space between them. He all but fell forward into Alekos’s lap, head at his chest, the syringe almost forgotten. Somehow that light touch was enough to distract him from all the pain in his body.

“Kirin, it’s time for you to rest,” Alekos whispered without stopping his movements. “I’ll continue like this until you sleep. Here. Just a pinch-” the needle went into Kirin’s forearm “-and you’ll start to feel tired. It’s alright. Close your eyes.”

Sleep came fast. The woozy sensation took hold in seconds, and the next thing Kirin knew, he was slumping headfirst into Alekos’s chest. The last thing he felt before slipping out of awareness and into a more blissful, painless place, was Alekos’s sturdy arms wrapped around his body. He tried to hold onto the memory, but he wasn’t sure if he’d truly seen a sad smile on Alekos’s lips.

Kirin embraced the darkness.

---

“That was cruel, Alekos,” Verona spit with crossed arms as the nurses moved Kirin’s body to a gurney.

Alekos, meanwhile, was busy wiping off his fingers on the sides of his pants, trying to rid them of the grease and blood Kirin’s hair had left on them.

“You of all people should know what Kirin is capable of,” he said as he gave a final wipe. “I wanted to get a sense of what we’re dealing with. If that was an act he was putting on in there, it was a damn good one. I’d be inclined to say it was genuine, given the state of him. Some of his responses looked like they were conditioned, involuntary even.”

“You terrified him.” Verona’s tone was laced with venom. “More than he was already terrified, anyway, which is impressive given his condition. He had no reason to fake any of that, especially given how Fen and their cohort have already reduced him to this state. More importantly, you had no reason to play that sick little game. He was no danger to you, to me, or to anyone else in this facility. I thought you were better than that.”

“I needed to confirm he wasn’t a threat. That’s a part of my duties here, and it’s my obligation to all of you. If he’s obedient, and if he sees me as the authority with his life in my hands, that makes this much easier on everyone,” Alekos defended himself. “If he respects me, and if he listens to my commands without hesitation, then we’ll have no trouble getting him to tell us what we want. Fen’s already done the hard work of reducing him to a quivering pile of putty, ready to mould as we please. That means we don’t have to push too hard to get the answers we want.”

“You’re a fucking sadist.” Verona turned her back on Alekos and returned her attention to the patient, nearly unconscious, laid out beside her. “And I hate that I’m complicit in this abuse. No matter what Kirin has done in the past, no one deserves this. And since you’re at least going to give him the bare minimum he needs to survive, what are we going to do with him when the surgery is over? Is he going to the recovery suite like anyone else would, or are you going to send him back to that cell?”

“Whatever the doctor orders.” Since it seemed like he’d struck a nerve with Verona, Alekos knew it was best to yield to her. He outranked her - only just - but he’d learned long ago to let her have her way when he could. There was no harm in having Kirin chained to a hospital bed as opposed to a cell, especially not if Alekos could still keep an eye on him.

Verona let out a breath and Alekos knew she was glowering.

“Then I’ll call you when he’s out of surgery. You can expect to find him in the recovery suite with one-to-one nursing care to make sure he lasts the night. He’s going to need plates and screws in his leg, at least, and we’ll need to break the leg again to realign it. That’s to say nothing of the broken ribs, broken fingers, and what I suspect is a broken wrist. I can’t imagine the extent of the rest of his injuries, the malnutrition, all of it. He’s in bad shape.”

“Do what you need to do, doc,” Alekos said. “I will. I’ll do what’s in my patient’s best interests, like I always do. And what about the collar, Alekos? Do we have someone here with the equipment to cut it off without hurting him? Maybe someone in heavy equipment, or transit operations?”

“No.” Alekos had thought about the collar, and he’d already decided what he wanted to do about it. “I don’t want you to take it off just yet. It’s a useful tool that will help us keep him where we want him.”

“Why? So you can continue to play your little games? Do you want him to bark like a dog again? Roll over for you? Keep him as your own little pet, your own little toy to fuck, the final gesture that you’ve won?”

��I haven’t decided yet.”

With that, Alekos turned and walked away, pretending to ignore the grumbling and certain glares from Verona. Regardless of her indignation, Alekos knew he had to appear confident in his actions, certain in every decision he made as a leader. What happened to Kirin now would simply be a product of Alekos’s desires, a careful calculation of how the husk of a man could be useful to him, a way to leverage this new resource against Fen.

Still, the way that Kirin’s round eyes had stared up at Alekos with fear and hope, it made something in his stomach churn. He’d ensured that his words were abrasive, his attitude was unyielding, and that his threats were somewhat convincing. Even if he’d never follow through on them, even if they were cruelties he hadn’t dreamed of, Alekos knew it was important to subdue Kirin from the start. It had certainly worked.

Still, he thought back to the small mercy he’d afforded. How much his simple touch had made the trembling stop, how the wordless reassurance had brought so much tension out of that battered body. Even now, when Alekos closed his eyes, he could see the pain and terror in every inch of Kirin’s body, and he saw it melt away the second he offered comfort instead of pain.

He could similarly imagine Fen breaking those thin fingers with anger and glee, flipping Kirin onto his stomach and ravishing him, drawing as much pleasure from the act as Kirin’s cries. Alekos could just as easily imagine Kirin doing the same for him, offering himself up for beating or worse if it was what his keeper commanded. He’d stand on a broken, useless leg if it meant appeasing Alekos for a few moments longer, and there was no question he’d give up a lot more at Alekos's command. If it meant sparing his life, Kirin would even offer his flesh, give himself wholly to Alekos in the face of his greatest terror.

With just a few words, Alekos already had Kirin tucked under his thumb, a two-in-one punching bag and fucktoy. It would be so, so easy to ruin him.

Alekos did his best to pretend the thought didn’t make him a little queasy.

#whump #whump writing #whump community #whumplr #whump blog #whump tropes #carewhumper #I love how mean I made Alekos's dialogue it's absolutely what was missing from the OG version of this #which I rbed the other day #anyway these two are much more fun with their dynamic adjusted like this #poor Kirin

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