Dragged by the Ankle - BTHB
Requested by @suspicious-whumping-egg for @badthingshappenbingo (original work).
c.w. noncon touching, violent beating, angry whumper, broken bones, head injury, public torture, noncon branding, military whump
—
“No, no, please.”
“What have I told you about English?”
“N-... Nyet, Pavel. Proshu vas, poshchadite menya-”
Pavel’s eyes lit up like a shark who had scented blood at Emir’s broken pleading. “That’s better.” He squeezed his nails further into his wrist as the man tried to scramble away, his eyes flying frantically from the iron set next to the bowl of water and, finally, back to Pavel’s own delighted expression.
That morning, they weren’t alone.
Five other men watched from their beds, all wearing identically lethargic smirks as the prisoner tried to escape his early greeting.
Pavel’s morning tortures had become routine ever since Stanislav had publicly whipped him unconscious. It had set the precedent that Emir was nothing sacred - that discipling him should be a collective effort and, most importantly, it had reminded eager soldiers that nobody was coming to his rescue.
Emir considered this to be the most appealing thought of all.
Anybody could do it, given they were in the mood to wipe the blood off their boots. He wondered if everyone who had watched him getting his back torn into shreds had fantasized about doing it themselves and how it could be possible that he had lived this long.
“Quit struggling, foreigner,” Pavel said, chuckling. “You’re making a scene. Come on, don’t you want a little warming up?”
“Please.”
A round of laughter paralyzed Emir as he continued clawing at Pavel, simultaneously pulling his arm away as he fought for something to hit him with. Pavel snatched his other wrist as Emir attempted to grab his bed’s metal headboard and pulled him so violently over the mattress that, for a second, he felt weightless.
With that, he was pinned against the bed.
“Come, Emir, you’re ruining my mood. It won’t be for long, though, when I brand those gorgeous hands of yours-”
An explosive CRACK and spurt of blood knocked Pavel to the side before he could finish. Emir scrambled away, leaving him groaning and swearing whilst holding the bridge of his nose. He heard another round of roaring, indignant laughter from the onlookers, and at that point, his heart really started to race.
But before long, Pavel was up again, nose bloodied and eyes suddenly lit with a newfound fire. “You…” He started with a half-crazed chuckle.
The intensity of the look made Emir think for an instant that he may have been better off going quietly.
The iron hadn’t moved an inch.
“Really should not have done that.”
Pavel let the blood dribble down his lip and stepped forward, in time for Emir to take a trembling step back. In a sudden explosion of energy, he fucking lunged, too quick for the man to react other than by staring in horror as Pavel’s fist slammed square into his head from above.
He hit the ground with a crack and the voices around him became an indistinguishable flurry.
All he felt were the blows hailing down through his poorly shielding arms, breaking and re-breaking, leaving livid bruises, blinding him until Emir could only thinly wheeze through the mess.
“Ngh- Poshch-'' Emir choked on blood mid-sentence, hearing Pavel’s breathless laugh in return. “S-Stoy-”
“Stoy? I will stop when you’re dead. Though between then and now…” Pavel mumbled, toying with Emir’s lolling head with his shoe. He shot a glance back to the branding iron. “It was going to happen anyway, right?”
A broken sob rang out of his mouth. “Don-... ‘lease. Pavel-” Emir ensured his accent was cleaner when he said the name “You’ll fuck my nerves, you psycopath-.”
Pavel kept his wrists pinned above his head. “Tsk, that is the idea. I was going to be gentle, since you just woke up but my intentions have…evolved.”
As he was dragged across the floor by his ankle, Emir fought and screamed the entire way, trying to latch his fingers into the planks and pulling on his assaulter with as much energy as he had left. It made no difference - the iron only got closer. The whoops and cheers only increased in volume, spiking when Pavel tossed him against a cabinet and his head bounced off the handle of the drawer.
He really screamed at that.
Besides his blood-soaked nose, Pavel was nonchalant as he spun the steel in the furnace and Emir could only weakly watch the glow - a menacing white. Though he couldn’t make out the symbol in the spin. Only that it would soon end up on his body.
He let a few more pleas slip through but none could be heard above the whoops, chants, and now, Pavel’s approaching footsteps. When he reached him, he kicked Emir’s hand out.
“Turn it over.”
“Pavel-”
“I’m running out of patience for you, Emir.”
In turn, Emir was running out of time to be conscious. That, and bones he had left to break.
He weakly complied, tears slipping down his face, and squeezed his eyes shut to brace for the pain. He tried not to think about how this might become a daily occurrence.
Whether Pavel would repeat this performance every day until his body ran out of space.
Whether he would die of infection, in agony, from the accumulated wounds.
But what came next was a splash of liquid cold on his hand that made his eyes pop open and panic stab into his heart. Just as Emir looked down again, pain whited out his mind and within a second, he was wailing.
Pavel had pressed the iron down in its full glory, generating a deafening hissing noise that would have made him sick if he weren’t already screaming.
Right there, in his right palm, as he lay slumped by a cabinet.
Emir didn’t count the seconds of agony the iron pressed home. He only screamed as long as his body registered the pain, his skin melting away under Pavel’s unyielding hand and vicious smile.
His wails grew fainter and fainter until the world dimmed to black.
–-
It must have been the afternoon when the sun cut across his face again. Emir stirred and filled his lungs, feeling unnaturally heavy and damp, as if awakening under thousands of pounds of water. Until he opened his eyes and registered the blood splattered across the floor, dried along his neck and face.
His body was in agony.
As he tried to piece together what the morning had brought, he glanced at his palm where the pain was most potent.
There, almost stitched into the skin, lay an abnormally large “п” character, an inch under his middle finger. The letter was cursively styled and burning, searing red in his palm. Amid his livid confusion, pounding headache and too many sources of pain, Emir tried to remember the letter. His heart stopped when he did.
P.
He stilled, head spinning. Suddenly, the memories of the morning tied together.
And, through the dried tears, blood, and burns, Emir's chest rumbled with laughter.
That lunatic.
--
Tag list: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville @quirkykayleetam @yet-another-heathen @undertheburrow @lektricfergus @punchhimagain @whumpasaurus101@crystalquartzwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg
117 notes
·
View notes