Bread sticks, red wine, salty crisps, small cubes of various cheese, grapes, slices of apples. Two fluffy blankets, ten pillows. Two condoms and sweet-scented lube. And the movie.
Expenses: $566.28,- Worth every penny.
Rhys mindlessly ran his fingers over the soft blanket that was waiting for them invitingly spread over the sofa. It was so soft, he wouldn’t even mind if he didn’t get to have sex tonight if he could sleep wrapped up in this goodness. It was like the soft fibres hugged every sensory cell of his body, filling him with warmth. Like a real hug, if you are desperate. He is desperate.
Shaking his head, he headed to the home office. The door was closed, Jack was still doing paperwork. Rhys imagined him smiling at him as he opens the door, telling him that he is excited for their night. He let his eyes closed when the door opened for him for another second. Until reality hits him.
Jack looks almost like any other man when he sits at his desk, papers and sticky notes all around him. Any other businessman. Any other workaholic boyfriend.
Without looking up, he says: “Make me a coffee, pumpkin. I have a lot of work to do.” The illusion is broken.
“Work?” Rhys pauses mid-step, standing still in the middle of the home office. “You promised me a movie night,” he says cold as stone. Peace is gone.
Jack ignores his tone. “Yeah, not tonight; work. Now bring me the coff—”
Rhys scoffs. “No. Fuck your coffee. Make your own coffee. You promised me a movie night, I’ve got it all prepared!”
“Rhys, it’s still your job as a PA to bring me coffee,” Jack tries to remain patient, “so fucking do it if you don’t want to—”
“Fire me, then!” Rhys interrupts Handsome Jack, again. “And shoot me out of an airlock while you are at it, so you have more time for your work.” He throws his arms in the air.
“If I wanted you dead, I’d do it in your first week.” And Handsome Jack is still being patient. “We can watch the movie tomorrow.” A fucking saint he is.
“Oh, piss off,” Rhys rolls his eyes. “Tomorrow there will be more work. We don’t even fuck anymore because of the new deal with Jackob’s. I’ll save you the trouble and see myself out.” Muttering a silent asshole, Rhys turns around and heads out, fully intending to leave. His eyes are burning; he is trying not to cry.
The relationship is beyond gone. He didn’t really mind that what is left from his sex life are biweekly blowjobs so Jack loses some steam. But that he sleeps alone every night, eats alone in the morning, has nobody to talk to in the big penthouse... He can do the same somewhere else.
Before his hand touches the door, it’s snatched by a bigger one. Jack’s moves are lighting fast as he twists Rhys’ arm behind his back and growls straight to his ear: “Where. Do you think. You. Are. Going?!”
“Vaughn’s, before I find myself a new place,” he answers rather calmly, given the circumstances. He is not threatened by Jack, or perhaps he doesn’t care right now.
Jack spins him around rashly, letting go of his arm to wrap both his hands around Rhys’ neck. “You are leaving me?” he asks. There is no feign calmness in his voice. He is seething openly.
Fear seeps into Rhys, and he is finally beginning to realise his mistake. “Jack, this relationship we had...” The grip on his neck tightens slightly and he gulps, “it’s gone. You must see it too. I’m not even a warm pillow in your bed, because I’m there alone. I don’t need this in—” His breathing is almost completely cut out when Jack leans closer.
“You. Need. Me!” he growls.
I do, Rhys thinks. I need you by my side, not locked up in the office. He doesn’t need to be with Jack and alone at the same time. He shakes his head slightly.
Jack won’t kill him. Would have long ago if he could. No, this will be worse. He releases Rhys’ neck, not even giving the younger man time to breath in before he punches him with his left fist.
Blood dribbles slowly from Rhys’ nose as he gasps and coughs. “You... idiot!” he spits towards Jack who is already pulling his right arm back.
The next hit is his eye and temple. The left one. A black eye hurts like hell, the feeling like your eyeball might pop is scary, but what really sends Rhys to the floor is when the wiring connecting his neural port and ECHO eye shakes under the impact. One wire touches the other, and it’s like his brain is literally short-circuiting for a while, and it might as well be, because Jack certainly didn’t go easy on him.
For a long second the world is white, and Rhys is scared, because he doesn’t see. But when his vision clears, he is straight out terrified, because he can’t move and Jack is leaning above him, rage and hurt and more rage in his face, and Rhys can’t not look.
The CEO is saying something, but Rhys can’t hear over the ringing in his ears. He tries to speak, but a rough finger touches his lips. So, he just lays there.
When he is done talking, Jack leans even closer. One of his knees goes between Rhys’ legs and as he presses down, the younger man can feel the bulge in those jeans. New wave of fear washes over him, but he still can’t make his body move and it’s also getting scary. Did Jack fry his brain? What will he do to him now?
As if to answer, Jack grips his chin and moves his head to the side, exposing his neck. He licks the soft skin and then bites and sucks. He creates marks one next to another and Rhys can’t even make a sound of disapproval. It hurts. And he can do nothing.
Jack grinds his hips against Rhys’, growling when he notices that the younger man is still soft. He pulls away to tug Rhys pants down along with his underwear, tossing it aside. Then he spreads his legs wide and gets back to leaning above him and talking to the deaf ears.
The air in the office is cold on his naked cheeks and the rug is rough. Rhys doesn’t try to read Jack’s expression, or to understand his words that slip through the ringing. He tries with all his might to pull his legs together, to hide, but he still can’t and by this point he is sure he is gonna die.
Two fingers slicked with saliva are pressed into his ass. Rhys whimpers. But that is all that he can do, and maybe even the sound was just an illusion.
Jack kisses his forehead. It’s like a dream, so soft and warm. What is real anymore?
Third finger is added, but quickly withdrawn. Rhys wasn’t even used to two yet. And now the head of Jack’s cock is already pushing in.
White-hot pain blinds him again for a second as Jack pushes in slowly but relentlessly. Rhys can feel himself tearing around Jack’s cock, but he only manages to produce another whimper, more urgent this time.
Jack pulls back and thrusts in. He sets a rhythm that makes Rhys’ teeth clank with every push. He feels Jack’s big hands on his hip and neck, and he manages to turn his head a little so he sees him.
Jack is like a God of Vengeance above him. Rhys can almost see black wings behind his back and fire in his eyes.
“Don’t you see what you mean to me?!” his boyfriend's voice reaches him through the haze like a stone breaching the surface of a creek. “Don’t you see that I fucking love you?!”
He’s told him a few times, always after a good fucking. Rhys learned not to think about that. He imagined the CEO whispering to him during dinner, and when they are just cuddling on the sofa, and in the morning when they blearily stare at each other. He persuaded himself that their relationship is normal only to suffer more when he had to accept that it is not a relationship. He lives in Jack’s house and sometimes they fuck. Once a month Jack spontaneously buys him something nice, as if that made up for all the nights he spent alone, forgotten. That’s it.
Jack’s thrusts grow more brutal. He angles himself to aim at the younger man's prostate, and Rhys whimpers again. He doesn’t feel any pleasure, like his brain turned it off, it’s replaced by nothingness on the bottom of his stomach. But his cock starts filling anyway.
“There you go. Let me show you how much you need me.”
Jack reaches for his cock, but it’s not a handjob that Rhys receives. Sharp and well-kept nails dig in the sensitive head, one straight to the hole.
Rhys screams, but it only comes out as a rasp. His head rolls from side to side, but mostly he is paralysed. His cock is soft again, but Jack keeps pinching and digging his nails into the sensitive flesh.
At least something is working right, Rhys’ face is wet with blood and tears now. He can’t even sob, just let the salty water roll down and soak his hair.
“Do you love me, Rhys?” Jack asks, and his hand moves from his cock to balls, and he squeezes so hard Rhys sees the pain turning from red to white to black and white again.
“Hhg...” He can’t make a coherent sound. He wants to beg for mercy or death.
“Just nod your head that you love me, sweetheart.” The CEO’s voice is sweet, now, like honey. It fills Rhys’ lungs and he can’t breathe, or maybe it’s the hand crushing his windpipe.
Will Jack kill him now? Does he want to die? To escape the pain. Not the physical one, but the emotional. To escape the hardest decision of his life when he chose being alone over being with the love of his life. To escape the decision that got him to this position.
Rhys nods, already forgetting about the question. Kill me, Jack. We will both be happy. Kill me.
The hand is removed from his throat and his body coughs and gasps on its own. His mind clears a little more, though it’s overflown with pain. He can feel every inch of the cock in his ass, every tear and every bruise forming in that area. He feels how hard it is to breathe. But most importantly, there is a pain above them all, Jack’s hand gently stroking his abused cock.
“Come for me, baby,” Jack whispers gently, but Rhys is not even hard yet. “Be a good boy. Show me that you love me, that you are sorry.”
Minutes go by, but the coaxing doesn’t do anything to the tormented body. Rhys lays still, only moving when Jack’s hips meet his, and he is only half hard in his hand.
Jack grows impatient. His grip tightens, thrusts again grow so harsh Rhys’ head hits the wall repeatedly because he had been shoved so far. Dull sounds echo through his mind, followed or preceded by wet slaps of skin; time doesn’t work right in this world.
Rhys is not even disgusted with himself when his cock fills under the harsh treatment, punishing thrusts and growled threats. He is just happy that the end is near.
He can see Jack holding back, knows the way the muscles in his legs flex and he bites the inside of his cheek when he is determined to make Rhys come first. This is only over when he comes, and so Rhys thinks of everything nice that has happened to them. Their first nice sex (not nice first sex). That night when they had a date at an expensive restaurant and Jack walked with him hand-in-hand in the dim light of Helios’ corridors and they kissed in the middle of the Hub of Heroism. When they watched a movie and Jack gave him a rimjob afterwards, and he wasn’t angry when Rhys fell asleep before he could repay the favour. That one time they kissed in the middle of a meeting because Jack just couldn’t hold back.
The orgasm hits him like a train, taking his breath away and sending pain more than pleasure through his body.
“There you go. I’m so proud of you; I knew you would obey.” Stupidly, the praise makes Rhys warm. He doesn’t hesitate to lick his own cum from Jack’s hand when it’s pressed to his mouth. He just wishes to die and for this to be over.
Jack grunts and pulls out to jerk himself off, shooting his release on Rhys’ face, his shirt and abused ass. He doesn’t fall forward, but instead sits back on his shins, catching his breath far away from Rhys. The younger man misses his warmth.
Silence starches in the office, only disturbed by a rare sob from the broken man in the floor. He is sure he can move his arms and head now, but he doesn’t. Why would he? Can he run? Can he beg Jack to kill him? Can he—
“Please,” he whimpers. “Jack...”
“What is it?” Jack asks, voice normal. No rage, no sweetness, just him. Also, no regret. Just the CEO of Hyperion that has a desk full of paperwork and a needy boyfriend he is willing to put up with.
“H-hug...” Rhys’ voice breaks even on the short word, and he sobs again, from fear that Jack might not understand what he wants. Fear that he will be left alone on the floor in sake of work.
But soon, Jack is above him, around him, everywhere, becoming the only thing in Rhys’ universe. Just like he always wanted. His hands are soothing on his sides and his lips warm on his forehead. “I’ve got you, princess,” he whispers. “I’m here.” All Rhys ever wanted.
A/N: This work was inspired by this Jack/Rhys fanart (CW: blood, kinda NSFW) by radishezrom. :)
It’s a pleasant memory. Jack holds his left wrist gently, pulling him closer until Rhys is pressed to him. His hand is let go and Jack uses both of his to cup his face. For a second longer, they just look each other in the eyes. No doubt that there is admiration and love in Rhys’. But there is also, in this precious, rare moment, a similar expression in Jack’s.
The kiss soon turns messy, sloppy. Is Jack kissing him, or trying to eat his face, right? The erection in his pants can’t be ignored, too. But Rhys ignores all the symptoms of lust and desperately clings to the warmth. Jack looked down at him like he was all his dreams come true. Like he loved him.
“I love you, Ja— ah!” Big hand fondles him through the thin fabric of his slacks, and Rhys’ confession is interrupted by an obscene moan.
Jack presses him more firmly against the wall, so he can’t even squirm. One of his hands is on his chest, tearing at the buttons of his shirt, and the other in his hair, making sure he doesn’t pull away from the next kiss. But why would he? He has Handsome Jack in front of him, looking at him like he is an artistic masterpiece, the most delicious food out there, the most valuable treasure, his closest person.
The CEO takes his time preparing Rhys. He is still dressed and holding back, while Rhys is naked, bent over an armchair and moaning with every deft move of Jack’s fingers inside of him. He is a mess long before he is ready to take the older man, but there still is one coherent thought in his almost fucked-out head.
Jack looked at him like he loved him.
“Ah!” Is it a whine, or is it a choked scream? Jack is only careful not to really hurt Rhys, but he isn’t gentle. The younger man doesn’t mind it, of course. Quite the opposite. But the harsh movements, restless slaps of skin on skin, one hand pressing down between his shoulder blades, and the other pulling his head back by his throat; all of that manages to chase the last thought out of his consciousness, and an unexplainable panic fills him as he realises there is something he knew but doesn’t anymore.
“Stop thinking, cupcake. Just let Jack take care of you.” A sharp tug at his hair combined with those words are enough to send him over the edge, and Rhys comes hard without even being touched, painting the undoubtedly expensive fabric of the chair with his release.
For the next three minutes, he just lays there, taking everything Jack gives. He soaks up the words of praise, his warmth, the secure grip of his hands on Rhys’ hips. And just as Jack finally comes deep in his guts with a groan that sends shivers up his spine, Rhys remembers, and he smiles. He is so warm, and he is—
“I love you too, dumdum,” Jack laughs behind him and pulls out.
Breath in… Breath out… Breath in… Out… In…
Rhys counts his breaths and the gaps between them. He is disoriented and scared. He doesn’t remember what happened, how did he get to the bedroom, where is Jack… But he knows he is safe because he is home, and he needs to stop panicking. Breath in…
Inventory check. Right arm is gone, and that means something bad happened, or it was taken off during sex, maybe, as a power play. Otherwise, he never took it off. Left arm seems all right but refuses to move.
Legs weak but moving, that’s good. He isn’t going anywhere anytime soon with that headache, but it’s good to know that you still have legs. His ass throbs with dull pain where those long legs end. Did they have sex? Was Rhys drunk?
But that headache is not from alcohol, and his breath still faintly tastes of mint. No, the headache is familiar. Like an army of fire ants having a party behind and around his ECHO eye. Something happened with his eye or ECHO port. Eye seems working.
Rhys tries in wain to touch his left temple. His arm still doesn’t obey, but a new pain makes appearance. Stinging around the wrist. Is he…? Is he bound to the bedpost? Did they have some sexy time and Jack haven’t released him yet? That would explain some things, but not others.
“Ja...” his voice is too raspy to really call out. Great. His throat is sore too. Too much choking?
No, Jack would untie him right after the fun times ended. He would tend to any wounds he inflicted and made sure Rhys has enough water and a source of sugar at hand. He might even stay with him until he wakes up, if they played too rough, making sure Rhys doesn’t end up hurting and disoriented. Like he is right now.
What if something happened to Jack? Or it wasn’t Jack who brought him here? New wave of panic fills Rhys’ brain and he needs to concentrate on his breathing again to calm himself down. God, he is so cold, too.
He realises that it really isn’t just panic what shakes his body. He is so cold. He is naked, and it’s ironic and not funny at all that he didn’t realise it yet. Naked, sore, possibly raped, because he doesn’t remember it ever hurting this much, with a black hole where yesterday’s night should be, and he is alone.
Cold and alone. But that isn’t anything new, is it?
Suddenly, a bit of the night comes back to him. Everything was ready as planned, and he went to lure Jack out of the office. He had too much work for that, and Rhys broke. He tried to leave. Then nothing.
Tears fill his eyes. What happened? Is this how he ended up here? No, no, that can’t be. There has to be an explanation. Someone got into the house, kidnapped Rhys and Jack is on his way to save him. Right?
A sob shakes his body, and he lets it out. One after another, wet, broken sobs and a lot of tears. He desperately wishes for Jack to be there. Screw his yesterday’s decision. The relationship is broken, one-sided, not fulfilling, but it’s everything he has. It’s the only way to have Jack, at least a little part of him. And he loves Jack so much, that he might be able to put up with it for a little longer. And after the deal is sealed and stable, they will go back to their weird normal — eating dinners together, and fucking a lot, and falling asleep next to each other while Jack goes through his emails…
“Are you crying, pumpkin?”
The relief at hearing his boyfriend’s voice hits him so hard Rhys only starts crying more. He tries to reach out to Jack, or to call his name, but is unable to, so he just looks at him pleadingly. The CEO is standing in the doorframe, a glass of wine in one hand, a plate with food in the other. He is dressed in the work clothes from yesterday — or is it still today?
Jack walks over to him slowly and places both things on the nightstand as he sits on the edge of the bed. He cups the younger man’s face and brushes away the tears with his thumb. “Ssshh, it’s alright. I’m here,” he soothes, and Rhys nods that he understands and that he is happy that Jack came to save him.
The sobs keep coming, however, and he can’t stop them. He feels like with every sound that escapes his mouth a bit of his energy slips, and he wants to curl up in the older man’s arms and sleep. He wants to be safe already, and maybe he should try to remember more, because the fear is irrational at this point.
“Jack?” he says, voice still just a croak. “What happened? Why—?”
“Oh, you don’t remember, princess?” Jack asks, hand mindlessly touching Rhys’ left temple. “You tried to leave me. And that really hurt me.”
And here it is, like a movie played on double speed. Images flash in front of his eyes, and it takes him a minute to make sense of them. And when he does, he doesn’t want to believe them. Jack would never…
“Oh, yes, you did,” Jack tuts at him when the younger man shakes his head vehemently, causing the army of ants behind his eye to move. “You were angry, so I get it that you overreacted a little. The food you made was actually good, so I’m not even angry at you anymore. But I wanted to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” With that, his gaze travels up Rhys’ arm to the rope.
“Remember that one time when you came in your pants just from my voice? Remember what I said?” he smirks. He knows that Rhys wouldn’t forget anything he says. “That you are too pretty to be walking out there freely. That I want you tied to my bed for my pleasure only. Helpless…”
His hand travels down the side of Rhys’ face, along his throat and to the stump of his right arm, and Rhys flinches hard, away from the dangerous, unfamiliar feeling of a hand touching the metal plate covering where wiring meets flesh.
Fortunately, Jack pulls his hand back immediately, using it to press Rhys down by his shoulder instead. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “forgot how much you don’t like it.” It could be a real, honest apology, if Rhys wasn’t bound to the bed and nearly hyperventilating. “I had to take your arm off, for our safety. I believe you understand that it would make things complicated.”
Rhys doesn’t understand anything. He wants to wake up form this nightmare and erase the memories of the rape from his head. He wants to run, get away from Jack, but at the same time he desperately wants a hug. And he is so cold.
“Breathe, kitten. You are hurting yourself,” Jack admonishes him. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself even more. Breathe.”
Rhys obeys as much as he can. He concentrates on breathing in and out slowly. He closes his eyes and goes back to the one old memory. Jack loves him. He does. He wouldn’t hurt him… unless it was necessary. He always protected him, took care of him.
“Jack, please… Please, Ja— Ple—” He can’t get all of the words out, choking on empty air, as the panic comes back, because what if the older man leaves him now, when he can’t even obey one order? “I’m— I—”
“Ssshh,” Jack shushes him again. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.” He leans closer and, oh god, he hugs Rhys so gently and lovingly that the younger man fears that he might pass out.
He wants to reach up, pull Jack closer, but his arm is still bound. “Untie me? Please?”
“No, pumpkin,” the man’s voice is stern, now, and bears a hint of anger Rhys isn’t willing to face, “I’m afraid not. Not after what you pulled yesterday; not yet.”
The pressure of anxiety and lack of oxygen finally get the better of him. His vision darkens and the words suddenly only reach him from afar. Rhys passes out.
Waking up this time was even weirder than the last time. Rhys now remembered clearly the night, while the conversation with Jack afterwards was like in a haze. But all the pain was still just as real. Rhys sighed and carefully stretched. He was quite pleased to find out that his arm is not bound anymore. That is, until he heard the rattling of a chain.
Rhys sat up, kept his eyes closed and counted from twenty to zero slowly before he opened them and looked down. There is a chain around his ankle.
This must be the queen of all nightmares. The king of all bad dreams. The worst joke of them all. Rhys contemplated openly begging Jack to stop this prank immediately, half sure that the older man is hiding somewhere and waiting to laugh at him when he panics again. However, he knew that this wouldn’t be like Jack, and something about the soft padding that separated his ankle from the cold metal told him that this is too thought-out to be a joke.
Carefully, he looked around. A plastic box with food laid placed on the nightstand, along with a half-empty bottle of wine, a glass, and a folded note. Stupidly, he wanted to not read the note, but that would be just too childish. He reached for it, and nearly lost balance. Right, no arm…
I’m at the office right now; one of us needs to work while the other has his beauty sleep. The chain
Rhys’ stomach made a flip and he had to swallow bile. Seeing it on a paper, just like that, like it was the most normal thing in the universe…
The chain should be long enough to reach the bathroom, so clean yourself a little, you are smearing blood everywhere. There should be enough food for you until I’m back and you can get water in the sink. Have fun.
The one and only
Rhys decided that he’d do best to test the theory and he rushed to the bathroom to throw up. As soon as he stood up, however, he almost fell to the floor, unused to the imbalance, one half of his body suddenly much lighter.
He stumbled left, and then forward, placing his hand on the walls to support himself. He didn’t reach the toilet in time, and he doubled over dry heaving next to the bathtub. When the nausea finally lessened, he dared one look to the mirror, and nausea was right back. He avoided it next time.
Carefully, Rhys used the toilet. His dick was so sore it made his eyes sting, but there were hardly any tears left to shed over pain.
With wet cloths Rhys cleaned most of the dried-up blood and cum from his thighs and ass. As for his face… He won’t be able to avoid looking into the mirror.
Standing on shaky legs, Rhys kept his gaze down at first. He tried to picture what he will see. A blackeye. A bruise on his temple. His nose swollen, but not broken. Hickeys and bitemarks on his neck. He looked up.
He was hardly prepared. He knew to expect a yellow bruise on his temple, but the way it turned black around his ECHO port was disturbing, terrifying. His nose is only swollen a little, and Rhys recognises the light green smear of the healing crème from R&D Jack sometimes lets him use on the worst bruises. Why not use it on his eye, then? He could barely open it, he really needed it.
Deciding to take care of himself, Rhys reaches for the cabinet, only to find out that it’s locked, keeping all the medicine out of his reach. He groans, but gives up straight away. He might be able to break the lock, but why bother? He will die soon, anyway.
With another cloth Rhys cleans his face as much as possible, wincing and hissing when he touches the bruises. He then drinks a few large gulps of water and leaves, happy that he doesn’t have to see his face anymore.
Jack was right, the sheets are dirty with his blood and dried cum. Rhys decides to change them not for Jack, but for his own comfort. He pulls a neatly folded pile of bed covers from the chest of drawers next to the door. He pauses. The door. While trying to not put much hope into it, he reaches for it, just to be let down. Locked; of course it’s locked. With a sigh, he brought the spare sheets to the bed and got to work.
It turned out to be way harder than he expected. Using only one arm and having the balance of a drunk man with only one leg, it took Rhys thirty minutes and five anger fits when he just kicked the pillows and blankets around until his rage boiled down a notch or the pains in his body flared too hot. Now he really hoped that Jack isn’t watching him like this.
The fact that there turned out to be a hot water bottle under the blankets close to here Rhys previously slept, supposedly to keep him warm or not feeling lonely in his sleep, didn’t help anything. Every well-meant action from Jack hurt more than the sickening rattling of the chain wherever Rhys moved.
After eating all of the food, because he’d been starving, and drinking the wine, because why not, Rhys decided to sleep. Coming up with a plan on how the fuck will he get out was postponed until he finds the will to live again.
Rhys dared to hope for two things. One, that Jack will be back when he wakes up and they will be able to talk things out. And two, that the horrible mood he is in will go away. But hopes only exist to be crushed, apparently. Rhys still felt terrible, and he was still alone when he woke up.
He read the note again and glanced at the empty plastic box. There was enough food to call it a breakfast, but not nearly enough to call it a lunch, or even two meals. His stomach was already grumbling again.
Well, Jack won’t let him starve or something like that after all of this, right? He won’t forget that Rhys is here… Like, it is easy for him to forget to go home and just spend three days at work, sleeping in a private room by his office, without even remembering that Rhys is home alone once. But he will remember him as soon as he realises that his schedule is not up-to-date, because the last time Rhys looked at it was about three days ago. And then he will rush home to… to… free Rhys?
The thought left a bitter taste in his throat, and Rhys laughed joylessly. Sure. Handsome Jack, the hero. Just like he always was to him. But the reality is that Handsome Jack is a workaholic and a sociopathic asshole above anything else. And his boyfriend is now literally tied to the bed.
Minutes passed, and Rhys began to like the idea of Jack just leaving him here. Sure, the death would be slow and not at all pleasant, but it might be better than whatever the CEO has for him. He will just lay there, stare into the ceiling, until all of his wounds stop hurting and his body withers away.
But another hour passed, and Rhys’ demeanour changed completely. No, he doesn’t want to die, certainly not starve to death. Jack will remember eventually, right? He can’t leave him here. Not with their relationship, right?
And they have a relationship, and Rhys is very glad that they didn’t break up. Right? He didn’t even state this out loud and just kept on hoping, believing that Jack will come through the door as soon as Rhys’ thinking reaches the right point. He just needs to believe in Jack more, and his love.
Jack loves him. For sure. He said it yesterday, you see?
One more hour and he was begging. He didn’t know whether to talk to the closed door or to just pick a random corner of the room and assume that there is a camera, so he did both, switching from talking up to sitting by the door and talking to whoever was on the opposite side.
He begged, he implored, he cried, and he said sorry more times than he did in his entire life. And the door didn’t move. He got no response.
Seeking warmth, Rhys hid under the blankets, tightly hugging his knees to his chest. He tried counting the seconds, but got to the point when the numbers were long enough that just thinking them took him more than a second. Once he tried to activate his eye to look at the time, but that idea was tossed away quickly as excruciating pain pierced through his head. The wound was still too raw to do this.
Rhys kept telling himself that his hunger only seems big because he keeps thinking about it, and that the time that passed since he woke up seems to be long, but surely it wasn’t that much. Your mind plays tricks on you when you are locked up. It probably isn’t even dinner-time yet.
When Rhys started dozing off, he let it happen in hope that Jack will come back while he is asleep. And bring food. Maybe some breadsticks. Or ice-cream, because Rhys has been such a good boy. Right now, Rhys might even accept the disgusting pizza with “everything” they make in one of the clubs on the lower levels of Helios. When did he get so hungry?
After presumably many hours of sleep, Rhys’ body refused to sleep anymore. He took a shower, carefully, because he was sweaty. He also used the toilet again, for the fourth time since he is here, and damn it, this is definitely the weirdest way to measure time he ever used; he noted that it already hurts much less. That spoke volumes against his theory that he hasn’t been there that long.
How long would it take until he goes completely crazy? Rhys laughed at that question, because he had been crazy from the beginning. Vaughn was right. He should have never started dating his boss. Or Handsome Jack, specifically. He deserved this for growing distant with his bro in order to be locked up in Jack’s penthouse, because Jack didn’t like him roaming Helios without at least three bodyguards.
Jack had definitely forgotten about him by now. It’s been days, or it feels like it. But no, no, Jack wouldn’t. Surely, probably just stayed in the office until midnight and he will be home soon. Surely, it’s not another day yet or anything.
Another wave of despair and longing hits Rhys after using the toilet and drinking from the sink for the fifth time. He didn’t even have it in him to crawl into the bed, so he just fall face down on it and curled onto himself. Still naked, he was soon shivering and cold, but he didn’t move, because it doesn’t matter. Jack won’t come back for him.
Rhys head snapped up before he even registered the sound of the door opening. “Jack?” he croaked, his voice so raw with disuse and the bruises on his throat.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Jack smiled at him sheepishly. “Are you hungry? I might have forgotten to bring you more food…”
Forgotten? That gave Rhys the courage to ask: “What time is it? How long have you been gone?”
Jack looked away for a second, but when he turned back all regret was gone. “About twenty-five hours. Had a lot of work to catch up with after I got distracted.”
Was he trying to blame Rhys for this? Well, right now, it was working.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. His chest clenched at the thought that a simple sorry might not be enough and he quickly spilled the rest of his apologies and pleas from before. “I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again, I swear, I’ll be good, don’t leave me, please, Jack, I’ll be good!” The words kept coming until Rhys ran out of breath, and even then, he tried to implore his boyfriend with teary eyes.
“It’s all right, kitten,” Jack suddenly sat next to him, and Rhys’ body jerked in both directions at once—towards the CEO’s warmth and away from the hurt he might cause next. “I’m here now. What do you want for dinner?”
Rhys would gladly eat anything Jack cooked for him, or even a piece of stale bread, but he couldn’t get himself to voice as much over the hyperventilation. He fought his breathing to try to answer the damn question that separated him from food, but he just couldn’t and he was about to pass out again, only held above by the fear that Jack will be gone again if he so much as closes his eyes. He must answer, he must stay awake, he must—
Strong warm arms embraced his shaking body, and soft soothing words were spoken straight into his ear. Jack ran his hands over Rhys’ back and arms, and he stroked his hair back until finally, Rhys got his breathing under control.
“That was nasty,” Jack breathed out when he was sure that Rhys is back with him. “I’ll go make some chicken soup now, to warm you up. What’cha think?”
It took him a moment to fully understand what is being said, and Rhys panicked anew. “Don’t leave me, please! Don’t leave, I’ll be good, I swear! Don’t leave!” he choked on his words, one weak arm desperately holding Jack’s jacket.
“Let me go, Rhysie,” Jack tried to tug the hand away gently. “I’ll be right back with food for you. Loads of delicious food.”
The younger man just shook his head. “Please, don’t leave,” he repeated, holding stronger.
Something like annoyance crept into Jack’s expression and his voice grew harder. “Rhys, let go!”
The younger man let go as if the sweater burned him, and he moved away from Jack, his breathing pitching up, eyes wide in fear. Is Jack going to hurt him like he did in the office? Is he going to leave forever now that he saw that Rhys didn’t learn, that he doesn’t obey? Before he could ask, or try to read his expression, his boyfriend was once again gone.
Rhys broke down. He cried — he wailed — and tried to get more pleas and imploring out, though he couldn’t because all the emotional pain was finally getting to him, and Rhys cried himself to sleep after maybe ten minutes.
He was woken up not much later by gentle fingertips studying the bruises on his face.
“Jack!” Rhys shot up, hitting his face on Jack’s hand, but he didn’t even mind. “You’re here!”
“Of course I am,” the CEO smirks. “Now, let’s eat, okay?”
At the mention of food, Rhys’ stomach grumbles loudly, and Jack chuckles. He reaches to the chain, and the lock tying it around Rhys’ ankle falls open. It seems to be controlled by the wristwatch. Some escape-related ideas flesh in the younger man’s mind, but then again, he has trouble even sitting up, Jack needs to help him by pulling him up by his arm. He also helps him put on a bathrobe and tuck the right sleeve in, mindful of the disability.
Rhys feels even weaker now, tumbling out of the bedroom, almost dragged by his boyfriend. Maybe it’s the hunger and headache, but most probably the panic that now seems to be a constant in his life.
They sit at the dining table, and Rhys winces. This is the first time he is sitting on a hard surface, and he fully feels that he is not healed yet. A bowl of a chicken soup is placed in front of him, and he eats it so fast his tongue and throat get burned. It’s gone before Jack even begins to eat his portion.
“Want a refill, or the second course?” he asks with a grin. Clearly happy that his food is so good.
“Second,” Rhys answers.
Jack just rises his eyebrow at him. “You need to work on your manners, kitten,” he hints after a minute.
What is this now? “The second, please?” the younger tries.
“Better,” Jack hums. He pets his head and ruffles his hair, and then places a plate, a knife and a fork in front of Rhys. The meal is a chicken fillet with potato mush and green beans. The knife is a butter knife, not sharp.
Humiliation warms his cheeks as Rhys reaches for the knife first. The utensil cuts through the tender meat like it would through butter, easier than he expected, and the force sends the smaller part of the meat flying out of the plate. He doesn’t dare to look up as he picks it up with his hand and puts it back.
Suddenly, Jack’s arms are on his sides, taking the utensils and cutting the food for him. “You could just ask me to help you, you know?” he berates as he creates small cubes of meat and cuts the beans in half too.
Rhys doesn’t have the time to wonder whether Jack did the same for his daughter too. He is too busy breathing hard and trembling so much the chair moves, because Jack is behind him and so close, and he has him cornered, his arms boxing him in on both sides—
“Hey, pumpkin!” One of the hands lands on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
Does he not see what he is doing to him? The CEO’s concerned face says so. His eyes are almost gentle when his fingers stroke his arm.
“If you calm down now, I’ll give you ice-cream as a dessert. Chocolate and mint,” he wiggles his eyebrows and smiles.
And Rhys does calm down. Not to scoff at the stupid attempt to help. Not because of the treat as a motivation. But because Jack remembers what flavour is his favourite. That surely means something! Rhys’ mind clings to the thought hard, pushing all fear away.
“There you go,” Jack presses a kiss to the crown of his head and goes back to his chair to eat the cool soup.
Even with the food cut up, it was more than hard to eat. It kept falling from the fork until Rhys just used the spoon. The last few pieces he had to chase around the plate. And every time Jack moved, Rhys’ stomach threatened to send all the food back.
As soon as he is done with this meal, he receives the promised ice-cream. Three huge scopes. Like someone was trying to buy his love. Rhys openly pouts when he eats the sweet, his abused throat appreciating it.
Anything positive that came from the sweet disappeared right after when Jack caught his arm again. “Let’s get you to bed,” he says and drags him there.
“W-wait, Jack! Can we—?” he gives up mid-sentence, fear taking over. “Jack, please, I don’t— I’ll be better, I promise, just don’t—” He lands on the bed face-down. To his rising dread, Jack tugs the bathrobe up to expose his ass. “N-no…” Rhys whimpers.
“Quiet!” Jack slaps his asscheek lightly, more like a warning. “I need to check the wound. We don’t want you to get an infection down there, now do we?” His fingers are systematic when he spreads Rhys’ cheeks and prods at the abused flesh. “Needs more H-255,” he mumbles and goes to fetch the cream from the bathroom cabinet.
Rhys curls into a tight ball, pulling the bathrobe closer like the fabric protected him from the world. But Jack doesn’t leave him alone for long, and soon he is spooning him, pulling the robe away again. He promises that it won’t hurt much, but Rhys panics anyway when he feels a cold finger pressing at his butthole. Any attempts to move away are stopped by Jack’s other arm, pulling him close to his chest.
The finger was pushed in, and Rhys sobbed more from the fear and humiliation than pain. Jack moved it in and out, getting more of the healing solution inside, and then spread the rest around the entrance. He then used the other kind of healing cream to tend to all the bruises, while Rhys just cried and let himself be manipulated.
Naked again, he was covered by a blanket. He didn’t have it in him anymore to panic, to beg Jack not to leave him, but fortunately, his boyfriend stripped to his boxers and crawled in next to him. Rhys was embraced by strong arms, and had he not be so tired, he would cry in happiness, because this was exactly what he needed. To not sleep alone. To feel loved in this cold house.
He found himself fighting sleep off, however. He wanted to be sure that he won’t wake up alone, forcing his eyes open every time they closed and wrapping his hand around Jack’s forearm tightly.
The older man seemed to get agitated after a few minutes. He moved his hand up from Rhys’ chest to his face and covered his eyes. “Go to sleep, cupcake. You need to heal,” he whispered gently. Like this, he couldn’t fight it anymore and darkness engulfed both Rhys’ vision and mind.
Rhys woke up with a shout and a distant feeling of fear. He didn’t remember the nightmare but knew that it was terrible. Like the silly boy he was, he turned around to seek comfort in his boyfriend, but the bed was empty once again. A bottle with hot water was situated under the covers next to him, keeping Rhys warm enough to not wake up when he tosses around and finds a cold space.
The little considerate gesture has left him feeling more bad than good, and when he realised that the chain is wrapped around his ankle again, he let the feelings out. Tears rolled down his face and he sobbed until his throat felt raw again.
Done pitying himself, Rhys went to use the bathroom. In the damn mirror he noticed that the bruises on his face and neck are almost completely gone, just a distant memory, a little of yellow and light green of the crème indicating where they were.
After a shower, Rhys felt a little better, surprisingly. He ate a sandwich that Jack left for him in the same plastic box and drank some water. He desired tea. Green or herbal, with lemon. He only had water.
He tried to open the cabinet in the bathroom or the door out of the bedroom, but everything was locked again. With the headache gone, he tried to activate his ECHO eye, but he already knew what will happen. He was stuck with only the most basic functions. Couldn’t even scan the room properly for a way out.
He wants to get out, right? That’s the logical thing to do. He should try to contact Vaughn somehow and tell him that… that he was right. That he wants to… he wants to… break up with Jack?
But why would he break up with the man he loves? And yes, Rhys still loves him. He loves the Handsome Jack who was his hero during his school years, who couldn’t resist flirting with him on the first meeting they met on, who took him to an expensive restaurant and then fucked him roughly in the elevator that took him home, the man who knew what is his favourite ice-cream and how to take care of his arm when it starts glitching, contrary to getting weirded out like most people did.
The Jack who raped him, hurt him and imprisoned him, that wasn’t really his Jack… And if he was, then maybe it wasn’t that bad, right? It’s the man he loves. And he does all of that because he loves Rhys back. And being loved is everything Rhys needs in life.
For two and half hours he kept telling himself that he will go to the door control panel and try to hack it manually, but inside he knew that he won’t. And he didn’t. He sat on the bed until Jack came back home.
The CEO walked in with a smile that was partly ruined by a concerned pinch of his eyebrows. He sat next to Rhys on the bed, causing him to pull his legs closer. Jack turned so he was facing him and studied his face, partly hidden behind his knees.
“How do you feel?” he asked eventually.
Rhys gaped at him openly. Is he supposed to answer that? More so, how is he supposed to answer that without having another breakdown from being forced to think about his situation?
“I’ve noticed that you cry a lot lately,” Jack elaborated when he got no answer. “Heard you when I was cooking, saw you crying now when I was at work, and before. Got me a little concerned. It’s not because of me, right?” There is a faint warning in those words – probably not a conscious one – that he really doesn’t want to hear the truth.
Rhys shakes his head. Like a stupid little child he hopes that he will be rewarded for this lie. Maybe by a hug. Well, not like a child; more like a puppy.
“Good,” Jack nods, and then shakes his head as if chasing the thought away. He leans in shortly to press a kiss on Rhys forehead, causing the man to gasp, his breathing quickening irrationally. “Wanna watch the movie now?” Jack offers, nose still touching Rhys’ hair.
Flashbacks from the night come back to him and he starts hyperventilating almost immediately, the panic only worsening when he realises that this will cause Jack to withdraw the offer. He tries to control himself, nod or just stand up and go to the living room, chained or not, but can’t seem to move, frozen to the place.
“Hey, what’s that? It’s alright, just a movie,” Jack tries to soothe him, whispering little reassurances and stroking his arm and back. He manages to help Rhys to calm down eventually and asks again, this time receiving a nod of approval. Not wasting any time, Jack lets go of the man and heads to the living room, unlocking the chain on the way.
Rhys pauses. “Jack?” he calls out hesitantly, looking down on his bare feet when the man turns around. “What about clothes?” he asks silently.
“What do you need it for?” Jack retorts with a scoff.
“At least underwear? Please?”
He can hear the eye roll he gets in return, but then Jack is unlocking their walk-in closet and tossing a pair of boxers his way. Black one that hug his ass way too tightly and have a golden stripe on his left thigh. Rhys frowns, but puts them on nevertheless. It’s as much of a fight as expected, but then he manages to stand up and not even hit the doorframe when he passes to the living room.
An empty wineglass with red stains and half-empty plates of stale food are still on the coffee table in the room. Rhys considers carrying it all to the kitchen, but Jack is already patting the place next to him impatiently.
“See, don’t need clothes for this,” Jack jabs at him as he hugs him with one arm, forcing Rhys to lean into his side.
When the movie starts, Rhys tries to relax, ignoring the shivers and goosebumps caused by the cold air. But peace doesn’t last long when he finally finds it, and Jack’s other hand starts mindlessly tracing the tattoos on his chest. Sometimes, the fingers meet a nipple and tease it a little, causing Rhys to flinch and pull away, and lean back into the touch for more immediately after, because he needs it, needs to feel wanted, and at the same time he is scared and just wants to hide in the bedroom, and he is so torn he might—
“We can watch a different movie if this one makes you uncomfortable,” Jack suggests when he notices Rhys surrendering to panic again.
“N-no, it’s a-alright,” he assures. “Just cold, and—” One of the new fluffy blankets that is still waiting for them here is wrapped around his shoulders before he even finishes. He still dares to say the other part. “Please, Jack, touch me.” He buries his face in the older man’s shoulder in shame.
“Like this?” Jack asks as he sneaks one hand under the blanket and caresses Rhys’ stomach. The younger man nods hastily and murmurs a yesplease.
For the rest of the movie, Jack keeps stroking him, hugging him, occasionally kissing him and Rhys forgets about all that happened. They order takeout and watch another movie, an old classic. Jack gets more distracted during that, working on an ECHO pad and making a few angry calls that leave Rhys whimpering silently in fear when he hears his boyfriend angry.
The next movie Rhys watches alone. Jack is in his home office, working on the deal again. If Rhys tried to get up, Jack would come out, scowl at him and ask him if he wants to go to the bed already, or where the hell is he going, so he eventually just forced himself to sit there and relax.
After this one, Jack cooked dinner, and after they ate, Rhys was urged to bed. Jack laid next to him again, and Rhys was more than eager to press close, basking in the warmth. The real warmth of his boyfriend, not some heating pad.
To his dread, Jack rolled his hips against him, half-hard cock telling Rhys that this was no mistake. “Hey, babe… want some fun?” he asks, voice surprisingly soft, not clouded by arousal as usually.
Rhys’ whole body trembled, memories of the rape coming back again. He shook his head, unable to make a sound that wouldn’t turn out as a sob or whimper.
“Thought so,” Jack huffed and pulled away slightly. “G’night, then.” Gradually, Rhys was able to calm down and fall asleep, once again comforted by those strong arms.
To his dread, a week later Rhys realised that he got used to this weird routine that Jack created for him. He woke up alone, breakfast on the nightstand, a fresh pair of boxers on the chest of drawers. He took a shower, took his time under the warm stream of water, because what else could he do than enjoy some comfort?
Jack brought him some books, so he spent the forenoon reading, usually. He was either brought lunch by a mute Claptrap, or Jack came home soon and cooked for them. Then, they either watched movies, or Rhys worked on Jack’s schedule or reviewed some codes for him (with no access to the echonet, of course).
Dinner they had together too. Jack was distracted most of the time, working on his comm, ignoring Rhys, but he was there, and the younger man was happy for that. Especially when he could fall asleep in those strong arms every night.
Jack didn’t make a move on him again for seven days, giving him time to heal. But that changed on the ninth (tenth? eleventh?) day of his imprisonment.
“Clean yourself up, pumpkin. I want to have you,” Jack said as he picked up the used dishes from dinner. He never let Rhys do it, not even clean up the food from the living room, that was still there, rotting, covered in moulds.
Rhys froze. He is not ready for this, no, not yet. His breathing quickened drastically, and he trembled not from cold.
Jack came to stand next to him, frowning in concern. He took Rhys chin, pulled his head to face him and studied him intensely. Rhys, of course, only panicked more with each passing silent second.
“Still having the breathing problems?” Jack asks him, voice soft. “I should maybe get you to a doctor; it’s beginning to worry me.”
Rhys shook his head automatically, already knowing what Jack wants to hear. “N-no, I-I’m a’ight. I’m alright,” he pants through gasping for breath.
Jack leaves him alone to calm down, repeating his previous order. Rhys has trouble calming his breathing with the fear looming over him being real, not even a little irrational as usually. But he manages to calm down enough so he can drag himself to the shower, carefully cleaning himself and preparing. At least he knows it won’t hurt as much as last time. If Jack uses lube…
Jack will be gentle, right? Rhys did everything the other man wanted from him, so he has no reason to be cruel. Right?
Rhys cried silently in the shower until there was a knocking on the door. “You done yet?” Jack’s impatient voice reached him, and so he turned the water off, towelled himself, brushed his hair back. No point trying to hide or prolong it – if Jack thinks it’s taking him too long, he will come in and drag him to the bedroom.
He stepped out, surprised that his boyfriend is not there. He contemplated going to look for him, having the last taste of freedom until he is locked in the bedroom again, but enjoying a little more of peace sounded better, so he sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard.
Jack wasn’t coming, and Rhys wasn’t searching for him, so in the end he fell asleep. It must have been at least half an hour and he was tired. As soon as he closed his eyes for a full second, there was no going back. Jack probably forgot about him.
Rhys was woken up by his own moan. Seconds later, he realised that there is a warm hand palming him through the boxers he put back on after the shower. He heard a breathy chuckle next to him, and he opened his eyes.
“Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying my favourite toy here,” Jack teased him more. Back in the days, Rhys might have enjoyed being called a toy. He might even enjoy a fantasy that involved him being tied to the bed. But this was reality now, and it made him flinch away. He knew that if he panics now, Jack will only be angry, but he couldn’t help it.
“J-Jack?” he stuttered. “Can we—? Please, will you—? Please, be gentle.” His plea was barely a whisper between gasps for air, and Jack still toying with him wasn’t helping the anxiety.
“Hmm, I’ll consider it,” the man hummed as he nosed against his temple, planting small soothing kisses there that did nothing at all.
“Strip, lay on your stomach, legs spread,” Jack ordered when he deemed that he did everything he could.
Rhys did so, clumsily pulling the boxers down and revealing his semi-hard, and then turns around and lays as Jack wanted. He keeps his face away from the CEO, silencing his breathing as much as possible. He decided that the best thing to do would be biting into a pillow, and he did so.
Jack sat on his shins between Rhys’ legs and leaned forward. He spread his cheeks, cold air and hot breath both making him shiver. So, this is on Jack’s mind. A rimjob. That seems bearable. He probably wants Rhys to feel good.
Warmed up by the thought, Rhys relaxes. He starts moaning soon. Jack knows what he is doing, knows all Rhys’ special spots and how to make him fall apart. He starts adding fingers, slowly, and Rhys was more than ready to take Jack when he was finally done.
The CEO got rid of the rest of his clothes, lubed himself up and pulled Rhys’ hips up and back into a kneeling position, keeping his upper back and head down with a hand on his neck.
Rhys didn’t have a single care in the world when he felt Jack at his entrance, and no thought remained in his head when he thrust in in one long move. Jack set a fast pace, aiming precisely at Rhys’ prostate. He didn’t seem to be intending to last, keeping up the pace that made him groan and spill praises.
Rhys was even more vocal, moaning, begging for more, for Jack to never let go of him, to take him, to make him—
He came without even being touched. Rhys’ body spasmed with the force of the orgasm and he clenched around Jack, earning an approving grunt. Unavoidably, Rhys slumped, completely blissed out and uncaring about the restless pounding of his ass.
When Jack came, scratching angry red trails on the bony hips, and Rhys felt the warmth of his release inside of him, he moaned and closed his eyes, mind on cloud nine and body also somewhere nice and warm. “I love you, Jack,” he mumbled.
“Of course you do, kiddo,” Jack smirked behind him and put two fingers in his mouth, silencing any other confessions. Rhys slowly sucked like the good boy he was. Because this was nice. Jack was nice. Sex was nice. Everything was warm…
Rhys woke up alone and cold. It stung, being left alone after such a night, but he was already almost used to it, so he moved closer to the bottle radiating heat, hugged Jack’s pillow and slept a little longer.
After a warm shower and limping back to the bedroom he ate pancakes for breakfast, cold but good. He finished the last book he was reading and moved on to another. When Jack came home around two o’clock, he welcomed him with a short appreciative hug, getting unchained in return.
While they ate their lasagne, Rhys’ mood dropped a little after Jack brushed him off multiple times when Rhys asked about work. Your pretty head doesn’t need to worry about such things, he’d say. Rhys wasn’t just pretty; he was smart and educated and could be useful. But no, Jack must be a jerk.
Jack refused to watch a movie with him, having a lot of work to do in the home office, and so he was chained to the bed again for being too needy. He finished another book by the time Jack allowed him out to eat dinner at the table, and with the dessert being mint and chocolate ice-cream, Rhys was already less mad about it all. And he was completely at peace again once he fell asleep with his head on Jack’s chest.
Peace doesn’t last. Lessen one of Hyperion.
This was the first time Rhys was woken up by Jack leaving. Or rather his comm buzzing. He didn’t hear what was said, as Jack left to another room to take the call, but he was obviously angry about something when he came back to get dressed.
Rhys stared up at him blearily, his sleepy brain not even understanding what’s going on yet. Then Jack reached for the chain to fasten it around his ankle. Rhys pulled his leg back under the blanket. “You don’t have to, Jack. I won’t go anywhere,” he promised.
Jack’s already frowning face grew even angrier. He tossed the blanket away, snatched Rhys’ ankle and gripped it painfully hard as he locked the chain around it. “How dare you lie to me?!” he spat. And then he was gone.
Rhys blinked at the closed door. Once, twice. It hit him. Jack thought he was trying to lie his way out. “No, I mean it!” he called out, long after his boyfriend left. “I meant it,” he whispered, head drooping. In his half-sleepy state, he didn’t have it in him to panic, but he knew that he will in the morning. He failed Jack again. But he was really just tired of the constant rattling, the cold presence under the blanket, the need to leave the bathroom and shower door open. He didn’t mean to…
The rest of his night was uneasy, filled with nightmares that kept bringing him back into the home office. He decided to get up early, in the end, and took a shower. There was no underwear left out for him, so he sat under the blanket naked. No breakfast, too, until well into the day when a Clpatrap brought him a box of doughnuts and packed takeout noodles.
Rhys ate the breakfast immediately, and the lunch in the afternoon. He ran out of books an hour before Jack came home, but he was able to pass the time re-reading some of his favourite parts of the stories. Like the one where they lived happily ever after, that made his heart pleasantly ache.
Jack didn’t come to free him the first thing, and it unsettled Rhys a little. Usually, he would be allowed to sit in the living room while Jack cooked or be with him in the kitchen, or at least have the door open while still chained. Was Jack still angry at him? Or did something bad happen? He probably had to put up with too many idiots today, and just needed some alone time. Yes, that was it. Nothing to worry about. Jack will come and greet Rhys when he is calmer.
The CEO surely was calm when he opened the door and unlocked the chain. He didn’t accept Rhys’ welcome hug, but that was a reasonable punishment for acting out, right? Rhys didn’t deserve a hug. And clothes. Rhys wasn’t allowed to wear boxers today. You don’t need it, Jack reminded. You are beautiful without it.
Jack talked a little about the explosion at R&D that got him up and bragged about airlocking people. He let Rhys pick up the dishes after they finished the meal, and if that wasn’t a warning…
The atmosphere changed when Rhys straightened up after putting the dirty utensils in the dish washer. Jack was suddenly behind him, but there was no warmth. It was like the air got even colder.
“You’ve been kinda mouthy in the morning,” he said, still calm, as he ran his hands up Rhys’ sides, compassionately avoiding touching the metallic plate of his not-arm. “Trying to run again?”
“No,” Rhys said, whimpered. “I-I wasn’t. I wouldn’t, Jack, I swear.” The older man let him speak, so he continued. “I really meant it. It was just that, the chain makes me uncomfortable, and you were in a rush anyway. I— I wouldn’t try to run away from you, Jack.”
“Mm, I know, princess, I know,” Jack kissed his left shoulder and pressed more into him. The various different fabrics of his clothes felt like cold dead hands caressing Rhys, and he had to stop himself from pulling away. “It made me angry, you know. Don’t talk back to me.”
“I won’t,” Rhys promised, relaxing under the kisses.
“What if I wanted you to wear the chain at all times?” Jack asked, the question too sudden. Rhys shook his head. “You wouldn’t do it for me?” Jack’s voice grew harsher.
Rhys whimpered again. “I— I would do anything you wanted from me, Jack, sir.” The reflex to call his boyfriend sir was back, and Jack only humed in approval.
“You are talking back again,” he said when his kisses reached the spot behind Rhys’ ear. “Wait for me in the living room, bent over the ugly armchair. Understood?” he whispered those words straight into the younger man’s ear and licked the lobe. Slapped his ass when he turned away.
Jack is going to punish him, but Rhys deserves it. He knows he deserves it. So why does it hurt even before it begun? He failed Jack. What did he expect? A kiss? No, he deserves whatever Jack has for him.
Rhys was bent over the armrest like he thought the CEO wanted him. Ass in the air, legs spread, head resting on the opposite armrest and arm braced there for support. He earned another appreciative hum from his boyfriend.
Cool liquid was poured into his ass without much preamble. A strange scent hit Rhys' nose – olive oil.
Jack shoved one finger into Rhys’ hole, but that was all. Then he spread little of the oily substance on his dick and began to push in. “You are going to be a good boy for me, right?” he asked.
Rhys nodded, determined to take whatever Jack deemed necessary for him to learn. He bit his lip until he tasted blood when the head of Jack’s dick stretched his hole almost to the point of tearing. But he can do this. This is not like in the office. He is ready and determined.
Jack seemed more mindful this time. He pressed in slowly, occasionally pulled back to relieve the pressure. One of his hands came to rub Rhys’ hip soothingly during the ordeal. But everything changed when he bottomed out.
Jack pulled all the way back and thrust in, making Rhys yelp, gasp for air. He set on this rhythm, slowly pulling out and harshly thrusting in, until Rhys got used to that too, or it became easier. The he just gripped both his hips and began thrusting hard, fast; cruel movements of his hips caused the younger man to gasp and pant.
And Jack wasn’t just chasing his own pleasure, no. He seemed... methodical in this. Each thrust punishing in a calculated way. He was trying to teach the younger a lesson, and he did his best, holding off as long as he could, choosing a position that was uncomfortable se he wouldn’t come soon.
When Jack’s knees began to hurt and Rhys let out a few sobs under the harsh treatment, the position was changed. Rhys’ hips now rested on the armrest, his back on the chair and legs on Jack’s shoulders. He knew that this will somehow be much worse even without having his dick squeezed under his weight and his face into the dirty ugly chair.
Jack thrust in, hitting the sweet spot perfectly and setting on the rhythm again. With each thrust, it hurt more and more, and white sparks clouded the younger man's vision after a few minutes. How long can Jack go like this? When will it be over?
Fear gripped him when he realised that he won’t be able to take it much longer. His ass hurt too much, his sweet spot was overstimulated, his head and neck hurt in that position, and Jack’s face was... one of a businessman figuring out a contract, not a boyfriend having sex with his loved one.
After a particularly cruel thrust, Rhys gave up. “Please,” he screamed, eyes filled with tears. “Please, Jack, I can’t!”
Jack leaned closer, so close he almost had Rhys bent in half. “Yes, you can,” he whispered. “I know what you can take, pumpkin. You will make me proud.” And so, the torture went on for five more excruciating minutes, with Rhys crying silently, not daring to make a sound and disappoint Jack further. Did he deserve this?
Jack came with a grunt, his hard expression morphing into something softer, almost happy. He reached for Rhys’ cock, hard from all the stimulation or because he is fucked up, and he jerked him off with more systematic movements.
As they lay there, Rhys filthy and covered in his own cum and olive oil, Jack dishevelled and a little sweaty, he growled a silent I love you into the younger man's skin. And he couldn’t be happier, even after the CEO pulled out to reveal the damage, a lot of blood oozing out of Rhys’ ass along with the cum. Especially after he was dragged, half-carried to bed, where Jack cleaned him with a wet towel and held him tight as he pressed two fingers coated in a healing crème into his abused ass.
So loved. So happy.
This became the new routine. Jack fucked Rhys passionately when he was happy and pleased with his good behaviour, and roughly when Rhys overstepped some line or talked back or talked about a topic that Jack didn’t like or got too nosy about Jack’s work. Every punishment was well deserved, and Rhys always tried to be brave and take it. For Jack.
Jack changed. He still had a lot of work and didn’t have much time for Rhys, but he made sure they spend at least a few hours together every day. He brought Rhys more books and a gaming console, gave him nice clothes that he wouldn’t be able to wear in public, but they made him look good in ways normal clothes wouldn’t be able to and he was less cold with it, so what that a skirt is not his cup of tea.
The CEO showed his love to the younger man in many ways. When he held him while falling asleep, when he made him strip as they watched a movie in the living room so he could reach more of his beautiful body, when he fed him his favourite meals and cooed over the softness of his belly (Jack seemed to like that Rhys doesn’t work out anymore). He always told him that he loves him after a harsh punishment, once or twice even after a good sex. Rhys knew that he is loved, and so he didn’t mind his imprisonment at all anymore.
But one day Jack came in exceptionally angry. It was exactly one month since Rhys was locked up. He was allowed outside of the bedroom, with a longer chain, so he spent part of the day cleaning the house. He was just clumsily folding the blankets that were left on the sofa after the previous movie night when a seething Jack appeared next to him.
Rhys first reaction was to freeze, expecting punishment for whatever he did wrong and willing his body not to try to run away from that. But Jack’s hand was gentle on his shoulder as he took the blanket from him and folded it with ease. “Hey, pumpkin,” he greeted him, voice strained but trying to be soft. “I need to ask you a few questions. Could you sit down?”
Rhys did so obediently, wincing a little when the fabric of his tight short shorts cut into his crotch too much and he hesitantly corrected it. He looked up to Jack questioningly when he remained standing. The CEO’s body was visibly tense and full of rage, but Rhys was probably innocent this time.
“Remember this short man with glasses you went out with sometimes?”
Rhys gulps. How could he not remember Vaughn? His best bro. He nodded and looked down to his lap. They haven’t talked much before Rhys got into this situation, because Rhys didn’t like his concerned questions about his relationship. But that didn’t change anything about the fact that he missed his friend.
“Well, this Van broke into my office today like some obnoxious assassin, and he dared to question me about you,” Jack continues.
Rhys’ body starts trembling. Vaughn did that? But this would mean… No-one gets to threaten Handsome Jack and live… “Did you…” But he needs to be sure, because maybe, he can hope that… “Did you kill him?” His voice breaks and tears fall from his face on their own violation. He doesn’t even feel the pain yet.
“Would you ever forgive me if I did?” Jack asks instead of an answer, his gaze locked onto the younger man’s pained face.
Rhys knows that he needs to nod now. But he can’t. Even with all of the punishment in front of him, he can’t betray Vaughn in this way.
“Thought so,” Jack sighs.
“I didn’t kill him, dudmdum.”
It’s like a punch to the gut anyway, and Rhys doubles over, letting the tears and sobs out. “Thank you,” he breaths out shakily. “Thank you.”
Jack gives him a minute to compose himself, and then he goes on. “I knew that you are friends and it would be stupid to kill your friend, so I tried to send him away, but he was ready to die, insisting I let him see you. He is in a home arrest now, for his own safety. I need you to tell me what to do.”
Rhys blinks away the rest of the tears and chases away the smile that threatens to show at the image of Vaughn fighting for him to the last breath. Looking up, he is unsure what to say. “Tell you… what to do?”
“Yes, stupid.” Jack boops his nose with a finger to underline the insult. “What to do with him. Kill him, fire him, give him a letter from you, let you two talk it out? He doesn’t seem like giving up anytime soon.”
Rhys thinks. “Talking to him would probably the best…” carefully, “but I can try to write him a letter or send him a message if you don’t like this. I don’t want you to feel nervous.”
Jack gave him a half-smile. Good. “I won’t let you out of this house, dumdum. It’s too dangerous. But I can have him brought here. You can show him like happy you are here and that you aren’t hurt at all.”
Rhys holding Jack’s gaze instead of letting his eyes fall to the chain still around his ankle was a great feat, but he managed to not let the thought of doubt show. He scolded himself for thoughts like this. He is happy. The happiest in his life.
“I’ll tell him that I’m alright,” he promises.
“I knew that you are going to help me solve this,” Jack grinned, taking Rhys’ jaw and kissing him. “I’ll have him here in half an hour, so we should get you changed, what do you think? I’m the only one who can see you like that.”
Rhys got a change of clothes, to his surprise some of the old ones. Pinstriped slacks, a dress shirt, skinny tie and a vest. Jack had to help him with the belt, tying the tie and buttoning the shirt. The loose sleeve of the shirt was folded and fastened in place with a pin.
“Looks good,” Jack looked him up and down with appreciative noises. “Maybe we should make you wear this more often. Was thinking about playing secretary and boss sometimes with you.”
Suddenly, the clothes felt dirty. And to not even mention the way it felt weird being covered so much again. Rhys wasn’t used to this anymore, the clothes felt too constricting, too hot. He pulled at the collar to loosen it a little.
“Don’t worry, babe,” Jack came behind him to hug him. “When it’s over, I’ll tear the clothes off of you.”
Rhys smiled at the promise and headed to the living room. He sat patiently at the sofa while Jack waited by the door, tapping his foot. Just on time, the door opened.
Rhys couldn’t see them and only heard Jack’s laughter. “What? You think I really brought you here to kill you? If I wanted to get rid of you, there is a nice hole in my office floor, no point making a mess here. Come in and stop squirming.”
Two pairs of steps, dark chuckling and nervous breathing near Rhys, and he puts on a smile. He is going to see Vaughn. That’s amazing, right?
Jack sits next to Rhys, sneaking an arm around his shoulders, and he motions to Vaughn to sit on an armchair opposite them. Rhys blushes when he remembers all the sex they had on that armchair, but he cleaned it just yesterday, so it should be good.
“Hi,” he grins at Vaughn, for a moment just happy to see him.
“Hi, bro,” Vaughn gives a nervous smile back. “How you doin’?”
“Good,” Rhys answers too fast. More controlled, he leans into Jack’s hug and sighs. “I’m happy, Vaughn.”
“Yeah? You look happy…” Most of the accountant’s attention is on Rhys’ skin, looking for any injuries, but the occasional hickey is hidden under the shirt. He is not much paler than he used to be (which is probably impossible anyway), he probably gained five or six pounds, his hair grew long, he looked healthy. If a little twitchy, movements too controlled.
“Rhys has been staying here at my place, because it’s too dangerous for him outside, right?” Jack spoke, taking over the conversation. Rhys nodded and Vaughn didn’t dare to question it. “There have been some technical issues with his cybernetics, and we agreed that it will be safe if he doesn’t use them. The hackers were pretty mean, trying to strangle Rhys with his own arm.” His hand trails the younger man’s neck as if remembering the bruises.
“Your cybernetics got hacked?!” Vaughn gasps, his attention taken away from Jack’s taking over.
Rhys nods. He doesn’t know what story Jack wants to give, and he is afraid to improvise. “It was scary. Breeched all my firewalls like they were made of paper. I’m glad Jack was here.”
“Mm-hm,” Jack hums and presses a rewarding kiss to his temple. “It scared the shit outta me to see you like that. But I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
Rhys forgot about his friend completely, leaning into the precious touch and closing his eyes. Warm, protected, loved. Gathering courage, he trails his nose under Jack’s chin, unsure about reaching out for a touch, but comforted by the warmth all around him.
“Satisfied, muscles?” Jack asks, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Rhys is just fine. You can go now. He will call you, right, Rhysie?”
Rhys nods, still not opening his eyes, basking in the touches and love.
Vaughn does something stupid. “Can we talk alone? Why do you need to be here for this?” he challenges Jack.
“Because he is my boyfriend, and this is his house,” Rhys answers fast, waking up from his daze in time to avert the catastrophe.
“It does.” Rhys’ voice is stern when he doesn’t let his friend finish. He doesn’t look him in the eyes, not prepared for this. But he can feel the hurt in him. “You should go now,” he adds softly.
“Yeah, right.” Steps are heard, and opening and closing the main door.
Slowly, Rhys turns towards Jack, careful not to lose the hug. The CEO is grinning, looking down at Rhys like he—
“You did very good, cupcake. I’m so proud.” He kisses the tip of his nose and pulls him closer. “Now, how about we get to the part when I tear your clothes off?”
Rhys is too drunk in the attention that he lets himself be a little more genuine. “I’m a little hungry. Can we have dinner?”
Jack groans, but pulls away and goes into the kitchen. “Is grilled cheese sandwich all right?” he calls over his shoulder, and Rhys hums an approval.
The whole visit went well. What Jack said… Does it mean he will be allowed to call Vaughn? Will the other man be interested, though? It doesn’t matter; the only important thing is that Vaughn won’t die. Jack didn’t kill him because of Rhys, and the PA made sure Vaughn will stop risking his life.
The food was ready soon, and they ate in silence. Rhys didn’t dare to push any conversation, especially work-related as usually, because Jack’s mood was volatile right now. Afterwards, Rhys took a shower, cleaned himself out and waited for Jack on the bed, on his knees, facing the wall, one arm behind his back.
Jack liked this a lot, and he spilled endless praise on the younger man as he tugged his head down to the mattress by the hair, helping him to get into a better position. Rhys’ face was pressed down, ass up, legs spread, arm useless by his side.
Jack didn’t spend enough time on prepping, but he made sure Rhys won’t be hurting too much. The burn and harsh pace were bearable, but it made Rhys hesitant for a while. Was he being punished? But no, it’s probably just that Jack couldn’t wait to have him. Too in love with Rhys and his body.
He relaxed and let himself be taken, jerking off when told to do so and coming on command. He fell asleep dirty after Jack kissed his eyelids and told him to rest. He was so happy.
Rhys didn’t understand the depression that was threatening to eat him from inside. Those were the most beautiful three months of his life. He had Jack, a lot of books and games, the best games, best foods, lot of ice-cream. He was allowed to call Vaughn every week for an hour, catching up with his life. He worked little and got spoiled lots.
Why was he so sad all the time?
It became harder to get up in the morning. Lately, he only took a shower when Jack told him to, usually as a prep for sex. He ate what he was given, but couldn’t appreciate the delicious and expensive flavours.
Books got too heavy to read and games too difficult to keep up with. Cleaning the house seemed useless. Besides the dust getting collected on furniture and dishes being left everywhere, there was nothing of importance. Not that they had any visits anyway. And when there was too much filth, Jack just called cleaner bots.
Most of his free time Rhys spent lying on the bed, or the sofa, or the fluffy rugs, staring into the ceiling and feeling like shit. He wasn’t thinking about anything, usually. Thinking was too tiring. And Rhys was always so tired, if he did anything else, he wouldn’t be able to be happy for Jack in the evening.
He didn’t want to fail Jack. The older man took such a good care of him. He bought him so many nice things and spoiled him and loved him a lot. When the deal with Jackob’s was finally sealed and stable, his appetite was back in full force, and they sometimes had three rounds in one day. Rhys had to gather a lot of energy to be able to take so much love.
Coming during sex became hard, and that was what made him nervous. He knew that what he is going through is a simple depression, and he knew that he can handle something like that. But Jack was a little angry when he couldn’t get Rhys to come, questioning him and punishing. That’s where it crossed a line and the young man decided that it needs to end.
He didn’t know how to stop it, though, and it made him nervous and sad. Does having a depression mean that he is too weak? Surely, Jack won’t love him if Rhys is weak. No, he must find a way to get rid of it. To be better. To be good for Jack.
But it was getting harder to ignore the emptiness even now as he lay in his boyfriend’s arms. He couldn’t feel the warmth. He was just empty and somewhere deep he was also sad, but Jack was by his side and he should be happy.
He didn’t notice that he is crying and nor did Jack, until a shaky sob forced his way out of Rhys’ lips.
“What’s that?” Jack asked, half soft, half annoyed.
“I-I’m sorry,” Rhys sniffed. “I— I think that I’m broken, Jack. Something is broken in my head. I’m sorry.”
Jack sighed. “Yeah, I noticed that something is wrong with you lately.” He helped the younger man to turn around in his arms, so he could look him in the eyes. “Do you know what’s happening to you?” he asked, gently stroking his hair to let him know that he is not angry.
Rhys nodded. “I have depression. My head is broken. But there are pills for that,” he added quickly, afraid that Jack will toss the broken toy away right now.
“Do you want me to get you a doctor?” the older man asked, considering the terrible state of the younger.
“I— I think I can handle it. I’ll fight it,” Rhys denied shakily – Jack doesn’t want anyone else to see him. “For you; I want to make it for you, Jack, I lov—”
“No, Rhysie,” Jack shushed him with a finger on his lips, causing him to panic a little. “I can see that you are very sad. You can’t fight an illness like that on your own. I’ll get you the best doctor on Helios, alright?”
Rhys nodded, accepting anything his boyfriend choose for him. He couldn’t help the fear, though, and so he asked: “Are you angry? That I’m broken? I still love you, it’s just that—”
Jack shushed him again and hugged him tighter. “Of course I’m not angry. Are you afraid I won’t want you anymore?” he asked. When Rhys nodded, he kissed his forehead. “That’s bullshit, sweetheart. I’ll always want you. You are mine. The only one I want. Don’t you see how wonderful you are?” he pulled away a little against Rhys’ protests to look him in the eyes.
“You are the most beautiful person I ever met, and so cute and sweet and soft,” he teased Rhys’ belly. “You are the only one on this stupid spaceship that is able to deal with me. How amazing that is! And you aren’t even scared of me. Everybody is scared, but you always welcome me with a hug.”
Rhys ignores the lie about fear, focuses on the fact that Jack likes his welcome hugs. “I’ll get better with pills, right?” he asks.
“Either that, or I airlock every doctor that fails to help you,” Jack promises. “Now, will you sleep on your own, or do you want something to help you?”
Rhys doesn’t like the dizziness connected with sleep drugs, so he promises to try to sleep on his own. With Jack stroking his back and kissing his forehead it should be easy anyway.
The whole if this doctor doesn’t help you, I’ll just kill him and get you another one thing sounded bad on its own. But Rhys only realised the catastrophic consequences of agreeing to this once the cycle started.
The first doctor was actually smart enough not to suggest Jack lets Rhys leave the house and stops raping him regularly. But his solution to the depression was drugs. He suggested common illegal drugs shipped from freaking Pandora! Yes, five doses a day would keep Rhys permanently happy, and the addiction to those drugs was actually quite manageable, but... Fucking drugs from Pandora! Everybody sees what’s wrong with that.
Every doctor that came after this one’s body was removed from Jack’s home office followed the same pattern. He would ask Rhys some questions, look at the results of his blood tests, and he would suggest something stupid, like sunlight, freedom, working out regularly, drinking herbal tea, absorbing the positive energy from space. Then, Jack would kill him one way or another, either in front of Rhys, or after sending the younger man out.
Two weeks and an endless pile of bodies later, Rhys was on three different happy pills, working out half an hour a day, eating healthy and drinking a cup of tea before bed. But he didn’t feel any better, and he only forced himself to do those things for Jack. Rhys – he lost all hope. He just accepted that he will feel like that for the rest of his life and spent most of his time staring into the ceiling.
Lately, he found himself only really feeling when he and Jack were having sex. Not gentle sex, but rough. He would purposefully cross the lines and earn himself a punishment, and Jack would know that he is doing it willingly, and he would not go easy on him anyway. And Rhys would feel wanted.
Right now, Rhys was empty. And he wanted to feel.
“Rhys, I’m working; get out,” Jack growled as he entered his office. The younger man didn’t have a plan, but Jack’s mood was going to make it easy for him. He just ignored the command and walked into the office. Wearing short shorts and a thin-fabric tank top that revealed his tattoo and the goosebumps Jack’s voice caused, he caught his full attention immediately. “Get out, kitten,” Jack warned him, already getting up from his desk.
It’s not like Rhys wasn’t scared of Jack, but he was determined. His voice almost didn’t break when he said: “No.” He was already at the desk, circling it as to not cross Jack, who was walking around in the other way. His eyes fell on the various papers on the desk for a while. He picked one, picked it up and crumpled it. “No work.” He felt stupid, but they both knew that this is just a game. Jack played along, or maybe it was him who started. Who knows anymore? Rhys lost himself in the depths of his irrational sadness and emptiness.
“You… little shit!” Jack lunged at him, and Rhys didn’t even have the time to squeak before he was picked up and tossed over the CEO’s shoulder. “I said,” Jack growled, frustration and anger obvious, “that I have work. Vault hunters are up to something, I have to figure it out, and I don’t have the time for this.” Contrary to himself, he carried Rhys to the bedroom and tossed him on the bed, tugging his shorts down in the next second.
“When will you finally,” a hard slap landed in that bare ass, “learn to,” another, “do what I say?” Two more slaps, and Rhys choked out a sob, for a while overwhelmed with pain. Jack kept hitting him until Rhys was squirming, trying to crawl away, and then some more, until he just laid there and accepted it, occasionally screaming and begging for mercy.
“Ja— Jack, sir, please!” he choked out. “I-I-I— I’m s-sorry! Please, stop!” But what he meant was yes, show me how much you care; show me your love like you do.
Satisfied with the limp, broken pile of a man, Jack hastily pulled his cock from his pants, spit in his palm and slicked it a little to ease the worst burn. Blood will take care of the rest, as always. With one thrust he got half of his length in, and Rhys wailed like he was stabbed with a knife, once more scrambling to get away only to give up soon and take it.
Jack’s comm rang in the other room, the sound distant but unmistakeable. The CEO swore and Rhys sobbed. He wanted the pain to stop, as he always wanted when he reached a certain threshold, but he didn’t want Jack to leave. He wanted his attention, his love, him. And to his surprise, Jack said fuck it and began thrusting in and out.
Rhys cried with every move of the too big cock in his torn asshole, but so full, so much wanted. The comm never stopped ringing and buzzing, but Jack kept fucking him like it was the only thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
Rhys didn’t panic because of the sharp sound. He didn’t care about danger – he had what he deeply desired. Until it was taken from him.
Jack’s warm, heavy body, the last thing in this world that brought him comfort, was removed from him, tossed aside like it was a dirty rug, and someone was turning Rhys on his back, talking to him, soothing. The people were blurry, or Rhys’ vision was, and their voices came from afar, so far he almost couldn’t hear them.
“Boy? Can you hear me? It’s all right now. He won’t be hurting you anymore.”
The voice was raspy, strange, not his boyfriend’s voice and not Vaughn’s. This was so wrong, and so Rhys concentrated, blinked a few times, looked around to see…
Jack is dead.
It is over.
His boyfriend is dead.
Rhys is free. No-one will hurt him anymore. There will be no pain, no polished prison, no controlling and manipulation.
A heart-wrenching wail tore from his already sore throat, each little sound like a needle stabbed in his neck. Rhys swatted away all the helping, reassuring hands and crawled over to the lifeless body. Hugged the still form.
“Jack, don’t leave me. I need you. Don’t leave me. You promised! I was good; don’t leave me!” he sobbed, hoping that maybe Jack will come back when he realises that Rhys was actually a good boy. He didn’t want to anger him. He just needed a little love.
“He doesn’t deserve your loyalty. You are free; take up the chance,” the voice behind him spoke again.
“Screw him,” another, woman’s voice said. “He is beyond gone. Destroy the body, and let’s get out. If he wants so much to fall with Helios, then leave the pet to mourn its master.”