Genre: J2 AU
Word Count: 4,000
Warnings: Slave fic, dub-con, slight bloodplay, rimming, animalistic behavior. (I fear all these warnings make the thing sound a lot darker than it is, perhaps.)
Notes: Written for this prompt at the spn_hardcore commentfic fest. This one is light years out of my comfort zone, concrit is very, very welcome. Feel free to comment anonymously.
Summary: Jensen is kidnapped, but before he can escape, he has to make peace with his cellmate.
Jensen awakens to a scream. The sound is inhuman, enraged, turns his blood to ice. He scrambles backward, groggy, fingers digging into soft dirt, and the heels of his feet slip as he struggles to shy away from the sound. His back encounters something hard, cold, and he hears the echoing grate of metal against metal.
Bright floodlights shatter the night, constricting Jensen’s pupils too fast and it sends him reeling, almost puking with the pain and the terrible chemical taste in the back of his throat. He shields his eyes with a trembling hand.
He’s in a pen. Ten foot tall corrugated metal walls, open to the night sky, concertina wire along the top. Something that reminds Jensen of a large dog house is situated in one corner.
Jensen doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know how he got here, his memories as blurred as his vision. His head pounds hard and as fast as his heartbeat. A full chorus of trapped trapped trapped repeats, a skipping record in his head. Jensen tries to fight back the panic gripping him, but it’s huge. Tidal wave huge and just as inexorable.
The rattling racket of an engine breaks through the sound of Jensen’s own blood in his ears. He hears doors opening and closing, the squeal of rusty hinges, and some electronic buzzing sound that doesn’t make any sense.
Then the lights go out.
Jensen’s not sure which is worse, the bright metal halide glare, or this blinding blackness. He squints, blinks, hears something hitting the dirt with a thud. His eyesight adjusts well enough to make out a form as it unfolds, and rolls into a crouch.
A new wave of terror drowns him. The shadowy figure is big, maybe a bear, or one of the larger cats. Perhaps a primate, judging by the way it moves. It’s not until the figure stands at its full height that Jensen realizes it’s a man. He has his back to Jensen, swaying and shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it.
“Thank god,” Jensen mutters. He tries to stand but his legs won’t support him.
Another gate somewhere slams closed, and a disembodied voice speaks from the other side of the metal walls, dripping with malevolence.
“Meet your new girlfriend, Jared. Play nice.”
“Hey!” Jensen tries to shout, but can’t manage more than a choked cough.
The man spins, shoulders bunched up tight and his hands in fists by his side. Jensen has a moment to recognize it as a fighters stance, and then the man is shooting toward him with a growl, mouth set in a snarl and his teeth glinting in the dim light.
Pain explodes in the back of his skull when the guy slams his head into the wall. It’s all too quick. Jensen can’t even get a hand up to ward off another hit before it happens. His vision turns red, and a second later the red turns to black.
A light drizzle is turning the dirt to mud and soaking through Jensen’s shirt when he comes to. His head pounds, and the dull grey morning light stabs into his eyes when he cracks them open. There’s a grunt from the opposite end of the pen, and Jensen freezes, careful not to move.
The man is pacing back and forth, his bare feet churning the mud. His lips move silently. He’s enormous, topping off damn near six and a half feet tall in Jensen’s estimation. Strong as hell too, if the cut of his muscles and their fluid shift beneath his skin is anything to go by. Jensen can barely see his face under all the dirt and dried blood, his hair is a tangled mess, hanging across his eyes in damp, knotted clumps.
Even still, there’s an inborn grace to his movements, like a large cat kept in a cage, just pacing and biding his time until some poor sap opens the door. It’s pervasive, his agility visible in the easy roll of his hips and the shift of his shoulders as he walks the length of the structure. His command of the space surrounding him is so strong that it’s nearly tangible.
Something’s wrong with him, and Jensen concentrates of keeping very still as he works the puzzle. The way that he walks and his posture remind Jensen more of an animal than a human. The final piece falls into place and Jensen knows what this man is. He’s wild, non-socialized. Almost feral.
Complete disgust mixes in with a healthy shot of scientific curiosity. Jensen’s had run-ins with just about every make and model of human being as a fourth year med student, but feral humans are rare. He’s read a couple of case studies, mostly with a psychological bend to them.
Three credit hours of Primatology 101 and what he can remember of Jane Goodall’s journals isn’t gonna cut it.
An ear-splitting slam rattles the walls of the pen. It makes Jensen jump and instinctively cover his head before he’s even aware of doing it. The movement earns him something that sounds almost like a bark from the man. The warning is crystal clear.
Jensen sits up, palms facing forward in what he hopes is the universal sign of surrender. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” Jensen says quickly. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Fuzzy memories from last night float to the surface. He remembers being inside the parking garage attached to the hospital, someone jumping him from behind, pressing a rag to his face. Waking later inside this box. Finally a name.
“Jared,” Jensen says. “Your name’s Jared right? I’m Jensen.” He touches his own chest.
It earns him a snarl, a bearing of teeth and the slightest hitch in Jared’s constant pacing.
“Rise and shine, boys,” a feminine voice speaks from behind the sheet metal.
So there’s more than one of them. The thought makes Jensen’s stomach twist. He fights back the urge to plea, beg for release or information. It’s pointless.
A drawer opens in one wall at the midpoint between Jared and Jensen. It reminds Jensen of a larger drive through window at the bank, except rather than cash or deposit slips it contains food. Bread, a handful of small apples, and a mixing bowl full of some greyish slop that Jensen guesses is oatmeal.
Jared makes a lunge for the food then pulls up short, eyes wide and fixed on Jensen.
“You still alive in there, doc?” the woman asks.
“If that’s what you’d call it,” Jensen spits back.
“Hmph.” The woman chuckles. “You made it longer than the last poor son of a bitch. Get it while it’s hot. Our boy here’ll eat a person right out of house and home.”
Jensen manages to stand, slowly, pressing his back to the wall for support as his head swims. He touches the back of his head, relieved when his fingers come back muddy but without any traces of blood. He probably has a concussion. Minor and not life threatening.
On unsteady legs, Jensen moves along the wall toward the food. He doesn’t look at Jared, but feels Jared’s eyes on him the whole time. Jensen takes an apple, warily inspecting it. Its surface is mottled and bruised. Slim chance it could be poisoned, or a means to drug him, although he doesn’t think that his captors are playing that sort of game. They’re playing at something that is much, much worse. Jared’s living proof of that.
Jensen takes a couple of apples and retreats back to his corner. He’s thirsty as hell. There’s a trough full of water on the opposite wall, but Jared stands in the path, still watching him, his gaze shifting between Jensen and the food. “All yours, buddy. Eat up,” Jensen says, keeping his voice low and steady.
Jared doesn’t move, only licks his lips.
“Here,” Jensen says, and throws an apple in Jared’s direction. Jared catches it easily. The guy has basic motor skills, Jensen notes.
Jared turns the apple over in his hand, and with an underhanded pitch, tosses it back to Jensen. It hits Jensen square in the chest and lands in his lap. “You don’t want it?” Jensen asks, then throws it back to Jared. Jared catches it, and lobs it back to him immediately.
They play catch for minutes on end, the tension in Jared’s shoulders slowly melting off, and Jared’s expression changing from frightened wariness to curiosity. Finally Jared tires of the game and drops the apple to the dirt, moving over to the drawer and gathering the remainder of the food into his arms. He goes to the enclosure and leaps onto the flat roof of the thing, hunkers down and starts to eat, not letting Jensen out of his sight the entire time.
“You Tarzan, me Jane,” Jensen says, sinking his face into his hands. He starts to laugh, a sound that’s devoid of humor and fully hysterical.
Jensen is going to need Jared on his side if he stands the smallest chance of getting out of this place. When he looks up, Jared face holds the slightest trace of a smile.
It’s a start.
Jensen learns a lot over the next several days. He learns that Jared’s voice is deep and he can speak, in a hesitant, rudimentary way. He learns that Jared has been here for as long as he can remember, and that he’s smart, picks up on things quickly. He finds out that the only reason he made it through that first night was because Jared had been tranquilized, and was only functioning at a fraction of his strength. The knowledge is not comforting, nor is the fact that his kidnappers use tranquilizer guns and cattle prods to take Jared to another location, and invariably the guy returns with bruises, cuts and scrapes. He comes back with bloody knuckles and ripped up fingernails, filthy and reeking of sweat.
“What happened to you?” Jensen had asked the first time they took Jared away.
“A fight,” Jared had replied, his mouth swollen and his lips busted. He’d staggered into his doghouse and hadn’t come out the rest of the night, lashing out every time Jensen came too close.
These four walls are killing him. Four walls and a square patch of open sky are all Jensen’s seen for days, and he just needs a glimpse of the outside world. He needs to know what he’s up against if he’s to form an escape plan.
Jared frowns at him, head tilted sideways in puzzlement as Jensen climbs on top of the hovel in the corner. His fingertips barely brush the top of the wall. Jensen jumps, winces at the hollow clang of his feet on the metal roof.
“You could help, you know,” he tells Jared.
Jared merely makes a high-pitched, nervous whining sound.
“You’re probably right,” Jensen replies.
He catches hold of the wall on the third try, his feet scrambling on the slippery metal. The muscles in his arms scream and his knuckles grate against the barbed wire running along the top. He yanks himself upward in the world’s most impossible chin-up, and barely catches a glimpse of a distant line of trees before the electronic buzzing of the lock sounds. A thrill of fear shoots through Jensen and he drops down onto the ground, landing in a crouch.
The door to the cage opens, and for a split second Jensen sees another cage, a system almost like an airlock, metal bars set close together. A man storms in, ski mask covering his face, a policeman’s night stick in one hand and a cattle prod in the other.
“Not so fast, doc,” the man says, making a beeline for him.
With an enraged sound, Jared leaps between them, a study in unleashed violence, punching and ducking and kicking. The kidnapper lands heavily in the dirt, the air knocked out of his lungs in an audible whoosh, but not before getting a quick jab into Jared’s ribs with the electric cattle prod.
Jared collapses on all fours, and starts a clumsy crawl toward Jensen. He kneels in front of Jensen, his back hunched and his arms framing Jensen’s face. “No,” he whispers, his tone vehement.
Their attacker regains his footing and with a less than human shout starts wailing on Jared’s back and his sides.
Jensen’s frozen, curled beneath Jared’s protective form. He can feel the rush of air that comes with every hit, feels the impact of the night stick on Jared’s body.
Jared’s face is an expressionless mask, without indication of pain or fear. “No. No. No,” Jared says with every bone-crunching strike.
“That’s enough.” It’s the woman’s voice, curt and angry. “He’s got a fight in three days,” she says. “Lotta money riding on that boy.”
“Ain’t that sweet,” the man leers. “Your boyfriend taking the hits for you.”
The door opens and closes with a clang.
Jensen doesn’t look away from Jared. Jared’s breath is hitching and his chest is heaving, and painful tears start leaking from the corner of his eyes. Jensen can smell his breath, sour and awful. It’s the closest he’s ever been to Jared, and he can now see the fine network of scars running across his skin like an interstate road map.
“My god. Jared. What have they done to you?” Jensen asks, his voice cracking. He touches Jared’s bare chest.
Jared leans back on his haunches, mirroring Jensen as he places his palm flat on Jensen’s chest. “You okay?” Jared says it like a statement, but Jensen takes it as a question.
“Yeah. I’m okay. You okay?”
Jared nods, limps away and lays down facing the corner. Welts are already forming along his back and his sides, blood pooling beneath the surface of his skin.
Jensen follows him. “Can I?” he asks, reaching out to touch Jared’s ribs. Jared jabs him in the jaw with an elbow. No real force behind it, but it still sends Jensen toppling backward.
“Alright. Alright,” Jensen says, rubbing his jaw. “I get it. You coulda just told me no.”
“No,” Jared mumbles.
Two weeks have passed, and Jensen has lost all hope of a miraculous rescue. He didn’t have a lot of friends in the first place, and it isn’t all that uncommon for med students to buckle under pressure and disappear from classes and internships. In all likelihood, it was days before anyone started looking for him.
The nights are getting colder. A few more weeks and Jensen thinks that there will be frost on the ground in the mornings. He wonders whether his hosts will give him heavier clothes or blankets come winter, the thin hospital scrubs don’t offer much insulation against the weather.
He’s curled against the cold, his knees drawn up close to his body, the chilly air biting into the exposed flesh of his arms. He’s only slept for what seems like minutes at a time.
He comes out of a light doze to realize that Jared is sitting cross-legged in front of him. Jared prods him in the shoulder with two fingers and looks over to his doghouse. The invitation is clear.
“It would be nice if you bought me dinner first, but alright,” Jensen jokes, knowing that the quip is lost on Jared.
The place smells like the primate house at the zoo, like sweat and unwashed bodies. Jensen lowers himself onto the bedding, wondering when the mess of blankets last saw a washing machine. He decides he doesn’t care when Jared throws a blanket over top of him and presses their backs together. Warmth infuses his body, and Jensen lets himself sink into it.
Movement from Jared brings him out of sleep. A dingy light from the doorway tells him hours have passed.
Jared’s face is pressed to the back of his neck, his breath falling hot and moist onto Jensen’s skin. Jensen starts to move, but Jared’s grip on his shoulder holds him firm and he wraps a leg high across Jensen’s hip. Jared nuzzles behind Jensen’s ear, breathing in deep and smelling him, his fingertips pressing painfully into the meat of Jensen’s shoulder. His hips start a slow, easy roll, and Jensen can feel the hard line of Jared’s dick as he ruts against his ass.
Jensen works to unclench his jaw, to keep very still. It’s no secret that he’s frightened of Jared, that this relationship they have can’t be called anything other than a fragile ceasefire. Any wrong move could send it crumbling in a way that would end up with Jensen hurt, at the very least.
Jared’s breath is whistling between his clenched teeth, and his thrusts are getting harder, more desperate, arrhythmic. He bites down hard on Jensen’s shoulder, a shock of pain that makes Jensen cry out unwillingly. With one huge thrust, Jared comes, spunk soaking hot through the thin material of Jensen’s pants. Jared starts licking the back of his neck, the skin behind his ear, as his hips stutter in the aftershocks of his orgasm.
He rolls Jensen onto his back, his hair falling into his face as he looks down at him. “Jensen,” he says, touching Jensen’s chest. It’s the first time Jared has ever said his name.
“Jared,” Jensen replies, palm flat over Jared’s heart. He can feel it pound.
Jared smiles down at him. It’s the scariest thing he’s seen all week.
Jensen paces the length of the cage. Jared’s been gone too long. Usually they’ll take him for hours at a time. Jensen’s come to expect that, even if the loneliness he feels with Jared’s absence comes as a surprise each and every time.
He can’t ignore the anticipation he feels at the sound of truck tires crunching along gravel.
Jared is thrown into the cage, rolls easily onto his feet. His back is clawed up, human or animal, Jensen can’t tell. His skin is slick with sweat, he stinks of adrenaline, and there’s a dark, dangerous look in his eyes.
“Your boy done good today, doc,” the woman says from the other side of the wall. “Won us a lot of money. Maybe we’ll buy you a steak.” Jensen can hear the sound of her laughter as she walks away.
Jared is grinning at him, breathing fast. An icepick of fear plants itself into Jensen’s stomach at the sight of Jared. He’s hard, his dick tenting the front of his ripped up pants. Jensen retreats slowly until his back is to the cold metal. His breath fans out in white clouds before him. “You okay?” he asks. “Did anyone hurt you?”
Jared shakes his head and takes a slow step toward him. “Did they feed you?” Jensen says, casting around for some sort of diversion.
“Not hungry,” Jared says as he closes in on Jensen. He buries his nose in Jensen’s hair, rubs their faces together, his shaggy hair coarse on Jensen’s cheek.
Jensen can’t deny the heat that pools down low when Jared licks along his throat, grabs a handful of his short hair and tugs at it. He could call it some sort of sympathetic bodily reaction to fear or adrenaline, only he knows a little too much about the human nervous system, and that excuse doesn’t quite cut it.
He tries to duck away, put a safe distance between the two of them, at least until Jared comes down from whatever high he’s riding. At the first suggestion of movement, Jared grabs him by the arms, shoves him toward the ground and follows him down.
Jensen is trapped, Jared’s body covering him, Jared’s thigh pressed between his legs. He bites down hard on the crook of Jensen’s neck with a low growl coming from the back of his throat. Shoving and kicking doesn’t work; Jared outweighs him by twenty pounds at least, and has a decade or more of fighting experience besides. Jensen tries to fight fire with fire, and bites Jared’s shoulder, teeth sinking in far enough to draw blood.
The effect is opposite of the intention. Jared’s hips buck forward and he bites back. Jensen swears he can hear something akin to a satisfied purr. Jared fights with his shirt, ripping it as he shoves it over his head, and then he’s moving south, nipping at Jensen’s chest and clawing at his sides.
Jensen’s half hard by the time Jared tears his pants off and makes quick work of his own. Half hard and wondering exactly which one of them is the animal here.
Jared has him firmly by the hips, grazing his teeth along the inside of Jensen’s thighs. The sensation is electric, insistent, makes Jensen’s hips thrust up on instinct, and oh fuck, Jensen wants to touch himself. He absolutely needs it when Jared nuzzles at his balls, runs his rough tongue alone the line of Jensen’s hardening cock. Jared scents him, breathing in deep through his mouth and his nose, his hands impatient on the flesh of Jensen’s stomach.
He shoves Jensen’s knees apart and licks lower, his tongue circling Jensen’s hole. It’s too much, too awful and terrifying, this flash of want that shoots up Jensen’s spine. He closes his eyes and digs his fingers into the soft ground. Dirt grits between his teeth when he clenches his jaw.
It’s wrong. It’s terrible and it’s wrong, but it’s okay. Jared needs this, and Jensen needs Jared to escape. To survive.
Jared slides back up his body, rutting against Jensen, his dick pressing behind Jensen’s balls and the sensitive skin of his ass. It’s clumsy and awkward, but obvious that Jared knows what he wants. He throws Jensen’s leg over his shoulder and slides his cock along the crease of Jensen’s ass.
It’s easy. Easier than Jensen thought it could be. Painful, sure, when he guides Jared inside of him, nothing but spit and precome to slick the way. It’s not as easy for Jensen to admit that he’s wanted it, but he does.
Jared isn’t tender, there’s no care or concern, soothing touches or gentleness. He slams in hard, bottoms out, his mouth slack and his eyes wide, whites showing all around. He pulls back and slams in again, collapsing on top of Jensen, pinning Jensen’s hands to his sides with vice like grips on Jensen’s wrists.
Jared’s big, huge, and he can feel something tearing, but Jensen’s never minded a little bit of pain. The sensation of fullness is almost overwhelming, countered by the slip slide of their stomachs, Jensen’s dick trapped between them. The muscles in Jensen’s legs protest, he can barely breathe past the weight of Jared bearing down on his chest. He can’t tell if the groans he keeps hearing are his or Jared’s. It doesn’t matter.
Jensen is almost to the point of breaking when Jared fucks into him hard, hips working in small circles as he comes. It’s a hot, slick feeling inside of him, and then Jared is pulling out as quickly as he’d slid in. He licks down Jensen’s body, laps at the mess of precome on Jensen’s stomach. Jensen feels come and blood dripping from him in a slow leak. He can smell it. Jared can as well, and makes a soft, satisfied sound when he swirls his tongue around the sore, swollen flesh.
It’s all too much, and Jensen can’t help but take himself in hand, jacking himself with a few quick tugs. Embarrassment and mortification are fighting a losing battle against his need to just get off. He fucks into his own fist, his hips canted sideways and his head thrown back into dirt. He comes, sticky and wet, splattering his stomach.
Jared looks up at him, his eyes a wet glint in the darkness as he licks at Jensen’s spunk, smiling with the taste.
Without a trace of self-consciousness, Jared crosses the pen and ducks into his enclosure. He emerges a few seconds later, a dark, cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands. Jensen pushes himself upright on shaking arms. His muscles hurt, his ass hurts, he feels filthy and messy and guilty as sin.
Jared folds himself into a sitting position in front of Jensen, leaning forward and rubbing their faces together. It isn’t a kiss, but somehow it’s better.
He opens the bundle, and Jensen sees a rag-tag collection of things inside. Mostly buttons, all shapes, sizes and colors, some still bearing little knots of thread. He sees a tab from a soda can, a twisted spoon. Jared takes a handful of the stuff from the bag and passes it over to Jensen.
“So you’re a magpie,” Jensen says, spreading the things out on his palm. Jared grins at him, turning the treasures over in his hand, touching them gently. “We have to get you out of here,” Jensen says, running his hand over his face. He shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Jared shakes his head. “No. I’ll be alone,” he says, adamant.
This is what drowning feels like.
“No, Jared. You won’t be alone. I promise.”
Thanks for reading.