wrote something small with rival CEOs AU and Jack violently protecting Rhys from a random alpha trying to hurt and assault him.

Oppressive hands close around Rhys’ throat before he realizes what’s happening.

It should be impossible to take Rhys unawares, not with the upgrades to his ECHOeye and his own, well-conditioned paranoia, but he can’t deny the fingers closing around his throat nor the pain as he draws in one last gasp of air.

But Rhys is a fighter—even the most extraordinary omegas have to be, have to do things twice as well to be considered half as good as any common alpha—and he claws at the broad hands wrapped around his throat, nails digging hard into the skin and flexing tendon and drawing whiffs of blood. He hears gruff swearing behind him as he kicks, raking the heel of his boot down his assailant’s shin.

But his victory is short lived as the fingers around him tighten, and before Rhys can react the world blurs around him and his forehead smashes hard into the wall, steel reverberating around in his skull. The assailant slams his head again and again, pulping his mouth and nose and flooding blood into the back of his constricted throat.

Whoever’s attacking him is a brute, larger and stronger than Rhys is and easily able to get him on the ground now that Rhys is dizzy and stunned and bleeding. A heavy presence looms over him as the hands gratefully move from his throat and allow him to take a rough gasp of air. Before he can call for help, however, a palm slams against the side of his face and crushes his jaw out of place.

Pain lances through his brain and a strangle noise falls from his lips. Numbness rapidly spreads through his jaw but the other parts of his body are painfully aware—especially as his assailant slides his hands down the curve of his sides before settling on his hip.

Blood seeps from between Rhys’ teeth and pools out of his slack lips, his ECHOeye glaring up in glowing hatred but all he can see through the frazzle curtain of his own hair is dark eyes glimmering from behind a black cloth mask. He can’t focus properly, subsystems beyond the reach of his injured consciousness and unable to fish anyone information on the attacker as he starts to grope Rhys’ body.

The reek of dangerous alpha stuffs up Rhys’ nose, struggle renewed when a hand fished beneath the hem of his coat and tries to tug off his belt. His most intimidating snarl comes out little more than an agonized choke as he kicks out above him, trying to catch his attacker in the groin, mutilate him before he even dares to think about defiling the CEO of Atlas like this.

But the dizziness and pain starts to get to him and nausea bubbles in his stomach, mixing with horror and panic because damn it—it shouldn’t be this easy to get him down, he commands respect and power and no one should be allowed to do this to him and get away with it—

But just as the alpha’s hands pull at his waistband and Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, ready to fall into unconsciousness, the weight and heavy, vile breathing above him rips away with a rough, deep snarl that has Rhys’ heart leaping in his chest. It’s familiar, as is the smell that cuts clear through the suffocating smog of the other alpha’s stench.

Rhys braces his hands on the ground as soon as the other man is ripped off of him, gloved fingers digging into metal flooring as he slowly pushes himself off. Growls and screams swell up behind him but all he can focus on right now is sitting up and moving away.

He drags himself over to the wall—speckled with his own blood—and with no small amount of effort slumps against it. Now, braced upright, he can finally watch as Handsome Jack pins his assailant to the ground.

Rhys has never seen Jack so angry, and Jack isn’t a calm man by any means. But the look on his face right now contorts in fury so fierce Rhys worries his skin might break apart, but the blood splattered on the pale, synthetic flesh of his mask isn’t his own.

Rhys never sees the real face of his assailant before Jack pummels it into wet mush beneath the mask. With one final, wet thwack he lets the man’s head hang back, fabric covering the face glistening. Jack stands hunched above the dead man, hand still fisted in his shirt. He breathes heavily, body shuddering with each twitch of his lungs as he falls back from the state of pure animal rage. Rhys doesn’t think he could say something, even if his jaw hadn’t been popped out of place, but he manages a low whine—more of a gurgle, really—that catches the alpha’s harried attention.

“Rhys.” Jack lets the man fall with a splat against the ground, shoes skating through the puddling blood before he falls to his knees in front of Rhys. A big hand—strong, but filled with warmth and safety—cups his cheek, thumb touching just below the split in Rhys’ lower lip.

“Can’t believe—dared to touch you, frikkin’ son of a taint, wish—should’ve done more, bastard, made it last longer—“ Jack spits out, sentences fractured even through his diminishing rage. Rhys forgets for a moment and forgets his jaw, blood and spit at the corner of his mouth.

Jack’s fingers shake, and anger flares up in the depths of his eyes once more. He hisses under his breath, his other hand coming to stroke Rhys’ hair, clumsily petting it back into place.

“…Let’s get you to medical bay, ‘kay pumpkin?” Jack swallows and speaks after a moment, his own voice hoarse and worn-out. Rhys’ throat works though he doesn’t try to speak again, saving his words for later when he can properly speak them.

He doesn’t complain when Jack picks him up, the broad arms around a thousand lightyears away from those that had pinned him down and pummeled his face moments earlier. He rests his head against Jack’s shoulder, finally allowing himself to slip into a daze as colors and shapes fade around him.

Rhys wakes up in a temporary bed in the medical bay with a nurse swabbing his wounds. A low whimper builds in his throat when he can’t detect Jack beyond the cling of his scent to his skin and clothes, but when he looks down he sees a Hyperion brand nova shield clipped to his lapel.

Even so, as he settles back into his bed, wounds bandaged and jaw wired back into place, he hopes Jack will return to visit him soon.

Rhys would like if Jack stopped force choking all his lieutenants for fun

idk where this came from, dont @ me

It was easier to give Jack what he wanted.

After all, his position as the man’s personal assistant had given already Rhys his heart’s desire. A position higher than those of his many nemeses. A salary that allowed him to upgrade his wardrobe, to move him and Vaughn from their class-C apartment to a luxurious class-A. He had shoes for every day of the month and a jacuzzi tub that dispensed aromatic oils into the water. He could order out at his favorite, expensive restaurant whenever he wanted without worrying if he’d still have enough left over to pay utilities. Life was good.

He wasn’t about to throw that all away rebuking Jack’s advances. Even if they came at the most inopportune moments, when Rhys was deeply focused on work and far from interested in satisfying Jack’s needs.

“You’re tense, babydoll,” Jack growled as he licked the back of Rhys’ neck, breath hot against his skin. “Feels like you need daddy’s touch to help you unwind.”

It was hard not to be tense when he was about an hour behind work thanks to Jack’s tardiness, but there was no use in telling the CEO that, not when he was already panting like an animal. So Rhys left his hands slack against the arms of his chair, not resisting as Jack loomed behind him, one arm slinking down over his front.

Rhys had fucked far worse men than Jack—in both looks and temperament. The man had certainly earned the title “handsome” and though he often fell into fits of violence, if one was useful as Rhys had proved to be he was easier to mollify. Jack wouldn’t harm his tool, his toy, as long as Rhys did exactly what he wanted.

“You’re so damn sexy.” Jack’s hands slid to Rhys’ chest, groping his pecs through the material of his shirt. Rhys tilted his head back, moan parting his lips. Teeth worried against his neck as Jack bit him, drawing reddened bruises out of his skin as he popped open the buttons on Rhys’ shirt.

“I miss when you used to wear ties…” Jack’s hands pulled open the two undone sides of Rhys’ garment, revealing the paper-thin fabric of his undershirt. “I liked having something to pull.”

That’d been Vaughn’s idea. He’d fretted when Rhys came home with a ring of bruises around his neck for the fourth time in two weeks. Rhys had shrugged, willing to shake it off but Vaughn wouldn’t let it go. He’d gradually phased out the ties, hoping Jack wouldn’t notice.

But the CEO didn’t dwell on it now, not when he switched focus back to Rhys’ chest. Jack’s hands cupped the fullness of his assistant’s pecs, the bud of Rhys’ nipples pressing right up against his palms. Rhys moaned as they hardened with the massaging movement of Jack’s hands, obviously poking out through his undershirt when the CEO pulled away to look.

“You’re so damn sensitive, kiddo. Some guys might be ashamed if their boss touched them like this, but you really are a sick little trooper, ain’t you?”

Rhys was. Any reasonable person would have called HR months ago, when this first started—but a reasonable person has no business working under Handsome Jack. Only people like Rhys, who could tolerate and in some cases match Jack’s desires and inflated ego could survive under him for this long. Rhys took pride in that, like he took pride in the less degenerate aspects of his work.

They ended up fucking on Rhys’ desk, this time, Jack too worked up to bother hoisting Rhys over to his own. He kept Rhys on his back, dark blue pieces of clothing fluttering to the side, exposing his bare stomach where Jack had rucked up the filmy undershirt. Moans of praise and honey-sweet thanks danced on Rhys’ tongue, flattering Jack to finish, when he pulsed inside of his assistant and filled him with the sticky weight of come.

Jack left a trail of it when he pulled out, dripping down the edge of Rhys’ desk and onto the floor. Rhys shot him a slightly annoyed pout, knowing Jack would leave him to clean it up, but the CEO only laughed and reached forward, gripping his face.

“Don’t look so pissy, pumpkin. Everyone on Helios would be clamoring to take your place if they knew.”

Rhys understood. Which was why he’d never give up his position, no matter what Jack did to him.

Once the CEO retreated, satisfied and lazy as he sprawled into his chair, Rhys fixed up his desk, wiping down the cum and sweat clinging to the surface with a packet of tissues he kept in the left cabinet. He disposed of the soiled paper in the trash can by his feet and sat back straight in his chair. He pulled his undershirt back down and buttoned his shirt up, tucking the hem into his pants and bucking his belt.

Rhys left his collar undone, fingers brushing up against the swollen, bitten skin all around his throat. He wondered if by the time he left for home it would start to bruise, or they would merely stay red and chafed.

Rhys swallowed, closed his eyes and counted his breaths, throat twinging against the marred flesh.

He really should start wearing ties again.

idk i just wrote this because

i really wanted that hurt atlas rhys from earlier

i gotta satisfy this appetite for hurt pretty guys

It’d happened too quickly for Jack to react.

One moment he’d been following Rhys off the stage, the applause of the audience echoing in their ears as they descended down the little wooden stairs behind the curtain. It was darker in contrast to the bright stage lights, and there were too many people for him to notice the pistol whipped out and aimed right at Rhys’ head.

Screams cracked through the air moments after the the gun fired. The entire backstage area exploded with a flurry of activity. Jack’s heart leapt in his throat, his hand instinctively clamping to his holster, only for something heavy to crumple against him. It nearly knocked him over as he grabbed onto it, palms finding padded shoulders and holding them tight.

“Rhys? Rhys?” Jack shouted, his own ears ringing with screams and the vibrations of the gunshot. He couldn’t see the assailant nor any more shots, assuming they’d fled or been apprehended. Their identity didn’t matter for the time being, especially when Rhys’ head tipped back and flopped lifelessly against his shoulder, revealing a bright red hole punched into the side of his throat.

Any strength remaining in Rhys’ legs waned and he collapsed completely against Jack, his head lolling against the alpha. One of Jack’s hands left Rhys’ shoulder to desperately loop around his shoulder, getting a better grip as he sagged to his knees.

“Shit,” Jack hissed, watching blood bubble up from the omega’s wounded throat, thick and shiny even in the low light of backstage. Even with just a cursory glance, Jack could tell it wasn’t any superficial wound. The bullet hadn’t grazed him, it’d gone right through. Footsteps clumped and gathered around him, faint concern prodding at him but all he could care about in the moment was Rhys, and the way his still-pink lips tried to move around words that were more breath than sound.

Jack strained his ears, trying to listen, but all that came out of Rhys’ mouth was a dribble of blood.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and get a damn medic!” Jack finally roared back to one of the voices calling to him, causing every bystander to take a step back at the alpha’s anger. Jack quickly turned his attention back to Rhys, lifting the hand still clamped on his shoulder to cradle the back of the omega’s head head.

Rhys’ already pale skin grew whiter with each passing second as he bled out through the neck, soaking the high collar of his coat and dripped onto Jack’s hands. A couple spots made it onto the concrete floor, flecking it darker.

The tattered flesh within the wound shifted with each labored breath. Rhys’ neck now looked more red than white. Jack could see inked skin at the edges of the wound and grimly recalled Rhys’ tattoo, a pretty set of concentric circles that Jack had joked resembled a target.

Such a joke seemed less funny now.

“Hey,” Jack growled, his voice rough and crawling against his own throat. “You really going to let yourself go out like this, pumpkin? Thanks to some asshole’s bullet?” Rhys’ human eye looked flat, lacking the usual depth and intelligence, and the usual glow in his ECHO was fading.

Jack hissed, carefully laying Rhys onto the floor to free up the hand already slicked with blood. He hadn’t much medical knowledge but knew he had to staunch the bleeding until the medics arrived and shot Rhys full of Anshin.

“You were schooling me out there on the stage, you know. Like a damn orator. You had them captivated, sweetheart. Begging for more.” Jack shifted, pressing his palm down over the wound in Rhys’ throat. “Don’t leave ‘em disappointed.”

Pink blood frothed at the corner of Rhys’ lips, and Jack thought he heard a little sound, felt a little vibration underneath his slick fingers as he pressed onto the wound.

He thought it funny, almost, that after years of fantasizing how it would feel to wrap his hands around Rhys’ scrawny little neck, he now had one pressed down against his wound trying to save his life.

“Hey. Don’t frikkin do that,” Jack scowled as Rhys’ eyelids began to drift over his glassy eyes. The CEO’s typically well-kept hair flared around him like a corona, the strands near his neck sticking dark and wet with blood.

“Rhys.” Jack pressed down harder, as if he could hold Rhys’ life deep in his body with enough physical force. “Don’t go. Come on. Don’t go.”

The medics came when Rhys could only keep his eyes open a sliver, and Jack couldn’t tell if he was gone or not when they nudged him away and lifted Rhys out from under his hands. He watched as they slipped him onto a stretcher, emergency Anshin already loaded and glowing into a syringe. They rolled him off and Jack, too numb to follow, just stood, his hand coming up to cradle his face before he remembered it was still slicked with blood.

Jack didn’t know anything about flowers. He has Meg order them for him. He doesn’t know the names of the yellow and pink buds cradled in the delicate bouquet paper, but they look nice enough to the layman’s eye. He hoped Rhys would like them.

When the nurse opened the door Jack saw natural light filtering in through the slats in the windows and over the rumpled bedsheets. He poked in nervously after her, fingers gripping tight around the bouquet in his hand. His eyes quickly landed upon Rhys, tucked away in a bed near the corner of the room. He still sat surrounded by machines, but only a few still hooked up to him, feeding him fluids and monitoring his heartbeat.

Rhys turned away from the window to look at Jack when the alpha drew closer, nostrils widening at the scent. He looked more flush than the bedsheets, a lot pinker and healthier than he had been while bleeding out backstage. His hair was down and free from gel, usual primping routine shaken by the sudden hospitalization, but Jack thought it suited him. Maybe that was just because he’d never seen Rhys like that before, and much as he considered the man his rival he liked learning new things about him.

“Hey,” Jack managed as he drew close enough to Rhys’ bedside to merit speaking. “Got you these.” He awkwardly held the bouquet out to Rhys before second-guessing himself, but the omega blinked and carefully lifted his hands to cradle the flowers. His eyes fluttered closed as he sniffed them, the light puff of pollen floating in the glow of the sunshine.

Jack’s eyes fell below Rhys’ jawline to find where a medical patch lied taped against the side of his neck, the area of the wound a lot smaller than it’d seemed beneath his hands. He wondered if they’d got the Anshin in him early enough to prevent scarring and save the tattoo. And if Rhys might get a replacement if the opposite proved true.

The nurse eventually took the flowers from Rhys’ hands and placed them in a nice crystal vase by the window sill, sun silhouetted them in a comforting light. Jack sat in a chair by Rhys’ bedside, looking down at his hands when he realized the omega was watching him.

“You know…I’m…jeez, this is corny and totally not like me, but…” Jack twiddled his thumbs, picking at the bit of dried red still underneath his nail. “I…I’m really glad you’re okay, kiddo. Wouldn’t be the same without you. Whatever boring Atlas clod they’d get to replace you wouldn’t last ten minutes before I stuck a bullet in his head.”

Jack tensed at his own comment, wondering if it was way too soon to be bringing up guns and bullets around the injured CEO—but a soft noise caused him to lift his head, and once he did he could see Rhys smiling softly at him, lips parted slightly in as much a laugh as he could muster.

They moved again a moment later, mouthing something to the alpha that rung with more meaning than any sound he’d heard in ages.

Thank you, Jack.

A selection of condoms—no doubt placed by the housekeeping loader—sat on the side table next to the door. Jack blushed as soon as he noticed them, then harder when Rhys laughed.

“I think it might be a little too late for those.”

Jack really hoped so, though he didn’t know dick about Rhys’ alien biology aside from what he’d experienced firsthand last time. For all he understood Rhys could end up double-pregnant or something ridiculous. But before he couldn’t even think harder on whether he should grab the condoms the emperor was already pressing up against him, belly digging into Jack’s spine as he mouthed at the CEO’s ear.

“I’ve waited so long…don’t make me wait much longer.”

Rhys’ undone coat fell to the floor with a heavy thump as he shrugged out of it, following Jack closely as he walked towards the bedroom. Rhys’ height made it difficult for him to maneuver most of the door frames and often he needed to duck, which would’ve disturbed the sensual atmosphere if not for the deluge of pure horniness cascading off of Rhys’ body.

Jeez. Jack didn’t ever think sex had much of a smell apart from sweat, skin, and any scented lubes tossed into the mix, but something inside of him responded to the shift as he walked the emperor down the hallway to his bedroom. Something like soil, warm even under a cool night, or dust collecting into balls of fiery life way out into space. Somehow, in his head, those two things seemed reconcilable.

okay….a little more cause i cant resist

Emperor!Rhys preview. If you guys like this I’ll try to finish it in my next few days off.

Now in the privacy of his office, with the initial shock of Rhys’ arrival worn away, Jack could take in the emperor’s new look a little better. What a change, jeez. Jack remembered well the nubile little slip of an alien he’d bedded months ago, and while those memories resembled the imperial figure in front of him somewhat, Jack could pick out more differences than things that’d stayed the same.

The drastic shift in clothing struck Jack first. The innocence of that young heir at the ball on Japetus was what had drawn him in the first place—accentuated by the filmy robes of white and glimmering blue. He’d looked gorgeous on the white stone balcony of the palace, the moonlight making him shine like a surreal, enticing illusion.

All that gauzy blue and white had been ripped away and replaced with solid black, gold, and fiery red. Instead of robes that clung to the skin Rhys wore a massive, dark greatcoat that made him look even more daunting than any bandit or mercenary Jack had ever come across. The collar blossomed up high behind his head, framing it with shimmering red and gold that seemed to bubble and shift like lava. An opal-buckled belt cinched the coat together high on his abdomen, weighty sheaves of his coat billowing out over the rest of his body. It hemmed around his knees, shadowing the heavy black boots Rhys now sported.

They looked different, fearsome and far more suited for combat than the blue and white shoes Rhys had worn back on Japetus, straps and clasps delicate as fish bones. He remembered them well—when they laid over his shoulders, reflected in the mirror above the heir’s headboard.

There was still that elegance in Rhys, even now. Even as he stood towering and bulked with power he kept his boots heeled with the same roiling orange fire that blazed on his collar. He looked like a statue ready for worship—a look Jack had become familiar with over his years as Hyperion’s most eminent CEO.

No fair. He’d spent all this money on likenesses peppered all around Helios but Rhys had cut out the middleman through virtue of already looking as grand and intimidating as a frikkin’ sculpture.

But it wasn’t just the clothes that had Jack shaking and swallowing behind a face of bravado. Even discounting the height of the heels he was sure Rhys had grown even taller than before, with Jack’s head only barely coming up to the emperor’s shoulders. And bigger…Rhys looked a lot bigger, whether it was all muscle or the layers of clothes he wore or if Rhys had been pounding back the growth hormone, Jack didn’t know. But he hardly ever felt small, even in the presence of vault monsters and untamed planets. Yet Rhys’ size unnerved something inside of him, his neck prickling and mouth running a little dry.

“It’s nice to finally get you in private again, Jack.” Rhys broke the silence, gloved hands coming to lace in front of his body.

“You kinda….caught us at an interestin’ time, didn’t ya?” Shit-Breath jerked his thumb towards Rhys. “You see, we caught some HPD scum snoopin’ around. Now, I ‘member the headlines. Didn’t this slut bust your balls over runnin’ Eridium outta that Hyperion club?”

Jack’s eyes drifted back to where Rhys lay on the floor. He looked at him sidelong, squinting slightly. Rhys swallowed roughly. Why hadn’t Jack said anything? Usually the alpha was all about striking up a hearty banter with Rhys, whether the he liked it or not. But Jack only stared at him. Rhys felt his stomach turn, disturbed.

“So we was just about to try him out…have some fun…but it’d be rude not to offer first dibs to a guest, right?” Shit-Breath said to the rest of his gang, who mumbled in agreement. One Eye’s hands lifted from groping Rhys’ chest to merely settle on his shoulders, and Ripped Jeans pushed up in a slight crouch, leaving room for Jack.

But the mob boss stood in place, looking not towards any of the Psychos, but still fixed right at Rhys. As the omega watched, Jack’s eyes roved from his bound legs to his slashed pants, then up to his opened shirt and finally, to Rhys’ bruised, begging face. Thought works behind that piercing gaze, and for a moment Rhys’ heart stilled, frozen by the man he’d gone toe-to-toe with for the better part of his career.

“You know,” Rhys hissed and narrowed his eyes at the mob boss, offered drink still untouched on the bar. “I’m pretty sure I could fill your rap sheet entirely with bad pick-up lines. You’re a real menace.”

“Aww, no need to put up such a fight, sugar.” The corner of Jack’s mouth rose with his suggestive eyebrow as he leaned forward, chin in hand. “It’ll be more fun if you play along…but I’m not worried. I’ll get my hands on you one way or another.”

Rhys’ heartbeat quickened under Jack’s focused gaze, the memory floating to the surface. Every time Jack had openly lusted after him. Joked about how badly he wanted to touch him. Deliberately pushed Rhys’ buttons and relished in his reaction.

And the Psychos were serving him up to Jack on a silver platter.

No. No. He wouldn’t. The Jack he’d tangled with could be cruel, selfish, violent, but he didn’t—there was no way—

Panic welled back up in Rhys’ throat, choking him. He didn’t know if he could breath so long as Jack kept looking at him.

more of the detective rhys kidnapping fic. it’s coming

“Retroduction”

Though the expertly fine-tuned result of a lot of research and prototyping, there were still little things that set Rhys apart from the average human. His skin looked colder, muscles in his face less accustomed to human emotion. But never had he looked this pale, this still, not since Jack had first seen his unactivated body hanging in stasis in R&D.

He took in the grievous wounds littered over Rhys’ body, each worse than the last. Cuts and scratches around his port and left eye told Jack they’d tried to get into his brain, rip out those delicate Hyperion processors. A thin scalpel glimmered like a bloodied clue on the ground besides Rhys’ head. Even more tools sit scattered atop the table. Jack can only guess at their use and where they’d cut into his android’s body like the god-damn butchers they were, with none of the finesse and care Jack used whenever Rhys needed repairs or updates.

Bastards. Jack’s teeth ground together. They’d harvested his Rhys for parts then left him here to die.

I got a random urge to write robot gore, so some android!Rhys fic was born. Hope you guys like it 🙂

Jack didn’t think he’d get attached to the android this quickly.

Of course the development team that’d helped him bring Rhys to reality had warned him it might happen, especially if he meant to spend long stretches of time with the android at his side. Which Jack did, considering Rhys was instrumental in his plans for Pandora, but he figured he could keep his wits about him and not forget the android was just that—an android. Didn’t matter how realistic he looked or acted.

Still, he preferred Rhys at his side, if only to keep him company. His impassive demeanor and occasional snark, learned from downloaded updates and observations of other employees, always had Jack in stitches. And he wasn’t too bad to look at either, designed with Jack’s taste in pretty boys in mind.

Too bad going down to Pandora solo played an important part of the android’s mission. Until Hyperion wrested complete control away from the shambles of mercenaries and bandits and conflicting companies, Rhys couldn’t yet rest safe and secure within Helios.

So Jack was feeling a little bit lonely in his office with Rhys’ usual spot empty. And maybe just kind of uneasy.

Rhys had gone on the Pandora mission two days ago. Typical sweep of bandit activity in areas steadily coming under Hyperion control. His programming instructed him to report to Jack three times a day—morning, noon, and night.

Rhys had missed this morning’s check-in.

Jack tapped his fingers on the monitor in his desk, trying to distract himself with a colorful bubble-popping game as the deadline for Rhys’ afternoon update inched closer. He doesn’t need to waste his energy worrying about an android designed to succeed.

His fingers missed a yellow bubble and instead popped a blue one, causing the entire stack to fall and mess up his score. Growling, he slammed his fist against it and glared at his still-silent ECHO. The clock on the display clicked on, each passing second winding the worry Jack definitely didn’t have.

Skipping two check-ins was really unlike Rhys. Anything abnormal was unlike Rhys, considering both his loyalty and programming kept him on target with any of Jack’s orders.

Jack drummed his lips with his other hand, frustration puffing between his lips. He waited another minute, watching the throbbing GAME OVER screen on his desk, before grabbing his ECHO and swiped open Rhys’ communication channel.

“HP-6969, this is Big Daddy. Requesting mission briefing and status update.”

Jack waited for Rhys’ usual prompt response, but only silence greeted his ears. He counted to twenty, before trying again.

“HP-6969, respond. Status Update.”

Jack thought he heard something just as he finished speaking, like a huff of a static. He tried straining his hear to listen for any more, nerves now sitting on edge, but he couldn’t make out much more.

“Rhys.” Jack hissed into his ECHO. “Pick up.”

Nothing.

His fingers clenched tightly around the device, before switching connections and getting in contact with the head of his militia.

Jack amassed a small squad in no time, rumbling planet-side with his men until the transport zeroed in on the spot they’d traced Rhys’ tracker to. Jack could see the encampment from the sky—small, not one of the more impressive ones he’s seen in all his years of killing bandits. Rhys should’ve been able to wipe a place like this off the map.

Jack’s stomach sunk into his hips as the transport’s thrusters powered on, slowing their descent until the entire hull shudders with the impact of the landing. He was on his feet as soon as the transport ceased vibrating, muscling towards the entrance of the transport and letting only a few armed guards out to clear the immediate perimeter before he stalked out into the open air.

Even the deserts of Pandora grew horribly frigid at night, not that Jack could feel much of the cold with his blood and rage pumping so furiously in his veins. The soles of his shoes stamped so hard against the ground it sent shocks of pain up to his knees. Rhys always bitched at him about fitness and keeping healthy as he aged, especially if he wanted to see his rule of Pandora come to fruition. Jack had quipped back more than once that if Rhys didn’t keep his lips closed, he’d deactivate him.

Jokes like that seemed a lot less funny now.

The red light of the tracker still blinked on his ECHO. Rhys hadn’t moved and the dot hadn’t disappeared. He already knew Rhys must be injured or otherwise compromised, but as he raced forward behind the line of guards, he hoped he could hang on for a little bit longer.

Just until Jack got there. The hero always arrived just in time, after all. Even when things looked hopeless.

The bandits that appeared at the partially barricaded entrance of the compound vanished a moment later—either ducking back down or collapsing after a bullet slammed into their skulls. Jack saw blood splatter in the air, color dark black and glistening in the light of Elpis. One of his soldiers fell into a crouch, shouldering a sleek rocket launcher and aiming right for the flimsy barricade. Flames quickly lit up the dark Pandoran sky as the entrance to the encampment exploded with the impact.

Jack races after his men as they stamp through the smoldering wreck of the barricade, throwing aside metal scraps and burnt hunks of wood to clear a path for the CEO as their contingent pressed forward.

Most of the encampment is indoors, a tangle of hallways half tunneled into the ground. His soldiers cut through the bandits easier, splattering them against the walls and dropping them to the floor as they fan out through the bowels of the outpost. Jack followed the men branching off to the left, towards the blip on his tracker.

This close to Rhys’ position Jack could finally access the program on his ECHO that tapped into his android’s vitals, though a split second later he wished he couldn’t, because the numbers that flashed back to him were dire. Rage had already nearly made Jack to his stomach, and now it threatens to boil over. He swallows an unpleasant taste in the back of his throat down, eyes roving over the display, struggling to focus and calculate how much time Rhys had left as shots and shouts ring out all around him.

He finally shoved the ECHO back into his pocket once his men have cleared out the hallway leading to Rhys’ location. The rusty metal door in front of them sat riddled with bullet holes and nearly hanging off its hinges, and it jarred off its frame with only a couple heavy kicks from one of his guards as soon as Jack gave the word. The first line of soldiers flooded into the room to secure it, but no weapons fired as Jack stepped forward through the broken door and shouldered through two of his men to scan the room himself.

The first thing he saw was the blood.

It dripped from a huge pool in the middle of what looked like the planet’s filthiest operating table onto the floor. Jack felt himself grow numb and hot at the same time when he followed the drops of faintly glowing, purple fluid down to the body lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. This far away, with such a lack of decent lighting apart from the dingy ceiling panels, he couldn’t make out a face but he knew. Nothing else had that color blood.

The bandits had stripped Rhys of the tactical vest and holsters he wore on missions and ripped at the black and yellow bodysuit underneath, leaving width swaths of skin exposed and yawning with open wounds. Little of the familiar white and blue of Rhys’ bare, tattooed body was visible thanks to the blood streaked over his flesh and soaked into his clothes. The bright purple looked unsettling, almost like paint splattered all over like this was some kind of prank. Like Rhys would just sit up with a playful smile on his face and laugh all tinny at the misdirect.

Jack desperately wished that was the case.

He dashed over to the android’s side, knees smearing through the pool of blood as he came to rest on the gritty, nasty floor. Rhys did not sit up, nor smile and laugh, nor move at all. He laid completely still, limbs tossed about his body as if he’d been shoved off the table and onto the floor in haste.

Jack could see Rhys’ face now as he leaned over him, and his mind couldn’t figure out whether that was a good or bad thing.

Though the expertly fine-tuned result of a lot of research and prototyping, there were still little things that set Rhys apart from the average human. His skin looked colder, muscles in his face less accustomed to human emotion. But never had he looked this pale, this still, not since Jack had first seen his unactivated body hanging in stasis in R&D.

He took in the grievous wounds littered over Rhys’ body, each worse than the last. Cuts and scratches around his port and left eye told Jack they’d tried to get into his brain, rip out those delicate Hyperion processors. A thin scalpel glimmered like a bloodied clue on the ground besides Rhys’ head. Even more tools sit scattered atop the table. Jack can only guess at their use and where they’d cut into his android’s body like the god-damn butchers they were, with none of the finesse and care Jack used whenever Rhys needed repairs or updates.

Bastards. Jack’s teeth ground together. They’d harvested his Rhys for parts then left him here to die.

Not all the injuries looked as deliberate—some screamed out sadism, rage against something Hyperion-made. Rhys’ belly was cut, silvery tubes slicked with purple spilling out over the gash splitting him from hip to hip. His knees were bound together with ratty, bloodstained rope, and one of his feet had been chopped off mid-shin, the end ragged as if the blade used had been chipped and dull. The artificial flesh curled away from every wound like slashed bits of paper, revealing tattered strands of silvery biomuscle tissue beneath.

Jack slipped his hand underneath Rhys’ skull, trying to lift his head up off the floor, only to hiss when his fingers found a wide tear in the synthetic scalp. He could feel the cracks in the metal plating of Rhys’ skull, gooey wires tangible and leaking blood all over his fingers.

Jack winced as it burned his skin. Eridium-treated fluid flowed through Rhys’ veins, fueling his life systems and bandit-killing powers, and wasn’t mean to make contact with human flesh. Still, he cupped the back of Rhys’ skull and lifted his head, needing him to react.

“Kiddo. Hey.” Jack took a moment to breath before he spoke up, trying to keep his voice steady. Rhys always responded well to firmer commands. “Really gonna need you to wake up here.”

Blood spilled out of Rhys’ frozen lips as Jack lifted his head and shook him, purple drooling onto his chest. A weak cough—like metal scraping rough against a speaker—followed. Jack’s heart thumped loud in his ears, louder than the heavy footsteps and shouts of his men as they cleared out the rest of the hallways, yet not enough to drown out the faint sound of Rhys struggling to speak.

“Sir…” Rhys managed, his throat twitching unnaturally with the effort. Jack wondered if they’d damaged his vocalizer. His neck looked bruised, the flesh twisted and marked like kneaded clay.

Had Rhys tried shouting out? Maybe started contacting Jack? He recalled the little, static huff he’d heard through the ECHO back on Helios. Had the bandits used their filthy hands to put a stop to any cry for help his android could muster?

Rhys coughed again, his eyebrows twitching up as he looked up at Jack. His expression stayed too impassive for someone who’d been mangled so badly, too focused on the comparably uninjured Jack. He cradled Rhys’ head closer, a human instinct to bring him comfort that the android probably wouldn’t understand.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack someday, sugar…aren’t you programmed to protect me? Make sure I stay healthy enough to conquer this hellhole? You’re kinda doing a shit job,” Jack tried to tease, though the joke sunk like a rock in his stomach at the response he got.

“Oh…” Rhys’ eyelids shuddered, movement glitched. “I a-apologize.”

“Don’t…it’s fine, kiddo. Don’t be sorry.” Jack swallowed tightly as he tried to shift Rhys onto his lap, wanting the assurance of the android’s weight against him. “Can you tell me what they did to you, pumpkin? Gimme a status update.”

“F-Fluid loss…thirty-percent…” Rhys struggled to relate even as more blood drooled from the corners of his lips. “Cerebral casing breeched…thoracic cavity compromised…stress levels…s-seventy-three percent…”

“Not great then, huh?” Jack turned his head over his shoulders, shouting to the men that’d stayed to guard the room as he hunched over his android. “Get me medical repairs! And quick!”

When Jack turned back around he scanned over hole opened up right beneath Rhys’ sternum, like someone had tried to punch right through the android’s body. The worst of Rhys’ wounds glistened with blood, ruined flesh pumping and twitching slightly as more fluid leaked down into his tattered clothes.

“They try to take your core, sugar?”

“Don’t ‘member…” Rhys’ voice slowed, crackling slightly at the edges. His vocalizer was failing.

Jack hushed the android before he brushed aside the ripped synthetic skin around the chest wound, trying to get a proper look inside even as the blood stung against his skin. He tried to keep steady but a wince still whispered past his lips. Rhys, even with his sensors badly damaged, noticed, his mangled fingers lifting to push away Jack’s hand. He could see the little muscles in his hand beneath the torn flesh, struggling with waning strength.

“Sir….should not b-be touching me…my fluids will…”

“Don’t lecture me, pumpkin. I know what your fluids do.” Jack gripped Rhys’ wrist and pressed it back against his chest, above the wound. “I frikkin’ made you, remember? And I’m not about to let some damn braindead bandits take you away from me.”

He’d been with Rhys since the beginning, since he was just a fledgling idea. Jack had brought him though months of rewriting code and testing parts, through prototype after prototype. Endless blood, sweat and tears sunk into the project until Rhys emerged, fully formed and perfect. Jack still remembered the moment he’d activated the android. He’d seen the fingers of Rhys’ right hand twitch first and grabbed them in excitement, watching with bated breath as the movement quivered up his arm and through the rest of his body until finally, his eyes opened—not for the first time, no, considering how many tests they’d run on Rhys’ facial muscles—alight with curiosity as he really saw.

Jack had been the first thing the android had ever seen. And as he coughed and struggled to stay online in the man’s arms, he worried it might be the last.

“Rhys. Repairs are on there way, so don’t you leave me. That’s an order.”

The android’s body twitched, synthetic muscles escaping control of his floundering nerves. Loops of slick tubes slid further out of the hole in his stomach, and above the wound in his chest continued to trickle blood. Jack hoped the blow had just nicked some ancillary vessels and not the pump embedded deep beneath his sternum. His grip tightened on his android.

“I…I don’t understand…why…” Rhys breathed, his head lolling against Jack’s chest. The CEO cradled him now like a child, uncaring of the blood stinging his skin and soaking into his clothes. His lips pulled in an angry snarl at the plaintive confusion in the android’s flagging voice.

“Why? Because they’re insane, pumpkin, because they see something perfect and mine and they wanna break it—!“ Jack started to spit, only for Rhys to shake his head.

“N-Not them…you…” Rhys’ throat worked as more blood bubbled in his mouth. “I’m not…sir…I’m only…m-machine…”

“What?” Jack’s voice grew high, disbelieving.

“So don’t…don’t be so distraught…” Rhys continued as his eyelids fell to half mast, perception slowly fading from his irises. “Just a machine…weapon…don’t…”

Just as Rhys’ eyes slipped closed the repair medic ran through the busted door behind them. Jack numbly relinquished his hold on the android, Rhys last words circling in his head as the medic slit away the remaining fabric of his bodysuit and pulled it apart to get at the emergency port on his thigh. Jack managed to hobble away, leaving space as the emergency gurney and several more repairmen pushed past the empty doorframe. They loaded Rhys up as soon as the tube of bright purple fluid connected into the thigh port, pumping fluid into the android’s limp body as they pushed him through the hallways and back out through the desert night towards the waiting transport.

Jack left a small portion of his guard behind with orders to raze the entire encampment to the ground, before following the repairmen up the gangplank.

Systems Online. Resuming Prime Directive. Reboot in 005 seconds.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1..

Rhys slowly blinked away the status notification, dim sight slowly coming back into focus. His tactile sensors came back online slowly. The first thing he felt was something soft underneath his body, followed by a pressure on his right hand. Not an unpleasant nor alarming feeling—in fact, it called back a memory embedded deep in his subsystems.

“Jack?” He turned his head to look down his arm and sure enough, those familiar broad hands, decorated with a single silver ring, held tight around Rhys’ own. Jack had laced their fingers together, the palm of his second hand resting atop their joined hold. As soon as Rhys spoke—voice still scratchy and low, recovering—Jack jolted, knee accidentally knocking into the bed the android lay upon.

“Rhys? Rhysie, you with me?” Jack scraped his chair closer, lifting their joined hands almost to his chest. Rhys blinked carefully, testing the responsivity of the biomuscles in his face.

“I think…yes.” He managed a small nod, though his head felt heavy. Everything did. A full systems reboot wasn’t an instant fix, it would take a little bit of time before he returned to one-hundred percent effectiveness.

His eyes roved over Jack, noting oddities. He’d shed most of his layers, leaving only his pants and yellow sweater. The bags under his eyes hung heavier than usual, almost resembling bruising. Most concerning of all were the bandages up his arms. Rhys squeezed Jack’s hand, feeling similar wrappings around the CEO’s fingers.

“I…I told you not to touch me while I was bleeding…” Rhys frowned, remembering the hiss of his fluid against Jack’s skin. His master had harmed himself so senselessly, it was—

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jack’s face was suddenly a lot closer than it’d been a moment ago, his grip on Rhys’ hand a lot tighter, clinging as if afraid he might fall apart. “You think I care about a couple burns, pumpkin? I’ve had much worse.”

“I—“ Rhys started, only for Jack to smother any argument with his lips. The android’s eyes remained open, his eyebrows pinched up in confusion. He understood Jack was kissing him—but why?

Rhys got no answer when Jack finally parted their lips. The hand not entwined with Rhys’ reached up to pet his hair back. Though confused, the android felt calm, safe as Jack touched him.

“You’re not just a machine, you hear?”

Rhys blinked.

“But I am—“

“Nuh uh! I don’t wanna hear it!” Jack shook his head, hand sliding down to cup Rhys’ face. “You’re more valuable to me than any other human on this station. In the whole galaxy. I don’t care about technicalities, and neither should you.”

“I see…” Rhys replied, though he didn’t completely understand. But if Jack wanted him to, then he’d certainly try.

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you thinking you’re disposable. Do you even know how long it took me to get you perfect?”

“There exist other clones, sir, I’ve seen them, even if something happened to me you wouldn’t—“

“Kiddo, you know I don’t mean just programming and hardware.” Jack lightly patted Rhys’ cheek, eyes oddly fond. Rhys wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this kind of expression on his creator before, but perhaps he hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe he should, from now on, because something feels changed between them. Perhaps Jack had updated his subsystems before the reboot.

Whatever it was, Rhys found himself enjoying it. The endearments Jack loved to use rung with a little more fondness than before, though perhaps Rhys had just been unable to perceive it properly.

He squeezed Jack’s hand, smiling at the little thrilled feeling that ran up inside of him when Jack squeezed back. The feeling of being wanted, valued.

“Sir?”

“Yeah?”

The memories were sketchy, but Rhys could recall the way Jack held him deep in that compound, refused to leave his side until he was repaired. Rhys lifted his other arm until his fingers brushed lightly against Jack’s face.

“Thank you for coming for me.”

Kinktober 2018 Masterpost

Thank you for everyone who sent in requests and suggestions! Sorry I couldn’t get to them all, but hopefully all this will tide you over!

Day 31: Pantyhose/Tights/Stockings, Hate Sex, Face-Sitting

You got it!

“I can’t believe I never thought about this before…but this is a really great way to get you to shut up,” Rhys laughed as he looked down at what part of Jack he could see between his legs.

They’d been having another argument—not something uncommon between the CEOs of Hyperion and Atlas—but this time, instead of letting Jack get away with the upper hand, he’d decided to try something a little different.

Knocking Jack back against the desk had been the hardest part, but once he’d laid the alpha out against the surface and crawled atop him everything became an absolutely pleasure. Especially when he decided Jack’s now-silenced mouth could actually be used for something useful.

With his pants now halfway down his thigh and the sheer tights he liked to wear close and silky against his skin, Rhys ground down rubbed his lightly covered groin against Jack’s lips and protesting tongue. Not that the alpha could do much with Rhys’ weight entirely pressing down atop him.

“You feel so good…for once you’re being useful.” Rhys moaned, feeling wet and aroused against the fabric of his tights. The way Jack grabbed at his thighs and tried to push him off only added to the omega’s pleasure, knowing his rival must feel humiliated at being bested by Rhys and forced into submission so easily.

“You better be a good boy and get me off….unless you wanna be suffocated like this,” Rhys laughed as he rolled his hips down, rubbing Jack’s mouth in a line from his balls to his ass and back. “Just imagine the headlines…imagine what people would think if they learned the King of Hyperion was smothered between his hated rivals thighs…”

Jack’s protest was well muffled beneath Rhys, though the words vibrated sensually into his loins. The omega purred, enamored with his own dominance.

Even if their little tryst didn’t end up in the news, Rhys would carry the memory of how Jack looked pinned and helpless below with him for the rest of his days.