Tag: violence

Kinktober Day 9: Lingerie, Bondage

Done as part of a collab with @hyperiontrashbin!

“You really thought I’d be that easy to take down, huh?” Jack chuckled right in front of his desk, working the jet black crop over in his gloved hands. “You could just come along and overthrow the big guy, huh? A little upstart like you?”

Rhys remained on his knees, mouth moving only to lick the skin of his dry, bloody lips. His eyes remained defiant, even as they glistened with unwilling tears—though Jack hand’t got him full-on crying yet, he’d managed to squeeze out a bit through the lashing of his crop. Rhys’ body was covered with marks and bruises now, from his bare thighs all the way up to his chest and shoulders. He looked perfect, especially where the yellow of the lingerie Jack’d forced him in stained red.

“Hopefully now you’ve learned your place…though if you need a little more help, I wouldn’t mind taking a crack at you again.” Jack snapped the stem of the crop against his palm, the walls of his office reverberating with the sharp noise. Rhys flinched at the sound, as if expecting a blow. Jack only laughed.

“Good, Rhysie. You’re figuring it out. It’ll  be much easier for you if you respect daddy from here on out.” Jack leaned back against his desk, pushing his feet off the floor to sit atop it. He kept his thighs spread, pointing the crop down until the tip touched the side of Rhys’ cheek. “Now up, sugar. Show me how sorry you are.”

Jack had already screwed Rhys once, just after he’d bound his wrists, collared his neck, and snapped the lingerie onto him. The evidence still dripped down his thighs as he pushed himself shakily to his feet without use of his hands. Jack leaned back against the desk, watching with a smirk as Rhys eased himself up. Jack lead him forward with the movement of the crop, sliding it from the other CEO’s cheek to his chin as Rhys hobbled closer.

“Beautiful. You’re doing wonderful, pumpkin.” Jack set the crop besides him on the desk, instead grabbing for the end of Rhys’ lead and pulling him even closer. “Don’t be too beat up about this. Every CEO worth his salt is gonna have to learn to deal with…setbacks.”

Rhys’ lip twitched as Jack pulled him closer, until he stood between his spread legs, close enough to kiss. Jack quickly closed the meager distance between them, tasting Rhys’ bloodied mouth as his legs curled around Rhys’ waist, brushing up against the limp lace of the lingerie. He reached down with his other hand to pluck at the silky straps laid tight around Rhys’ skin, finally drawing a hiss of pain from him as he snapped it back against his flayed hip.

“You really are prettiest like this…” Jack murmured as his fingers slid to Rhys’ crotch, pleased to find his cock half-hard. A-hah. He didn’t hate this as much as he seemed, then.

“You ever considered giving up this whole Atlas game, sugar, and working for me? You’d be such a wonderful pet,” Jack hissed, amused when he saw Rhys’ eyes grow wide. With horror or consideration, it didn’t matter. Jack worked his fingers harder against Rhys’ cock, bringing it fully hard.

“Think about it,” Jack purred against the other CEO’s cracked lips as he stroked him off. “Who knows, this might help convince you.”

“Exit, Through the Heart”

Jack breathed out a little of the tension twisting through his body as soon as he felt that it hadn’t stuck in quite as deep as he’d initially feared. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t deep enough to be anything more than a superficial wound. He shook his head with a terse laugh.

“Guess it’s good I hadn’t told them to breed toxins into the thing yet….right Rhysi—“

A harsh, wet cough from above cut him off. Jack lifted his eyes just as a rain of blood splattered down on him, staining his shirt and chin. Jack blinked rapidly, trying to take in the reality of the terrible sight arching above him.

Rhys’ skin was white as bone, the only scrap of color on his face the dying pink lips that were now dripping with thick rivulets of blood. His hair had fallen out of its usual style in the scuffle, little strands sticking to the cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Jack’s heart leapt in alarm, voice stuck in his throat as he dropped his gaze down from Rhys’ stricken face, trying to figure out what’d happened to his lover.

He didn’t have to look far.

I have no excuse for this other than I’ve spent the last couple days reading injury and hurt/comfort fics and I really needed to do something with these guys. 

Enjoy! Only warning here is for some light gore and violence. 

Aside from his office and penthouse, Jack thought Research and Development was the most secure place in all of Helios.

And one would naturally expect that, right? With the amount of seriously dangerous research going on in there, an insane degree of security must have been funneled into its defenses. Jack was pretty sure he’d co-signed on such things himself.

So why the newly developed experimental stalker was able to break out of its enclosure was beyond Jack’s understanding.

Not that he even had much time for rage before the creature began its attack, biting the head off of the nearest researcher before going on the warpath. Screams and death gurgles suddenly filled the room as the monster crashed against consoles and railings, sending sparks of broken technology flying as it laid waste to the scientists that’d sinned against nature to bring it to life.

Jack swore as he grabbed Rhys’ hand, quickly putting distance between themselves and the creature before it cut through the buffer of disposable researchers. He pulled his pistol out of its holster, growling as he tried to pick out a vulnerable spot in a creature that’d been specifically engineered to not have any. Finally, he just picked a place at random that seemed likely to be lethal—or at least slow the thing down so they could get to the automatic doors—and fired off a shock bullet straight between the creature’s furious eyes.

At first, Jack thought it’d worked. The creature stopped in its tracks, teeth clenched around the mangled body of its latest victim. The electricity vibrated down its spine and out to its limbs, all muscles spasming uncontrollable. Jack thought the creature would finally go down after that, but then the newly-grown barbs running down the stalker’s back started quivering with the force of the static.

Oh no. Quills. The frikkin’ quills that had been Jack’s suggestion. Needle stalkers jacked up to eleven, with spines nearly the length of a grown man’s leg. After all, he’d wanted not only a bigger, badder, tougher stalker, but one with a couple more bells and whistles to take out a large crowd and send the survivors scattering. The quills were meant to fire out all at once, in every direction, taking out as many targets as possible.

Jack’s train of thought suddenly ground to a halt as he watched the quills shiver, triggered by the shock damage squeezing the stalker’s muscles, and before he could figure out a proper place to take cover the creature let out an agonized, ear-splitting roar and fired the spines from its back like a hail of bullets.

Something hard slammed into Jack’s chest a split second before a sharp, sudden pain lanced into his abdomen. He swore loudly as he fell back hard against the metal floor, impact reverberating through his entire body. His pistol skittered from his numb fingers as his head banged back. Spots of color exploded in his vision and a touch of bile surged up his throat, burning the back of his mouth. He coughed, and something warm splashed against his chest that had his heart seizing in fear.

“Ow, frikkin’ burns—crap!” Jack hissed, trying to forcibly steady his vision and temper his fear. Wouldn’t do him a lot of good if he fell into a panic before he was able to asses whatever damage the quills had done to him. He shut his eyes closed until the vibrating colors beneath his eyelids stopped spinning so quick, before carefully prying them open.

The first thing he saw was, of course, the tip of one of those frikkin’ quills stuck into his stomach. The pulse of pain told him it’d pierced all his layers and into his flesh, though only a small circle of blood soaked out from the wound. Jack hissed, trying to move as little as possible as he slid his hand down the front of his body until he reached the barb.

He breathed out a little of the tension twisting through his body as soon as he felt that it hadn’t stuck in quite as deep as he’d initially feared. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t deep enough to be anything more than a superficial wound. He shook his head with a terse laugh.

“Guess it’s good I hadn’t told them to breed toxins into the thing yet….right Rhysi—“

A harsh, wet cough from above cut him off. Jack lifted his eyes just as a rain of blood splattered down on him, staining his shirt and chin. Jack blinked rapidly, trying to take in the reality of the terrible sight arching above him.

Rhys’ skin was white as bone, the only scrap of color on his face the dying pink lips that were now dripping with thick rivulets of blood. His hair had fallen out of its usual style in the scuffle, little strands sticking to the cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Jack’s heart leapt in alarm, voice stuck in his throat as he dropped his gaze down from Rhys’ stricken face, trying to figure out what’d happened to his lover.

He didn’t have to look far.

The quill that had pierced Jack’s stomach protruded from just below Rhys’ sternum, connecting them along a curve of bloodied keratin. Jack had never wanted to be this close to one of the stalker’s vile quills, but now he’d been forced to see how the quill was lined with little, feathery barbs, each of which now dripped with blood from where they’d dragged against the meat of Rhys’ poor body.

“Oh…oh god, pumpkin—“ Jack managed to croak out, hating how his hands trembled as he lifted them, trying to think of anything he could do to help. Rhys coughed, his entire body shuddering, and Jack thought he might be trying to say something but only more blood came up.  Rhys’ eyelids fluttered, the glow in his ECHOeye starting to fade.

Jack finally managed to sit up, despite the piercing pain from the quill in his belly, hands solidly catching Rhys as he fell forward. Jack’s injured stomach plummeted towards his groan at the dead weight against his hands.

“Kiddo—Rhysie, come on, hang on, don’t do this—“ Jack hissed at the change in position, the tip of the barb inside him digging further into his flesh as he tried to properly hold his injured boyfriend. Jack huffed tense air between his teeth, holding Rhys steady as he stood them both up on their knees. He inched back, grunting and nearly screaming as he tried to pull the tip of the quill out of his body, those little barbs catching on his skin and tearing the wound open further. He knew it was a bad idea to remove this, but his wound was fairly shallow, at least relative to Rhys’ own.

With a final grunt from Jack the quill’s tip pulled out of his stomach. He could feel blood start to flow more profusely without the quill to plug it closed, though the amount trickling down his belly pales in comparison to what was leaking from poor Rhys’ mouth. With the quill finally free, Jack was able to properly cradle his boyfriend in his arms—not that the sight below him did anything to stave off his mounting panic.

Rhys’ mouth was moving slowly, raspy whispers barely audible. The quill had pierced right through him, must’ve nicked either his lungs or stomach if he was puking up blood. Loud noises and shouting clanged all around him, but everything but the slow, labored breathing of his boyfriend sounded muffled in Jack’s ears.

For the first time in a long while, Handsome Jack was at a loss. His body and brain refused to work together, overwhelmed with the steady clench of fear as he watched the life drain from his boyfriend’s body.

Jack watched his hands rove over Rhys’ body as if he was little more than a bystander in all this, divorced from reality until his eyes came to rest on his glowing blue wristwatch and all his attention snapped to it in realization.

Back in his earliest days as CEO, Jack had ordered a team to reverse-engineer some health-hypo plans lifted from Anshin, with a couple characteristic Hyperion enhancements thrown in for good measure. The most potent of these prototypes had, naturally, found its way into Jack’s hands for his exclusive use.

He kept it on him all these years in case of the most dire of emergencies, a last line of defense against would be assassins who might want to surprise Jack with a bullet to the heart. He had it now clasped to the inside of his watch, rigged to inject directly into his wrist at the press of the button. It wasn’t easy to detach from the metal band, not with his fingers shaking and slick with blood, but after a couple seconds of deep breathing he dislodged the minute syringe from its hidden dock.

He stabbed the flesh of Rhys’ wrist a couple times before finding a vein and crushing the plunger. He watched the brightly glowing red liquid pulse into Rhys’ arm, praying it wasn’t too late to take hold.

“Come on baby…come on…don’t give up on me now…” Jack kept repeating, kept babbling on and on, even when the color of the Anshin crawled up to Rhys’ cheeks, flushing them close to the pink they’d had beforehand. But Rhys still didn’t move, didn’t twitch, and as Jack’s own vision swam he didn’t know if his lover had stopped breathing or not.

The shouts around him grew closer and louder, and Jack thought he heard his own name, but he was beyond understanding. His own stomach felt like fire, even as wetness spread over his middle and down onto his pants. He felt hands grab his shoulders and tip his head back to face the intricate ceiling above, and suddenly all the shock and adrenaline and blood loss caught up with him like a violent storm.  

Jack let out one final, hoarse Rhysie before his eyes tipped up towards the back of his skull and he passed out into the arms of the emergency team, his lover still laid across his lap.

Jack’s heartbeat returned to him slowly, the steady ba-dump throbbing in his ears. The sound helped to ground his thoughts even as they swam dizzily about, his consciousness groping towards the bright white of the lights above him.

Jack slowly opened his eyes, lids fluttering as he adjusted to the sight. His body felt both heavy and numb at once, and at first he felt content to just stay motionless, but then his head tipped towards his shoulder and his eyes fell upon the man sitting at his bedside.

Rhys.

Jack jolted, trying to force himself upright only for a sudden soreness to lance through his core. He hissed in pain, fist pounding against the soft bedding beneath him as he struggled to stay upright. A hand carefully rested against his shoulder, pushing against the minute resistance until Jack finally relented and rested back against the bed.

He frowned softly at the treatment, even as his heart leapt with relief. Rhys was next to him, sitting up and alive, with not a trace of blood nor sign of the quill that’d pierced through his body last Jack had seen him. The CEO could’ve cried with relief if he wasn’t so damn exhausted. For the best, anyway. Rhys was okay. He didn’t need to see Jack cry.

Long fingers stroked the hair off of his forehead, before falling to rest against his cheek.  

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Rhys said, though the insult was soft. Jack still snorted, though his words similarly had little bite.

“Jeez…that anyway to treat the guy who saved your bacon?”

“Heh…think…if you remember right…there was some two-way bacon-saving going on.”

Jack furrowed his brow at the memory. Right. Rhys had thrown himself in the path of danger to protect him. Tossed his life on the chopping block to make sure Jack made it out of that enclosure all right.

Alive and fine as he was now, the thought that Rhys had almost died for Jack’s sake was…not fun, to put it lightly.

The CEO’s vision clarified more and more as the seconds passed. At first, he was content to let Rhys pet his hair, listening to the combined sounds of their breathing. After a couple minutes, though, his eyes fluttered back open and roved over his boyfriend’s seated form, taking better stock of his current state.

Rhys looked tinier than usual in the pale blue hospital gown. His flesh forearm stuck out pale and skinny from underneath the slight stiffness of the tied sleeve, skin mottled with little bruises in different stages of healing. The other shoulder of the gown deflated inwards, and it took Jack a couple seconds of staring to realize the surgeons must have removed Rhys’ cybernetic.

He looked better than he had bleeding out in Jack’s arms with a stalker quill stabbed through his chest, but only by a little. Still, the pink in his cheeks and his lips was warm and encouraging.

“Feel like crap…ugh…is this really all from such a dinky lil’ flesh wound?” Jack groaned as he fumbled underneath the thin blankets for the hem of his gown, interested in taking a look for himself at the aftermath of the attack.

“Well…your doctor told me ripping the quill out didn’t do you any favors…it had these little hooks, see?” Rhys wiggled his forefinger to imitate what he figured they might look like. “And they kind of….dug into you and made the whole wound a lot worse. Also, you’re really not supposed to pull things like that out.”

Jack sighed.

“Yeah, I know, kiddo. But I wasn’t gonna be able to help you with the both of us shish-kebbabed together.”

“Yes…well…that’s why.” Rhys looked away, suddenly focused on one of the anatomy charts hung up on the wall. Jack finally found the hem of his shirt, rolling it up the length of his body to get a good look at his stomach.  

He winced.

Scars from wounds bigger than paper cuts had a hit or miss track record when it came to healing over. Jack could already tell from looking at this one it wouldn’t be one of those that faded all nice and silvery against his skin after a few weeks. Even with the healing hypo he’d been presumably pumped with, the scar still pulsed angry and dark pink, its edges ragged and messy from where the quill’s barbs had ripped on their way out.

Jack might be able to get it reconstructed with surgery, but after this was all said and done he didn’t want to set foot near a doctor for at least a good decade. He laid back against the pillows, letting the hospital gown flutter back down over the scar.

“Stupid stalker…wasn’t supposed to get me…wasn’t supposed to get either of us.” Jack folded his arms over his chest, head tipping to the side to look back at Rhys.

“So…are…are you…” Jack gestured vaguely towards his boyfriend’s chest. “You’re like. Good, right? All better?”

Rhys expression faltered, his hand carefully brushing up against the spot underneath his sternum. Though Jack knew the wound must be healed by now, he didn’t miss the little wince that flickered through Rhys’ face.

“It’s….I mean, I only really know what they told me.”

Jack waited.

“…And? What did they tell you?” He asked when Rhys failed to respond right away.

“There’s….well there’s still some of the…the stuff in me.” Rhys retracted his hand from where the wound had been, instead using it to nervously rub the back of my head. “I guess….I guess the Anshin-thing made the flesh heal around it and they haven’t been able to get those barbs out yet?”

Jack couldn’t entirely wrap his mind around exactly what had happened, but the gist of it—that Rhys hadn’t been entirely healed of his wound, sent the hair on the back of his neck bristling with anger.

“What…what the hell am I paying these freaks for, if not to get my frikkin’ boyfriend fixed up good as new?” Jack snarled, bracing his hands against the railing and trying to push himself up from the bed. “Idiots…call ‘em in here, I’m gonna give them a piece of my mind.”

“Easy, big guy,” Rhys soothed, placing a hand atop Jack’s shoulder. This time, he didn’t press Jack back down against the bed, merely staying any further movement.

“Easy…why do I gotta take it easy, when they’re the ones not doing their jobs…” Jack growled softly, frustration simmering.

He didn’t get it. He had wealth beyond his wildest dreams, a squadron of highly trained doctors armed with the best medical technology this side of the universe at his disposal. He’d even used his prize emergency Anshin to make sure Rhys would be saved—and now the kid was telling him even that hadn’t been enough. There were still pieces of that thing inside of him, taunting Jack though they sat embedded so deep neither he nor Rhys could see them.

Whatever tears Jack had managed to hold back when he’d first seen Rhys alive now overwhelmed him, bubbling up in the corners of his eyes even as he tried to smear them against his pillow.

Rhys said nothing as Jack cried, trying to bite out his furious sobbing into his lower lip. His scar throbbed a little every time his body shuddered, pain eventually enough to dry his cries to a trickle. Jack felt like he’d been punched in the chest onto of everything else he’d been through, his lungs full of a miserable weight that somehow still made him feel empty.

“Ugh…I did my frikkin’ best to make sure you’d be totally fine, and I didn’t even do that right,” Jack finally croaked, his throat raw and raspy. Rhys gently squeezed his hand, thumb stroking over the man’s rough knuckles.

“I mean,” Rhys began slowly after a long moment of silence, “you do realize the alternative is that I could be dead, right? I don’t…They showed me the pieces of the quill they got out of me. That thing was huge. I lost a lot of blood. I probably wouldn’t have made it out of R&D.”

Jack swallowed, nodding. There really had been a lot of blood. He remembered how terribly it’d stained his sweater.

“Yeah. And if you hadn’t thrown yourself in front of me like a frikkin’ moron, I’d have been the one with a quill through my chest.” He squeezed Rhys’ hand back. “And you didn’t exactly know I was packing an emergency hypo in my watch.”

Rhys let out a nervous chuckle, leaning carefully over the bed railing. His hair was so soft, free of its usual styling.

“Heroic sacrifices don’t fix everything, I guess.”

“…Yeah.”

“But we still made it out….all right. Not perfect. But all right. That’s…gotta count for something, yeah?”

And it did. It meant more than Jack felt he could properly understand in this moment. Deep matters of life and death seemed so big, so beyond him. Jack hated feeling small and insignificant, as prone to the pratfalls of living as any bandit or underling. He needed something to ground him.

Luckily, Rhys took this moment to migrate from his chair and slide into Jack’s bed, mindful of the older man’s injuries as he lied alongside him. He kept one arm tucked to his chest, the other resting carefully against Jack’s hip as they cuddled underneath the thin comfort of the blanket. Jack breathing evened out, any esoteric thoughts drifting away as they pressed their bodies close.

Even the slight alarm that twinged through Jack when Rhys started to fall asleep, with his face slack and eyes closed, faded away at the feeling of warm, steady breath against his skin that soon lulled him into following.

i badly wanted to do the prompt “i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand“ and decided to go with @hyperiontrashbin’s vault hunter jack AU (the one where Rhys is his apprentice of sorts) with some angst and hurt/comfort c:

Jack remembered the first time he’d had a bullet dug out of his skin. Not that that memory and the knowledge that he’d survived it to shootout another day made him feel any better about having to put Rhys through the same pain.

Jack just thanked his lucky stars this skirmish had happened just outside of Sanctuary—as much as he disliked many of its habitants, both permanent and transitory, he couldn’t deny they had the the most skilled medics on the Pandoran wastes. Not that that was high praise, but Jack had to take what he could get. And with Rhys screaming blood murder into his ear as he carried him towards the medic, he’d take just about anything.  

He managed to get Rhys onto the examining table despite the young man’s frantic, agonized wriggling. His face was wet with tears and the blood of the bandit Jack had killed before he could get another shot closer to Rhys’ heart. He looked up at Jack like he didn’t understand what was happening, mouth opening and closing uselessly as terrified sobs raked through his throat. He was already panicking, but devolved into straight-up hyperventilation when the medic tightened several straps over his arm, binding it to the table.

Usually, Jack would argue they should leave the bullet inside for the time being, but with a corrosive round that wasn’t exactly an option. The skin around the wound was already starting to turn, and if they didn’t get it out soon the pulsing acid would necrotize more and more flesh and possibly risk amputation.

Rhys wiggled as much as he could with his arm strapped down against the table, body in desperate need escape though he couldn’t hope to get anywhere. His eyes were wan and blurry with tears, shifting between glazed and hyper focused as he whined like an injured puppy.

Jack hated the sound, but endured it for Rhys’ sake. He clenched his teeth against the pained wails and stayed by the young man’s side, petting the stringy hair off of his forehead. Rhys’ lips moved in a strangled sob that sort of sounded like his name and yanked at the older man’s heartstrings, until he had no choice but to speak in a bid to make it stop.

“I know. I’m sorry kiddo, I know it hurts like hell. Here,” Jack murmured as reached out to Rhys, “hold my hand.”

Rhys grasped him tightly, the boy’s fingers shaking as the medic dug the forceps deeper into the torn flesh. Jack crooned, kind but loud enough to drown out the vile squelch as the medic worked the bullet out of Rhys’ arm, millimeter by millimeter, careful not to nick any more blood vessels. Rhys cried despite Jack’s comfort, tears spilling down his dirty cheeks as the older man stroked his hand, hoping the steady pet would help calm Rhys’ rapid breathing.

Finally, the medic yanked the bullet out of Rhys’ flesh, immediately staunching the wound with a patch of fresh gauze. Rhys whimpered weakly as his arm was quickly wrapped up with bandaging, watery eyes looking hopelessly up at Jack, trying to anchor himself in his mentor’s wise, concerned expression.

“That’s it, kiddo,” Jack soothed, stroking away the dirty tears as the medic slipped a small Anshin syringe into Rhys’ veins to combat the lingering toxin, “I’m so proud of you. You did so well.”

If he stayed on Pandora, addicted to the dream of hunting Vaults, Rhys would probably be shot a dozen more times until trauma like this became just as mundane as cooking dinner or target practice. Until he became like Jack—covered in roping scars of rusty blades, hollows of flesh burnt by bullets and shrapnel, cynical of those trying to follow in his footsteps.

But for now, he lifted Rhys’ clammy hand and pressed a rare kiss to his fingers, and through the stinging pain Rhys smiled breathlessly at him as they both allow themselves to live in the hopeful lie of the present.

“You’re in no condition to be walking around.” rival CEOs au?

thethespacecoyote:

this got super long but i had fun with it!

jack and rhys are at like….basically a weapons manufacturer comic con because…..I don’t know it just is

Honestly, Jack thought, it wasn’t an arms manufacturing convention if somebody didn’t get shot.

It’d happened during a makeshift finger-gun fight he himself had started to really rile up some of the other attendees. Most people were all too eager to hop on an opportunity to engage in one with Jack, and things had been going pretty smoothly up until the point some loser thought he’d be funny and actually lob something at him.

Or maybe the guy hadn’t really been aiming at him, there was no real way of knowing in the chaos, but one way or another Jack got a sailing boot to the face right before he was about to shoot a giddy exhibitor, execution-style.

As soon as his brain was done rattling in his skull, he’d shot the perpetrator in the chest, which had ended the finger-gun fight rather quickly, with Jack as the definitive winner. As usual.

Also typical was Rhys’ subsequent unhappiness with the carnage.

The Atlas CEO had, naturally, turned his nose up at such a cartoonish show of violence, and left Jack in the middle of chaos he’d caused, though Jack had caught the omega observing the gun-fight out of the corner of his eye as he tried busying himself in a booth exhibiting a couple experimental shields.

Rhys rolled his eyes when Jack finally jogged away from the mayhem, laughing as he holstered his pistol back on his hip.

“You’re such a brute, you know every event you go to doesn’t require you painting the floor red?” Rhys shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. They usually didn’t hang out together at these kind of events, but their penthouse suites had been booked on the same floor, and by some twist of coincidence they’d left their rooms at the same time this morning, cutting across the exhibit hall to attend to the first guest panel of the day.

“C’mon kiddo, how ‘bout you shut up and stop being a little prick. Here, I got something for ya.” Jack grinned as he brandished the very shoe he’d been clocked in the head with, still bloodied from the fight. “It’s kind of weird, like all the crap you wear…” He flicked the leather straps buckled on, looking at his reflection in the sparkly gold toes.

“Because I really want someone’s old, blood-soaked shoe…besides, I have two feet.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder to see the convention crew already zipping the corpse up into a nondescript bag.

“Ehh, too much effort. Not that I’m usually opposed to looting a corpse,” he quipped as they walked through the exhibits, most guests and professionals giving the blood-splattered CEO a wide berth.

“Whatever. Then I guess it’s going in my trophy case back home. It’s gonna fit riiiiight in.” Jack slung the boot playfully over his shoulder, nearly losing his balance with the momentum. He lilted to the side, accidentally rubbing his shoulder with Rhys’, who croaked in disgust.

“Don’t tell me you’re drunk already….it’s barely noon.”

“Drunk?” Jack blinked his eyes rapidly, before smiling wider at Rhys. “Nah, not yet, sugar. Gonna need a couple hundred more drinks in me before I considering uncorking your uptight ass.”

“Oh, I’m waiting with baited breath,” Rhys replied nastily, shrugging Jack’s shoulder away as he broke away from him, heels clicking audibly against the floor, even with the crowds around them. He didn’t turn back around for a good couple minutes, until his head tilted over his shoulder, noticing Jack’s slower gait.

“Will you hurry? We’re going to be late for the panel on Harnessing Joint-Elemental Cells. This is going to be a big deal if you hope to show Maliwan you’re actual competition.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming….heh…when was the last time you cared about how Hyperion was doing, sweetheart?”

“I don’t,” Rhys grumbled, sourly, though he slowed his pace, waiting for Jack to catch up. “But it’ll be a lot less fun showing you up if you stumble right out of the gate.”

Jack usually sleep-walked through these panels, giving the requisite answers and only really getting into it if he could mess with the presenter or if the audience asked him a question directly. However, today he felt even more out of it than usual, barely able to pay attention even when something interesting was being said, or when Rhys decided to try and help him focus by helpfully coughing or nudging the alpha in the side. Honestly, he was relieved when the whole thing was over, though even he couldn’t refuse the post-panel interview.

“Jack…are you okay?” Rhys pulled him aside after he’d finally stumbled away from the cameras, having successfully slurred his way through the questions. He snorted, airily waving Rhys off.

“Yeah? I feel great. Super glad to be out of that chair.” He grunted, shaking his head to try to clear away the weird mental fog. “They better spring for frikkin’ cushions next year, or I’m bringing my own.”

“Are you sure…? You don’t like…feel weird or anything?”

Jack frowned, raising his eyebrow.

“What are you, my doctor? I mean, if you wanted to stick a thermometer up my butt, kiddo, you just had to—”

“Ugh. Never mind.” Rhys cut him off, rolling his eyes as he sharply turned away from Jack.

After that, they finally split ways, with Rhys going to the Atlas industry-panel while Jack ambled over to the autograph signings. He pushed aside his fuzziness and nausea, waving it off as a lingering symptom of last night’s partying or something he’d picked up from the mouth of one of those Torgue booth omegas that couldn’t get enough of him. They’d probably been gunning to switch over with a sweet Hyperion gig, and Jack had been almost considering calling the numbers he’d found written on his arm, but if they’d given him some kind of space flu then they could forget it.

His signatures grew more and more sloppy, along with his responses to enthusiastic fan questions, but finally he made it through to the end. Jack downed a liter of water and a bag of pretzels offered to him after he finished, wondering if he was dehydrated or suffering through low blood sugar. The food and drink were decent enough distractions, but did little to properly clear his head or stave off the nausea.

Maybe a proper dinner would do the trick.

Keep reading

Did #2 real quick too. For “This is probably a bad time, but marry me?”

More sad.

Rhys never doubted there’d be people out there willing to kill Jack. Greatness inevitably drew imitators willing to tear them down and claim they’d been the first, but with so much money and power that he was pretty sure even the most advanced supercomputers on Helios couldn’t calculate it, Jack had felt invincible. He certainly acted that way as he flaunted about, his image stuck to every last surface with all the sophistication of a child licking their claim onto a piece of candy, and with such loud boasting ringing in his ears most hours of the day, maybe Rhys had come to believe it was true.

So when some crazed ex-manager breaks from the crowds in the Hub and manages to get off a lucky shot straight into Jack’s chest, Rhys feels like his own heart has already been blown out with it.

The fate of the assailant disappears in a hail of bullets and blood but Rhys is already sprinting, failing to catch Jack before the CEO hits the floor in a smear of red. Screams of shock and pleas for help pound the same within his eardrums as he tries to lift Jack up off the floor, the blood quickly seeping through his fingers and staining into the finest channels in his skin, leaving soaked-red fingerprints as he holds Jack up and close and begs him to hang on, to not let the impossible come to pass.

Jack finally manages to breath without blood, even as more drips from the hole in his chest and stains the sweater Rhys had spent many nights fingering idly, wondering at its softness, and Rhys brings his face close and desperate, needing to hear Jack’s voice if he can manage it.

And Jack wastes his breath laughing because of course he does, and the next moment more blood hacks up over his chin and onto his throat, glistening like it’s been torn out and Rhys whispers don’t and cradles him close, but Jack hasn’t got to where he is by listening to anyone, even Rhys.

“Th…” He wheezes, corners of his mouth picking up into a smile that twitches, involuntary. Rhys knows the words must pain him and he opens his mouth to stop him but Jack’s brows twitch downward, almost angry, like Rhys is interrupting him.

“This is…probably a bad time…but…marry me?”

It’s a question and a promise, both of which hang in the harried air without answer nor certainty, but it’s all that Rhys can cling to as Jack’s eyes flutter closed, as the medics shout through the crowd, ready to whisk Jack away and leave Rhys stained in blood with the unsaid words still on his lips.

I will.

rhack bloodplay *o*

sometimes it’s fun to give rhys the weird, transgressive kinks instead

Rhys really liked blood.

Like. In a sexy way. And not just a little accidental spotting from a hickey gone too far, no. He liked seeing long lines of blood cutting through skin, dripping down like fat beads of sap from an alien tree. Syrupy and glistening like jewels in all kinds of lighting, attractive and drawing his eye no matter where it was or how it was drawn.

Rhys figured something must be wrong with him. Normal people balked at the sight of blood instead of relishing it.

But as long as Jack indulged him, what was the harm?

Rhys had quickly learned the differences in the flesh on various parts of Jack’s body. His shoulders, chest, and arms were still thick and firm with muscles, the skin rougher especially on his hands and palms. Often during their kink sessions, Jack would drag his fingers through the blood bubbling up from one of the other various cuts on his torso—Rhys’ favorite spot—and stick it into the young man’s mouth, the tips worming around as they pressed against Rhys’ suckling tongue. There the salt creased into Jack’s fingers would mingle with the sweetness of fresh blood pumped from his chest and make Rhys go wild.

But he stilled preferred to drink right from the source itself.

Rhys loved to tenderly press the small flick-knife—the one with the ornate golden handle Jack had gifted to him back when they’d first started exploring his kink—against his lover’s body, especially his chest and stomach. The flesh of his pecs stiffened with muscle whenever Jack shifted and squirmed underneath the blade, hinting at the motherload of blood pulsing right from his quickened heart like a bubbling spring. But Rhys was even more fond of Jack’s stomach, long softened by too many meals consisting only of pretzels and beer. The flesh there had more give than other parts of his body—soft and tender and tempting as Rhys licked his lips and drew a long red curve just under his lover’s belly button.

“You’re a sick little freak, aren’t you?” Jack mumbled, fingers petting affectionately through Rhys’ hair as the young man drunk heartily from the blood trickling down the slight curve of Jack’s stomach. Rhys chuckled against the slick flesh, lifting his head to look his lover in the eyes.

“Who’s the sicker one here, the guy drinking blood from his boyfriend’s body, or the boyfriend letting him do it?” Rhys licked the fresh blood from his lips, a spare droplet splattering down against Jack’s quivering stomach. Red trickled down his flesh, pooling in the crease between his abdomen and hip to form an enticing little reservoir that Rhys was quick to suckle from, tongue plunging into the sensitive crevasse and making Jack hiss and arch his hips. The older man’s chest and stomach rose and fell with quickened breaths, a questioning whine strangling from his throat at the strange sensation.

“J-Just keep that pretty lil’ blade of yours away from my junk, ‘kay?” Jack moaned as soon as he caught his breath, hands digging into the pillow beneath his head. His teeth bit into his lip as Rhys lifted his head with a mischievous snicker, winking at his boyfriend as he closed the flick-knife and tossed it onto the sheets.

“Deal. I’ve got other tools I wanna use, anyway.” Rhys moved his mouth atop Jack’s erect cock, hot breathing blowing against the sensitive head and making it twitch with a bubble of pre-cum. His lips glowed red from the blood, a monstrous contrast to the pale of his skin and the devious, icy twinkle in his ECHOeye. Rhys felt Jack’s gasp as he sucked his cock into his mouth, the man’s own blood warmed by Rhys’ saliva as it lathered up his shaft, leaving it pinkish and slick. Rhys watched as Jack’s body twitched in a confusion of pain and pleasure, teeth biting so hard into his lip he wondered if he might draw blood there, too.

He could only hope.

Rhys bobbed his head up and down Jack’s cock, expertly rubbing his tongue against the underside as he teased the tip against the back of his throat, holding Jack’s scarred hips down as he suckled him to the very edge of orgasm. Jack moaned, spine arching up as he suddenly came down into his boyfriend’s mouth, the blood on his chest and belly already dry and cracking as he twitched and jerked. Rhys’ throat contracted, swallowing a little bit of Jack’s release even as he pushed his tongue up to the roof of his mouth, keeping the majority swimming around between his cheeks as he pulled his lips free from Jack’s cock.

Rhys could see now that Jack’s teeth had indeed broke through his lips, leaving the tips of his incisors stained with blood fanning out with the panting wet of his saliva.

Any question or protest the older man had on the tip of his tongue was quickly smothered as Rhys straddled him and pressed his lips to Jack’s, the remainder of his warm load spilling back into his mouth. They both groaned in tandem, pleasure fluttering through Rhys’ belly as he sucked on the fresh wound in Jack’s lips, the metal of blood mixing with the salt of the cum as they made out, slicked by the sick mingle of fluids that flecked against Jack’s chin as Rhys finally broke their kiss with a gasp.

Jack wheezed, eyes glazed with spent arousal as he looked up at Rhys. The young man stroked his face, cupping it in both hands as he studied Jack’s expression, wondering if he’d gone too far—but then Jack’s slack lips curl up in a lazy, pleased grin.

“Mmm…my favorite….slutty lil’ vampire…”

Rhys snorted, leaning down and butting his nose affectionately against Jack’s.

“With how much you came…think that makes you the slut.”

Jack’s eyebrow raised.

“And you didn’t?”

Rhys looked down between them, blushing at the streaks of cum painting all over Jack’s shivering chest and belly. He hadn’t even realized it. His fingers traced softly over the fluids painting Jack’s body, like a lurid, aggressive masterpiece. The cuts in his skin yawned open with each tremble, like little red mouths twitching pain through Jack’s nerves. Rhys rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish in the aftermath.

“We…we should probably get you patched up, huh?”

hyperiontrashbin:

AU where (younger) jack is the atlas ceo’s prized programmer and becomes his bitch. he was caught contacting hyperion about a better position and nothing pisses the ceo off more than disloyalty. he breaks jack, inside and out until he’s in complete control of him.

I liked this piece a lot as well as role reversal things so I wanted to write something small to go along with it >> hope you enjoy dear!

Jack wakes in pain.

The second he drifts back into consciousness it returns, having simmered in his sleep before spreading again throughout his beaten body. He cringes, instinctively gritting his teeth together and earning a sharp spike of pain through his jaw for his trouble.

His eyelids flutter rapidly over unseeing eyes as he takes numb stock of his injures. It hurts less than it had before, when the pain had been great enough to make him pass out cold, but it pulses sorely in a couple places that pokes the memory of what’d been don’t to him. His arms feel heavy and awkwardly stiff as if encased in concrete as he tries to lift them, eventually giving up to let them rest on his abdomen.

Jack manages to push his eyes open long enough to see a haunting beige mound of plaster snared around his arm, fingers poking uselessly through. He turns his head to the side and closes his eyes again.

The smell of antiseptic dances with the smell of blood in his nose as he cautiously probes about his mouth, over the small cuts and pockets of blood incurred from blows that forced his cheek against his own teeth. His tongue trails over the upper row of his gums, hissing as it drags over swollen, tender flesh and tastes blood.

His cracked canine hasn’t yet been fixed, stringy pulp and shards of enamel still embedded in his gums. He wonders if dental insurance covered act of boss.

…Did he even have insurance with Atlas?

It’s been made obvious he’s less an employee of an Atlas than a pet to be beaten when it misbehaves, so maybe not.

Jack breathes, shallowly, his ribs afraid to expand in fear of finding new injuries. But soon the raspy sound of his exhales stirs his chest with anxiety, and the need to get up or at least step outside the painful bonds of his own beaten body takes hold, and he opens his eyes and carefully tries to lever himself up on his thankfully unbroken elbows.

He’s not in his apartment, not in Rhys’ bedroom, not in anywhere he recognizes. Cold machinery beeps around him, taking rote stock of his vital signs. The red and silver color scheme is sleek and clean unlike the blood splattered over the steel floor of Rhys’ office that he barely saw through eyes already clouding over. His heart monitor spikes and chirps with his pulse like it’s warning him.  

He tries to get up from the bed. The electrodes tug at his skin, adhesive slowly peeling away as he shifts towards the edge of the gurney. His foot almost tangles in the blankets, clubbed by a heavy cast as he discovers it is.

The machines beep furiously behind him, angry without their victim, as he sways up to his feet.

The first step, on the uninjured foot, wobbles but ultimately holds firm. Even the next on his casted foot seems to bear his weight for a moment, until he tries to lift the other to walk towards the door.

Jack’s agonized yell bounces around the room as he collapses forward, holding his injured arms to his chest as his shoulder smashes into the floor. Pain rebounds through his body, stomach churning as he tries to push himself up, fear seizing through his chest as his legs tremble, immobile and ignoring his commands to get up and run. His nails, washed with dried blood, claw at the floor as he tries to push through the pain and get up and escape, before—

Hands clamp on his shoulders, yanking him into a sitting position. His bound arms plunge down into his lap, head tipping back against the pair of legs now standing imperiously straight behind him. A golden eye narrows down at him like an inescapable sun. Jack shudders despite the tingle of pain still radiating through his body, fighting his fear as his Rhys’ lips curl down into that contemptuous disapproval he reserves for Jack’s more trivial shows of disobedience.

“What were you doing, Jack?” His boss’s chrome fingers stroke against the papery material of Jack’s hospital tunic, pinching it away from his skin.

“I..” Jack licks the dry walls of his mouth, careful of his splintered tooth. “I was just trying to see if I could walk.”

Rhys’ petting pushes a little harder into Jack’s shoulder. His tendon twinges, sending pain down to his numb wrist.  

“I see…you’re still healing.”

Jack bites his tongue around a wince.

“Yeah. Uh. I know that.”

Rhys pats his shoulders with his flesh hand, the other continuing its cheerless massage.

“So there’s no point in trying to walk yet. Just stay in bed. There should be no problem staying in bed if you just want to heal.”

Jack’s heartbeat picks up. He’s trapped—can’t move, can’t lift his arms, can barely see anything through the painful pops of color scorching through his vision and what he can see is eclipsed by Rhys’ tall shadow and piercing yellow stare.

“I just thought I could…I thought I could…”

Thought he could escape, look back and laugh in Rhys’ stupid frikkin’ face and uptight corporate bullshit until his bones healed stronger than ever.

Rhys tuts, acidic.

“When you do things without my permission, you get hurt. Look, you hurt yourself trying to get out of bed without me telling you you could.”

“I…right…”

The hands on his shoulders drift to lace around his neck, like a heavy necklace of fingers. Rhys’ chrome hand flicks against the o-ring on Jack’ collar, sending vibrations into his throat.

“It’s like talking to a child, somedays…or a very stupid pet trying to chew on its stitches.” Rhys ends his sentence with a hiss, voice sliding like metal on ice and sending goosebumps prickling beneath Jack’s collar. He wants so badly to speak up and shout, to tell Rhys to go to hell and maybe land a punch on his boss’s pristine cheek, but his tongue weighs heavy with blood and his wounds throb as if responding to Rhys’ presence and regardless of whether its the pain or medication in his system suddenly all he wants to do is rest.

“Don’t forget…you belong to Atlas now.”

It’s hard to forget, with Rhys’ ownership beaten and branded into every inch of his body. 

Jack’s chin leans forward into the proffered cybernetic palm, exhausted and cowed into trusting. Rhys purrs softly from somewhere above as flesh fingers stroke along his collar.

Jack’s consciousness smears, color and sound and sensation blurry. The ground leaves him as some point, replaced by the cottony folds of the bed. The beeping returns, satisfied, and through the haze darkening his vision he can see Rhys’ eye and feel the chill of his smile as fingers brush damp hair away from his forehead.  

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix you, Jack. You better make this worthwhile.”

Kinktober Day 1: Spanking (2/2)

Rhys bruised like a peach.

It was honestly kind of fascinating to see the patterns of swelling bruises spreading over his ass, occasionally broken by skin torn and raised by the ring on Jack’s finger that helped his hand swing like a weighted pendulum down against the kid’s bare ass over and over again. He painted Rhys like a sloppy canvas, the harsh impressions of his palm and fingers blistering red as Rhys jolted and cried in his lap, rubbing his eyes uselessly against the fabric of Jack’s pants as the CEO harshly punished him.

His boner was poking awkwardly into Rhys’ stomach, his flat flesh trembling in hiccups and half-swallowed begging as Jack continued his barrage on the PA’s bottom. He kept smacking him, jolting him back and forth over his lap until the warmth twisting in his belly finally exploded, spilling out damp into the crotch of his pants. He looked down, chuckling as he noticed how hard he’d ended up gripping Rhys’ ass through his orgasm, leaving bright red crescents from the bite of his nails.

“Now,” Jack croaked, voice warbling from spent arousal as he rubbed Rhys’ ass, “what was my order, again?”

“Ah…ah…” Rhys panted. Jack could practically hear him suppress his crying. It was beautiful.

“I…medium coffee….one t-third steamed milk….two wh…brown sugars.”

Jack smirked, leaning back in his chair as he left his hand resting on Rhys’ tender, abused ass.

“You bet you’re gonna get it right next time.”

“Sweet Talk” by Saints Motel or “Ultraviolence” by Lana Del Rey for Rhack?

did the latter

Rhys didn’t think it could be this easy. 

The man underneath him is breathing one moment, the sound harsh and heavy as it struggles out of his throat–and the next moment he’s not, life crushed underneath the numb fingers of Rhys’ cybernetic hand. His skin splits from the pressure, last gasps of blood squirting out around his clenching fists. 

He stays, still, hand still resting in a dead weight against the man’s throat. The feeling slowly returns, the cold blue retreating from his circuits and back into the front of his brain, settling between his eyes like a dull, senseless ache in his sinuses. 

“That arm of yours sure is efficient….make sure you get me one soon as I’m back in my own body,” the voice in his head preens, weighty with pride as Rhys finally has the strength to lift his arm from the dead man’s neck. Crumpled as easily as a paper tossed into the trash. 

“Look at that thing, kiddo. Lucky. You don’t even have to wait for it to get easier.”

The blood slips through the slim gaps in his palm, drying as it trickles into the depths of his circuits.