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From his position on his knees, he could see how hard the muzzle of the gun was digging into Henry’s temple. Standing Bear’s face was set in a grim wash of determination; he clearly thought they were going to die here. He cried out in pain, his hair twisted in his captor’s hand and his head pulled back to bare the bloodied column of his neck; Jacob looked up at him, tense and afraid.
And he felt his own will erode.
He could not in good conscious sacrifice Henry for his own actions.
Malachi was still speaking. With effort, Jacob turned his attentions away from his long list of regrets.
“Why don’t you think about it? I’ll see you boys in the morning.” Malachi smirked, and the scar on his cheek twisted like a second mouth. He turned away before Jacob could gather himself to retort, but already something else was demanding his attention; the crowd of men around them had stepped closer, smirking.
Hands fell on his shoulders from behind, restraining him, and another in his hair, fingers twisting hard in the short length to pull his head back. He bared his teeth in a snarl, as the closest man to him dropped his hand to the zipper of his pants.
“No!” he yelled, but the tall man behind him simply grabbed his jaw instead, forcing his mouth open.
“If you bite, Henry gets hurt.” He said simply, and Jacob’s throat constricted with panic. He had expected to die here, not to be subjected to this- this gang rape. He hadn’t thought Malachi had hated him that much.
The man held his gaze, clearly waiting for an answer.
“Y-yes, okay.” He stammered, softly. He had already been defeated, what was one more humiliation in the short term? His eyes slid to Henry, and he was surprised to see tears on his face, but his gaze was fixed on the man behind Jacob. Although he had his lip lifted in a sneer, his complexion was pale under all the blood streaking his face. He looked afraid.
His knees hurt from the dirt, and his back from the way the tall man tugged him to arch into the first of his assailants. It was clear he wasn’t expected to do anything; handcuffs kept his wrists behind his back, and Malachi’s tall right hand – Darius, he’d heard him called?- held his jaw so his mouth was open, breath noisy and fast. He felt wetness drip down his chin, spit sliding over Darius’s fingers and slowly down his throat in a slimy, cold trail.
He moved his fingers from inside Jacob’s mouth, to pinching hard at his chin.
He flinched back when the first cock was pushed into his face, but the stranger didn’t mind. Chuckles went around the circle of gathered men, and as the one in front of him forced himself into Jacob’s mouth, the man behind him backed off. He left him to fall forward, with no way to catch himself; the dick touched the back of his throat, and his eyes watered. Jacob swallowed hard to keep from gagging, and his rapist curled his fingers in Jacob’s short hair.
The man groaned in appreciation, and began to thrust short, and sloppily in and out of Jacob’s mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the visual of the wet dick bobbing in and out of his mouth, sucking in short, shallow breathes through his nose. He could barely breath, and his heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest; suddenly he wished he’d counted how many of them there had been. Wished he had a point of reference for how long this would go on for.
The man in his mouth didn’t last; his cock was narrow but long, and it was unpleasant but manageable once Jacob was over his shock. The unwelcome taste of hot semen on hos tongue, as the man spent on the pull out of a thrust made him gaga, and the moment his mouth was empty, he turned his head and spat the unpleasant mouthful.
Jacob didn’t see it, eyes streaming too heavily to focus, but he felt the wind of a blow almost hitting, and the hard press of a body leaning over him, Darius once more holding him by the shoulder.
“Not his face.” He pulled Jacob back to his knees, raising his voice. “Nothing above the shoulders. You heard Malachi.”
And that was it for his reprieve; he was shoved towards the next hot body.
~*~
He tried not to watch.
It is terrifying, the line of men that form around Jacob; their pants open as they stroke themselves in anticipation. The gun digs into the side of Henry’s head, and he cannot look away. All he can hear are the wet sounds of violation, and the fast, excited breathing of the man who has his arm wrapped around Henry’s neck.
He’s forced to watch three of them force their way into Jacob’s mouth, holding him by the hair as they use him for their own pleasure. His friend’s lips are bruised and wet, semen sliding down his chin, and his eyes are unfocused. He sways between rounds, and Henry can hear how harsh his breath is from where he is restrained, several feet away.
Despite that, the acts themselves are very quiet. It’s a hushed thing, brief and violent. Few words are said in the circle, men finishing in near silence, and the next stepping forward to take his place. Eventually, the man holding Henry becomes antsy; he can feel his erection, pressed against the back of his leg every time he adjusts his grip on the gun. He’s excited, and not paying attention. The gun digs in painfully, and the muzzle has made a mark on his face.
They only care about bruising Jacob; he isn’t going to survive this. Neither of them are, but Henry fears his death will be a bad one, long and violent.
More wet sounds, and Henry can no longer watch; he blinks the tears from his eyes, uncaring of the weakness it will be taken as. When he turns his eyes away from Jacob, he finds that Darius is watching him. His eyes are predatory, and he wonders if he’s been watching him the entire time, or if he had the bad luck to look at the wrong moment.
He releases Jacob to the man currently using his mouth, letting him fall forward until he gags on the man’s cock. The man groans loudly, while Jacob’s whine of distress is nearly lost underneath the sudden jeer of laughter. His face is wet, although Henry couldn’t say if they were tears, or simply a reaction to the constant choking of being forced to take the men with no break. He can barely see his friend’s face, pressed up against the groan of the latest man, lips stretched wide around another wet cock.
Jacob has not struggled, and he wonders if he is even conscious any more.
Henry’s thoughts are interrupted by someone stepping between them, blocking his view of his friend. He jerks violently as his chin was grabbed, face tipped up to look Darius in the eyes. In another life, he would have called him handsome, but the dark smirk on his lips held only bad intentions. The pinch of his fingers on Henry’s sore jaw makes him snarl, but it’s the motion of a wounded animal.
A bluff, and a poor one at that.
Darius seems amused by his defiance.
“Give him to me.” He orders simply, and the man holding Henry is quick to comply, pushing him towards his boss. He thumps into his broad chest, and considers fighting him. But the only thing it would gain him would be bruises.
Darius takes him by the upper arm, grip tight. He drags Henry the first few feet, keeping him upright through sheer strength, and after a few staggering steps he gets his feet under him. They sink unevenly into the soft floor of the warehouse, but Darius’s stride were long, even, and steady.
His arm is a ring of bruises by the time they arrive at their apparent destination. The dilapidated truck took up a third of the back of the warehouse, it’s canvas box still mostly intact; the canvas strained as Darius pushed Henry back against it, but it held. Henry’s hands hover over his shoulders, afraid of pushing him away; Darius solved his dilemma by shoving himself closer, one large hand pushing up underneath Henry’s shirt to grope at his bruised body, while he tipped Henry’s face up to meet his with a hand dug into his blood-incrusted hair.
His mouth was hot and insistent, and Henry squeezed his eyes shut, resigned to let this happen once again. His ribs were bruised, skin sore and discoloured under his clothes; he flinched at his exploratory touches, but tried to hide it.
Not well enough, apparently.
Annoyed, Darius pulled away, unused to Henry visibly rejecting his touch. That wasn’t part of his strange game; Henry could curse him out, could beg him to stop – as long as his body always caved to him, yielded to his relentless attentions. Words meant nothing, when Darius Burns knew how to make Henry come hard enough to make him light headed.
The edge of his green plaid button up rode up, exposing the edge of his stomach. Dark blotches were visible even on the thin band of skin. The deepest bruise was edging towards black, despite his darker skin; he wondered briefly if his organs were okay. Or if he would survive long enough for it to be an issue.
Darius looked at it critically, tracing the edge of the darkest mark. He scowled, not pleased at the reminder.
“You should not let others play with your toys, if you do not want them broken.” Henry quip, into the silence. He could not stand this tension.
He was grabbed by the chin, and for a moment feared violence. But Darius’s touch gentled, thumb brushing against Henry’s unmarked bottom lip.
“Turn around, Standing bear, and put your hands on the truck.” Darius ordered softly.
Henry could see no other option but to comply. He sighed softly, hanging his head, and turned to place his hands on the edge of the tailgate. It was gritty under his hands, covered in dirt from the break in the wall. He swept a spot clean for his hands, knocking off the splinters from the metal. Hands rested gently on his hips, allowing a moment to centre himself.
Rather than kick his feet apart, like he normally would, Darius tapped the toe of his boot against the inside of Henry’s ankle, and reluctantly, he spread his legs. The humiliation of the gesture burned, but it was less then the relief of how gently he touched Henry as a reward. His hands were soft, touch careful, and Darius reached around Henry’s body to engulf him in his arms as he unbuttoned the abused shirt.
He expected to be left with it open but loose on his shoulders, so the fabric sliding down his arms startled him; numbly, he allowed his arms to be guided free, until he was naked from the waist up. The shirt was folded with more care than he had come to expect from Darius, and set aside on the lowered tailgate.
Darius laid his large hands on Henry’s body again. This time they did not touch where he was sore, and he understood.
“You do not like when I flinch.” he whispered, intent on keeping this encounter between them.
Lips touched his nape, mapping down his spine; and against his best intentions, Henry felt his eyes slide closed at the soft frisson of pleasure that followed the touch. It was a cruel imitation of something caring, but at least in his lust, Darius was sincere; he pressed himself flush against Henry’s tired body, sliding his hands down the front of his jean clad thighs to drag their hips together. His breath caught in his throat at the firm press of his clothed erection against him, and Darius rocked his hips into him – they both know where it was going. Inevitable, but these times when he lingers in the moments before to stir Henry’s body determinedly to responsive life are both the worst, and the best.
He takes a deep breath, as Darius nuzzles his face into his hair, leaning closer to watch his hands over Henry’s shoulder as he begins to pull his belt apart. His clothing falls away quickly, and Henry is left naked, jeans and underwear pushed down to his knees.
Its not going to be enough – he can tell by how fast his breathing is, hot and fast in his ear. Darius likes to pretend he’s not behaving like a monster, using lube and condoms, slowing down when Henry cries – but Henry can feel how wound up he was by watching the other men abuse Jacob. He doesn’t expect patience.
The only true mercy offered is the hand Darius uses to cover Henry’s mouth, holding him upright and tense; wetness touches between his legs, and Henry jerks in his grasp as two thick fingers push into his body. He worked his fingers deeper into Henry, despite his tension, slick lube helping along. It was a crude motion that imitated what he wanted to be doing, fingers pushing in and out of him quickly; lubricant dripped slowly down his leg, and even with his mouth covered the groan of discomfort Henry made was loud.
Darius paused. There was a rush of air against his hair, like he was sighing.
“You’re too tight, Standing Bear.”
The invasive fingers pulled out of his body, leaving him feeling uncomfortably stirred up and wet. Instead, Darius reached around him, tracing a slick path teasingly down his naked body; he traced around a nipple, tickling over his tense ribs, and down his bruised stomach his touch was light enough not to hurt, but the anticipation made Henry sick; he couldn’t stand wanting his touch.
Over the course of Darius’s wandering, his cock had gone from soft and disinterested, to half full and sensitive. Henry cursed his body, but knew there was no use- Darius had been toying with him for months. He knew how to ring a reaction from rock, and Henry was far from made of stone. The soft touches were his downfall.
When his hand closed around Henry, hot, slick, and tight, he shuddered with the feeling, abused body welcoming the pleasure. Tears prickled in his eyes, and he blinked fast, sucking in desperate gulps of air. The hand covering his mouth pressed against his lips, parting them and forcing fingers into his mouth. Henry closed his eyes, soft, hitched whines of distressed pleasure making it past Darius’s hand.
The fingers left his mouth, and Darius shifted to give himself room to press his spit slick hand between them. Spit wasn’t a very good lube, but he wasn’t in a position to protests; Henry’s body welcomed the intrusion this time, accepting it deep into him. Deep enough to feel traitorous sparks.
He grit his teeth, arms shaking. How easily his body was used against him. After the initial discomfort, the prep went easily and smoothly, his erection caught in Darius’s large hand. He stroked Henry lazily, confident once more, now that he had him how he wanted him.
Henry felt light headed with his dread. When his body was loose and slick, Darius stopped teasing him. He pulled his fingers out of Henry, stroking up his sweating back, and released his hard cock.
The room was quiet enough he could hear the wet sounds of the other men fucking Jacob. It probably hadn’t been very long, although it felt like hours had passed since he’d been pulled over here. The short, wet noises made him sick, and Henry dropped his head between his arms.
Hands on his hips again, tipping him farther forward. He followed the instruction mechanically, trying not to tense as Darius plastered himself across Henry’s back, hips working to push his cock into his captive.
He cried out, too overwhelmed not to, as the thick head breached his body, and continued deep inside him until Darius was seated fully inside Henry. There was no lull in motion, Darius simply pushed him down until he was laying on the tailgate, and held him by the hipbone, hunched over him with his free hand resting on the metal by Henry’s head. He held himself up just enough to get leverage, and the way he rolled his hips to get as deep as he could, his body a hot and solid line above Henry’s. He could hear his strained, harsh breathing, Darius folded over him to completely cover his body with his broader one.
It might have been arousing, under different circumstances; the overwhelming bulk of him pressing down on Henry as he took control. He could feel how strong he was, the flex of his muscles as he set himself up. Despite it all, Henry felt the traitorous twinges of arousal slide wet and hot down his spine.
The pace picked up, sharply and without warning, and Henry found he could not smother the cries, as he was driven into, the pace fast and rough. Brutal snaps of Darius’s hips drove him farther and farther up the back of the truck, and his hands found very little purchase on the old, dusty metal.
This this is it. The end of his faux tenderness.
As he endured the rough sex, Henry wondered if this meant that Darius knew something more than he was letting on.
~*~
It had become monotony. Not the good kind, either; he wasn’t sure the ones from the beginning weren’t getting back in line. Jacob’s jaw ached. His scalp hurt from his hair being pulled on. They would tangle their sweaty, dusty hands in his hair, and yank his face back. Push their disgusting dickheads against his lips, and he could do nothing but open his mouth for them. His mouth felt like it was filled with static, brain unwilling to accept the taste that lay heavy and thick on his tongue.
Since he spit the first load out, they had been forcing him to swallow by staying inside his mouth; choking him on their filthy cocks until he gagged the semen down. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about; it was dripping down his chin, wetting his neck, and although they had the presence of mind to know not to get his clothes too filthy, the rough clothes they wiped him off with smelled of dirt and sweat.
He sat back on his heels, wrists and shoulders sore from straining against the handcuffs. It was a rare moment to catch his breath, no one immediately in line next – although several stood on the edges, joking and cursing that they couldn’t get hard fast enough. It was crude and tasteless, and he couldn’t believe this was how he would spend his last night alive.
Suddenly, sharp cries pierced the night air. There was a breathless quality to them, and Jacob blanched when he realized what was happening.
Not Henry-
He moved as if to stand, rage suffusing his veins.
“You promised not to hurt him!” he bellowed, rage stripping him of discretion. What was the point of this humiliation, if they were only going to drag Henry off to rape him?
One of them caught him by the shoulder, and shoved him back to his knees, shoving a gun in his face.
“That doesn’t sound like pain, does it?” leered another one, from over the first’s shoulder. The second was undoing his belt, and shoved the gun wielding man away from Jacob. He struggled when he was grabbed, snarling at him.
But he was right, it didn’t sound like pain. He hadn’t been in a position to hear Henry in the middle of sex before, but it was clear that whether it was consensual or not – and he had a hard time imagining Standing Bear of all people sneaking off to have a tryst while Jacob was being assaulted— that whoever was with Henry was working hard to get those noises.
His eyes darted around the group.
The tall one, Darius, was missing.
The man reached for him, and quickly withdrew his hand as Jacob tried to bite it.
“I will fight you if you touch me again. Not until Henry is back here. I will make you hit me, and spoil Malachi’s plan.” He threatened.
The man considered him. He was younger than Jacob, his long hair pulled back in a braid. His plaid shirt was rolled up to the elbows, but unbuttoned to midchest, and his belt buckle shone in the low night. He wasn’t dressed for work in a saw mill, too well dressed to be doing a labour-intensive job. The man- no, the boy, because he would guess he was barely 25— hesitated, and glanced towards the truck.
Then he froze, like something occurred to him, and the smile he turned on Jacob was cruel. As he was kicked onto his back, he wondered what he had done to deserve this hatred. He landed on his cuffed hands, crying out in pain; his knees were grabbed, the young man forcing them apart.
“Do you want us to do that to you? Are you jealous of your friend?” He asked Jacob, and his voice was fast and breathy; the prospect of raping Jacob for real excited him.
Ice settled in his stomach. He could feel their eyes on him, suddenly ravenous; the rules of the game had changed, and none of them were going to step up to prevent this. They would join him, and use Jacob’s body until the sun came up.
He would spend his last night a play thing at the hands of his enemies.
All their attention had been fixed on him, like jackals eyeing a wounded sheep. The fist that caught the young man in the cheek took them all by surprise. The blow knocked the young man off Jacob, and into the dirt. He yelled in anger, scrambling upright, but froze when he realized who had struck him.
“We are not raping Nighthorse. If you’re bored with him, then we’re to restrain them until the morning.” Said Darius firmly. He looked livid, likely disturbed from his activities by the haste in which he’d put his clothing back together. His shirt hung untucked and unbuttoned, and his belt had been done up only enough to keep his pants up.
Jacob turned his head, and tried to look past him to see if he could find Henry, but there was no sign of him.
“I am here, Jacob.” Henry said soft, from just behind his head. His voice was rough, and he sounded out of breath. Gentle hands slid under his shoulders, lifting him back into a seated position. Jacob twisted in place, trying to get his eyes on Henry. He ignored the commotion behind him, raised voices as Darius yelled at his men, and the bravest of them yelled back.
Henry smiled tightly, face flushed, and damp as if he had a fever. The crusted blood on one side of his cheek had been rubbed mostly off, and Jacob scanned his body quickly, but found no visible injuries.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly.
Henry’s previously rolled sleeves were loose and unbuttoned around his wrists, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone, his shirt untucked. There was a dusty smear on his neck and collarbone that disappeared under his shirt.
Henry flushed under his critical gaze, looking away.
“I am fine, Jacob. Are you okay?” his eyes looked haunted as he asked.
Jacob wanted to ask him how he could shove aside his rape so easily, but this wasn’t the place. Instead he leaned forward, and rested his forehead on Henry’s shoulder. He felt as warm as a furnace, and Jacob realized dimly he was cold.
“I’m so sorry, Henry. You never should have been here.”
A warm hand settled gently on the nape of his neck, and Henry leaned his head against his hair. He said nothing, and they sat in the dirt, leaning into each other.
He heard Darius approach them, but the man paused behind Henry without saying anything. Jacob watched his boots, bright blue despite the dust. As they remained entangled, and Darius didn’t interrupt, Jacob’s tired mind dared to hope that perhaps, of the two of them, Henry would have a chance.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Maybe there was something they could hold over him, to keep him quiet.
A rifle butt jabbed him in the shoulder, and Jacob sat back with a sigh, glaring all the way up at Darius. The man towered over their crouching forms.
“What, you want your turn?” Jacob asked viciously, and opened his mouth mockingly, and then spat but missed his boot by an inch. Darius looked at the spittle and smirked.
“Get up, Henry. Help Mr. Nighthorse to his feet.” He ordered, ignoring his comment entirely.
Henry staggered up, lifting Jacob under the arm. Jacob’s knees protested loudly, pain bright, but he hissed a curse and walked his way through it. They didn’t go far, only to where the ledge stuck out from the wall. Henry had to help Jacob sit, his legs too sore from being forced to kneel for so long; he eased his friend down, and Darius jerked him forward, unlocking his cuffs, and locking his wrist to the pole. A sharp tug that dug the cuff into Jacob’s skin, and Darius turned from him.
He took Henry by the arm, but his grip was far gentler than he had handled Jacob; Darius towed Henry to the other side, and gestured for him to sit, letting him rather than push him down. Henry held his wrist out for the cuff, staring up at his captor with a steely expression. Despite the obvious animosity – and the witness- once Henry was handcuffed and secure, Darius paused, and turned back to him. Jacob couldn’t see his expression from where he sat, but the tall man reached out – Henry flinched, initially, but allowed the touch- and Darius brushed his knuckles along the edge of Standing Bear’s face.
It was a tender gesture. One at odds with everything he had seen so far.
Well, whatever was between them is over now.
~*~
The flinch was involuntary; Darius had never struck him without orders to do so, and Henry had no real fear of that changing. His touch was soft, the gentle touch of a lover saying goodbye, rather than the complex animosity of what they actually where. Henry stared up at him, and there was regret in his face.
“He is going to kill me tomorrow.” He guessed, keeping his voice soft.
Darius swept a strand of his hair back into place, letting his touch trail down the edge of Henry’s face. It was achingly tender for such an unapologetically vicious man, and the very act assured Henry more than words ever could how close his death was.
“You weren’t supposed to be in the car, Henry. If you hadn’t been, he would have let you live.” Strange, to hear remorse from him. Darius always seemed to be amused at something, taking delight in the way Henry had squirmed while under his thumb.
Perhaps he was mourning the loss of such an easy victim. Henry thought, somewhat pettily.
But Darius looked down at him, and he seemed lost. Henry leaned back, breaking the contact.
“It is as you said, I was not supposed to be there. It is my own fault, for angering Malachi so much. I did this to myself.”
It felt oddly like he was reassuring him. He didn’t want to comfort him, not with the spend from his latest assault still seeping out of his body; sitting was uncomfortable, his back and hips aching from how rough Darius had been with him. He could feel the bruises on his hips, the marks from his mouth along his shoulders and neck. He could still feel the ghost of his lips, pressed to his own as Darius swallowed Henry’s cries as he forced him to orgasm after, held tight to his chest like they were lovers.
Henry looked away. This wasn’t how he thought he would go to his death.
Darius touched his face again, and Henry didn’t resist being pulled into the kiss. It felt like goodbye; there was no harsh edge to it, nearly chaste compared to the previous ones from that night. Again, he touched Henry’s hair, face unreadable.
Darius turned on his heel, leaving them to the twilight.
Henry looked at the stars in the break in the wall above Jacob’s head, letting the silence grow between them. It was still night. They still had time left on their clock.
There were questions in Jacob’s eyes, but he did not ask them, and Henry was grateful for that mercy.
~*~
When everything was said and done, and the heat of the day was building to an unbearable swelter in the back of Walt’s bronco, Henry sitting with his knees drawn up, and Jacob across from him. The hatch was open, all the other cars occupied with arrests. Darius was in the back seat of the bronco, shoulder wrapped, hands cuffed. He leaned his head against the seat, watching over Henry’s shoulder, as his men were rounded up. A sheet lay not far from the bronco, covering up a body, left in the sun.
Jacob cast them only one questioning look, at the beginning, but he had seen the tension run from the tall man’s face when he has seen Henry bundled up with a shock blanket and a bottle of water. Jacob sipped his own water slowly, and wondered if jackals ever fell in love with sheep.