Fanfic for @spookyboywhump! Wren, Zander, Cain, and the setting are all his. I recommend reading his series before this. There's the occasional word that won't make sense if you haven't.
CWs: dehumanization, licking, forced intimacy, tongue in wound, wound description
Wren couldn't keep himself from stealing glances at Zander. It was scarcely an hour into the party and Wren had already seen him hanging limply from his wrist bindings. Then the new owner had demanded Wren sit, and all of Zander disappeared behind a sea of bodies. Only the chain that tethered him to the ceiling was still visible.
He continued looking at the chain every chance he got. It got easier after this new owner — Wren's Master for the evening — demanded he move closer. Wren used the opportunity to turn himself until Zander's chain was just within eyesight. He watched it sway violently, and hoped that meant Zander was lashing out at anyone who got too close.
He didn't want to think about the alternative.
"Hey, puppy. Pay attention." This owner's voice was sharp and reedy. More suited to whining about the unfairness of life than giving commands. But he wasn't the one at the wrong end of the leash, so Wren wrenched his eyes away from the shaking chain to look at him.
"I said, lick." He was holding out his hand. Wren suppressed an eyeroll. It had become obvious very quickly that this guy had made that his thing. Licking that unpleasantly sweaty hand had been the first thing Wren was made to do after Cain handed him over. Since then he'd been forced to lick up saliva, dirt, and the remnants of various finger foods. He couldn't see what was there now, but judging by the tiny plate in the man's other hand, presumably more of the last. He shuffled forward — of course the owner was holding his hand just out of reach — and leaned forward, tongue out.
He smelled it just in time, and recoiled. Vinegar, with a hint of something hotter that burned his nose. He huffed a few times to clear his nostrils. When he looked back up at the owner, the teasing smile the man had worn was replaced by a scowl. The hand that had been holding the plate was now tight around Wren's leash.
"I said," he said, and yanked the leash so hard that Wren toppled forward and would have hit the floor had his lips not smashed into the man's still-outstretched hand. Some of the hot sauce made it past his lips, but he steadfastly kept his teeth clenched as he struggled to get back to his knees. "Lick."
Fingers pushed their way past his lips. Their taste was already familiar, he realized with disgust. He brought one hand up — the other was still on the ground, stopping him from falling forward again — to try to pry them out. Instead they shoved forward, trying to find their way past his clenched teeth. Suddenly, one of them hooked around his back tooth and pressed. Pressure quickly turned into pain and, with a cry, Wren's jaw opened.
And was immediately stretched much farther than he was comfortable with. The pain in his cheeks hit at the same time as the acrid heat hit his tongue. The leash stopped him from recoiling backwards as the man twisted his hand against Wren's mouth. Smearing the spiciest substance Wren had ever known against every piece of mouth-flesh he could reach.
After a few eternal seconds, the hand withdrew, and Wren fell back onto his hands and knees. He was blinking back tears and breathing heavily through his teeth in a desperate attempt to try to cool down the inferno that had been set in his mouth. He didn't bother trying to stop the saliva from dribbling past his lips and pooling on the fancy carpet.
Somebody's foot kicked his shoulder. He barely registered the sensation. His tongue worked around his mouth, trying desperately to rid itself of the burning substance that covered it.
"Hey," he heard, and registered another kick. Light enough to not knock him over, though just barely. He looked up at his temporary Master and felt the tears run down his face.
"I asked you a question," the man scolded.
Wren's eyes squeezed themselves shut against the tirade of tears. He forced them back open. "Guh," he managed to say.
The man smirked again. "Do you like spicy food?"
Wren's breathing, already heavy, intensified further. Trying to cool his mouth down enough to reply. He finally managed to choke out a barely comprehensible "No, sir."
His eyes closed themselves once more after that, but once he got them open again he saw the man had turned back to talk to another partygoer. His face desperately wanted to be facing the floor, but he snuck one more look at Zander's chain first.
His chest tightened. The chain hung still.
"Up." A kick to the shoulder accompanied the command. He had already learned how this owner preferred to control him. Wren considered ignoring the man, but his still-burning mouth convinced him otherwise. He pushed himself to his feet, and immediately looked to Zander.
He was still there, which was... not good, exactly, but better than the alternative. But even from this distance, Wren could tell how exhausted he was. His legs were only supporting as much weight as they had to to keep his arms in their sockets. The rest of him sagged into the restraints which bound his wrists high above his head. Which, itself, sagged into his chest.
When Wren realized he was taking too long of a look and turned his attention back to the man holding his leash. He was met with a smug and unsettling smile.
"Come," the man ordered, and started leading Wren across the room. His relief at getting closer to Zander quickly turned to fear. They were getting too close. And sure enough, the owner brought the two of them to a stop right in front of the exhausted man.
Up close, the extent of his exhaustion was even more evident, as was the reason for it. His face, chest, and stomach were all covered in bright purple bruising, and Wren didn't doubt that the bruises extended under his clothing. Even his arms, stretched above him, were peppered with bruises. Several cuts — too many to count with one glance — were slashed through his pants, and the denim beneath each one was stained with red.
And there was the centerpiece. Five evenly spaced gashes, each stretching across most of his torso, presumably made by a knife but designed to look as if he'd been slashed by the claws of some terrible beast. His chest shuddered with breath.
Once he could no longer stand to look at the extent of Zander's injuries, Wren looked back to the owner. Who gestured back at Zander.
"Go on. Say hi to your boyfriend."
Wren stared at him. His eyes still watered, but he could at least stare without blinking for a few seconds now.
"I saw you looking. You're not subtle, puppy."
Wren considered protesting. It would mean doing something with his mouth besides trying to cool it down, and he knew it wouldn't work anyway. None of Cain's friends ever cared what the dogs had to say. So he stayed quiet, and looked back to Zander.
Zander had lifted his head now, and was looking straight back at him. His shuddering breath was calmer now, though from the look on his face it was clear that it still hurt. Despite that, the look in his eyes was understanding. Comforting.
Wren felt guilty that Zander was the one trying to comfort him.
Wren knew by now that this was not a suggestion. He'd be forced to touch Zander one way or another. He took a quick look for somewhere he even could touch without pressing on a cut or bruise.
Usually to comfort Zander he'd touch him on the arm or shoulder, but the restraints kept most of Zander's arms out of reach, and what he could reach was very obviously covered in bruises. And his shoulders were rotated away, so even if they were unharmed — doubtful — it would be awkward to reach around to touch them.
Instead, his eyes landed on a patch of skin at Zander's side, opposite the claw marks, which appeared relatively unbruised. It had probably been saved because whoever beat him didn't want to mess up their fellow monster's work, Wren's brain supplied. He tried to forget the thought.
His hand reached out, tentatively, towards Zander's side. Before making contact he looked back at Zander's eyes. Still full of understanding. Wren thought — or maybe just hoped — he saw a nearly-imperceptible "go ahead" nod. He closed the last few inches and laid his hand on Zander's side.
The area might not have been as unbruised as he thought, because Zander let out a hiss as he touched it. Still, he didn't dare take his hand away, in fear that the owner would make him do something worse. Hopefully this would be intimate enough.
"Oh, come on," came the voice from behind him, and Wren's heart sank. "I know you want to be closer than that."
With the last syllable, Wren was shoved forward. Instinctively he let the arm that was touching Zander buckle, not wanting to cause the man any more pain. That turned out to be the wrong move, as he stumbled forward until his face hit Zander's chest. On the other side as lunch, right in the center of the claw marks. Zander somehow managed not to scream, but with his face pressed up against the man's chest, Wren could still feel all the air leave his lungs.
Wren quickly got his feet back under him and moved to pull away, only to feel a hand at the back of his head. It forced him forward, into Zander, hard enough that the other lost his footing and momentarily swung from his suspended arms. This time Zander did cry out. Wren shuddered, imagining the audience they must be gaining.
Eventually Zander regained his footing, and Wren managed to adjust his head to be at an angle to Zander's torso. Enough that he could resume panting without breathing his hot breath directly into Zander. The two stood there, tensed, every fiber of both of them praying for this to be over.
"Now," the voice purred directly into Wren's ear. He flinched, not expecting the man to be so close.
Wren tried to shake his head, only to find he was being held too tightly for that. He clenched his teeth shut again, but kept his lips parted so he could continue passing as much air as possible over his tongue. His mouth ached with the reminder of what had happened to him last time he'd tried to keep it shut.
"You know I can make you lick if you don't want to." The reedy voice had gotten a tinge huskier in a way Wren did not like.
Before he could come up with a way to retort with his teeth clenched shut, he felt a low rumble coming from Zander. A rumble that began with a familiar word.
"Wren, it's okay," Zander said, quietly enough that even the owner whose face was inches from Wren's couldn't hear. Only Wren, with his face pressed into Zander's chest, registered the low vibrations. "Do it."
Wren looked up through his tears, hoping to look into Zander's face. Hoping to see it say that he was kidding, that he didn't want Wren to do this to him. Instead what he saw was the underside of Zander's chin, set determinedly, as he stared directly ahead. No doubt staring through the crowd that had presumably gathered, through the wall, into nothing.
Wren clenched his eyes shut again. The onslaught of tears didn't stop. Slowly he extended his tongue — it touched Zander's skin as soon as it passed his lips, and to his dismay, the saltiness did help quench the heat that still engulfed it. Unsure what else to do, he just... wiggled it a little against Zander's skin. He wondered if any of the saltiness he could taste had come from his own tears, trickling down his friend's body.
He wasn't left alone to wonder for long. The man who had held his leash, and how held his head, pulled him upwards, and he didn't retract his tongue in time. It slid over one of the cuts in the claw mark, and he shuddered as he felt the loose flap of skin flip up into his tongue. At the same time, the salty taste was joined by a sudden metallic jolt. Zander gasped and flinched away. Not far enough to create any space between them, unfortunately. Wren retracted his tongue, but his head was still unable to move.
The voice in Wren's ear snickered. "There you go. Get a good taste."
He tried to reach up and dislodge the owner's grasp on his head — he'd be punished for that, but would it be worse than this? — but a familiar voice made him freeze.
"Are you behaving, pup?" Cain asked.
Yet more tears welled up behind Wren's eyes. Slowly, he put his hands down.
"Oh, there's a good puppy. See, he loves his owner. You could learn from him." That last sentence was directed away from Wren. It wasn't hard to guess who it was directed at. This owner's dog — Troy, he remembered — who Cain would have brought with him. Wren bit back a retort. Metaphorically, of course. He couldn't bring himself to do any more damage to his aching mouth.
"And you. I won't say it again. Lick." He emphasized the last word by shoving Wren into Zander once again. This time Zander barely lost his footing, and recovered it quickly. Wren looked up again. This time hoping to see Zander looking down him with permission, or understanding, or anything to make what he was about to do feel less bad. Instead, he saw that determinedly set chin again. Staring straight ahead.
Wren steeled himself for as long as he felt he could get away with, then stuck his tongue out again. It easily found the slice in Zander's skin and dug in. For a moment it traversed the ragged edge of of clotted blood, then found a weak spot and plunged, unbidden, through the barrier. To Wren's chagrin he found that the gush of blood calmed the fire on his tongue, and kept pressing for a moment on instinct before he realized what he was doing.
Once he did, he recoiled as he had so many times this night, but this time he was actually allowed to move. The hands which had held his head in place had been removed. He stumbled backwards — barely registering Zander's ragged breaths — until he fell backwards to the ground. He breathed heavily, watching Zander do the same, and tried to forget about the taste in his mouth.
