The Cot
Hasan and Declan - Chapter 15 | Previous
Hasan is slow to trust after Declan's escape attempt, but they're sure to keep him entertained throughout the day.
Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, captivity whump, drugging mention, tied down, recorded whump, fear of noncon, threatened noncon, suggestive comments, auditory torture, stalking, forced nudity, forced stripping, brief needles.
Word count: 3197
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Waking up in a panic was a tall order when wrapped up in a drug-induced haze. Each thought, usually a frantic jumble, was viscous and tangible as it bubbled up.
I didn’t make it out.
They drugged me.
I was supposed to be home, watching the news of their arrest.
They told me they didn’t have sedatives.
Why the fuck did I BELIEVE THEM.
I’m going to die here.
I miss mom. I miss everyone.
They drugged me.
Why did they drug me.
I know why.
I know.
Oh god.
They did.
Didn’t they?
Declan descended into his body one limb at a time. His thoughts led him to his legs but they wouldn’t move, so he worked his awareness up to his arms. Still, it was like reaching through gelatin.
That wasn’t unusual, of course. He’d convinced himself that the doctor severed his nerves after top surgery, and it had taken a pinch from Dad to make his arm jolt under waning anesthesia.
But definitive toe wiggles and flexing feet led Declan’s senses outside of himself to the rough, scratchy fibers that ensnared him. Wrists and ankles were wrapped up tight and spread against cot bars: arms by his side, legs out straight, militant in their formality.
Lifting his head was a Herculean task that only brought miserable confirmation. Ropes, thick and serpentine, and so much scarier than the image his mind had conjured up. He watched himself struggle in vain, every movement doing nothing but flexing the strength of Hasan’s knots. They slid up and down the rods but refused to loosen or give.
Declan took a deep breath and shimmied his legs apart, bending at the knee to feel the stress, then lifting his hips when no red flags prevailed. Any encounter would have made itself known by now but, deep down, he knew Hasan having their way with him would bring worse side effects than any previous partner.
He’d been redressed in a pair of black briefs, now bunching up as he set himself down, which left his torso and legs just as bare as he’d been on the couch… Last night? Earlier? The room didn’t offer any hints past the mercifully dimmer lighting and-
He froze.
That fucking tripod. He’d missed it in his initial haze, but now… It towered over him just a yard or two away, a fierce red light winking every few seconds. Dread piled heavy in Declan’s stomach. No privacy. It had been a privilege here to begin with, but every subsequent loss was just as devastating as the first.
Had he been photographed nude, too?
Would they record his death?
Would his corpse ever be lain to rest?
A shiver forced his shoulders to his chin and pulled at his back, but his attention was pulled in a new direction when bare skin scraped against plastic. Only then did his senses compare notes: a heavy head, lack of sound, and familiar pressure on his temples. All indicative of a pair of headphones.
In fact, it wore just like his streaming headset. Just like it. Declan rubbed the side against his shoulder and, to his horror, the ridges lined up exactly before a strip of… tape? Trying to shove them off ignited a new sensation. Duct tape stuck to cropped hair behind him and touched over the bridge of his nose, keeping the headphones firmly in place.
But these were his. Which could only mean that Hasan had broken into his apartment. Shit, shit, what the hell were they doing there?! This was day five- no day six, so when had that even happened? How long had they been watching him?
A bead of sweat rolled onto the adhesive.
"Cute move you did there. Do you usually put out like that in the mornings?"
“Jesus- fuck!” Not only had Hasan’s voice come out of nowhere, but the volume was cranked up to an excruciating degree. “What do you want?”
“Well, I was just watching you finally wake up and, to my delight, you put on quite the show,” they drawled. It took a moment for their words to click.
They’d seen him check. That godforsaken camera had seen every tiny movement, broadcast it to his tormentor, and given them a show up close and personal.
"You’re sick." And he felt himself lurch as he said it.
"Feeling quite well, actually," Hasan shrugged.
"You fucking shouldn’t be! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"Careful, Dec. Wouldn’t want anyone overhearing us, would we?"
He started at that. Hasan was supposed to be at work. Someone could listen in.
"Help! HELP! Can anyone hear me?!"
"Oh, loud and clear, handsome. Fuck, I wish I’d started my break just now." There was a soft chuckle on the other end and the sound of a hand running through their hair. "You’ve never played out a fantasy, have you? Played with the idea of getting caught? It makes things a whole lot steamier, I’ll tell you that.”
Teeth clacked against a metal spoon, only amplified by the volume of the headphones and Declan seethed through his teeth.
"Oh yeah, that tracks. You like to watch people sleep, so of course you’re one of those freaks who gets their rocks off in public too."
They laughed heartily at that.
"God, you really haven’t! Nobody will catch you! That’s the whole point! You’re in my earbuds, in my car, in a near-empty carpark. Nobody would hear your screams even if I bled you dry.”
And Hasan laughed on as if the threat of violence was entirely commonplace. For them, it surely was.
“Hardy-har, asshole. What’s the point of all this?” He swallowed but the lump in his throat remained. He had to hold his foot against the cot bar to keep it from tapping.
“As much as I’d love to explain the obvious and watch you squirm, I’ve got a job to get back to. I’ll be sure to call back later, love.”
“Wait, wait! How long are you leaving me like this? I-I need to eat and drink, and-!”
“Au revoir~!”
“No, hey! Come on, get back here!” But he was answered only by the pounding in his ears, already fading away as his body recognized Hasan’s absence.
All the adrenaline faded in an instant and nausea churned up in its place. It scorched his throat with rising waves of bile, leaving Declan with no option but to swallow it back.
A tear slipped between his lips before he realized he’d shed it.
Sure, it wasn’t any mystery why Hasan had tied him down. He should have known he wouldn’t be trusted again, even behind a locked door, but that was a problem easily solved by an ankle chain only a few days prior. Considering the camera, this farce was based purely on optics. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and Declan was ready to crawl out of his skin.
The ropes made him itch but twisting against them forced sharp, stiff fibers into inflamed skin. Being held so still only gave him the urge to twitch and squirm. Hunger pangs grabbed at his stomach and twisted it into unbearable cramps until he was gasping for breath. Flashes of hot-cold drove shivers up and down him. An itch was growing in his throat.
Declan’s first urge was to google symptoms of an overdose. His second was to call someone and ask.
His third was to try and get Hasan’s attention. Not happening. Banish the thought.
Even if he was experiencing overdose symptoms it should have killed him in his sleep. Or would it just make him sleep longer? It couldn’t have been far into the evening when Hasan fed him that poison and, considering they were on a break already, he’d been under for at least twelve hours.
Waking up was certainly a good sign.
There was no way to measure time, especially through the fog in his head. But when the voice of his nightmares tuned back in, Declan knew it hadn’t been long enough.
“Why hello again.”
“Shouldn’t you be working?” Declan huffed. The idea of company was nice until it was actually there.
“That’s no way to greet me, Dec. I’m on break!”
“Untrue. You were on break half an hour ago.”
“It’s been longer than that. Oh- did I forget to leave you a clock?”
Declan made sure to stare down the camera before he rolled his eyes.
“Don’t get yourself fired. I don’t want to see your ugly mug more often than I have to.”
“You’re so dense. I’d be fired if I weren’t on this break.”
“Where the hell do you work?!”
“An airport.”
“Oh yeah, what’s so strenuous? Patting people down is too tough for you? Try working retail, pussy.”
“You know, the tower isn’t quite as loud as Walmart, but I get the feeling that air traffic controllers have it just a touch harder.”
“Well, have fun with your radar or whatever. Save some crashing planes to feed your guilty conscience. I’ll be here.” He was going to cry again. Declan turned his head, blinked the tears out, and took a deep breath to center himself. Another breakdown wouldn’t fix anything.
“Poor thing,” Hasan crooned. “You must be lonely.”
“I’m not lonely-”
“But you are. You miss the voices and faces of other people, don’t you? The baristas at Fox in the Snow? Or the cashiers at Lucky’s?”
Declan went silent. His eyes snapped back to the camera.
“What?”
“You never said those names on stream, of course,” Hasan prattled on. “There were vague descriptions like the old garage transformed into a coffee shop, or the local grocer who doesn’t donate to troubling political causes. Things that would mean nothing without knowing a city.” They paused, clearly expecting a protest from their unwilling audience.
“Which is why I don’t disclose that.” Said defense was slow and tight.
“You most certainly did. Or were you not in the class of 2018 at the Columbus College of Art and Design?”
Declan swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling his line of reasoning warp with every step.
“Most people have moved out of their college town three years after graduating,” he said.
“How unfortunate for you. If you had, perhaps I’d have had more trouble finding you.” Hasan’s sultry voice pricked goosebumps up on every inch of skin, blood running cold beneath. He flinched, followed by a proper shudder.
“...how long have you been stalking me?”
“Before Wednesday? Maybe two months.”
Declan didn’t think his heart could sink any further. Two months of his life, an ant under a magnifying glass, and he hadn’t noticed a thing until he caught fire.
“God, I mean, I think that’s how I became so infatuated with you,” they sighed wistfully. “No matter how hard I looked, you eluded me. I had your location narrowed down to a single street. I knew your favorite restaurants. I could have drawn a tremendous example of your weekly schedule. But I didn’t have a face to look for, nor a name to call. Then my washing machine broke. So I took it as a sign.”
They paused for a short moment.
“I could have written off my assumptions if not for that. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You posted a video in that laundromat, and, unfortunately for you, I recognized it. I made the drive. And in came this handsome, smiling face, making a beeline right for me. He opened his mouth and your voice came out. Then he offered your hand and… it felt like fate.”
Declan sucked in a quick breath.
“I didn’t do any of this for you–”
“Yet I was captivated.”
“–and this isn’t fate. You made a choice.”
“But it would be so much easier for you if it were, Dec. If you knew that trying to leave truly was pointless because a force higher than the both of us was keeping you with me,” Hasan purred.
“Good thing that’s not true.” Declan’s fists shook and he pressed his forehead into the pillow–a fraught effort to relieve the pounding behind his eyes.
“You’re entitled to your belief, just as I’m entitled to mine. But you’ll have plenty of time to reflect on it while I work.”
He caught the distinctive tap this time when Hasan turned off their microphone but the silence didn’t persist. Music replaced their voice, starting with a catchy beat, but quickly devolving into something more striking. The driving tempo was accompanied by pitch shifted sound effects and booming bass that quickly overwhelmed Declan’s senses.
He recognized it as a style of techno that had recently come into vogue and recalled once cruelly referring to it as audial torture.
It was a regrettably flippant statement.
A singer’s voice cut into the noise but it only added another layer to keep track of as Declan lost himself. His heart was beating fast enough to hear if not for the headphones’ deafening volume. Ragged breaths were only evidenced by the sensation of expansion and contraction. No amount of thrashing could dislodge the source.
And it went on that way. Each song melded into the next without a single moment of silence between, scraping at Declan’s awareness until it was raw from overstimulation and every beat sent him further under.
Silence sounded different when it finally greeted him again, buzzing and crackling with static electricity.
Hasan engaged him in conversation and laughed when he mentioned the music. Laughed when he asked them to turn it off. Said his eyes looked good rimmed in red.
They left it on until they came home.
Declan lifted his head to meet their hands and Hasan took their time even then.
“Isn’t that so much better?” The headphones lay abandoned, still spitting out audio, but they were focused on him. On cradling his chin and wiping at dried tear tracks. Dragging fingers through hair marred by sweat and struggle. The tape left a slick residue that they rubbed at like a stain.
“Leave,” Declan managed weakly.
“Silly boy, I just got here!”
“You spent the whole day torturing me. That’s enough. You can leave.”
He leaned back and Hasan followed, nuzzling his nose with their own. Gold wire rims threatened to slice his cheeks if they pressed any closer.
“No. It’s not.” The words formed without effort, as if engaging in casual debate. A hand on the back of his neck kept Declan right where he was wanted. “I have the freedom to leave. To stop. But you do not.”
“Shame on me for assuming you might want a second opinion, then.” The usual bite in his voice wavered when their hand slid up into his hair. Never before had he been forced prone like this.
The surgery on his foot, as loathe as he was to admit it, was his choice. He’d asked to be immobilized and reaped exactly what he earned from his ill-advised decision. This… he could hear Hasan’s reprimand already. But if it was a consequence of Declan’s escape attempt then it wasn’t a direct one.
Their touch raised goosebumps across his back.
“Well, go ahead then,” he sighed. It was difficult to summon the rage back into his voice after being mentally exhausted and that thought only made him angrier. “Don’t draw it out.”
“Order me around again and I’ll let you have another day on the cot.”
Declan pressed his lips together and tried not to react as nails swept across his tender back. The bruising was tangible and probably quite colorful, but the pain associated had dulled into unpleasant background noise when not actively being prodded.
It was too good to believe he’d heal properly, but he could hope that Hasan only had minor damage in mind for the evening. Work would sap their energy as the week wore on so that, by the time Declan regained his strength, they’d be at their lowest. From there it was only a matter of gaining the upper hand.
“I think a few scars here would suit you, Dec.” They were tracing his lower back and drawing lines in the skin.
“I disagree,” Declan breathed. His voice wavered where it shouldn’t have.
“At least you won’t see them too often… but that’s not what we’re doing today.” And Hasan’s fingers slipped under his waistband.
“No!”
He jerked back hard enough to jostle the cot, then did so again. It skittered back an inch and the band of his underwear snapped back against his skin, so Declan repeated the movement. But his progress was halted by a bruising grip.
“Where do you think you’re headed, hm?”
It only took one hand to pull his boxers to his ankles. Then they were pushing his legs apart and settling a knee between his thighs, oppressive weight pressing him down, and Declan was screaming.
“Get off, get off, you can cut me! Please, please just cut me and give me- g-give me my fucking clothes-!” He didn’t think he’d been so loud in his entire life. Skin pulled and tore under rope but Hasan groped him relentlessly. Palming his ass so he’d cry, pinching his thighs just to hear him yelp, driving their knee harder against him.
Declan felt his hold on reality slipping, only dragged back by a sharp pain near his hip. Hasan had smacked him. No, no, the pain was deeper. Familiar.
He craned his neck and watched them pull the empty syringe from his skin.
“What was that.”
“Dec-”
“What the hell did you inject me with?!” Being fucking tethered to the cot wasn’t enough, god, they weren’t going to let him do anything, and now they were ripping open a bandaid as if that was supposed to help.
“What day is it, love?” They stuck it over the puncture and pressed down firmly.
“Tell me what that was.”
“I’m trying to help you with that, Declan,” Hasan scolded. He flinched hard but said nothing. “So answer me.”
“Go kill yourself.”
They took in a long breath through their nose and let it out in a world-weary sigh, but their eyes hadn’t dulled. If anything, they were sharper. Hasan stared him down, lifted an open palm, and drew their index finger along the line of his ass.
“Answer me, or I’ll take you dry right here and now.”
Declan choked and went still.
“T-tuesday. It’s Tuesday.”
“Yes. And what do you take on Tuesdays?” Their voice was barely audible over his racing heart.
“My T shot,” he whispered. “That…” Eyes trailed to the discarded syringe.
“See? No harm, no foul. Everybody gets what they want.”
Hasan patted him, stood up, and got to work loosening the rope around his ankles. He clamped them together, acutely aware of every movement he made. What his body language was saying. As soon as his hands were free, Declan pulled up his underwear.
Hasan was fiddling with the camera. Still rolling, recording every second of that. Video of him naked. Of-
“You wouldn’t have. Not really.”
They raised their gaze and flashed a grin. “Oh, Dec. Haven’t you ever lied to get what you want?” Hasan shook their head. “I would never do it dry.”
Next
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Tag list: @as-a-matter-of-whump @suspicious-whumping-egg @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @anevilweevil @insane2core @days-on-the-road @whumpedydump
