A deal with the devil
(Tw: implied future noncon, sexual noncon touch)
Caretaker watches Whumpee sleep. Whumper had left them bleeding by the end of the session, belt marks littering poor Whumpee’s skin. Now they’re blissfully passed out, sleeping in their own pool of blood.
Shifting his legs as he sits on the floor, Caretaker does his best to ease his sore arms chained over his head. Throat burning, he distantly wonders if he had screamed more for Whumpee’s sake. Useless, he thinks. He can’t help anybody and Whumpee is better off without him. He could still hear their small moans and pleas as the belt unleashed its wrath; the howling from them as they had curled into a tight ball.
Shattering the illusion of calm that descended over them, Whumper walks into the cell with a grin.
“Can’t sleep?” They ask Caretaker, almost gleeful of the hate they see in his eyes.
“I need to check on Whumpee,” he starts, careful to keep the anxiety out of his voice. The wounds could get infected, and if Whumpee gets sick now… god help them. A bout of rage claims his eyes, tearing up from the sheer rage he had for Whumper. “If they bleed to death, you’ll be sorry. I promise, I’ll fucking end you.“
“I can get them some bandages.”
“Listen— wait, what?”
“You heard me.”
Caretaker stares at them warily, waiting for the punchline as they crouch down in front of him. Whumper passes a hand over his tresses, pushing his hair out of his face. He scowls back, not backing down as Whumper presses close, breaths mingling as they talk in a hushed voice.
“To be honest, Caretaker. I like you. So, I’ll make a bargain with you.”
“What do you want that you haven’t taken yet?” he snaps.
“I don’t know,” they shrug. “You tell me.”
Caretaker glances at Whumpee, who looks like they’re still bleeding. It hurts to look, but he has to. He has to at least help Whumpee survive this. There’s not a mark on him, but he can’t protect Whumpee from all the bruises, burns and scars.
“Don’t play mind games with me, Whumper. Just…” he takes a shaky breath, turning back to Whumper, “just tell me what you want.”
“Seems like there’s nothing you can offer,” they say, patting his cheek before standing up. “Disappointing. I was in the mood to give, actually.”
As they move towards Whumpee, no longer interested in him, Caretaker’s ribs heave with silent pleas. Not Whumpee, please, not Whumpee. They need bandages, please, no no no. “Wait, I— wait!”
They look over their shoulder, hands in their pockets.
Caretaker takes a steadying breath, gripping the manacles that chain him for support. In the dingy light, he couldn’t make out much of Whumper’s expression, but he’s glad for that now.
The thought that had entered his mind is not far-fetched, because he’s seen the way Whumper looks at him. He doesn’t have time to muse over the chance that Whumper had put off their desires, waiting for the chance for Caretaker to come to them. For him to submit. “I can…”
“Hm?”
“I can make you feel good,” he says, looking away to stare hard at the ground. Whumper’s shoes have blood splattered on them, Whumpee’s blood. Caretaker folds his legs to his chest, suddenly feeling exposed as Whumper’s face comes back into view.
“Well, isn’t the world full of surprises?”
“And jerks.”
Whumper chuckles. “As much as I’m a sadist, I don’t have a derogatory kink. Change the attitude, or you’re going to watch Whumpee bleed to death.“
“Whumper,” Caretaker searches for the right words, “please.”
“I think you can try harder than that.”
A low ringing in his ears helps him focus and spit it out. “Please have me.”
Whumper slips their fingers under his chin. Soft, gentle. “Do you really want this?”
Caretaker wants the bandages. He wants to stop staring at Whumpee and instead, help. He needs to help Whumpee.
“I do! I do, Whumper. Fuck—“ Caretaker cusses as a hand wrenches his legs down. But the anticipated punch doesn’t come. They only settle their palm on his thigh. He clenches his eyes shut as they stroke slowly, sensual in a painstaking manner. It only lasts for a few moments, for Whumper had been using their other hand to unlock the chains, pulling it down without letting them rattle.
Caretaker brings his wrists to his chest, rubbing the pads of his thumbs into the redness. He glances at the door, a desperate last attempt of his brain to escape. It drives him mad that his escaping doesn’t even cross Whumper’s mind as they unchain him. To hold onto his sanity, he checks on Whumpee quickly, hovering over the almost corpse-like body, knowing each and every bruise and injury, yet wanting— needing to check.
“If Whumpee wakes halfway, our deal is off.” Whumper strides toward the bed in the corner of the room, snapping their fingers at Caretaker when he hesitates. “I don’t have all day, you know.”
“Do we have to do it here?” he asks, grinding his teeth at the laugh he receives. He doesn’t think he can handle it if Whumpee sees him like this. Why would Whumpee kiss his mouth after that?
“Do you want to go to a hotel for this?”
Caretaker pulls away from Whumpee, bile rising to his throat when he’s told to kneel between Whumper’s spread legs. His hands are shaking now, an overwhelming urge to kill Whumper taking over. But Whumpee needs the bandages. Just get through it and get the bandages. He can’t afford to be selfish.
“Convince me that you want this.”
Caretaker hates Whumper, with all his heart. The thinly veiled mockery in their questions makes his eyes sting. Anger, like a wasp under his skin, buzzes and gnaws. A swarm full of those wasps collects at the base of his throat as he chews out the words again. “I want you. I want you, Whumper.”
“A little dry. But we can work on that later,” Whumper boops his nose before unzipping their jeans. “Make me feel good, Caretaker.”
Part 2
