Chapter Text
It’s a cold winter day when Dutch, draped in dark grey and hazy black, approaches the small wooden building sitting just above a large patch of dry land. With the density of the bayou air, it's the kind of frigid cold which clings and causes a man to sweat, then chills him to the bone by freezing along the skin.
The mud slowly consuming the soles of the alpha’s boots is disadvantageous; however, it is well known that this practice is one to take the utmost precaution in pursuing, seeing as it is strictly prohibited in all four of their surrounding states, and thus is worth the extra mile of lurking in the swamplands. Luckily, Dutch had caught word of this place before the law had become involved, and has been doing business with the man keeping order of the place, for years.
Dutch is glad he’d removed his spurs before lowering himself to the ground from the stagecoach, seeing as the mire clings to his boots in a way he despises. He’d made sure Trelawny accompanied him for this as a driver, always wanting a bit of personal time right at the beginning to break in the rules. As soon as he’d set foot on the marshy ground, he’d asked the beta to bring the stagecoach back around within forty-five minutes, and that he should be finished by the end of that time, if not sooner. Trelawny had simply nodded and thrown down the reins, removing himself from the scene as quickly as possible.
Placing his gloved hand on the railing, Dutch climbs the few steps up to the door, as he’d done time and time before, and swiftly strikes the wood with his clothed knuckle. Stepping back away from the door, he watches the rectangular eyehole slide open, two young, frightened eyes peering out at him before relaxing and disappearing again. Dutch hears the familiar clanking of miniature chains. A multitude of rusty, worn locks have embellished the inside of the door for years, and every single one of them is mentally accounted for before the man fully comes into view, a relieved smile on his face.
“Ah, Dutch, so glad to see you. Didn’t expect to see you, ‘specially with the happenin’s of just a few days ago.” The beta male’s slight limp is obviously shown as he waves the alpha into the homey-looking hut and glances out before shutting the door and securing all of the locks. Dutch turns to look at the man, essentially towering over him as he works his nimble fingers against the locks.
“Oh? And what’s happened, Cecil?” Dutch allows himself to sit back in a chair, watching as the beta hobbles across the floor and lifts a kettle from the stove, along with a glass. The glass is set down against the table and a moderate amount of tea is shakily poured into it. “Leg is looking rather stable.”
Cecil had lost half of a leg several years ago due to a feral omega unknowingly retracting rabies from a nearby boar while being forced to hunt, and later clamping its teeth down into Cecil’s bare calf in an act of defiance. It was a horrendous sight for everyone involved, especially when Dutch had to hook his arms under Cecil’s and pull him away, attempting to ignore the cries of agony from the poor beta. Cecil was taken to a nearby doctor and his leg was sawed clean off within the day, before it could spread, leaving him with a mere stump. An inventor saw the carnage when they’d entered the office and later provided Dutch with the proposition of a false extremity, which Dutch took with little hesitance. The inventor had mentioned little-to-no physical pain, and Dutch was essentially sold.
“Y’know. Only the best for me and my business.” Cecil sarcastically waves his hand about, a small, derisive smile on his face. “Few of the younger ones got loose, found a horse nearby, piled on back of it and rode off to Annesburg. Small town, but hell, the amount of officers they can send is insane.” Dutch lifts the glass to his mouth and takes a swig, immediately regretting it and forcing the liquid down as to not be rude. Shaking his head to disperse the nausea, he replaces the glass on the table and reminds himself not to attempt it again. “An’ sure. Gives me a bit of trouble every now and again, but it’s better than nothin’.”
“They get any of the others?” Dutch looks at Cecil, examining the man’s shoulder movements as he speaks. The beta is a clear shot of reading, as he wears all of his emotions on his face when someone has gotten close enough to him. Dutch knows exactly what makes him tick, just as he does most of his acquaintances and “close friends”.
“Nah, luckily, I was able to get all of ‘em asleep an’ silent before them officers came bargin’ in. Told me everything he was aware of, and I just sent him on his way. Didn’t even think to check, the dumbass.” Cecil moves as if he’s suddenly remembered something. “Speakin’uh. What’cha here for this time? Got any clue or just lookin’?” He gestures over his shoulder at the trapdoor, a smug smile on his face. “Got a few new ones. Omegas, if them’s what you came searchin’ for.” Dutch sits up in his chair as Cecil shambles over toward the trapdoor and leans down to swipe a few things aside. His fingers catch the handle and the door easily pulls open, propped open by the back wall. “If not, I still got a lot of betas for the takin’. You’re a great lot of my business, see.”
“As I am well aware, my friend.” Dutch pushes himself to his feet, stepping up to the trapdoor and watching as Cecil slowly sits on the edge of the wood and reaches for a nearby lantern. A matchbox sits beside it, and one little stick is retrieved before being dragged swiftly across the wooden boards. The candle inside of the lantern is lit within moments, Cecil snuffing the match out and dropping it into the hole before himself. He clambers down into the darkness, feet caught by a noisy set of stairs until he finally reaches the abstruse second level of wooden flooring. The beta stops there, holding the lantern up as Dutch follows.
The short corridor Dutch has become quite acquainted with greets them there, and Cecil gives him a look before continuing on. The man shakes a key ring from his belt loop and Dutch follows along, hands clasped behind his back. He notices the temperature change from above ground to below, likely because of the mud’s insulation, unless Cecil has managed to get so many into those few rooms; enough to warm the entirety of the lower level, which wouldn’t be out of the question.
The door comes into view and it’s unlocked easily, swung open. Immediately, the scent of omega’s heat and alpha’s rut smacks Dutch across the face. The two scents almost cancel themselves out in a way, meaning that Dutch is hardly affected by it, at least physically. His mental state had been quickly deteriorated when he’d stood in the alcove for longer than necessary on previous occasions, but he doesn’t plan on being here very long this time. Cecil is barely phased by it, being a beta, simply stepping aside and allowing Dutch into the main area. The alpha steps in, surveying the half-dressed figures scattered around the room. All of them have their groins and chests covered in order to avoid any temptation, but it doesn’t go much further than a few rags hung over their shoulders and hips. A few of them turn their heads to look at Dutch then quickly look away, Dutch finding himself gently chuckling at the frightened eyes.
“Quite the collection you've gathered for yourself,” Dutch comments, to which Cecil softly snickers and locks the door behind them.
“Yes, but they haven’t all been snatched up by me. See, I got a few helpers since the last time you visited.”
“Betas?” Dutch turns to look at the man as he speaks and slowly walks past. “I assume any others would be difficult to handle.”
“Yessir, and for most strangers, I’d have to say they’re not for sale. Nevertheless, you are one of my favourite regulars, so I’ll make an exception.” Dutch adorns a small smile as his eyes skim the omegas and betas sitting around the room. This is usually the case, most alphas preferring to be with ones of their kind more than with the lower caste. A few of the betas wear slightly cleaner clothes, treading around with trays and keeping watchful eyes on the slightly younger ones, as they don’t have much of a grasp on their bodies quite yet.
Dutch shakes his head and catches Cecil’s shoulder. After standing in the vicinity for a few moments, he’s come to notice that one particular omega’s scent is catching him quite tightly by the collar and tugging him harshly back.
“Take me to the omegas, Cecil.” Dutch requests, Cecil gathering a sneer and nodding. The beta tilts his head in the direction, doddering that way and avoiding an omega’s hand grasping for his false ankle. The guilty party is kicked away before Cecil orders a beta over to lock it up. Dutch ignores it as it scrambles away, keeping his focus on Cecil.
“Fascinating creatures, really,” the beta coos. “When they ain’t so dismissive and difficult.” He leads Dutch to a door, pushing it open and allowing the smell to drift back to the alpha. Instantly, he feels himself moving faster and turning a corner. He knows his way around this place, and he doesn’t need a lantern to find the omega in question. Cecil hobbles after him, the sound of his wooden leg knocking against the grubby wooden floor beneath them.
Dutch takes the key ring from Cecil, clearing his throat as he sifts through the scratched-on labels. Unlocking the last door, he passes through the final barrier. It doesn’t take him long to see the omegas, softly griping at one another as they suffer through the effects of heat without an alpha… That is until Dutch opens the door, and the scent of alpha fills the room.
Their eyes land on him at once, but Dutch’s attention is focused on only one in particular: an omega, hardly looking like one with his build, squirming uncomfortably against a wall. His wrists are shackled a few inches above him and he has what looks like an enlarged horse’s canter bar between his teeth, big enough to keep him silent but small enough for him to be able to breathe, held in its place with a chain around the back of his head. The omega’s tired, glassy eyes look up to Dutch and the alpha can hear his soft sigh through the noise of the others, who are softly clawing at Dutch’s pant legs. They all look absolutely miserable, as they usually do, but this one seems to be worse off than all of them. He’s not even in heat, and he’s been stuffed in a room with another seven who are?
“What’s the fuss with that one?” Cecil is tossed the key ring and locks the door behind them again as Dutch speaks. The alpha gestures to the omega who dips his head and digs his heels into the floorboards as he tries to push back further against the wall. His feet are horribly torn up from the splinters in the wood, almost glowing red from how raw they are.
“Oh, that one’s awful. Not sure why I brought him back when he was such a bother in the first place.” Dutch turns his head to look at Cecil, feeling as an omega’s hand finds its way under his coat and to his covered inner thigh. Looking down, he listens as the omega speaks a foreign language in a thick accent to him. Just from the look in the poor thing’s eyes, Dutch can almost tell it’s a plea for help.
“Awful, you say? Seems to be rather calm at the moment, and for being in heat, he seems to be doin’ alright.” Dutch pushes past the others despite their complaining and begging, stepping over one of their attempts at snatching the heel of his boot. He kneels beside the omega in question and reaches out to touch his chin. The omega shudders away from his hand, but with the heat fogging his mind, he returns to it after only a moment.
“Sure, an’ you see the metal ‘round his wrists? Or the rubber ‘tween his teeth? Them’s the only reason he ain’t talkin’ the others into runnin’ or makin’ a break for it himself. We keep him in here so he don’t get to the others, not in heat.” Cecil moves to stand beside Dutch and the omega, smirking as the others shy away from him, knowing just what he can do, in their attempts at following the alpha. “Can’t say he ain’t good at it, I’ll give the bastard that. Can throw some hard punches.” Dutch nods, fingers placed under the omega’s chin and gently tilting his head side to side as he’s examined. “Been here for a few months. No one’ll take him because he’s… well, he’s difficult alright.” Dutch eyes the omega, not seeing an ounce of the fight the beta so clearly describes. “Not too good lookin’ either, for an omega.”
Dutch glances over his shoulder at the other omegas, who are still whining, but are keeping a sizeable distance between them and himself. He wonders if this omega is the prime cause of this, or if Cecil really has beaten the respect into them.
“Looks just fine to me,” Dutch mutters, but Dutch can tell he heard exactly what was said by the slight movement of the omega’s eyebrows. “Filthy, but I am sure that will be an easy fix.” Dutch stands. “How much you want for him?”
“ Him, Dutch? You sure you really seen the others?” Cecil looks at the several pitiful omegas and their trembling figures. Some of them clearly know what’s happening, the others are completely clueless and continue to slowly reach for Dutch’s shoulder. Cecil makes a clicking sound out of the side of his mouth, watching as they scurry away, due to having heard that sound before being punished on previous occasions. Cecil treats every one of them like dogs, training and punishing them as such, until they are taken away.
“I’ve seen them, and you know I like a challenge, Cecil.” Dutch looks Cecil in the eyes, the beta nodding. “How much do you want?”
“Five hundred,” Cecil takes a look at the omega on the floor, nodding. Dutch furrows his brows.
“I understand you want him out of your hair, Cecil, but surely, he can’t be worth that little.” Dutch knows the man, knows what he charges for his dangerous business. It has hardly ever been this low. The last time it was this low, he’d gotten an extremely frustrating beta with a smart mouth and conflicting personality to his own.
“Think of it as a… a loyalty discount.” Cecil looks back up at Dutch with a promising expression. Dutch looks at him for a moment before sighing and pulling out a large stack of cash. The man hasn’t ever lied to him ― even with the big-mouthed beta, Cecil had warned him about just that upon buying the sucker. Dutch folds a few bills out from the rest as he counts, handing them over and replacing the remaining amount back in his pocket. Cecil counts them over to be sure and lifts the key ring from his belt loop again. Sifting through the keys, his fingers catch one and shakily remove the cuffs from the omega’s wrists. Immediately, there is a sigh heard as his arms drop loosely to the floor. He doesn’t make any movements to pull the rubber muzzle from his mouth as Dutch kneels down to look him in the eyes and wave him to his feet.
The omega slowly pushes himself into a standing position with Dutch, looking up at him with a tired expression in his eyes. Dutch nods and uses a couple of fingers to signal him along. As he’d been curious to see, the omegas stay trembling in their spots as soon as this one has gotten to his feet. He makes sure the omega walks before him, staying behind a bit and placing his hand on the omega’s lower back to move him along. He watches as the omega’s pace is quickened immediately after his hand touches the skin, moving along behind.
They walk to the main room again, Cecil stepping to the side of the door and running his fingers along a few of the leather collars they’d created and collected over the years. Dutch watches as the beta’s finger skips over one and quickly places his hand on Cecil’s shoulder to stop him.
“I rather like that one you skipped,” Dutch says, glancing over his shoulder at the omega, whose eyes are low and drowsy. Cecil shrugs and nods once, tugging it from its hook and selecting a chain for it. There’s not much time between the beta attaching the metal to the leather and him fastening it around the omega’s neck, Dutch taking the chain from him and watching as the omega gently runs a couple fingers over the new addition. Cecil moves to the side to stash the money and Dutch steps close to the omega, sliding a finger where the skin and the collar meet, slipping it along the length of the collar. He leans close and whispers. “Be good and you won’t be wearing it for long.” The shiver which runs along the omega’s spine makes him smirk and slowly remove his finger from the collar.
Cecil turns to direct them to the outside again, Dutch gently urging the omega along when at first he hesitates. The alpha’s gloved hand rests softly on the omega’s lower back, and the touch guides them both along.
Before Dutch knows it, they’ve returned to the bitter cold of the bayou, and he makes his quick goodbyes as to get to the stagecoach awaiting them. Dutch leads the omega to the back, allowing him to climb in before the alpha. The door is shut behind them as soon as Dutch is settled in, facing opposite of the omega. He knocks against the roof of the box, signalling for Trelawny to start heading back. The carriage rocks a bit as they begin to move and Dutch drops the chain altogether.
“You may remove it,” Dutch nods, eyes latched onto the canter bar muzzle. Spurred into action, the omega’s hands move to unhook a chain link from a segment of the gag, and it drops to the seat beside him as soon as it’s loose. He lets out a breath before locking eyes with Dutch and stretching his jaw out for a second.
“What are you usin’ me for?” Is the first thing the omega says, making Dutch gently laugh. He shakes his head.
“Nothing too terrible, I hope, so long as you listen well. You have a name? Or should I give you one?” The omega rocks back and forth a bit as the box shifts over bumps, knees together and hands laid out on his lap.
“Arthur.” Dutch nods, glad when it’s a name he likely would’ve thought about if it came to mind. The name strangely fits hims somehow. Reaching under his seat for something, he watches as Arthur tenses in front of him, obviously fearful of what it is he’s retrieving.
“Calm down,” the alpha soothes, lifting a medium, leather case from under the seat and setting it beside the omega. “There are clothes in there. It’s the middle of winter, you’ll need them if you hope to survive without frostbite for the next few months.” Looking up at Dutch, Arthur slowly bows his head and runs his fingers over the leather. It’s a fine case, a similar quality to Dutch’s clothing, likely signifying a false sense of wealth from the alpha. Arthur hesitantly unbuckles the case and opens it, seeing a few folded outfits lying in there for him. Before any other, he takes notice of the warmest outfit lying near the top. Glancing up, he catches Dutch’s eyes again, silently asking if he needs to do this in front of Dutch. “You’ll need to be comfortable around myself anyway, Arthur.”
Dutch watches as Arthur pulls a coat and several other warm items from the case, setting them aside. The alpha reaches forward and zips the leather bag again, sliding it back underneath the seat. Arthur takes a breath and shakes his head, looking up again to stare out the window as he lowers his pants, tattered and ruined as they are.
Dutch’s eyes rake over the skin, noticing every light scar contrasting against the man’s darker thighs and lower stomach. There were likely more scars he could not see earlier with the dim light, but he doesn’t quite like to think about it. Whether they were Arthur’s fault or not, the idea of the omega being lacerated causes a faint pain in the alpha’s heart with every image. Arthur keeps his eyes away from Dutch as he undresses and dresses in the warmer clothes, careful not to let his eyes slip to the alpha and deepen the flush frustratingly warming his cheeks.
“You and I have a lot of work to do, Arthur.”