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In Bison’s hand, the flogger had been an instrument of painful pleasure. Under his careful tutelage, Kant had learned to love the feel of the leather marking his skin, his body arching up to meet each strike. In Fadel’s hand though, it was an instrument of torture, tearing into his skin, separating flesh and leaving him broken and bleeding.
His position was reminiscent of that of countless nights spent with Bison, naked, arms and legs bound to the bed, restricting his movement, but the hands that had restrained him were no longer gentle and it was not just sweat that soaked into the mattress, but tears and blood. His lips were bloody, bitten raw from biting them in a futile attempt to hold back his cries. His arms and legs strained at the rough ropes holding him, feeling them cutting into his wrists and ankles as Fadel delivered another blow to his side, his skin splitting open, blood quickly welling along the long lines before trickling down. His body bowed up, curving almost gracefully towards the ceiling, as another blow was delivered to his other side, a choked cry drawn from him as the falls crossed already open wounds.
“What else?” Fadel growled, glaring down at bleeding man before him.
Kant’s chest heaved, his body trembling from shock and pain. Fadel had been meticulously torturing him for nearly an hour. Raised welts covered most of his skin, many of them bleeding where the bison hide had sliced through skin, striping his skin red and white. Kant looked past Fadel to where Bison was leaning seemingly impassively against the wall looking anywhere but at him. He hadn’t looked at him since he’d learned of Kant’s betrayal. Pain tore at Kant’s heart, worse than the physical pain throbbing through nearly every inch of his skin.
“Please,” he said softly. “I told you everything already. Willingly. I don’t know anything else. Bison, please, I’m sorry.”
Kant let out a scream as Fadel delivered a particularly vicious blow to his inner thigh, blood immediately beginning to flow from the nasty cut.
“You don’t talk to him,” Fadel hissed. “You lost that right. Never had it in fact. Now talk!”
“I don’t have anything more,” Kant bit out, face a mask of pain as he glared up at Fadel. “I was supposed to get information, I wasn’t given it. Why won’t you believe me?”
A stillness filled the room during which Kant immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing.
“Believe you?” Fadel’s voice had turned deadly. “After what you did? Why would we believe anything you said!”
Fadel had thus far managed to keep a tight rein on his barely contained fury. But he had never liked or trusted the tattooist and seeing Bison fall in love with him only to be betrayed as well as the knowledge that his own failed romance with Style had been orchestrated by him had stretched Fadel to the limit. His words, his continued attitude despite the beating, the gall to address Bison directly, all pushed Fadel right over the edge. He began to unleash all his pent-up rage on the man, the flogger rising and falling repeatedly as he beat Kant.
Kant screamed and writhed on the bed, blood flowing freely from each fresh wound inflicted on him, but not a single word of protest or plea for mercy escaped him.
“Once I’m through with you,” Fadel threatened between blows, “maybe I’ll see if that precious brother of yours knows anything!”
It was an idle threat. Fadel would never lay a hand on Babe, even if the boy did have information, not that Bison would ever let him, but Kant didn’t know that and while he was unwilling to save himself after betraying Bison, he would not let his brother get hurt.
Amidst the cries and snaps of the falls striking flesh came a single word, “Penguin!”
Kant had little hope it would work, that Bison would care anymore, but it was all that was left to him. The rain of blows abruptly ceased. Dizzy with pain, each breath costing him dearly, he slowly opened his eyes. Fadel still stood over him, hand holding the flogger raised as though to strike him, but Bison had moved at last, his hand gripping Fadel’s wrist tightly, preventing the blow from falling. Fadel was staring at Bison with an expression of incredulity, but Bison’s eyes were fixed on Kant.
Kant stared into the eyes of the man he loved for the first time in days, unable to look away. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch and hold, but he had lost that right and privilege. Fresh tears fell as he finally found his voice, relief flooding through him that he could protect Babe one last time.
“Kill me,” he implored softly. “You can kill me, do whatever you like to me, I deserve it for what I did to you, Bison, but, please, don’t touch Babe. I’ve given you everything I know, I swear. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but I swear on Babe’s life. You have to know that does mean something. Please, Bison, don’t hurt him. He’s innocent.”
Something flickered in Bison’s eyes, too quickly for Kant to decipher. He watched as Bison reached up and wrenched the flogger from Fadel’s hand. Kant’s head fell back as he let out a shaky breath, struggling to keep his eyes open as he surrendered himself to his fate at Bison’s hand. He’d said his piece, he hoped it was enough, had to trust that it was.
“Get out.”
Kant raised his head slightly at Bison’s words only to find the man still staring at him.
“Bison.”
Fadel’s voice held a note of warning.
“I said, get out.”
Bison’s eyes flicked over to his brother before returning to Kant’s. His voice was sharp, brooking no argument.
When Fadel remained stubbornly standing by his side, Bison gave a sudden snap of his wrist, the falls of the flogger cracking loudly in the air, a clear warning. Kant flinched on the bed, trying to shrink in on himself. Bison’s eyes, which had turned to glare at his brother, immediately moved back to him, softening incrementally.
“Get out, Fadel,” he repeated, softer this time, as he stepped towards the bed. “He’s mine to deal with.”
Fadel let out an annoyed growl but knew better than to argue when Bison got like this. Throwing a disgusted look at Kant, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Bison rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatics, placing the flogger at the foot of the bed as he moved to sit on the mattress by Kant’s shoulders his eyes raking down the other man’s bloody body. Kant stared up at him warily but didn’t say anything.
“You were going to let him kill you, weren’t you? If he hadn’t said anything about Babe,” Bison suddenly said.
Kant continued to look up at him, blinking slowly. The answer was obvious.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” Kant asked, uncertainty coloring his tone.
Bison huffed out a breath in frustration. “I mean, why? Why wouldn’t you try to save yourself?”
Why didn’t you use your safe word sooner, was the unasked question.
“Because I deserve it,” Kant told him after a long moment, sincerity clear in every line of his face. “I betrayed you, Bison. I had my reasons. At the time, I felt I didn’t have a choice, I had to protect Babe, but that doesn’t excuse what I did.” He looked away for a moment, eyes closing as he fought back tears. “I could have, should have, trusted you, but I let my fear get the best of me. I was afraid if I told you, I’d lose you. I still lost you,” he whispered brokenly, the tears falling freely now.
A shudder ran through his body, and he let out a soft whimper of pain. Everything hurt. He blinked up at Bison slowly, his vision slowly darkening. He was so tired.
Bison frowned as he recognized the signs of Kant beginning to lose consciousness. He gently tapped his cheek.
“Kant? Stay awake. You hear me?”
Kant pulled weakly at the rope restraining the wrist closest to Bison, reaching for the other man. Bison hesitated for only a moment before coming to a decision, nimble fingers quickly freeing the limb. Kant immediately lifted his hand to cup Bison’s face, thumb stroking his cheek lightly.
“Keep Babe safe, please. That’s all I ask,” he sighed.
Bison removed the hand from his face, taking it in both of his as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Kant’s.
“Damn you,” he muttered. “As if I could refuse.”
Kant smiled softly before the darkness pulled him under, his hand going limp in Bison’s grasp. Bison laid it gently by his side before standing up with a sigh. He stripped off his colorful overshirt and jeans and laid them over the back of the sole chair in the room, leaving him in his boxers and a white tank top. He picked up the flogger from the bed as he wandered towards the en suite bathroom in search of towels and bandages to clean up his unconscious lover, tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room as he did so. He had no idea what was in store for him and Kant in the future, the road to repairing their relationship would be a long and hard one, but he knew with absolute certainty that the flogger would never play a part in it again.