Slave
Title: Slave
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Baron Samedi, Nathan/Peter strongly implied
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Violence, non-con, M/M
Spoilers: Specifically up through "Eclipse Part II," vague spoilers up through "Duel"
Word Count: 2,450
Summary: Nathan is captured by Baron Samedi, who shows Nathan how to break.
Nathan could only watch, jaw clenched in helpless fury, as the elder sister was led away by Samedi’s men. To be sold into slavery, he had said, broken and used by anyone who had the money to pay. It was inconceivable, in this day and age, that anyone should have to ever fear something like that happening to them. Nathan had seen several dozen completely impossible things over the last year and a half, but this truly made his blood boil.
“You’re not going to get away with this!” he yelled at Samedi, wrists chaffing as he strained against the manacles. Samedi turned back to him, and made a slight gesture to his men, directing them to a different building.
“I will. Because no one will stop me. I am a god,” he said simply, with the confidence that only came from long-time power. It reminded Nathan of his father. “A god knows how to show his worshippers that he holds the power of life and death over them. You will learn this too.”
“I don’t think so-.”
From behind Nathan, three more men unhooked the manacles from the ceiling and pinioned him, cutting off his words, before marching him into a building behind him. Inside, they secured them to a hook in the ceiling, and then stood against the wall, watching avidly. Nathan twisted around to see Samedi come in behind him, a leering expression on his face.
“Right now the girl is being trained in the ways of a slave. But if you are so eager to save her, perhaps you should be trained as well. Obedience is necessary for those who wish to serve their people instead of rule them.”
“You’re insane. You’re just a dictator of ten miles of jungle. I’m a US Senator.” Inside, Nathan knew his words were inane and too provocative, but Samedi’s comments both stung his pride and terrified him. He kept flashing back to his argument with Pete, about him being a puppet, doing everything to please his father instead of standing on his own ground. He didn’t want that to be true. He wanted to help people, not cause a huge disaster to wrest a new world order out of the ashes. He just worked on a larger scale than Peter; he always had. But right then, he’d wanted just to save one person, a girl whose name he didn’t even know.
Apparently no good deed went unpunished.
“Right now, Senator Petrelli, you’re meat. And not even particularly fresh.”
Samedi jerked his head at his three goons, and they rushed Nathan, two of them pinioning his arms again, forcing him down as far as possible so he couldn’t kick, while the third started to strip him of his clothes, cutting them off with a knife and throwing the rags in a heap. Nathan twisted and struggled, shouting threats in English and as much French as he could remember, summoning all his strength to throw off his attackers.
He cracked someone’s nose with the back of his head, got his legs free twice, and garnered a half-dozen shallow knife cuts for his pains. But despite the trouble he was causing them, Samedi’s men didn’t indulge in any retaliatory punches or kicks. That showed an unprecedented level of control. It was like they already knew what was coming would more than make up for their temporary discomfort.
“Gag him,” came another order. One of them grabbed a strip from Nathan’s shirt and, with a hair-wrenching effort to force his head back, seemed to shove it halfway down his throat. Nathan had to stop struggling just to concentrate on getting air. Samedi’s men stepped away, leaving him kneeling on the floor, wrists chafed and bleeding in the manacles, cut stinging as blood and sweat ran down his naked flanks.
“Go now.” Nathan looked up to see the soldiers leave, shutting the door behind them, leaving him alone with Samedi.
Where were Peter and the Haitian? Hopefully well away from this place. Peter… No matter how much yelled at Peter, no matter how much of a little brother he could be, he’d never wish something like this on him. He couldn’t imagine how his powerless younger brother could bear this. Even being a bomb hadn’t been a sense of personal loss like this. At least going nuclear had been destiny; this was Nathan’s choice. He could have run faster, refused his mother’s request in the first place, remembered about the strange effect the eclipse had had on all of them a year ago, been willing to get himself shot… Nathan’s thoughts were chaotic and frantic as he heard Samedi slowly pace up behind him.
He gathered himself to kick backwards, hoping to catch the man in the knee, when a vicious blow took his own legs out from under him. Samedi’s hands crushed down on his shoulders, keeping him kneeling, Nathan’s manacled hands stretched in a parody of prayer. He had no idea Samedi was that strong. Someone like him, a drug lord with so many willing to do his bidding, should have let themselves go soft, at least a little. But Samedi’s hands were hard, with no hint of leisure-born softness.
“Kneel, Nathan,” Samedi commanded, his mouth by Nathan’s ear. “Before your master, always kneel.”
Nathan quickly snapped his head backwards, cracking his skull against Samedi’s face, drawing a vicious curse from the drug lord. Samedi’s rock-hard fist cracked against his ribs, and Nathan spent the next several minutes trying to breathe again, his chest muscles clenched in helpless spasm. By the time air returned to his lungs, Samedi was back, calloused hands on his shoulders again, forcing him down. With bruising force, he kicked Nathan’s knees apart, driving in splinters and dirt, and bent his back forward, making Nathan strain against the manacles to keep his face off the floor, shoulders screaming in pain, the metal biting into his wrists.
“Force the slave into a position of submission, for the appearance of submission is the first step toward true submission to the master,” Samedi continued relentlessly, one hand firmly on Nathan’s back, keeping him down in the awkward position, and the other delving to Nathan’s ass.
Nathan shouted through the gag in protest and rage, which choked off when Samedi’s hand felt the warm open slickness below. Peter had been so desperate to go with him to Haiti, so utterly determined to prove himself, that he had been willing to soothe Nathan into a better temper during the long flight, in the best way he knew how. Nathan had welcomed the long moments of complete closeness between them after their tense and stressful time apart, but he burned with shame when Samedi found the evidence of their tryst.
“Find something to shame him, find a way to gain power over him, and the slave will break for you,” Samedi said in the same pedantic tone, not missing a beat.
His dry fingers twisted inside Nathan’s body, their invasion rough and painful. Never, not in his entire life, had Nathan ever felt so helpless. Not when his father had died the first time, not when Peter had thrown himself off that building, not when Peter had been lying in a coma, not even when Nathan himself had been burned beyond recognition in a hospital bed. Nathan struggled not to vomit against the gag, and forced back moans of pain.
“You have already submitted once, Senator Petrelli,” Samedi said, making his title drip with sarcasm. “Give in.”
Nathan shook his head violently, making it explode with pain from the lack of air and repeated headbutting, and Samedi laughed.
“I have ways of dealing with reluctant slaves. All of them want freedom from slavery, until I show them that there is no escape, and I am the cruelest master they will ever have to serve. Then they are eager to please, just to avoid my attentions.” With no more warning than that, Samedi thrust himself into Nathan’s ass, his thick, blunt cock piercing deep, and causing a horrible burning, tearing pain far inside him.
Nathan screamed suddenly into the gag, the sudden brutal assault a horrible shock to all his senses. He tried to concentrate on the other dozen or so small pains to distract himself: his aching head, the splinters in his knees, the knife cuts, his straining shoulders, his bleeding wrists, but nothing could shut out the terrible, painful thrusting. Each forward thrust made him strain against the handcuffs, grinding his knees into the floor, making him feel like his guts were trying to escape through his mouth. Each outward pull dragged him back against the rough floor and the manacles tightened the other way.
“Give up,” Samedi said, and Nathan shook his head. He resisted every thrust, every pull, refusing to lie down and take this without a fight. He knew it would be less painful to lie quietly and let Samedi finish, to let himself be used. He would fight it every way that he could, even if it only made him hurt worse.
Peter, run, get away, take the Haitian and go, get out of here, he prayed mentally. He couldn’t bear to see Peter in this situation. That would break him, and he knew it. For all he argued with Peter, saying he needed to step up and be less idealistic, he still loved him too much to bear. He wanted this world to be safe for them both, and it couldn’t be, not as long as people like Samedi held power.
Nathan grimly hung on in the dim eclipse light, straining and holding himself against the painful and humiliating violation. His vision was beginning to dim in a way that had nothing to do with the stellar phenomenon above, and his lungs burned for a free breath of air past his gag. Samedi, sensing Nathan’s stubborn resistance, changed tactics. He reached a hand under Nathan to take his cock in hand, stroking firmly, insistently, forcing Nathan to pleasurable hardness despite his fierce will not to show anything.
“Sometimes, the most stubborn slaves must be shown a measure of kindness, to know their master can force them to have pleasure, whether they will it or no. It drives a wedge in their armor, and soon they know they can only submit, or have their weakness put on display for all.”
Nathan felt his heart freeze at those words and moaned in protest. He forgot to brace himself against the next thrust, and Samedi pushed in farther than before, brushing his prostate and making his cock jump in the drug lord’s hand.
“Ah, now you feel the beginning of it. Yes, Senator Petrelli, I will have you taken to the courtyard and put on display. Do you think your brother would enjoy seeing you hard and submitting to your new master? Do you think he would run to save you? Yes, I think he would, as my brother would run to save me from myself. Then my men will capture them, and we will see which of you truly breaks first.”
Nathan shuddered, shouting in denial, but felt strength leaving his limbs at the bare thought of Peter seeing him like this, of Peter risking himself to save Nathan and then being captured, tormented, broken…
Samedi could feel Nathan’s stubborn back begin to bow, his arms slackening, his head dropping nearly to the floor. The thrusts picked up speed and force, along with the relentless stroking, and Nathan could feel himself letting go. Pain curdled in his gut, and his head throbbed in mortal agony.
“It is when the slave is lowest, feeling the most helpless, when he realizes the strength that can be had by giving all that he is to his master. Give in, Nathan,” Samedi said, his voice low and persuasive.
Nathan choked around the gag, trying to hold back tears, feeling the pain from Samedi mingling with the pleasure of his own cock into an obscene thing that was sapping his will. Peter, he thought, feeling helpless. Peter… If he gave in now, then Samedi couldn’t hurt him…
“Baron Samedi! Baron Samedi!” Shouts from Samedi’s men outside stopped the drug lord’s relentless rhythm. With precise motions, Samedi withdrew and stood up, leaving Nathan dangling there in his manacles like a used towel.
The rapid conversation between them in French was incomprehensible to Nathan in his current state of mind, so he could only wait, trying to get air. It was only at the end that he could make sense of the final words.
“Get him clothes, cover his wounds, it must be as if it never happened.”
Everyone left, and for long moments, until the soldiers returned with jeans and a shirt identical to those they had cut off of him, Nathan was alone with his thoughts.
His blood roared and sang with the false song of violence survived, tinged with the hope that someone was out there hurting Samedi. Maybe it was the Haitian, who had found a way to kill his brother, or that Peter had slipped through their grasp. The thought of Peter made him suddenly hot and hard, and with a muffled groan, he came, spattering his seed against the rough wooden floor. With the release of his body came the release of his mind, and his thoughts crystallized as he hung there and panted.
Samedi’s twisted words had merged, in his mind, with his father’s plans. They were both wrong, terribly wrong, but there were seeds of good in their plots. Good people needed to have abilities, to protect the world from those that had power but lacked conscience. And if that weren’t enough, then he’d have to take a variation on his mother’s plan. When things were dark, when everyone was brought low, then they could only band together and look up. It would be a terribly hardship for everyone, but eventually all would emerge strong and united. It would not have to be a bomb, but it would have to be something shocking.
In that world, he and Peter could live safely. Peter wouldn’t understand Nathan’s methods, and there would be times when he’d have to push Peter away to keep him from messing with things he didn’t understand. But eventually, in that distant future, Peter would come back him. He always did.
Nathan waited, more calm now than he ever had been. He had nearly broken under Samedi, but hadn’t. Instead he had submitted himself to the new ideas, let the plan become his master. The path there had tried to bow him, but he would accept the load now.
He was now a slave of the future.