Jack stayed the night in the Lounge for Hunter's sake. He's been waiting for his giant to show up. The shine hasn't worn off the thrill of letting the young man fuck him. It's early yet, though Jack is impatient. Still, it surprises him when there's a knock at the door. Hunter is certainly chivalrous enough to knock when he knows damn well he's
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Once tossed on the bed, Jack curls up instantly like some broken, wilted thing. This is short lived, though, as Saturday seems to want him positioned differently. His wrists are lashed to his sides and escape --even survival-- is seeming less and less likely. His ankles are bound and then he's asked to offer himself up.
"N..No. I'll do nothing t'favor you!"
He tries to return to his curled, protective position, though it's not possible with the way he's tied.
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"It's not a personal favor, Sparrow. It's for yours. I need to clean and examine you. At some point I may want infection to set in and ravage you. Today is not that day. Lift your ass up as high as you can so I can clean your wounds. Or next time you take a shit you'll be rotting from the asshole. I know medicine is strange witchcraft to you, but I'll be happy to show you pictures."
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Reluctantly, Jack struggles to pull himself up and put his ass into the air. He shakes on his knees, every nerve aching and screaming for him to just collapse.
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"Shhhh. Good dog."
The petting goes in longer strokes. Saturday moves the hair off Jack's back and explores the tattoos once again. His touch is soft and slow like a lovers.
"You wont get half the beating you do if you just be a good dog and do it the first time. Why make me hurt you? Stupid mutt."
He leans over to begin kissing along Jack's ribs and down his spine.
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Jack hates being referred to as a dog. Cutler did that, near the end. However, the touching feels very good after so much pain. He flinches when Saturday touches the worst of his bruises but otherwise tries to let himself be lulled to sleep. He hates himself for it, but he needs rest so badly.
The kisses get a small whine from Jack and he tenses a bit, but he's so tired and it feels nice....
"D..don't..please..."
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"Don't what? Hurt you? Or make you feel good?"
He smiles and goes back to touching. Rubbing his cheeks against Jack's warm skin and smelling him. He doesn't plan to let the pirate live. He's far past the point where he feels judged. Saturday is free to do whatever he wants. Free even from himself. He gets awful cheery suddenly.
"I'll give you a shot. Do you understand what that is?"
maybe Jack thinks he's going to get a gun. If that's the case the pirate has a bit to wait while Saturday putters around where he can't be seen. Eventually he comes back with a syringe and a tiny glass bottle. He shows it to him.
"Do you understand this?"
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He has no answer for the man's question, because he's not sure which is worse: the pain or the kindness that's followed. Jack is far away in his mind and detached from the touches when he's threatened with a shot. After a moment, he realizes what Saturday means, but isn't sure what the reason is.
"A syringe... of...of what?"
He hates that he can't tell what's inside the damn thing or what it will do to him.
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"Who taught you about needles??"
It's like he's clapping for a pet that just sat without being asked.
"It's a local anesthetic."
He watches to see if Jack knows what that means.
"Doctoring you is going to be almost as painful as it was to inflict the damage int he first place."
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"Sheldon. Taught me .. about a lot."
He thinks for a moment and mouths the word, trying it out. 'Anesthetic'. It's familiar, but takes a moment or two. It's not penicillin or antibiotics or morphine. It's for pain, though. He finally recalls that it has something to do with pain.
"B..but the 'anesthetic', that should do away with pain, yes?"
He worries that he sounds too hopeful.
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It's a sober promise.
Saturday flicks the syringe to float any air bubbles to the top.
"Yes. Temporarily. For the most part. You still might feel some discomfort."
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He nods against the mattress, hating himself for being grateful for the little bit of relief, but he is. If this man is going to tend to the wounds his inflicted, Jack wants to be at least a little numb.
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"This isn't a charity, Jacki. It's a negotiation. I get something in return."
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"Whot? Whot d'you want from me? Whot more?"
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He sighs.
"A kiss. What else?"
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"F..fine."
He strains to lift his head and tries to think of Sheldon.
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