Chapter Text
Things have changed since Minho arrived. For Felix, too.
Chan had spread himself too thin, with the store, and Felix, and then Minho. After a few weeks of trying to juggle all of it, Chan had lowered the dosage of Felix’s injection so that he could help watch Minho.
Felix can move, but his movements are slow and laborious. He can’t walk for long amounts of time, his muscles having gone weak during all those months of being still. He can’t even walk down the stairs to the shop on his own. Once he gets where he’s going, he usually stays there for quite a while.
His voice, too, has been permanently affected. He can’t speak loudly, certainly can’t scream, and he can only speak for so long before his vocal cords tire out. He doesn’t think it matters if they scream, anyway. Minho has tried it, and nothing ever comes of it.
Still, he can’t be anything but grateful for the freedoms he’s been granted, after all of that stillness. He could walk, and speak. Granted, he still gets the full dose on Sundays, when the shop is closed and Chan has the time to keep an eye on them both. He can’t give up his doll completely, he says.
Felix had only been given all these new privileges because Minho was here. As sick as it was, he can’t help but be glad for it. It’s nice to have a companion, too.
Minho doesn’t break easily. Chan is still working on him. He’s rougher on Minho than he’d ever been with Felix, because Minho has more mobility. Minho’s ass is more often than not covered in welts from Chan’s belt. Felix tries to help him all that he can.
In the mornings, before Chan goes down to man the shop, he gets both of them ready. Felix’s stomach is too sensitive to eat solids, Chan says, so he still drinks the nutritional drink for each meal. Chan only uses the tube on his doll days, so Felix drinks it from a cup with a straw. It has an unpleasant taste, so he sucks it down as quick as he can manage. Minho eats something that looks equally unpleasant from a bowl on the floor, always making a mess of his face. He’s only a puppy, Chan says, and doesn't know how to eat properly yet.
The catheter is gone now that Felix can use the bathroom on his own, and he doesn’t mourn the loss a bit.
Chan still dresses Felix in a ridiculous outfit each day, and though Felix doesn’t like them, he doesn’t put up a fight over it. It’s better than being stark naked, as Minho is. The only things on Minho’s body are the cage around his cock, the collar around his neck, and the muzzle that comes and goes, all locked into place with little padlocks.
Before Chan goes downstairs, he clips Minho’s collar to a thick chain, the other end attached to a hook in the floor of the living room, so that he can’t wander around the house. Felix is mostly allowed to do as he pleases while Chan is working, but he tends to stay in the living room with Minho. He doesn’t have much energy to do anything other than read or watch TV. Still, it’s vastly preferable to sitting motionless in the shop all day.
Felix has earned Chan’s trust. It is important to him, not to break that trust. The last thing he wants is to end up like Minho—Achilles tendons slashed, rendered permanently unable to walk. The injections, by comparison, seem like a mercy.
Felix is spread out on the couch now, having settled on something to watch. Minho had spent a long time pacing around the living room on his hands and knees, sitting up to look out the window, or futilely trying to free himself from the chain. Finally, he gives up and comes over to Felix. He presses his face to Felix’s hand where it rests on his chest.
“Hey, puppy,” Felix greets him, lifting his hand to pet Minho. He can’t hold it there for long, and it thumps against his chest heavily when he drops it.
Minho puts his hands up on the couch, like he intends to climb up onto the cushions.
“No,” Felix scolds in his quiet, raspy voice. “Down. Chan might see.” The little green light on the camera blinks from across the room. There’s no way to know if Chan is watching or not; it’s best to assume that he always is.
Minho doesn’t like the rule about not getting on the furniture, but he listens to Felix better than he does Chan. He huffs behind his muzzle but obeys, lying down on the rug, curled up right in front of Felix. Felix lets his hand drop off the side of the couch so Minho can rub his face against it, warm skin and soft leather.
“Good puppy.”
—
Of everything Minho is forced to endure now, the muzzle might just be the worst thing, if only because he spends so much time wearing it. It’s infuriating. It keeps his mouth shut tight, so that he can’t speak, or eat, or bite. It’s locked with a tiny combination padlock at the back of his head. No matter how much he fiddles with it, he can never get it off. Not even Felix has been able to guess the combination, twisting the dials with stiff fingers. Chan had caught them messing with it once, and they’d both been belted for it. After that, Felix had stopped trying to help him with it.
The muzzle fits him so perfectly that he wonders if it had been custom-made to fit him. Back when he was in that… place, whatever it was. With the cages, and the cold metal tables, sleek white hallways and the masked faces wheeling his half-conscious body from one room to the next.
He doesn’t remember that place well, only knows that terrible things happened to them there. Trying to remember that time always leaves him feeling nauseous and deeply unsettled. It comes back to him in flashes, sometimes, making him whimper involuntarily behind his muzzle and causing Felix to give him that pitiful look.
The horrible pain in his ankles, and the restraints strapping him down. His skin covered in goosebumps from the cold, naked on the table. A gentle shushing, when he’d whimpered before he was put to sleep, and a gloved hand running through his hair.
Minho thinks that Felix had probably come from that place, too, but Felix has no memory of it. He should be very grateful for that, Minho tells him.
He thumbs at one of the pink, puffy scars that runs along the back of each ankle.
This place isn’t much better than the last.
—
“Down, puppy,” Chan scolds Minho, who's attempting to stand upright with the help of a chair. He knew his feet couldn’t hold him up anymore. That didn’t stop him from trying.
Neither did the beatings.
Minho ignores Chan’s order in favor of continuing to try and get his feet underneath him. They don’t work the way they’re supposed to, but surely he can find a way to use them, if he tries hard enough. Surely. They can’t be completely useless.
Chan crosses the room to grab him by the collar, and Minho’s weak body crumples as soon as Chan gets a hold of him. His face is pushed to the ground, cheek pressed against hardwood floors with enough force to hurt. Chan keeps hold of his collar with one hand and spanks his already bruised backside with the other.
He can’t speak with the muzzle clamping his mouth shut, but he can still cry, and shout, and make desperate pleading noises. He’s not above that. Loud, pitiful wails escape past the leather over his mouth. Over on the couch, Felix watches on nervously, face pulled into a deep frown, delicate hands folded prettily in his lap. Felix is pretty, even with worry painted on his face. Felix is always pretty.
Minho is spanked again and again, squirming ineffectually in Chan’s hold. Chan is strong. Minho used to be strong, too, but not after all of that time asleep, and without proper meals. When he woke up here, his body was not what it had once been. It didn’t take much for Chan to overpower him.
“Sir,” Felix says softly—the title was new, too, because if Felix was going to be allowed to speak, then Chan insisted that he do it with respect. One quiet word, but Chan hears it over the sound of Minho crying and the harsh swats, and stills immediately. Minho can’t see Chan from his position on the floor, but he can bet that his eyes had gone to Felix right away.
Felix was precious, and deserved Chan’s attention, Chan’s tenderness. Minho was just a dog.
“What is it?”
“I think the puppy’s sorry now. He’s crying a lot.”
Minho’s cries had quieted to whimpers with the reprieve. His ass stung and ached terribly; he’d been spanked twice yesterday, once with Chan’s belt.
Chan lets go of Minho’s collar with a sigh. “I wouldn’t have to spank you if you’d listen to the rules, pup. Go see Felix.” He sends Minho off in Felix’s direction with one quick swat to Minho’s reddened ass. Even that’s enough to make him whimper, and he’s quick to crawl across the room to where Felix sits on the couch.
He presses his ruddy face against Felix’s legs, cheek against soft cotton socks. His face is wet, hair a mess. Felix raises a hand to gently pet Minho’s head, moving slowly so as not to scare him. Moving slowly because that was the only way that Felix could move.
“Good boy,” Felix says. He adjusts the soft puppy ears pinned to Minho’s head. “You’re very good, Minho.”
Felix’s words make his chest twinge painfully. He cries harder, breathy little huffs behind the muzzle, shoulders shaking.
Felix looks up at Chan helplessly.
“He’s alright,” Chan assures him. “Just give him a minute.”
“Can he come up here? Sit in my lap?” Felix’s voice is beginning to give out now. He had already spoken a lot, and his voice never lasted long.
Minho peeks up at Chan to see him frowning, mulling it over. Chan always wants to give Felix whatever he asks for, but there were a lot of rules that Minho was supposed to follow. The furniture one was a big one. Minho’s place was on the floor.
“Just this once,” he finally agrees, and comes over to help Minho onto the couch. “Up, puppy.”
Chan does half of the work for him, lugging him up by the waist. Minho curls up in the seat beside Felix, rests his head in Felix’s lap. Felix resumes his petting, undoubtedly easier now that he doesn’t have to reach his arm so far.
Minho still cries, but quieter now, sniffling pitifully. His knees hurt, and his ankles ache, and his ass stings. His jaw is stiff and tight, and his head keeps up an insistent throbbing. He is hungry, and dinner is still several hours away, and it would be the same unappetizing meal he ate thrice every day from the little bowl Chan set on the floor for him.
He is so, so tired.
Felix takes one of Minho’s hands in his free one, fingers clumsy, and continues petting him with the other. His thumb strokes along the back of Minho’s hand.
“I’m sorry I have to be so hard on him, Lix,” Chan says. “I know you don’t like to see it.”
Minho recoils as Chan comes closer to them. Felix is still.
“He’s stubborn, isn’t he? He knows he’s not supposed to stand up,” Chan sighs, with the air of a casual ‘what can you do?’ “But he’ll get there, huh? I’ve got you helping me.”
Chan ruffles Felix’s hair, and brings his hand down to cup his cheek.
“My best boy.”
—
Minho’s cage is kept in Felix’s room. Minho is supposed to be Felix’s pet, after all. So Chan had placed the large metal crate beside Felix’s bed, so that he could turn his head and see the puppy curled up inside. Sometimes, before Chan comes in to strap the restraints around his wrists, Felix lets his hand fall over the side of the bed and sticks his fingers through the bars so that Minho can rub his cheek against them. Felix doesn’t think Minho likes the crate very much—he didn’t have enough room to stretch out properly, limbs squished in the small space. At least the bottom was padded, and there was a soft fleece blanket for him to cover himself with.
Chan still gives Felix his pill every night. Even still, he sometimes is woken up in the night by Minho’s crying. Loud, body-wracking sobs, muffled by the blanket pressed to his face.
“Minho,” Felix slurs, still half asleep. Minho abruptly goes quiet. Felix wants to stick his fingers through the bars, but his hands are stuck in the restraints. “It’s alright. I’m here with you.”
The next night, when Chan gives him his pill, Felix says, “Puppy needs one, too.”
Chan looks down at Minho, curled up in the crate. Minho looks back at him hopefully. His muzzle is off, but he doesn’t plead—he knows better, by now. The impression of it is still visible, faint red lines along his cheeks where the straps had dug into his skin.
“He tell you that?” Chan asks Felix. Usually, Felix can read Chan pretty well, but he can’t quite tell what his expression means, now.
“No, Sir,” he says warily. “I just… I don’t think he slept last night.”
Chan is quiet for a long moment before he pulls the pill bottle from his pocket and shakes one into his palm. “Alright. We’ll try it for tonight.”
Minho puts his cupped hands to the bars and Chan drops the little white pill into them. They both watch as Minho sticks it into his mouth and swallows it dry. “Open your mouth,” Chan says, and peers inside to make sure that he’s actually swallowed it.
“Needy puppy,” Chan says as he flips Felix onto his stomach and straps him into his restraints. “I didn’t think he’d be so high maintenance. The pills are supposed to be just for you.”
Felix glances over at Minho. He’s watching them with dull, empty eyes. Felix frowns.
“I can share.”
“I know you can, sweet boy,” Chan bends to kiss him on the forehead once he finishes strapping Felix in. He brushes back Felix’s hair, looking down at him lovingly. “You’re so good.”
—
Whenever Chan leaves Minho unmuzzled for the day, he and Felix talk. If he isn’t muzzled, his hands are curled into fists and locked into the thick padded mittens. It wouldn’t do for him to have use of all of his senses.
“He’s only so rough on you because you won’t break,” Felix says. “You have to give in, just a little.”
“I have,” Minho huffs, thumping his mittened hands against the coffee table. The little padlocks clink against the D-rings. In the beginning, he fought constantly. He wasn’t pushing Chan as far as he used to, these days. “I’m not giving him any more. I’m not giving up.”
“That’s not what I said. But you fight too much. It will be easier for you if you just behave, at least some of the time. That’s why he likes me so much.”
“He likes you ‘cause you can barely move.” Nevermind that Felix could walk, and Minho could not. “Because he can control you.”
“Hey,” Felix frowns, hurt.
“Sorry,” Minho mumbles. Felix is not his enemy, he reminds himself. Felix is the only thing keeping him sane. It didn’t do any good to snap at him. “You don’t have to worry, anyways. I’ll get us both out of here.”
Felix just nods. It’s not his job to break Minho, after all. He’ll let the man think whatever he wants, let him think they can find a way out. Whatever keeps him going.
But Felix knows better.
—
When Chan brings Minho to the bathroom to wash him, the muzzle comes off. He always levels Minho with a heavy look once he’s unclipped the thing and sets it aside, then unpins the ears from his hair and unbuckles the collar from around his neck. Minho’s not supposed to speak. That’s the quickest way to a beating. If Chan is in a particularly bad mood he will sometimes threaten to have Minho ‘debarked’. That is enough to scare him into silence. Minho wouldn’t risk being sent back to that place, to be strapped back to that table and have more things done to him. To have more things taken away from him.
He kneels on the fluffy bath mat, quiet as Chan fills the tub. If he’s been good, the water will be warm, and today he can see steam rising from the spout. When it’s full, Chan helps him into the bath. It’s a struggle to get himself in, now.
He sits still as Chan washes him, too tired to put up a fight today, and a bath isn’t worth getting himself in trouble over. The baths are nice, when the water is warm and if he can tune everything out enough to forget who’s washing him. Warm, and leaving him smelling nice and feeling clean. It’s bad enough to be stuck here; he’ll take whatever comforts he can get.
“You’re being very good today, pup,” Chan tells him as he scrubs the shampoo up to a lather, tipping Minho’s head up to keep the suds out of his eyes. Chan’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and his face pinches up into a scowl.
He says nothing. A verbal response would probably get him a slap across the face. A yip or a bark would be allowed, but there’s no way Minho’s doing that. There isn’t much that could get him to debase himself that much.
Chan washes him thoroughly between the legs. Minho has to pinch his eyes shut tight and breathe heavily through his nose to keep himself from lashing out at the man. Once he’s been scrubbed all over, Chan flicks the drain switch. He pulls Minho from the tub and places him back on the bath mat.
“There we go,” he says as he towels Minho’s hair dry. He’s being gentler than he usually is with Minho. He must be in a good mood today. He pats Minho on the head. “Nice and clean.”
Chan goes over to the cabinet and pulls a clear bottle from it. He doesn’t try to hide it as he approaches. Minho’s blood goes cold.
“Bend over for me, pup.”
—
Felix is surprised when Chan carries him into Chan’s own bedroom and places him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He’s already dressed for bed, clean and in his silk pyjamas. He had expected to be put right to bed.
Neither of them are allowed in Chan’s room. During the day, the door to it is kept locked. Even though he’s been put here by Chan himself, he still feels like he’s breaking the rules.
Chan leaves him there without a word. Felix knows better than to move when he’s been placed somewhere, so he stays still.
He can’t stop his mouth from falling open when Chan comes back in the room a few moments later with Minho crawling behind him, leashed but unmuzzled. The cage around his cock is gone, too, Felix notes as Minho is led over to the edge of the bed. All of this change from routine is enough to have Felix feeling terribly nervous.
All of this is wrong. Their routine is safe. Each night, Felix knows what to expect. Every other night: a bath. Every night: the nutritional drink, and his pill, the straps, and Minho in the crate beside his bed.
Minho is quiet and pliant as Chan picks him up by the waist and sets him over the edge of the bed, positioning his legs for him so that his feet are flat to the floor. With his upper half supported by the bed, he’s able to hold himself up on his wobbly legs.
When their eyes connect, a quiet gasp is punched out of Felix. Minho looks as if he’s not even there. As if he’s turned his brain off.
He looks like a doll.
Chan sticks three fingers into him without resistance. There is an obscene sqluech as he fucks his fingers in and out, before slowly slipping in a fourth. Minho doesn’t move.
“Sir,” Felix calls out softly. “What–”
“Just watch, honey,” Chan says, without looking up. “All you have to do is be quiet and watch.”
When Chan pulls his fingers out, he wipes the mess off on Minho’s thigh. Minho lets out a tiny whimper when Chan slips inside. Felix wants to go to him, to hold his hand and pet his head, but he thinks Chan probably wouldn’t like that. He was where Chan wanted him.
Before long, Minho’s breath is coming quickly, fingers twitching against the duvet as Chan keeps up a quick rhythm, not being especially gentle. His fingers dig into Minho’s hips hard enough to bruise, thumbs pressing harshly into the soft flesh. Minho’s mouth hangs open dumbly, a little puddle of drool forming beneath his cheek.
“Good puppy,” Chan praises him, a little breathless. “You can be a good boy, can’t you? I knew you could be, pup.”
Minho practically howls when Chan reaches around and grabs his oft-neglected cock, jerking it roughly. It’s no time at all before he’s coming, whimpering softly. Chan’s pace doesn’t slow, and he keeps on until he’s coming too, with a loud groan.
“Stay, puppy,” he tells Minho. Felix watches as he goes over to the dresser and pulls something out. A plug, with a long, furry tail on the end of it. Felix has never seen it before.
It slips inside easily, but Minho’s face screws up in displeasure, and he reaches a trembling hand back to swat the thing away.
“No, puppy,” Chan gives him a quick swat on the thigh. “Don’t mess with that, you understand? If I catch you trying to take it out you aren’t going to be happy.”
Minho’s too out of it to object to that. His hand drops back down and he lets his eyes fall shut.
Felix watches on as Chan pulls Minho the rest of the way onto the bed—and that’s wrong, too, because Minho is not allowed on the furniture—and tucks him beneath the blanket. He knots the leash around the bedpost, and Minho curls up as if he’s in his crate, a tight little ball. Habit, Felix supposes.
Sleeping in Chan’s bed is a rarity. Felix has a few times before, tucked close to Chan, the man’s arm looped around his waist all throughout the night. But Chan prefers knowing that they’re exactly where they should be; Minho in his cage, Felix restrained to his bed. Felix prefers it, too.
Felix supposes that he wants to indulge tonight.
Minho is out almost immediately. Felix can tell by the way his breathing evens out. He winces to think of how Minho will react when he wakes up with the tail inside of him. He’s going to be in a foul mood tomorrow.
Chan climbs into bed and falls to the mattress with a tired sigh. He pulls Felix in close, kissing at his neck. His hand goes to Felix’s cock, soft in his pants.
“Sorry, baby,” Chan mumbles sleepily against Felix’s skin. “You’ll get yours tomorrow.”