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Even now, Jimmy kept silent.
Trapped in darkness of the warehouse corner, bound and blindfolded, he had to stay cool. Everyone knows when you see a raging bull, you don’t show an inch of fear. And he could do it without a sound, even stripped naked like this in front of fucking Curly, of all people. The sight of the black bullwhip, as Curly appeared from the cockpit and chased him into the cargo hold, had been even worse than the captain’s furious face.
Why did Pony Express even have a whip on board, Jimmy desperately thought: a rope made sense, a gun made sense, but a whip? Anything to take his mind off the agony of the wait, why didn’t Curly just hit him already--
A whistle and a cold crack cut through his thoughts. Jimmy bit his lip harder and sucked in a breath. He was bleeding, he was sure of it now with each sharp cut, faster and faster across his shoulder blades. In the pauses between, Jimmy groaned the kind of groans that come from the belly, long and low. The kind of cries that can't be stopped, only suffered through. He knew Curly was going to kill him.
He was going to die in a small shitty space carrier. With no clothes on, at the hands of his friend. All because of that damn nurse.
“Stole the captain’s code scanner. Mutiny. Four thousand credits deducted. Nearly killed us. All of us.” It was like Curly could read his mind. How else would he have known to run back to the cockpit in time? Hell, the guy had practically given him a hall pass after their conversation.
“What-the-fuck-else-was I supposed to do,” Jimmy gritted out as he braced for the next belt.
“Jesus, Jim. Take some responsibility. For once.” Coloured spots filled his vision, blue and black and red in the darkness. “Just take it. Please.” The other man’s strained words stung like salt against his spine. “Take it.”
“She forced me to do it.” Jimmy gritted out. “Not my fault. You knew, and we’re your responsibility, Captain.”
No response to that but the sound of bootheels clanking on metal. The straps around his wrists were tugged tighter, forcing his arms up to the beam. His wrists ached in agony, yet Jimmy writhed on his tiptoes, cursing, twisting to escape the torment of touch against his red-hot skin. A thick finger trailed down his spine, slippery with blood. Lower and lower until it pressed against his ass.
“Don’t. Don’t. I’ll report you!” His voice broke. “You can’t!”
“We’re all getting fired. Nothing we do matters after this. Might as well enjoy the ride, yeah?” Curly drove his finger in, and it burned worse than the cuts, everything. “Have some fun. That’s what you were thinking, right?”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Another finger jammed inside, brutally stretching and probing now, forcing another pained cry out of him. “I wasn’t.”
Three fingers now. The long sound of a zipper and buttons unsnapping sent every hair in his body on end. Curly said nothing, just finger-fucked him harder. It felt like he was going to rip in two. The message was clear: This was happening, and it was happening with his own blood.
Another stinging slap on his back. Jimmy gagged, half from the fiery pain, half from the wet sound of the whip.
“You weren’t thinking.” Curly grunted, punctuating each word with a strike, stony and searing through his skin. “You always do this.”
“Curly, Captain, Curly.” His hole was clenching, impossibly gaped as a fourth fingertip worked its way in, as if the other man was going to shove his entire fist up there. “Don’t. I’m sorry, okay! I’m so fucking sorry.”
A sigh. The fingers withdrew for a merciful moment. It was fixed again, like it always was.
Then thick hands roughly wrapped around his raw waist, right at the whip-mark. Jimmy was crying now. The bottom of the blindfold was drenched in tears and sweat, he registered numbly. Curly’s dry dickhead prodded at his entrance, thick, impossible, ready to ruin his ass.
“This hurts me a lot too, Jim. Stay still now. We'll get through this together. Come on. Take responsibility.”