Being What It Is

"Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge." - Paul Gauguin



The metal collar bites deeper, its accompanying chain slinking across his chest as he shifts in discomfort, the weight of it meant to remind him of his precarious situation and lack of control. It’s working. Junah growls in frustration.

The cage isn't nearly large enough - his back pressed tight to the bottom, his knees tucked up and scraping against the top with every shallow breath - and only the relatively open weave of the bars keeps him from despairing lack of space and oxygen. He stares blankly at the clouds drifting overhead, his mind half on his surroundings but mostly preoccupied, running over every grotesque thing he’s going to do to his captor the moment he’s free.   

A steady breeze forces more putrid market air down into his lungs, the stench souring his stomach. The slave auctioneer’s voice rings out above the crowded square, cries of indignation and sorrow lost beneath bellows of money joyfully tossed away. Stretching a kink out of his calf, he pushes the heel of his boot through the far end of the box with a groan. His eyes narrow when the men standing above him laugh and sneer, their amusement playing a mocking tune along his frayed nerves. Maybe he’ll gut them. Just the one, nice and slow, then fry up his innards and force them down the others throat. He snickers back at them and watches their eyes widen, unease taking place of their arrogance.

Uneventful moments later, their confidence is restored and coin finally changes hands. The purchaser reaches in to rattle the chain at him, the man's twisted pleasure making the hair on his neck stand on end. He's tempted to stomp the idiot's hand - crush the bone and watch him scream - but he presses the urge down. He doesn’t think he could stop once he starts and their location doesn’t afford leisure for men in his position.

He wants to savor the man’s regret.


***


Smug eyes leave filth where ever they roam, Junah's skin chilling when the slave owner's gaze turns to hungry amusement. The train shrills a warning, grating against his teeth, vibrating down into his skull and the man drifts closer to the cage. He flips his taser-tipped staff in one hand and Junah tenses, stopping just short of flinching outright. Memories bubble through hard-earned mental blockage, every finely honed instinct screaming that now is the time to move--to snag the leering creep as he leans over the cage to taunt and force him into Junah's own limited territory for punishment--but despite the churning in his gut he remains still, the sparse spacing of the bars a sudden blessing, keeping pervert and panic at bay.

He closes his ears off to the bastard's voice with a self-disgusted snarl and glares at nothing. The cage shrinks around him - trick of dim lighting and fatigue - and he huffs in irritation. The bruises on his shoulders and hips protest the jittering movements of the broken down boxcar, a cold sweat breaking across his forehead as the cage narrows once more. His chest squeezes with the crushing force of reducing oxygen, lungs protesting that there's plenty to be had if he only relaxed. His vision swims before he finally shakes his head free of the pathetic thoughts, breath whistling through clenched lips. The bars snap back to where they belong, his buyer's sneering face coming into focus between them.

The angle's too perfect to be ignored.

Junah lunges up scant inches, jagged nails biting beneath startled eyes with a satisfying tear. His captor jerks away with a curse, hands flying to his abused face, smearing through the blood welling across broken skin. Examining the traces of crimson decorating his fingertips, Junah chuckles darkly, flicking his tongue out for a taste. The action brings his captor up short, his poorly aimed fist pausing in mid-strike. The man swallows thickly, hesitation clear in every line of his body as good sense takes hold once more and he reconsiders retaliation. Until Junah's smirk digs even deeper.

The staff's in Junah's thigh before he can curl against the blow, pluses of heated torture gripping him from tip to top. His jaw slams shut, muscles clenched to the point of snapping, his eyes rolling back sharply as the electric seizure takes control. The world's blank, meaningless, until the staff is removed and the pain registers, sparks of agony firing along every inch of him. Spit flies as he chokes in air, unfocused eyes barely catching the motion of his attacker standing back to admire his handiwork, the man's cheaply won glee burning its mark on Junah's dwindled patience and restraint. As he continues to fight involuntary jerks and whimpers, he discovers that once he's torn the bastard apart, he wants to wallow in the remains.


***


He knows as soon as the thought is had, can feel the very second his captor mistakenly decides it's time, believing that his toy is enough defense. Junah bares his teeth in excitement as the man reaches forward to release him.


***


Blood drips from his eyelashes. Thick nearly-black drops fall off the tips and carve tracks down his cheek as he stares unblinking at the body under him, satisfaction bubbling beneath his skin. He rolls the taste of it in his mouth, lets it sit heavy on his tongue, lips twitching with tightly controlled pleasure. Surveying the fleshy destruction spread around his feet, he rolls his shoulders back in a spine-cracking stretch.

And smiles.