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Chapter Text

At first, Al thought it was the man’s eyes that incited such a rage in him.  Mahogany and moss, cold and hard, Seth Bullock’s accusing gaze made him want to punch the man in the face until the fucker couldn’t be recognized anymore.

Those eyes followed him whenever he left the safety of his office for the balcony, burning into him, skewering with some type of hatred he had not seen in such a long while, its source, unfathomable.  He could see Bullock from the corner of his eye taking careful glances of him, always, like he was a wild panther that was gonna spring down suddenly from the veranda and slay all of the townsfolk.

But through various, let’s say, tense interactions with the other man, Al had come to realize that it was, in fact, his lack of respect, that drove him mad.

The younger man strutted across the camp of Deadwood, his camp of Deadwood , like he was the chosen one.  Like he was the goddamned disciple of the now dead and rotting Wild Bill.

From the very first moment they’d met, nothing had ever been more complicated than trading words with Bullock.  He was resolute in every word, mincing nothing, which Al liked, but so fucking cocksure ....it drove Al crazy.

Nobody had the right to be that arrogant in his fucking camp.   Nobody that didn’t wanna be slapped down.

So it had been early that morning, still in his long johns, as he sipped the mug of what passed as coffee that Jewel had deemed to bring him, he smiled.

He took another sip from the steaming cup of shit and cleared his throat, rising to get ready for the day ahead.

It was gonna be a good day.

It was around four that Al called for Dority.

The larger man came into his office and shut the door behind him, and as he turned to face Al, the older man noticed the look of anticipation on his face.  Likely worried about what dastardly deed Al had planned for him to carry out.

“Sit.”  Al gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Dority sat obediently, his eyes flickering to Al’s patiently, respectfully.   Oh, yes.

Dority was exactly what Al looked for in an employee, and he had never let Al down in terms of carrying out commands; he carried out his orders more efficiently than anyone else that had been under him, and there was a certain kind of affection Al held for the man.   There was that one time with the fucking blockhead child, where he’d let her escape, but that could be overlooked.   Al was, after all, quite forgiving in certain circumstances.

Al lit a cigar, and shook out the match, throwing it into the tin on his desk.  The smoke wafted around and dissipated into the air above them as Al puffed and exhaled.

“I need you to bring me someone tonight, after bar close.”  Al ashed in the tray.

“Who?”

“Bullock.”

There was a moment of silence, and Al watches the confusion spread across Dority's face.

            "My reasons are my fucking own, Dan."

            Dority frowns, but nods.  "Fair 'nuff." There's a look in his employees eye, like as soon as Bullock's name had left his lips, his brain had struggled with answering his own unspoken questions, and upon finding the most likely reason, had come to a swift realization.

            "He's a hell of a quick one, Al."  Dority is scratching his head. Al feels a rising ire, and takes a puff of his cigar, exhaling smooth, calming tobacco.  "He's likely to see me comin' from a mile away. That's even if I can manage to get in quiet-like."

              "You fucking moron."  Al scoffs in disgust. So simple minded.  He would tutor them like fucking children.  "Give the fucking hardware fucks laudanum. Both of 'em.  Slip it in their drinks and wait for the fuckin' stuff to work , and then grab Bullock and bring him here ."

               "But Al, how am I supposed to get anywhere near their personals.  I'm all for you teachin' the bastard a thing or two, but they know my face."

               "Then find someone that can do it, Dority!"  Al rose to his feet, pushing his chair back so it screeched across the floor, and felt slight satisfaction in the way his employee flinched back.  "Make sure it's some cocksucker that's not gonna run his damn mouth! I don't care what you have to do, but I want Bullock in my office after we close, and I want him strung the fuck up, do you hear me?"

               "Yes, Al, I can do that."  Dority is getting to his feet and Al hopes to fucking God the other man can exercise his brain enough to do this without any sort of discovery.  He had enough on his plate for the rest of the day without stopping to wonder if his men really were as incompetent as they sometimes shown themselves to be.            

 "No witnesses."

           "Yes, sir."

"And Dority."  The other man pauses, his hand on the door handle.

"Bring my fucking whip up from storage."

            Dority hesitates, looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't, and turns instead and heads out the door, closing it softly behind him.

              Al sighs roughly, leaning back in his chair to pop his back.  He needed to stretch if he was going to carry out what he had planned.  He stubs out the cigar in the tin and rises from the chair to stare out of his window onto the going ons of the camp below.

Teaching that little fuck respect was all he'd wanted since the man had first set foot in the Gem.

And tonight, he was gonna get it.

Seth Bullock woke slowly.  His head felt like he was pulling himself slowly from the muck of a swamp, and he clawed and climbed to consciousness.  He was dimly aware that he was no longer in his bed, and his shoulders were beginning to ache something fierce.

He groaned as his head throbbed painfully, and tried to bring his hands to clutch at it.  When he found he couldn’t, his eyes snapped open.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.”

Al Swearengen’s voice drifted into his ears with all the welcome of a devil in a church, and Seth managed to snarl a hoarse, “Where the fuck am I?”

He tugged on his wrists and looked up blearily, seeing his wrists bound with rope to the ceiling.  Seth felt his face twist into a scowl, and he blinked to try and clear some of the fog that had settled into his brain.  Tugging at his arms viciously was no use, and he groaned as something in his head throbbed again at the force he’d exerted.  The floor was cold against his bare feet, and the rope binding him was so tight that he dangled on the tips of his toes.

“You should know where we are, Mr. Bullock.  You chose this road a long time ago.”

Al’s face swam into his vision as he circled Seth like a wolf circles prey.   And oh he was prey wasn’t he .  Here he was trussed up like some turkey for a feast.

“How-How did you-”

The older man’s face was infuriating and smug as ever, and something hot and sharp flared under Seth's skin.  The cat that caught the canary. “Laudanum works wonders doesn't it? Dority tells me neither one of you stirred during it all."

"Wheres my fucking partner?"  Seth spat, infuriated.

With a speed that belied his age, Al was grabbing his checks between bony fingers so hard that he was sure it'd bruise.

Seth bared his teeth and glared.

"You don't want to be talking to me like that."  Al's voice was low and deadly, a warning. The older man's grip grew tighter and Seth's head felt like a man with a sledgehammer was working somewhere in his skull.

Al examined him for a minute, the stone cold grey eyes boring into him, and the silence stretching on uncomfortably.  After a moment, Seth's vision darkened and once again he felt like he was simultaneously sinking and floating back down into hazy unconsciousness.

Swearengen flung his face away, and Seth's head rolled back painfully.

"Perhaps he gave you too much, hm?"  He disappeared from Seth's view, and there was a rustling of something from behind.  "Doesn't matter, I suppose. What’s done is done, and there ain’t no goin’ back. Isn’t that right?”

There was the sound of metal on leather and all of Seth’s past experiences had taught him what a knife leaving a sheathe sounded like.  He held his breath as Al approached him from behind and a cold blade was pressed against the nape of his neck.

“Mr. Star-”  Al’s words were punctuated with the slicing of the back of his nightwear, and Bullock involuntarily flinched as his back was suddenly hit by the open air.  “-is currently in his bed, dreaming of fucking his precious Trixie , none the fuckin’ wiser.”

Al tore open the shirt violently, and the fabric fell to hang in tatters around his hips.

“And you just fucking took it upon yourself to fucking bring me here to what, kill me?”

“Mr. Bullock, if I had wanted to kill you, don’t you think you’d be in Woo’s pigpen right about now?”

Another rustling sound from behind.  “Torture then?" It was a struggle to keep his voice from shaking.  He wasn't afraid. He wasn't.

Al chuckled, the sound dark, and Seth swallowed.

"You can call it that."  A sudden whistling sound, followed by an all too familiar crack! caused Seth to nearly jump out of his skin.  A fucking whip. He's out for blood.

"I would much prefer to call it, ah, let's say, reeducation ."  Despite the severity of the situation, Seth felt the spark under his skin enflame until he was infuriated.

He was angry in a state where he could do nothing. Nothing that would be of any benefit to him.

"You piece of shit.  So desperate to be in charge and on top you take to kidnapping others right out of their beds for... reeducation? "  

The punch that landed on the right side of his jaw made him see stars, and he reeled in his bonds and let out a grunt when the headache pounded sharp as ever from the impact.

Despite his words and temper, Seth knew he was completely and utterly fucked here.  Al had likely done his due diligence and left no trace behind, and if his words were anything to he believed, Sol was fast asleep, dead to the world, his system full of enough laudanum to keep him there.

"Mr. Bullock, it seems your brain and mouth don't know how to ever cooperate properly."  Swearengen stated this very matter of factly. "As is such, the reason of your being located on my premises is for a better insight of fucking manners.  Namely, where I am concerned."

"Go fuck yourself."  Seth hissed.

The whistle and crack of the whip sounded, and the first blow of the leather on his shoulder blade was already at the limits of what he felt he could endure.

Seth rocked forward, his feet trying to carry him to safety, but there was none.  His nails dug into his palms as he tried to counterbalance the pain.

Another one came, landing at the small of his back, and Seth rocked again, involuntarily, the leather leaving a burning inferno in its wake.  He was sweating already, the droplets on his forehead running down his face. Christ, he'd only been hit twice.

Seth struggled to hold on to his anger, using the emotion as his resolve as the air was filled with the snaps and cracks of the whip soaring through the air to find its home on his back, but around the tenth strike, he was beginning to falter.

The only sound in the room was the sound of the whip connecting with his flesh, and his own heavy breathing.  His pride would not let a sound of pain past his lips.

Swearengen hadn't said a word since stating Seth's purpose there, and Bullock could only imagine the man's smug look.  Where this had been a source of rage for him initially, this was beginning to become what was breaking him. Al was likely whipping him with a smile on his face, and that thought alone made him shiver.  The man was enjoying his suffering. That was why he was here, wasn't it?

Another crack! and Seth bit his lip to keep the scream from escaping as the whip played across a previously explored spot.

Don't scream, keep your cool, don't let him hear you, don't let him know he's getting to you.

But even as Seth told himself this, he found that he could not withhold the little grunts and flinches and bodily jerks that escaped him as blow after blow rained down like fire upon his musculature.  Nor could he help the sweat-mingled tears that had begun to run down his cheeks, much to his humiliation.

By the twentieth strike, Seth had begun to sag against his arms, his aching shoulders supporting nearly his full weight.  His legs were beginning to give out, and he stumbled as the whip landed yet again.

Seth's vision grew hazy, and he lost count around twenty five.  He had managed not to scream this far, but he was fast approaching that point.  He gave a pained groan, and sucked in a ragged breath as the leather snaked out again and caught him on his left hip.  His head lolled back for a moment, his vision briefly dark, before he snapped awake again. If he passed out here, Al might never let him wake up.

"You still with us, Mr. Bullock?"  Swearengen was panting slightly, but he sounded no less engaged than he had before.  Seth tasted blood, and his head drooped forward, no longer finding the will to be supported.  His disheveled hair hung around his wet visage, the locks limp and seat-slicked.

The older man circled him, stopping to examine his face.  He gripped the younger man's brown hair and yanked it back to inspect Seth.  The blood he was tasting ran down his chin to drip onto the floor, a product of where he'd bit his lip to keep sounds from escaping.

"Atta boy."  The sarcastic encouragement slapped at Seth's pride, and the words leapt to his bloodied lips before he could stop them.  " Fuck...you."  The words were croaked, but to Seth's pleasure, Al's face darkened.  The older man let go of his hair, and Seth's face fell forward to his chest.  He moved out of view.

The rest of his underthings were snatched off so fast that it left Bullock gasping, feeling like his last shred of protection had just been yanked away.

He hung in his bonds, helpless, and finally cried out as Swearengen suddenly draped himself across the litany of cuts across his back, jostling, burning.

"Do you have such a need to be humbled, Mr. Bullock?"  Al's voice was hissing in his ear, velvet smooth and dangerous.  A hand fisted his hair painfully and yanked, pulling his head back, and Al was speaking directly against his ear, his huffs of breath making Seth break out in gooseflesh.

"Well someone enjoyed themselves."  And when Swearengen slipped his other hand down to grasp his bare cock, he was horrified to discover how rock fucking hard he was.

The moan that escaped was both embarrassing and fervent.  He hadn't been aware, hadn't even fucking realized he was so...worked up.

He had disassociated with the pain inflicted, and as the pain had ceased and now with the older man's hand working him lightly now, he was losing the control he worked so hard to keep.

"What the fuck are you doing?"  Seth's voice was so small, it might as well have been a squeak.

Al's hand left him, and despite the burning in his back and the pounding in his head, he could not help the lustful thrust into empty air from the loss of contact.  The hand left his hair, as did the older man's contact with his back.

The sound of a wooden drawer and a metal tin, and Swearengen was back again.

"Thought you knew everything, Bullock.  You said 'fuck you'." The man's hands were on his hips and an anxiety Seth had never felt before welled up inside.  "So I'm going to fuck you."

Panic exploded inside of his chest and Al's fingers were digging at his entrance, poking and prodding with something slick, while Seth struggled to wriggle away, his toes slipping on hardwood.

Swearengen tutted and clutched at his hips again, pulling him back.

"Don't think you're gettin' away.  This has been a long time comin'."

The fingers probing him were swift and business like, and before long, two fingers was three, and then three was four.

A little while of this, and then Swearengen's cock was at his entrance, pushing in.  

Bullock wanted, needed to be anywhere but here, and his mind cast about desperately as Al relentlessly pushed into him.  His body was slow to accommodate, and it burned, but his mind would not let him wander. He was stuck here, in this room, with his assailant drilling into him with a steady, persistent heat.

"Relax, you cocksucker. It'll hurt worse if you tense."

This is a dream.  He thought wildly.   I'll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a horrible nightmare.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Al was finally settled inside, so deep that Seth felt like his stomach was being pushed aside to make room for the intrusion.  He could feel the older man's balls brushing his entrance. Seth realized his breaths were coming in harsh pants and struggled to reign in his contracting chest.

Swearengen thrust his hips languidly, and with a mocking voice, said, "See, how bad can it be, makin' a noise like that."

With horror, Seth realized the keening moans had been coming from his own throat, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut.

"Oh, don't stop on my account.  The nights not over yet, boy."

And then Swearengen was gripping his hips hard enough to bruise and pistoning in and out of him so deeply that Seth was lifted off of his feet.  He was violent and exact, thrusting viciously and mercilessly so that Seth could scarcely catch his breath. A smack was diverted to his ass that made him yelp, the sound escaping before he could stop it, and Al laughed nastily.

Swearengen pulled out of him completely, and another keening cry escaped him, unbidden, much to his chagrin.  He was losing more and more control.

The other man's hands left his waist and one came to yank at his hair again, making his neck crane back, while the other arm trapped his twitching cock against his stomach and pulled him back towards Al's hips.  Seth's body was bent into a nearly painful arch, and his shoulders ached more than ever, but the delicious friction on his cock...

Then the older man thrust in again, forceful and precise, and suddenly he hit a spot inside Seth that made his hips spasm violently.  His toes curled as he saw stars, and he no longer cared about the strangled shouts that were leaving his mouth as Swearengen proceeded to nail that same spot with every snap of his hips.

Al treated him in this way for a while, and before long, Seth was a shameful, lustful, gibbering wreck.  

Swearengen began to slow his rhythm down, and Seth felt like he was going to come apart at the seams if he didn't go faster.  He thrust his hips futilely. Al had full control.

"What's the hurry for, Bullock?"  Al was whispering huskily in his ear, a devil if there ever was one.  "We have hours until sun-up."

"Please."  Seth whispered brokenly.  He wouldn't last hours before he truly came undone.

"What's that?" He leaned in close, twisting Bullock's neck to gaze in his eyes.   If I bend any further I'm gonna snap in half, he thought deliriously.

"Don't fucking stop."  Seth had never felt so low, so low and fucking needy.  "Please."

"That's more like it."  Al's voice was patient and haughty.

"What are we doing here, Mr. Bullock?"  The question was unexpected, made no sense, and Seth let out a breathless, "What?"

Swearengen hummed, and pulled out completely, leaving Seth gasping at the profound sense of loss.

"No, no, no, don't-", Bullock choked, his muddled brain struggled to look for the answer that was nowhere to be found.  "I don't know-"

"For someone so prideful, you sure are easy to reduce."  The grin in Al's voice sounded positively gleeful. "Why did I bring you here, Mr. Bullock?"

"Because, because…"  his pride was unbending, unwinding in his desperation to come.  "I'm here for... reeducation!"   He practically shouted as Swearengen gave his cock a soft smack.

Swearengen laughed.

Then the grip on his hair and the arm around his hips retreated again to grasp his waist tighter than ever and resume the vigorous pounding he'd been receiving earlier.

Bullock cried out as the pain he was in combated with the unwilling pleasure he was being forced to experience, and he felt his world come apart as he was pushed into a state of euphoria.  He had never felt this way, never been so hard and willing for something so... wrong .  But at this point, he couldn't find it in him to care.  As Swearengen pounded into him from behind, hitting the spot inside of him that was making him babble like some wanton whore, something broke.

The last vestiges of his pride fell away, and he was murmuring, "Please, fuck, please, yeah,", his hips struggling to meet every thrust,  and he was dimly aware of Al talking as he fast came upon his climax.

"These whores here, they're something special, alright, but I'm used to talking quite a bit more during the fucking."  Al's voice was strained, panting, but still in control. "You see, I've been on a bit of a stale kick as of late, and your face right now, and the sounds you're making, brings me more joy than fucking all of the whores in this fucking camp." This was punctuated with a particularly forceful thrust, and Seth cried out, the sound broken and embarrassingly needy.  "And I could fuck you, right here, like this, for hours."

Then Swearengen's hand was gripping his cock and stroking him roughly in time to his thrusts, and Seth was suddenly soaring, flying head first into the biggest climax he'd ever had.  He screamed now, his self-control all but gone, and as he spent his seed all over the floor and Al's hand, he felt his body go completely boneless.

And then, as he felt Swearengen finish himself off with a few more quick thrusts, he fell into the heavy blanket of unconsciousness.

Next morning, Seth groaned as his pounding head was what brought him to.

He raised his hands to clutch at it, and was relieved to find that he could.  It felt like someone with a knife was trying to carve out his eyes.

He was secondly made aware of the comfort of his own cotton bedsheets and that he was laying on his stomach, his tender, throbbing back safely resting underneath a thin white sheet.

He groaned again, and buried his face in the pillow, glad he was finally home.

"You alright there, Seth?"  Sol's voice drifted in from somewhere, and Seth tensed.   Sol was the last person he needed to be checking in right now.

"Seth?"  Sol asked again, and he heard the other man move closer, the floorboards of the upper floor of the hardware store creaking.  Then hands were gripping the bed sheets that covered him and the intake of breath he heard made Bullock stiffen.

"Seth, what-"  The Jewish man began, but quick as a flash, Seth was snatching the blanket out of the others hands and recovering himself.

"S'none of yer fuckin' business, Sol."  He ground out, hoping the other man would leave it alone.

There was a pregnant pause, and Seth held his breath as Sol seemed to contemplate whether or not to push the issue of the whip marks he knew littered his back.

Then the sounds of a heavy exhale, and Sol's retreating footsteps, and Seth let his breath leave his lungs in a relieved sigh.

He was gonna sleep in today.  Sol could handle things without him.

It was mid afternoon when Seth was finally able to exit the hardware store.  His grumbling belly guided his pained effort in pulling on his normal clothes.  It wasn't just his whipped back, he realized, that hurt so bad, but a stiffening in his lower back that belied what had occurred last night.

He flushed as he remembered how wanton he had been, and how uncharacteristically uncontrolled the sounds he'd made were.   Nobody had known, Nobody but Swearengen and Dority.  

As he made his way across the thoroughfare and to the canteen, he couldn't stop himself from glancing up briefly, involuntarily to where Swearengen normally occupied his balcony.  

The older man was there, leaning on his forearms to stare down, his gaze already upon him, watching Seth as he tried to move with as little stiffness as possible.  The older man's expression was inscrutable, and Bullock frowned as he glared up at him from the middle of the street.

But his resolve left him then, remembering how he had been displayed just hours earlier, and he flushed hotly, looking away to focus on crossing the busy street.

He chanced one more glance back, before he entered the building and passed out of sight, and the smug smirk he found on the man's face burned him inside and out.

Fucking asshole.