Archive of Our Own ^beta

Run. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Keep running…

The mantra repeats over and over in John’s head as his feet pound against the dirt road. He needs to move faster, to put more distance between himself and the place he used to call home. Now he’ll never be able to go back, not after—

John’s head swims. Sweat rolls off his brow as he feels his legs starting to give out. He tries to keep moving but his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground. Falling sideways into a bed of flowers, John’s entire body shakes with exhaustion. He’ll only rest for a moment, then he has to keep moving. Closing his eyes, John takes a shuddering breath before he slips into unconsciousness, the words still echoing in his head.

Run. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Keep running…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night is like most others, quiet in the calm of the sweltering afternoon, turning cooler and livelier as the sun hovers above the horizon. A breeze comes through the open window, the shutters peeling and buckling off their hinges, to caress the black curls nestled at John’s neck. The reprieve from the worst of the heat boosts his morale as he regales Max with his latest story. 

John can’t help the wide grin that spreads across his face as Max throws her head back, bursting into laughter. Maybe his story isn’t that funny, and they are both a little tipsy, but the moments of peace they get to share before clients is priceless. He takes another sip of his small glass of rum and continues his tale.

“I swear to you, it was the smallest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, making Max let out an undignified snort. “But, damn… What a cocksucker. I definitely won’t complain if I get that kind of lip service again when he comes ‘round. The throat on him… Could put me out of a job if he ever applied.”

Max opens her mouth to reply, but Noonan, the Master of Parrish House, signals to both of them. She rolls her eyes, draining the last of her drink and drops a kiss on both of his cheeks before swanning away, heading for the client Noonan points her to. Finishing his own drink, John reclines against the bar for another moment before hopping off of the stool and heading for his employer.

“You washed up and ready, boy?” Noonan’s greasy, stringy hair is tucked behind his ears, giving him the appearance of a wet vulture. Black, beady eyes wait for a response as John wrinkles his nose and musters a compliant smile. 

“As always,” John replies, trying not to breathe in. For all his insisting that the beta workers in the brothel keep up with their bathing, the master of the house never seemed to follow his own advice. “Any request customers tonight, or am I to stay down here at the bar?”

“In the corner. With the vest.” Noonan nods to a dimly lit area with a couch. An older man, soft in a sheltered way, sits tense in the overstuffed couch against the peeling wall. His eyes dart around the room as he nervously gulps mouthfuls of ale. 

“Awwww,” John coos, giving his customer a wave and a shy smile. “A first timer… How cute.” Happy to leave his employer’s stench behind him, John saunters over to the man, stopping in front of him and striking a coquettish pose.

“You asked for me?” He purrs, all feigned innocence. “So sweet of you.” John slides into the customer’s lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, his other hand running up the man’s chest. “And what’s your name, Daddy?”

Red rushes up the man’s neck and explodes into ruddy blotches on his cheeks. He stutters and stumbles to set his drink down, beer sloshing out the sides. He grins, shy and sweet, brushing his hair back with one hand and hovers the other over John’s waist, unsure if he can touch or not. 

“Jeffrey, but…” the blush continues to his ears, “but Daddy’s fine, too.” He looks down, then back at the young man sprawled brazenly on his lap. 

“Thought so,” John says with a wink, tossing his hair back and leaning in to peck Jeffery on the cheek. The man relaxes a little at the pointed attention and tentatively places his hand against John’s hip. Putting on a show of simpering sweetness, John lets his customer talk his ear off about nothing, smiling and agreeing with everything Jeffrey tells him.

A growing cacophony of voices swell, impregnating the air before the front doors burst open, slamming against the walls and reverberating chaos. The gang of miscreants piling through wrestle and bully each other on their way to the bar, throwing challenging looks at anyone who catches their gaze.

Jeffrey startles at the jarring intrusion, almost dumping John onto the floor. He sheepishly smiles before settling back into the plush couch, apologizing under his breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Shaking his head, John tsks, watching the unruly bunch sidle up to the bar. “What a bunch of knot-heads. So rude.” He turns back to Jeffrey with a sly grin. “Not like you, Daddy…”

Leaning against the bar, slightly more subdued than the rest, one man scans the room, eyes briefly landing on John before turning back to the bar and demanding drinks. The men roar in excitement, drumming their hands against the wooden countertop awaiting their elixirs and the promise of numbed hardships. 

As the evening progresses, John continues with his fawning, trying to ignore the skin-crawling feeling of being watched. His customer comes first, that was the rule, but whoever is staring at him is putting him on edge. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jeffrey is so easily charmed, John is sure he would have lost his customer due to his lack of attentiveness. It’s unusual for him to be so thrown off, but something about the way he can feel the stranger’s eyes boring into him is unnerving.

Jeffrey is going on about a horse or something inconsequential, animated but flustered as he relays the insipid story, but John can’t focus. Unable to ignore the staring any longer, he shifts in Jeffery’s lap, over-adjusting so that he can glance back at the bar. A tall man with dirty-blonde hair meets his eyes. John freezes. The man has a cruel-looking scar running across his right eye, the iris dull and lifeless, while the other is sharp and cold, staring into John’s soul. A shiver runs up his spine and he quickly turns back to Jeffery, a pleasant smile on his face as he nods, pretending to have heard or cared about what his customer was telling him.

Jeffrey’s face contorts in confusion, looking past John’s shoulder. John looks behind him to see Noonan approaching. He has a young beta in tow, looking like a slapped child. The Master clears his throat and throws John a smug look then bows in apologies towards Jeffrey. 

“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m afraid this one has prior engagements that slipped my schedule. But Michael here is very eager to meet you.” He pushes the freckled boy forward. The boy trips over his own feet before catching himself. 

John glares at his boss, refusing to get off of Jeffrey’s lap. “I’m busy,” he snaps, unable to keep the indignation from his voice. Even Noonan, idiot though he is, isn’t dumb enough to interrupt his employees while they are working. Cutting a client’s time short, or swapping out workers is a sure way to lose a customer. “Can’t Michael handle it?”

“You were specifically requested, slipped my mind, unfortunately. Again, apologies, Sir.” Noonan says, voice grating with annoyance. “Silver.” 

Rolling his eyes, John turns back to Jeffery, a sad pout on his lips. “Sorry, Daddy,” he says, looking as if he actually was trying to apologize. “Maybe another time?” He pecks a kiss on the older man’s cheek and slides off his lap to follow Noonan. As soon as he’s out of earshot of Jeffrey and Michael, John’s demeanor changes.

“Really? This better be worth pulling me away from him,” John hisses, venom in his words. “That one was loaded and you know it. If you cost me a good client–”

“Shut your goddamn mouth, boy.” Noonan snarls with a snap of his fingers in front of John’s face. “Go to room six. I’ve got a big paying customer up there for ya.”

John bites back the scathing retort that wants to escape him, knowing he’d pay for it later if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. “Fine,” he snaps, turning to start up the stairs. “This had better be worth it…”

“The house always wins.” Noonan sings-songs wickedly behind him. John’s skin prickles at the words, an implication laced in between. He picks up his pace, trying to put as much distance between himself and his employer as possible.

Reaching the door to his assigned room, John pauses, heaving a sigh as his hand rests on the handle. He composes himself, shaking off the irritation of dealing with Noonan, and opens the door, stepping inside. Drawing himself up and putting on his best seductive smile, John walks forward into the center of the room. His customer sits in front of the fireplace, their feet propped up on a small stool as they relax in the armchair, staring into the flames.

“Evening,” John simpers. “What can I do–”

He stops, the air rushing out of his lungs as a chill goes up his spine again. The man in the chair turns to look at him, a grin on his face. The stranger from the bar stares back at him; one eye coaxing death, the other promising pain. John’s body stiffens, unable to move or speak. His hackles rise, but he’s learned something about himself in the time he’s worked at the Parrish. It’s the allure of danger, the heady unknown that he is attracted to. It sometimes gets him in trouble and always worries Max, but it also gets him his top paying customers and his wildest orgasms. Then he hears the lock click behind him.

John is acutely aware of the sounds of multiple bodies behind and beside him now that his senses are keen like a knife. He furrows his brow and lifts his dry mouth into a placating smile. 

“I didn’t realize this was a party.” He turns, tallying the numbers and locations of the other figures in the room. He might need to rethink this. “Why don’t I get us a few bottles for you boys? Help lubricate the festivities?”

Taking a tentative step towards the door he places a hand on the forearm of a man who looks more bulldog than human, giving him a flirtatious squeeze and wink. 

“We’re good. No lubrication needed.” The man in the chair says low behind him. The bulldog crowds the door, joined by his equally surly friend that towers a foot above him. Stained teeth and greasy beards chuckle from the shadows. Silver backs up slowly, a nervous laugh escaping him through a tissue paper smile. 

The man reclining in the chair angles forward, ignoring John. He reaches for the metal fire poker leaning against the hearth and digs into the shimmering coals. Tender flames begin to vault and dance along the black and red charred bits cradled in the iron grate.

John swallows, affixing another playful look on his face. He turns around, glancing back at the man in the chair. He takes a cautious step forward, trying to decide his next move.

“Well then, I’m sure you fine gentlemen paid a pretty penny for my time,” he says, lifting a hand to brush his curls back from his face. “It’d be a shame to waste it….” He moves to stand behind the armchair, placing his hands on the back. Leaning forward, he puts the sweetness back in his voice. “And how may I be of service?”

Back straightening as if offended by the approach from behind, the man stands, poker in hand. Despite having relatively the same stature as Silver, the man is all encompassing, his presence demanding heightened wits, like shadows gliding through the water. 

“You seem like a smart whore.” A dead, milk-opal eye pins him. The hair on the back of John’s neck stipples as he becomes very aware of the metal rod waggling in the man’s grip. Tilting his chin down, maintaining Silver’s gaze, the man gestures around the room with it. “A service is something offered. We’ll be taking today.” 

Lightning jolts along John’s spine, the dangerous thrill of dark play on his taste buds. Noonan does like to send him to deal with the more unique customers, and the larger number of clients added a hefty additional sum. If John can play his cards right, perhaps this evening will be more profitable than he’d originally thought.

“Rather got the impression that I’d be taking,” John says with a soft laugh, throwing a coquettish look over his shoulder at another one of the group. Turning back to the man who he assumes must be their leader, John looks him up and down, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “We celebrating something, gentlemen?”

The man stabs the poker back into the livelier flames, letting it rest in the inferno, then addresses the room like Caesar at Senate. 

“Drowning some English dogs, setting their boat on fire. Fencing a large haul. We already have our spoils, now they just need entertainment. And you’re the perfect prize, so pretty you could be an omega.” The man begins to take off his jacket, signaling to the others to get comfortable and settle in. 

John gives the men a flirtatious grin at the compliment. “I’d be more than pleased to entertain you fine sailors. I didn’t realize I had fellow enemies of the crown in my midst.” 

“Captain Ned hates everything English, even his own ma,” the bulldog snickers. Ned throws him an ugly, icy sneer. 

John glances back at the man who had spoken, placing a hand on his chest and batting his eyelashes. “Such fearsome pirates… however did I get so lucky?”

Rolling the sleeves of his linen shirt to the elbow, the leader of the group chuckles. He sweeps his dirty blonde hair away from his temples and aims a bemused look at Silver.

John feels the pain before he realizes he’s been hit, knees buckling as he crumples to the hard wooden floor. A hand fists into his hair and jerks his head up to face that empty eye and the other full of vicious glee. 

“Oh, we are fearsome, but your luck has run out, bitch.”

John’s unable to stop the small moan that escapes him as he squirms, the man tightening his grip in John’s hair. His face flushes, praying that they hadn’t heard, but the wicked grin on the other man’s face tells him otherwise. “Sir, I-”

Another blow lands harder, cracking across his cheekbone. The force throws John’s body towards the man sitting at the table. John scrambles backwards away from the assault, hand coming up to the heated bloom on his face. 

“Why? I- I don’t,” John stammers, the pain in his face making him momentarily dizzy. He’d dealt with a few clients who liked to play like this, but Noonan’s rules were clear. No permanent damage, no scarring, and nothing near the face. This man is toeing the line, and it sends a delicious thrill up John’s spine.

“Are you talking, whore? To me?” The man’s eyes dart in feigned offense around the room, gaining laughter from the men. A boot kicks John from behind, shoving him back into the line of fire.

“I didn’t pay for fucking conversation and mooning. I paid for a hole. So shut the fuck up, and do what you do best, whore.” The men in the room come to life, anxious energy becoming focused, hands flexing in anticipation. 

Shifting onto his knees, John looks up at their leader, trying to determine his next move. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again, worried he’ll only make the man angrier. Glancing between the five men surrounding him, John makes an educated guess and reaches for the hem of his shirt. He untucks the fabric from his breeches, slowly pulling it over his head, shaking out the curls that fall about his face as he takes off the garment.

“Little slut finally caught on.” A shadow laughs by the bed. Ned smiles and grabs the chair, spinning it around. The wooden legs squeal against the grain of the floor boards until the chair is facing the bed. Ned unceremoniously plops down into the cushions, eyes fixed on Silver’s heaving frame. 

“Enjoy, boys.” Ned says calm and pointed, clasping his hands behind his head.

John glances at the four other men in the room, all their eyes on him. He feels oddly small, being caught in their stares and— He shakes his head; what he saw was a trick of the light, the fire roaring in the heath, playing with shadows and reflections in the room. Noonan was an ass, but even he wouldn’t be so cruel as to…

Turning his head slowly, John looks back at the man in the chair, pieces coming together in his mind. Ned was a captain, and though as a beta, John didn’t have the ability to detect scents as well as others, he could only assume this man was an alpha. It feels like Ned can see right through his shadows. He manages to keep the pleasant smile on his face for another moment until the captain smirks, making John shiver. Those terrifying eyes that stare at him, watching every move he makes have suddenly become ringed with gold and something other.

There is a sound of someone standing from the table behind him and John feels cold calloused hands grab under his arms, pulling him up to his feet. There’s a light grunt against his ear as the hands settling at his waist sends a ripple across his skin, making his nipples harden. He worries the tip of his tongue with his teeth as the man’s hands reach around to the front of his linens, untying the knot with practiced, greedy fingers. The loose pants billow down around his ankles, exposing his smalls and thigh-high stockings. The tall man next to the bulldog whistles low and long. 

“Fucking hell. Pretty as a peach.” He walks forward and the man behind John grips his biceps in warning. The tall man is in his forties if John had to guess. Older than the rest of his companions. He’s firmer in build but softer around the middle, though there is nothing soft about the look in his eyes as he nears. “You got ‘im, Danny?” he says to the man holding John’s arms like a vice. 

“She’s gonna play nice, aintcha darlin’?” Danny chuckles in his ear. John looks at the seated alpha, Ned, who gives a small nod despite what he sees. The healthy eye is ringed in a dominant, shimmering gold but the ghost eye glows like the embers stoked earlier. Roiling reds snuffing out to black then glinting through again. A kaleidoscope of blood. John's mouth dries as his throat constricts. The older man in front of him bends over and removes the linen pants from around John’s ankles. He pulls John's soft leather slippers off, tossing them to the men in the room. 

Catching one of the footwear in both hands, the hulking young man making a cavernous dent in the mattress brings it to his nose and takes a deep shuddering inhale, eyes squeezed shut. They fly open and contort into indignation as his cohorts dig in on him. 

“You’re twisted, Quentin.” Danny roars and shakes John’s shoulders. 

John tries not to laugh as he sees Quentin turning red as his compatriots continue to tease him. Catching the man’s eye, John tilts his head, biting his lip as he slowly lifts one stocking-covered foot, running it up and down his other calf. “I take it you like these, then?” He asks, eyes wide and innocent as he watches Quentin look him up and down. John wiggles his hips, bringing the man’s attention to the ribbons at his thighs, keeping his stockings from falling down. “Thought the blue brought out my eyes…”

“Quentin.” Ned’s voice is sharp, demanding attention. The big man takes his eyes off John’s legs, immediately landing on his captain. “Fuck these guys. You want it, you take it.” Holding Quentin’s gaze, Ned angles his head towards John and lifts a hand, sliding his index finger along the silken fabric over John’s knee. Quentin’s eyes darken and an almost shy smile cracks at his mouth. He lumbers forward, clumsily landing with a thud on his knees in front of John, giving Ned a questioning glance. The alpha smiles.

Quentin’s self-conscious hand reaches out and cups John’s calf, squeezing his muscle through the silky fabric. John can hear the man’s breath quicken as the hand slides up the back of his thigh. Thick fingers find the lace border and play with the delicate trim before hooking in and sliding it slowly down. The men, who were all laughing before, are now transfixed, watching the slow expanse of golden skin being revealed before them.  

John can’t help the quiet breath that he sucks in, feeling the man’s fingertips running reverent over bare skin. He watches Quentin lean forward, running his tongue along John’s inner thigh. John barely holds back a moan, closing his eyes as he feels his cock start to twitch in his smalls. Being surrounded like this should not be this tantalizing, but there’s a reason Noonan always assigns him clients who want a performance.

John can feel his breathing pick up, shivering as Quentin continues to pull the stocking down his leg, mouthing at each new inch of exposed flesh. He lets out a soft whine as he feels the man pull away, a sudden flush appearing on his cheeks as he realizes he made the sound aloud. Opening his eyes, he glances down at Quentin and freezes, seeing the other man’s eyes are now tinged with gold like his captain’s.

Silver stiffens. Danny’s nose nudges the nape of his neck from behind and a deep, ragged inhale tickles the tiny hairs dusted there. The older man looms above Quentin, watching as the stocking is finally pulled off. A grunt escapes the man on his knees. Bringing the stocking to his nose, he looks up at John, the gold shimmering brighter in his hungry stare. 

“Good.” Ned praises. “Francis, take his smalls off.” His tone is tense, restraint ready to burst at the seams. The tall man moves forward, pushing Quentin aside with a shove of his knee. As the younger man labors back onto the bed with his prize in hand, Francis crowds close to Silver, the warmth of his body rivaling the fireplace. Stuck between the two men, John is unable to crane his neck up to see the taller man’s eyes. He only feels hands restraining his arms, fingers digging into his biceps as another pair slide down his sides and thrust inelegantly into his smalls. 

Cursing himself for enjoying the rough treatment, John feels his face going redder as he hears heavy breathing from behind him. Rocking his hips backward to help Francis remove his smallclothes, he lets out an unintentional whimper as he brushes against Danny’s cock, straining at the ties of his breeches. John turns his head to look back at the other man, just in time to see his eyes flash gold as Danny presses against his ass with a leer.

“Aren’t you a big boy,” John purrs, trying to keep the confidence in his voice. Danny holds him steady as John steps out of his smalls, Francis holding them in his hand with a victorious grin, eyes ringed with gold. John gives him a simpering smile, attempting to look sure of himself. “Not my fanciest pair; I’d have put on something special had I known you all were coming…”

Ned untucks a hand from behind his head and extends it towards Francis. “Give it here.” Francis begrudgingly tosses the black linen into his open palm. The corner of Ned’s mouth lifts and his nostrils flare in anticipation. He tosses the fabric around in his hand, looking for something.

When the front of the smalls are face up, he smiles and looks up at John from under his dark brow line. The fabric lifts to his face and he buries his nose into the crotch area, a deep growl of relief rumbles from his chest. “Fuck, he smells good.” Ned closes his eyes momentarily, taking one more inhale. “Now, if he just listened as good.” Ned throws the smalls to the bulldog. “Your mouth keeps running even though I told you to shut it. What should be done about that, boys?” 

“We could gag him?” The small excited voice from the corner comes from the man holding John’s smalls. 

“Winston! I knew you had it in you.” Ned shoves out of his throne and walks over with outstretched arms to the man and claps him on the back. Rounding behind him, he sets his hands on Winston’s shoulders and brings his mouth right behind the man’s ear. Francis has moved to the side giving Ned and Winston a clear view of Silver, naked and trembling with only one stocking clinging by its last sweet blue ribbon of modesty. John’s breath quickens, chest and taut belly stuttering with increasingly rapid inhales. “Take that little stocking,” Ned growls low in Winston’s ear, “and shove it in his pretty mouth.”

John bites his lower lip, trying to decide how far he wants to let these men go. They all seem as if they are on the edge of rut, and though John has helped more than a few unmated alphas, five at once? It makes John’s stomach flip in a mix of excitement and dread. Giving an exaggerated lick of his lips, he shoots Ned a coy smile, hoping to turn the play back in his favor.

“It’d be a pity to shut me up with stockings,” he purrs, aiming a pointed look at the captain’s crotch. “I’ve got the best tongue in Parrish House…”

Ned aims a cold, glittering eye at John, cutting his words off at his throat. “Winston,” his voice is almost a whisper. 

“Yeah, boss.” The man flinches, sensing the crackling anger behind him. 

“Fuck the tongue outta his mouth first, then gag him.” Ned gives one more clap to his shoulder then walks back into the shadows by the door, leans against the wall and begins to pack a pipe. Winston turns, lifting a brow to his captain before eagerly plodding forward with a mission. 

Danny laughs and pushes down on John’s shoulders as Francis kicks harder than necessary behind his legs. Silver strangles the yelp in his throat, sounding like a mewling puppy as his knees hit the hardwood floor. Winston’s gnarled, chubby fingers are already unbuckling his belt with fervor as he takes the last step into John’s space. John doesn’t have any time to straighten when a fist clenches in his hair, viciously pulling up. Francis squats low, his hand shoots out to Silver’s jaw and his thumb and middle finger press into the joints on either side of his face, forcing his mouth to open. 

“C’mon sweetheart, time to get to work.” Francis laughs. A wall of flesh is suddenly at John’s face, sweaty and prodding. The intrusion is fast and Silver can’t escape the thrusts with his head held so tightly.  

“Ah, shit!” Winston moans, his hips slowing. “Bitch wasn’t lying.” With a grunt he picks up pace, shoving his dick further into John’s mouth, his round stomach crushing John’s nose with every thrust. 

John lets out a whine, eyelids fluttering as he feels Danny’s hand tighten in his hair. He shouldn’t be enjoying this nearly as much as he is. That unparalleled feeling of being used is making his brain go hazy. The cock in his mouth wasn’t the largest he’d ever had, but there was something glorious about it sliding against his soft palate, heading for his throat.

The pain in his knees starts to dull as John feels the spark in his gut roar to life. Unbidden, his hips lurch forward as his cock twitches. A moan is muffled around Winston’s length in his throat, coming out garbled as John feels himself relax more in Francis’ grip.

Spit starts to leak out of the sides of his mouth, dripping over the hand holding his jaw open. “That’s it, you little cocksucker. Not able to say much now, are you?” Francis grumbles as he lets go and wipes the back of his hand across his vest. Winston’s moans stop as his breath catches and his body tenses. An eruption of hot spunk fills John’s mouth as the man bursts out a shuddering, grunting exhale. 

John greedily swallows as he feels Winston’s cum hit the back of his throat. His head swims as he hears Francis’ laugh in his ear, the playful cruelty in the older man’s voice making his stomach flip. As Winston stumbles back a step, his cock falls from John’s lips followed by a needy whimper.

An amused huff comes from the shadow. The alpha’s pipe glows as he inhales. It reflects against his eyes, ripples of gold and blood. He exhales, the plume of smoke obscuring the disturbing visage. “Gag him.” 

John is about to protest when Danny shoves his foot into his back, kicking him forward. “Nooo…” John whines with a pout, landing hard onto his chest. Danny grabs the last stocking, still clinging to John’s leg, and rips it off. Quentin sits silently on the bed, eyes wide as he rubs the silk between his fingers at a manic pace. John flips to his back to face his would-be muzzler and gives his best placating look. “Gentlemen, really, it’s not–”

Francis shoves the toe of the material deep in John’s mouth then winds the length of the stocking around his head before tying it to itself. The silk stretches thin and digs like wire into the sides of his mouth and cheeks. He whimpers in protest, tongue trying to push the dirty fabric out. His hands begin to reach up when–

“I wouldn’t.” Ned walks back to the chair, looking down at Silver gagged and sprawled on the floor, the men on edge in a circle around him. Ned sits back down and sniffs the air. He smiles condescendingly at John, brows lifted in false concern. “Are you finally getting what’s going on?” He sniffs the air once more when a knock at the door jolts everyone’s attention. “You’re gonna smell like an orange blossom, I think.” Ned stands and starts to the door, he pauses, “Get him on the bed.”

John lets out a muffled grunt, stupidly trying to speak with a mouthful of stocking. He stumbles as he’s hauled to his feet and pushed towards the bed. Scrambling to turn himself over, he tries to stand, only to have Danny and Francis each take one of his arms holding it tight. He whines, trying to get their attention, but both men are watching their captain open the door.

Ned glances in their direction once more before cracking open the door an inch. A familiar muffled voice on the other side of the door gets louder as Ned opens it wide, ushering a weasley-looking Noonan through before he shuts it after him. Noonan shifts, uncomfortable, a basket hooked in the crook of his arm. His eyes refuse to land on Silver, looking anywhere else. He mumbles something low and tries to hand the basket off to Ned but the captain smirks, pulling back and motions to the table at the other side of the room by the bed. 

Noonan sniffs indignantly and spares a glance at John. He plods with measured steps to the table and sets the basket down, spreading open the linen covering the haul. He grabs the neck of a bottle of wine and slides it out, the butt making a thump on the table. 

“Six bottles.” He gruffs. He then pulls out another two small vials, holding them in his palm, tapping each with his middle finger. “Heat inducer, abortive.” He says quiet then throws them back in the basket. 

John’s brow furrows, and he tries to get up off the bed again. Heat inducer? Abortive? What kind of fucked up game was Noonan playing at? The fog that settled in his head while Winston fucked his throat starts to clear. He makes a noise that’s muffled by the gag, trying to get Noonan’s attention. Frustrated, he stamps his foot and repeats the sound, glaring at Noonan as the man looks his way.

Callous and cruel are the only words filling John’s head as he catches eyes with his employer. John shakes his head, eyebrows pinching as Noonan shrugs, pressing his thin lips into a grimace. “Try to keep the noise down. I don’t want the others to hear.” Noonan urges Ned. 

“Already on it.” Ned laughs making a gesture of wrapping something around his mouth then points to Silver. Noonan gives one more glance then he’s off in a hasty exit, pulling the door behind him with a soft click that echoes like cannon fire through the room.

John wants to scream, but a numbness has spread through his entire body, making him feel cold all over. He stares at the door, trying to will Noonan to come back and explain himself. Swallowing hard, John turns to look at Ned. He keeps his face neutral, holding onto the last thread of denial that is threatening to snap at any moment.

It takes every ounce of control John possesses to not tremble as Ned stalks towards him, one of the small vials in his hand. The predatory grin on the man’s face is making him uneasy. All thoughts of this evening being only more adventurous than his usual games have evaporated, leaving him feeling hollow and paralyzed. He keeps his eyes on the captain’s face, unwilling to appear afraid, no matter how he feels inside.

“Hard way or the easy way, your choice. Enjoy it, probably the last decision you’ll make freely.” Ned taps the vial against his thigh, waiting for John’s response. 

‘So pretty you could be an omega’; the words keep repeating in John’s head. What he had heard before as a compliment now sounds like a threat. They wouldn’t, Noonan couldn’t. His eyes follow that little bottle, trying to decide what he should do. He wants to run, to fight, but that numbness has settled deep in his bones, a blank look on his face as he gazes at Ned.

“Aren’t you curious how you’re gonna smell? Savory or sweet? Spicy or earthy?” The vial continues their mocking taps against Ned’s leg. When John doesn’t move, Ned gives a satisfied grunt, taking his silence as consent. He twists open the cork and settles on the edge of the bed. The frame groans under the weight of the four men. He leans forward, bringing the bottle to John’s face and waves it under his nose. “Breathe deep.” He commands. His gold eye bounces back and forth between John’s blues, racked with numb disbelief. 

Something finally clicks into place in John’s mind, and he starts to pull away, only for Danny and Francis to tighten their grips on his arms. He gives a minute shake of his head, curls bouncing before he’s stopped by Ned’s fingers gripping his nose and pinching tight. John’s eyes widen, a muffled whimper escaping him that makes the other men in the room laugh. Ned releases his nose, shoving the vial beneath it in one fluid motion. John inhales sharply, grateful to breath for one moment, tears spilling down his cheeks the next.

He recognizes the liquid in the vial; the floral scent of the Bahamian Strongbark tincture filling his nostrils is distinct. John has smelt it before, knows that Max and a few other of the female betas use it to simulate the slick and neediness of a heat if that was something their clients requested. The effect on a male beta is normally negligible. Somehow, John is sure that these men know exactly what they’re doing with the potent drug.

Ned stuffs the cork back into the bottle and pockets it. He looks around at the anxious men, waiting for their leashes to be released. He gives a nod of his head and moves off the bed.

“He’s all yours.” 

Danny motions for Winston to take his place restraining Silver's arm as he begins to strip. Quentin wastes no time shifting to the foot of the bed and unlacing his breeches. When his erection springs free, he grabs Silver’s ankle and pulls him further down until his toes are brushing his member. Francis lets go of John’s arm to pull his shirt over his head. He undoes the top laces of his bottoms and shoves John’s hand to his cock, groaning when John’s slender fingers wrap around his girth. 

John’s head is swimming, an odd itch forming under his flesh, making him let out a muffled whine. He feels Francis on his fingertips and Quentin at his feet, but it’s as if there’s a barrier of crackling energy between their hands and his skin. His whole body feels alive with a fire like he’s never felt before. John squirms in Winston’s grip, letting out a pitiful whimper. He looks at Danny, pleading with him to do something.

“Oh, darlin’... Don’t look at me like that unless you mean it.” Danny laughs. He strokes his dick absentmindedly as his eyes rake over John’s body, calculating where he will fit. Silver arches his back away from the mattress as he feels something hard and silky slip between his toes and rub along the arch of his foot. Danny takes Silver’s free knee and pushes it up towards his chest, putting his cock and ass on display. A soft dusting of hair covers the supple curves of his ass and continues up, surrounding his filling cock. The humiliation of being so exposed reddens John’s cheeks but sends lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through his pelvis. Danny’s hand reaches between his legs and not-so-gently gives John’s rim a pat and swirl of his fingers.

Bringing his fingers back to his mouth, Danny spits an ample amount of saliva between his pointer and thumb before smearing it around the head of his already aching tip. He angles himself between John’s legs, one knee on the bed, the other leg braced on the floor and pushes in. 

John lets out a long keening cry, the tears running down his cheeks from sweet relief. The delicious feeling of being full is overriding every other thought in his head. He whines again, trying desperately to get free of Winston so he can reach up and touch Danny, to pull him closer.

“I don’t think he’ll be a problem anymore.” Francis grunts, hips thrusting into John’s grasp. Winston eagerly lets go and shoves his arm down his own pants, cock coming back to life as he watches the others use John in tandem. Francis turns John’s head and yanks the tight gag down his chin. John flinches before he’s brought into a claiming kiss, the other man nibbling at his lower lip and tongue. John’s fingers reach to Danny’s hip, curling around the man’s flesh to pull him closer, wanting to feel his entire length deep inside him.

The thrusts coming from each man unleashes lava erupting up Silver’s spine, threatening to push him over the edge. His breaths become panting and hard into Francis’ mouth, their moans spurring each other on. John’s skin feels like it's on fire. He breaks the kiss, face screwed up in an impending orgasm.   

“Oh fuck,” John gasps, pulling away from Francis to look up at Danny, darkened blue eyes meeting the other man’s bright gold. The fire inside him building with every thrust. “God, you feel good…”

Rolling his hips to meet Danny’s, John has to let go of Francis’ length to wrap both arms around Danny’s neck, dragging him down. The change in angle makes John cry out, his voice pitching higher as he feels himself get closer to the edge. “Right there… Fuck yes. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

Ned’s chair slams backwards onto the floor with a clatter. He lunges forward, shoving Danny off Silver with a snarl. 

“You stupid cunt!” Ned slaps Danny upside the head like scolding a petulant child. “You all fucking know the rules.” He eyes Silver shaking with small waves of ebbing lost pleasure on the bed, eyes wide in confusion and lust. 

“Sorry, captain.” Danny apologizes sheepishly. He pulls on his balls, wrangling control of his ruined orgasm. 

“Never had one this keen before is all.” Winston remarks, hand stilled to a stop down his breeches. 

Ned grits his teeth, looking at the sorry faces surrounding him. He grabs the stocking Quentin still holds in his hand. The little blue ribbon threaded through like a garter is pulled out before he throws the sock back in Quentin’s face. 

“Spread ‘em.” He puts his hand on John’s thigh and slides it across the scorching skin down to the root of his cock. Ned’s jaw tightens as John’s hips lurch to answer his touch. “Can’t have you spoiling the plan.” The thought comes out distracted and low.

Ned takes the ribbon and wraps it over the top of Silver’s pubic bone, loops it under his scrotum. He brings the string ends up-and-over the front of his balls at the base of his pulsing length, securing it with a double-knotted bow. The picture is lurid and innocent all at the same time and gives the head of John’s dick a renewed shade of red. “No orgasms for you, little slut.” He laughs and slaps the inviting, tender thigh hard making Silver yelp in surprise.   

John writhes on the bed, the mix of pain and pleasure of the ribbon around his cock is maddening. Unable to stop himself, John reaches a hand down to touch himself, desperate to get some relief. Loosening the ribbon just enough would let him-

Ned crushes John’s wrist, wrenching it away from his gift-wrapped dick. “Give me the gag, Francis. Before I kill this bitch,” he twists John’s wrist harder, “for being a pain in my ass.”

John cries out, body twisting to alleviate the vice-like pressure. Francis roughly unties then unwraps the tight silk spooled around John’s neck. Tossing the ruined fabric to Ned, he threads his fingers into John’s curls and makes a tight fist. 

Twining the silk around John’s wrists, Ned exhales in frustration. “This fucking bitch better be worth it.” He pulls the bottle from his pocket and uncorks it under John’s nose again, letting the insidious vapors corrupt his senses. John’s small whimpers and sniffles increase to wanton moans as his eyes roll up in his head. “Back at it.”

Ned’s voice is frayed, his composure unraveling. He cracks his neck to relieve the pressure. Once he moves, Danny scoots back between John’s legs. Francis keeps his grip in John’s hair as he lifts a leg up and over the beta’s restrained head. 

John groans, the tincture making his head swim so much it feels as if Francis sitting atop his chest is the only thing keeping his soul inside his body. His mouth feels dry, the drug making him suddenly thirsty as he squirms underneath the older man. “Please,” John gasps, head lolling as Francis shakes him back and forth by his hair. “Water…” The words stop in his parched throat as Danny’s hard cock presses back inside him, making him take inch by burning inch. 

“Wine’s for us pirates. But beggars can’t be choosers, right love?” Ned taunts. “Francis, got anything in the reserves?” The man stops waggling his dick in John’s face for a moment and grunts. 

“Not right this minute, no.”

Winston pulls his hand from his breeches and steps back towards the bed, fumbling with his laces. “I do, Captain.” Shimmying out of the linen pants and kicking them to the floor, Winston crawls up beside Francis, holding his cock out towards Silver’s face. “C’mon, you thirsty?”

John barely registers the question, the bliss of Danny fucking him again is starting to make the edges of his vision go fuzzy. He hears Winston repeat himself and manages to nod in reply, his eyes unable to focus on which man the voice is coming from.

“Open up then, there’s a good girl.”

Francis’ fingers dig into John’s jaw, forcing it open for a second time. Finding that he’s unable to resist, John obliges, sticking out his tongue as he sighs in contentment. He’s being good, they just said so…

A moment later, John stiffens, struggling against his wrists tied above him and Francis’ hand pressing into his jaw. An acrid-smelling warm liquid is hitting his tongue and running down his throat. Dark laughter rings in his ears from all around him as he cries, squirming beneath the man seated on his chest. More tears spring from his eyes, a pitiful whimper from his lips as Francis places two fingers under John’s chin, closing his mouth with a snap.

“Swallow,” Francis orders, a wicked smirk on his face. “Then I’ve got something else for you to use that pretty mouth on.”

John does as he’s bid, coughing and spluttering as he swallows, trying to not think about what he’d been given to ‘drink’. He feels the other man’s hand at his chin and obediently opens his mouth, the warmth and crackling energy under his skin reigniting as Francis shoves his dick along John’s tongue.

He can feel Danny’s cock throbbing inside him with every piston thrust of the young man’s hips. The assault on his mouth fogs all rational thought. The heady scent of musk, sweat and sex being shoved in his face blurs his edges and a burning desire for more sings in his veins. He feels the bed shift and now his bound hands are full with a short, thick cock, head leaking into his palms. 

“Ah, fuck! That’s it, Princess.” Someone above him groans. He works his hands along Winston’s shaft, the angle making his shoulders burn, as he tries to swallow around Francis’ engorged cock head. 

John whines, trying to lift his head, straining against Francis’ grip in his hair. The sensation makes him moan around the man’s cock in his mouth, his hips rocking into Danny’s thrusting. Tears run down his cheeks as he feels Quentin’s exerted breathing on his skin by his feet.

The movement between his legs becomes more brutal, the impact staggered and hard, then a sharp bellow pierces the room as Danny comes, pumping hot and aching into Silver’s hole.

“God damnit, fuck!” Danny pulls out, labored breath punching out of him. Sweat covered and vibrating, he bends down to John’s red rimmed hole leaking cum. With a greedy wide tongue, Danny licks a long stripe over John’s hole, around his bound balls and slides along the length of his cock. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

John whimpers, shifting his hips towards Danny’s mouth as he looks up at Francis, silently pleading with them to let him come. He feels Winston move away from his hands, sliding off the bed and moving to stand beside Danny. He wants another cock in him immediately, the fire under his skin only momentarily quenched by Danny’s cum being spilled inside him. But the thought of the other man’s tongue leaving his skin makes him want to cry.

“Outta the way, lad.” Winston shoves at Danny’s shoulder, maneuvering the spent man from between John’s trembling thighs. Trudging closer on his knees he slides his dick over the wet sensitive rim. John’s whines plead around Francis’ cock, his body writhing to further the contact. 

John nearly sobs in relief as Winston finally pushes inside. The man is much thicker around than Danny, making John nearly choke as he moans around Francis who takes the opportunity to slide further down his throat. He can feel the back of his head repeatedly being forced against the thin mattress as the tall man leans over to take a hold of John’s bound wrists to better angle his thrusts.

“Aw shit!” Winston squeezes his eyes. “And I thought her mouth was the prize pony!” Giving a few thrusts, he begins to fuck in earnest, wheezing grunts escaping his barrel chest. His face bursts red and hot, perspiration beading at his forehead. 

“For fuck’s sake, Winston. Are you about to have a heart attack?” Ned laughs darkly and is joined by the other men. John jolts at hearing the alpha’s voice, his body reacting in an unfamiliar way, a primal need infecting his marrow. John keens, tongue lapping the underside of Francis’ dick trying to taste the alpha's tone left hanging in the air, his hips snatching to meet the thick flesh splitting him open. 

Winston swears under his asthmatic breath, shuddering hips and his hands begin to crush at John’s waist. John’s stomach clenches down and the bulldog man loses all composure, shaking like a sail in a storm as he releases into John’s silken vice grip. 

At the same time, Francis lets out a long string of curses, thrusting deep into John’s throat. John’s eyes roll back as his nose is pressed against Francis’ belly, hot cum pouring down into his stomach. He can feel Winston pumping into his ass in a few quick, aborted thrusts. The energy crackling under his skin dulls for a moment, only to surge back up with renewed fervor as his own cock throbs against its ribboned prison.

Crumbling back onto his ass with a grunt, dick slipping out of the used hole, Winston groans and rubs his knees. “Fucking mattress my ass.” He complains. “Thin as a ghost’s dick.” 

John gasps as he suddenly finds himself able to breathe, his mouth and face no longer pressed against Francis’ stomach. Panting heavily, he swallows, choking down the last of the man’s spend in his throat. His eyes, still hazy from the fog of the drug, take a moment to adjust to the poor lighting in the room, but John manages to look around him.

Ned sprawls like a lord in his chair by the fire, pipe in one hand, the other holding that detestable little vial. He grins as John meets his eyes for a fleeting moment, shaking the bottle at him with a laugh.

John turns away, looking instead down at Winston and Quentin; the former clearly winded as he tries to catch his breath, and glaring at the latter who finally comes with a groan onto John’s left foot. Winston recoils as some of the cum misses its target, hitting his leg instead.

“You’re fucked, Quentin,” he spits, wiping the offending liquid back onto it’s owner. “If you’re not gonna fuck him, at least fetch us all a drink.” Dropping his head back onto the mattress, John hears Quentin shuffle off the bed, heading towards the basket Noonan had brought in.

Desperate for an actual drink, John looks to one side, gazing at Francis laid out next to him. The man’s tall frame barely fits onto the mattress, and John stares as the man sighs, eyes closed, enjoying his afterglow. Knowing it’d be foolish to bother him, John turns away from Francis to see Danny beside him, his head propped up on one arm, watching him.

John finds himself spellbound. He’s not sure if it’s the drug or the way the man before him knew just how to fuck him, but John can’t pull his gaze away from Danny. Their closeness lets John take in the man’s features, finally able to see what before had been obscured by the dim light.

Clearly the youngest of the group, Danny has quite the handsome face for a pirate. His skin, pristine and unscarred, is pale and freckled across the bridge of his nose; the sunlight creating small constellations beneath hazel-green eyes tinged with gold. His long hair is pulled back, but auburn curls have escaped their leather tie, falling around his face to brush against the neatly trimmed goatee on his chin. Danny lifts a hand, smoothing his mustache and beard with his thumb and forefinger, his eyes never leaving John’s face.

“I…” John pauses, unsure of what to do. This man has been the gentlest of the group, it might be safe to ask him for a drink. Lowering his voice, John speaks, hoping he made the right choice. “Can I have a drink? Please…”

Quentin shoves a cup in Danny’s hand. Red drops slosh over the rim landing on John’s stomach and Danny’s forearm. The man licks the mess off his arm, consideration in his eyes. After a beat he reaches down and drags his finger through the liquid pooling in John’s belly button and brings it to John’s lips. 

“Thirsty work, being a whore.” Ned slowly stands and Danny’s head snaps to him, alert. The captain squeezes the young man’s broad shoulder a little too hard as he moves on to the spread on the table. “Wouldn't want ya’ expiring on us prematurely.” Tipping the bottle to fill a cup, Ned glances at John who is straining his neck to see around Danny. “Relax.” Ned commands with a bemused smirk. John squeaks a frustrated whimper and lies back, shutting his eyes. That voice wraps around his guts and settles low in his pelvis.  

Ned opens the vial and empties it into the cup, swirling it a bit with his finger. With the dosed cup in hand he nudges Danny. “Go on. Make sure he finishes it.”

Danny hesitates. “Aye, Captain.” Ned chuckles. Danny takes the cup and shifts in the bed, placing his own cup on the table next to him. His well-muscled arm wraps under John’s back and drags him up. It remains there in a warm half-cradle as he brings the cup to John’s lips. “Drink up, yeah?” His eyes search John’s, gentle encouragement flecked with the green and gold. “Captain’s orders.” He adds softly then tilts the cup. 

John’s eyes stay locked onto Danny’s as he drains the contents. The wine soothes his throat, and that gentle gaze soothes his soul. As Danny passes the cup back to Quentin, John feels his muscles start to relax. He sighs, letting himself lie back into Danny’s arms. The sweet liquid settles in him, flowing through his body, making his head swim.

The ribbon wrapped around his cock and testicles is creating a simmering ache of pleasure that can’t quite crack the surface. He squirms his hips and frowns. A crawling sensation starts spreading over his skin, akin to lying in a bed of ants. Wincing with overstimulation he turns into Danny’s side, burying his face in the crook of the man’s warm chest and arm. 

“Why does it…” John wants to peel his flesh off with the intense fire that pulses through him. It feels like Danny’s hand that trails up his side are shards of ice running across febrile skin. “Don’t… Stop…” John arches into Danny’s fingertips that run down his chest. He can barely breathe from the ripples of pleasure coursing across his skin.

Ned watches Silver writhing unconsciously, grimacing in overstimulation against Danny. His eyes track over his naked form, taut belly contracting with cramping, mouth gasping with soft pleas, hips stuttering against imaginary pressure. Ned swallows and clears his throat. “Alright, let’s speed this up.” 

He grabs the wrought iron poker from the hot coals of the fireplace, teeth gritted with impatient control. “Hold him down, spread his legs.”

Quentin sets his cup down and joins Winston at John’s legs. Francis snorts from half sleep to see the commotion around him. He hooks John’s arm and squeezes it against his chest. Silver opens his eyes, the charged energy in the room a quick change from the leisurely pace mere seconds ago. 

John looks up, staring up at Danny’s face, now twisted into a cruel smirk. The green is gone from the man’s irises, a ring of gold surrounding a widened pupil. A soft whine escapes John’s lip, the sight of those eyes making him want to bear his throat and submit. “What? I—”

The next moment, John’s vision goes white, a blinding pain shooting up his spine from his groin. His mouth drops open in a wordless scream, his back arching off the bed, straining against the four men holding his limbs. He feels his body go limp, bolts of pain and pleasure surging along the surface of his skin. The smell of burning hair and flesh fills the room, turning John’s stomach.

Finally, his voice comes back to him and a pained wail rips from John’s throat. Ned smiles viciously as he watches the beta’s body jerk like a fish on a hook. A blistering, weeping brand sizzles below his shaft, directly in between his testicles. The angry crimson flesh constricts in riot. Ned throws the iron bar across the room, the loud clatter rivaling John’s gritted groans. 

“Let go, give him time.” Ned sweeps his hair back from his face and takes a swig from his cup now that the deed is done. The men move about, murmuring snide comments amongst themselves. Quentin and Winston refill their libations as Francis walks to the piss pot in the corner. Danny slides off the bed and utilizes the fresh basin of water to wash his nethers. Ned holds his cup out to be filled and Winston pours the bottle before dropping his ass in the chair behind him, tired and tipsy. John curls in on himself, bound hands tucked under his chin. His eyes are tightly shut and his body is covered in a sheen of sweat that glistens as he trembles. Ned brushes a few curls away from the crumpled face below him. To his surprise John lifts his head into the touch with a sound like relief. 

“This is the fastest I’ve seen this go down.” Francis remarks, wiping his brow. Ned sits on the edge of the bed, assessing the situation in front of him. He lifts John’s leg with minimal effort and looks at the wound. Its deepening, rippling slightly at the edges but still bee stung red and swollen. He callously lets go and the leg slaps down against the other, forcing another stifled moan into John’s clenched fists. 

Gulping down a large mouthful impatiently, Ned scoffs through his nose. “Little bitch was made to be an omega.” Francis laughs at that. “Hear that, love?” He bends down towards John’s ear. “Your new slutty little pussy is almost ready for me to fuck.”  

The words stir something deep in John’s mind. He whimpers, only for the sound to come out as a chirrup, making the alpha laugh. The searing pain in his groin is starting to dull into a pulsating ache in his pelvis. He shakes his head, not wanting to give Ned the satisfaction of seeing the confusion on his face. More tears spring into his eyes as his abdominal muscles suddenly contract all at once. John lets out a muffled sob, trying to quiet his crying by shoving the stocking around his wrists back into his mouth. It feels like he’s swallowed lava, a fire burning in his gut as the brand between John’s legs throbs with his heartbeat.

Danny pulls on his breeches and flops into the chair Ned had been a voyeur in all evening. “This one is ripe, I like him. Maybe we can keep this one alive for longer, Captain?” He covers his mouth with his cup and looks up to the gold and blood eyes staring back. Ned laughs deep from his belly.

“You sound like a lad begging for a fucking puppy.” He sneers at the man in disgust, turning back to the body on the mattress. Teasing in a patronizing, fatherly tone, he slaps John hard on the ass. “Sure Danny, but he’s your responsibility.”

John jerks, tensing from Ned’s hand hitting him. The impact feels like it’s ricocheting back and forth through his insides, making his entire body shudder. The churning increases in intensity each time the captain touches him. He’s torn, wanting contact from someone, anyone, but the pain makes him scared to speak again.

The other men snicker. Francis claps the back of Danny’s head smartly on his way to grab his drink. “Get your piss hands off me, fucker.” Danny sticks out his leg into the pathway, making the taller man stumble with a swear. 

Shifting on the bed, John tries to move just enough to get his legs tucked beneath him when Ned places a hand around the back of his neck. His entire body freezes, lightning coursing down John’s spine from the alpha’s palm to his groin. Letting out a desperate whine, John feels his limbs begin to shake, the pain in his gut making his vision white out again. He starts to scream, only to have his other stocking shoved into his mouth as Ned growls in his ear. “Quiet.”

John is unable to disobey, suddenly silenced as if the alpha had control of his voice. Instead his scream echoes inside his own mind as he feels Ned pressing his face into the bedsheets and lifting John’s hips up into the air. Another wave of pain shoots through John, the feeling of his organs agitating inside of him makes him nauseous. He squirms in the captain’s grip, trying to get away from both the other man and the pain within him.

With a gasp, John feels new tears flowing down his cheeks as what feels like a whip crack suddenly hits him, splitting his skin in two. He manages to spit the stocking from his mouth to take a shuddering breath before he feels the pain again where the iron poker had marked him. There is a tightness in his abdomen for a moment before a sudden rush makes his entire body go limp. John can feel something running down his inner thighs, what he can only assume is blood from the wound, but he doesn’t smell the coppery tang he’s used to.

Shuffling to get his bound wrists between his thighs, he tentatively reaches to collect the liquid on his fingertips, the other hand catching something in its palm. Wiggling again, John brings his arms back up towards his face, inspecting his hands. His fingers are coated in a clear substance, slippery and sweet-smelling. As he opens his hand, he feels his heart stop. Laying in his palm is the pale blue ribbon, slightly charred and bloody, and somehow still tied in a perfect double-bow.

The alpha’s nostrils flare as a new scent of wild bergamot, white ginger, and Caribbean agave permeates the air. He strips off his vest, throwing it in the corner and takes one hand to hastily unbutton his shirt. With the other hand he reaches under Silver’s raised ass, between his thighs and slides his finger along the sensitive new folds dripping wet with slick. His eyelids quaver, the slippery sensation fueling his baser urges. Ned grunts, bringing the slicked finger up to his nose, he inhales deep and slow. His mouth opens, releasing an exhaled ah. 

“Fuck, she smells like a fucking citrus grove.” The alpha growls and pops the finger in his mouth, sucking the sweetened juices off. He makes fast work of stripping off his boots, pants and socks then climbs onto the mattress next to John. The alphas around him are tense in their silence. They can smell the new omega like blood in the water. Golden eyes watch John’s every whimper, every twitch with quiet hungry focus. 

Ned settles on his knees behind John who is now fully presenting. His forehead grinds into the mattress, black curls tossing side to side in frustration. His round ass lifts higher, swaying and dipping down, reaching back in anticipation. Ned places his hands down at John’s knees and slides them slowly up the outsides of his thighs. His hands each grab a cheek and he spreads them wide, seeing the juicy new folds quiver and pulsate, still flaming red. 

John whimpers, the bit of ribbon in his palm completely forgotten as he feels Ned’s cold hands on his fevered skin. He rocks backwards, trying to be touched more, a deep aching need suddenly consuming his every thought. He needed to be filled, claimed, fucked. A desperate whine bursts out of John as he starts pleading as though his life depends on it. “Please… Don’t stop, I need… Please, Alpha…”

“Thaaat’s what I’ve been waiting for.” Ned groans and buries his face into John’s ass and pussy. His tongue laps around every curve and crevice, digging his nose into that sweet spot so he can smell it on himself all night. He licks around the swelling of the cocklette making John sing and beg more.

Stroking his own painful erection in his hand, Ned comes up for air. Controlling himself on these nights takes everything in him and he’s raging to fuck an omega senseless. He lines up the head of his cock and shoves in without ceremony, groaning with relief. 

“Fuck, her cunt is tight!” Ned winces. “You’re gonna rip my dick off bitch, fuck!” He pumps his hips a few times then takes a centering inhale. Reaching forward, he gathers John’s curls in his hand and pulls hard in a makeshift rein. Starting slow, he rolls his hips, pulling John back onto him. Once he feels the muscles gripping his cock relaxing, he hardens the pace.

John can barely speak. The waves of pleasure coursing through him from every thrust of the captain’s hips makes his legs feel weak. As Ned wrenches his head back, John lets out a high-pitched wail, the change in angle making the cock inside him hit even deeper than before. “Fuuuuck, so deeep… Alpha, please! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

The alpha grunts behind him. “You like alpha cock, you dirty bitch? I made you, little omega.” His muscled thighs slap against John’s soft ass as he buries his cock deeper into the tilted pelvis under him.

“Yes, like it… Love it,” John babbles, the fire under his skin flaring and cooling every time Ned’s cock plunges in and out of him. “So good, alpha… Want… Need your cock, please!”

A primal growl begins rumbling in Ned’s chest, his hips moving faster as the lurid sounds of his cock pumping into John’s dripping cunt fills the room. The other four alphas are all staring, eyes of molten gold transfixed on the carnal display on the bed. The scent of the new omega’s slick fills their noses, making their mouths water and their dicks twitch. “You’re dripping, you want it so much, you little slut,” Ned rumbles, hands tightening on John’s hips as the alpha thrusts deep.

John can feel an inferno building inside him, something wild and feral, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He whines, arching his back to try to find the perfect angle to hit that spot inside him that makes his vision blur. “Alpha, more, please… Right there–”

Ned jerks back, pulling out and laughing at the desperate sound that John makes as he collapses onto the bed. Grabbing one of the omega’s hips, Ned rolls him onto his back, taking in John’s flushed face and heaving chest. “No coming unless it’s on my knot, bitch,” Ned snarls, the command sharp, cutting through John’s pleasure as his orgasm suddenly recedes like the tide.

Red and gold eyes meet silver-blue as John lets out a piteous whine, baring his throat in hopes of pleasing the angry alpha. “M’sorry, I won’t… I’ll be good, I promise…” He wiggles his hips, desperate for Ned’s cock again. “Alpha… Fill me, please…”

A wicked grin curls Ned’s lips and he chuckles. “Need it that bad?” At John’s fervent nodding, he laughs louder. “I’ll keep that little pussy full,” he jerks his head, summoning his crew. “But I think the boys ought to paint that pretty face of yours.”

John doesn’t even notice the other four men surrounding him, hands moving frantically as they stroke themselves. His entire focus is on the alpha running the head of his cock along the outer folds of his throbbing cunt. “Please, alpha,” John sobs, desperation making his voice crack. “I need your knot…”

Ned leans forward, slowly sliding back inside John with a guttural groan. The alpha smells of charcoal, iron and cloves, making John dizzy. Something else lingers within the scent; deep, primitive and overpowering. Prime, echoes over and over in John’s mind, and he feels himself slip further into submission, the urge to please and obey becoming his only need.

“Just a needy bitch, aren’t you?” The alpha says with a smirk as he starts to pound into John with renewed fervor. The omega’s answering moan makes the other four men chuckle, their hands picking up speed. “You’ll love it on the Fancy. So many cocks for you to suck all day like the little cumslut you are…”

He isn’t sure which of them came first, but as cum begins to splash against his cheeks and chest, John can feel the cock within him begin to throb as the captain fucks him. The heady scent of the four alphas surrounding him, their spend on his skin makes him start to tremble. Looking up at Ned, John licks his lips, savoring the salty taste, as he begs. “I’ll be so good for you, alpha… Wanna come on your knot; feel you fill me. Need to come, please…”

As John watches, something changes in the captain’s demeanor. His eyes seem to glow, bright and wild, making the hair on the back of John’s neck stand on end. Ned’s scent becomes caustic in John’s nose as he slips into full rut. The alpha growls, low and dangerous, the other four moving away just enough to give them space. Ned leans over, pinning John’s tied wrists above his head again with a snarl. “Beg,” The command surges through John’s body like a bolt of lightning. “All of us…”

“Alpha, please. Close… need. I’ll be good, please… I promise, please, alphas… Be so good for you, let me please…”

The alpha’s hips are moving at a feverish pace as the captain nearly bends the omega in half, shoving John’s knees up beside his head. Ned’s breath is hot against John’s face as he pants, driving his cock deep inside the omega. “I made this pussy. It's mine. Say it.” He growls through clenched teeth.

“Yours,” John wails, desperation mounting with each passing moment. “Only yours, alpha, please. Need your knot… Fuck me, fill me, let me come, please…” He can feel Ned’s knot begin to swell, the sensation of being overstretched making John keen. “Oh fuck, alpha… So close… I’ll be so good for you… Need your cum in me, make me yours…”

Ned collapses on top of John, hips now only grinding, bodies melded by the fully engorged knot. He pulls the omega’s head to the side and licks his scent gland. “Come on my knot, you little whore.” He hisses into John’s ear. With another grind of his hips his knot spurts hot semen deep in the quivering cunt clenching around him. Guttural growls punch out of the alpha, his tongue bruising John’s neck, swearing filth into wet skin. 

For the third time that night, John loses all sense of reality. The order from a prime alpha shakes him to his core, his eyes rolling back as he comes with a scream. Slick gushes out of John, running down his legs and soaking the mattress beneath them. His neglected cocklette squirts uselessly onto his stomach, his entire body trembling with the intensity of the commanded orgasm. He can feel the alpha’s throbbing cock pouring more cum inside him, the sensation alone tipping John over the edge again as he clamps down hard on the knot buried in his cunt.

“Let me hear it.” Ned demands. “Scream for me, omega.” Silver opens his mouth and wails, hips writhing around the alpha’s obscene knot for more sensation as he babbles.

John can barely breathe as waves of pleasure crash over him one after another. He manages to obey as he gasps for air. “So full… Alpha… So good… Please… Need your knot… and your cum… always… Alpha, alpha, alpha…” John’s head drops back against the mattress as he begins to shake, another orgasm threatening to drown him in the maelstrom of sensations.

“Fuck!” Ned snarls and crushes Silver into the mattress as another gush of cum is milked out of his knot. Silver’s walls clench hard around him. The alpha catches his breath, huffing into John’s curls, intoxicated by the aroma of, he called it, citrus and sugar. Ned laughs low against John’s ear, giving one last slow roll of his hips.

As the fog of presentation heat begins to melt away, letting John’s mind clear, the tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. After tonight, nothing will ever be the same. He’s to be a ship’s whore for these men. Men who bitched him, forcing him to become an omega to serve them. Their captain, their prime, has his knot still buried deep inside John, and no amount of begging and pleading will ever be able to reverse the change. John closes his eyes, trying to keep quiet as he tries to not think about what’s happened to him.

The pressure of the knot finally easing off, Ned lifts his head from John’s neck. All eyes in the room are on their prime.  “Christ, I need a drink.” He lifts a hand off John’s shoulder and gives it a lazy twirl in the air. “Get us a round boys.”

They burst into jeers and laughter, moving to obey their captain. He gives a testing tug of his knot but John winces and whimpers with the pull. Shoving the omega’s face to the side he scoffs. “I don’t want to hear you anymore, understand? Unless you’re begging for my cock, you’re gonna be quiet as a corpse.”

John stifles a sob, not wanting to look at the other men in the room. Instead, he brings his bound wrists to his face, trying to use the stocking to wipe the cum from his skin. Tears continue to silently roll down his cheeks as he waits, trying not to count the seconds it might take for Ned’s knot to go down enough for them to separate.

Shifting his pelvis back with more force and a grimace, the knot pops free and a gush of slick and cum spills down John’s ass and onto the ruined mattress. Ned stands, drags his sore body to the washbasin and dips the washcloth into the water. He takes a few swipes at his wet deflating cock, the sticky sweet smell of John still clinging to him. Once satisfied he walks over to the table and casually drops the cloth onto John’s stomach. 

“Clean yourself,” Ned laughs. “No one wants to fuck an infection.” 

John takes the cloth with trembling hands, tentatively bringing it down between his legs, face a deep red from shame. Slick and cum continue to ooze out of the newly formed cunt where his balls should be, and his cock has shrunk to form an omega’s cocklette, now small and useless. He cleans up the foreign parts as best as he’s able, still not wanting to look at the alpha or down at himself, trying to pretend this has all been a terrible nightmare.

Ned haphazardly sloshes a little wine into a cup and fishes another glass vial out of the basket. He holds the vial up to a candle and turns it, inspecting its contents. The cork squeaks, releasing with a pop, he pours a splash of its contents into the cup then reseals the bottle. He swishes the liquid around and cracks his neck before turning to John.

“Drink this. All of it.” He extends it to the omega who unintentionally recoils at the motion, looking up with distrusting eyes. “Don’t want you swelling with my pups.”

John winces, something in his brain berating him for not pleasing an alpha enough to be bonded and pupped. He shakes his head, slowly pushing himself up to sit and taking the cup from Ned with trembling hands. The sweet wine makes the bitter Pride of Barbados deceptively easy to swallow. The captain watches as he drinks, ensuring he drains the cup, then grabbing John’s chin in one hand, forcing open his mouth to make sure he’s swallowed.

John can’t help the pathetic whine that spills from his lips at the alpha’s touch, the obsessive need to please the man still lingering in the back of his mind. Sticking out his tongue, John opens his mouth wide, proving that he’s obeyed the order. John’s grateful that he’s able to keep the captain at least semi-pleased with him.

As Ned snatches the cup back, the omega averts his eyes, trying to avoid confrontation. He picks up the rag, attempting to clean more of his face, struggling with his wrists still bound. John aches all over, can feel slick and cum still leaking out of him, and wishes he could properly clean himself.

The hours move on and the breeze coming through the window is cooler, signaling the lateness of the evening. The men settle into a rhythm of cards and drinking, using John’s mouth or cunt when one of them feels the urge. It’s quick though, with none of the cruelty or indulgence. More of a release to boredom and necessity as the men grumble and yawn from the day's exertion. 

Francis, Danny and Quentin are around the fire, heavy-lidded eyes watching the flames pulse out of the coals with dying shudders. Winston is propped against the wall, arms crossed while he snores into his chest. Ned breathes into the back of John’s neck, teeth lightly grazing his skin. The alpha gives one last shiver, his dick sliding out of Silver’s over sensitive hole. They lie motionless on their sides in a faux embrace. John’s hips ache, his groin burns, his knees are raw and his muscles feel numb, but every fiber in him pulls to the man behind him, making his stomach twist in nauseating waves. Ned rolls to his back with a groan. Silver hates the whimper that slips from him at the loss.

Ned gives a tired huff. “What do you say we finish the last bottle and call it a day, yeah?” 

“Aye, Captain.” Francis sighs, his hands slap against his thighs, shifting to stand. 

“No,” Ned stops him. “Let the whore do it. Give her some practice for when she’s aboard the Fancy.” 

John yelps as Ned pinches the skin he can lazily reach while lying on his back. The omega shifts towards the edge of the bed, holding in a pathetic whine at how his legs want to give out like a young colt the moment his feet hit the floor. How many hours has he been prone? He shuffles to the table, standing in front of it, unsure of how to fix the men’s drinks with his hands tied.

A whistle comes from near the fireplace, making John turn his head. Danny smirks up at him from the floor, twirling a knife in one hand. “C’mere. Lemme get that for you…” John obediently walks over, holding his wrists out in front of him. The alpha’s knife slices through the silk stocking with ease, the omega stammering out a quiet thank you. He starts to step away, when Danny’s hand wraps around John’s forearm, holding him tight.

“I’ll let you thank me properly later… And I’ll show you more fun things this can do.” Danny tosses the knife into the air and catches it, the evil grin on his handsome face growing wider. John swallows, eyes going wide, unsure of what to say. Danny lets him go with a dark laugh, the others joining in as John scurries over to the table, trying to not let his shaking hands show.

Uncorking the final bottle of wine, John pauses, a wild idea forming in his head. Picking up the abortive, he looks back over his shoulder at the group. “Should I…?” He raises the vial, shaking it so that Ned can see what he’s holding.

“Finish that,” the captain answers with a nasty chuckle. “Wouldn’t want you pupped with some ugly curs that look like Winston.” The other alphas roar with laughter, waking the man in question, who laughs along with them, not realizing the joke was at his expense.

Seizing the opportunity, John quickly dumps the vial into the bottle of wine before tilting his head back, letting the final few drops fall onto his tongue in full view of the crew. His face screws up as the bitter taste floods his mouth, making the alphas snicker. Placing the empty vial on the table, John picks up the wine, pretending to stumble a little to cover up swirling the bottle to mix its contents. John dutifully fills each man’s cup, acting the obedient omega as they pet and fondle him as he makes his way around the room.

Stopping at the bed, the omega pours the remainder of the wine into Ned’s cup, letting a little spill onto his own hand. Keeping his eyes on the alpha, John gives an exaggerated lick of his palm, making sure to clean every drop of the red liquid from his golden skin.

Ned grins, taking a long drink from his cup as he watches John’s fingers disappear into his mouth, one by one. “Shoulda found and bitched you a long time ago,” the alpha muses, taking another sip. “Coulda had you keeping my cock warm for years…”

“When has an omega lived longer than a few months on your ship?” Francis snorts. The rest of the crew laughs, toasting each other and draining their cups.

John places the bottle on the floor and climbs back onto the bed next to the captain, laying beside him with a small sigh. Perversely, the scent of the prime is comforting to that part of his brain that is enraged that he hasn’t been bitten by the alpha. Closing his eyes, John wills his mind to be silent as he waits for the men to fall asleep.

It doesn’t take long. The fire dies to pulsating coals and the few candles around the room have burnt down to nothing. The one lantern sputtered its last oily flame an hour ago and now the trill from the bugs outside mixed with the ocean waves is the only sound, save for light snores.

The men are sleeping where they fell, in chairs, the floor, and against the wall. Only John and Ned are on the mattress. The Alpha lies on his back, one arm tucked under his head and the other rests over Silver’s torso, hand splayed possessively upon his belly. 

The omega keeps himself still, listening to all the sounds around him as he breathes, and waits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John stirs, blinking as he lets his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, the embers of the fire so low they barely give off any light. Glancing around him, he sees the forms of the alphas scattered about the room: Danny and Quentin by the fire, Francis and Winston in their chairs, and Ned beside him on the mattress. John shifts towards the edge of the bed, checking for movement from the prime as he goes. The men sleep like the dead, which if John is lucky, they all are.

As soon as he’s certain that none of the other men will wake, John scrambles for his clothes, tugging the pants on and throwing the shirt over his head. Grabbing his leather slippers from the floor, John tucks them under one arm as he reaches the door. His hand on the latch, the omega takes one last look over his shoulder, silently praying that these men will never wake again.

Slipping out of the room, John tiptoes his way down the stairs and through the mostly empty bar, only a few passed out patrons still remaining. Slipping on his shoes, he worms his way through the half-broken French doors, bursting out into the street with a gasp, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

The stars are eerily bright in the sky, the sound of the night creatures louder than normal, and the smell of the flowers planted at the front of Parrish House is stronger than before. A cool breeze coming off the ocean stirs John’s hair, making it flutter about his face. The world seems warm and welcoming, as if it doesn’t understand the terrible thing that has happened tonight.

Swallowing down the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him, John turns into the wind, looking towards the sea, and the only way he might escape this place alive. He takes a breath, steadying himself, and begins to run.

Run. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Keep running…

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, you alright?”

John groans, the bright light overhead makes his eyes hurt, and he brings an arm over his face, turning away from the voice above him.

“Mate, you look terrible. Do you need help?”

A hand reaches down towards him, making John flinch. The hand retreats before it’s joined by another, both with their palms facing him, fingers splayed out in appeasement.

“Easy,” the voice continues. “M’not gonna hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re okay…”

John blinks, eyes finally coming into focus as he sees the extremely tall beta man standing over him, casting a shadow on his face to block out the mid-morning sun. Slowly sitting up, the omega looks around him, realizing he must have collapsed into a bed of purple flowers at some point during his escape last night. He sniffs, a warm vanilla-like scent reaching his nose as he shifts, trying not to damage the plants more than he already has. “What are…”

“Blazing… sun maybe?” The large man answers, head tilting in thought. “Captain knows plants better than I do.” He shrugs, offering his hand again. “I’m Billy.”

“John.” He answers quickly, unsure if he should accept help from the sailor. “Your captain?”

“Captain James Flint of the Walrus, maybe you’ve heard of him?” Shaking his head, John finally takes the proffered hand, letting Billy pull him to his feet. “Want to meet him? We’re looking for more crew, and you look like you could use a change of scenery.”

A small laugh escapes John as he dusts himself off then turns to the other man. “I’m not a sailor. I don’t know the first thing about being on a ship...”

“Plenty to do on a ship besides knowing how to sail,” Billy says gently, laying a comforting hand on John’s shoulder. “I’ll put in a good word for you with the bosun, he’ll hire you I promise.”

John looks up at Billy, eyes wide and full of disbelief. “Really? You’d do that? You won’t have to pay him off to convince him, will you?”

The big man laughs. “It’d be silly to buy myself off with my own wages, wouldn’t it?”

A flush runs up John’s neck into his cheeks, realizing the joke. “But…” he stutters, the impact of his new identity confusing the status that he took for granted. “But I’m an omega.” The words trail off, hesitant in their implied meaning. 

Billy frowns. “What does that have to do with anything? Our first mate is an omega. He could scare the Pope into converting to Judaism.” 

A soft laugh escapes John. “I’d like that,” he says, voice timid. “To meet your captain, that is… and join your crew…”

Billy grins. “Perfect, two birds with one stone then. Got my errands done and found a new recruit.” Hoisting a large burlap sack over his shoulder, Billy looks towards the docks in the distance. He begins to walk down the road, calling back to John.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to our primes as well. They’ll like adding a new member to our pack…”

John looks down at himself. The clothes on his back and a pair of worn leather slippers; that’s all he has to offer, and Billy thinks he deserves a chance. Reaching down, John picks a stem of purple blooms from the flowerbed, bringing it to his nose. The delicate scent fills him with hope, and he has to blink back tears. Taking a breath, he looks up to see Billy smiling at him, gesturing for him to hurry up. Holding the blossoms close to his chest, John races to catch up, a different mantra repeating in his head.

Breathe. You’ll be safe. Keep going…