Fic: Place Your Bets, Peter/Jared, R
Sep. 21st, 2014 04:19 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
rethrin.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
franklin_bashAuthor: rethrin
Pairing: Peter/Jared
Rating: R
Word Count: ~2000
Warnings: Violence against Jared.
Summary: Peter and Jared get taken hostage in a bank robbery.
Notes: This is for the bets/wagers square of my trope bingo card. It's the fifth fic, but they don't join up because I kept changing my mind about what I wanted to write.
Jared's mouth was filled with blood, his insides were agony and pain flared with every movement. But he didn't vomit this time.
He pulled himself to his feet, shaking.
"Ninety three," Peter said.
Jared wished he could stop crying, wished he could breathe, and stand without leaning pathetically against the table. He didn't watch but he heard box ninety three get pulled out and opened up. He heard it crash to the floor and the familiar noise made him flinch, fear welling up.
Peter was there at once, raising his fist and smashing it into Jared's ribs.
Jared collapsed to the floor again, hitting his head on the table as he did. His hands were tied in front of him and he thought his wrist was broken. He curled into a ball, no longer ashamed of the noise he made, barely aware of it. His head was bleeding.
He waited for Peter to kick him.
"Spit on him."
Peter spit on him and everyone laughed. But he didn't kick him.
Jared's shirt was in tatters and the floor was cold against his skin. Jared lay still until he was ordered up again.
He swallowed blood and looked at his shoes.
"His fucking face again if you don't get lucky this time," one guy said.
"Pay your money and place your bets," called another.
"Two hundred and seven," Peter said.
Jared waited. Couldn't look at Peter. Didn't dare look at anything else.
It took forever before they got into this one; they had one key but the other lock had to be picked. Jared hated waiting, just wanted Peter to hit him again, get it over with.
"We have a winner."
Jared risked a glance over to the safety deposit box. The resident lock-picker was lifting jewellery boxes out from it, opening each one and showing off the contents.
Someone shoved Jared to the floor as he went past to take a look for himself. Jared was grateful; lying down was easier than standing. He closed his eyes.
"You want to fuck him?" Nobody answered. "Hey, fuckhead." He was talking to Peter. "I asked you a question."
"Quit it," the bigger guy said. "He doesn't get any more damn prizes."
"Okay boss."
Jared took a deep breath of relief, choked and coughed up blood. He spit it on the floor.
"Fucking disgusting, clean it up."
He licked it clean, making himself gag. They laughed.
"I've got something better than that for you to choke on."
"Yeah, we'll all show you a real nice time, soon as this is over."
"Me, I'm gonna wait till he's passed out. That way they don't fucking bite."
They were laughing, and Jared hurt too much to process anything they were saying, except as sheer terror right through him, cold and pure.
"Later," the boss guy said, distracted. "Get him up."
Someone dragged him to his feet again, but rather than letting him go they threw him against the wall. He swirled, trying to stay upright.
"He's shit himself."
"Probably just a fucking turn on to his fag-ass boyfriend here, right?"
From the corner of his eye Jared saw Peter nod the way he was supposed to, but they ignored him. They were busy packing the jewellery boxes up. Still thinking they were going to get away from this, and Jared knew their plan had nothing to do with leaving witnesses alive.
"Come on, get two in a row and we'll let you have five boxes for free."
Jared knew it was impossible but he hoped for it anyway. They'd find what they wanted. They'd go. This would all stop.
Peter picked box two hundred and eight, the very next one to the previous winner.
"Passports and wills," the guy declared, soon as he got it open. He shoved it to the floor in disgust. "Remember, his face this time."
Jared couldn't open his eyes, couldn't stop shaking. He waited for it to come. But it didn't. He looked up and Peter was hesitating. Jared shook his head, that was the worst thing he could do, worse than any punch, please, please, please, he begged him silently and Peter pulled his fist back and hit him in the side of the head. His vision blurred as he fell.
But it was good, a good punch. It was better if Peter did it properly the first time, otherwise he had to be kicked, or hit again, or both. Peter had been soft to begin with, but he was better at it now.
He didn't know how much later he was dragged to his feet again. The room was still spinning. They bent him over the table, his feet barely reaching the floor, and despite himself he struggled against it.
"Lie still or we'll put your friend in your place."
Jared lay still, terrified. His hands were caught under him, pressing uncomfortably into his belly.
The guy behind him took off his belt. Jared forced himself to stay still.
"No." Peter stepped towards him. "Don't-" He stopped himself but too late.
Jared tensed.
The pain was inexpressible, the belt snapped down over his back, cutting the skin, once, twice, three times. The pain was a wave, building with each stroke, swelling through him, washing him away.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter was saying.
"Good. Then stand back, and pick another fucking box."
The next four were bad, nothing in them. The belt fell, one strike for each box. Over his back, or his ass, or his thighs. A second stroke if he wasn't quiet enough with the first. Jared couldn't breathe.
The next box was filled with drugs, which were a suitable alternative to jewellery apparently. He was given a drink of water, could wash some of the blood out of his mouth.
Then he was pushed back down, and Peter picked another number.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
He didn't know how long it lasted. He didn't know how it stopped. Just that it did. There were police, ambulances, a hospital.
He told the police everything he could remember. They'd been hired by a family who were arguing over the legal rights to the contents of a forgotten safety deposit box. They'd been at the bank to meet them all, hoping to settle it. They were waiting down near the vault when the guys had shown up. Balaclavas, guns, the whole deal. They'd shot the bank staff, and taken Peter and Jared as hostages. They'd laughed and said they were all going to play a little game.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Peter had a black eye and his arm was in a sling. His hands were bandaged. He barely looked at Jared, he kept saying he was sorry. Jared was on too many of the good drugs, his tongue was thick in his mouth, he couldn't order his thoughts. Peter left again.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Jared went home the day after that, nothing broken so he refused to stay. He was prescribed bed rest and painkillers.
He crawled into Peter's bed. Peter wasn't asleep, but he just stared at him, didn't reach for him, didn't say anything. Frozen in place.
"Don't," Jared said, knowing what Peter was thinking, knowing he wanted to make this worse because of guilt and shame that he had no business feeling. "It was them, not you, okay? Don't look at me like that."
Peter reached out then, touched his arm softly.
"Jared, I-" Peter's eyes were wet, he was shaking.
Jared didn't want to talk, he just wanted to have Peter close so he could sleep without worrying.
"It was them, it wasn't you. All of it."
"But I shouldn't ha-"
"Don't." Jared shook his head tiredly.
Peter narrowed his eyes, not really believing it, but trying. He let Jared moved closer, and stroked down over Jared's ribs. So gentle where two days ago they'd been hard. Jared shivered under his touch. He stroked Peter's hand, felt connected to him again.
Peter's hand was still bandaged, badly bruised. He'd broken two fingers when he hit him properly for the first time. Jared liked that their injuries were connected, their bruises linked.
"I didn't think you'd ever talk to me again," Peter said.
Jared shrugged. Peter was an idiot, that wasn't news to him. He pulled Peter's arms around him, and although it made the bruises and welts on his back ache again, it was good. He breathed easier, relaxed in a way he hadn't been sure he'd ever feel again. He fell asleep.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
In the morning Peter kissed Jared's cheek. He kissed the cut above Jared's eye, he kissed the bruise on his jaw. Jared knew they were apologies. He took them without needing them, felt them all the way through him.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"I can ask Carmen." Jared didn't want to ask Carmen. He didn't want anyone else to see.
Peter shook his head and took the cream. Jared lay on his front. Peter lifted the dressing carefully, peeling it away gently. He looked underneath with a sharp intake of breath. Jared knew it felt bad, apparently it looked even worse.
The cream was cold and it stung. He tried not to flinch, and to keep quiet like he had before.
Peter applied the cream a little at a time, keeping his touch soft, stroking along the welts the belt had left, over bruises and cuts. Jared wondered if Peter could remember which was which, if he could put box numbers to them. This one for the unfinished novel, that one the family photographs.
Jared was hard by the third stripe.
He didn't think much of it, the painkillers probably, mixing up his signals. He just let Peter carry on, much softer with him than the nurses had been.
When Peter reached his waistband he plucked at it, asking if Jared wanted, needed him to...
Jared nodded and lifted his hips. Peter pulled his pj pants down and if he noticed anything untoward about Jared's reactions he didn't say. He just took more cream, pressed it gently over the next bruise. Touching him so intimately, without a word, much less a joke.
A few days ago Jared would rather have died than have Peter even see him like this. That was laughable now. He'd never have let him touch him, smooth cream over his ass cheeks, down the backs of his thighs. But embarrassment was beyond Jared now; Peter had heard the noises he made when he was beaten, had watched him beg, had seen him piss himself and worse. He didn't have to hide from him any more.
He breathed into the pillow, pressed hard against the mattress, let his mind drift.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Peter put cream on him once a day and changed his dressings. Jared was hard every time.
On the fourth day Peter slipped a hand under Jared and jerked him off. Then he finished with the cream and applied a new dressing, all without a word.
Jared pulled his pants back up and looked at him. Peter was smiling gently.
"You okay?" Peter asked and Jared nodded that yes, he was very okay. Peter lay down next to him and kissed him.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
When he woke up Peter was looking at him strangely and Jared knew he'd found some way to make this complicated.
"What?"
"I shouldn't have done that last night. You're probably in shock. That's why you let me do it. Why you're not mad at me."
"Did you like hitting me?"
Peter's face fell, hurt even though it was what he'd been expecting. "You know I didn't, they..."
Jared nodded. "Did you like seeing me like that? Did it turn you on like they said?"
Peter shook his head, revolted.
"So what am I meant to be mad about?"
"Because I didn't fight hard enough."
"There were four of them."
"But I let them... When he had that belt, I should have done something. I was just so scared."
"They had guns."
Tears were falling down his cheeks. Jared let him cry, he stroked his arm, pulled him close, let him whisper more apologies that Jared didn't need.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Did you kiss me because you felt guilty?" Jared whispered later, when Peter was still again.
Peter shook his head. "You know why I kissed you."
"Say it."
"No."
"Say it."
"Because I wanted to."
"That's not what you were going to say."
"What was I going to say?"
Jared kissed him again before he answered, long and slow.
"You kissed me because you love me."
His heart ached as he said it, nerves filled his belly. He knew it was true, could feel it in the way Peter touched him and kissed him. Had seen it in the vault, in everything Peter said and did from the first moment. And from before that. He knew it from twenty seven years together. He needed Peter to understand that they didn't need to deny it now, needed him not to laugh or joke or try to cover it up any more.
Peter smiled shyly at the words but he nodded. "So much," he murmured.
Jared's insides twisted themselves in knots, he smiled stupidly and pulled Peter much closer than his bruises were comfortable with, took another kiss, and another. "Love you too."
Peter looked at him and Jared knew he didn't quite believe it. Jared shrugged. Peter was stupid and that wasn't news to him. He didn't need Peter to believe it. Jared was prepared to spend the rest of his life convincing him.
.
Pairing: Peter/Jared
Rating: R
Word Count: ~2000
Warnings: Violence against Jared.
Summary: Peter and Jared get taken hostage in a bank robbery.
Notes: This is for the bets/wagers square of my trope bingo card. It's the fifth fic, but they don't join up because I kept changing my mind about what I wanted to write.
Jared's mouth was filled with blood, his insides were agony and pain flared with every movement. But he didn't vomit this time.
He pulled himself to his feet, shaking.
"Ninety three," Peter said.
Jared wished he could stop crying, wished he could breathe, and stand without leaning pathetically against the table. He didn't watch but he heard box ninety three get pulled out and opened up. He heard it crash to the floor and the familiar noise made him flinch, fear welling up.
Peter was there at once, raising his fist and smashing it into Jared's ribs.
Jared collapsed to the floor again, hitting his head on the table as he did. His hands were tied in front of him and he thought his wrist was broken. He curled into a ball, no longer ashamed of the noise he made, barely aware of it. His head was bleeding.
He waited for Peter to kick him.
"Spit on him."
Peter spit on him and everyone laughed. But he didn't kick him.
Jared's shirt was in tatters and the floor was cold against his skin. Jared lay still until he was ordered up again.
He swallowed blood and looked at his shoes.
"His fucking face again if you don't get lucky this time," one guy said.
"Pay your money and place your bets," called another.
"Two hundred and seven," Peter said.
Jared waited. Couldn't look at Peter. Didn't dare look at anything else.
It took forever before they got into this one; they had one key but the other lock had to be picked. Jared hated waiting, just wanted Peter to hit him again, get it over with.
"We have a winner."
Jared risked a glance over to the safety deposit box. The resident lock-picker was lifting jewellery boxes out from it, opening each one and showing off the contents.
Someone shoved Jared to the floor as he went past to take a look for himself. Jared was grateful; lying down was easier than standing. He closed his eyes.
"You want to fuck him?" Nobody answered. "Hey, fuckhead." He was talking to Peter. "I asked you a question."
"Quit it," the bigger guy said. "He doesn't get any more damn prizes."
"Okay boss."
Jared took a deep breath of relief, choked and coughed up blood. He spit it on the floor.
"Fucking disgusting, clean it up."
He licked it clean, making himself gag. They laughed.
"I've got something better than that for you to choke on."
"Yeah, we'll all show you a real nice time, soon as this is over."
"Me, I'm gonna wait till he's passed out. That way they don't fucking bite."
They were laughing, and Jared hurt too much to process anything they were saying, except as sheer terror right through him, cold and pure.
"Later," the boss guy said, distracted. "Get him up."
Someone dragged him to his feet again, but rather than letting him go they threw him against the wall. He swirled, trying to stay upright.
"He's shit himself."
"Probably just a fucking turn on to his fag-ass boyfriend here, right?"
From the corner of his eye Jared saw Peter nod the way he was supposed to, but they ignored him. They were busy packing the jewellery boxes up. Still thinking they were going to get away from this, and Jared knew their plan had nothing to do with leaving witnesses alive.
"Come on, get two in a row and we'll let you have five boxes for free."
Jared knew it was impossible but he hoped for it anyway. They'd find what they wanted. They'd go. This would all stop.
Peter picked box two hundred and eight, the very next one to the previous winner.
"Passports and wills," the guy declared, soon as he got it open. He shoved it to the floor in disgust. "Remember, his face this time."
Jared couldn't open his eyes, couldn't stop shaking. He waited for it to come. But it didn't. He looked up and Peter was hesitating. Jared shook his head, that was the worst thing he could do, worse than any punch, please, please, please, he begged him silently and Peter pulled his fist back and hit him in the side of the head. His vision blurred as he fell.
But it was good, a good punch. It was better if Peter did it properly the first time, otherwise he had to be kicked, or hit again, or both. Peter had been soft to begin with, but he was better at it now.
He didn't know how much later he was dragged to his feet again. The room was still spinning. They bent him over the table, his feet barely reaching the floor, and despite himself he struggled against it.
"Lie still or we'll put your friend in your place."
Jared lay still, terrified. His hands were caught under him, pressing uncomfortably into his belly.
The guy behind him took off his belt. Jared forced himself to stay still.
"No." Peter stepped towards him. "Don't-" He stopped himself but too late.
Jared tensed.
The pain was inexpressible, the belt snapped down over his back, cutting the skin, once, twice, three times. The pain was a wave, building with each stroke, swelling through him, washing him away.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter was saying.
"Good. Then stand back, and pick another fucking box."
The next four were bad, nothing in them. The belt fell, one strike for each box. Over his back, or his ass, or his thighs. A second stroke if he wasn't quiet enough with the first. Jared couldn't breathe.
The next box was filled with drugs, which were a suitable alternative to jewellery apparently. He was given a drink of water, could wash some of the blood out of his mouth.
Then he was pushed back down, and Peter picked another number.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
He didn't know how long it lasted. He didn't know how it stopped. Just that it did. There were police, ambulances, a hospital.
He told the police everything he could remember. They'd been hired by a family who were arguing over the legal rights to the contents of a forgotten safety deposit box. They'd been at the bank to meet them all, hoping to settle it. They were waiting down near the vault when the guys had shown up. Balaclavas, guns, the whole deal. They'd shot the bank staff, and taken Peter and Jared as hostages. They'd laughed and said they were all going to play a little game.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Peter had a black eye and his arm was in a sling. His hands were bandaged. He barely looked at Jared, he kept saying he was sorry. Jared was on too many of the good drugs, his tongue was thick in his mouth, he couldn't order his thoughts. Peter left again.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Jared went home the day after that, nothing broken so he refused to stay. He was prescribed bed rest and painkillers.
He crawled into Peter's bed. Peter wasn't asleep, but he just stared at him, didn't reach for him, didn't say anything. Frozen in place.
"Don't," Jared said, knowing what Peter was thinking, knowing he wanted to make this worse because of guilt and shame that he had no business feeling. "It was them, not you, okay? Don't look at me like that."
Peter reached out then, touched his arm softly.
"Jared, I-" Peter's eyes were wet, he was shaking.
Jared didn't want to talk, he just wanted to have Peter close so he could sleep without worrying.
"It was them, it wasn't you. All of it."
"But I shouldn't ha-"
"Don't." Jared shook his head tiredly.
Peter narrowed his eyes, not really believing it, but trying. He let Jared moved closer, and stroked down over Jared's ribs. So gentle where two days ago they'd been hard. Jared shivered under his touch. He stroked Peter's hand, felt connected to him again.
Peter's hand was still bandaged, badly bruised. He'd broken two fingers when he hit him properly for the first time. Jared liked that their injuries were connected, their bruises linked.
"I didn't think you'd ever talk to me again," Peter said.
Jared shrugged. Peter was an idiot, that wasn't news to him. He pulled Peter's arms around him, and although it made the bruises and welts on his back ache again, it was good. He breathed easier, relaxed in a way he hadn't been sure he'd ever feel again. He fell asleep.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
In the morning Peter kissed Jared's cheek. He kissed the cut above Jared's eye, he kissed the bruise on his jaw. Jared knew they were apologies. He took them without needing them, felt them all the way through him.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"I can ask Carmen." Jared didn't want to ask Carmen. He didn't want anyone else to see.
Peter shook his head and took the cream. Jared lay on his front. Peter lifted the dressing carefully, peeling it away gently. He looked underneath with a sharp intake of breath. Jared knew it felt bad, apparently it looked even worse.
The cream was cold and it stung. He tried not to flinch, and to keep quiet like he had before.
Peter applied the cream a little at a time, keeping his touch soft, stroking along the welts the belt had left, over bruises and cuts. Jared wondered if Peter could remember which was which, if he could put box numbers to them. This one for the unfinished novel, that one the family photographs.
Jared was hard by the third stripe.
He didn't think much of it, the painkillers probably, mixing up his signals. He just let Peter carry on, much softer with him than the nurses had been.
When Peter reached his waistband he plucked at it, asking if Jared wanted, needed him to...
Jared nodded and lifted his hips. Peter pulled his pj pants down and if he noticed anything untoward about Jared's reactions he didn't say. He just took more cream, pressed it gently over the next bruise. Touching him so intimately, without a word, much less a joke.
A few days ago Jared would rather have died than have Peter even see him like this. That was laughable now. He'd never have let him touch him, smooth cream over his ass cheeks, down the backs of his thighs. But embarrassment was beyond Jared now; Peter had heard the noises he made when he was beaten, had watched him beg, had seen him piss himself and worse. He didn't have to hide from him any more.
He breathed into the pillow, pressed hard against the mattress, let his mind drift.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Peter put cream on him once a day and changed his dressings. Jared was hard every time.
On the fourth day Peter slipped a hand under Jared and jerked him off. Then he finished with the cream and applied a new dressing, all without a word.
Jared pulled his pants back up and looked at him. Peter was smiling gently.
"You okay?" Peter asked and Jared nodded that yes, he was very okay. Peter lay down next to him and kissed him.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
When he woke up Peter was looking at him strangely and Jared knew he'd found some way to make this complicated.
"What?"
"I shouldn't have done that last night. You're probably in shock. That's why you let me do it. Why you're not mad at me."
"Did you like hitting me?"
Peter's face fell, hurt even though it was what he'd been expecting. "You know I didn't, they..."
Jared nodded. "Did you like seeing me like that? Did it turn you on like they said?"
Peter shook his head, revolted.
"So what am I meant to be mad about?"
"Because I didn't fight hard enough."
"There were four of them."
"But I let them... When he had that belt, I should have done something. I was just so scared."
"They had guns."
Tears were falling down his cheeks. Jared let him cry, he stroked his arm, pulled him close, let him whisper more apologies that Jared didn't need.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Did you kiss me because you felt guilty?" Jared whispered later, when Peter was still again.
Peter shook his head. "You know why I kissed you."
"Say it."
"No."
"Say it."
"Because I wanted to."
"That's not what you were going to say."
"What was I going to say?"
Jared kissed him again before he answered, long and slow.
"You kissed me because you love me."
His heart ached as he said it, nerves filled his belly. He knew it was true, could feel it in the way Peter touched him and kissed him. Had seen it in the vault, in everything Peter said and did from the first moment. And from before that. He knew it from twenty seven years together. He needed Peter to understand that they didn't need to deny it now, needed him not to laugh or joke or try to cover it up any more.
Peter smiled shyly at the words but he nodded. "So much," he murmured.
Jared's insides twisted themselves in knots, he smiled stupidly and pulled Peter much closer than his bruises were comfortable with, took another kiss, and another. "Love you too."
Peter looked at him and Jared knew he didn't quite believe it. Jared shrugged. Peter was stupid and that wasn't news to him. He didn't need Peter to believe it. Jared was prepared to spend the rest of his life convincing him.
.
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Date: 2015-01-04 04:37 pm (UTC)