Chapter Text
Vash awoke to the telltale rumbling of a large vehicle and his heart thudding in his ears. His mouth was dry, a makeshift gag parting his teeth, and he could feel a heavy weight keeping him pinned uncomfortably on his side. His head was pounding with the hangover he earned himself. Still, he knew better than to make any sudden moves that might alert his captors. He peered through his lashes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying on a blanket on the floor of a covered truck bed, a man sat on the wheel well next to him, his boots propped up on Vash’s hip. One of the three men who had captured him last night after a few too many drinks, a group of low-life bounty hunters who thought they stumbled upon their big payday when they’d found him throwing up his guts in the back alley of a saloon.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Drawled the man using Vash as a footrest before kicking him in the ribs. He flopped onto his back with a grunt, meeting the burly man’s gaze. He chuckled, looking the blond over. “Ain’t you a pretty thing.” The man’s eyes lingered on Vash’s slim waist before shifting lower. “You’re a lot smaller than I’d expected.” He said with a laugh. “Thought the big bad typhoon would be bigger and badder.” Vash rolled his eyes and looked away. “Come on, sweetheart, we can be friends. I know you’re just a little scared.” The man chuckled. “But I promise we’ll show you a good time before turning you in.” He shot the man a venomous glare.
The idiots had him cuffed in front, a rookie mistake. They were latched to a chain wrapped around his waist and arms, but that should be easy enough to slip once the cuffs were off. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the man’s ugly face and waited to reach their destination. As soon as the men let their guard down, he would be home free. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, the vehicle stopped, and the man was pulling him out by his ankles. He grimaced as the man effortlessly hefted him into a fireman’s carry. He craned his neck to take in his surroundings with an experienced eye as the man trudged through their semi-permanent encampment that served as their hide-out. It was built in what looked to be the ruins of an old farm, sheltered on 3 sides by large labs of sandstone. The area was secluded, with nothing on the horizon in any direction. Judging by how far they drove, it was probably a couple days by foot to the nearest town. It would make his escape more difficult but not impossible; he’d just have to steal one of the toma he saw corralled by the watering hole.
The man tossed him to the ground unceremoniously, locking the end of the chain to a nearby hitching post. Unable to lift his arms to cushion the fall, he ended up face-first in the sand. He lay there for a moment, the wind having been knocked out of him before awkwardly wiggling to his knees. The men set about attending their camp, and Vash discretely tested his restraints. Escaping them should be a piece of cake; he sat back against the post and watched the men for patterns while he waited for his opportunity. It wasn’t long before the suns set, and the men settled in around the fire at the center of the camp. They drunkenly chattered over dinner about how each planned to spend his share of the bounty. He shivered, watching from his place at the hitching post, just outside the radius of warmth provided by the fire. They took his coat and shoes when they nabbed him, leaving him in his sleeveless compression top and belted pants. The men had the signature red jacket strung up over a makeshift cross, displaying it like a damn trophy. At least he knew where it was, though — in a convenient spot for him to grab it on his way out. He bit his cheek to keep from smirking; the fools were really making this too easy.
One of the men approached; Vash recognized him as the one who had been driving the truck earlier. He had a greasy brown ponytail and a bandana around his neck. He set a bowl of leftovers on the ground in front of Vash. Barely cooked gristle and fat. His stomach churned at the sight. He hadn’t been able to force himself to eat in days and hadn’t had an appetite in weeks. Not since he and Wolfwood had argued and gone their separate ways. What were they even fighting about? Something trivial. He couldn’t even remember now.
Bandana-guy stooped to untie Vash’s gag, leering uncomfortably as he pulled it from between his lips. It was soggy despite his dry mouth. “Better eat up, darlin’ cause you ain’t gonna get anything else ’til that’s gone.” The man snickered, letting his thumb linger on Vash’s lower lip before pressing the tip against his teeth. Before thinking about it, Vash opened his mouth and clamped down hard on the man’s thumb. He yelped in pain, jerking his hand away before backhanding Vash violently across the face. “Fucking bitch!”
He felt satisfied with his small victory even as blood dribbled from his lips into the sand. It was worth it. The man kicked the bowl over, spilling its contents into the sand before undoing his fly and pissing all over it. “Enjoy your meal.” He spat, smugly kicking a cloud of sand over the top.
Vash shrugged. “Not hungry.” It was true. Considering how long he’d gone without, he’d have to eat soon, but he could hold out a while longer. He sure as Hell wasn’t eating that. The thought alone made him queasy.
“Maybe not now…but you will be.” The man sneered.
He turned on his heel and stalked off to join his friends, leaving Vash to his dinner. Vash looked down at the mess of piss, gristle, and sand, his stomach roiling. It didn’t matter; he’d be gone before the twin suns rose again. Not long after, the men retired to their tents, and Vash’s work began.
He slipped a small metal wire from his prosthetic that he kept for just such occasions. He made quick work of the cuffs despite his shivering and cold-numbed fingertips. After that, it was easy enough to wriggle one arm from the chain around his waist, then the other. It slipped right over his hips, falling in a pile at his feet. The chains made a loud clinking noise as they fell; he grit his teeth and froze listening for any sign of his captors. Nothing. He dashed over to his coat, swiftly donning it as he ran. He took a quick look around and recovered his rucksack and boots. For once, it seemed luck was on his side, and he couldn’t help but grin.
He grabbed a handful of feed and riding tack as he approached one of the sleeping toma in the corral, not bothering with the saddle. He patted the bird’s neck to rouse it, quickly offering the handful of feed to earn its trust.
“Atta girl,” he whispered. “C’mon, let’s go for a ride.”
He slowly backed up, coaxing the toma out of the pen. “There you go,” he cooed. He almost had the halter over its beak when the bird reared, letting out a loud squawk and flapping its wings. The other tomas woke up and started making a racket.
Vash desperately tried to calm the spooked bird, to no avail. His stomach dropped as he realized too late that these were wild toma. The second bird ran off in a panic through the open gate. Shit. If he had realized, he would have approached this differently. He could have taken the car or even just walked. His heart leaped to his throat, pulse spiking, as he heard shouting from the tents, and light flooded the area. “Please, please, please” he begged, his voice cracking slightly.
Vash glanced over his shoulder to see two men closing in on him quickly. He took a last-ditch leap of faith and swung himself onto the back of the raging toma. He just needed her to run; the direction didn’t matter. He held on tight and kicked his heels into her flanks. She reared up, trying to buck him off, flapping her wings. Then she finally lowered her head, ready to run. Vash would have cried tears of relief if not for the hand that grabbed his coat tail in the same instant. The toma took off as Vash was pulled from her back. It all happened in slow motion. As he fell, he had a perfect view of the toma running off into the night, silhouetted by the moon, before his head slammed into the sandstone beneath, and everything went dark.
——-
When he came to, his vision was swimming and he was seeing double, but he could make out the face of the burly man leering at him. He squinted, trying to focus, then closed his eyes, groaning as a wave of vertigo and nausea washed over him. He could feel the heat from the fire licking at his back. He was curled up on his side in the sand with his hand restrained behind him, buck naked except for the straps that dug uncomfortably into his skin. He must have been out for a while because the suns were high in the sky.
“Wakey, wakey, sunshine,” the burly man jibed, patting him on the cheek.
Vash pried his eyes open again, trying to ignore how his head spun, and his stomach churned. He found the other two men watching him with disgusting, hungry looks in their eyes. The man with the bandana, the burly one from the truck, and the third man with a red, sweaty face who he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting. All were present and accounted for. Unfortunately.
“On your feet.” The burly man barked. “Get up.”
Vash struggled up onto his knees before hunching over and letting his head hang as he fought the urge to puke. A heavy-duty leather strap encircled his neck; another strap ran from the collar down the center of his chest to a metal ring where it diverged to wrap snugly around his rib cage. It was the toma halter, he realized numbly. The cuffs made a reappearance, but this time they were behind him, lashed to the 3-buckle-wide leather belt of the thigh-harness that he usually wore over his pants, keeping his wrists firmly crossed at the small of his back. The belt buckles were cinched a couple notches too tight around his waist, restricting his breathing.
The burly man grabbed his arm and pulled him up, holding him steady while he regained his balance. “Your little stunt back there forced us to get creative.” The man ran his free hand up Vash’s thigh and between his legs, eyeing him up like a premium cut of meat. Vash squirmed. The man chuckled and cupped Vash’s intimate area roughly in his palm.
“Thought you were the 60-billion-double-dollar-man.” The man sneered, squeezing tight. “Seems more like a 60-billion-double-dollar bitch” The other two men laughed. “Got something special for us between your legs, don’t ya?” He forced Vash’s thighs apart, putting his free arm around his waist. He pressed two fingers against Vash’s slit. He struggled and fought against his restraints. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t want it. You’re gushing down here. You’re the kinda guy who likes to be treated rough, ain’t ya? Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. We’re gonna take good care of you.”
Vash squirmed in the man’s grip, his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tight. The man’s fingers teased at Vash’s entrance while his palm ground rhythmically into Vash’s thick clit. Vash let out a shuddering whimper. “Ooh, look at that; you’re already nice and wet. Ready to be fucked nice and hard.” Vash felt his face burn hot with embarrassment when he heard the obscene shlicking sound of himself growing wetter. Vash’s eyes were watering from fighting back nausea as the man fingered him. His head was still spinning.
He grit his teeth against the moan that threatened to escape as the man curled his finger and stroked against his g-spot. He felt a tickle of arousal shoot between his legs as he clenched down around the intrusion, his traitorous body reacting in spite of himself. The man chuckled. The sound of it sent shivers down his spine. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, he hated himself for being so weak. “We’re gonna have so much fun with you before we hand you over.” The man growled huskily in his ear before abruptly pulling his finger out. Vash let out a slight whine at the loss, to his dismay. That tickle was still there, he was left unsatisfied after getting worked up. His drooling pussy clenched around nothing, aching to be filled despite his wishes.
“That’s just a little preview of what’s to come.” The man said with a wink. “Got a different surprise in store for you first.”
He left Vash standing on shaky legs to grab something off a nearby table.
“You know what this is?” The man was holding something up by a rope for Vash to see. He forced his eyes to focus. It looked like a hefty metal towing hook capped with a steel ball.
“Got this from a feller a few towns back,” The man explained. “It was tossed in with a buncha tools I traded him for.” The man swung the hook around, catching it in his hand on the down-swing. He turned the hook over, weighing it in his palm. Vash eyed it warily, unsure of what he was planning. It looked heavy. It would definitely leave a mark if they beat him with it, but there were better tools for that. No, this looked like something for torture if it wasn’t for the knobby end. Vash’s eyes widened in sudden realization.
“You’re gonna be nice and stay put from now on.” The man chuckled, handed the hook to the sweaty guy, and settled his hands back on Vash’s waist. Vash heard the guy behind him hawk a loogie before he pressed the spit-covered hook between Vash’s cheeks.
“No,” Vash gasped weakly. He lurched forward, trying to pull away, incidentally pressing himself against the burly man. The movement only sent his head spinning again. The burly man changed his grip to hold him in a possessive bear hug, “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, I got you.”
The other two men snickered.
“Just relax; this will go in easier.” He whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. Vash shut his eyes, focusing on not throwing up. He felt the steel tip force its way in. His throat constricted involuntarily, and he swallowed hard. The stretch burned. The metal was unrelenting as it slowly breached the ring of muscle. It felt like it was never going to stop. He worked the hook in until it was nestled deep inside. Vash felt his muscles clamping down around it, holding it inside him. He felt it throb in his depths. It sent a current of unwanted arousal shooting through his groin, and he let out an involuntary whine.
The man threaded the other end of the rope through the metal ring hanging from his collar. Then he pulled. Vash let out a surprised yelp as his back was forced into a slight arch. The men stepped away, and Vash gasped as the other two released him. His legs buckled as he was left standing on his own two feet. The hook tugged painfully at his rear as he fell to his knees. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he leaned into the arch, trying to give the rope as much slack as possible, which unfortunately meant spreading his knees for balance with his chest pushed out and head tilted back.
“Mmm.” The sweaty man was licking his lips as he looked over Vash’s exposed form. “That’s a sight for sore eyes.” The man was stroking himself through his pants. The burly man stood back to admire their handy work, lighting a cigarette while his gaze traveled up and down Vash’s body. Vash’s face burned at his own helplessness. He felt so fucking exposed. The concussion was bad enough on its own, but this was humiliating. He just wanted to curl up and sleep for a month. He should be far from here, in an inn room drowning his liver in Wild Turkey and playing cards with Wolfwood.
He vaguely registered the wet sounds of the sweaty man stroking himself. The man’s breathing had picked up, and Vash squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what was coming next. The man’s breathing got faster and heavier until he let out a ragged moan. He felt hot spatter hit his skin in waves as the man came all over his stomach. The man panted heavily, chuckling as he zipped himself back up. Vash shuddered and shifted uncomfortably, which only made the hook tug harder. He hissed through his teeth and stilled, forcing himself to stay put.
He heard the sweaty man and the bandana man settling down by the fire, but he could tell from their banter that they weren’t done yet. The burly man stood there watching Vash until he finished his cigarette. When he was done, he leaned in and snubbed the cigarette butt out on Vash’s clavicle. Vash gritted his teeth against a strangled sob.
“Quit your whining. One more scar ain’t gonna make a difference at this point,” the man scolded, running a hand through Vash’s hair before grabbing a fist full and forcing his head back further. Vash’s eyes watered. “At least you’re pretty where it counts.” The man’s face blurred as he leaned in. His mouth was on Vash’s, forcing Vash’s lips open. It took a moment for Vash to register, and then he opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. As soon as the man’s tongue passed his teeth, Vash bit down. Hard.
“Ow! What the fuck!?” The man hissed, hand flying to his at his wounded lip.
“Oh, shoulda warned you.” The bandana man spoke up. “He’s a biter.”
The man backhanded Vash, his head whipped to the side. “You’ll be sorry you did that.” The man snarled, enraged. A sinister smile crossed his face as an idea came to mind. “How about that special meal you cooked for him,” He asked his friend, never breaking eye contact with Vash.
Vash’s eyes widened in genuine horror. He clamped his mouth shut. No way. They wouldn’t. The burly man pressed his fingers painfully into Vash’s cheeks as the bandana man approached, holding the chunk of the fatty piss-soaked gristle out at arm’s length, the bandana now pulled around his face to block the smell.
“Open wide!” He snickered.
It was coated in a layer of sand and, to Vash’s horror, maggots. He thrashed, jerking his head wildly. Vertigo and hook be damned. He didn’t care if he was torn in half; no way in Hell was he going to eat that thing. Slowly but surely, he was losing the battle. He stared wild-eyed at the rancid meat, straining to keep his mouth shut. The man kneed him in the solar plexus, and that was the final nail in the coffin.
Vash gasped; it was only a little, but it was enough. The man wedged his jaw open and jammed the mess into Vash’s mouth. Vash choked and gagged, fighting to free himself. The man pinched his nose shut, holding the meat in Vash’s mouth. He heaved, his eyes watering. His mouth tasted like death, and rot warmed over; he could feel the writhing maggots against his tongue. He had no choice. Vash swallowed, choking it down without chewing. It was too big for one bite and passed painfully through his esophagus, sitting heavy in his stomach. The man released him, laughing as he let go. He heaved and coughed, drooling down his front, unable to double over properly. He expected it to come right back up, but there was nothing. Just saliva and bile.
He heaved again, and the man grabbed him by the neck and forced him face down into the sand. There was little Vash could do to resist. The hook pulled hard, stretching him wide and forcing him to bend unnaturally at the waist with his ass up in the air. The knobby end of the hook angled forward to press against his organs. With his hands behind his back, his full weight was on his upper shoulders, the side of his face, and his knees. Sand stuck to his drool-covered chest and the still weeping burn on his clavicle. He panted, open-mouthed, into the sand. The occasional dry heave wracking his body.
“Spread ’em,” One of the men commanded; he heard one of them fumbling with his belt.
When Vash made no move to comply, the man kicked his knees apart. He heard the clanking of a metal on metal. They’d threaded a chain through an old pipe and inserted it between his thighs, securing it with a belt wrapped above each of his knees and forcing them to stay open. He must have made for quite the sight. With his legs spread apart and the forced bend to his back, his hips were angled in a way that very prominently displayed his sex. His was cunt pushed out obscenely, and the hook pulled his flesh in a way that further accentuated it. He felt something warm trickle down his hole and realized he must be bleeding. It wouldn’t be surprising after the struggle he put up minutes ago.
He could barely hear the men chattering over the static in his ears, but he didn’t want to anyway.
He felt a nudge at his entrance and felt fingers spreading him open. He had the urge to hurl again. Vash squirmed in his restraints, but he was too exhausted now to put up a real fight. He felt his face flush and heat pool in his abdomen at the thought of what was coming next. Simultaneously, a cold sweat broke out across his whole body from the vile mass in his stomach, worsening his nausea. His breaths came in pants as the fingers played with him, rubbing ruthless circles into his clit. His confused body acted without him, grinding futilely against the hand between his legs. He was totally at their mercy.
The first man’s cock was pressed to his opening; Vash fought back a moan as it breached him, stretching him wide. His hips bucked involuntarily, and he let out a small whimper, clenching around the intrusion. The man gave a triumphant bark of laughter. The sound sent a spike of anger through Vash. He was just barely holding himself up; the hook pulling at his insides sent a sharp pain running through him as he was pummeled. Every jostle sent a wave of nausea. He swore he could feel the rotten meat bouncing around in his stomach. He was burning up. The man fucked him slowly and brutally, and Vash let out a sob as tears ran freely into the sand.
The hook pressed down on his walls from the inside, squeezing the man’s cock as it moved through. The man’s hands were gripping his waist painfully, pulling him back to meet every thrust. Vash felt another hot spurt as the man came inside him. The man pulled out, leaving Vash full of come. His gaping and swollen pussy throbbed with an agonizingly satisfied ache. The next man was already there waiting to take his turn. Vash squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his arms, trying to shut the world out as they took turns fucking him. He felt like he was in a haze. He didn’t care anymore, he just wanted to sleep. By the time the last man came, he felt like his entire lower body was aflame from arousal while his whole upper body was icy hot from fever. He was sticky with their spunk inside and out. His whole body hurt, his mind was foggy, and his head swam. He could feel himself gaping; didn't even have the strength to clench himself closed.
“Now listen here, we gotta go wrangle some birds to replace the ones you scared off.” The man stroked him between his legs. “Be good while we’re gone and hold down the fort. We’ll be back this evening, and the real fun will start.”
Vash’s abused cunt was raw and aching. He could feel it pulsating with every beat of his heart. Spunk dripped from his gaping hole to puddle on the sand beneath him. A sticky trail ran down his leg, slowly leaking onto the ground below. His rear hole was red and raw and burning and tacky with blood. He was a verifiable mess, his sand sticking to him everywhere. The occasional breeze that blew over his damp skin was the only thing to ease his feverish discomfort.
He lay there in a daze, eyes shut. Trying to breathe through it. Eventually, the exhaustion took him, and he didn't wake again until he heard the roar of an engine nearby. His pulse picked up, and anxiety twisted in his guts. He heard the shuffle of someone moving over the sand-covered stone. They were approaching quickly, and a shaky breath hitched in his tight throat.
"Fucking Hell! That you, spikey!?" A blessedly familiar voice shouted. Vash opened his eyes, and a sob of relief wracked his entire frame when he saw the figure sprinting toward him.