#break from the vincent posting lol. not 100% on continuing this but jack was so baby boy in my head i had to write him at least once

[whumpcloud]

Red Room - Mine

content: creepy/intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, kidnapping, filmed whump, threat of future torture, restraints, gagging, implied threat of noncon but it won't happen/it's not really stated, pet names, begging, noncon kissing, manhandling, choking, whumpee tells whumper to kys

Jack wakes to a light bulb.

Back and forth. Back and forth. His fluttering eyes follow it for a moment, trying to focus. He tries to move, but his limbs feel leaden, and all it does is make him softly whimper at the leather biting into his skin.

Leather.

Jack's eyes widen and he snaps his head to the side. He's flat on his back on a wooden table, tightly strapped by his wrists and ankles and throat. Bile burns his mouth.

A door slams open and Jack lets out a small scream into his gag, into the cloth gag shoved inside his mouth and tied tightly around his head. He hears a laugh.

"Aw, baby boy…"

A face appears, framed by the flickering light, long black hair tickling the sides of Jack's face. The man grins.

"Heya, cutie," he says, soft, almost soothing. "No need to scream, okay? If you keep doing that, I'll let you scream yourself hoarse. And if you don't, I'll take off the gag and let you ask some questions. I'm sure you've got some, yeah?"

Jack exhales harshly through his nose, tears forming in his eyes, and nods.

"Alright." The man gently tugs the gag from Jack's mouth, and uses the free moment of Jack swallowing his spit to speak. "Don't try begging, by the way. No, I'm not gonna let you go, yes I'm gonna hurt you, no there's nothing you can do about it. Now ask a sensible question, okay, baby?"

Jack's head spins. He remembers walking home, he remembers the sound of the car door opening and being shoved inside, the man straddling his lap and whispering softly as he was sedated. Only in a haze, but he remembers.

"W-Who are you?" Jack finally says, voice more of a whimper than he means it to be. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Matthew Seung." He grins. "I'm just a content creator. And I'm gonna do… whatever the audience wants, really."

"Th-The audience?" Jack's heart becomes a pit in his stomach.

"Oh, yeah, they're gonna love you, sweetheart." Matthew's fingertips come to Jack's jaw, tilting it to the side. "You have to know how pretty you are. Very photogenic. And your eyes, baby boy, goddamn."

Jack flinches and lets out a soft whine when Matthew trails his fingers around Jack's eyes and over his cheekbones.

"I'll set some rules, obviously," Matthew says, lilting and gentle. "No damage to your face, nothing too permanent, but anything else goes. They might wanna cut you up. Boring, but doable. Maybe break a couple fingers, or let you almost drown, something like that."

Matthew playfully taps Jack on the nose.

"I'm not very creative," Matthew says. "That's why I leave it up to the viewers."

Jack bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood and contorts his face with the effort of refusing to cry.

"Ohhh…" Matthew sighs happily. "Go on, cry, lemme see you cry. I bet it'll be just adorable."

"S-Stop, please," Jack whispers. "Don't, please, please don't do this to me…"

"Shh, shh." Matthew runs his hand through Jack's hair. "I can't help it, baby boy. I don't find someone like you every day. Really, I'm surprised you didn't get nabbed before, looking the way you do. You got lucky."

"Lucky?" Jack shivers at Matthew's touch. "How is this lucky?"

"Oh, I know plenty of creepies who'd bid for you," Matthew grins. "I'm pretty tame, all things considered. If you were put with someone who was really sadistic, well, they might not even care if you died on camera. Not to mention what would happen behind the scenes to break you in. Nah, you're very lucky you got me instead."

"B-Bid-" Jack squeezes his eyes shut. This isn't real, this is something that happens in movies, not to real people, not to him. "Bid for me?"

"Yeah, I could easily sell you on, baby boy," Matthew chuckles. "Do you have any idea what people would pay for a face like yours? God, you're so fucking pretty. You're really lucky I admire you so much. I could sell you to someone who'd make a real mess of you."

That's when the dam breaks, and a wretched sob forces its way out of Jack's throat. Matthew laughs, and there's a click as a camera turns on.

"Sorry, baby boy, I gotta capture this," Matthew says, throwing his hood over his head and pulling a scarf up to his mouth. "God, you see that? Gonna love you."

"Stop it!" Jack snaps, though it holds no energy coming through tears. "S-Stop it, just let me go, I'm fucking begging you, please!"

Matthew rolls his eyes and whistles softly. "Told you I wasn't gonna do that already."

"I can pay you!" Jack tries, desperately pulling at his bindings. "P-Please, my family's rich, they'll- they'll give you whatever money you want!"

Matthew laughs so hard he has to put a hand against the wall and vaguely apologise to the camera for how loud he is.

"You hear that?" Matthew circles around so that he's crouching out of Jack's sight, just behind his head. "My new work of art thinks I'll let him go for money."

Matthew chuckles, and leans up, gripping Jack's face between his hands. He's so close that Jack can feel Matthew's hair on his forehead. His eyes glitter. Excited. Hungry.

"I'm doing this for fun, silly. For the attention. And you, baby boy"–Matthew presses his fingers against Jack's lips–"are gonna be my star."

Jack can't find any more words to say. What is there to say? This man wouldn't let him go for all the money in the fucking world, because he's cute when he cries and his only worth is looking good in front of a camera.

Matthew wrenches Jack's head toward the camera, curling his fingers into Jack's hair.

"You wanna tell them your name, baby boy?" Matthew coos, and the scarf does nothing to hide that he's grinning.

"J-Jack." His voice isn't more than a croak. "Jack Mitchell."

Matthew stops. Completely and utterly stops.

"Say that again," Matthew says, disbelief in his tone, just loud enough to be heard.

"Jack Mitchell," Jack squeaks.

"I fucking knew I recognised you!" Matthew lets go of him and claps in delight. "Kid of Killian Mitchell? Like, for real?"

Jack nods silently. People recognise him often enough, but not really for him, just for his father. He hasn't done any acting in recent years, and he doesn't look enough like his younger self to be recognised for those roles. So his father drags him out at events, pretties him up for the red carpets and the charity balls and tugs at the back of his collar where nobody can see the moment he says a word wrong.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Matthew's voice is growing frantically giddy. "You're perfect, you're so, so perfect. The views. I'm never gonna be this popular again."

"Fucking kill yourself," Jack hisses.

"Spicy baby boy." Matthew reaches under the table and pulls at something, and Jack gags as the leather around his throat sharply tightens. "You wanna say that again?"

Jack's vision pulses at the edges and he whines. It's tight, but not so tight that he can't breathe at all. Just to hurt.

He's here just to hurt.

"Fuck…" Matthew lets out a breathy laugh. "This is gonna make such a good intro video. You know just how to behave in front of a camera, yeah?"

He does, he knows exactly how to behave, he's behaved for the cameras his entire life, buried every part of himself to look however they want him and that's exactly what Matthew wants out of him too.

Jack takes in a ragged breath the moment the buckle loosens, and lets it back out with a scream. He doesn't know why, and Matthew doesn't stop him.

Matthew just regards him with nothing more than mild amusement.

The end of the scream comes sooner than Jack thought it would, and he coughs, phlegm trapped in the back of his throat. He's still crying, can't stop crying.

"You tire yourself out already, baby boy?" Matthew asks. "Adorable. Lemme turn the camera off."

Click.

Jack lays limply as Matthew unbuckles him and lifts him up. His head throbs. Matthew carries him out of the dimly lit room, into an entirely dark one, that Matthew easily navigates through and sits down on top of a mattress, holding Jack around the waist.

"Relax now, baby boy," Matthew whispers. "You can relax now. It's just us."

Matthew presses a soft kiss to the back of Jack's neck, and smiles when Jack flinches away.

"You're so cute," Matthew says, gripping Jack's jaw with his other hand. "I gotta keep you. I'll take care of you off-camera, promise."

"Are you going to kill me?" Jack whispers. "W-When you're done with me?"

Matthew hums, as though he hadn't considered that. Kisses Jack's neck again, then his jaw, then his temple. Jack lets him, because he isn't stupid enough to think that these soft words and touches are anything but a thin layer over a man who has so clearly done this before and felt nothing more than delight.

"Nah," is the eventual answer. "The audience will get bored of you quicker than I will. And I can bring you back out to spice things up. Nah. I'm not gonna waste your pretty li'l face like that."

Matthew kisses him again, at the corner of his mouth, and lingers.

"Keep you for myself," he murmurs. "Yeah. Couldn't let you go to someone else."

Jack keeps still, as the hand on his waist traces upwards along his chest, slips just underneath his sweater to feel the ridge of his collarbone. The scars on Matthew's hands tell stories - teeth marks on his thumb, a faded knife wound through the palm, crescent shaped marks like nails cutting into the skin. If they were from innocent sources, Jack would be surprised. He's not the first, but the others fought.

It's an odd comfort. He'll stay alive, in the videos of him pleading and the reminders of his suffering on his captor's skin, even if he isn't quite here when Matthew's done with him, even if he doesn't figure out how to get the upper hand and escape.

Jack jams his elbow into Matthew's ribs, and the man's only reaction is to pin Jack's arms to his sides. Not even a sound of pain or annoyance.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, baby boy," Matthew sings. "How about you just let me hold you, huh? Just wanna hold you. Fuck, I think I love you."

Matthew starts murmuring to himself again. Jack doesn't catch most of it, just a vague impression of the word: "Mine."