#buy them and hold them and take the risk of having to rehome them? god what an awful thing.

[mobtism]

soooooo severely depressing having so many allergies. urggh

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 1

this is the first part of a story I’m working on; it will be full of my fav whump trope, which is the whumpee being safe but not realising and doing their best to serve their new Master. There will also be some no-nonsense whump in later chapters for good measure!!

CW: pet whumpee, dehumanisation, references to past abuse, vomiting from fear, swearing

-

Tomas’s phone rang and he jumped. He’d been waiting for the call all week. "Hello?" he answered, trying to sound calm.

"Hey, man." The deep voice was unmistakably his friend, Kasia. "You still up for rehoming a pet? We just got one in this morning."

Tomas squeezed his free hand in excitement. Ever since he’d started working from home, he’d been wishing he had something to keep him company. This was perfect. "Yes, absolutely. How did you get it?"

"Well, we buy them from their owners, y’know. So it’s all legal. And you won’t have any angry owner coming after you wondering why you stole their pet," Kasia laughed, and Tomas guessed that’s exactly what used to happen. "This one looks rough, though. I’m glad we got ‘em before they just got dumped in the street. I’ll text you the payment details now. Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but we’re mad busy today. Big pet auction on. Is it okay if I just drop it outside your house? I can’t stop for chat."

"No, no, that’s fine. I’ve got everything ready," said Tomas, glancing at the cage, collar and lead he’d bought.

"Okay, see you soon!" Kasia hung up just as Tomas realised he didn’t even know what kind of animal he was getting. He knew Kasia’s group would just give him what they had, so he’d bought a fairly large cage just to be sure. In a way, not knowing made him even more excited. And his heart warmed at the idea of giving a pet that would otherwise be chucked out a good home. He sent Kasia the money and twiddled his thumbs.

A car horn beeping outside his house, swiftly followed by wheels speeding away told him that Kasia had been and gone, and his new pet was outside. He hurried down, opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks.

On his doorstep was a cage, and inside that cage there was… a human being. He was kneeling, his hands tied to his ankles behind his back, and his face almost entirely hidden by a blindfold and gag. The cage was so tiny that the man’s back was flat against its roof, his whole body pressed down, with his forehead against the floor. Just looking at him made Tomas feel claustrophobic, not to mention sick to the core.

"What the fuck?" he swore without thinking, and the man in the cage cringed. He could definitely hear, then. "Uh, oh god, I’m sorry, I- oh god what am I doing? It’s freezing out here. Let’s just-"

He prepared himself to struggle getting the cage inside, but it was worryingly light. He held it to his chest with both hands, kicking his door shut with far more force than he intended, causing the man to flinch as it slammed. Oh god. He had to call Kasia and find out what the hell he was playing at-

Oh. Oh. Tomas stood still as the penny dropped. Kasia rehomed Pets with a capital P. Oh. Tomas took a few deep breaths. There was a man in a cage in his arms. Let’s focus on that, he thought.

He set the cage down and gingerly unlatched the top of it. Great. He’d have to lift him out.

"Right,’’ Tomas started. The man froze, and Tomas noticed he was holding his breath. "I’m just going to lift you out and get these restraints off you. Okay?"

No response. Obviously. "Okay," said Tomas, mostly to himself. He didn’t want to have to do this, but…

Placing one hand under the Pet’s neck, and the other around his bound wrists, Tomas lifted him out as quickly as he could and set him down on the rug nearby. He weighed so little, and he hadn’t struggled, even a little bit. Tomas was almost glad when he heard his breathing hitch, and saw his hands start to tremble. At least there was… someone in there. Whatever had happened to him hadn’t turned him into a husk, although it seemed like they had gotten close.

. . .

Pet listened closely as he heard his new Master walk away, and rummage for something. So soon, he thought, his heart sinking. What would it be? A knife, a whip, a torch? He wished he could move, show his Master that he was capable of being good, that he didn’t need punishing. The hand around his neck as he was being moved had already reminded him of his place.

Stupid pet! He had been thrown out. His old master had gotten tired of him. And what was he doing, thinking he knew better than his Master? Of course he needed punishing, and if it helped him learn to be good for his Master, then he wanted it. He would take anything if it meant he could be a good Pet.

"Let’s get you out of those," his Master said, his voice travelling downwards as he sat to reach Pet’s restraints. Suddenly something cold, and metallic, and sharp, pressed into his cheek, and he whimpered loudly before he could stop himself. It wasn’t cutting into him yet, just running over his skin as a warning of what Master could do if he wanted. At the sound of his crying Master stopped, but the tool stayed tight against his face, wedged under the blindfold. Not one minute since Master had got him and he was already being disrespectful. His hands shook harder, bracing himself to be hit. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-

"No, no, they’re just scissors," Master said. He felt his stomach turn over. Just scissors. There must be so much worse awaiting him. Master resumed and Pet felt the fabric rip until it came away completely, and he was allowed to see. Pets weren’t to look directly at their Master, he knew this. He could follow this rule. He hadn’t been hit yet, and he dared to hope that his Master was in a forgiving mood.

Soon, Master had cut away all of his restraints. "Sit up, please. That looks uncomfortable. And I want to see your face."

Pet lifted his chest up immediately, ignoring the way his muscles screamed at the sudden movement. Still kneeling, he obediently faced the floor as his Master inspected his new property.

"Hey." An open hand appeared in his line of sight, and Pet screwed his eyes shut to avoid the worst of the slap. Instead, however, fingers gently landed on his cheek, turning his head upwards. Pet’s eyes opened to find Master staring straight at him. "It’s okay, I just- you were zoning out." Pet cringed- he was so nervous his behaviour was slipping. No slap, it seemed. It had been another warning. Or maybe Master just liked seeing him flinch. At least with his old master, Pet could often predict his moods and how Pet would be punished. He felt so vulnerable, with this new Master whose wants and rules he didn’t know yet.

He knew he couldn’t have wants, but he wished he was allowed to speak, to apologise and beg Master to punish him, to get it over with. All he could do was keep his eyes on the ground and try to stop himself from shaking quite so badly. He was on a rug; behind Master he had seen an open kitchen that lead on to a living area. It was spacious and warm. Master was tall and elegant, with wavy blonde hair, and well-built. He had already proven that Pet was nothing for him to lift up. The more he thought about it, the more he realised how easily his Master could hurt him, the more he felt he might faint. The slightest movement hurt, his whole body ached from being in the cage, he couldn’t even curl in on himself if Master decided to punish him. He felt weak with fear.

"Can you speak?" Master asked him. Did he mean physically? Or was he testing how well trained he was? It had to be the second one. He hoped. Either way he knew not to keep his Master waiting. Pet shook his head nervously- no, I am not allowed to speak.

Risking a glance at his Master’s face, he saw he was frowning. He had given the wrong answer. His legs were in agony- he hadn’t stopped kneeling since he’d been tied up and caged, and his mind was whirling, and- "Are you physically able to speak?"

At this, Pet was sure he was going to throw up. When he spoke around his old master, when he cried out in pain or broke down and begged, he was always beaten soundly for it, but that’s where it ended. Here, Pet realised with a sickening jolt, his new Master wasn’t going to leave any room for mistakes. It wasn’t good enough that he didn’t speak- Master wanted to make sure he couldn’t. Maybe he’d take the scissors to Pet’s tongue, or crush his voice box, or sew his mouth shut-

His stomach heaving brought him back to reality and he pitched forward, grabbing a hand to his mouth and almost smacking into Master’s chest. Oh god, now he’d really done it. Pet tried to force himself back up but every movement pushed him closer to vomiting. He was aware that Master had gone and grabbed something from a cupboard, and was now holding it under his face.

"-in there, okay? Be sick in there, if you need to," Master was telling him. Pet obeyed and soon his throat was red-raw and his stomach felt emptier than ever. "There, get it out, that’s it."

Master pushed the bucket to one side, and Pet had never felt so miserable in his life. He had just thrown up in front of his new Master, he could feel tears welling up, and he still hadn’t answered Master’s question! He opened his mouth to beg, but caught himself and clamped his lips shut.

"You want to say something? Go on," Master said. Pet took a shallow breath.

"I-I can speak, Master. B-but, I," he felt the floodgates open as fear took hold of his better judgement, "-but please, please Master, I swear, I can keep quiet, I’ll be good I promise, pl-please don’t, please, I’ll be good for you, I won’t speak, I-" he cut off, sobbing too hard to get another word out. His face burned with shame as he wept; he was so stupid, babbling like an idiot to convince Master that he wouldn’t speak. He pressed his forehead to the floor as his Master decided what to do with him.

. . .

Tomas stared down at the Pet in horror. He had no idea they could be so badly broken. His back was criss-crossed with scars that could only have come from a whip, and slicing through them were long, deliberate cuts. Some were healed, some were still new, covered in dried blood. His arms and legs were splattered with bruises.

It had been even worse when he’d asked the Pet to sit up to get a good look at him. He hadn’t realised when he was pulling him out, but his neck was covered in purple handprints. And he had gone and put his hand right over them like an idiot. Another handprint spread across his cheek, although fainter. Down his chest were all manner of injuries: scars, cuts, bruises, even a few hideous burns. The cuts were the worst. They were so- so perfect. He had taken them all without resistance.

Forcing himself back to the present, Tomas gingerly reached a hand to the Pet’s shoulder. God, he hadn’t even asked if he had a name. Did Pets have names? He faintly remembered that they started off with numbers- should he give him a name?

The Pet didn’t move as Tomas touched him, but he did whimper softly. "Hey, sit back up for me," he coaxed, keeping his voice gentle. He did as he was told, but kept his eyes on the ground. "You can look at me, it’s okay. You’re allowed."

Tomas found a bottle of water and titled it into his Pet’s mouth to wash the bile from his throat, afraid that the man might drop it the way his hands were shaking. He was smaller than Tomas, and far skinnier. He looked so vulnerable, with his chest exposed and his injuries on display like that. Who the fuck would buy a human being and torture them this bad?

"I’m sorry for scaring you. You can speak to me. It’s good that you can speak."

Relief flushed his Pet’s face. "Thank you Master, thank you. I am so grateful."

"I’m Tomas. You may use my name, if you prefer."

"Yes, Master Tomas."

Ah. That would have to do for now, he decided. "Do you have a name?"

Tomas watched him think about this. "N-no, Master. If you wish, I would be honoured to be given one."

"Yes, yes of course. Let me… I mean, do you… have any preference?"

He knew what the answer to that would be before he even asked it. "No Master. Whatever pleases you best."

Tomas looked at his dark hair, and brown twitchy eyes. "You would suit… Rowe, I think."

"Thank you, Master."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Master. Thank you. I am so grateful for this kindness."

"It’s hardly a kindness…"

Rowe deflated. "No, Master. I’m sorry- I was presumptuous."

Tomas paused, deciding his next move. He had never come into close contact with a Pet before; they were favoured by the elite, and so damn expensive that no one else could have one even if they wanted. He must have done something pretty serious for his owner to sell him on cheap enough for Kasia’s lot to snap him up. He shoved that thought to the back of his head- it was only scare the poor thing if he asked. Tomas realised that the longer he went without speaking, the more scared Rowe looked.

"Let’s eat."

Tomas found some leftover soup and, after a lot of coaxing, convinced Rowe to sit at the table with him to eat. He had pleaded to eat on the floor, and when that hadn’t worked he had wanted to wait until Tomas had finished. Tomas was too tired to wait that long, and told him so. Framing it as a way to keep his Master happy worked well, and the two ate in silence. When they had both finished, it was nearing midnight.

"I don’t know about you, Rowe," Tomas said, trying to make his tone more friendly. "But I’m exhausted. I think it’s time we both went to sleep."

"Yes, Master," Rowe said, looking past Tomas at something in the kitchen. Turning around, Tomas’s heart sank. The god damn cage he’d bought for the animal he’d been expecting was in plain view on the floor, and had been the entire time. The collar and lead were placed menacingly on top. Oh fucking hell. Rowe had started walking towards it, and in a panic Tomas grabbed his wrist, all efforts to be calm and collected immediately dissolving.

"No, no, no, no. Not for you. Don’t- ugh-" he sighed heavily. Rowe had gone deathly still and was searching Tomas’s face desperately, trying to understand what he’d done wrong. "Don’t go in the cage. No."

"I’m sorry Master," Rowe said under his breath. "Of course I am grateful to sleep on the floor."

"You’re not- I have a spare room. You’ll sleep in there. On the bed."

Rowe looked like he was going to cry at this. "I do not deserve such kindness, Master, please."

"I’m the judge of that. And I want you to have a room to sleep in."

"Y-yes, Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t m- I didn’t mean to question your judgement." Rowe stammered out. Tomas noticed he was still holding his wrist firmly and released it. He was so tired; all he wanted to do was put Rowe in a room and let him sleep, for both their sakes.

"It’s okay, Rowe. I forgive you," Tomas said, and Rowe seemed to calm down slightly. "Follow me, please, and I’ll show you to your room."

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