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writereleaserepeat · 2 years ago

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Gnashing of Teeth - Chapter 2

Previous // Next (tbd)

CW: pet-adjacent whump, instituzionalized slavery, nonconsensual fighting, fight scene, violence, blood, strangulation, non-con drug use

A/N: Detailed fight scenes are not my forte in writing (and I know they can be a bit boring to read), but they will not be frequently featured in this story. I felt that this one was necessary for setting the scene of the story, describing Sasha's mindset, and situating the reader to just what's at stake.

Sasha’s drug tests had come back clean. Of course they came back clean. They were smart when they dosed him, carefully timed around the fights he would be put in for, just enough days apart for his blood to come back pure.

Given the intensity of the prior day’s workout routine, Sasha knew that he must have been a last-minute replacement for this bout. Maybe one of the other fighters hadn’t passed their blood test. Maybe they’d had a rash of resistance and been forcibly subdued.

Maybe, as was common among Sasha’s kind, they had finally killed themselves.

“You ready?” Boss’s voice spoke right into Sasha’s ear, the breath hot and rancid against his skin. If Sasha had been permitted any food in the last six hours, he knew he would have thrown it up. But he mustered the strength to answer rather than gag.

“Yes, Boss.” The answer was pure reflex, nothing more. Just enough words to get Boss to back the fuck away.

Sasha tried to focus on the pounding in his chest, the angry heart that fluttered against his ribs, a side effect of the caffeine and other stimulants he had been force-fed hours prior. His eyes were fixed on the doors straight ahead. As soon as they opened he would be forced into the pit, and he would find himself face to face with another man - no, another thing - like himself.

His life depended on his strength.

Naked except for the collar around his neck and the tight black briefs that hugged his hips, Sasha struggled to control his breathing. Every part of his body was vibrating with the urge to fight, to let his bruised knuckles smash into flesh, his teeth wrap around any visible fingers or ears. He likewise anticipated the bloody thrill of his gums getting sliced open by his own teeth and nails scratching down his scarred forearms. Adrenaline flared and he rolled his shoulders back.

“Atta boy,” Boss said and smacked Sasha on his sweat-soaked shoulder. “You get ‘em down and keep ‘em down, and we’ll give you a rest day tomorrow.”

“Yes, Boss.”

That final promise of reprieve was always the sign it was just a few seconds away from go-time. Mere moments until the guillotine door would pull open and reveal the dirt pit with impossibly high walls, the crimson-splattered ground illuminated by blinding white lights. Spectators and bettors would cheer with unabashed bloodlust, always just out of sight behind the rails atop the walls. It was a cacophony of utter violence.

And just as Sasha let out a sharp puff of breath through his nose, the door lifted open.

Sasha rushed forward with a roar building in his throat, just as his handlers had taught him. Don’t think, don’t wait, don’t hesitate. He ran until he collided with another body moving at almost the same speed, their flesh hitting with a sickening smack. That first moment was the only chance Sasha would get to size up his opponent before they attempted their first strike.

The other fighter was shorter, Sasha could tell just from the way their head had collided with his collarbone. But they also were broader, which he had determined the way that his own feet had slid back upon impact. As for strength he could only guess that they were about evenly matched. For a moment, Sasha swore he saw a glint of fury from blue eyes, but it could have just as easily been his imagination.

Sasha drew back his left fist and sunk it deep into the other fighter’s abdomen.

Boss liked Sasha to keep the fight on his feet for as long as possible, Boss said it made fighters look dignified as they pummeled their opponent. “Patrons don’t pay top dollar to see two brutes wrestling with each other in the dirt.” Grapple holds and headlocks were the most effective way to win, but it was always more thrilling to see the loser sway on their feet before toppling unconscious to the ground. At least, that’s what Sasha had been told in his training.

After assessing his opponent, and after landing the first blow, all rational thought left Sasha’s mind. He gave in to the bloodlust and anger that so often overpowered him. Nothing less than nuclear fury would get him through the end of this match, whether the match was seconds or minutes long, and he would be one day closer to earning his humanity back. He was going to be a winner, then he would go back to the showers and get the blood washed from his knuckles, and sleep for twelve hours.

It would be pure bliss.

The only thing Sasha could hear as he sunk fist after fist into his opponent’s sides was the rush of his own breathing. Deep, guttural, animal breaths. He was an animal now, after all. The transformation had taken place as soon as he stepped in the ring.

Warm liquid splattered across his face and he knew it was blood, but not his own. There was a spark of glee at the thought that he could win. The other fighter wasn’t making as much contact, and hadn’t yet landed a blow on Sasha’s face. Those training sessions had made Sasha’s instincts sharp enough to dodge uppercuts without a second thought.

Then they both went down in a tumble of limbs as the other fighter lost his balance. Sasha reflexively bucked his hips, as he intended to roll the other fighter so he could end up on top.

The other man tried to do the same, but he was too late. Sasha had already leaned forward and wrapped his teeth around their collarbone. This earned Sasha a ear-piercing shriek of pain before other teeth returned the favor, foreign enamel sinking into the skin above Sasha’s pectoral muscle. That was alright - so long as they were focused on biting, Sasha had the chance to move in for his finishing move.

Other fighters didn’t like this method, Boss had said. They thought it was too inhumane. Sasha didn’t mind. As soon as the fighter bit down, Sasha pulled them in close to his body and released his own bite hold. Now they were trapped close to his body, and being stuck on the ground, they didn’t have even an inch of leverage. Then, and only then, did Sasha wrap his forearms tight around their throat.

This fighter released their bite hold immediately and fell back to using their nails, but they were flat against the dirt, pressed beneath Sasha’s full weight as his forearms pushed against their jugular. Now their adrenaline-filled body was being deprived of the oxygen it so desperately needed to keep going. The desperate squirming told Sasha that he was close, so he pressed harder, his own forehead almost against the ground. Blood and sweat made their exposed bodies slick against each other, and Sasha knew that this was as close as he would get to an embrace until his next match.

Blood thundered in his ears. Reality was starting to drift away as the wriggling form beneath him began to still, go limp, become little more than a prey animal. It wasn’t human to begin with, was it? A growl mounted in Sasha’s throat and he put his whole weight into the maneuver, every pound of muscle meant to crush, crush, crush-

Instinct was cut short by electricity freezing him in place. Sasha’s lungs seized and he fell off the other fighter, now in the dirt next to them, and he writhed beneath the current and its familiar agony. When the sensation ended he was on his back, staring up at the spotlights, his chest rising and falling with every gasp. The buzzing in his ears faded, and he heard the roar of whistling and hollering from the stands above, the sound of satisfied spectators who had won their bets. Through the fuzz of animal instinct, Sasha felt a small hint of pride.

He’d won again.

The victory was short lived as the catch pole tightened around his neck and hauled him to his feet. He struggled to go in the direction the handlers were pulling him, relying only on the tugging at his neck to guide him back to the darkness behind the door. Sasha still let out soft growls as he panted in spite of himself. Something in the pit was transformative, lighting his blood on fire with the urge to destroy.

That very instinct was why victors were subjected to the catch pole, a stick that secured them a solid ten feet from the handlers. This was the only safe way to pull amped-up fighters away from their opponent and back to their cages. It would take Sasha the better part of two hours to come down from the animalistic high of fighting, and in that time he was a liability even to the handlers that had conditioned his obedience.

When Sasha came to from the fugue of predatory bloodlust, he would be rinsed down and clothed. Severe wounds would be treated - often Sasha couldn’t feel them until the pain set in hours later - and the others would be left to heal on their own. If he had won, they would also feed him dinner, and fulfill whatever other small comforts had been promised.

Darkness surrounded Sasha as he was pulled back into the tunnel and the doors to the pit shut behind him. He strained against the catch pole for just a moment when he thought he saw a silhouette, but another rough yank kept him moving forward.

“Guess you earned yourself the chance to sleep in,” a distant voice said.

Sasha only growled in response.

Taglist: @honeycollectswhump

#gnashing of teeth #whump #whumplr #whump community #whump writing #whump blog #mind the cws #sasha oc #Boss oc #I really feel like this scene drags #I am really bad at starting stories and getting the momentum going lol #anyway thanks for reading!#I appreciate every set of eyes on my work

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