Chapter Text
"I've got my hands bound
My head down, my eyes closed
And my throat's wide open"–'Prison Sex', Tool
He thought his mind broke when Sully made tsaheylu, when he'd had Spider kneeled between his legs like a lover, when he'd had his soul pulled out of him on the lips and tongue of a kid who should have never been there.
Sully's eyes crude disks hung above, joined by Quaritch's as Jake's own rolled in their sockets, searching, begging, pleading to wake up. Atmos mask rasping as Quaritch's fingers gripped at his hips with enough force to crack bone. Gouging into the wounds from every scrap on the SeaDragon.
(That fruitless fucking fight— the fight that barely happened. Because he'd surrendered. Not a Devil Dog, not in the slightest, but a bitch with terror in the bloodshot whites of his eyes as he'd watched Kiri get shoved forward in exchange, Spider under the unrelenting grip of that monster wearing his face, that loyal fucking corporal, doting fucking attack dog, finger against the trigger guard. Teeth flashing in the fire— he thought he'd shove Spider forward next, but he knows his own face, the way his ears give him away, his tail, the tilt of his head with a smug hook to his lips. It was over the moment he crossed the slick deck with a curse, the slap cuffs around both wrists, Neytiri shouting, Tuk begging him to stop alongside her with a heart wrenching sob, Daddy, no!
He protects them, at all costs, even this— and his stomach had dropped out of his damn middle at the way Spider's voice joined Tuk's, sounding just as young, just as desperate, just as—)
Bowed head, curled tail. Trapped on that sinking fucking ship, and now grafted to a bed, Sully kept him from squirming, and he prayed for a cell instead, prayed for violence that was easier than this, prayed for chains and beatings and blood, so much of it that somehow it'd drown this whole fucking place. But Quaritch grinned at him, called him son, said he was glad he came to see reason, gripping Jake's cuffed wrists and shaking them once. Letting those numb hands flop back on Jake's stomach, wet smack of skin on skin and cooling ropes of cum.
All with a pinched expression, then a smirk when Quaritch glanced down to see Sully and Jake still intertwined by the ends of their kurus.
Spider's fingers never left Jake's skin as Quaritch reached behind his back, pulled his own tswin forward to complete the unthinkable. Blazing through Jake's mind with a vengeance. White hot tsaheylu bullet fragments rendered Jake paralyzed as he split three ways, drawn, quartered, then hissing, then spitting, thrashing without reason because his brain wasn't his. Not with god-like fingers of two twisted fucking creations raping and denuding every intimate corner of his psyche, cramming their own desires into it with the lurch of snapping jaws.
TommyminekillhimfuckhimbabyletmeathimletmegoletmegopleasefuckTommystophe'llmakeitrightdaddywillmakeitright—
All three of them hooked up by the tswin, something sacred among the Omatikaya turned ultra violent. Spider's fingers ghosted over the aberrant connection draped across Jake's heaving abdomen like a knife slid through an eyeball.
He'd bucked viciously at the mattress his spine came to recognize as the jersey knit cradle of his new home about six days later. Neteyam, his family, fast tracked to a distant, fog laced irreality. Shut tight in a box where his immediacy was this, only this, a fucking form of apocalypse Jake never once considered. Hell, he'd even kicked at Spider, but that only earned him a Sully shaped cage of crushing hands, knees pinning his thighs, a knife pulled from who the fuck knows where but Sully had slashed it across his stomach without pause.
And Jake gasped, pain echoed back to him, strung out on Sully's divine red-tinted pleasure. Spine arched against his will, Quaritch's squirming image of him fractalized across the ceiling as Jake stared and stared—
("Apologize," Sully growls, right in Jake's ear. "Fuckin' apologize to him or I will run you through."
Jake grits his teeth against the knife gouging at his inner thigh. Jaw set, he refuses to look anywhere but the spot where metal plate joints kiss up on the ceiling. A blade against his skin isn't new, not in his history on this moon.
It lifts off.
His eyes sink with his stomach, trying to claw his way up the bed, shut his legs only for Quaritch to intervene. Helping Sully to keep Jake's knees wrenched apart, practically pinned all the way down to the mattress. Spread for open fucking season. Knife tip drawing a tender line through the folds of his cunt.
"Please, d…" Jake cuts off with a rough swallow, Sully's arousal chasing butterflies through his dick. Making him almost buck up against the knife, pulse roaring. "Fuck, fuck, stop—"
"Oh, you like that, baby?" Sully leers. Slick, nasty. "Body-snatching degenerate like you, using Tommy for all your whore trash— god, I'm starting to wonder if you were the one who had a few of those half-breeds after all; this shit's looking pretty loose."
(Don't.)
A cutting jolt lances up through Jake's navel.
(Don't.)
He hisses.
"Then say it, cunt." Sully punctuates it by sinking the knife in an inch and Jake gags, cuffed hands reaching blindly, grabbed, stopped by Quaritch who only gives him a hard, cold stare.
Spider's sniffles carry on in the background. Sounding far younger than sixteen.
"I'm sorry," Jake caves. Pupils shaking, copper scent slicking the air. "I'm not gonna… I won't hurt him."
Sully melts, knife vanishing, eyes softening. Rumble in the air as Jake watches Sully gather Spider up in his arms, his lap, nose pressed to the top of the boy's head. "See, he's sorry, baby boy. That's right, you're okay… you're alright, sweetheart. He won't do it again, we'll make sure of it."
Quaritch shifts to sit behind them, arms guarding his blood stained family with the crooked frame of his resurrected shape, ears set back, eyes cast to the corners. A blazing glare aimed at Jake. Nostrils flared, gaze flickered down between Jake's legs. Where blood trails down the cleft of Jake's ass, gathering on his tail, slipping off as Jake turns, throwing himself over the edge of the mattress.
Limbs smacking the hard floor, skull cracking against it even as he tries to raise his hands to cushion the ragdoll fall. Vomiting around a cracking gutted whine that crackles up his oil spill insides.
Atmos mask fallen down past his chin.
He stays there until he hyperventilates like he did all those years ago in his human body, staring up at the sparking ceiling of the site 26 shack. Lungs burning, pulse roaring, gasping. Except the blue figure that crouches over him now, pressing a mask to his face, is his, is him. Smiling just like he does, sounding like he's speaking from his own mouth as a kiss is pressed to his forehead, fingers mopping at sweaty hair, shushing him, 'you're alright, Tommy… you're home now.')
Eventually at night they keep him and Spider tucked between the cage of their warm bodies, hot and oppressive, Sully's mirror hand wrapped around Jake's ribs, fingers slotted in the grooves, pressing at the bruises painted there with those very knuckles. Unpredictable, raving, swinging from a rabid aggression of bloody spittle slashed across Jake's cheeks with each one of Sully's roaring snarls, only to be chased by a punch that'd paint the world scarlet-black. Fingers shoved in his slack mouth, down his throat, choking, gagging, gurgling around them.
("Bite me and I let the kid fuck your mouth instead."
Jake grips at Sully's thighs in desperation, sucking cock with enough tact to make a barracks bunny proud. Sully's fingers wrapping around his cheekbones, thumbs brushing the base of Jake's ears, ghosting towards shut eyes. Sully drags them open, curving cruel nails into the moist pinks of the bottom lids. Yelping like a dog, muffled by a mouthful of dick, Jake tries to back up only to get yanked forward, eyes watering, then spilling over, vision shattered and cock bruising the back of his throat.
"I'll gouge 'em out if you spit."
Black spots, frag grenades detonating, his eyes stay wide and unseeing.
"Fuck, yeah…. that's, god— that's right. Such a good boy, such a—")
Quaritch always admires the show from the background, Spider squirming in his lap, usually naked, not that the tewng covered much– it used to, it used to be nothing more than typical before this, but everything in his gut curdles at the flash of too much tan skin in the dark now. And Jake thinks his mind should've broke right in two when he began welcoming the bedtime routine of getting face fucked by his younger self as some form of divine mercy upon this self-cannibalistic Raft of the Medusa.
That at least he wasn't the one touching Spider.
Each time Sully would spit hate out of his mouth as Jake was left to cough, gag, and double over with his hands wrapped around his aching stomach. Swallow after swallow, ragged, salty. Hunger digging into the wounds of Jake's insides as whimpers would seep out of from shattered airways and he'd bite back his pride to thank his deranged, rapey fucking clone for the only meal they've let him have since they'd dragged him back to Bridgehead. The lip of a metal cup pressing to his lips when he'd look up with bloodshot eyes, Sully's fingers wrapped under his chin, knife grin hung like an executioner's blade.
"Drink up, Sweetheart." Ferric tasting water curdled thick in the pit of his gut with each drag, washing the rest of the cum down. Backfired miserably three hours later as Sully made him beg to take a piss, threatening to drag him out on a collar, out to the dirt in the city's construction site center so he could lift a leg like a mutt. Right in front of the whole base.
Only to throw his head back with a laugh once Jake shook in place, teeth clicked shut, humiliation raking claws down the back of his neck to match Sully's vicious grip there. Jake pulled behind the recom; no more than a hefty bag of trash. Bare skin squeaking, gathering welts from the friction each time Jake stumbled, fell and Sully hooked a vicious hand under his armpit.
Thrown down mercifully on the floor of the latrine. Sully's eyes gold disc cross hairs locked onto Jake's dick as he told him to make it snappy, or he's snapping something off with his teeth.
He thought for sure something inside him broke the fortieth time Sully called him Tommy.
("Fuck, Tommy—" Sully groans, bent over his back, Sully's thumb sunk into his cunt, fingers pressing against the underside of Jake's cock while he fucks into him. Jake bares his teeth against the floor, pain ripped from his ass to his scalp. Fortunate, he tells himself, lucky; he's lucky the colonel doesn't let his rabid dog hump into his pussy with his spear tip prick instead. So fucking merciful.)
"Don't knock him up," Quaritch's voice rumbled through that prison cell-cum-bedroom the first time Sully had his dick lined up. Flip of a page, the smug motherfucker was reading at his desk, tapping at a holopad as well, Spider asking something quietly only for Quaritch to chuckle. Jake's heart jackhammered as he stared at the wall, prayers bled from a tongue he'd long since cut on his own teeth.
Sully seemed to ignore the order as he canted his hips forward. Enough to make Jake seize up, clenching around the stab of a cock head. Scrabbling at the bed sheets, trying to worm his way out from under Sully's body with stumbling, hitched phrases, world spun off its axis. Jake gripped at the mattress, knees spread wider against his will.
"Corporal."
Sully drew back. A shaky breath pressed from Jake's lips only to hop-skip-nosedive into shout. Brutal, long, strung out with a curse as Sully bottomed out in one cruel go. Hot trickle of blood dripped down, zero prep turning his hole into a fucking gash that Sully pounded with the one track goal to snap hips, bend spine. Jake smeared like a greasy, dirty insect into the firm mattress, biting the fabric so he wouldn't lose the last of his dignity on a scream.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy; and time passed in a listless march of silently mouthing his own name in the dark until it sounded wrong. Of struggling in those orange cuffs until his wrists bled, and his ass bled, and he'd turn his nose away from cupped palms of florescent cum he watched Sully spill into his palm after jerking off while sat at the end of the bed, Jake kneeled on the ground in front of him. Staring at Sully's bruised knees.
Vile viscous liquid shoved against Jake's lips that Spider told him would help, comforting, kicking his heels against the bed frame at Sully's side, like its some fucking routine medicine he's taken himself. A few pills floating in it.
Sickening, stomach turning, vomiting up every scrap only to have his face pushed to the floor, Sully ordering him to lick it up again. Pills picked up out of the milky bile, shoved down his throat the way cats get their antibiotics. Nose forced back down, cheek smeared in his own sick.
Quaritch stands there every time with a twist of approval flicking the tip of his tail when enough threats lobbed against Spider made Jake lap at the ground like a dog.
Diaphragm heaving on instinct at the foul acidic taste, it doesn't get any better. It never does. Not even this time. Quaritch drops to a knee beside him, fingers twisting in his hair, thumb brushed tenderly behind his ear.
"You're doin' good work, Corporal."
And he never knows which one he's talking to. Only Sully loves to hum, loves to crouch down, but never says a thing, his and Quaritch's fingers interlaced against the back of Jake's skull. Something no doubt shared silently between the two. A skipping track trapped on repeat, Sully's slick fingers slip under the waistband of those sweatpants they'd been generous enough to give him.
Because at first they'd kept him in their bed during the day and cast him to the floor at night. With his wrists cuffed to his ankles. Shivering. Naked. Teeth chattering. Scooting against the bed frame for the slightest hint of warmth. Until the eighth day, like gods upon their creations, he'd woken from fitful sleep to Sully bent over him, undoing his cuffs, stretching out his legs—
("Stay still," Sully barks, wrenching the sweats up Jake's ass, pulling his tail through the back with a painful tug. Jake squirms, kicking at him, heel planting solidly in a sternum but Sully doesn't budge. His elbows smack the ground, turning his pinkies numb when Sully shoves him down. Confusion rattles Jake at the foreign, trapped feeling of soft cotton caging his legs.
"Calm down, Sunshine– you're acting like you wanna stay pussy out," Sully says, breathless, messy hair in his face, something pinging behind his eyes as his fingers linger on Jake's waistband. "...do you? Is that what you want, Tom? You want me to keep you warm all night instead of these ratty old things, that right–"
Sully cups Jake's ass, hands plunged beneath the fabric. Fingers dipping, brushing against where he's already torn and leaking like a busted fleshlight.
Jake squirms. Too early, too hazy, brain chasing sounds from his lungs he normally wouldn't let out. Eyes rolling like a trapped nantang's.
"Corporal."
Blinking, Sully shakes his head.
"Sorry, Colonel's orders, big guy." Sully brushes his lips against Jake's chin. "He's worried, y'know, if you sleep with us naked, that you'll hump the kid, maybe slip your dick in him. I mean shit, you gotta admit he has a point, we're related after all–" teeth nip at Jake. Soft, teasing.
A wagging tail flicks across his shins, muffled through the fabric. Jake dips his head as Sully lets him go, bed creaking up above. Constant fucking lullaby. Breathing shallow, Jake sinks back down to his rapidly cooling spot on the floor, his floor, at the foot of their domain. Knees tucked to his chest, wrists pressed against his ankles like they're still cuffed. Nothing clicking, nothing registering aside from the prospect of dreamless blissful black.
Except Sully grabs Jake by the back of his pants, the scruff of his kuru. Yanking him up, up onto the bed, mattress dipping, caressing Jake's bruises, sores, his aching asshole that feels like Sully's knife plunging in there every time he shifts a millimeter. White hot blood spot already clinging to the seat of them that he's intimately aware of as Sully spoons him from behind, chin hooked over Jake's shoulder, breath ruffling his skin. A tail snakes around his thigh as Spider turns over to face Jake and he tries to shove himself away from the kid. Away from the shape of Quaritch on the other side.
Scooting his hips back only to have his ass brush the stiff line of Sully's dick. Strong fingers squeeze his waist into putty.
"You're alright, Tommy. Just relax."
Sully's words echo. Rumble. Soft. Fingers brushing through his hair, brushing the edge of his ear, the divet of it. Crashing waves chase each sweep of it, enough to sound like…
Jake wakes up curled around Spider as if his body understood for the first time it could shield the kid from every horror there is. Only to be smacked with the unforgiving reality of it. Of Spider's breath against his chest, palms, fingers splayed, muffled voice whispering dad, dad, fuck, right into Jake's sternum with ticklish lips.
Quaritch leaning over Spider, massive palm working between the kids legs, knuckles brushing Jake's stomach like the ivory bump of wolves teeth. Grin flashing in the dark as Sully presses against Jake from the other side, wrapping his fingers around Jake's own, guiding his hand to the back of Spider's head then down his smooth skin, each bump of vertebrae, each twist and clench of Spider's muscles, until Sully's sitting up. Pressed over Jake, forcing him to wrap his fingers around the hard length of cock that's too small in his palm.
Burning. Worthless tears. Choked apology crawling off his tongue.
"That's it, son," Quaritch drawls, stopping Jake from pulling back with a firm grip to match his rabid blue dog's. "Treat 'im nice. Like family. Like one of your own, ain't that right?"
"Please–" Jake's voice cracks, Spider nuzzling into his chest harder, bucking against him. "Let him go, just let him go. Just—")
Just let me be the only one. Let it be me. Let it just be me. Is all Jake fumbles through as a mantra in his head, Sully's fingers kneading at the tender flesh of his ass.
Stomach warm. Head hazy. Nose pressed into the floor, fresh cuts on his cheek scorch with acid. He blinks heavily. Slow, drugged, whatever the fuck they give him drives slick down his thighs more than any foreplay ever could. His tail curls up against the small of his back when Sully frees it from its sweatpants confines. Slumping forward with a groaning sigh, laying on a thin pillow of vomit and half digested cum, Jake lets himself drift off, stuck somewhere between the ceiling and the floor.
Fingers slip across his exposed pussy.
"Jesus, he's loving this, sir," Sully breathes, two fingers parting him. One slipping in, up to the first knuckle. Further. Pressing at his insides with a firm flick. Fuck… just me. Just fuck me, Jake mouths, wet noises working up the length of him.
Careful to keep his eyes away from the only non-blue silhouette in the room. Blurry edges of sunset skin perched up on the edge of the bed. Dark eyes gazing down. At their tangled ouroboros smeared across the epoxy, of pale shadow daddy's and their matching event horizon grins.
Quaritch's fingernails scrape at Jake's scalp, making his faithless dick twitch. "Give him a treat then."
His mind doesn't even break then, not for this, not when Spider breathes a not so quiet 'holy shit' and Jake turns his head to catch a glimpse of the kid biting his lip the way Sully does. Cheeks flushed, golden locs hanging down in front of his face. Pupils blown. Stinking with the cloying musk Sully and Quaritch are constantly wreathed with, and Jake's heart seizes at the sight of Spider leaning forward. One hand gripping the edge of the mattress with white knuckles the other wrapping fingers around the pale flesh of an inner thigh. Trailing lower.
No, shit, please no, he thinks he'd take a dozen of Sully's fists directly to the temple if it meant he could forget the slick discordant background track to this one. He doesn't give a fuck about Sully's fingers, the hot swipe of a tongue, the roil of pleasure making him grind his teeth and arch his back. His brother's name laved into his cunt in a way that makes his fists clench, forehead rocked against the ground trying to chase out every fucked up wet dream he ever had growing up. He can fucking handle that. The way Sully is cobbled, cut from the same crooked quarry.
Fuck. Fucking— spit slicks off Jake's tongue as he pants open mouthed. Face crumbled into a snarl that smooths out into a sick, lip trembling little gasp.
It's Quaritch praising Spider that nearly squeezes a sob out of him. Atta boy sparking the stale air in a gun muzzle flash. It's knowing exactly how that kid sounds when he jerks off on the whim of a warped volition.
Jake shoves his face into the safety of his own arm. Praying, scrambling for the last scraps of haggard logic. The more they fuck with him the less they fuck with Spider. The more they fuck with him the less they fuck with…
He has to keep their attention. Always. Beg for them to stop just enough for them to keep going, but not too much that they'll physically rope the kid into it, pushing him, sandwiching him and Spider together knowing it makes Jake's voice hitch with shaky pleas, with bitch dog platitudes, with bargaining that goes unanswered as Quaritch and Sully puppet his limbs like a doll. Fingers bloody with the chorine-smell of human cum.
All while Spider would shush him like he was soothing a scared child. Like how he'd help soothe Tuk during a thunderstorm when Spider was still so, so young but endlessly determined, little hands grabbing at Jake's arms mumbling that Uncle Max had a song that always calms babies down. But now, trapped like a glass bauble that's been shattered and repaired with an indelicate touch to form a new desired image, Spider doesn't even remember the words, only the tune, a glazed distant look reflected in the boy's stare that never matches his words, going far too long without blinking. Smile warped. Sometimes wobbling violently at the edges.
If the kid's eyes water Jake wipes at them, humming back the best he can through a sandpaper throat, the words to the old song in Gujarati that the colonel and his screwy fucking corporal somehow get in their heads is Na'vi the first time they hear it— knife to his throat, telling him not to speak that bullshit here from his shit-laced liar's tongue unless he wants it cut the fuck out.
So he doesn't even try. He hums without words, wondering if he should've just let Sully reach in and gouge the muscle out since he wasn't strong enough to defend himself with it. But he has his hands, he can brush them across tear stained cheeks, Spider sniffing roughly, muttering something about stupid fucking allergies that twists an arrow through Jake's gut. That the first time it happened made him of his own accord, with bruises wrung violet around his wrist, reach up to swipe a thumb under Spider's eye, Sully cooing against the pinna of Jake's ear.
Never escaping. Never able to do more than watch Spider shudder with his eyes screwed shut and wish they'd both burst into flames and take these sadistic bastards with them. At least then, it would all fucking mean something.
But it doesn't matter, he knows it doesn't fucking matter, there's scars cleaved thicker than tumors through Spider's brain, wide swathes of wrinkly fatty organ coated, caked with semen, molested beyond recognition. His son, if he can still even attempt to call Spider that without the rightful wrath of the universe bearing down on him for his failure to save this boy from the most vile parts of himself— will never be the same if they get out of this.
If protecting is what gives a father purpose, then he lost that the moment Neteyam's face went slack, eyes glazed over, the fiery ring of Eclipse reflected in his first son's dead gaze. Final words unfinished, their terrible emptiness lost to the crash of waves, the bite of Quaritch's words in his ear; of the next threat, the next failure to keep his children out of this relentless undead grip of the RDA.
That's his fault. That will always be on him and him alone as a father wearing someone else's skin, parading around in a glorified costume; because maybe Sully's right– maybe that shit he spews like a leaky sieve holds a grain, shit, an ounce of truth. That it's all on him. The wicked uncle ghost, the body snatcher, the traitor, the backstabber, the reason Spider's stuck here, right fucking here. His fault. His.
And so is this.
And still his mind refuses to give, teeth crunching, molars creaking as Sully drags him over the edge with the crude press of his tongue. Jake comes hard, knees kicking out, squeaking against the floor, and he blocks out Spider's muffled sounds with shuddering arms pressed against his ears, caging his head in. Tuning out the world as Sully lets his hips slump against the ground. Fingers sunk inside him, milking him through the pleasure slick come down that makes Jake gag all over again with each clench. Gut aching. Pretending like the way he shifts his hips back isn't real. It's not real. It's not him.
A hot hand ghosts up a lower spine, digging in between the lumbar, searching, gouging for something before slipping against the bump of ribs, Sully draped over his back, thighs caging him in as digits slip out of his cunt and grip the crest of his pelvis. Pulling him up just enough for that slithering snake of a palm to smear a trail across Jake's stomach, Sully wrapped around him, thumb swiping over his dick so firm Jake sees stars. Sees nothing.
"Nah, you got more in you," Sully rumbles against Jake's shoulder. "Fuck—" a rough chuckle flips Jake's heart, mauls it. "You like that, huh? Fuckin' into my fist, fuckin' listening to our baby boy beg, wishin' this was his sloppy little hole squeezing you instead.
"Bet this was you every night out there. Waiting for that bitch to go to sleep so you could go screw the neighborhood pooch behind her back." Sully's fist sinks to the cock root, squeezing, fingers teasing at the nubs of flesh at the base. Jake fails to bite his lip around a nasty chuff. "Keeping that kid all to yourself, bet you play with the others, too? Dirty old man like you wearing my brother's face, what's that hissy brats name again? God, you must moan it sweet as hell when you fuck right into her–"
Jake spits, bucking Sully off. Punching him with everything he's got. "Fuck you! Fuck— you son of a bitch, fucking jump drive brain motherfucker, fucking–" straddling him, each word punctuated by a hit. Knuckles split. Snarling. Foam gathering at his lips.
Sully laughs, bloody teeth flashing, back arching with a groan when Jake busts his lip. Pupils blown and fangs stained, Sully tosses up laughs with gut twisting moans as Jake throttles him. Chest heaving, frame slumping, Jake's limbs refuse to move beyond one last weak hit and Sully shoves him off, flipping them. Grinding against Jake as he grins, eyes wide and glazed, glinting red framed by brilliant gold.
"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy fucking your ass 'til they stitch you a brand new hole," Sully snarls, bearing down, reaching between his legs to make good on his threat as Jake's eyes roll back, lungs rasping against more acid than blood from too long without the proper air.
"Shit, bring him up here, Corporal," Quaritch orders, strained voice crunching through the ring in Jake's ears.
"No—" Jake tries to crawl away. Senseless. Seeing only dauntless red. "No, god, no—"
Sully laughs and laughs, grabbing Jake up under the arms, Jake's cock aching in turn, more cum slipping out of him as he's manhandled. Tugged kicking and writhing up onto the mattress sea, weak from starvation, weak compared to the muscle stimulants they'd bombarded his copy with. Pants wrenched all the way off. Square fucking none.
Mask forced over his chin and nose like it has been so many times and he tries to hold his breath, tries to let the darkness devour him at the edges, but his brain cracks open his mouth. Forcing him to drink in a flood of consciousness as he heaves on air with a starved disposition. Listing. Lurching. Vision shaking as if he's getting rattled in the belly of a Valkyrie shuttle.
Quaritch's hands on his elbow, his thigh, meat hook snares that force him into position alongside Sully's silver wire fingers slicing through him on the other side.
Holding him in place, sat up, legs spread, Sully molds his front to Jake's back. Thighs burning from the strain, from how harshly Sully grips them when Quaritch tells the corporal to keep him still, hold him tight, can't have him squirming too much for this.
Atmos mask muzzling Jake, it forces him to be here for this. It forces his mouth shut as Quaritch settles Spider in Jake's lap—
No.
No, no, no, fuck–
His hands fly back to grip Sully's thighs on last ditch instinct, trying not to touch Spider, trying to scoot up, crawl out of his own fucking skin. Claws curving into flesh that won't budge, Sully only squeezes his legs around him harder. Some awful many limbed creature, Spider panting against his skin, hot skin, touching him, chasing bile up Jake's throat that spills across his tongue.
Eyes shut, he shakes his head. Tossing it like a mad horse, ears pinned just as flat.
"You know the drill."
Sully smiles against the nape of Jake's neck. "Yes, sir."
Mattress shifting, dipping.
A hand grabs Jake's kuru, slipping up the length. Sully throws himself across his mind with reckless abandon. Elbowing his way in with a kicked door, 'honey, I'm home' flung to the far reaches of every decaying nook and every crumbling crannie and Jake's eyes are shut. They are. He couldn't physically shut them any tighter, but he's seeing. Right from the devil's eyes, where Sully's got his chin hooked over Jake's shoulder, looking down at where Spider's ass presses against—
And he hears it. The creaking groan, missiles detonating on impact against the massive roots of an ancient tree.
His mind snaps as Sully's lust plows through him, scrambles him, flays him, his vision refracted; rosy and brilliant. Airy, buzzed, laughing at the head rush to match Sully's pleased curse spilt hot across his jugular at the tsaheylu's morphine drip. Spider's face glows, hair framing flushed cheeks like a halo, dark moist eyes spinning into dazzling lights spilling over with adoration. Streaking down his cheeks.
Sully's thoughts smack off his tongue, Sully gripping under Jake's thighs to heft him up with a grunt. Jake– no, Tommy– he doesn't give a fuck what his name is, where he is, there's only fire and flame, a hollow hunger ripping though his veins that plants his fingers on pliant skin, breathy whimpers echoed in a merry go round behind his eyes as an impulse to bury his dick in this soft, pretty thing blazes through him. And he answers. Lips tasting sweat on blue skin, tan skin, taste of it slipping him under, thrusting against resistance, small palms shoving at his chest.
"God, fuck—" he cuts off, someone else's words swallowed back down, then continued right by his ear from a mirror mouth. "Fuck he's takin' me like a champ. Can't even tell—" that uncanny valley voice tapers off and he picks up the slack with a shaky, "can't tell the difference."
"Same brain, much as you're loathe to hear it–" the colonel chuckles. Heart thudding, tail sweeping at the musical sound, they grin. A large hand settles on their neck, thumb brushing circles. "Gotta be a lot like driving them Avatars."
"Shit, yeah, feels like it. Better. Perfect– fu—" a twin groan.
He chases that coil in his gut with a ruthless edge, getting fucked inside and out. Fucking inside and out. Cutting through a warm hole while a cock cuts through him. Or maybe it's the other way around. He can't tell where he ends, body doubled. Pressing his nose into curls of hair, gold, intoxicating as he chokes against the slick slap of skin on skin. Nose pressed into the dark stripes stretched across cyan skin, beading with sweat.
Drinking it up. Shaking palms, arms. Wrapped around breakable, delicate bones. A soft fucked out voice flits between their ears, begging, pleading, pink mouth lapped into so they can catch every filthy noise.
"C'mon, c'mon— you're close, so fuckin' close, baby, just gotta…" a chain of teeth slides across his neck. Collar of bruises and blood and he snarls, bucking harder. "Just gotta let go. Come on, Tom—"
He cuts off with a shout, ears blown out. One of their heads thrown back, the other tucked low, chin to chest, mask getting in the way. Garroted by a throat full of snarled moans.
A comfortable dagger slips out of Jake's brain as his tswin breaks its death grip on Sully's nervous system. Elation slipping, falling right off like water to waxed leather, Jake careens into the earth shattering embrace of reality. Floundering for a split second to hitch himself back inside Sully's mind because anything is better than what he's seeing through his own fucking eyes.
Of Spider slumped back against Quaritch, Quaritch who's sitting right in front of them, four pairs of limbs tangled in an orgasmic mess, Sully snuggled up behind Jake, still inside of him. Hands splayed out on Jake's quaking diaphragm. Smeared with Spider's cum.
Toxic waste leaking out from between Spider's legs as the kid gets cradled by daddy the deranged, Quaritch brushing a thumb down his nose, Spider scrunching it in response. Rosy lips, rosy cheeks, shivering, toes curled.
Something drips across Jake's lips, smacking the back of his palm as he lifts it. And then another. Two beads of blood trail down his wrist, his arm. Gurgling in the confines of the mask, red gathering on his chin, he lifts his eyes to meet Quaritch's brazen gaze. Everything split in twos, shimmering behind a cloud of static.
"Sully's bleedin', Corporal."
Spider sits up in Quaritch's lap, narrowed eyes twisting as Jake sags. "The fuck did you do—"
"Boy, don't you talk to your daddy like that—"
"No, no, fuck you. The fuck did your stupid boytoy do to Jake?!"
Sully makes a wounded sound that racks up Jake's spine. Claws sank into his sides. Blood crashes past Jake's teeth when he opens his mouth to try and tell Spider to stand down. Stop, he mouths, don't, but Quaritch's hand is already twisting in Spider's hair, yanking the boy down to the bed with a cruelty the colonel's been playing close to his chest. All of it bursts out at once as soon as Spider hisses, twists, Quaritch straddling his small frame. Palm wrapped around the back of Spider's skull. Smothering him into the mattress.
"About high time for a refresher in proper fuckin' manners," Quaritch snarls, fingers undoing his belt buckle with a clap of thunder. Jake reaches for them, for where Spider is fisting the sheets, except his hand slaps nothing, breathing in, then out, twisting in fabric until small knuckles bump his own. A growl cuts the air, Jake's wrist snatched, shoved away.
Crashing back against the mattress, hot from a body that had just been sitting there, Jake watches the ceiling tumble. Coughing. Liquid sloshes past his lips as his eyelids flutter.
"Handle him," Quaritch barks.
Sully's hands snare Jake. "Yes, sir."
'I'm sorry,' Jake gurgles, tugged off the bed. Dragged out of the room, watching each light pass overhead, splattered in pale red. 'Im sorry, boy.' Sully's teeth flash in the lowlight, dripping gorey threats, of gutting, fucking, slitting, cursing hate, hate, hate, every atom, every iota, every quark.
"Lyle—" Sully snaps. Letting Jake thunk the ground.
"The fuck did you and the colonel do to this asshole, pretty sure Jesus looked better when he was hanging on that cross," someone chuckles, another set of yellow eyes join the thousand floating above. Stars. Supernovas. He tries to wriggle away. A harsh palm stops him.
"Shut the fuck up for once in your miserable goddamn life and grab his legs."
"Damn, Jack, don't bite my head off. Not my fault you're a two bit crazy fuckin' slu—"
Punches land overhead. A stray knee slams into his ribs. An elbow to the sternum. Two blue tom cats thrashing in a dick fight right over him. He flips on his stomach, elbows digging into the ground as he tries to crawl away. Slipping, lurching. Some small part of him screams that he has to go back, he has to get Spider, he has to, he–
Can't. He can't.
He can't look at Spider ever again. Can't meet his eyes. Can't brush his fingers on his skin, wipe away his tears, cradle him, love him like a son, not without destroying him. Now with what he's done.
He collapses with a yank on his tail. Sully climbing up the length of him, fisting a hand in his hair, wrenching his neck up, up, up, Jake sputters, pleads— always fucking begging, crying, squirming, useless, rotten bitch of a filthy thing. Dirty fucking thing, vile fucking thing, monster with his very own paralysis demon perched on his back.
"Please, please…" Jake's mouth floods with a foul, burnt taste. "You just need me. You need me. Need… you need Tommy. Let the boy go—"
Sully scoffs.
And Jake's skull cracks against the floor.
—
When he wakes up, he's greeted by the world's worst hangover. Cotton stuffed in his brain, tongue brittle, cracking sort of dry, tasting copper when he tries to wet his lips.
"Shit…" he breathes, trying to sit up, something slithering across his chest, his arm that makes him startle only to reach up and feel the Atmos mask secured to his face.
With a scowl he wrenches it down, squinting against the cruel stab of light.
"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. Hope it was a nice nap, sure as shit looked like one." Quaritch stands from his desk, chair scraping the floor with a chalkboard screech. "Doc says you gotta start eatin' real food."
Hands braced against the mattress, Jake's eyes trail upwards as Quaritch saunters in front of him. A commissary style tray clutched in the colonel's hand. Quaritch sets it down, sliding it until it bumps Jake's knees when he doesn't budge.
"Where's Spider?"
"Now, that doesn't sound like chowing down, does it?"
Jake bows his head. Heart pounding slowly. Eyes cast towards the strange assortment of photos smeared across the wall. Ones he recognizes even as they remain blobs in his vision dulled by the throb of his temple. Tommy's grimace in half of them. Toothy childish grin in the others. Matching.
He'd brought those with him, had them stuffed somewhere in a box in his quarters back at Hell's Gate; 'I bet you don't even think about him,' Sully's red thread words spin. His chest pangs, dull rusty nail of a thought stabbing at him that he refuses to touch. There's a newer photo, tacked among the others, near a vintage calendar that's half falling down, like no one's bothered to fix the damn thing.
Something with two blue smears and a small tan one between them.
The food's an easier prospect to handle than letting his eyes focus on what actually lays inked on that glossy paper.
Quaritch watches him the whole time. Standing there. Arms crossed. Tail wriggling behind him like a snake's without the rattle.
Jake tries not to eat too fast. Mulling over what he can inside a skull that feels more rotting shell than bone cage. Neytiri's voice tumbles through his head about a story of a palulukan who befriended a yerik, whose prospective prey led the hunter to a whole herd in exchange for its own life to be spared. For the palulukan to wrap her body around the yerik at night, licking at its neck, saying her pack was hungry. That she would have children of her own very soon. More.
And the yerik led her to every resting spot, every watering hole, every stream, every clearing, blood on its hide. Kneeling in the grass, fins pinned back so it couldn't hear the still young voice of Eywa in its ears. Until all the forest was stripped of prey that couldn't climb high into the thinnest branches of the trees. The palulukan's teeth dripped as her children cried weakly in hunger, ribs jutting out, the yerik promising there was more beyond the forest. Much more. Lead the way, the palulukan said, bowing her great head, a glint in her eyes. And the yerik turned to gallop over the bloodied soil—
Only to be snapped up in the very jaws it had fed with the screams of its own herd many moons ago. Your selfishness is long, she snarled in its dead ear. But our hunger is far greater and there will be another one willing to trade its family for its life. There always is.
The spartan fruit paints the pale insides of Jake's fingers indigo. And he smears it on his sweatpants, frowning when it only stains the grey fabric. When he bites into a chunk of yerik meat, it tastes of offal and blood, a palulukan's snarl echoing in his ear as he's heard too many times to count.
He realizes it's something kicking on overhead, air exchange, electricals, belly of this metal behemoth. A drag from the Atmos mask clears his head.
Eventually the door thunks open. Spider's feet slap the floor as Jake watches him step into the room— a rush of relief smacking a strange trepidation, and then ugly, cancerous guilt. Spider moves with a distinct hitch to his step, bruises painting his neck, chest, arms, red stripes on his thighs, ligature mark around his neck. But a thin grin followed by a thinner chuckle tumbles from the boy when Sully takes the towel in his hands and ruffles Spider's wet hair with it.
Jake's tail curls low, ears pressing flat when Sully's gaze slides across his. When he winks.
Spider's face lights up as Jake locks eyes with him. Jake cuts his gaze low, heart hammering. Watching out of the safety of his periphery as Spider rushes forward only to hesitate, looking towards Quaritch who only gives a curt sigh. A nod.
The bed dips as it's done what must be a hundred times now.
A small hand reaches out. Jake flinches back.
Spider only grabs one of the last bits of meat, biting into it. Shooting Jake a confused look as he chews.
Jake forces his head back down. Chin tucked to his chest. Limbs drawn in.
"You're doing better," Spider notes, all casual. "Thought you'd like died or something, man. That would've sucked, right?"
Jake looks toward Quaritch who only studies him with a tilted head, the slightest quirk to his lips. Sully hovers in the background, moving through a domestic routine of rifling through drawers, toweling off his hair, then brushing a comb through it while grumbling something to himself. Something bloody, red, how hands wrap around little throats. "Cannot fucking believe—"
Is all Jake catches before Quaritch clicks his tongue.
"You gonna answer the question?"
"...what?"
"Kid asked you somethin'."
Jake looks at Spider who stares up at him with eyes too eager, too somewhere else. Like hero worship, only worse. The smallest smattering of stubble at the edges of Spider's chin, above his lip, and somehow it makes him seem even younger.
Ears forward, Jake dips his head as he's done a thousand times before this, silent, go ahead. Curling his fists to disguise the shake.
"Can I kiss it better?"
Heart plummeting, Jake stays a broken record chasing out a thin, "what?"
"That nasty gash on your head, dumbass." Spider laughs, purple bruises crinkling on his cheeks.
"Spider, that's not— I— "
"That better be a yes comin' out your mouth, son," Quaritch warns, stepping closer. Jake scoots up the bed, away from the both of them, skull clanging the headboard.
"You want me to deal with him, Colonel?" Sully asks, tossing whatever's in his hand over his shoulder. Clattering gunshot of it pinging around the room like a death knell. Grin the wicked shine of the gun barrel sliding to feed the next bullet.
Spider stays cross-legged on the bed, looking like he's been freshly struck, two blue figures loom behind him. It's not real. It's not. It's a stretched out nightmare happening over and over and over—
And it's not over. There is no getting over this.
"Nah, why don't you take Spider to the rec and deal with his damn hair while you're at it, he'll let that shit get matted again if you let him."
"Aye-aye, sir." Sully grins when Quaritch looks his way, but Sully smears it right into a glower the moment the colonel turns his attention back to Jake. "C'mon, Princess, we've gotta leave daddy to discipline this braindead motherfucker. That's right, you're alright, he didn't mean it—" Sully coos, gathering Spider up in his arms with a soft grunt.
Spider's head rests on Sully's shoulder, staring at nothing. Dull, as the two of them sweep out of the room, Sully chattering up a storm to the tune of his own voice. Tail sweeping a wide, whipping line.
Jake swallows thick, eyes dragging down Quaritch's body, knowing what he'll see, but the too familiar sighting of a hard-on pressed against fabric confines makes Jake's ankles push against the bed just the same.
(It's not that he didn't expect it.)
Quaritch undoes his belt. Slow. Languid. Obscene. It slithers out of the loops with a violent hiss before he wraps it around his palm, once then twice.
(Getting raped by some version of himself never registered as anything but a complicated dose of karma. Self-mutilation. A happening. Something he thinks he could drink away if he really put his mind to it. Because Sully's voice couldn't haunt him, not when every grunt, groan, whimper, no matter how laced with disturbing gore— was something he'd grown up hearing every time he spoke. A complicated, painful form of masturbation, yeah, he can work with that, he just needs to hammer out all the parts where Spider's involved and he's fine. It's fine. It's nothing.)
He jolts like he's getting shocked when Quaritch snags his ankle. When he tries to fight and gets a belt wrapped around his neck for his efforts. Fucking overkill he thinks distantly, if the asshole just took his mask off and waited it'd have a similar effect– but this shit isn't about half measures, no, it's about getting the tight nylon weave biting into his skin like a collar, it's going numb when fingers hook in his waistband and wrench his pants down. It's shouting something that can't push past the bob of his throat against his choke chain.
(It's idiotic, he understands that, not expecting this from Quaritch, chasing down a false sense of safety like a dumbass dog pissing on all the wrong boots. Sully smeared himself into his skin as surely as the very cyanin in his skin cells. Because when Sully looks at him, he sees Tommy– and Jake apologizes every night that he splits his understanding of imprisonment into this thing; this violence; these hands upon this body; they're touching Tommy. Blink, and he's Jake again. It's done. He's himself. But Quaritch: Mark II, with the old Colonel peering through his meat sack's eyes, he Sees only him. Jake fucking Sully. Some wicked pillar to hitch his sense of reality too, his only sense of self remains in the burn of Quaritch's eyes. Nine tail whip glares. Tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. Disgust. Quaritch didn't touch him, not when he was too damn busy merrily fucking his own son.
Fucking his own son.
Fucking his son.
Fucking his—
Fucking)