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Arkin glared at the back of his captor's head, willing all his rage and hatred into his enigmatic brain. It did nothing naturally but at least this way he didn’t have to look away before he was struck. Sometimes The Collector let him rage at him while he was bound and impotent, just to see him squirm in frustration, while other times he had no tolerance for Arkin’s shit. The thief was starting to figure out the little tell-tale signs which warned him how far he could push it if he wanted to keep his nose attached to his face. If he was smart he would play the victim, wait until the man let his guard down and strike but Arkin didn’t have it in him to bend. As soon as he saw The Collector’s collection he felt something change inside him. He was disgusted and enraged in a way he’d never been before. Who the fuck was this guy? Who the fuck said it was okay to abduct, abuse and mutilate anyone he took a fancy to?! That anger was undeniable and it permanently altered something inside the thief on a chemical level. He could tell The Collector saw it too and to his surprise, approved greatly.
Everything changed for him when he unwittingly became a favourite of the twisted criminal’s. He’d thought the favourites were the ones being punished, broken down and rebuild in The Collector’s image but apparently there was another level of favouritism reserved for someone just like him. The Collector never spoke but he made Arkin understand in his own way and he made it abundantly clear that he would never escape now that he became irreplaceable. He’d stopped hurting Arkin, for the most part, but he never let the thief stray too far away. He began bringing him around, chaining his wrists and ankles to poles so he could watch him work on less favoured pieces. At first Arkin begged for him to stop, even begged to take the place of a young woman who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but the more he cried the more pleased his captor seemed. The more he cursed the monster the more focused and extreme his work became and Arkin realized his rage was adding fuel to the fire. He stopped talking and tried looking away but The Collector would patiently wait until the incessant screaming of his victims would draw Arkin’s wet eyes back to him before resuming.
When he’d be done, The Collector would neatly tidy his tools, sometimes apply some care to his new works if they were deemed worthy of living, and stare at Arkin for long minutes. The thief glared right back, willing him to see the loathing he held for him in his bloodshot eyes and The Collector would smile knowingly. He’d unchain Arkin and take him away. A few times the thief lounged at him when he found himself unbound but The Collector simply swatted him away like a fly. He didn’t beat him for it, simply made it maddeningly clear that he had no hope of winning in a fist fight. He’d hold Arkin against a wall or in chokehold until the man was forced to relax with no adrenaline left to pump through his system. Then The Collector would put a collar around his neck, black like the leather of his mask, and lead him by a chain. That’s how he got Arkin to move around every time. That humiliating dog collar which was just a little too tight around his throat and which burned when he tried to sleep with its phantom presence. Arkin hated that collar more than he hated the knives or the nails. He didn’t fear it as much but he fucking loathed it. A fact The Collector no doubt was aware of.
What frustrated Arkin even more however was how arrogant the man dared be. He was leading Arkin by the chain, his back turned to him and not even binding his hands. He was showing vulnerability to the thief because he was so fucking sure there was nothing Arkin could do about it. The smaller man attacked him on a few occasions and just like before he’d get a black eye for his trouble. The man seemed to have boundless levels of strength and his reflexes would put a cat to shame. In every attempt, even when he was fed and had more than four hours of continued sleep, Arkin didn’t manage to lay a single finger on the fucker. He got so frustrated with the whole thing he stopped altogether because what was the point of hurling himself at a solid wall hoping it broke before his bones did? So when The Collector put the collar on him and paraded him around his collection he followed, glaring mutely all the while, and balled his fists by his side.
A hiss more reptilian than human drew Arkin’s attention to the far wall where he noticed a woman on all fours glaring at him from the shadows. Her tongue had been split to look like a lizard’s and dozens of studs were catching the dim light across her face. She was shaved bold with vertebrae bones, Arkin hoped they weren’t human, stitched to her scalp to look like a mohawk. There was enough work done on her for Arkin to know she was a beloved piece and he shuddered. Whatever The Collector had done to him he’d barely mutilated Arkin’s physical form and at least for that the thief was secretly grateful. Even if the lizard lady got out, her life was fucked. He couldn’t imagine the dehumanization of having to look at a monster every time he looked in the mirror, a scar so ugly and all-consuming it represented his entire being. At least when he looked at his reflection Arkin O’Brian stared back, albeit with a far more haunted look in his exhausted eyes.
The creature hissed again and Arkin quickened his step, closing some of the distance between himself and The Collector. This happened every so often he was taken on his walks. By parading him the way he did The Collector was uncompromisingly showing his favouritism and the other pieces weren’t happy with this. They hated him. He could see it in their crazed eyes when he managed to catch them as they studied his every move with naked envy. The other pieces resented him because he was stealing the attention of their master. One time Arkin had lingered behind, hoping to make a connection with one of the victims, but as soon as he was within arm’s reach he’d snatched at him, pulling him into the darkness where a pack of them descended on him like condors on road kill. Arkin hadn’t been able to fight, just assume the foetal position and wait for them to tear him apart until The Collector was suddenly there. He growled and the crazed creatures scattered. When Arkin was pulled roughly to his feet he was ready for some disciplinary action but the killer looked him up and down, touched a few of the dipper bites and resumed walking. This time Arkin didn’t stray too far behind.
He understood why The Collector was doing this and he hated how well it was working. Arkin may have entertained some fantasy where he could become simpatico with the other abducted individuals, maybe band together against their captor and escape, but the killer was driving a firm wedge between them. The others wouldn’t let him speak before they tore out his tongue and feast on it. They hated him because he was special to The Collector and they were becoming obsolete. Where once The Collector would once pat them as he walked by now he didn’t spare them a glance because he was walking his new toy. Where The Collector would sometimes give them some various treats for their good behaviour now he was giving delicious candy to Arkin in plain view. He’d feed the thief with his own fingers, pushing the chocolates along his tongue in tantalizingly sensual movements. All his pieces loved The Collector but it looked like The Collector only loved Arkin and it was not fair. The man hadn’t even shown his devotion by shedding his human appearance! He dared look at his saviour with disdain and spurn his advances! How dare he?!
Arkin could understand why he was hated but it wasn’t his fault. He never asked to be favoured though he didn’t mind keeping his face intact. He didn’t want to be touched intimately by the man who took everything from him and he’d made that clear the first time he’d been kissed. The Collector walked him among the other specimens and suddenly stopped. Arkin could see eyes in the shadows and hear the noises of discontent and knew they were not alone. With no warning, The Collector turned on him and drew him into a passionate kiss to the immense displeasure of their shadowed audience. If looks could kill Arkin would have dropped right there. It took him a second to return back to himself and he pushed with all his force, pathetic as it was, against the man’s chest. He pulled away and wiped his mouth and spat, cursing him while The Collector smirked. He tried to punch the man but his arm was bend painfully around his back until Arkin yelled because the slightest amount of extra pressure would result in a snap. When he was released The Collector pushed him into the shadows where the glowing eyes waited for him. Arkin ran back, not before someone bit his shoulder, teeth ripping a good chunk of skin away, and sharp nails made quick work of his shirt. He gasped and trembled, not realizing he was running and pressing himself right into the hands of his oppressor.
The next time The Collector staked his claim over Arkin he reacted better, keeping his lips tightly shut but letting the man kiss his cheek and mouth. He wiped at the touched skin with the back of his hand but The Collector didn’t seem bothered enough to throw him to the wolves. Arkin followed behind The Collector as the hissing increased in volume behind him. That became the routine. The Collector would bring him to what he now called his room, lock the door and leave him be for a few hours. The next day he’d show up with the collar and chain in hand and Arkin would stand still while it was fitted around his throat. He would be brought to watch over the man work or inspect the latest captives. Sometimes he was brought to the kennels where he’d watch The Collector train his dogs into obedient killers and sometimes he would have to watch one of the unfortunate pups fail a test and be replaced. The walk always ended the same way however. The Collector would parade Arkin around his pieces, some forever frozen in glass containers but some allowed to roam loose through the walls like scuttling insects. He’d wait until enough of his pieces gathered in the hope of basking in his attention, even if only for a nanosecond, and treat them to a painful display of rejection. He’d kiss Arkin and all too soon the thief would give in. The anguished whines would reach a crescendo and Arkin would kiss The Collector back, some horrid part of him happy to get back at the freaks who refused his aid.
Arkin never lost the hate though. He let The Collector have his way with him, display him like a living piece in a museum but he never put out that raging inferno scorching inside his ribcage. He might have grown to anticipate the attention, even enjoy it for some mad reason he dared not analyse, but he held no love for the man bringing him pleasure. Arkin was content to take degrading lust over agonising pain but only because it would lead to his escape. Today as well The Collector was walking him through the collection and Arkin found himself anticipating the moment when he’d halt, turn around and grab for him. Maybe he’d put up a show of resistance because the killer was always more insistent when he got to subdue Arkin or maybe he’d go willingly and The Collector would reward him with gentler touches. He discovered this little quirk of his captor when their interactions kicked up a notch and he’d explored his options ever since.
At some point Arkin stopped pretending to fight the kisses and opened his mouth to the advancing tongue. He didn’t pry the arm winding around his waist or mind the way he was pawed at and that’s when The Collector spiced things up. Arkin readied himself, drawing in an expectant breath, waiting for his feisty tongue to be beaten into submission but The Collector grabbed his hair instead and pushed him to his knees. Arkin looked up at him, confused and angry, not quite willing to believe what he knew was coming next. He tried to stand up but a strong hand pushed his shoulder down while the other freed The Collector’s hard member. It was right in front of Arkin’s face, the tip touching his cheek, and he blinked dumbly at it. He knew what he had to do but surely the sicko was not going to fuck his mouth just to prove a point to his other victims. Surely…
Except that was exactly what The Collector did. He forced Arkin’s mouth open and fucked his mouth without mercy, making him choke on it. Spit and cum ran down his chin as his head was pushed along the impressive length and he could do little more than steady himself by pressing his hands against the muscular thighs. He would have bitten the member off but then what would he do when the creatures ran for him? Arkin did nothing, too shocked to act. He let The Collector use him until he was done and released the thief to crumble into a fit of coughing. He threw up and couldn’t stop shaking, his mind reeling about what happened. The Collector waited for him to regain enough reason to start cussing him out before he yanked on the chain and lead Arkin away on trembling legs.
That became just another part of their routine. The Collector would lead him to the centre of the room, sometimes kiss him, sometimes push him straight to his knees and claim his property. And just like the kisses Arkin began to enjoy it. He glared and cursed all the way but he’d open his mouth without being told to do so and he’d move his tongue along the length in a way he knew The Collector liked. He’d bob his head and increase his pace when he felt fingers tighten in his hair. His eyes would become glassy and his own hand would stray to his crotch as hot ribbons streamed down his throat. Sometimes The Collector made Arkin clean his cock, licking the last of the seamen before he was pulled to his feet. Sometimes The Collector would kiss him again and leave a bite mark on an exposed portion of his neck as a brand to the immense derision of their audience. Arkin would touch that brand later, when he was alone and sans collar, and jack off. Fantasies of killing The Collector in horrifically brutal way he hadn’t thought his imagination was capable of conjuring would intermingle with memories of that hot cock ramming down his throat and he’d achieve an explosive orgasm every time.
Now things were becoming boring once more and Arkin could feel The Collector becoming restless. He was positively buzzing with anticipation but he was damned if he’d show it. Arkin doubted he was doing a great job of hiding his lust but he wouldn’t be a lusty whore for this man either. Not openly. So he glared with all the hate he could muster at the back of The Collector’s head while secretly begging him to stop and claim him again. He could feel the need gathering inside his stomach, running through his system like lightning. He felt the lizard woman’s eyes on his back and it made him yearn for The Collector’s advances harder. A low noise reverberated through the chamber and Arkin didn’t realize it was his own until The Collector stopped, turned and smirked at him. He swallowed thickly, mouth working around unspoken words, doing a piss poor job of hiding his true emotions from the other man. He wanted to go to him, his fingers twitched to tangle in his shirt and pull him closer. He wanted to open his mouth and let himself be claimed and his dick was so hard it hurt in the confinements of his jeans. He glared at the man but the heat in his eyes was all wrong.
When The Collector finally approached him his legs nearly gave way and he practically fell into the sadist’s embrace. Strong fingers grabbed the back of his head and pulled it at an uncomfortable angle. Arkin opened his mouth invitingly, imploringly and moaned contently when the stronger tongue pushed his own down. Another hand snaked its way under his shirt, raking over his flesh in a way which other people would find painful. Welts would stand out on his sun deprived skin and he would trace them later in his room as he relieved every touch. His nipples were twisted painfully and his waist was grabbed until it bruised all over. The Collector didn’t make love because that wasn’t a familiar term to his lexicon. He fucked, claimed and hurt. Arkin had always considered himself fairly vanilla when it came to sex but apparently there was something in the violent brutality which awakened that beast so very dear to The Collector and it was taking more and more of a permanent residence inside his mind.
The Collector made quick work of his pants and Arkin yelped at the unexpected contact. He’d never been touched before. He was there to gratify The Collector, not the other way around. He was allowed to touch himself but the other man had never made any kind of effort to share his pleasure. Until today. Arkin nearly came at the first touch and a needy whine was swallowed by the grinning mouth. His hand moved in harsh jerks, squeezing just hard enough to make it painful but not unbearable and Arkin’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he came. It was almost forced out of him, taken without his permission just like everything else The Collector touched but that didn’t make the experience any less consuming. Arkin’s knees gave out from under him but fortunately there was a solid body waiting to catch him. His eyelids fluttered as he worked overtime to get himself under same semblance of normalcy and he felt The Collector’s lips on his.
He didn’t have much time to rest however since The Collector still needed to find his own release. The world spun around him as the larger man turned him around, forcing Arkin’s eyes on the darkest corner of the room. That’s where most of the other specimens waited. He could just about make out their silhouettes and from their back and forth pacing he knew they were furious. Arkin turned to look away but a hand at the back of his head forced him to turn back. Arkin tried again, fighting against the hold but then another hand reached for his cock and squeezed until the thief felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t try to move again but he did everything in his power not to make any eye contact with the hive of abominations cursing his existence. Arkin’s frame was pushed forwards and he had to walk towards the corner. He dug his heels and stubbornly refused but it was like attempting to hold back an avalanche. The Collector pushed him until he was a few steps away from the shadows. The creatures had no problem stepping into the light but they kept away this time since their master was there and he’d be angry. If The Collector’s back was turned it would be different but making a move on Arkin now would be a mistake. The Collector’s pieces didn’t make mistakes.
The assurance of his safety didn’t do much to calm Arkin however. He could see individual deformities now and hear distinct voices. Most had their lips sown shut but a few gnashed their teeth angrily at him, a threat and a promise all in one. Arkin wanted to turn and run but The Collector held him by the collar, cutting off his air if he moved. His jeans were rolled down his thighs in quick jerks and Arkin’s eyes widened. No way The Collector was going to fuck him right that instant. No fucking way! He mouthed the words ‘stop’ and ‘no’ because the lack of air was preventing him from actually speaking but he could feel the hard tip nudging against him. He wasn’t ready for this, not physically and sure as shit not mentally! He tried to get The Collector to stop again, fighting against his hold like a desperate animal but it was pointless. He could tell from the way the killer’s erection was rubbing over his entrance in teasing thrusts that he was getting off on his struggling.
When Arkin felt the member enter him it was quick and relentless. His jaw fell open with a yell he couldn’t voice and the collar went taunt around his jugular as his back straightened like a bowstring. It was too much too quickly and Arkin felt things break inside him which were not all carnal. He would have fallen right on his agonised face but The Collector was holding the chain and through it, his body. His other hand was grounding his hip. The Collector was unforgiving, giving Arkin no chance to process one action before he moved to the next. He fucked into him brutally, claiming him as his once and for all. Arkin’s body rocked and swayed with the motion and he was quickly growing dizzy from it all. The lack of oxygen was starting to build and he clawed at the collar but The Collector didn’t relent. He thought he felt hands reach for him at one point but he was too out of it to do anything about it. He was nearly passed out by the time he felt The Collector still inside him. Every inch of skin felt too hot, too tight and he wanted to claw it away but he couldn’t move. Cognitively speaking he was still somewhat aware of his surroundings but his eyes remained stubbornly closed and he knew he was on the verge of passing out.
The Collector pulled himself free of him and he was lifted into the air like he probably weighed nothing. He could tell he was dangling over the man’s broad shoulder and he blinked once to see a horde of hissing beasts step out of the shadows as he was brought away. Arkin thought he should apologise, for what he didn’t know, but instead his lips attempted to shape into a cruel smile. He passed out before it fully formed but its meaning was clear. ‘See? I’m his favourite now.’