Work Header

He Bites Back

Chapter Text

Wesley should have known, he normally sees these problems from a mile away, but with all that's been going on with the masked man, he's been a little distracted.

Drugging his wine, how un-creative and how Russian, the idiot Vladimir isn't even trying to kill him. But still he really should have been more careful around the Russians.  

He grunts as he dumped on to the dirty mattress, face scrunching up wondering when the last time the bedding was changed.

It seems the man is just trying to hurt his pride.

Make it so he won't want to show his face around their employer again. He didn't know the fresh hell that was going to rain down upon him when this was over, when James had use of his legs again.

He hears more then feels the ripping away of his clothes, there was another thing they were going to pay for this was his favorite suit. They thought they were doing something that hasn't been done to him before.

Some people might cry, or fight, be he learned a long time ago that only gives them what they want. That puts the power in their court, that is something he can't have.

Through the foggy haze of drugs he can feel Vladimir's hands moving over his body. He can feel the dirt and grim sliding from the hands to his body. He finds it a little hard to breath and figures what ever was slipped into his drink is having an affect on his respiratory system.

He turns his head to the side trying to take in a slow and deep breath but the room reeks of booze and cigarettes.

"Ah you've come too... at least a little." Vlad says accent thick it sounds like he's been drinking heavily. "Not so high and mighty now are you." He spits.

"I believe I am quite high, actually and it's your doing." Wesley slurs, Vlad grabs Wesley by the hair pulling him enough to slap him hard across the face, hard enough to split his lip.

Wesley smiles teeth bloodied before he spits into Vlad's face. "He'll kill you." Wesley laughs and he's fairly certain its the drugs.

"Over you I don't think so." Vlad says hand moving to push Wesley down to the mattress he spits into his free hand and rubs it across his cock.

Wesley knew the man was dumb but not this dumb, he knows what's coming, the longer you work with animals the more likely you are to get bit at some point.

But what so many of their associates seem to forget is that Wesley is very capable of biting back otherwise he wouldn't be his employers right hand, and then some.

He wont give the man the pleasure of him crying out, he bites his lip hard enough to break the skin, and it seems like Vlad is a sloppy fuck, he shouldn't be surprised the man is a mess in all other aspects of his life... sex wouldn't be any different.

But Wesley's cheek and silence only seem to anger the Russian slob even more, between the lack of prep and the beating he's taken he's fairly sure he'll need medical care when this over. All though it's nothing compared to the coffin in Vladimir's future.

The sounds coming from his attacker make his skin crawl, he can feel the man's filth sinking into every pore of his skin.

James knows it's whatever cocktail filling his system making him feel that way, making him feel as if time is slowing down and this is dragging on forever, he's fairly certain Vlad isn't even fully erect... there is a hard blow to his ribs, and he is sure at least one is broken, he probably shouldn't have said that last bit out loud.

When it finally ends, he gets another beating and a face full of spit, his glasses are broken somewhere on the floor, and that upsets him more then anything else for some reason. He can’t really put his finger on why. He feels dirty and grimey and wants to burn the world.

He has to wait until he has control of his limbs again before he picks up the shreds of his clothes, the moron forgot to take his phone and wallet away... sloppy sloppy.

James calls Fisk, it's a little harder to tell the man what happened then he expected, but all he has to do is think about what he'll get to watch his employer do when he lets him know.

What his employer will let James do... after the appropriate and slightly odd fussing Wilson is prone to do over the people he deems his.

Wilson doesn't take long to show up to the warehouse or wherever the hell James is, he thanks god for the GPS on his phone.

He's seen that look of quiet rage in his employers face before, when people who shouldn't speak of his mother, when someone embarrasses him... it's a look that runs the blood hot in James' body, though honestly, he's not feeling like running hot right now.

Wilson has brought him clothes and their private on call doctor, this is not a matter for the police, they'll handle this in house. James wouldn't have it any other way.

He's right about his ribs and apparently his tail bone, which is more painful then the ribs, he is patched up quickly and quietly Wilson's eyes never leaving him.

His employer even pulls Wesley's spare glasses from his coat pocket when it's all over and refuses to take the man back to his apartment, he'll stay at the penthouse for now.

James puts his glasses back on, and the world comes back into focus, and it settles some of the crawling feeling inside of him, all he can think about right now, is the shower at the penthouse and how much he wants to crawl inside of it for a few hours.

They silently climb into the back of a waiting car, their relationship has always been one of few words, when around others.

But Wilson looks over at James and his thumb moves across James' split lower lip, something feral glinting through his eyes.

"I'm the only one allowed to mark you." His voice rumbles in the back seat, he knows their driver Frances won't say a word of what goes on they can trust him with this.

James shrugs, "I didn't want him too..." Is all he can think to say, to make that much clear.

"I know that, this isn't your fault." Wilson breaths out, "Even I would never go though far." Wilson says.

Wesley's lips twitch slightly, as he leans back into the seat still feeling slightly clouded from the drugs in his system. "Well yes because you are never actually trying to hurt me." Wesley points out wincing slightly as they go over a speed bump.

"Never..." Wilson nods, “Frances…” Wilson snaps as Wesley winces, “Drive more carefully.” He goes on as his fingers traces more softly over the marks, then most would assume him capable of, as if he's trying to erase the marks with his touch alone.

"What would you like to do about this?" Wilson asks and James knows he's being given a gift here, one he will savor the taste of, it's at that moment he realized they aren't driving to the penthouse, they are headed to the docks.

Wesley can’t help how he flinches at the touch but he relaxes fairly quickly and is relieved Wilson doesn’t pull away. There is something about the man's touch that is soothing him, he'd rather not dwell to deeply on that right now, later after a shower or a long bath... both sound very good right now. 

"I want it to be slow." Wesley says licking his lips, the tang of copper still in his mouth, the stitches holding his lip closed feeling odd on his tongue.

"That's what I wanted to hear James, I have your tools in the trunk if you wish... but I can not make any promises for how long I can hold myself back."

"And that is what I wanted to hear Sir." He's no fool he knows he'll need more then Wilson giving him the Russian to cope with this, but he's never been one for normal coping methods.  He's know that since he was a young boy, and he found he had tastes that none of the other children had. 

His battered face twitches into a feral grin as they enter the warehouse and strung up by his wrists in the center of the room, a table being laid out with some of his favorite toys.