AN: Chapter has been edited and fixed up a fair bit, thanks to TheCorpseGuarden! Enjoy and please do review!
Everything was pain, now: pain, loss, and fear. There was pain from the harsh hands making greedy, lecherous grabs at his body until they were satisfied. Loss... he could not think of one thing that was not stolen or stripped from him, now. And fear, would they be even worse this time? Would those tiny scraps of nourishment or the faint gasps of air finally be removed so that his misery would end? He honestly didn't fear death, anymore; his only fear was living through this repugnant hell.
Seastone and iron, the textures so familiar and once faintly comforting to him, and now they brought the worst of each emotion into his life. Could he even call this existence life? No. This was not life. This was only suffering. His mind twitched while his body could not; they were back. He could hear them, feel them. Worst yet, they already had their hands on their favorite 'device' to use on him: A cold, hard, unforgiving thing that made his skin crawl at just the thought of it. He could feel its tip circling slowly, snickers and lewd calls filling his head. His voice caught on the gag; they had jammed it inside like always, with no care except causing as much pain as they could. Stiff, cold metal and the draining throb of the sea was all he knew, now. It would be all he would know until the end of his wretched days if these people had any say in his future.
Tears came because what hope he had begun with was long gone. Only pain, betrayal, and humiliation persisted as he cried and screamed and whimpered, knowing that they would not stop - they would never stop - but it was all he could do now, anyways. The cuffs had long since made his hands and feet numb. Bruises and cuts marked his entire body from his constant struggle with his predators. He had learned very early on that he could not lift a finger to them. There was no point. What else could he do but lay there and grit his teeth? A sleek blindfold draped tightly against his head was the only comfort he had left. He could not see their faces, know their identities, see what he had been turned into, or see their triumph when he gave in; a small mercy.
"What a slut you are," one of the many voices chuckled. One of the voices jerked his head back by the hair and groped any piece of flesh that was not his own. "Stop that sniveling, it doesn't suit your pretty face… Or do we need to give you a reason to? I bet you'd like that."
"Naw," another man sneered, turning their captive's head with a harsh yank. "He looks hungry." A choir of agreement filled his aching ears. "You're just dying to swallow all of us, huh? You're such a eager fucking whore." The gag was gone in a flash and something else was quick to take its place, content to jam itself so far down his throat that his airways were closed off. He struggled and whimpered until he was so close to passing out, but he could not bring his body to move. He kept thinking that he was going to die a pitiful death. They would find him, choked to death with evidence of one of them down his throat.
Suddenly, he could breathe again. Suddenly, the thing in his mouth had been pulled back just enough so that he could suck in a fresh breath of air. It started moving again quickly, giving him no time to rest, using his mouth as its own personal sheath and forcing him with a silent threat to play along.
His tears were hot and fast, now, tiny sobs muffled by the callous object pounding his throat harshly. He could only whimper as the abuse continued. The metal shaft was twisted and jerked around inside of him like they were trying to tear him apart. All he could do was arch and cry out around the intrusions, their laughter ringing in his ears.
Finally, the thing shoving into his mouth pulled out, but he knew what was coming next. Something hot and sticky and utterly disgusting sprayed across his face, mixing with the tears and saliva smeared on it, already. He panted, greedily filling his lungs with air while he still could. The hand fisted in his hair loosened before leaving, a low, sinister chuckle filling the thick, sweaty air.
"Now you look like a real whore... Why don't you take a look at yourself?!" It was fast, the dark fabric fluttering away before he could spur a noise from his throat. His eyes followed its trail as it was tossed aside, far out of his already limited reach. He could see. He could see all the leering, perverted eyes and the twisted faces and the sticky white drops clinging to his eyelashes and dribbling down to drop onto the floor.
No... This was the last straw! They had their fun, beating and touching and forcing him to be theirs. But they had never made him watch, before. Before, he had been mercifully blinded. The darkness had granted him a peaceful bliss; he could tune into the depths of his mind and forget – even if it was just for a few seconds – about what they were doing to him. They had ripped that tiny piece of solitude away from him, just as they had with his innocence and everything else their filthy hands could reach. He cast a quick glance at the blindfold laying absently in the corner before a hand yanked him forward by his seastone collar.
Before he could stop himself, he slammed his head forward, head-butting the man kneeling coyly in front of him. The captive growled lowly, like a crazed, abused animal. Despite the pain, a sick feeling of satisfaction bubbled up as he saw blood drip from the man's nose as he stumbled backwards. A hand buried itself in his thick hair and yanked his head back, the assaulter delighting in the cry of pain his actions pulled from their captive's throat. The broken man was smacked across the face by another tormentor standing in front of him.
"Causing us trouble, bitch?" he grunted. "We'll fix that. We've done it plenty of times before..." The sharp sting was nothing compared to the other blows he'd experienced, but the edge to the man's voice... Panic was all his body could process as he was shoved onto his back and his legs were pried wide open, exposing him and all his vile glory to their sickening desires. The feral look glistening in their eyes told him well enough that his fear had leaked onto his face. There was no time to draw the horror back inside and bury it behind a stoic facade as the metal shaft was roughly removed, only to be replaced by one of the hungry-looking men. The captive bucked and thrashed, but he was held down with ease, firm hands steadying his body. He was forced to watch as the fly was undone and the next torment for the night was displayed and prepared, rubbed against him until it felt harder than the metal shaft and far, far stickier.
With one hard thrust, he was inside.
A scream clawed its way out of his dry throat as the white hot agony began without a second to get used to the girth. The pace was fast and hard, his shoulders driven into the hard floor with each movement. His eyes were scrunched shut, tears squeezing out almost as quickly as the sweat on his brow. He kept screaming, even when his lungs felt like they would burst from uttering another noise and the soreness of his jaw made it difficult to take the cold, musky air in. The pain was unbearable, like he was being skewered by a whole tree, and he was helpless to make it stop. The tormentor's lips crashed against his own, and suddenly he felt a tongue stirring their saliva together sloppily. The tongue was shoved down his throat, making him want to vomit up the tiny bit of bile remaining inside his stomach.
'Kami, please! I don't care how, make it stop!' his mind begged. As usual, it did not look like anyone was going to answer. "S-stop... p-ple-ease... s-sto-op..." he managed to grind from between his teeth, his voice finally giving out.
"You heard him- Stop!" a new voice seemed to materialize a few feet away. It was a familiar, confident one, a voice whose owner's name danced at the tip of his mental tongue as he tried to open his eyes and forget his current predicament enough to take an actual look. "He was even nice enough to say 'please'." Fire Fist Ace stood in his usual cocky stance, looking down at the horrendous act before him. There was mild anger flickering in his eyes. The victim met his wandering orbs for only a split second before the pain had them screwed shut, again.
'When I said, "I don't care how," I didn't mean send him!' he internally lamented. He could almost feel the situation getting worse. He was being... humiliated in front of a pirate. Worse yet, a pirate who knew who he was and was high enough in the criminal community to do serious damage. The assaulter did not seem quite as dazed. With a cruel grin, he gave another powerful thrust, earning a choked whimper and a low growl.
"I said stop!" Ace shouted, an aura of flame flooding through the room. The air was filled with smoke and the smell of burning flesh, shouts of agony coming from all but one mouth. The fire danced around him harmlessly, but it still stole his breath as it sucked up the air to fuel itself and seemed to snap the binds; only his collar remained. The fire was strong, but even it was powerless against seastone.
Strong arms came out of nowhere, scooping up his crumpled body, and the still running figure of the pirate zipped through the doorway and out of the building. The coolness of the air running over his naked form was almost countered by the heat still rolling off Ace's skin as he ran. The man in his arms could only cough and catch his breath as his body tried to kill itself, pain coursing through each of his nerves. The fire user made good time, reaching the outskirts on the opposite side of town before he slowed.
"Stupid Marine getting yourself into stupid situations..." Ace seemed to grunt. "Not even going to ask what they were doing to you, Smoker." Even with the layers of ground in grime, the man's pale skin and pure white hair were dead giveaways, and even a blockhead would have been able to connect the dots. The Marine remained silent, his eyes not leaving the patch of sun kissed skin laying in front of them as he tried to find his voice, again. In truth, he was unsure whether it was the fire, the shock, or the torture that made it so difficult to find, again; the attempts continued for a few minutes, the Commodore hoping that they had not silenced him for good.
He had been saved from another long series of forced touches and penetrations... by a pirate. A 'D', but still very much a pirate.
"P-put me d-dow-wn..." he muttered, closing his eyes tightly as if that could block out who had just killed the bastards that had... hurt him and replace him with someone less criminal. Ace humored him long enough for Smoker to try and support his own weight on his now scrawny legs. He screamed, his throat aching even more than the rest of his body combined, and fell back against the fire user's chest. Tears squeezed out of his eyes against his will, but Ace either did not notice or was being civil enough not to kick him while he was down. A strong arm wrapped around his back, high enough to be away from the more tender areas, and he was steadied.
"It may be a little while before you're ready for that," Ace hummed, the sound rumbling through his chest and against the thin body laying against him. Smoker did not listen, and once he could get air back in his own lungs without sounding like a fish out of water, he was trying again. Needless to say, the pirate flinched as this attempt had the Marine falling flat on his face, his legs crumpled under him like twigs.
Ace sighed gently. He should have known better then to think he'd be able to run in, save the dolt, and leave. Smoker was a mess, unshed tears still in his puffy, bloodshot eyes, fear living in every movement of his body as he struggled to hold back the sounds of pain that they caused. The Marine was completely helpless. Even if he took off that collar still clamped viciously around his neck, giving him back his Devil Fruit powers, Smoker would still be a weak, emotionally damaged mess.
"I don't plan on dumping someone who needs help in the middle of nowhere," the pirate grunted, sitting by the fallen man. The space between their bodies and the younger man's relaxed posture was subconsciously soothing, and Smoker let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Ace observed him closer. Smoker's skin looked almost transparent in the faint moonlight peeking over the horizon. Ugly bruises painted his body like a rag-tag quilt of scraps, and his eyes... They were dull and lost, like an empty shell just barely clinging to life. His body was thin; there was nothing left of his once chiseled physique in the skin-and-bone creature huddled in front of him. This was the broken husk of one of the last decent men in the Navy.
'Marine or not, I can't just leave him like this. He won't survive the night without me.' He took a quick catalog of the injuries he could see; a dislocated jaw, almost dislocated shoulders, emaciated body, cuts, bruises... Ace didn't let his eyes stay too long on the area he knew hurt the most.
"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." The dried seed, blood, and dirt did not look like it would be best to leave on Smoker's body, especially if he wanted to keep from dealing with flashbacks. The smoke-user made as if to protest, but Ace would have none of it, "Look, you can't even sit up on your own. What makes you think you're going to be able to do anything without help right now?" The Marine looked stunned, almost like another blow had been inflicted upon his sunken, neglected stomach.
"C-Colla-ar..." he finally muttered, raising an ethereal hand to trace along the rough seastone. It was digging harshly into his skin, making breathing even more of a bother, and sapping the minute energy left in the smoke user's form. "...O-O-Off…" It was almost a whisper; a plead for help he would have never asked for, had he been the Marine he used to be. The White Hunter certainly would have never begged for the small taste of comfort the presence in his smoke core gave.
Ace eyed the thing, noting the locks and hinges were made with iron, and welded closed with the same material. He knew well enough what the Marine was going through, far more intimately then he'd enjoy admitting. With a soft sigh, he nodded. "Gimme a second..." the fire user hummed, digging through his pockets for a moment before pulling out a pair of gloves.
Slowly, as to keep Smoker from startling, he slid the gloves on and closed the distance between them, carefully allowing his now protected hands to wrap around the collar. Smoker winced as his head was lightly turned with this hold, the pirate looking over the area for any problems. With a simultaneous flick of his wrists, the lock and hinge shattered; the seastone fell away in two hefty chunks. The Marine sucked in a deep breath to strangle the noise of pain as air fully hit the ring of damaged skin, gasping as the choking sensation of the sea left after so many weeks.
A wave of smoke rolled through his body, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hairs, and he relaxed into it. He became nothing but the swirling ash and smoke that he'd longed to feel, again. It did not last for long, the weightlessness of his ethereal form; the fire swirling around him gently pressed him inwards. His stamina was wasted; Smoker could only let himself sink back down, nestled against the vibrant flames that anchored him. The smoke shifted back to flesh, fire following suit before he could be burned. Ace's arms were firm around him, cradling him carefully as the world spun wildly. The fire user arranged them both cautiously, sitting neatly with his arms looped around the Marine's shoulders, his legs making a seat for his battered hips, and setting a steady beat for the flighty rhythm pulsing through the pale man's chest.
As the smoke-user went lax against him, the pirate found that had been sitting there for several minutes, just waiting for his wheezing breaths to subside. Smoker was out, the little energy he had left taken by the whiplash from the seastone. Soft murmurs were all that flittered out of those bloodied lips, as Ace contemplated his next move.
"You're so going to hate me for this..." Ace grunted, slowly lifting up his new-found charge bridal style as he stood. The Marine did not seem to notice, his mind so deeply sunk into unconsciousness that even his usually light sleeping wasn't disturbed.
The fire-user walked carefully past a small house just outside of town. The clothesline stretched over it's lawn was laden with shirts, pants, socks, and sheets, and glancing at the naked bundle of flesh in his arms, he made a quick pit-stop. With a clean sheet giving Smoker some much needed coverage and protection from the cooling air, plus a few articles that might fit his emaciated build, the pirate continued on.
"You know?" the young fire user hummed, more to himself then the sleeping weight in his arms. "One time, when I was little... I found a bird. A dove, really. Something, or most likely someone, had gone and broke its wings. I took it home, had the few people that knew how to set bones fix its wings, but even then, they told me it would never be able to fly right again."
He paused, shifting the much-too-light body into one arm so he could fix the loosening sheet. His fingers brushed over the bruise circling the pale neck, and he sighed. "But I never gave up... Several months later, in front of everyone, I held up my hands, and that dove flew over and landed on them to eat a piece of bread." He smiled to himself bitterly.
"Looks like I've found another set of broken wings to fix up, huh?"