Summary: When Kurt is captured by a slave ring he expects all the darkness and pain that follows. What he doesn't expect is his roommate, sweet and caring and smiling from the minute Kurt wakes up. When you're trapped in a literal hell, it's hard not to trust the only glimpse of light, but how can Kurt know if he's deserving of that trust.
Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, spanking, breathplay, dirty talk, humiliation, and whipping, if I forgot anything, let me know.
Word Count: ~2,000
Kurt lost track of the days soon after that. Blaine didn't attempt to give him water again. He still gave him that sad smile every time he came back to the room but didn't speak. Kurt started to weaken, his throat dry and burning with every breath, his stomach rumbling loudly almost all the time and feeling like it was trying to eat itself. He drifted in and out of consciousness, asleep more often than he was awake, the dehydration and starvation making it almost impossible to keep his eyes open.
Shortly after Blaine had left one day, the door was opened again and a large, burly man entered the room. His eyes were hard and his mouth was set in a frown. He wasted no time in unstrapping Kurt from his restraints and dragging him to his feet. Kurt slumped, legs not used to holding his weight and exhaustion, and hunger making his body feel heavier than normal. The man didn't comment, didn't fight him, just threw him over his shoulder and carried his from the room.
Kurt remembered that he was still naked from the waist down as the man walked swiftly through the halls and squirmed, trying to wiggle his shirt down around his lower half. The man smacked him sharply on the ass and Kurt let out a hoarse cry. There were other people in the halls, all of them wearing the same clothes Blaine always wore, a dark hoodie and grey sweats. Not a one of them looked to be over twenty, and some of them looked as young as twelve, if they were even that. They all stared at Kurt as they passed and Kurt buried his face in his hands, cheeks burning with humiliation.
The man opened a door and stepped in, dropping Kurt to the floor without preamble. Kurt cried out and was immediately grateful for the thin carpeting the room had, compared to the concrete floor in his cell. Something hit chest and he looked down at the water bottle.
"Drink," the man ordered.
Kurt paused for a minute, gathering his strength before looking him defiantly in the eyes. "No," he said, voice somehow both weak with exhaustion and lack of use but strong with determination.
The hard look in the mans eyes didn't change as he stalked forward and grabbed the bottle of water, untwisting the cap and grabbing Kurt's jaw, forcing his mouth open and pouring the liquid into his mouth. Kurt sputtered and gagged, throat working desperately to swallow the steady stream of water flowing into his mouth. The man emptied the bottle before tossing it aside and letting go of Kurt's jaw. He backhanded him across the cheek and Kurt dropped to the ground gasping and clutching the side of his face.
"Lesson number one, bitch, I don't ask twice. Do it, or I will make you do it, and it will hurt a whole hell of a lot worse for you."
The man walked away and Kurt took the few minutes to himself to push back the tears stinging his eyes and get his breathing under control, his stomach gurgled in frustration at the lack of food given it with the abundance of water.
He heard the man's footsteps returning and curled in on himself. Fingers slid into his hair and pulled him up onto his knees, head forced back so far that his spine bowed with the tension.
"Shirt off," the man said, and Kurt hesitated, the 'fuck you' trying to make it's way out of his throat. A sharp tug to his hair reminded him of his earlier warning and since he was already mostly naked, he didn't think keeping his shirt would be worth the pain fighting back would cause.
He unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as his weak, shaking fingers could and slipped it off his shoulders.
"Good bitch," the man said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he patted Kurt's cheek. Kurt flinched, gritting his teeth against his own biting remark. "Now, for the rules. We will train every day for a week, at the end of the week you will be tested and if you fail you will be sent back for another week, you will continue to be trained until you pass. It is in your best interest to pass sooner, the longer I have to look at that girly bitch face of yours the less gentle I am going to be with it, understood?"
Kurt didn't respond, eyes still narrowed at the man.
Kurt expected the slap, but it didn't stop him from jerking to the side only to be yanked back by the man's grip on his hair.
"When I ask you a question you will respond with 'Yes, Sir' or 'No, Sir'," he bit, jerking Kurt's head painfully each time he said 'Sir'.
"Yes, Sir," Kurt said through clenched teeth.
"Good, now-" Kurt's stomach growled loudly, interrupting Sir. He glared, foot coming up to press into Kurt's noisom abdomen. Kurt groaned, body trying to curl around his stomach in protection but being forced to bow further backward as Sir tugged harder on his hair. "Is the little bitch hungry?" he growled, kicking Kurt swiftly in the stomach once, twice, three times before releasing him and walking farther in the room. Kurt leaned over, clutching at his stomach that was throbbing both inside and out.
Sir dug through a few drawers for a minute before barking, "Come here, bitch."
Kurt shakingly pushed himself to his feet and walked haltingly over to him, having to stop every couple of seconds to steady himself. Sir waited impatiently and once Kurt was in front of him, he backhanded him again. Kurt stumbled backward dropping back to his knees , eyes clenched shut against the spinning of the room. "What the hell was that for?" Kurt asked, touching his cheek gingerly, "I did what you wanted!"
"Walking is a privilege," Sir said shortly, "one you haven't earned yet, you will crawl until I say otherwise."
Kurt ground his teeth but still manage to spit out a "Yes, Sir."
"Good, now, all slaves eat on the floor. Plates and utensils and use of your hands are also privileges that you have yet to earn. So," he dropped a handful of cheerios on the carpet in front of Kurt, "eat," he ordered.
Kurt hesitated, this carpet looked disgusting and he didn't even want to imagine all the things that had happened in this room and on this particular patch of rug.
"Just a warning, the cheerios won't be like the water. I will whip you once for every cheerio you leave on this floor. And, as your stomach won't stop growling until you've eaten something, I'll add on another lash every time it makes a noise. So it's really in your best interest to get eating now."
Kurt look up at him, jaw clenching and unclenching in annoyance at being treated like a dog. Sir raised an eyebrow, daring Kurt to test him and Kurt submitted, leaning down and gingerly picking up a cheerio between his teeth. The top of the pile wasn't bad and he moved quickly down until he reached the last layer. Picking up his first one he knew immediately he wasn't just getting cheerio, he reached to try and pull the carpet fuzz out of his mouth but his hand was quickly slapped away.
"Try that again and I'll tie your hands behind your back and I honestly don't think you're strong enough at the moment to hold yourself up without them."
Kurt glared up at him but swallowed it down, grimacing and coughing as the fuzz made it's way down his throat. He picked up the other cheerios carefully, trying his best but still getting at least a little fuzz each time. He sat back on his heels once they were all gone just for Sir to dump another handful in the floor. Kurt sighed, but bit his tongue. He'd thought he have at least earned a plate by now.
Every time Kurt would think he was done Sir would just drop more, until Kurt's stomach was feeling over full and his back and knees ached from being on the ground for this long. Finally Sir hesitated with the next handful in hand and Kurt was sure he was done, until he promptly threw them across the room and they scattered all over the place. Kurt's jaw dropped, hands clenching in frustration on his thighs. Sir looked at his bare wrist and said, "You have five minutes to find them all, go."
Kurt groaned in frustration but crawled quickly around the room grabbing each cheerio he found and ignoring the amount of carpet he was eating with each one. He'd gotten thirteen when Sir called out "Time's up!"
Kurt sat back, panting, "That… was not… five minutes," he gasped out.
"Sure it was," Sir said.
"You don't have a watch," Kurt argued, and his head whipped around the room, searching for some form of time keeping device, "and there isn't a clock in here, that wasn't five minutes, you cut it short! You didn't even give me a chance to succeed!"
Sir approached him angrily and gripped his chin tightly, "It's five minutes because I say it is. I threw thirty cheerios and you only picked up thirteen, which equals twenty-two lashings, I'm upping it to an even twenty-five because of your backtalk."
"But-" Kurt said and received a harsh slap to the face.
"Now it's thirty. You'll receive them at the end of the day in case I need to add more, now find the rest." He shoved Kurt backward and went back to the drawers.
Kurt angrily continued searching for the cheerios. He scaled the room up and down and only managed to find eight more. There couldn't have possibly been thirty, he hadn't left a single spot unsearched. Sir'd lied about the time, he'd lied about the number, and Kurt couldn't understand how he was expected to be good when nothing he did could possibly be good enough if Sir changed the standards to impossible heights and didn't even tell him.
He bit back the sob threatening to bubble out of his chest. He refused to cry in front of Sir, he knew he would almost inevitably break down in his and Blaine's room but at least Blaine had to pretend to be sympathetic. Sir would just laugh and probably add more lashings for being weak.
Kurt didn't know how he was going to survive this.
Kurt had never experienced anything more painful than the whipping. Each lash stung more than the last, his back and ass covered in criss crossing red welts, almost fifty of them if his count was correct. He'd earned forty by the end of the day and apparently Sir didn't feel like stopping.
Sir followed him back to the room as Kurt crawled, still naked, through the halls. He'd stop every now and then to try and cope with the pain. Sir would give a few seconds reprieve before smacking him with the riding crop he'd brought along to get him moving again. Kurt had never been more grateful to see Blaine, because it meant he'd made it back and he could sleep and not have to move for a while.
He crawled onto the bed, collapsing with his face in the pillow. Sir gave him one last smack with the riding crop, causing him to yelp, before locking him and Blaine in for the night. Blaine rushed to his side, touching his shoulder gently.
"Don't touch me," Kurt hissed, jerking away.
"Kurt, please," Blaine pleaded softly, "I need to take care your wounds."
"They're fine," Kurt bit out even as his back screamed and his ass burned.
"No, they're not, and if I don't put some lotion on them, you're barely going to able to move tomorrow and it will just earn you more lashings. Let me help you, okay?"
Kurt wanted to tell him that he knew, that Blaine could stop acting and just leave, because Kurt knew he was in charge. But another part of him craved the comfort, the human contact that didn't come with a threat of pain. Even if it was a lie. So he didn't and just whispered, "Okay."