Eliot shifted as the man stepped away to utter something to one of his gunmen. The hitter looked at his team. He hated to see their realization that he wasn't going to fight them out of this mess like every other time. He set his countenance to one of determination and nodded. He had to let them know that he wasn't giving up, but rather taking the only control he could: keeping them alive. Right now, that meant submitting. Nate at least understood and the others seemed to be piecing it together as the man returned.
"Do anything rash and you get to watch your friends' brains splatter the walls. I want you to listen very closely, Spencer. You will do exactly as I say or your team dies. If you try to fight, if you disobey, if you do much as hesitate, I will personally pull the trigger. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Eliot replied shortly.
"Good. Hands behind your back," the man ordered. He did so. "Remember, compliance keeps them alive," he cooed and began to unbuckle his belt. Sophie gasped, Hardison's eyes widened, Parker shook her head violently, and Nate bowed his head as the man unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. Eliot was resigned to his fate, so his measured reaction was contained to a blazing glare. The man stroked himself for a minute then grabbed a handful of the hitter's hair, standing close. At the sharp tug on his hair, Eliot opened his mouth only to have it filled. He forced himself to relax and not gag to avoid biting down, glad for the team's (stunned) silence so he could focus on not fighting. Their captor kept thrusting, holding on tighter as he went harder. It was when he went all the way in that the hitter began to panic. He went in far, forcing him to deepthroat without reprieve. Eliot couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, and he was choking on the man. The hitter tried to pull back but at his resistance the man above him pushed deeper, pulling him closer. The thrusts grew quicker and harsher as Eliot struggled to obey and submit. When his oxygen-deprived brain was engulfed with hysteria, he realized that his captor wouldn't let him breathe until he finished, so with frantic resolve he moved a little with the thrusts. The man groaned, his movements becoming more ragged until he came. His unrelenting grip forced Eliot to swallow it all. Finally, he was thrown to the ground.
Eliot choked and coughed desperately. He cringed into the floor trying not to puke, knowing it would only garner more unwanted attention. The man above him zipped up his pants and kicked him hard in the gut over and over. Eliot couldn't roll away or get up so the assault continued. The attacker stomped on his chest and knocked the breath out of him. The hitter couldn't breath and that same panic overtook him him as Denison leaned down to grab his neck. He strangled him as he leaned down to whisper,
"You're mine, Spencer. Say it. Say you're my slut."
"Eliot gasped as he was allowed just enough leeway. "I-I'm your... s-slut."
"Look at them. Your team knows you're weak now. They pity you. It's over." He moved so the beaten man could see them. They were afraid, shocked, and probably disappointed. The man was right, they were over.
His captor sneered as he nodded to one of his cohorts to hand him a gun. He released his hold on the downed man and towered above him. "You're hardly worth a bullet," he scoffed as he pulled the trigger, shooting the hitter in each leg at the calf. Eliot bit back a cry of pain both times in a sharp grunt, jerking against the ground. He idly reached one arm out toward the source of the agony.
"This is your warning. You try to chase or hunt he, they're dead.
With a final kick to Eliot's side, their captor gestured to the gunmen and they left.
""Oh, Eliot!" Sophie cried, tugging futilely at her bonds.
"Come on, man, just breathe, okay?" Harrison begged at the hitter's coughs.
Eliot just lay on his back, avoiding their gazes and ignoring their voices.
Breathe. Breathe.
