A/N: Warning: This is a tough chapter. Law does get hurt. Please don't read if it will upset you. Explicit for rape and sexual assault. Please take note of the warning and proceed accordingly.

I usually put the tough chapters up in tandem with a softer one. Readers can probably proceed to the next chapter without too much confusion. Though considering how much I'm playing with times, I'm not certain.

Warnings: Rape and sexual assault. Mature and explicit themes. Please take note and proceed accordingly

Chapter Ten: Bring on the Dancing Horses

Dellinger's heels clicked over the concrete. The cell sat in the middle of the room. Just the cell. The fluorescent light bore down, single strips punctuating the ceiling, one sputtering and flickering directly over the cage. Doflamingo had a table set up in the cell - it was sizeable – only the best for Law, as always.

Busy reading some of the documents in front of him, Doflamingo picked up a pen to lazily sign others. His feathered coat hung over the back of the chair. Dellinger had heard he'd have the table removed later, and he believed it. There was no way the Young Master could put up with that crackling light for long. The half-fishman wondered at a pinging noise that filled the room, like pressure in a water pipe. That was kind of annoying too, but it didn't seem to bother their boss.

He placed papers in front of him, and Doflamingo looked up with casual thanks as Dellinger waited for his signature. A pretty constant dull thudding sound accompanied the pinging, and also – that could only be onii-chan – a choked, sloppy noise. Like some fatty fighting his own constricted pathways just for a taste of air. Spit, skin and motion. Distress? Mmm, maybe a little.

While the documents were being read, Dellinger peered around the cell trying to locate the source. Vergo's haki form was always impressive. He could only see it from the back, at the other end of the cell. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed him when he'd entered, but then again, Doflamingo was mesmerising. Even so, those massive shoulders, his tapered waist, the fitted trousers were awe-inspiring.

Vergo's shirt was off. One hand gripped a bar – it almost bent under his strength – and he guessed the other held Law's hair. He couldn't see clearly past the executive to make sure.

The movement of Vergo's hips was sensual, functional, non-stoppable, so powerful. The squishy, pained muffled utterances he could hear coming from that corner – squawks? Was that why Young Master called him little bird? – must be Law.

He could see one of Law's legs - shin, ankle, calf - clothed in black trousers, but barefoot, as always. Jora had painted his toes, and boy was that leg restless. Crooked like Bo-beep's staff, as if Law had been practicing some esoteric kind of meditation, it bounced uncontrollably - not in time with Vergo's poetry. Torture? Fear? Tchh. There was no room for that in the Family. He wondered if Law realised how funny he looked, how funny he sounded.

Ah, that dull thudding was his head smacking the bars. It made sense now. The pinging? Metallic? Earrings? Cuffs? What had the silly boy done to have his hands chained to the bars? Well, existing was reason enough, of course.

Occasionally the rhythm broke into something more frantic, and Law's pathetic rasp intensified, and Dellinger knew the traitor was either resisting – even more foolish – or Vergo had stepped things up. Maybe both.

Dellinger giggled, mouth wide, eyes bright. Just look at Vergo go. Dressrosa really had hurt his family, and they'd done nothing to Law prior to his attack. They'd taken him in when he was younger, saved him, trained him, created a home, just like they had for Dellinger. Law had turned his back on them all. And now look at him. Anything that happened to him, he'd brought upon himself.

He faced Doflamingo again, a query on his upturned lips.

Sparing a glance, Doflamingo continued with the paperwork. "Brat wouldn't open his trap when we wanted him to, and couldn't keep it shut when appropriate. Slept when he should've been awake, primed, primped and ready to go. Hands are tied to the bars with shackles and strings. Parasito keeps his lips conveniently wide until he learns to part or shut his mouth on command. On instinct."

He paused and listened. Vergo's breath was so even. Such a contrast to...

"His bracelets syncopate with the overall rhythm nicely, don't they? That's why we give him shiny things. It pays off. If only he could conduct himself with a little more decorum he wouldn't find himself in these situations. Vergo's fucking him until he learns to eat all of his breakfast."

Dellinger's eyes lit like Catherine Wheels. "But if he can't close his mouth . . ."

Doflamingo shook out his sleeves and pulled down his shirt cuffs before resuming his work.

"An order is an order, Dellinger, and disobeyed orders will be punished accordingly."

The boy squirmed and shot Doflamingo an imploring look.

Doflamingo hesitated, pen in air, smile stretched widely. "You're too young, Dellinger." He placed the pen on the desk, and sat back in his chair. "But I know the other officers could do with a little stress-relief. It depends on how unpalatable Law makes himself, even though he's the one taste-testing. I don't know that he should be encouraged. He's a little arse-dragging bitch, but Vergo and I are fond of that arse in our own way."

He ran a hand through his own hair, admiring Vergo's single-mindedness.

"We don't like our trash too trampy. If we keep him exclusive maybe we can train him out of the habit. Like rubbing a puppy's nose in its own shit." But Law couldn't be housebroken, the Heavenly demon knew only too well. Just broken. His cackle almost drowned out everything else. Almost.

They both looked over as Vergo came with a grunt and a shudder, Law trying to swallow, to not choke, to breathe with, and without, crying. The sounds were incredibly gratifying to the Don Quixote three. The cuffs rattled against the bars intermittently. Doflamingo guessed it was a bodily reaction. He wondered if Rocinante's golden boy had wet himself.

Joker could do business like this the whole day. In fact, he intended to. It was so enjoyable, he might have to get that light fixed though, much as it pained him to make life a little easier for Law.

He watched Vergo being Vergo, and the man stood a little to the side so that his boss could see his protégé from his desk. The ex-marine couldn't help but jerk Law's hair upwards, the fool gaped at him with startled, brittle eyes. Semen was obviously pooling in his mouth, under that talented, warm, enticing tongue perhaps and, there, trickling down the sides of his face. Hmm. What had he said about being obeyed?

He knew Vergo wanted to kick or beat him, but he didn't want Law too physically damaged today. The bars would make beautiful patterns against his back, and Doflamingo grew very happy seeing his brand near the convulsing stomach of his reclaimed underling.

"Onii-chan!" Dellinger yelled out, and Law moved his head like a stunned mullet, a laughing clown. The younger boy doubled over. He'd looked funny before, but this was beyond hilarious. Wait until he told Buffalo. There was no way he could muster up a glare to even make Baby 5 cry. "You left his pants on?" he asked when he'd stopped giggling. Disappointed.

"Even a brat needs a little dignity, Dellinger," Doflamingo sneered. His words were not directed at the blond.

Vergo yanked his zip and strode to Doflamingo's desk, giving Dellinger a quick once over.

.

"It takes all my control not to beat him to fuck and back for disobeying orders."

"Your restraint is commendable."

"You're too kind, Doffy. He likes it rough. I remember him begging to be taken over the hood of a car in the desert."

"Little tart, but you don't have a car, Vergo, and haven't been near the desert."

"That's right, I haven't."

Doflamingo sighed. What could he do to curb the slatterny habits of his slave, even if sprung from Vergo's absentmindedness?

"Not to worry. We'll make him pay for it later."

Dellinger noted that Vergo's breakfast this morning must have contained toast, Law's least favourite food. Even though the executive's face had been nowhere near Law's, the irony was lip-smacking.

"Next, Doffy, what if I deprive him of my spunk down that cunt of a throat, since he can't seem to keep it there anyway, and paint his body over, after pulling out?"

They looked over at Law; shaking, barefoot Law with the colourful brand, and the mouth pierced with strings. White streaks on the black trousers. No doubt some blood too, but they dressed him in black so he didn't blemish his surroundings too much. Visibly. Only with his being. Not with the effluent of his body – and theirs. It matched his tattoos. He couldn't complain.

"Quiet," Doflamingo barked, and Law tried to stop the spasms in his arms, to still his legs.

Joker returned his attention to Vergo.

"Of course one must take advantage of what's on offer, and he hasn't shut his gob yet, despite very specific orders."

Vergo nodded.

"Evidently willing, yes," Doflamingo murmured. "Didn't I tell you to shut it, Law?" he spat at the once-rival pirate captain, though he'd never ever really been good enough to be taken seriously as a rival or a captain.

"But there you are catching flies? Taking all of Vergo. Yet, when I want a bit of relief, you're as prim as a maiden. It's annoying beyond belief. As your captain and master, I'm commanding you to close your mouth now."

Doflamingo's tenor was something else. Dellinger couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

It amused the huge man to see Law's lips twitch against the parasite strings in an attempt to bring them together. His guts must be like the polar caps. Nothing the defeated could do about it now, as Law well knew. He'd personally disciplined him for his ongoing insubordination earlier. Doflamingo's groin retained a pleasant heat from the memory. A few gurgles from the back of Law's throat sounded out like some cretin's attempt at language. Maybe he was trying to emulate Bellamy.

"He's calling your name, Vergo."

The first Corazon gave the slave a quick look.

Vergo turned back to Doflamingo. "The new rule, or extra rule, being that if he can't wipe himself down after I'm done, we do it again."

"Dirty bird loves it."

"It's too good for him really, though I'm happy to oblige."

"But his hands are tied," Dellinger shouted, gleeful, looking at the slovenly, angry heap. He couldn't even turn a wrist to raise a finger.

Doflamingo ignored him. "Lessons must be learnt, Vergo. Start with the mouth. Finish in the throat, on the body, in his hair - should I pin his eyes open? - any way, just so long as you understand your punishment. Law."

He stared at him and turned back to his small entourage.

"Such a dumbfuck. Such a waste."

So beautiful.

"Very good."

"Once you're done, you can beat him into the bars. I know you're itching to."

"It was considerate to give him something to lean against."

"I'm not a monster." Doflamingo signed the documents Dellinger had presented earlier.

"Then wash him down, and put him to bed to rest. Don't fuck him. He can eat lunch with the Family if he performs well, his lips heal, if he can move. Tomorrow we'll see if he's ready. Or if the strings will be once again be necessary."

Vergo had already crossed the room, placed Law's almost dead fingers on his zipper, then helped him pull it down, the button still fastened. He'd have to be careful of the zipper-teeth. He dipped a hand into the folds of his trousers, and forced Law up onto his knees this time, cupping him under the jaw. He angled his face, then gripped his hair again, for maximum effect. "Suck, bitch."

"Disobedience will not be tolerated," Doflamingo smiled, as he manipulated the strings to open Law's lips wider.

oOOo

He was going to survive, he was going to survive - it didn't matter how fat and flat and invasive Vergo's hand felt cupped to his cheek and pulling his hair, he was going to survive. Every bit of metal that his head clanged against as Vergo pistoned into his mouth let him know he was still there, still alive, still able to gain fucking vengeance, or to live, just to live. He was still fucking alive.

Every twist of Doflamingo's fucking piano string wires into his wrists hyped his body into survival overdrive. Every clink of the shackles against metal. Shackles and string. Who did Doflamingo think Law was? Kaido? Even if he rattled away in terror like a teacup in an earthquake, he would beat them. Fuck it.

They could bring in Dellinger, look at him over there practically creaming himself, and have him go down on him with his pointed Fishman teeth, while Vergo brutalised him, and still he'd survive.

Until he didn't.

They'd coerce his body into coming and hold it as justification for their actions, as judgement against him, and so fucking let them. He would fucking rise above them just by surviving them and not being them. All their petty manipulations would eventually fail and fall flat.

Vergo pushed into him. Relentless. A string of glottal stops spitfired from Law's throat – and Law hated it, how he hated it – being reduced to something so inarticulate, so guttural.

But he'd never be their rough drawing, their rude pin up, their page three boy. Their whore to be used, pitied and despised. Even as he shuddered trying to draw breath, his body fighting not to black out, resigning himself to inevitability pissing himself, he would fucking survive.

It didn't stop his eyes from rolling back, the tears, the shame, nor the suppressed growls and the curses, but he was alive, and would remain that way. Whatever it took.

Chapter 11, a much softer chapter, will be up shortly.