Whumpetition Prompt Fic #2: Made A Slave

Whumpee: Killian Jones / Content warnings: man handling, forced kneeling, enslaved, toil and hard labor, whump lite.

Rated: T / ~1300 words

"Well, well, well," the madman with the flaming blue hair marveled. "It seems Captain Hook has finally deigned to arrive. A bit overdue, though. What is it you say in situations such as this? Bad form?"

"What are talking about," Killian snarled, trying his best to wrench himself out the bruising hold two men he recognized as ones who'd sailed under Captain Silver had on his arms.

"Don't you know where you are, Captain?" the man asked, circling him like a predator would its prey.

"Aye. The Underworld." Killian quickly glanced around him. He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he'd resigned himself to death in order to save Emma and her family, but it wasn't this.

"Yes! The Underworld. My domain," the man said, making his way back to stand in front of Killian. "We haven't been properly introduced, you and I. My mistake. I am Lord Hades, the god of death, and you, Captain, have kept me waiting for a very… long… time."

"Well, my apologies for not being more punctual," Killian cheeked.

"I'm afraid it's going to take a bit more than that to repay the centuries I've wasted waiting on you to finally die, for good." Hades turned and walked over to a high back chair, his throne, Killian surmised, given the way the god was lounged upon it now.

"What will it take, then?"

Hades paused, as if giving the question some thought before offering, "Tell you what. I'll let you work off the time you owe me. In servitude."

Killian wore a sham of a smile and falsely flattered, "While I am sure that is a very generous offer on your part, I'm afraid I must decline."

Hades tented his fingers and narrowed his gaze. "You still don't seem to grasp the reality of your position here, Captain."

"Enlighten me, then."

"It's as I said before. This is my domain, which means… I own you."

"No one owns me," Killian seethed.

"Actually, that isn't true," Hades countered. "Did you really think there wouldn't be consequences for cheating death all those years? I admit, I instigated the original deal, the one that saved you and your brother from the storm, but then you just had to keep renegotiating the contract."

Killian shook his head. Nothing the demon said made any sense. Deal? The storm? Liam? The Contract?

"What contract?"

"Why… this one."

Hades snapped his fingers and unfurled a scroll when it instantly materialized in his hand. The parchment stretched from Hades grip and ended at Killian's feet. At the bottom was a signature, one Killian recognized. It was his brother Liam's.

"Given your youth at the time, your brother signed the agreement on your behalf. I assure you it is quite binding, as are the provisions within the fine print. The ones which back up my claim as your lord and master now that you have entered the Underworld."

Killian's jaw tightened. No. Liam would have never indebted them to the likes of Hades. He wouldn't believe it, couldn't believe. The contract vanished in a puff of smoke before Killian's eyes, but not before he'd had a chance to read the truth of Hades' claims for himself.

"Kneel," Hades commanded

Killian flicked his steely gaze upon the man. "No."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Hades placed a hand over his heart in an act of false contrition. "Did I phrase that in such a way it made you think you had a choice?"

A sharp kick was delivered to the backs of his knees, forcing them to the ground with a jarring thud. Killian's head fell forward only to be wrenched back up by a painful tug of his hair, forcing him to face the devil still seated upon his throne. Weighty hands pressed themselves to his shoulders, ensuring he remained in his forced position of penitence.

"That's better."

Killian's teeth ground together at Hades self-satisfied tone and victorious smirk. Nostrils flaring, he inhaled a resolute breath and bit his tongue. Let the egomaniac think he'd won. Deals were made to be broken, and Killian was nothing if not resourceful. He'd find a way out of this. He just had to endure whatever punishment, whatever acts of servitude Hades had planned until he could initiate his escape. He'd endured all manor of torture and humiliation at the hands of tyrants before, what could Hades possibly do that Killian hadn't survived already?

"I pride myself on being rather creative with my beatings," Hades boasted. "But I think a different form of judgement would be much more effective in helping you learn your place here. Yes… I think I have just the right form of torture for the great Captain Hook."

Killian scoffed, a defiant huff expelling from his chest before he taunted, "Go on, then. Do your worst."

"Such fire," Hades said with mocked appreciation and enthusiasm. "Such passion. I'd expect nothing less from a man of action, such as yourself." Hades slid from his throne and paced his way to Killian with slithering steps then crouched down until they were face to face. "Which is how I know these years of repayment will drive you mad before their completion. For a man with such a drive for adventure, how could there be anything worse... than purposeless monotony."

Killian's brow knitted together and his jaw went slack with bewilderment. He'd expected the lash, or perhaps a rack. What the hell kind of torment was monotony?

~/~

The sun beat down on Killian's back, causing beads of sweat to run down his face while he was bent over on all fours on the hard boards of the deck. The fetid stench of fish guts and other filth choked his sinuses and made his eyes sting and water, blurring his vision. His hands were raw from the continued scrubbing, his body aching from the repetitive action of cleansing the deck of the Jolly Roger with only a small brush and pale of never ending sea water.

He'd lost count of the times his back had become blistered under the intense rays of perpetual midday. The number of times his hands had cracked and bled, or his knees had become bruised or scraped to the bone. How many times had he chucked the brush over board, only for it materialize in his hand soon after? How many times had he just sat in defiance only to see the refuse upon the deck multiply until it left him vomiting over the side, the retching setting his throat afire with no fresh water to soothe its ache.

How many times had he come to the end of his task, finally able to stand and stretch out the kinks and sore places the hard labor and toil had beset upon his body? How many times had he watched the bruises, scrapes, burns, and blisters heal themselves, and his parched body receive a quenching that almost brought about full relief and refreshing, only to have the sparkling deck soiled once again, ready for its next scouring without another moment's rest.

How much longer before Hades words proved true? How much longer before the madness set in from the torment of this monotony?