Note: I have seemed to reach something of a dead end. I know how things go after this…I just don't know how to write it. So… next chapter will take a while… if anyone is following it at all. Oh. And this chapter…attempted smut.

The Breaking
Chapter 5

When Sparrow awoke, it was dark and he could not move. He found his wrists bound together with leather straps hanging from the ceiling. Other than that, he was stripped bare. Not a single thread on his body save for his boots. He struggled with the straps. Nothing loosened. He closed his eyes and initiated will. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing worked. For the first second since being trapped, he started to choke on panic. He tugged at the leather straps, loud snaps echoing in the dark room.

"Ah…Sparrow, trapped in a cage." Reaver entered the room wearing his robe, tied at the sash, but revealed his broad chest. Sparrow glared at him, but his body had gone rigid at being exposed in front of another man. Reaver returned a seductive smirk. "I paid a witch to help me with this cell. The leather was a good touch. No will user, like you, my dear Sparrow will be able to get out of here if the Master does not allow it. And, lo behold…" Reaver whipped his dark hair with a twisted smile. "I am the Master." Sparrow glowered at him. "No no. I know what you want with me. But let me tell you what the Master wants." Reaver slid a finger across Sparrow's strong jawline and cupped his cheek. Sparrow jerked his face away, giving him a dirty look. The trail of heat on his skin affected him strangely.

In one fluid movement, Reaver wrapped his long fingers around Sparrow's length. The sharp inhale of breath from Sparrow made him smile. Reaver squeezed brutally as he gave him a slow, tormenting, stroke. A low, ragged cry left the Hero's lips as his eyes widened in shock at the jolt of pleasure. His body was betraying him, reacting to the sinful touches of the pirate. The flesh trapped in Reaver's hand twitched. With a charming grin, Reaver pulled at the already hard muscle in slow, firm strokes. Sparrow shook with the effort of trying to get away, even though he knew it was futile. It was obvious that his body craved for this. Was almost even desperate for this. Sparrow's knees buckle as he squirmed to get away from the grip. Tight. Hot. And maddeningly slow. Red pleasure, like wine, coiled itself in his navel like tiny serpents twisting and writhing, biting at his resolve. He heard his breath hitch with every tug from experienced hands. Every stroke from base to head. Every swirl of the rough pad of a thumb over the head. Sparrow moaned, obscenely wanton. Very soon, he stopped trying to get away; the pleasure had broken him the way Reaver wanted it to break him. He was at the peak now, writhing and twisting and thrusting haphazardly, offering the pirate everything and receiving this with full neediness. Harder. Faster. But the agonisingly slow momentum still tortured him. He could feel his body throb and ache with the ministrations.

"So beautiful when you blush," he hissed and Sparrow whined in response, slack-jawed.

Sparrow was twitching, high from arousal as he eyed Reaver with a begging gaze. He was close …to something. Then the hands left him abruptly. A choked cry left his lips in protest before he could stop himself. He was panting. Weak and flopping around ungracefully. Reaver circled Sparrow, touching, admiring the body before him. The firm, sinewy muscles, the tendons on the neck, the patterns of scars; he suddenly felt ashamed that he was not more beautiful. As Reaver pressed himself to Sparrow's back, he wrenched the man's head back with a tug on the hair. Sparrow cried out then groaned when he felt lips latched onto the throat, biting at the plump flesh. Brutal. Vicious. His body throbbed in desperation for release. The pulse between his thighs rippled through his frame as he thrust the air, rolling his hips haphazardly while warm, wet, sucking kisses pinched at his neck.

"Virgin, then?" Reaver blew into the ear. A shiver was the answer. His hand found its way back to Sparrow's pulse and he wrapped his fingers around him, once more, already starting a rhythm with his vicious pumping. Choked cries echoed around the room as Sparrow jerked irregularly, closer to oblivion. Closer to abandon of every nature. He could not think. He could not breathe. His cries were hoarse. His breathing ragged. It was that grip on him. He felt like he might die should that hand leave him again. Teeth sank into his neck then and suddenly the white hot exploded. Sparrow threw his head back; a spurt of white fluid stained his quivering stomach, a long guttural moan filling the room. It was scorching hot. Red flames licked at his oblivion. He cried out many things in reckless abandon, screaming until his voice broke, until his body weakened, fatigued and slackened. Exhausted.

Oh, but Reaver would not let go, would not stop touching him. Reaver continued tugging, milking him till the last drop and continued even after that, without losing his rhythm. Sparrow whined at the touches on his skin. Sharp jolts of pain and pleasure shot through his groin at the rough manhandling of over sensitised skin. Deep, ragged breathing warmed his skin as Sparrow tried desperately to cool down. Choking. Sighing. Panting heavily. Twitching. It did not happen. When Reaver finally slowed down his strokes, Sparrow found that he was still hard, very painfully so. He was almost beginning to mewl again.

He was still in spasms when Reaver smiled into his skin, inhaling the deep smell of sex. He shuddered in anticipation, feeling the beginnings of stubble on his shoulder. Already, Reaver was rubbing himself against Sparrow like a dog in heat. The hard shaft against the cleft of his buttocks made him shiver in both want and disgust. Reaver circled Sparrow again, noting the glistening skin, the slack jaw and the hooded eyes. He roughly caressed the flat stomach, pulling forth small whimpers from swollen lips. Reaver grinned back, already untying the sash around his waist.

"Let's begin, shall we?" he said with a seductive smile in place. He let the robe hang open, as he stroked himself. Sparrow caught a glimpse of Reaver between the opened robe, noticing how ready the man was. He swallowed, wary… but curious. Reaver pushed Sparrow back, running kisses over his neck tenderly, his body responding by quivering against the flat planes of muscles. A low, needy whine escaped Sparrow's swollen lips then and Reaver smirked at the sound. This was going to be a very long night.

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Sparrow awoke shivering in the aftermath of his memories. That happened on the first night he entered Bloodstone, after a long and exhausting journey through Wraithmarsh. It tore at him – both the journey and the …breaking.

Sparrow shuddered, feeling lingering touches dipping into his skin. At first they had been unwanted but as the night wore on, the touches felt like they belonged on him, forever imprinted on his flesh and he… had somehow belonged to the pirate. Unnatural attachment. Sparrow cried in anguish as he pushed open the door of the tomb. He had to be broken to be attached to him like that and more than a little broken to want to fall asleep in an empty tomb. White wisps floated over to meet him. Sparrow carefully slid out his Daichi, feeling a new kind of frustration added on to the after effects of his thoughts. He slashed through the nearest Hollow man, crashing through old bones. Satisfaction rippled down his spine.