He'd wound the man up too much recently, hit out too much much without paying his dues and it had come back to bite him. When he had Fred on side these sorts of things didn't happen. Sure, he might take a belt or two, maybe a few really nasty thumps but it wasn't too bad in the scheme of things. When he was in his pet patron's bad books... well, obviously he hadn't ended up with the bruising along his hip bone and up his torso because Fred was feeling charitable towards him at the moment. Instead of cooling down his compatriot's tempter and getting him to back off, Fred had joined in.
Fionn almost had to admire the pair for how much pain they'd managed to cause without too much damage. They'd been pissed off but they'd still taken care not to kick his ribs when he'd been on the ground, padding their fists when they took them to his torso so that they didn't crack or break bones. He knew of a passive who had suffered that way, the bone pushing inwards when he'd lifted something. His lung had punctured, air bubbling below the skin and leaving it oddly popping. More horrifically, blood had filled his airways, leaving him to splutter it up, painting his lips with it as he slowly drowned on his own fluids. It had been less than pleasant to witness but it had provided the patrons with a valuable lesson: avoid causing certain kinds of damage.
Kicks had gone into his hip, which was really, really throbbing and the softened blows from fists had brought out a patchwork of bruising that was slow to come to the surface, subtle in its appearance but bloody agonising. It had been hours ago and while it had really hurt when it had happened, it had only gotten worse over time. It was like everything had tightened, pain blossoming as the injured flesh lost its elasticity and grew taut. It had made the young man grow stiffer over the course of the day, the pain certain to be excruciating after he'd slept and given his injuries a chance to set. Even so, it had been a distraction and a hindrance, the new stiffness and desire to avoid aggravating things further had led him to have a little accident in the kitchen. It was lucky that the ashes he'd ended up wearing had only been warm but they'd still succeeded in fusing to the skin of his face, his arms and neck, and clung to his hair. He was dirty enough to be considered a contaminant, hardly trusted with the food when he would make it disgusting so a bath was in order.
Fionn hated baths.
The boy always seemed to be scruffy with all manner of detritus clinging to him so it would be understandable to assume that he had an aversion to water. It wasn't entirely true; he had an aversion to stripping off to wash.
Passives couldn't bathe in peace in Brunnhold, the notion of privacy a distant childhood memory given the school's communal baths and the near constant supervision for its servants. Fionn wouldn't have minded a bath if he could have been alone to do it but that was never going to happen. What was more, he knew better than to trust people when he was naked around them. He knew to be wary about being so vulnerable when there were those who would happily take advantage of it; the blond had learned that the hard way in this place when he'd had any innocence and trust he'd retained destroyed.
At this time of night, things were unfortunately quiet and Fred was his supervision so it was the perfect opportunity for the older man to take advantage. Given that he was in pain and seriously pissed off at the man, he wasn't enthused at the prospect of having to put up with his advances.
The patron had been curiously quiet on the way to the bathhouse and it wasn't until they got there and Fionn started the water running that it became clear that the man had been thinking - a dangerous event.
"You know... given that there isn't anyone else here I could always let you have a good bit of water to let you soak. 'Magine it'd be a relief for all your bruises and such," Fred remarked in a seemingly off-hand way that made Fionn stand rigid.
"Oh yeah, do that out of the kindness of your heart, would you? Same way you did when you helped give them to me in the first place?" he questioned sourly with a shake of his head. "I'm not in the humour for your games, Frederick. Just let me get myself cleaned up because-"
"I don't have to let you do anything. I can always let you use less water than you need, give you less time than you need to get clean and then when you show up to work tomorrow looking pretty much the same, who do you think will end up in shit for it? Will they believe the lazy, troublesome passive or the trustworthy one who's been loyal for years?" Fred commented, leaning with a hand on the rim of the tub, uncomfortably close to the blond, invading his space. Fionn shuffled a few steps away from him, releasing a sound of disgust when the redhead followed me.
"You owe me. You haven't made up for your behaviour lately, especially that ball grab the other night."
"I don't owe you anything. You and Ronan beat the fucking shit out of me. You got your payback so leave me the fuck alone," Fionn snarled, hunching over to test the water.
A hand fell on the back of his neck, pinching the flesh hard, some of it tender from bruising. Another hand jabbed into his hip hard, spots appearing in his vision as he cried out.
"You're an ungrateful little shit, do you know that? You know how much I've let you away with, how it could have come back to bite me if anyone said anything to the gollies but you don't care, do you? Poor Fionn, he has it hard so everyone else can piss off, right? Think you're the only passive suffering, boy? Huh? Answer me!" he snarled, voice bouncing off the walls as he shook the blond by the scruff of the neck. The room spun a bit, the pain levels rising until he felt a bit sick.
"I know! I know but just get off me, would'ya?" the boy moaned only to find himself shoved forward. His kneecaps smacked off the side of the bath, his balance teetering forwards so that he fell across the tub, catching himself with a cry as his torso seared.
"You're filthy, it's disgusting," Fred complained, wiping his hands on his trousers with a grimace. "Clean yourself up."
"Oh, thanks for your permission," the passive muttered, glancing back to check that the older man had drifted off and given him some space. The water was still running so he took a bar of soap and swished it through the stream, shaking it in the tub so that some suds built. He'd managed to scrub his hands clean while he was in the kitchen but his wrists dipped below the surface now and sent grey swirling into the clear water. Well, at least it wouldn't be wholly transparent and it wasn't likely to stay that way in any case once his dirty skin was introduced.
Fred had gone extremely quiet and he had to resist the urge to glance back, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he sensed the gaze. He couldn't allow the man to know how much he was getting to him. He stripped off his shirt and trousers, standing for a moment in his underwear, pretending to simply be examining the state of his bruises when in truth, his heart was thudding in terror at the prospect of exposing himself completely, even if it was just for a few seconds. The redhead was certainly one of the softer men he'd dealt with, considerably less cruel in many ways than some he'd had to deal with but there was still something twisted in him. It was all right when Fionn was in control but he was far from that right now and far from anything approaching willingness.
He inhaled deeply, holding it for a few moments and on the exhale, he stripped off the last garment and got into the tub as fast as his injuries would allow. There was a definite snigger from behind him at his speed, drawing red to his face that was thankfully hidden beneath the ash he'd covered himself in. The blond found his soap and ducked his head beneath the surface, quickly rubbing the bar over his face and hair, slathering them rapidly before he popped back up, blowing water from his lips. He was temporarily blind, just a few seconds but he'd lost precious seconds of warning when he'd had his ears full of water, unable to hear the man's approach. It was while he was still unable to see, reaching a hand up to wipe suds and ash from around his eyes that the fingers were driven into his wet hair, twisting and wrenching with such force that his eyes shot open, tears dribbling down at the unexpected pain as he cried out.
His head was forced back and then there was the patron's mouth close pressed hard against his own, cutting off any hope of protest. Fionn tried to thrash but he was in the worst position imaginable. If he moved his head, the grip somehow tightened, the pressure on his scalp increasing as some strands of his hair popped free of their moorings. If he thrashed his body, he risked moving his head but he also risked thumping something bruised against the tub. So he went rigid instead, certain that the patron would have to release him or would at least ease his hold somewhat so that Fionn could fight back.
But he didn't.
Instead, Fred's other hand found his chest, slipping over wet skin as it travelled downwards, fingers questing blindly. Horror rose in him, the taste of bile crawling up his throat as the hand-
The pain didn't matter. The young man simply fought. He tried to drag the hand away, found the wrenching grip on his hair worsening, the popping sensation giving way to the metallic scent of blood. He didn't notice, unable to discover the drip of blood in any case when his scalp was already wet. Still, he fought, earning a new painful grip lower down, quite similar to what he'd done to Fred just the other night. He howled against the man's mouth, tears pouring down his cheeks in earnest now but the patron showed no sign of letting up. The notion that they might be caught obviously wasn't in his mind and at this time of night, who would be around?
No one would come to rescue Fionn but then that was nothing new; no one had ever saved him in the past.
He couldn't move and perhaps Fred took his frozen state as a sign that he was softening to this treatment. The touches became a parody of the sensual given how they'd reached this point but he seemed to have locked himself too close, awkwardly embracing him despite their positions and so there was no way to pull away from him. He needed Fred to give him space and he didn't have many weapons at his disposal. Trying to fight the man with his hands hadn't worked so he did something the man didn't expect.
He bit.
It was quick but hard, teeth clamping down into the tongue that had invaded his mouth. He tasted blood and experienced some pain himself as he caught the side of his own but it was nothing compared to what Fred was dealing with. There was a gagging scream, garbled sound ringing out as the man pulled away, his mouth separating from Fionn's with lightning speed. The blond let him go, scrabbling to escape in the opposite direction, shaking hands scrabbling for purchase on the rim of the tub. His legs were like jelly, unwilling to support him in his escape although adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream.
Despite the screaming from his body, he managed to hook a leg over the side, beginning to haul himself over it while Fred cried and cursed him in a lisping manner.
"Bathard! 'll fuckin' kill ye!" Fred roared, clutching at him, pulling him back. It must have been quite a sight. The patron with blood dribbling down his chin, Fionn's light hair stained darker with blood and mingling oddly with the ash that still greyed his pale form in places, tears cutting ugly paths through the grime.
He screamed as he was pulled back, desperately trying to cling to the side, maintain his hold so that escape was possible but Fred was pulling him from the slick surface, hands finding and seizing his throat, catching his throat in the crook of his elbow. There was the stink of sweat and dirt, clinging to the older man's skin and uniform, a stench that was inescapable as his arm tightened around his neck, pressing on his airways.
Fionn wheezed, fingernails scrabbling and scraping at the arm that held him but the patron was obviously murderous. Why couldn't his diablerie fire off now? But it wasn't happening, there was no suffocating feel of the mona, just the suffocating feeling as the air failed to find its way into his lungs.
Pathetic. He was going to be strangled to death in the bath by man who'd tried to force himself onto him. Truly pathetic.