Snitch

Matthew woke slowly, groaning softly. The pain was dull now, but his head hurt badly and he felt nauseous. He realised it was a hangover and based on how Alfred bitched about it when he’d had too much to drink Matthew knew it would be best to stay still, somehow drink water and get painkillers and have total silence.

He doubted Alfred had actually had a hangover this bad before. Alfred may get completely drunk, but Matthew wasn’t sure how many days he’d been on that train (but if he was in Russia as he assumed he would be it would have been a while) and the entire trip he’d been given enough vodka to remain drunk. It was no wonder he couldn’t really remember it.

He wouldn’t be that surprised if the train had crashed and a bit of it had become lodged in his brain. It certainly felt like there was something in his head that shouldn’t be. He groaned softly, wanting to hug himself, but staying still instead.

There was a very quiet sound, but it was still enough to send a throb of pain through his skull. There was a moment of panic as Matthew was sure his head was about to actually explode as something touched his head. Then the pain began ebbing down. He gave a soft sigh of relief, unsure what had helped the pain die down.

There was a soft rustling but he kept his eyes closed. Light would hurt, he was sure of that from Alfred’s advice.

After a few minutes of feeling very sorry for himself he felt himself being sat up, his eyes opening and straight away clenching shut. Both actions caused pain to rupture through his skull and brought out a tiny whimper from him. He felt something placed against his lips and panic struck him, his shook his head softly, clenching his eyes tighter as the tiny movement of his head seemed to increase the pain tenfold.

“Shush, open your mouth. It’s ok; this will help. It’s just water and some aspirin.”

The voice was accented, but it was quite a Russian accent. Matthew was too miserable to really care about what accent it was however as his mouth opened reluctantly, finding it was indeed not alcohol. He cracked open an eye hesitantly, able to keep it open this time. He opened his other eye and felt the cup suddenly vanish.

“Y-you...” Toris shook his head quickly, pouring the water in the others mouth again. The eye color had caught him off guard, but he knew the boy was in pain and really needed the drink.

Matthew drunk the water as fast as Toris poured it, realising with cold shock he was chained up when he tried to take the cup himself. He began panicking slightly, struggling weakly and clenching his eyes against the pain of such movements. The cool flannel that Toris had put on his forehead slid off as Toris tried to calm him down.

“P-please, you’re going to make it worse! P-please just calm down. S-stop struggling please.”

Matthew stopped trying to escape. He stood no chance against the chains. He sobbed softly, in pain from a hangover that he really hadn’t earned and scared. “Wh-what’s going to h-happen?” He asked shakily, unsure he wanted the answer.

Toris paused, unsure how to answer. He decided honesty was best. “I don’t know. B-but I’ll try to look after you, o-ok?”

Matthew nodded stiffly, allowing someone, he suddenly realised it wasn’t Toris who’d gotten him sitting up, to lift him and carry him to the adjoining bathroom.

He began struggling again when the man began removing his clothes but he was quickly pinned against the cold bathroom wall, the man harshly pulling his clothes off and ignoring Matthew terrified sobs. He didn’t hear Toris over his fear, but even if he had the comforting words would have done little as the man stripped him and pushed him into the shower, the water streaming over him, too cold at first then too hot.

Toris tried to calm him down before picking up the soap and pausing, handing the bar to Matthew. “H-here, you wash yourself. I-I have to stay and make sure you do it, but I won’t touch you.” He offered a reassuring smile and got the large gangster to let go of Matthew. The man stayed close in case Matthew tried to escape

Matthew blushed as he took the soap and glanced at the two, one hand trying to hide himself as much as he could. “I-isn’t there u-um, a-anyway I could get some p-privacy?”

Toris shook his head gently. “S-sorry...”

Matthew began washing himself blushing darkly from humiliation as he was forced to wash every inch of himself in front of two strange men.

Finally it was over and Matthew was handed a large fluffy towel and lead back to the couch. Toris put on a DVD of some American show. Matthew hadn’t seen it before, and it was pretty bad, but it reminded him of his brother, who would watch these crappy shows for hours while pretending to do homework or read. It wasn’t like he was fooling anyone; Matthew and Arthur could hear the TV.

He realised he was crying when he flinched away from the hand Toris held out to him to try to comfort him. “T-tell me about yourself.” Came the quiet suggestion from Toris.

Matthew frowned softly and looked back at the show. “U-um...” He began by talking a little about his fathers, how they fought but both seemed to actually still be a little obsessed with each other, despite how adamantly they claimed to hate each other. Then he spoke about his brother, from how possessive he got to how he and Arthur were fighting, leaving Matthew to fade into the background. He even spoke about how Francis always made widely inappropriate comments to him and Matthew worried sometimes he’d get himself arrested if someone took the comments seriously.

Toris laughed at all the right times, smiled at the right times and showed sympathy. He even hugged Matthew when he started crying, not quite getting out the words ‘and now I won’t see them again’.

“Shh, i-it’s ok. It’s really not so bad here. S-so long as you keep Ivan happy you’ll be fine.”

“I-Ivan?” Sniffled Matthew, aware that he’d heard the name.

“Y-yes. He’s our master.”

Matthew shuddered but said nothing.

Soon someone came in and Toris stepped back, offering Matthew a small apologetic smile as the man chained Matthew down, removing the towel first and maneuvering him into a moderately erotic position that had Matthew crying desperately and struggling weakly in fear.

*

Ivan Braginski was in a good mood as he was driven in a black hummer back to the mansion he lived in with a bunch of other Russian gang members. He was humming to himself as he sat in the front passenger seat, watching the world go by after 10 years of prison.

“Ya nadyeyusʹ, chto moĭ malenʹkiĭ Toris ne bylo slishkom odinoko.” He said almost wistfully, tapping slightly as he hummed. He looked forward to getting back home. His bed would be so cold and crisp after not being used, but he was sure everything would have been properly looked after, including his Toris.

It was a long drive, and it felt longer to the growingly impatient Russian. He wanted to be home.