One Week Later

Jack sat on the bed with his legs crossed. A book was propped up on his knees as he leaned into the words, losing himself in whatever story it was telling. He noticed it was getting easier and easier to focus. The first time Aster brought him things to do it he never actually used anything. There were a few decks of cards, some books, blank journals with pens and pencils, typical things. Reading, Jack laughed bitterly in his head. If Peter could see me now. Just the thought of his old companion was enough to form a thick lump in his throat. Jack went back to focusing on the black print in front of him but every time Jack went for a welcome distraction, he was unable to take his mind off the way his collar rubbed his neck raw or the way the chains clicked together when he switched positions.

It was that sound, that horrible jangling metal sound, that kept him up at night. Whenever Aster returned and ordered him to bend over it was the only sound he could hear besides Aster's rhythmic grunts and skin slapping skin.

Jack put his book down. The thoughts taunting his concentration made any attempt at distracting himself fruitless. He didn't fight back anymore. There were a few times when he tried to kick Aster away. It never worked, and eventually Jack realized it was pointless. The boss had to have noticed the change in Jack's behavior-if the constant chatter was anything to go by. Yes, the cold, heartless mafia ringleader didn't know how to shut his mouth. He went off about the weather, the incompetence of his subordinates, the tremendous work load, among other things. Jack didn't hate hearing about that stuff, that must have meant Aster was starting to trust him? It was at least better than the alternative, but he resented the older man and found it hard to not imagine himself snapping Aster's neck.

Jack pulled another book from the stack next to him and readjusted the sheets so they covered his naked lower half. In addition to autonomy, normal human interaction, and basic human rights, Jack was also deprived of his clothes. Was the air a bit chilly? Jack didn't really care, room temperature was the least of his worries. However the impending reminder that he was completely on display to anyone who walked in the goddamn room was always a source of complaint.

Jack pulled the sheet over just as the door opened and Aster walked in. He let out a loud groan and literally threw himself onto the bed. Jack bounced with the sudden added weight and scrambled to pull the sheet back over himself. Aster saw and chuckled lightly.

"Why do you bother?" He questioned.

Jack resisted the urge to scowl and roll his eyes-such things were not received well. "Doesn't mean I have to like you looking at me."

It was a tone that probably would have come across as disrespectful to anyone else, but Aster was used to Jack's attitude problem with no hope of remedying it. "Aw," Aster drawled and Jack never wanted to hit someone so badly in his life. "You don't have to be shy, love."

Jack paused. "What did you just call me?"

"Love?"

"That has nothing to do with this," the white haired boy said morosely and pulled the sheet tighter. "It's nowhere close."

"And I suppose you're an expert on the subject?" Aster propped himself up on his elbows facing Jack. He watched the boy with a raised eyebrow.

"I know enough about it to know this is rape. It's violence. It isn't real sex and it isn't anything close to love." Jack didn't realize how hostile he sounded the longer he talked. As he heard the words come out of his mouth, his brain screamed at him to stop before he said something warranting of a 'punishment.' How could he stop now though? He stopped putting up a fight and trying to escape, the least he could be allowed to do was talk. Aster didn't seem to have a problem with the jagged remarks earlier and as Jack hesitantly made eye contact with him he didn't look to have a problem with it then either.

For a few seconds the air was thick enough to suffocate an entire city and Jack thought about trying to retract what he said. He told himself he was going to play nice, he had a plan dammit, and he might've just blown it with his fucking mouth. Jack felt like slamming one of the books by his legs into his head. Maybe if he had a concussion Aster wouldn't see the point in keeping him.

"You're right kid, you're just my pet." Aster whispered it into his ear, sending another rigid chill down his spine and standing his pale hairs up on the back of his neck. Jack felt his heart sink with dread. There would be no careful treatment tonight whatsoever. Aster got up, leaving wrinkled sheets and a faint indent in the bed when he did so and stalked out of the room, leaving Jack alone once again with his tormenting thoughts.

…

Aster grumbled to himself as he made his way to his private office. Violence, he scoffed, if that boy knew the half of what I'm capable of…

That snotty spoiled brat should be grateful. He never kept his toys around long, Aster had a bad habit of getting easily bored. But here they were, a whole week later and Aster couldn't help feeling like he could get more out of the boy. The white haired teen was an infinite mystery to Aster. Anyone who could last as long as Jack had surely must be worth a lot. When Aster does get his fill out of Jack, he may consider selling him, he decided.

No, the obsessively dominating side dismissed. He's mine.

Aster immediately sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. First actually taking the boy's insults to heart, then getting possessive? Jesus Christ.

Aster leaned back in his chair and picked up the first paper he saw. Work had to start somewhere. His eyes scanned over the words uninterested and mumbling them out loud under his breath. Honestly, why didn't he just quit?

Right. The money. And my lack of education about things irrelevant to the disposal of bodies.

Aster sighed again and dropped the recent report back onto his desk. It was just another statement from yet another murder. And one I didn't even cause.

Just then there was a loud rapping at the door and Aster jumped back, his eyes now wide open. "What the fuck is it?!"

As the gang boss clutched at his chest to stop the impending aneurysm, Phil walked in looking more disheveled than usual. "B-boss! There's a little guy here. He says he works for… for him."

And then the stout advisor drew in on himself and held his stack of files closer to his chest. Aster continued to glare at him with eyes darker than the storming sky. Huh, Phil hadn't noticed it before but Aster was very distinctly the personification of a storm. Abrupt, and audible from miles away.

Aster stood up, his chair scraping the floor as he did so. "Then why don't you show him in?" The man growled. He didn't have much regard for his own safety and obviously wasn't worried about a potential threat. N-not that Phil was about to roll his eyes and speak up about it! The quaking bespeckled man ran again out of the room and returned only moments later with a companion.

The new arrival had sandy blonde hair that stuck out in odd places and had a consistency akin to cotton candy, or so Phil observed. From Aster's perspective the man was shorter, only reaching to about Aster's waist, and that meant he was no problem for him.

"Can I help you?" Aster began in a conversational manner.

Phil wasn't surprised, all Aster's meetings started out like this. However they all had starkly contrasting outcomes.

Aster waited while the small man dug around in a satchel for a folder and then hand it to the Aussie. The man didn't say anything but started signing with his hands.

Ah, he's mute, Aster realized and took the folder with a nod. Inside were a few more photos of his dead subordinates accompanied by a letter. Of course Pitch would send a fucking letter.

First Pitch cripples Aster's cause and then has the audacity to send a letter asking to meet. A meeting with Pitch Black himself was just what Aster needed. "Please tell your boss I'll see him tonight," Aster told the smaller man, not one to back down when he was obviously being tested.

The man wearing a gold colored button down smiled and went to leave. Then halted in his steps, he turned around like he forgot something and rummaged through his pockets for a small card. He handed Aster the business card with the name 'Sanderson Mansnoozie' written in gold cursive letters.

Aster raised an eyebrow at the name, "got any nicknames I can call you?"

Sanderson looked pleased and flashed him with a wide smile. Then he wrote down on a scrap piece of paper 'Sandy' and gave it to Aster.

"Sandy, it's a pleasure to meet you," Aster shook his hand and asked Phil to show him out. How the hell does that guy work for Pitch of all people? The black scourge upon this earth? Aster wondered.

…

That night Aster and a few of his men walked into the Italian bistro on the corner and were escorted to a back room. The lights were dimmed and curtains drawn. No one resided in the room except a tall lanky figure with a gray hollowed face and sunken gold eyes. Aster told his men to wait at the door while Aster went to join the dark man. "Pitch Black."

"Aster Bunnymund. It's lovely to see you," he spoke in a silky English accent.

"I wish I could say the same," Aster replied curtly. "Can we skip this part and go to you explaining your recent actions?"

Pitch feigned innocence, "my actions? What do you mean by that?"

"You're scaring the whole city with your murders. My organization is getting a bad rep, people are calling us sloppy now. Not to mention I'm short staffed."

"Your organization? Ah, you mean your band of drinking buddies with the sketchy past time?"

"It isn't sketchy, it's justice."

"Nothing about you, Aster, is justified."

"Me and my people pick off the bad guys, we kill only the ones who deserve it. You on the other hand, have been killing indiscriminately. The police here are too wishy-washy, they let us help-covertly, Ah might add-and they get to stick with their pick-pocketers. That's how it works. We get money, they get to keep on looking efficient and people-friendly. So tell me what you want so you can quit whatever the hell your doing, maybe skip town, and Ah won't send my boys after you," Aster growled, his temper rising with every word.

Pitch looked at Aster, then threw his head back and laughed. "You...You think this is because I want some kind of favor?! You really are a funny guy Aster. No, that's not even close to what I want. What I want, is control of this city, like you have now."

"Well that isn't happening. This conversation is over," Aster slammed his hands on the table and made to walk out. But Pitch stopped him.

"I hear you've got a new plaything. The boys and I are betting on how long it takes for this one to die like the others. He would be a much better addition to my side of the city."

"You son of a bitch," Aster growled and began walking his way back to where the smug man sat. "You shut your mouth about my business. Or I promise, it will be the death of you."

Then Aster turned and left with his mind plagued with thoughts of Pitch running his hands of Jack's body just as he had done, and tasting his skin just as he did. And it twisted Aster's stomach in ways he never thought imaginable.

…

Aster returned to his room where Jack sat faithfully in his bed. Not that he really had a choice to get up or not. The older man shut the door quietly when he saw his toy sleeping peacefully in the tangle of sheets and he shrugged off his coat. Then he toed off his shoes and layed down next to Jack. He hesitantly put an arm over the boy's waist.

Jack woke up immediately, looking startled.

"Shut up. Don't say anything."

So Jack didn't. He didn't move either. Aster was doing that intimate thing again. On rare occasions Aster sometimes talked about the things on his mind, only work-related things, never the personal. Jack wrote it off as a way to sort out his agenda. It was perfect, Jack could remember Aster's whole schedule and soon he would use it to plan his escape out.

So Jack listened and waited to hear what sorts of things Aster would need to do, where he would need to go. But none of that came. What came instead surprised Jack.

"How come you're still here? You talk back, and cause me trouble, but you're still here."

Aster told him not to talk, so he didn't. That was the only thing he said before he was snoring quietly into Jack's hair.

And Jack was shoving a pin he found in Aster's coat pocket into the lock on his handcuffs.

…

The next morning, after Jack's food was brought to Aster's door, Aster sat at his desk doing paperwork while Jack ate. As usual, Jack kept the sheets tight around him even as he struggled to take the wrapper off a blueberry muffin. Aster rolled his eyes when Jack started trying to use his teeth to rip it off.

Jack finished the muffin and downed a glass of orange juice before Aster was undoing his cuffs and directing him towards the bathroom. If Jack was in a mood for thinking positive, he could put decent food and frequent showers on the list.

Aster took a key out of his pants pocket and began unlocking Jack's ankles, wrists, and the collar on his neck. He wouldn't admit it, but Aster flinched a little when he saw the bruises all over the boy's frame. He did that, because he's a horrible human being.

"No funny business," Aster warned and left Jack alone in the bathroom.

Once the door shut, Jack was alone again. He went to the bathroom and then took his things into the shower with him. He turned the water on a faintly warm level. Like usual, he rubbed his raw wrists gingerly and ducjed his head under the lukewarm water. The solitude was nice, but there were plenty of times Jack had time to himself. It was really beginning to lose its charm.

Jack ran his hands through his wet hair and reached out for the shampoo. Aster didn't care how long Jack was in there, so the boy took his time. He let the water fall over his bruises and scrubbed them hard enough to cause pain. But if it somehow erased the memories associated with them then it was worth it.

Jack wondered how long it would take before Aster let him walk around. He wondered how long he would have to keep up his submissive, docile facade before it paid off. How long would he be here?

After Jack turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, he stepped out onto the plush bathroom rug. Not long, apparently, Jack smiled as he noticed the small stack of clothes sitting on the counter. Aster must have brought them in at some point.

With a grin and internal cry of victory, Jack slipped on the dark brown pants and light blue dress shirt knowing he was that much closer to sneaking out. The color scheme was pretty close to his clothes when he slept outside. It was a weird, nostalgic feeling Jack got got when he examined himself in the mirror. It looked so familiar, but these clothes were far nicer. Jack wondered if Aster did it on purpose.

Jack felt warm wet drops drip down on his hands that still hovered over the top button of the shirt. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he stared at himself. Who would have thought he'd be in this position... he had food… and a place to sleep. But the cost was too much. He didn't know what would happen after he left. Aster would still be here. Jack would have to leave town.

Tears flowed even harder. He forced them to stop when he heard Aster's voice from the other side of the door.

"Hey, kid. Are ya alright?"

"I'm fine," Jack answered but inside his head was screaming the truth. I'll never be alright.

…

I'm sorry for the slowness here guys, I'm trying to keep it slower so you don't get emotional whiplash! It'll pick up though… in ways nobody's going to like.

MUAHAHA

And thanks to everyone faving, following and reviewing! I've been a little busy to reply to them but I will eventually because I have seen them and I love you all!