Parsons was on the PM shift, when he wasn’t taking overtime hours. Alex had known that, kind of vaguely, except he’d never really gone out during the night hours.
It turned out the ship was kind of creepy with all the lights dimmed. (From his studies, Alex had learned that keeping a regular day/night cycle even out in space was important for crew morale and human productivity. Otherwise people would conserve energy while traveling by keeping everything dimmed all the time.)
It didn’t help that Parsons was tasked with cleaning equipment underdeck, away from the usual human traffic. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and of Parsons muttering lightly under his breath. He had his back turned to them, but he must have heard their footsteps echoing.
“Ackerman? Is that you?” Parsons asked, and he turned around. His eyes widened lightly when he saw Tracht and Alex. “Uh, Captain. What brings you here at this hour?”
Tracht kept his expression impassive. “I’m surprised you need to ask.”
Parsons looked from Tracht to Alex, and Alex could see the exact moment where Parsons realized what had happened. Parsons looked like he wanted to bolt, only then he dropped the washcloth he’d been holding and yelled, “Fuck!”
His voice echoed a few times.
“Alex, if you would be so kind as to cuff Mr. Parsons?” Tracht said.
Unlike with Messner, Alex didn’t feel particularly happy manhandling Parsons. Maybe because Parsons wasn’t fighting back at all. He just limply accepted getting his wrists cuffed.
“This way.” Tracht led them down another hallway, and Alex was surprised to find an unused room back there. It might have been a storage room at some point, but it had been converted and held a low cot in one corner and a toilet in the other.
A heavy beam ran vertically down the middle of the room, with hooks attached at various heights.
Tracht grabbed Parson’s shoulder and shoved him roughly to the floor.
“You have some gall, Mr. Parsons.” Tracht’s voice held not a single hint of emotion, and fuck, Alex was terrified. He didn’t want to be in the room in case Tracht’s anger turned his way.
“I paid you generously. I gave you benefits and bonuses. I even put up with your open disapproval. And you repay me with this?” Tracht held up the device. “Who sent you?”
Parsons struggled to sit up with his arms still cuffed behind his back. “Some guy.” He sneered openly. “And don’t pretend you’ve got some fucking moral high ground, you rapist.”
Alex flinched back. Tracht laughed loudly.
“Shall we ask Alex what he thinks?” Tracht ran his hand along the scar on Alex’s face. “Have I been raping you, Alex?”
Fucking Parsons. Rape was something that happened to chicks and weaklings, and Alex was neither of those. He growled out, “No.”
Parsons shook his head, pity in his eyes. “Yeah, I know you think that.”
Cold rage washed over Alex, and he took a few menacing steps closer. “I know my feelings, you asshole. This is you being my friend? This is you not sticking your nose where it’s not wanted?”
“No,” Parsons’ expression hardened, “this was me thinking I could actually trust you.” He turned his attention back to Tracht. “So what now? If I tell you everything, you’ll let me go?”
“You’ll tell me everything, yes.” Tracht pushed Alex lightly to the side, and he finally took the cat-o-nine tails from where it was looped around his belt. “But I won’t let you go. Alex, strip his shirt and cuff him to the beam.”
If Parsons would at least fight—but no, he again just sat passively and let Alex uncuff him, pull his shirt off, and then recuff him to one of the hooks on the large beam running down the center of the room.
Working on the ship and regular gym time meant that Parsons had a well-muscled back. He was leaner than Alex, which Alex had vaguely already known, but still attractive enough that Alex might have stopped to stare if he’d ever seen him shirtless. His skin glistened in the low light, a thin layer of sweat covering it. Maybe that was from his work earlier, maybe it was from fear.
“What did this person want?” Tracht asked. He casually flicked the cat-o-nine off to the side, and it made a loud crack.
“To spoof your subdermal chip, I think.” Parsons’ shoulders shook lightly. “If I had to guess, whoever hired him to approach me wanted to hack into your network and steal the new route we’re on.”
He didn’t even sound like Parsons anymore. Alex was so used to Parsons being optimistic and happy that this new, subdued version of him was completely alien. Maybe this was the real Parsons, and the old one had been an act all along.
“When were you contacted? Before I hired you?”
“No. In Atalanta, just before we left. No clue how they knew I needed cash or that I’d be open for it.” Parsons’ hands tightened on the beam. “If you’re going to do it, just do it already.”
Tracht ran his fingers through the tails of the flogger. “I heard that thousands of years ago, sea captains on Earth flogged their crew to keep them in line. Punishable offenses included drunkenness, laziness, and insubordination.” Tracht scowled. “I want you to know that I’m not doing this to keep you in line. I’m doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this because you tried to steal from me. You tried to turn Alex against me.”
When Tracht had said he planned on flogging Parsons, Alex had thought it seemed a bit tame. He’d taken a flogging, and he would honestly rather take the pain than the breasts or the piss or the public humiliation.
But watching Tracht now, Alex had to admit that he’d had no idea what a real flogging was.
Tracht didn’t spend any time with softer blows: he went straight to the real thing, putting his full force into that initial lash. The knots on the cat hit squarely on Parsons’ shoulders with a loud crack, and Parsons cried out in pain.
The second lash wasn’t any softer. By the third, Parsons was starting to shiver.
The fourth drew blood.
Alex didn’t keep track after that. He simply watched as Tracht raised his arm again and again. One slice on Parsons’ back turned into two. Cracks and cries filled the room in alternating beats, drowning out everything but the rushing in Alex’s own ears.
Fuck.
It was brutal.
It there was no other way to describe it. What Tracht had done to Alex was nothing in comparison to this.
Parsons deserves it, Alex tried to remind himself. It was Parsons’ own fault for trying to screw Tracht over. But he got queasy, seeing the blood flow down Parsons’ back, hearing him cry out in pain. He would have been fine if this had been Messner or one of the Nilsens or just about anybody else.
Tracht’s expression rarely strayed from the completely blank mask, but when it did, Alex could see moments of absolute fury. Alex clutched at his bondcollar and was suddenly one hundred percent certain he’d made the right choice.
When Tracht threw the cat down, the room was silent save for the heavy breathing from both him and Parsons. Parsons was barely standing upright anymore; Alex was sure that if he weren’t cuffed to the beam, Parsons would have slipped to the floor.
Sweat dripped down Tracht’s forehead. “Alex. Come here.”
Without any hesitation, Alex closed the space between them. Tracht gripped him roughly and pulled him into a searing kiss, pressing their bodies so close that Alex could feel Tracht’s erection against him. Yeah. Of course this would have turned Tracht on.
Tracht pulled on Alex’s shirt just enough to be able to stick his hand under it, and he started pulling and scratching at Alex’s skin, still kissing him rough and messy.
This was so messed up. Alex kissed back, and he ignored the burning in his eyes or how his heart was beating twice as fast. He let Tracht push him against the wall, and simply tried to meet Tracht half way, their hips grinding against each other. A moan filled the air, his or Tracht’s, he didn’t know.
Finally Tracht pulled back, his lips slightly redder, his hair disheveled. He settled his forehead against Alex’s and closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath, and then stepped away.
When he spoke, he was emotionless once more. “Mr. Parsons.”
Parsons’ head jerked up, and he hissed loudly. The wounds on his back had to be excruciating.
“You will be confined to this room. I cannot trust you even with the most menial of tasks. Dr. Singh will treat your back.”
Parsons let out a pained chuckle. “Why… why bother?” His voice was hoarse and broken.
Tracht circled around so he and Parsons were facing each other. “Have you heard the story of Prometheus?”
When Parsons didn’t reply, Tracht went on, “He was a god who stole fire from the other gods and then gave it to humans. In punishment, Zeus, the king of gods, chained Prometheus up and had a large bird peck out his innards.
“Since Prometheus was a god, he couldn’t die. So he would heal every night, and in the morning, the bird would come to peck at him, pulling him apart all over again. Prometheus spent eternity in agony.” Tracht got in close and gripped Parsons’ shoulder. “You’re mortal, so I can’t rip you apart, but rest assured that I can cause you a lot of agony in our remaining time in space.” And then he raked his fingernails down Parsons’ bloody back.
Parsons screamed.
Alex wrapped his arms around himself and tried to ignore the sound.
When Parsons’ scream ended—in a loud, disgusting sob—Tracht stepped away. “Alex, unbind Mr. Parsons.”
Alex scrambled to do as he was asked. He avoided looking at Tracht’s bloodied hand as he passed by.
He tried to be gentle, but the moment he undid the cuffs Parsons slumped to the ground with a loud grunt. He was lucky enough not to have landed on his back, at least, but Alex had the urge to pick him up and put him face down on the cot.
“We’re leaving, Alex.”
Yeah, not arguing with Tracht. Alex glared at Parsons one last time—why did he have to be so stupid?— and followed Tracht out.