Pussy Whipped

Logan woke to a dim room, different from the one he'd seen before. A small window allowed the soft night light to filter through. He sat up, looking around groggily.

Someone groaned across the room. He tensed, but his anxiety didn't last long.

His eyes fell on a pale, scarred body shaking in the moonlight, breathing in small, tight gasps. He rushed to him, calling his name.

"Brent! Brent, baby!" He lifted him into his arms, kissing his face, holding him desperately.

"Logan," Brent sighed, tears in his voice. He sat up, wrapping his arms around him. He shook, barely able to hold the weight of his own body to hold him. Logan held him tighter, trying to keep him steady.

"Shh, I'm here. I'm here, I've got you. Shh…" He soothed. He looked at him, so pained. "God, Brent, I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears falling to his cheeks. Brent was so beaten and hurt. Every scar from the whip he'd received all of these years ago had been reopened and a savage burn shaped like a cross had been branded into his chest. The blindfold was still in place, but it came off easily as Logan attempted to take it away.

But God, his eyes, his innocent, swollen, red and raw shattered his heart in pieces. He took off the shirt, draping it over his lap, trying to give him some relief.

"There," he said gently, kissing his cheek. "Brent, baby, please, you've got to stop fighting because of me." He shook his head.

"I don't care what they do to me," he whispered. "I can take it." Logan winced.

"I…god, don't say stuff like that," he pleaded, hugging him again.

"Logan?" His voice broke a little. "How, how did they know what my father did to me…and how he sounded? D-did you tell them?"

"No, no, of course I didn't," he leaned his face into his neck, still crying. "God, Brent, I would never do something like that to you. I…" He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell him what he really was. Brent blinked, searching for an answer.


He looked at him. God, he couldn't do it. He really couldn't tell him, not when he was hurt like this.

"Brent, there's something I should have told you a long time ago." He didn't tell him about his former body, but he did tell him about warlocks, and Magnus, and what Alec was. Surprisingly, Brent took it well. He didn't look at him like he was insane, or run away from him, or call him names. He simply nodded. Maybe they'd done things to him where this was the only explanation.

"Are, are you…?" He asked.

"No," Logan assured.

"Oh," Brent cooed. "I-I won't tell them anything, I promise."

"Don't worry about that. Just worry about you, okay?" He assured. Brent nodded slowly, resting against him.

"You can't tell them anything either," he said. "Don't tell them just to save me." Logan swallowed hard, knowing his will to hang on was fading as quickly as Brent's strength, and he knew he would soon come to the point where he would give his own life just to save him from one more ounce of pain, let alone keeping Magnus's secrets. He sniffed.

"I…I'll try." There was a beat of silence before,

"How are we getting out of here?" He asked, too exhausted to be shocked.

"Magnus will save us," he said. "I know he will."

"I don't know how much m-more I can ta-take," he admitted, teary eyed. "God, I wish I could see!"

"Shh…shh…" The former feline soothed. "It'll be okay. You're here now. I've got you."

"For how long?" He hugged him tighter, kissing him firmly.

"As long as I'm breathing." They held each other for a moment, just trying to be there.

"I'm so tired," Brent sighed, eyes drooping.

"Then let's sleep," Logan softly. They laid down, curling into each other.

"Let's pretend that we're back in bed," Brent whispered, eyes closed. Logan leaned his forehead against his, smiling a little.

"It's warm," he breathed. Brent smiled back.

"Safe." He kissed him. "Goodnight, Logan." He kissed back, tears in his eyes.

"Goodnight, Brent." They fell asleep, lost in their own worlds, clinging to each other for dear life, praying this was a nightmare.

Alec looked at Magnus from across the room, worried. He hadn't said a word for a few hours now, and he continually checked his phone for some sign of life. "Mag?" He said cautiously, stepping out of the bathroom and approaching him. "Is everything alright?"

The warlock looked at him, concerned. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?" Alec frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he said simply. "But it's bad. It's very bad. Meow won't return my calls…" He dialed his phone at an inhuman pace, waiting impatiently. "C'mon, c'mon. Pick up you little shit." Alec's eyes were wide. Magnus was scared. "Pick up, damn it!" He cursed when it went to voicemail.

"Magnus, what-?"

He was dialing again, tense "SHIT!" He stood, putting on his coat. "Something's wrong with Meow. He hasn't returned my calls all day and last night."

"Maybe they're…busy," Alec suggested, a light blush on his cheeks. Magnus shook his head.

"No, no, they would have to break at some point. That's a lot of calories burning that quickly. I have to check on him."

"I'll come with you," Alec assured, stepping into his own jacket.

Magnus stared out the window, praying that he was simply overreacting as usual and everything was alright.

Logan woke for the second time in this new room, but Brent's warm and loving arms were nowhere to be found. He sat up, looking around with a sob caught in his throat. "Brent?" He whispered. Gone. He was all alone. He bowed his head, crying. That's when he saw the shirt back in place on his body. "Damn it, baby…"

"Stubborn bitch, isn't he?" The small boy jumped, looking around wildly for the source of the voice.

Cryer chuckled, stepping out of the shadows, grinning horribly.

"Where is he?" He demanded, backing away from him. "What did you do to him?"

"Well," Cryer said, smug grin in place. "I blinded him once more. I think you really feel the pain when you can't see it coming, don't you agree?" Logan was looking at him in disgust, pain in his chest. "Harold has him now, you know. And there's no telling what he's doing to him."

"Brent has nothing to do with this!" He cried. "Just let him go. Please.""

"Not until u get what I want," he said. "If you tell me where Magnus keeps his little book I promise I'll release your precious Brent."

Logan bowed his head, swallowing hard. "No," he said, loathing himself for it. "I won't tell you anything. Magnus has been like a brother to me for the past six decades. I won't betray him."

"Not even for the boy you're so desperately in love with?" Cryer taunted.

"Brent knows how much I love him," he said firmly, sounding braver than he felt. "He doesn't want me to tell you either." Cryer had backed him against the wall, still grinning.

"Well, I think he's singing a different tune now." He cocked his head, listening. Faintly, the former feline heard them; bloodcurdling screams.


He closed his eyes, tears falling to his cheeks. "Please," he breathed. "Please don't hurt him, hurt ME!" Cryer grabbed him by his hair.

"But Brent is so much fun. All that angst and pain built up just…" He sighed happily. "Mmm. It's just too good to pass up."

"How do I know that's really him and not a trick?" He demanded. Cryer's eyes darkened, smile growing.

"Let me show you."

"No more, n-no more," he begged, crying. "Please, I'll-" He was shoved under water again, sucking him into a black, freezing vacuum that crushed his lungs and ribs.

"I'm babtizin' you, boy!" His father's voice roared.

"Y-you're not my father!" He screamed. "T-tell me wh-where Logan is!"

"Shut up!"

Brent had no idea where this strength was coming from. He should be a mindless mess on the floor begging for mercy. Yet he was still here, fighting despite everything he'd been put through. All he wanted was Logan's safety. If he could see him or hear him or merely feel him then he would know that he was alive, that he wasn't in pain and that there was still a chance to possibly save one of them.

The blindfold was ripped away, confirming that his father was not there. However, Harold stood behind him. He could barely make him out through the fog of his mind and his damaged eyes, but that didn't make him any less real.

"You wanna see your little cockslut? Fine." He grabbed his head, turning it toward the door.

Logan was crying in silence Cryer had enforced. He was beating him viciously, striking his battered face over and over, kicking his little ribs and screaming soundless words. It was like a silent horror movie, and his love was just getting bloodier and bloodier as the moments ticked by.


The hooded warlock stepped in from a side door, jumping back when he saw the carnage.

"Romulus, enough!" He barked. Cryer stopped, allowing sound back. Logan sobbed softly on the ground, curled in a ball, whimpering Brent's name in a broken mantra, his hair pinked with blood.

Brent jerked toward the fuzzy mass he recognized as the boy he loved, only to be jerked back by Harold who held his throat and his chest, pinning him against the tub with the rest of him.

"I want that book," Cryer snarled.

"Beating him until he can't move won't get it. It'll just slow us down! How is he supposed to tell you if he can't speak?"

"Fine," he hauled him up, causing the small boy to whimper.

"Don't hurt him!" Brent begged. Harold grinned at Cryer's nod of approval.

"Let's play, honey."

He grabbed him, throwing him over the lap of a nearby chair, throwing out his hand to pin him there.


"QUIET!" He roared. He held Logan's face aloft, showing him Brent's current state. "Tell me what you know," he hissed softly, "or I let Harold destroy him."

It took the beaten boy a moment to understand. He looked at him, eyes blackened, nose bleeding, so battered. He could see Brent hung over the chair, body shaking and fighting against the unseen force keeping him there. Then he saw what Harold was holding. A nightstick.

He was gonna…he'd…oh God! "NO!" He begged. The man smiled, running the instrument down Brent's back and legs, giving him a clue as to what he was in for. Brent gasped as if icy water had been poured over his head, shaking his head very softly. "Please, don't hurt him!" Logan sobbed. "Please, don't. Not that, anything but that, God, PLEASE!"

Brent's eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice, how tired and desperate the poor thing sounded.


"Please," he begged.

"NO!" Logan shrieked, crying so hard his ribs ached. "I'LL TELL YOU! I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING! PLEASE DON'T HURT HIM!"

"Logan, no…" Brent moaned.

"Tell me where the book is!" Cryer demanded, delighted.

"I don't know," Logan gulped. "I swear, I don't know where he keeps it. I-I just know it's not in this country. That's all, please!" Cryer moved to strike him.

"Don't!" The hooded warlock again. "Let them go. Just end this!"

"They've seen our faces!"

"They've seen your faces. Whose fault is that?"

"We slit their throats and this all goes away!"

"We kill them and Bane slaughters us." Cryer got in his face, poking his chest.

"You don't call the shots here, Crissman, I do!" He looked at Harold. "Kill the cat!" Harold lifted Logan by his hair, holding a knife to his throat. Brent shrieked in the background, sobbing hard, pleading for mitigation from this. Logan fought as hard as his worn body would allow, still calling for Brent. Cryer looked back at the other warlock. "Don't you see-?"

He grabbed Cryer's neck, hoisting him off the ground, shooting bolts of lighting through his body.

"No," his hood fell back as he shook him. "I don't."

The door bust open.

Magnus came through, hands aglow with blue fire, Alec poised behind him, bow drawn. The High Warlock looked at Harold.

"Get your hands off my pussy," he smirked, shooting a small beam of light that knocked him across the room, allowing Logan to fall and Brent to move freely.

He hardly noticed. He was staring at the warlock that had saved their lives, who let Cryer fall to the ground, dead.

Their eyes met.