Tool Box Boy

Sonny isn’t sure how long he spends in the darkness of the basement, alone with the pain of his heart-shaped brand. It’s maddening, with no sense of time, no sense of being. At first, he was glad the crazy man who marked him had finally left him alone, but now, he’s beginning to wonder what will happen to him next. Why was he taken in the first place? The more Sonny struggles to remember, the less he knows. The last thing he can remember is lingering out behind a venue talking to Derek, staring jealously at the beer in his hand. 

He wonders if Derek saw him be taken. He wonders if Derek was in on it, somehow. Mostly, he just wonders if he’ll ever see Derek again. If he gets out of here he’s pretty sure he’s never going to leave Derek’s side, ever. Or Travis’. Travis can throw a mean punch for being that skinny.

Sonny misses his bandmates. A lot. He’s not used to being alone without them for so long.

But he doesn’t have time to think about it when his attention is forcibly drawn to the thud-thud-thud of steel-toed boots clunking down the stairs to the basement. He looks up to see his captor- the big, burly, bearded man he fears more than being alone in the dark- turning on the dim overhead light. He’s dressed in grease-stained coveralls and holding in his black-smudged hands some tool Sonny’s not sure what to call. He looks angry. Mean.

He doesn’t greet Sonny at all before throwing the tool toward his head- it misses, just barely, and clatters loudly against the concrete wall behind him. A piece of the tool chips off with the impact, some black square bit, and the rest skids along the floor with a grating scrape. Sonny trembles as he stares up at the big guy. His captor still doesn’t address him. 

“Professional quality ratchet my ass,” the man snarls, picking the handle end of the broken tool up from the ground. It’s easily the size of Sonny’s forearm and has a wide, flat round head, and there’s a jagged edge where the square bit snapped off. He turns his gaze toward Sonny. “You ever done a hard day’s labor in your life, son?”

Sonny cowers meekly, the question coming out as an accusation more than anything. Trembling, he shakes his head. It’s not like he’s never had a job, but he knows most people don’t think music is a real job. And this guy’s already mad at him for some reason. The man holds up the broken tool. Instinctively, Sonny flinches, but his captor apparently thinks better of hitting him, because he lowers his hand and grins instead.

Sonny’s seen that look before. He doesn’t get the feeling this will be pretty.

“I’ll show you just half the pain of workin’ out there in the sun, eight hours a day…” He grabs Sonny by the hips. His hands are still chained behind his back, and as much as he squirms, Sonny can’t pull himself free from the tight grip of his captor’s calloused hands. He swallows thickly as the man pulls him to the ground on his back and forces his legs apart, exposing his nude body. Sonny tries not to show his fear, but he can’t help the way his breaths come fast and shaky as he tries to pull his legs back together with little success.

“Quit squirmin’,” the man snarls, not letting go of Sonny’s thighs. He applies a little more force, until eventually something in his hip makes a soft popping sound. It sends a spike of burning pain through him, scares him into stillness, and he stares wide-eyed up at his captor. 

“That’s better.”

Sonny’s bracing for the man to do something to him, but he still clenches and shudders when he feels the cool metal of the tool press against the pucker of his asshole.

“W-Wait, wait, don’t-” Sonny hates how his voice shakes, strained and high as he fucking begs, but he knows he isn’t in any sort of dignified position to begin with. He can’t look his captor in the eyes, gaze fixated on the shiny metal. “Please don’t…”

The grip on his thigh loosens somewhat. Sonny thinks, maybe, he’s gotten to the man holding him captive, but the tool presses against his ass just a little harder, forces the tight ring of muscle open.

“Shut up, princess, ” the man sneers, condescending as he forces the wide head of the tool further inside Sonny. “Let yer daddy touch ya.”

Sonny tries to resist the intrusion, but it’s a helpless struggle. The tighter he clenches his ass, the more the tool burns as it’s forced inside of him. The jagged edge scrapes his insides, leaving a trail of searing pain in its wake. He tries to relax his muscles, allow it to happen instead of making it worse, but the pain is almost in a feedback loop, causing his body to tense up against his will, which in turn makes everything hurt more. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites on his own lip to bear the pain until he tastes his own blood- he keeps biting down. Eventually, the pain of the jagged edge dulls to an aching throb, and the widest part is well inside him. His ass still stretches painfully around the handle, but it isn’t as bad as the initial entrance. He slowly lets his eyes open again as he tries to steady his breathing. 

The man above him sucks in a breath, runs his calloused, grimy hands over Sonny’s naked body, spreading the black gunk over the boy’s pale skin. 

“Look at you…” He breathes, brushing his filth over Sonny’s stomach, where a small bulge is left by the sheer size of the tool. Sonny’s eyes widen as he looks down further to see the handle poking out off him. A wave of embarrassment washes over him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the mixture of pain and shame. He’s not sure what it is about the sight, but it makes him feel, all of a sudden, so dirty and used. Like even if someone finds him here, saves him from this strange man, they’ll think less of him for what’s been done to him. He hiccups out a sob. 

“I don’t… understand…” Sonny sniffles, feeling immeasurably helpless in that moment. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Shh.” The mysterious man grabs the handle, pushes the tool a little deeper into Sonny until a weak groan of pain escapes him. “Just let Daddy take care of you.”

Sonny whimpers hopelessly as he feels the man’s beard tickle his chin, wet lips pressing to his. He kisses back against his own desire, the ratchet stretching his asshole a painful reminder of just who is in control here.