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Rhys stirs to wakefulness in an utter darkness that has his heart beating a little faster- Why can’t he see? On turning his head he feels the telltale tug of fabric- he’s blindfolded. That’s… not good.
He does a quick inventory of his current situation and finds that his cybernetic arm is a dead weight on one side and his flesh arm on the other-- both bent at the elbow and tightly bound behind him. He can feel the slightly too-tight straps holding his legs firmly in place, spread just a little-- and another strap binding his chest and keeping him held upright against the back of what felt like a cold, metal chair through the fabric of his suit-- at least he’s still dressed.
At first Rhys hears nothing and considers he’s probably alone but his captor will return eventually (bandits, maybe?) He can’t recall what had happened before he woke up here and the gears grinding away in his head almost distract him from the sound of rustling fabric before soft footfalls on a hard floor somewhere in front of him reach his ears. He can’t help but turn his head just a little to confirm that he had heard movement.
Whoever they are, they’re getting closer. He’s not alone after all. He wishes he could see.
Rhys braces himself, preparing to talk his way out of this or at least go down having properly told off whoever it is that’s kidnapped him but the hair on the back of his neck stands up in fear and recognition at the dark chuckle he hears. It’s- They are close and he feels the cool air around him stir as if a physical presence were there with him and that laugh-- that couldn’t be possible could it?
Rhys knows that laugh and he knows it well even if it lacks the slight distortion of digital compression he is so used to hearing in his head. This isn’t right but the pieces are starting to come together and Rhys is positive that he is in a very bad situation now.
Wracking his brain he can remember Jack offering Rhys power by his digital side. He can remember the surprise as his own cybernetic arm moved without him willing it. That gaudy yellow chair and it’s hidden restraints and everything going black with the cold spark of electricity as an echo port was forced into his temple accompanied by panic and that very same laugh.
More rustling of fabric and Rhys is sure he feels hot breath on his face as his blood runs cold- his heart beating against his ribs like a scared rabbit. His very real and very close captor speaks and removes all doubt from his mind.
“Wakey, wakey Rhysie,” says Handsome Jack.
What can only be Jack’s large hand (it definitely feels like flesh) roughly takes hold of Rhys’ chin, holding him still and turning his unseeing face this way and that as if checking for damaged goods and Rhys can practically feel Jack’s eyes on him, assessing his prize. Rhys knows that Jack currently wears that sadistic smile along with his mask (probably. Rhys isn’t sure he can imagine Jack without the mask after all these years of worshipping the man) as Jack’s big thumb that had been gripping him so tightly moves to almost gently caress the soft skin right below his lips and Rhys feels an unexpected flutter in his chest that isn’t completely unpleasant.
And then his hand is gone.
Before Rhys can so much as begin to sass Jack there’s a sudden heavy force against his chest that forces the air from his lungs and sends him backwards with seemingly unimaginable force. Cool air rushes around the back of Rhys’ neck, he feels his shirt sleeves flutter and the ground fall out from under him and his mind reels as it tries to remember which way is up when he fully registers that he’s falling and has no idea what’s behind him. He might be falling to his death or into a pool of acid or a cage of vicious Pandoran wildlife for all he knows but that line of thinking is cut off as the chair (and to a lesser extent the back of Rhys’ head) hits the cold, hard floor and bounces. He see’s stars (not the fun kind) as a spike of pain reverberates through his skull enough that he can feel it in his teeth.
Rhys almost doesn't hear the metallic clatter of steel on concrete over his surprise (and maybe a little pain- why was it always to the head?) as his mind tries to catch up and keep his dark little world from spinning quite so fast around him. Before he can catch his breath or collect himself there’s a thud on both sides of his head and a solid weight against his chest and that thumb is back on his face, digging between his lips (still parted in surprise he realizes) and into his mouth, distorting any words he had hoped to ready against his unexpected captor.
He hears (and barely has time to process) an “Open up, cupcake.” as that hand seems to settle into the desired location, bracing Rhys’ mouth open almost uncomfortably wide and the weight lifts from his chest before he feels something hard and hot smack against his cheek a few times; just the tiniest bit tacky at one end and he’s sure that’s a dick that Jack just smacked his face with.
A flesh and blood dick.
That means Jack has a body, he’s sure of that now and a little torn about how he feels about exactly what is about to happen and it’s then that he feels that very same cock briefly brush against his lips before thrusting into his mouth without warning.
Rhys can’t stop the surprised gag and poor attempt at a cough as Jack thrusts fully into his mouth, coarse hair just barely tickling his nose. Jack groans happily above him and holds himself still, buried to the hilt as Rhys struggles to breath through his nose and and fruitlessly tries bite down on the intrusion.
Jack’s hand stops any form of retaliation (from surprise or otherwise) and Rhys finds himself very much aware of how helpless he is right now.
Rhys only has time to feel a little ashamed when his own traitorous cock twitches in interest before Jack starts moving above him.
Rhys is unable to push away like he knows he should try to do. Jack’s hand is holding him in place absolutley as he drives his cock (of course it’s this big-- Rhys had always wondered before...) in and out of Rhys’ mouth, the velvety shaft heavy against his tongue and Rhys can’t contain the little whine he lets out-- uncomfortable but not objecting to his capture and assault as much as his brain is telling him he should be.
His distressed sound only seems to spur Jack on.
Rhys feels light headed as Jack uses his mouth with abandon, groaning and quietly cursing above him-- his muttering broken up by unintelligible cursing and backhanded compliments about how good Rhys’ mouth feels and how long he’s wanted to do this. Rhys just tries to control his gagging so he can breath. It’s hard- nearly as rough as the fucking his mouth is receiving but he can do nothing but lay there and take it (or is he sitting there and taking it? He’s still technically seated after all.)
His jaw begins to truly ache and just as Rhys gets into the groove of things; finds a pattern in Jack’s thrusts and learns to get those precious breaths when Jack pulls out a bit with each roll of his hips and Rhys finds himself gasping for the suddenly far more freely available air as Jack’s member is removed from his mouth and the wet hand that had previously saved Jack’s dick from Rhys’ teeth moves up to curl big fingers into his hair and pull-- keeping him still before there’s a final guttural sound from Jack and Rhys can’t help but flinch and gasp as his face is spattered in what he can only assume is Jack’s release.
Rhys is pretty sure that Jack was trying to get as much in his nose and mouth as possible as icing on this incredibly uncomfortable and confusing cake and he coughs, trying not to inhale any more cum than he already has.
Jack lets Rhys’ hair go and leans back with a pleased sigh, the weight returning to Rhys’ chest and making it a little harder for him to fully catch his breath.
“Goddamn Rhys,” Jack coos meanly, “been wanting put that mouth of yours to use for ages now. Fuck you look so pretty with my cum on your face.” His hand is on Rhys’s face again, dragging through his own spunk and rubbing it onto Rhys’s face lazily like it was salt into an open wound, clearly enjoying himself.
There’s a patronizing pat on Rhys’ cheek before his blindfold is ripped off and Rhys cringes and blinks furiously against the sudden brightness overwhelming his organic eye from the light above, casting Jack in a dark silhouette against smooth, concrete walls as his echo eye confirms that yes, Jack is very definitely human again.
Rhys feels conflicted about the loss of contact as Jack gets to his feet with some effort, legs popping and movement stiff and Rhys takes a little satisfaction in knowing that Jack didn’t get out of this fully unscathed. Kind of. A little. Rhys glares at him from the floor, lips pursed in a mixture of confusion and displeasure as Jack brushes the dust from his legs, tucks his dick back into his pants and his eyes meet Rhys’ own.
“That was fun, Cupcake. We’ll do that again soon, m’kay? We need to... work out.” he says and Rhys has mixed feelings about the promise of just how Jack plans to work things out.
Rhys just barely gets out a simple “Is that it?” It’s quiet and strained from his abused throat and not nearly as challenging as he’d hoped he’d sound and Jack only seems to get that predatory smile on his face, his eyes flicking briefly to the tent in Rhys’ pants before their eyes lock again and the grin turns knowing.
“Nah, I’m gonna keep you, baby,” he says in a way almost sounds sweet and Rhys can’t help the little flutter he feels in his chest. That’s got to be from the difficulty breathing. Definitely. Jack shoots him some finger guns with a wink and leaves, slamming the heavy metal door behind him and Rhys can hear the manual lock click into place and then he can only hear his breathing against the close walls.
Rhys is left alone, still tied to a chair and on his back, staring up at the now dim light above him, cum drying on his face and neglected cock pressing against the fabric of his slacks and arm aching under him.
Jack will be back and Rhys can only cough in response to the torn feelings of dread and arousal he can do nothing about at this time. Rhys will have to figure out how to get out of this. He can get through this. He wants to get through this. (doesn’t he?)
Whatever, he really wishes his hand was free. The mess on his face is starting to harden and crust in the cold air and while his chub is finally starting to flag and he can only shift his hips a little to ease his various discomforts.
Rhys sighs- it sounds more like a groan.
The least Jack could have done was return the favor. He wonders when Jack will be back for more.