The Choice
A brothers Jones whump fic… sorry?
“The choice is yours, Jones. What will it be?”
Liam knew his captain was lying. It wasn’t really his choice. It never was. Silver already knew what course of action he’d take in teaching the eldest Jones a lesson, but he’d never pass up an opportunity to have his fun first.
Fun, like offering a taunting choice between two punishments, and letting the poor unfortunate soul who’d found themselves in their captain’s displeasure believe they actually had a choice. Liam knew better. No matter which option he chose, Silver would find a way to twist things so Liam would receive the consequence of the captain’s choosing, not his. Given the choices before him, it wasn’t too difficult to guess which one he’d be destined for.
Lashes before the mast, or manually stocking the on-deck armaments.
Granted, hauling up cannonballs from the hold by hand without the use of a winch was exhausting, back breaking work, but it paled in comparison to the damage the cat o’ nines could do, to one’s back or their spirit. Liam was just thankful Killian had been spared their captain’s ire this time around.
“Well, Jones?” We haven’t got all day. Let’s have it.”
“The lash… sir.” Liam straightened himself to full height as he answered. He was in no mood for Silver’s games. He’d take the lash and be done with it.
“Liam, no,” he heard Killian hiss behind him, standing among the rest of the crew that had assembled in order to give audience to the discipline about to take place.
Liam clenched his jaw, willing his little brother to remain silent.
Silver nodded, and Liam braced himself for the manhandling that did not come.
“Oi!” He heard Killian shout, causing him to spin around and watch in horror as his little brother was drug across the deck towards the mast.
“No, no, no!” Liam shouted. “This is my punishment! Not Killian’s! I chose the lash!”
“Aye, you did,” Silver sneered. “But I never said you would be the one to endure it.”
Liam rushed forward, but was held back by the crew. The shredding sound of torn linen echoed in his ears as Killian’s tunic was split in two. Long, lanky arms he hadn’t quite grown into were forcibly wrapped around the mast, his hands bound with rope on the other side, securing him in place.
“How many?” Liam questioned, realizing for the first time Silver had never expressed a specific number.
“That depends on you, Jones,” Silver answered, taking the cat in hand before stalking toward Killian’s bared flesh with an sick hunger gleaming in his eye. “How quickly do you think you can restock the armaments by hand?”
Liam blanched and stared at Silver. “What?”
“You still have to be punished, Jones. You’re brother’s lashings will continue until the job is done.” Liam sucked in a breath and choked back a sob as he watched Silver swing his arm, cracking the cat against Killian’s back. A pained grunt resonated in his hearing, and Liam knew Killian would try to hold back his cries for as long as he could. “Better get going, Jones,” Silver commanded. “The lads have placed their wagers, and no one thinks you’ll be able to complete the task while there’s anything left of your brother’s back. You wouldn’t want to prove them right now, would you?”
Another slap of the lash had Liam sprinting towards the hold, jeers and laughter from the crew following him down into the dark. Should he try and carry as many as he could manage each trip, even though the extreme weight would slow him down; or take them up one at a time, which would be faster, but require more trips? He didn’t have time to consider the merits of either option. Another muffled strike, encored by cheers from the heartless men above deck filtered down with the dust and dampness. Liam secured two shots, one cradled in each arm, and raced back to the stairs. Nearly stumbling from the blinding light of the midday sun, Liam did not wait for his vision to adjust before depositing the cannonballs and hurrying back for more.
He fumbled in the darkness for two more.
He made the mistake of glancing over at Killian once he was back on deck. Angry, red welts cris-crossed his back.
Some of the marks were no longer welts.
Liam grunted in his attempt to carry a third ball this time; a sound that harmonized with Killian’s scream, who could no longer remain quiet.
His legs burned, but the pain was forgotten as his stomach turned at the sight that met him when he reached the deck again. The crowd had parted, purposefully leaving him with the perfect vantage point to witness his little brother’s suffering. Blood ran down his back, and spattered through the air.
Killian’s body contorted, twisting and arching in an attempt to alleviate some of the torment each blow delivered.
Liam’s legs were like jelly. His arms ached, and his lungs felt as though an inferno raged within his chest, each breath drawing in new fuel to fan the flames. It was nothing compared to the fire licking its way through Killian’s extremities, though. That knowledge alone was enough to keep his legs moving, his arms lifting more than he should have been capable of, and his lungs drawing in against the painful sting of exhaustion. That, and the pitiful cries of his little brother, now sobbing out pleas for his torment to end between the soul rendering screams of each strike.
“It’s done!” Liam shouted, doubling over with his hands braced against his knees.
The cat stilled while the Bosun came over to inspect Liam’s work. A nod was given, and the captain ordered Killian’s release from the mast. He had no strength left in him, and therefore crumbled to the deck before Liam could get to him.
“I’m sorry, little brother,” Liam whispered over him, not even sure if he was conscious. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Younger,” Killian croaked, pulling a watery sound from Liam; a mixture of amusement, relief, and weariness.
There was no time for rest, though. Liam would have to dig deep within himself in order to convince his strained and overworked muscles to get Killian below, so he could begin administering his healing.
“Come on, Killian,” Liam coaxed. “We have to get you to your bunk.”
With Herculean effort, the brothers managed to get on their feet and began to make their way to the hatch.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Silver’s voice rang out from the helm.
“To tend to my brother,” Liam replied through clenched teeth.
“Has it escaped your notice that your brother has left quite a mess upon my deck? It needs swabbing.”
Liam bit back a sharp retort, and caught Killian’s eye, imploring him to do the same. Despite the toll his body had taken, his eyes blazed with murderous rage and Liam feared Killian’s tongue would get him killed if he did not quell such emotions.
“I’ll see to it once I get Killian settled below deck.”
“You’ll see to it?” Silver questioned in a tone that made Liam’s stomach drop and a shiver run up his spine. “I don’t believe it’s your mess to see to, now is it?”
“You can’t expect me to be… up to the task… in my condition,” Killian panted through pained breaths.
“Hmm,” Silver hummed, giving a show of considering the youngest Jones’ words. “Perhaps, not.”
Both men relaxed slightly, and let go a shaky breath of relief. Prematurely, it seemed.
“Very well then, Jones. If you are not up to the task… let me offer you a choice.”
Tagging the Curious Whumpers:
