Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Thirteen | Fourth World

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Whether deliberate or not, every time Finch opened his eyes after visiting the apparent deity, he felt delirious. It was always swiftly followed by a crash of reality, where Finch would look back and wonder how he hadn't had the strength to put up a fight. As he wouldn't ordinarily let a complete stranger have his way with him.

What didn't help was that he was woken up carelessly by another slave, who all but dragged his body along. Hawk had been greatly recovering day by day, so he was increasingly becoming more independent and not requiring Finch to be at his every beck and call. It was on this occasion, where he had left early to speak to the Chief, where the slaves were able to grab Finch.

He had a slender body, with no immediate signs of any oncoming growth-spurt that would give him bulging muscles like most of the other men belonging to Viper. So he was easily manoeuvred like some rag-doll. And practically thrown in the tub like one too.

Resurfacing, Finch's body trembled. The water was freezing, with the only source of heat in the entirety of the hut being from the open-fire. When the carefree slave went to grab him, he slapped her hand away quite harshly. To which she flinched and stared at him with wide eyes.

With his hair plastered to his shaking body, Finch glared at the woman who quickly became hesitant to touch him again. Although unimpressive physically, Finch was known among the other slaves for being talented enough to be favoured by both the Chief and Hawk. This was also without offering himself physically— which further emphasised their impression of the boy as being far from simple.

Just being pierced by the harsh gaze of the young man had the woman questioning whether or not she was going to be punished. She was a familiar face to the master's, so would naturally be higher up the food-chain when it came to the rest of the slaves; but did that apply to Finch?

He didn't have to say anything to express his displeasure. Even after curling into himself, looking weak and vulnerable, the heat behind his gaze expressed how he was far from someone who was going to take shit from people who didn't hold a single influence within the clan.

"You need to be bathed for the ceremony."

Finch had guessed as much. "I can do it myself."

The woman looked like she had swallowed a fly. She obviously had something to say, but he was having none of it. Reluctantly she caved, nodding her head. "I'll wait outside."

Finch had already looked away, only interested in quickly washing himself so he could get out of the cold water. He could feel body parts painfully cramping and heard his quiet breathing becoming slightly laboured. He didn't even look up when the furs parted and the petulant woman left.

His hair weighed a ton as he manoeuvred himself. He attempted to drain it of water before flinging it over his shoulder. His hands trembled as he did so. When he stood up his knees buckled under the cold and he toppled over the edge of the tub. He landed in a sorry state; his long hair which was wrenched from the scalp since his own body was snagging it.

"I think I timed that perfectly," Hawk scoffed as he entered the hut; his meeting with the Chief over with.

Finch groaned with embarrassment and attempted to cover his body as best he could. Fortunately, with his excessively-long hair sprawled out due to his fall, he was able to cover his vital area. It was a natural movement, perhaps going overlooked by some. But Hawk had quickly taken note of the youngsters aversion to being in the nude. He always looked away, or changed his loincloth somewhere relatively enclosed.