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Outside of a certain darkened alleyway was the hustle and bustle of Nostromo, the galaxy's largest trading hub; the closest one could get to a heart of civilized society in the cold black around the rim of the Costana cluster. Vehicles glided along the smooth thoroughfares, the thrusters keeping them aloft and moving filling the air with an almost-pleasant hum. Citizens from all walks of life milled along the pathways lining the metropolis' streets; burly ursines trundled beside quick-footed canines, avians darted to and fro through the throng, and even a few reptilians like the man watching the show from the alley's shadows made their way towards whatever the day held for them. Far above the masses rose the spires and skyscrapers of the city, and above that was the shimmering envirodome which kept them all safe from the airless void beyond.

Keen indigo eyes observed all of this, wandering from point to point as their owner tried to take in every detail. Jason's long tail flicked behind him as he pressed against the meteobrick wall, feeling the smooth stone brushing on his green scales; and feeling a few glares on the nape of his neck, which melted into attentive gazes when he glanced behind him. The rest of the Zion Brotherhood lurked behind the cobra, eleven men in all waiting for their leader's command.

Jason huffed and turned his attention back to the streets, ignoring the low murmuring of his men. Their numbers had been significantly higher before that raid a month or so prior, when what should have been a profitable job turned into disaster. Eleven-plus-him was all that remained of the fearsome pirate band whose legacy and notoriety had been built with care by the cobra's father; and so, instead of invading colonies and infiltrating corporate carry-ships to make bank off the spoils of their trade, they were forced to skulk in alleyways and hit small-time targets that would shame even the pettiest of thieves.

Small-time targets much like the salamander leaning against his idling van outside Vesta Techs' side entrance, dressed in a pair of dark, unassuming coveralls and tapping away at a tablet.

The cobra's eyes narrowed as he peered at the quite-familiar younger man. Kyle Santos was known well throughout the station; notorious throughout the Costana cluster. A brilliant engineer, one of the best and brightest in the galaxy, and quite libertine with how people ended up using the things he created. Legal or illegal, all were welcome to approach him if they wanted a particular device made; and whether that device was an unhackable maglock, or a gun that could both fit in the palm of one's hand and blow someone's head clean off from fifty paces away, or a torture device that would make sure whoever was put into it felt every single instant of their slow and painful demise, the salamander would be enthusiastic to build it and present the final product with cheer. Jason remembered well the times his father had sought out Kyle's services; they owed the success of many of their greatest heists to the weapons, the ships, and the infiltration equipment the ash-white-scaled man had created for them. However, it was time for him to serve the Brotherhood's interests in a more direct way.

"Alright." Jason's voice came out in a quiet, though commanding--at least, he liked to think so--murmur as he glanced back to his men. Twelve hardened pirates, decked out with heavy gun belts and plates of protective armor at their shoulders and torsos; even if Kyle had some nasty surprise waiting for anyone who tried to mess with him, they'd easily overpower the lone salamander through sheer numbers. "Move around the other side of the Vesta building, back down the alley. Wait for my signal, and then surround him. Once we've got him secured, we're gonna take whatever parts he's still waiting on--and everything else in that van of his--back to the ship."

"Are you sure about this, boss?"

Jason's expression immediately dropped into a scowl, and he felt his grey-scaled hood flair. "Who's fucking questioning my orders right when we're about to do a job?"

His men glanced to one another, their own expressions twisting as they squirmed under the cobra's icy glare. It was Otis, who'd been one of his father's lieutenants before the old snake got himself arrested, who spoke up. "Look, Jason, I think you're making a mistake." The word 'another' in the middle there, though it went unsaid, was certainly implied by the hawk's tone. "We're in good with Santos already. Are whatever parts and junk we can lift off him to sell gonna be worth pissing him off?"

"Then we'll give him work for the Brotherhood whether he wants it or not." Jason felt his teeth gritting behind his taut lips, and heat bloom beneath the scales on his snout and cheeks. Never in his time in the Zion Brotherhood had Otis--had any of the members--questioned his father's orders; they would've gladly put an ion bolt through their own skulls if the thought had crossed their minds. But every day, every job--especially after that last raid--it had been question after question. Doubt after doubt.

However, he didn't let a petulant whine creep into his voice. He didn't pout and glare at them, even as they all stared at him like he was babbling idiocy. He was thirty-two fucking years old, dammit, not some prissy kid who only got his position because of daddy's influence. He couldn't back down. He couldn't show weakness. And he couldn't let them doubt his judgment, or let those doubts sink their claws into him; that was how he'd fucked up before, and he couldn't--wouldn't--fuck up again.

"Just wait for my signal to rush him." He huffed and reached down to check the gun hanging from his hip. Ion blaster. Lots of power, but little noise. One of Santos' inventions; something something bet he never imagined he'd be on the business end of it. "Otis, Tracer, you're with me. Back me up in case things go south."

Otis nodded, a blank expression on his face. Tracer, meanwhile, let out a low groan that drew another furious glower from Jason. The stoat flinched, holding up his hands, and finally nodded as well. "Alright, you're the boss, boss."

"Yes, I am." His father was dead and gone; got jumped by a gang of the Brotherhood's rivals in prison. Let himself be killed like a weakling. But Jason wasn't a weakling; he wasn't. He turned, and gestured for the hawk and stoat to follow behind as he stepped out into the street.

No one seemed to notice the trio weaving through the crowd; not exactly like they were out of place. Mercenaries, bodyguards, people who most definitely weren't gang members; citizens from all walks of life milled along the pathways lining the metropolis' streets, decked out in whatever protection they deemed necessary for their business. And speaking of business, everyone on Nostromo knew to keep their noses out of each other's. 'Curiosity killed the cat' was the rule of thumb, and those who didn't want to find out just how literal the saying could be kept their heads down and their eyes forward.

And so Jason led Otis and Tracer down the sidewalk, across the thoroughfare, and over towards their mark. Easy. Casual. As though their meeting was pure chance. "Hey, Santos!"

"Mm?" The ash-white salamander looked up from his tablet, a hint of impatience in his voice. When he saw the trio of large, well-armed men gathered around him, he scoffed and looked back down to what he'd been doing. "Oh. The Lambert kid. Can I help you?"

Jason forced a wide smile on his face to keep himself from snarling. 'The Lambert kid', was he? He was at least five years older than the scrawny punk before him, who was lounging against the side of that rundown van like he was the hottest shit this side of the galaxy. But Jason didn't say that; instead, the cobra took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Actually, yeah, you can. Not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Nothing but my valuable time being wasted by those Vesta idiots." The salamander snorted, still not lifting his glowering gaze up from his tablet. "Call ahead, they say the parts you ordered are ready. Come down, and they tell you to wait. Can't find their own asses with both hands and a map."

The cobra let out a sympathetic half-grunt, letting Santos see him peering towards the back of the van. "Important parts, huh? Expensive?"

"Very. And very much required for a project I'm behind on. Which means that I'm not in the mood for idle chitchat." Another snort, much more contemptuous than the last one, as well as a little bit dismissive of the trio moving in closer around him.

Jason looked to Otis. Then he looked to Tracer. "Well, now, that's funny. See, the Zion Brotherhood has a little project that we wanted to get your help with."

"I very much doubt the Zion Brotherhood can afford what I charge, if the news on the grapevine is any indication. But how about this, you fuck off for a few weeks and I consider-"

The muzzle of Jason's ion blaster pressing against his forehead cut the salamander off.

Kyle sighed, as though having a gun to his head was just one more annoyance, and finally lifted his eyes to give Jason a look of disgruntlement. "What is this?"

"I believe they called it a 'stickup' in the old days." Jason leaned forward, looming over the smaller man; and then he flinched, grimaced, and moved a little bit upwind when he caught a whiff of the salamander's BO. "We're taking whatever you got in that van of yours. And we're taking those parts you're waiting on when they bring them out. And, if you be a good boy and play along, I'll give you all the work you could want instead of blowing your brains out." A satisfied smirk settled on the cobra's face. "How's that for a deal, Santos?"

"Hm, no."

Jason blinked. "'No'? The hell do you mean, 'no'?" He pushed the muzzle of his blaster harder against Santos' forehead. "You get what I'm saying here, right? Give us those parts, and maybe come and do some pro bono jobs for us, or I'm gonna kill you right here."

"No, you won't. That would be far too idiotic even for you." With a tone of smug condescension, the salamander drew himself up to stare right into Jason's eyes. In fact, Kyle himself pressed in closer against the larger man; and another whiff of body odor made the cobra flinch for the instant he needed. With one hand, the salamander grabbed onto the ion blaster. His deft fingers fiddled with something just under the barrel, and when Jason squeezed the trigger--or, at least, attempted to--he found it locked. Then with his other hand, Kyle pulled a two-pronged device from one of his pockets and jammed it into the cobra's side. Jason only had long enough to recognize what had to be a stun-gun before a surge of numbing electricity slammed through him, sending the cobra collapsing to his knees. From there, it was child's play for the salamander to wrench the ion blaster out of the reptilian's slackened grip, unlock it once more, and press the barrel to Jason's temple. "...About as idiotic as trying to use my own inventions against me."

"Guh." Jason's mind was still reeling from what had happened. He hadn't even had time to blink before he was on his knees at the Santos bastard's mercy. It was just like the raid that had gone so wrong the month prior; everything had been going well, the Zion Brotherhood had almost made their getaway, and then one slip-up had sent everything to shit. The cobra gritted his teeth. "Otis! Tracer!" At any second, the two would rush the salamander. They would beat the stinking bastard's ass. He'd signal for the rest of the boys, and they would get away with the goods.

Instead, Kyle quirked a brow upward and turned to look to the hawk and stoat. "Well?"

The pair weren't rushing forward to help their leader. They weren't drawing the guns that still rested at their hips to blow a hole in the salamander's smug fucking face. Instead, they were looking from each other to Kyle and back again, completely ignoring Jason.

"Don't just stand there!" Desperation crept into the cobra's voice. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He refused to accept that this was happening. "Shoot him! Call the guys over! Do something!"

Pain bloomed in the side of Jason's head as Kyle struck him with the barrel of the ion blaster. "Shut up." He then met Otis' eyes again. "So, what's it gonna be? Is your boss' son worth all this?"

Finally, the hawk spoke up. "Look, this... all this was his idea. We don't have any quarrel with you, Santos. I mean, you did help make the Brotherhood what it is. Well, what it used to be." Otis' beak clacked. "Let's just walk away from this. You go your way, we go ours. You can even keep Jason, if you want him."

Time froze, and so did Jason's body; his limbs locked up as he stared at the hawk, his father's most trusted lieutenant. And, he had thought, his own. "Traitor." The word came out in a furious hiss. "You fucking traitor! You're just gonna stab me--stab the whole fucking Brotherhood--in the back like that...?!"

Otis finally spared a glance toward the cobra. "I swore a blood oath to Captain Lambert right before he was convicted. If anything happened to him, I'd do my damndest to keep the Brotherhood together. And..." The mask finally fell away, revealing all the hidden contempt the hawk had for Jason. "...I can do it a lot easier without you around fucking everything up."

"Uh, look, I really don't care about whatever drama you guys've got going on." Kyle grunted in impatience, glancing over to the Vesta Tech side doors. "I'm already having a shitty day, and I don't need whatever shit this was supposed to be added to the pile. So you know what? Sure. You two walk off with whatever guys you've got lurking in the shadows, and I'll consider keeping up my business relationship with the Brotherhood."

Tracer nodded, looking all too eager to dart away and get as far as possible from the salamander. Otis, however, clicked his beak. "Look, he's an idiot, but... don't hurt him, okay?"

"That's not for you to decide. But don't you worry..." The barrel of his ion blaster glided along Jason's jawline, almost like a stroking hand. "I'll take good care of him for you."

"Right." Then Otis turned away, nodded to Tracer, and the two moved off back toward the bustling of the main thoroughfare.

"Traitors!" Jason glared daggers into the pair's backs as he watched them leave him to his fate. "I'll get you back for this, Otis, you scumfucker! I'll fucking kill you, I'll-!"

"I thought I told you to shut up." Twin metal prongs dug into Jason's neck, just behind his hood. Once more, numbness slammed into the cobra like a truck, and then everything went black.

---

Slowly. Gradually. Drifting through a haze of dull, throbbing, all-encompassing pain. That was how Jason came back to awareness, groaning as pins and needles pricked at his boneless limbs. He cracked his eyes open, and stared up past towering stacks of crates at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Dull vibrations thrumming through his body from the floor of the room. A faint scent of oil hanging in the air; along with an earthy funk that wrinkled the cobra's nose. He was in a ship. Either the cargo bay or some kind of storage space. Like the many mornings he'd awoken with a throbbing headache after an all-night bender, he tried to puzzle out what had happened to him.

It all came rushing back. Kyle Santos. The plan. Otis stabbing him in the back and leaving him at the salamander's mercy. Rage erupted from his roiling, shame-filled gut, and he made to get up and tear the place apart to find a way out. However, his limbs wouldn't respond; he could still feel every scale, every inch from his shoulders to his fingertips and from his hips to his toes, but the muscles and bones were like melted gel. He grunted, doing his best to thrash about, but still couldn't move anything below his neck. All Jason could do was stay where he was, lying on the floor like a discarded piece of trash, and wait for whatever would happen next.

Thankfully, the wait wasn't too long. The whoosh of a door opening followed by footsteps on the metal floor heralded the arrival of someone else; and the low voice humming to itself flared Jason's hood as the cobra grunted and growled and looked up to Santos. The salamander ignored his captive for the moment; Kyle stepped over the prone man, carrying a hefty crate over to a side wall and setting it down with a grunt. Then he unbuttoned the top half of his coveralls, tying it in a loose knot around his waist and exposing the sweat-stained shirt underneath. Only when the bastard straightened up, stretching and cracking his back, and turned around did he acknowledge Jason. "Oh, you're awake."

"What did you do to me? Let me up right fucking now!" Another squirm. Another flail of his unresponsive limbs. Another hiss of rage and frustration as Jason watched Kyle approach; slow, careful, and methodical, like a spider looming over the prey caught in its web.

"No, I don't think I will." He squatted down at the cobra's side, giving the larger man an appraising look. "See, I'm not the kind that enjoys getting beaten up by big, strong men like you. Point of fact, I prefer doing the beating." A smirk, and a pat against Jason's cheek. "What's the matter? Not having fun?"

"Let me up and I'll show you what kind of 'fun' I wanna have with you..." He tried snapping at the man's hand, but Kyle pulled it back with an almost-playful chuckle and then swatted Jason across the nose.

"If you be a good boy and play along, I might let you move again." He reached down to rifle through a pocket, and pulled out a small remote control to dangle it in front of the cobra's face. "See this? It's connected to that little chip I implanted in your spine." The words sent a dagger of ice sliding into Jason's belly; he could indeed feel the faintest tingle at the nape of his neck. Had the bastard been operating on him? And if he had, what other 'implants' had he put into Jason? "Right now, it's emitting an electrical signal through your nervous system that's just powerful enough to leave you paralyzed. Fascinating stuff, and some of my better work. Used to keep the Alliance's criminal population in check while they're being shipped off to the penal colony worlds."

"Yeah, real fucking fascinating." Jason scowled. "And what happens when you turn it off, and I punch that smug fucking grin of yours in? Or if I decide I don't want to be a 'good boy' for you?" He spat out the words, as though they were leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

"Honestly? I wouldn't mind. I always did like it when guys put up a struggle." Kyle tucked the remote control into his pocket once more, safely out of Jason's reach even if the cobra could move his arms to grab for it. Then, while the larger man hissed and grunted in protest, the smaller one crawled over him to straddle Jason's waist; and Jason froze, eyes growing wide, when he felt the hardness which tented the salamander's coveralls grinding on his abdomen. Kyle smirked. He let out a low, soft, aroused moan. He rocked his hips, pushing down to leave no doubt at all of what that hardness was. "Point of fact, I really, really like it."

Jason grimaced in revulsion at Kyle's almost-flirtatious tone. The cobra knew he was tall, muscular, and attractive; it wasn't vanity, it was just a fact. More than once after a successful job, back when the Brotherhood was under his father's leadership, he could go to any club on Nostromo--or anywhere else in the galaxy--and find no shortage of pleasurable company. Girls would throw themselves at him with just a smile and wink, and loved it when he'd take them in his 'big, strong arms' and show them a good time. And sure, there'd be the occasional guy who'd get the wrong idea about him, but a good beating in the back alley--sometimes with a little help from his compatriots in the Brotherhood--would be enough to set them straight; but in that storage room he was paralyzed, pinned, and helpless under the salamander's 'affections'.

Seeing the glimmer of lust in another man's eyes directed at him while feeling what he had in his pants would be offensive enough to Jason's senses, but there was yet one more thing which took his predicament from humiliating and infuriating to outright disgusting. There were no two ways about it, Kyle stank. The smell he'd caught only a few faint whiffs of during their earlier confrontation was concentrated--both by proximity and the still air of the small, stuffy storage room--so that every shift of the salamander on top of him sent a waft of sour sweat and old body odor right into Jason's face. Rank. Cloying. Like a dumpster filled with old, dirty underwear.

Jason coughed, and glared, and growled out the only words that would come to his mind. "I'm not gay."

"You think that ever stopped me?" Kyle laughed, rolled his eyes, and gave the cobra another patronizing pat on his burning cheek. "I don't think you understand the position you're in just yet. You see..." Once more the salamander rifled through a pocket in his coveralls; this time though, he pulled out a knife. Jason's breath hissed through his gritted teeth. "...You're mine, to do with as I please. You can beg all you want. You can scream all you want. But at the end of the day, pet, you get to lie there and let me do anything I want."

Waving it in the reptilian's face, letting him see one side of the razor-thin blade, and then the other. Patting his cheek with the flat of it. Bringing it down to lay right alongside Jason's jawline. Kyle seemed to take delight in the panicked gasps that the prone cobra couldn't help taking. He finally pressed it against the larger man's throat; pressed and held, but instead of the itch and burn of his scales and flesh parting, Jason only felt a dull pressure against his throbbing jugular.

"Pretty neat, huh? I made it for an excavation company who wanted only the best equipment, but it's been pretty useful around the ship, too. Lightweight, sharp enough to cut through anything, but only if I put it on the right setting..." A titter that sent a shiver shooting down Jason's spine to the base of his tail. "Makes it easy to do this." He moved the knife over to the cobra's shoulder, and sliced through Jason's combat vest; Kevlar-lined denim, and the thin shirt underneath--but again, neither scales nor flesh--parted with as the knife was drawn down to the reptilian's bicep. Kyle repeated the movement on Jason's other side, and then lifted the cobra's arms to cut down either side of his torso. The salamander brushed the cut sections of vest aside, and then pressed the knife's blade against Jason's shirt to slice through that as well. Soon enough the cobra's entire upper body was left bare to Santos' burning gaze. A whistle of approval, and a grunt and hiss from the larger man as the smaller one groped his chest. "Very impressive."

Years of training, working out, and combat had left Jason with an 'impressive' physique indeed; strong, sculpted, and built like a brick. His pectorals were a pair of massive, firm mounds, and the flat and fatless torso underneath showed every ridge of the cobra's abs. His arms, too, had been worked into a fine example of masculinity; the biceps and triceps bulging from under his scales were a testament of the power he'd built up as second-in-command of the Zion Brotherhood. He'd always loved showing his body off to the girls he'd pick up, flexing for them and letting them run their hands all over him; but with Santos humping him while drooling over his muscles, the cobra could only wish he had use of his limbs to roll over, beat the sick freak's ass, and get the hell out of wherever he'd been taken.

"Fuck... so big..." Fingers running over and around those pectorals, tracing into the valley between them. The tips of his thumbs running around and around the cobra's nipples; tracing the circumference of the dark-green, fleshy areolae, and then flicking the hardening bulbs crowning each one. Brushing his palms through the thick, virile patch of dense hair on Jason's chest. Kyle took his time exploring the larger man before tipping Jason an approving wink. "I guess I should have expected you'd be a stud, but... wow."

"Fuck you." Jason sneered while keeping his hood flared.

"Really? I give you a compliment and that's what you say in return?" Kyle sighed, grabbing the cobra's flopping, useless arms and raising them up over Jason's head, rubbing and squeezing the muscles all along their lengths as he did so. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of the dense, untamed forests of hair the cobra had in each armpit, and he moved to brush his fingers through those tufts as well. "Mm... I don't know what'll be hotter, letting you keep that spirit of yours or watching when it breaks." And then Jason jerked, eyes flying wide open in surprise, when Santos surged down to grind his snout into the larger man's armpit and take a few slow, deep, shuddering breaths.

"The fuck!?" Jason tried to move, to flail, to knock the bastard away from him; but all he managed was to strain his neck and knock the back of his head against the floor a few times. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

Sniffing. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Groaning and letting out humid puffs of breath. "I'm huffing your pitstink. Fuck..." Even dragging his tongue through the sweat-soaked hair and grinding it into the dank, musky scales hidden underneath. And judging by the throbbing of the erection in his coveralls, which made its obnoxious presence well-known as it ground on Jason's abs, Santos was enjoying every second of having his nose in the cobra's armpit. "...When did you shower last?"

The sheer absurdity of the question loosened Jason's tongue before he realized it. "Last night, why?" Was the bastard saying he stank? He was one to fucking talk.

"Good. And you don't wear deodorant, huh? Perfect." By that point the salamander was almost lying atop the cobra, his tail flicking with lazy contentment behind him as he ground his snout into Jason's pit for a few more moments. Then, with a self-satisfied smile, he pulled away to crawl further up the larger man's prone body. "But you can be muskier. I want your pits stinking bad enough to be smelled from the other side of the ship." His hand slid behind Jason's hood, cupping the back of the cobra's head; and then, with another almost-flirtatious wink, Kyle pushed himself up and lifted one of his own arms. There, visible in the opening of his sleeveless shirt, was the salamanders own armpit; hair-filled, sweaty, and wafting its raunchy stench like a miasma of overripe maleness. And despite the cobra's struggling, Kyle pushed Jason's face deep into that opening to bury it under his lifted arm.

The cobra gagged. He retched, feeling the roiling of his stomach trying to push upward into his chest. He jerked and tried to pull away, but the salamander's grip was like a vice holding him in place. Jason could feel Santos' armpit hair brushing against his nostrils and lips, making them tingle and burn as they were coated in Kyle's stench, and blinked in desperation as wet heat pricked his eyes. He wouldn't tear up, dammit; he was stronger than that, stronger than the bastard holding him captive. He was finally released, reeling and swallowing down bile, and forced to meet the other man's gaze.

"Fuck, you're so hot." Kyle's tongue flicked against Jason's lips, and the cobra retched again at the almost-kiss from another man. "You're a real hunk, pet. Strong and muscular. Sexy...just like your father."

The gears of Jason's mind ground to a screeching halt. "Wha?"

"It's true." Kyle chuckled and sat up, once more running his hands over the cobra's chest. Up into his pits and down his sides. Over his abs and the ridges of his hips. "Captain Lambert was so sexy. Always came in smelling ripe and manly, whether he was ordering some new toy or other or picking it up. Showing off that fine-ass chest in that tight shirt and combat vest of his..." The salamander's cold, calculating eyes regarded Jason, watching every little twitch and shift of his expression. Then Kyle smirked. "...Showing off other things..."

"You're lying." He had to be. There was no fucking way. Yeah, his father had made deals with the salamander--and plenty of them, for their equipment and their ships--but there was no way the stern older cobra he remembered had ever given Santos the time of day beyond that.

Another low, husky chuckle. "I guess you wouldn't know anything about it. Your dad being gay, I mean." The affronted hissing and flaring of Jason's hood only seemed to delight the little freak further. "What's wrong, don't want to think about it? Don't want me to talk about it? Or maybe you do...?" He leaned in closer. Closer. Huffing out a humid breath over Jason's face. "You want to hear about me stripping your father down naked, just like I'm doing to you? Huffing his pits while he let me-"

Jason's neck pistoned forward, slamming his forehead into the bridge of Kyle's snout and cutting off whatever bullshit Santos was spewing. He wouldn't believe it. And he wouldn't let the sick little bastard dishonor his father's name. He didn't even care if the salamander killed him right there; it had to be better than whatever else was in store for him.

However, Kyle just rubbed at the blooming bruise on his white scales and looked at Jason. That long, breathless moment stretched on as the salamander gazed at the cobra, and the cobra stared back. Finally, Kyle smiled; though it was far more chilling than any scowl or glare. "Yeah, you and I'll have lots of fun together."

To Jason's relief, momentary as it was, Kyle grunted and got off of him. And then, to the cobra's horrified protestations, the salamander kneeled near his useless legs and pulled Jason's heavy combat boots off one after the other. The freak looked them over, even stuck his snout into the opening to take a whiff of the dank inner lining, and then looked right at his captive while slicing the pleather and rubber apart. Not just stripping the cobra of his clothing, but destroying it; ensuring there would be no getting dressed and leaving once the salamander was done with him. Kyle then did the same with the larger man's socks, and then dragged the blade of his knife up one of Jason's legs and down the other to slice away the cobra's dark, fitted pants; Jason's gun belt had been taken off and stashed away sometime while he was unconscious, but he wouldn't have been surprised if Santos pulled it out from somewhere and made him watch as it was cut to pieces too.

The cobra let out one last snarl of protest as Kyle pulled the ruins of his pants off, his cheeks burning with both indignation and embarrassment. The salamander paused, stared, and then gave Jason another of those smirks that seemed specially crafted to piss the larger man off. "Commando, huh?"

Indeed, the cobra wasn't wearing any underwear; his cock, balls, and bushy pubes were out in the open for Kyle to see. He could feel the salamander's gaze crawling over his crotch; over his good-sized ballsack--which never failed to pump a wet pussy nice and full--and the impressive--so all the girls he'd ever shown a good time said--uncut shaft. And then Jason jerked, feeling Santos' hand brush through his curly pubes and against his package, and would have kicked the little bastard if his limbs weren't still paralyzed. "The fuck!? Don't touch my dick, you fag!"

Kyle squeezed, and Jason hissed and shuddered. The salamander ran a finger up and down the cobra's length, rubbing and stroking it. He rolled the larger man's ample foreskin back and forth, exposing the plump, pink, fleshy cockhead it hid. "I'll touch you wherever I want." He cupped, fondled, and bounced Jason's full sack in his palm. "Where I want, when I want, and how I want." Then he pulled his hand away; not to get up and leave the cobra, though. Jason wasn't that lucky.

The salamander stood, tugging his undershirt up and off, and tossed it away to bare his own upper body. Slim-built, but pretty impressive for a little guy; or so Jason would have thought in any other circumstance. The cobra scowled as Kyle grinned, rubbing over his own pectorals and small, semi-soft gut, and then unknotted the top of his coveralls from around his waist. Jason got just a flash of black lycra--jockstrap or thong, he didn't want to know--before turning his head away while Kyle pulled the coveralls down. The cobra heard the salamander grunting and huffing, and then the thud of the other man's boots hitting the floor. He glanced over and got a glimpse of firm, white-scaled man-ass beneath a perked-up and waving tail before screwing his eyes shut; Santos had moved over to one of the crates, and was bent over while rifling through it.

Footsteps approaching. A presence looming over him. Hands grabbing one ankle, and then the other, enclosing each one in the snug grip of some new toy or other. Jason opened his eyes and had to swallow down a groan--not a whimper, definitely not--of dismay.

Kyle was naked. The dark, curly hair surrounding his white-scaled, swinging balls and erect cock drew Jason's eyes by the sheer contrast, and the cobra had to wrench his eyes away to see what Santos was doing to him. A pair of shackles, metallic and sporting a small device that covered each seam, had been attached to the cobra's legs; and as Jason shook his head and grunted, trying to get his uncooperative body to finally work, a pair was affixed to his wrists as well. "Get away, you fucker. Don't fucking... come near me..." He glared, keeping his gaze firmly above Santos' waist; a difficult proposition when the freak's package was practically at eye-level.

"Now now, behave, pet. Or I'll do worse than just temporarily paralyze you." Kyle lifted one of Jason's arms and then the other, setting them on the floor above the cobra's head once more, and clicked a few buttons on the cuff devices. There was a low, whining hum that set the larger man's teeth on edge, and then Santos moved back down to Jason's legs. Rubbing them. Squeezing along them from thigh to calf, and brushing his fingers into the hairy crooks of the cobra's crotch. And then he lifted Jason's legs, pulling them up and over the prone man and bending them at the knee.

Jason was familiar with the position. He'd put more than his fair share of girls into it while fucking them hard and deep. But now it was his groin--and his ass, he realized with a grimace--put on full display; spread open wide for Kyle to stare at, grope, and do with as he pleased. The salamander tapped at the devices on the cobra's ankles; and then he stepped away, leaving Jason's lower body strung up and locked in place in the air.

The salamander answered Jason's panicked grunting with a soft laugh. "Quantum locks. One of my greatest inventions, and a high-class state secret. Only used in the Alliance's more... notorious correctional facilities. So make sure you don't tell anybody." Another smirk. Another playful wink. Another titter, and a pat on the cheek. Jason snarled; and then yelled and struggled as much as he could when Kyle kneeled next to his head, crawled up closer, and lay his erection right along the cobra's jawline.

Heat. Dank humidity. The sour stink of old ball sweat, and a fishy odor that made the cobra heave as his eyes watered once more. He kept his eyes shut tight so he wouldn't have to look at the throbbing, pulsing thing. However, Kyle seemed determined to humiliate him as much as possible, batting and slapping it against his chin, snout, and shame-flushed cheeks.

"Ew, what the fuck? Don't touch my dick, you fag." The salamander's voice was dripping with mockery as he rubbed the foreskin-coated tip right on Jason's nostrils. Then he laughed as the stench--as well as the greasy smears the cobra could feel being left behind on his scales--made the larger man heave and gag and choke once more; the roiling in Jason's stomach might well have come surging up and out of him, if gravity weren't working against it. "Come on, take a peek. I know you wanna." He could hear the smirk Santos was giving him. "If you're anything like your father, you probably love having a fat, cheesy dick in your face."

Rage, boiling hot, mingled with the nausea bubbling in his gut. His eyes flew open, as did his mouth, as he prepared to curse the sick bastard out; and then it all collapsed into a tight knot of horror as he stared at what was dangling above him: the salamander's erection. Up close, he could see that Kyle's manhood looked a couple inches smaller than his own, but its overwhelming presence was just as obnoxious as when it had only been a hard tent grinding on his abs. The other man's plump, soft-scaled ballsack dangled below, coated with the same curly hair that surrounded the rest of Santos' package. The shaft looked sweaty, as did the puckered folds of Kyle's own tight foreskin; and crusted in those folds were greasy flecks of off-white smegma.

Kyle's hand reached down to grab that filthy length by the base, squeezing and pumping it and pulling the salamander's foreskin back. The smaller man's own plump pink cockhead was exposed, as was the fresher buildup of rank dickcheese gathered under its ridge. "Yeah, that's it. You like that, pet?"

"F-fuck..." Another gag as Jason desperately choked down the bile burning in his throat. "Fuck no...!"

"Too bad." And then once more, that firm shaft was smacking against his face. He could feel splatters of hot precum and smears of cockgrease and smut on his scales as he tried to pull his head back to no avail. And then he gasped when the salamander's free hand grasped his own soft, dangling manhood. Squeezing and fondling it. Groping him. Playing with his cock.

Like a striking serpent, Kyle took the opportunity presented to him. He shoved his erection into Jason's gawping mouth to choke the cobra with both its girth and its raunchy flavor.

"Mmgh!" At first, the older man couldn't even comprehend what had happened. Then his entire body spasmed as he tried to spit that filthy length back out. But it was no use; Santos' rocking hips were insistent as they pushed the salamander's cock into Jason's mouth.

"Shit! Fuck, that's good..." The self-satisfied bastard crooned in bliss as Jason's tongue tried to find refuge from the assault upon it. It tried to move away, but only managed to brush along the pulsating length grinding against it. It pulled to the side, and found a pocket of smut that made the gears of the cobra's mind catch and slip. It pushed out of his soiled maw, only to find more sweat and oily hair and the smooth scales of Santos' ballsack. "Lick it, pet. Suck my dick like a good fag." His grip grew tighter on Jason's own manhood. "And if I feel a single hint of teeth, I'll make sure you stay alive to regret it."

The words were soft and silky, but the razor-sharp steel behind him froze Jason's blood even more than the knife to his throat had. Even more than watching the Brotherhood his father had built crumbling before him. Even more than the older cobra's steely-eyed, hissing wrath when it had been turned upon him. And in that moment of hesitation, as fingers slid along his taint and spread his asscheeks so a white-scaled snout could sample the smell of his hairy cleft, the bluster and pride of Captain Lambert's son sank beneath the tide of that age-old primal drive: survive. He had to survive. Anything to survive.

The cobra closed his lips around the salamander's shaft, flinching as the grease coating it smeared over them. He flicked his tongue against it as much as he could stand, trying to ignore the clenching of his stomach. He coughed and retched when it tried to push into his throat, and held his breath when Kyle's ballsack pressed against his nose; he could smell the stronger, darker, earthier stench wafting from behind it, and begged whoever was listening to keep his captor from making him 'appreciate' that area as well. With no experience--save for the few times he'd eaten pussy, but that was so different as to be almost useless--Jason did his best to suck Kyle off, if only to bring his torment to a swift end.

It was difficult, especially with Santos' wandering hands distracting him as the smaller man rubbed his sides and thighs and balls. But soon enough, the in-and-out thrusting of the length in his mouth became faster and more desperate. The salamander's breathing grew ragged as he snuffled into his captive's own crotch. Kyle gripped the cobra's shaft, pumping Jason's flaccid manhood, and slammed his groin into the larger man's face as he came.

Jason could feel it. Jason could taste it. And almost moreso than the heady fog of swampcrotch and dickstink surrounding him, the hot stickiness spurting out to coat the inside of his mouth made him heave with disgust.

"Mmfuck..." Finally, Santos pulled away to sit on his heels, looking down at the flushed, panting, spitting cobra lying prone below him. "Don't want to swallow, huh? Neither did your father, at first." Jason couldn't even protest the sibilant, infuriating words as he focused on taking slow, deep breaths. "And you didn't get hard either, hm? I guess we'll have to fix that sooner or later." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jason's shaft. "Even if it's cute the way it is."

Jason lied there as Santos' words washed over him. He glanced up when Kyle stood, and watched the salamander brush himself off with a casual lack of care for the captive still bent in half and groaning on the floor at his feet. "Let... let me... g-guh..."

"Go?" A light, almost-friendly laugh. "No. You're mine, now. My good little stinkpet. Or you will be, in time." Kyle padded around the cobra, fiddling with the cuffs on his limbs and letting Jason's body flop into a boneless heap as he released the quantum locks. "Get yourself comfortable for now. Settle in and rest. I'll be back in the morning." And then he swept out through the storage room door, leaving Jason alone as it slid shut behind him.

A few moments later, the buzzing at the base of Jason's neck stopped; pins and needles shot through the cobra's arms and legs as he felt his muscles spasm and flex. He groaned and gritted his teeth and moved his aching limbs, giving them a few slow and careful stretches to make the pain go away. He finally pushed himself up, and looked at his surroundings with vague, glassy eyes. Crates stacked up high. The doorway out of that hellhole; locked, of course. A cot against one wall, complete with blanket and pillow.

It was only when he laid himself down that his situation--Otis's betrayal, his captivity, what Santos had just done to him--slammed into the cobra's gut like a merciless punch. Jason punched the mattress under him in turn again and again, rage flaring and burning itself out as he muffled his yelling and cursing in the pillow. Wet heat gathered behind his eyes and spilled down his flushed cheeks. He buried his face in his arms, hiding himself away, and waited for slumber to end the nightmare he'd been put into.

---

Slowly. Gradually. Drifting through a haze of muzzy warmth. Once more, that was how Jason came back to awareness. He felt the blanket covering his prone body, brushing against his scales and limbs and package with every breath. He felt a strange tingling at the base of his neck send tendrils of ever-so-slightly-uncomfortable sensation down his spine. He felt someone cuddled up against his side, their arm slung over his torso and their head resting on his chest.

The cobra huffed, keeping his eyes screwed shut. If he didn't open them, he could pretend the memories slipping like knives into his mind were just a nightmare, already fading away as the day-cycle began. He could pretend he was in his quarters, enjoying the company of some beautiful girl or other whom he'd picked up at the club the night before. He could pretend that it wasn't Kyle Santos lying with him on the small cot in that cramped storage room that had become his prison, once more assaulting the cobra's senses with the overripe stench and very-male shape of his presence.

But when the salamander let out a low laugh, stroked over his stomach, and wrapped a hand around the iron-hard shaft of his erection, Jason knew he couldn't pretend anymore.

"Well, a very good morning to you, too." Those fingers gave the cobra's pulsing length a squeeze, peeling back the foreskin; and then the pad of Kyle's thumb glided over his pre-soaked glans, and the older man took in a hissing breath of reluctant pleasure. Santos pumped Jason's cock while grinding his own against the reptilian's hip. "Sleep well?"

Jason scowled, and would have shoved the salamander away--punched him, kicked him, wrung the sick little freak's neck--if his limbs weren't rendered paralyzed and useless by the chip in his neck once more. But as it was, all he could do was turn his face away, ignore the burning in his cheeks and the nauseous roiling in his stomach, and grunt out a quiet, "Fuck you."

"Aw, come on, don't be like that." Slick, wet heat slid over one of his nipples, and again the cobra's breath hissed through his clenched teeth. Kyle was licking him, alternating between flicking his tongue against the hardening bud and wrapping his lips around it to suckle like a nursing child. The older man grimaced--not just because it felt weird, but because it wasn't exactly an unpleasant sensation--and tried to ignore the smaller man. Even as Santos' insistent erection left smears of precum and smut on his green scales. Even as that hand teased and stroked and jerked him off. Even as the salamander groaned and sighed in pleasure while rubbing his face in Jason's chest hair, nuzzled against the firm mound of his pectoral, and even snuffled into the crease of his armpit. "You know you love this."

"Fuck you!" Jason thrashed his head, shaking it in denial of what was happening to him.

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be hard."

The cobra snarled, flaring his hood and finally turning to face Kyle's smug grin. "It's called morning wood, dipshit. I can't control it. And if you don't fucking stop touching me, I'll... I'll..." The whirling maelstrom of his thoughts became too chaotic for a moment, throbbing heat from his crotch warring with abject disgust; at Kyle, at his captivity, and most of all at himself.

"You'll lay there, like a good boy." Kyle latched onto Jason's nip again, sucking it loudly and fervently, and then pressed a kiss to the older man's chest. He moved up, and dragged his tongue across the tip of the cobra's snout. He smiled, and the grip around Jason's cock became a crushing vice. "Or, if you want, I can get mean."

"Nngh!" The pain shot through him, making the older man gasp and pant. However, it also caused his manhood to start flagging and softening in the salamander's hand.

"Oh, now look what you did, pet." Rubbing. Running his fingers along the shaft and fondling the cobra's sack. Pinching the base of Jason's cock in an attempt to keep it plumped up. Kyle finally sighed, and for once since that encounter outside of Vesta Tech Jason felt a glimmer of satisfaction at ruining the bastard's fun.

"There, you see? Now leave me the fuck alone, because I'm not playing your sick fucking games."

"'Sick fucking games', huh?" Behind the mask of his nonplussed expression, the salamander's gaze was icy. Considering. Calculating. He finally gave the cobra a smile that didn't reach those eyes of his and grunted while sitting up. However, any hope that Jason had of Kyle finally fucking off were dashed when the salamander crawled over him, turning around to give the older man a good look at his pert, firm ass.

"Wait, wait, what the fuck are you doing?" Jason stared in mounting horror. The earthy raunch he'd caught a whiff of earlier was already wafting from that humid cleft which was pushing in closer to his face. Spreading a little as the tail above it perked up high. Hovering before him and waving around while the salamander grunted and shifted and settled atop him. The cobra's snout screwed up into a snarl of revulsion as that sour-earthy stench burned his nose and lungs. He was already heaving just looking at the bastard's hind end, much less having to smell it.

"Since you don't like me jerking you off while sucking your tits, we're going to play a different 'game'." A chuckle. Kyle's hips rocked. He gripped Jason's flaccid manhood once more, pulling the foreskin back so he could press his lips right against the tip. "I'm going to see how quick I can get you hard, and you're going to see how long you can hold your breath. Ready?" That white-scaled ass loomed closer. Closer. Settled onto Jason's face, pinning him down beneath it. "Start."

Jason tried, he really did; his lungs strained as he attempted to weather the assault of Kyle's swampass. Sweaty. Rank. Not dirty, at least. It could have been a lot worse, considering; it seemed the salamander was thorough with wiping himself, if nothing else. Still the cobra squirmed and struggled not to breathe in the funk of man ass.

Even as Kyle rubbed and squeezed and tugged on his balls. Even as Jason's snout sunk deeper into that moist, hairless cleft until his nose was pressed against the greasy ring of the smaller man's hole. Even as he reeled and choked and suffocated, desperate not to give in. He was a man. He was the son of Eric Lambert, Leader of the Zion Brotherhood. He wouldn't--couldn't--break.

A long, dexterous tongue dragging up and down his shaft. Lips closing down around his cocktip, rolling his foreskin back and forth and suckling on his sensitive head. Huffed breath over his crotch, and a low moan that sent humming vibrations shooting straight into the root of his manhood. Jason gasped as pleasure was forced upon him; then he gagged as the full extent of Kyle's raunch was as well. Staining his nasal passage. Staining his insides. Staining his thoughts as they floundered through the haze of unwashed stench.

Another low moan, and a chuckle of perverted delight. "Well that didn't last long." A slow suckle of the cobra's cock, the salamander nursing on the plumping--though not hardening--shaft like he had the nub of Jason's nipple. "Hey, pat yourself on the back, though. You lasted longer than your dad." Another invocation of his father--lies, they had to be, dripping with poison meant to wear him down--that battered against the resistance the larger man was putting up. "Had him loving my smelly ass almost right away." He could hear the wide, toothy, teasing grin that was no doubt stretching Kyle's lips, even as the smaller man pressed them again and again to the cobra's cock, ballsack, and pubic mound. "Every time he'd come to me, he'd get on his knees begging to lick my crack clean and-"

Jason roared from deep inside himself, both to drown out Kyle's words and to prevent the hot, nauseous roiling of his gut from rising into his throat to choke him. He took a breath, not caring anymore if it carried the odor of the bastard's sweaty sack and raunchy hole, and yelled again. And again. He let out all the rage broiling within him, thrashing his head as much as he could in the prison of the salamander's cleft. And when he finally collapsed backward, feeling wet heat spilling from his clenched eyes, he finally felt the smaller man lift off of him to allow the cobra a few ragged breaths of fresh air.

Shifting atop him. Weight settling on his chest. A cold, heavy stare that sent shivers running down his spine. Jason grunted, blinked the tears out of his eyes, and looked up--past the looming spire of Kyle's erection--to meet the salamander's gaze.

"Your father was a dirty, perverted fag." Soft. Sibilant. Every syllable carefully enunciated; every one a heavy blow to his clenching gut. "He was my musk-loving, cock-sucking, cum-guzzling stinkpet. Every one of those toys he used to build your Brotherhood up? Paid for with his tongue in my ass and all over my dick." It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. The bastard was lying to get under his skin. "You want to live up to his example, don't you? Be the kind of man he was?"

And it was working.

His father. Captain Eric Lambert. The shrewd, cunning, and powerful man who'd lead the Zion Brotherhood to prosperity. It was him who Jason had looked up to above all others, and whose berating for every screwup the younger cobra made had cut the deepest, ever since he was young. And that bastard Santos talking such bullshit about the older cobra, putting thoughts and images in Jason's head which strained and twisted what he'd thought about his father for so long, was far more torturous than anything else the salamander could do to him.

Jason stared up at Kyle, his gaze watery and hazy, as he felt the sick freak's still-dribbling erection grind into the hairy cleft between his pecs. Rubbing the smooth scales and stroking through the dense, curly hair. Smearing and staining the larger man with dickstink and precum. A toothy grin, and a chuckle that rumbled like distant thunder. "Mmf... fuck yeah. You like when I fuck your tits like this, pet? Your father certainly did." Another crack, the sound of it resounding through the cobra's head. "He'd flex those big fucking muscles of his for me and beg me to cum all over him." Another. "I wonder what he'd say if he could see you now. His dirty, faggy, stinkpet son." Another.

"Fuck... you..."

"No, pet, fuck you." Back and forth, reaching to cup Jason's pectorals and squeeze them around his smutty, stinking shaft; Jason could feel every throb and pulse and brush of it on his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation. "Fuck your big, muscly tits and sweaty, smelly pits. Fuck your cute face while you moan like a slut for me. Bend you over and fuck my dick between those hairy asscheeks of yours." Lifting the cobras arm's up above his head, and then shifting over to push his cock into one of the larger man's dank armpits, then the other; Jason groaned and gagged as his own ripening BO joined the assault of stench Kyle was putting him through, and felt his cheeks burn with shame and embarrassment. "Just like I fucked your dirty, faggy, stinkpet dad." Thrusting faster and harder and with growing desperation; even without having fucked a guy before, Jason knew that Kyle was close to cumming, and the dread of it joined the roiling and heaving in his stomach.

Kyle gripped the back of Jason's head, tugged it down and forward between his clenching thighs, and let his orgasm erupt all over his struggling captive's face with a belly-deep cry of completion.

Panting and moaning. A hand stroking the crown of his head right behind his hood. Another quiet laugh that set off an inferno under the wet, sticky, sweat-and-cum-coated scales of Jason's cheeks and snout. "Good boy. There's my good stinkpet."

Kyle finally crawled off of him, and the older man was left gasping for breath; both to fill his lungs with fresh--well, fresher--air and in relief at finally having the salamander's weight off of him. Meanwhile, Santos stood, stretched and groaned. "Hm, I think you've earned yourself the use of your limbs. At least, for a little while." He looked over to Jason with a smirk; one that widened as his eyes drifted downward and caught sight of the pulsing half-chub lying on the cobra's thigh. "You can even take care of that, if you'd like." He moved over to one of the crates, picking up the remote control for Jason's implant, and pressed the button on it.

Again, pinpricks settled into Jason's muscles as the tingling at his nape faded. The cobra moaned and tried to sit up; and after flopping back onto the bed a few times as his trembling arms collapsed beneath him, he finally managed it. He turned, slow and careful as an invalid, and put one foot on the floor and then the other. Jason stood, teetering on his jellified legs, and had to lean onto the mattress and wait until he was steady once more. Then he looked to the watching salamander and surged forward while letting out the roar of a wounded, infuriated, half-insane beast.

He'd kill the bastard. He'd punch that smug grin off Santos' face, and then keep punching until he'd pulped the salamander's entire head. He'd strangle him, rip that lying tongue of his out, and stomp and smash and tear and make sure Kyle felt every second of it.

Kyle pushed the button on the remote control again with a low grunt. The implant in Jason's neck buzzed and tingled, and his limbs went slack and useless once more. The cobra cried out in surprise and then pain as he tumbled face-first to the floor, sliding to a halt in a groaning heap at the younger man's feet.

"None of that." Kyle stared down at the cobra, and then lifted a bare foot and set his sole down right atop Jason's snout. The older man hissed and thrashed his neck, trying to knock the sick freak away from him; and then he gagged as, once more, the odor of the younger man's unwashed body filled his nose and lungs. "You're going to behave, pet. Or else."

"Fuck you!" Hissing and spitting with rage, the cobra cracked one eye open to glare up at his captor. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you, you sick fucking freak!"

"Who's the sick freak here? You're the one sniffing my feet, pet." Pressure on his snout as the salamander leaned forward, putting more weight onto him. "Why don't you give them a lick?"

"Fucking piece of shit!"

A heavy sigh gusted out from the salamander as he shrugged. "Alright, you want me to be mean? I can be mean." He lifted the remote control up, holding it so that Jason could get a good look at it. Then Kyle flicked a switch on the side of the device, and the cobra's world exploded into electrical pain.

Surging through him. Spreading from the implant in his neck down his spine and through his bones and muscles. Setting every single nerve ending in his body on fire. It felt like a thousand steel needles coated in burning venom were being pushed between his scales and into his joints and piercing his eyes. Through the fog of agony that had engulfed him he could hear Kyle commanding him again to start licking; and so, Jason obeyed. His tongue lashed out, lapping and slurping in blind desperation, and he even worked his lips against the rank expanse before him. He ignored the salty grit burning on his tongue, and the humiliation heaving through him, and the raunchy stench filling his lungs with every gasping breath; all in an attempt to please the only one who could stop the pain.

It finally ended, leaving Jason gasping and panting and retching as that foot finally lifted off of his face. He felt the tingling in his neck cease, and then yet again the pins-and-needles of his motor functions returning. He felt the presence looming over him kneel down, whispering and cooing poison to the prone man. He felt hands pick him up and arms wrap around him, and then a pair of lips press against his own. "There we go. See what happens when you act up, pet?" The cobra shuddered and let out a weak hiss as Kyle cupped his cheek with mock-tender affection. "Are you going to behave?"

Jason clung to the other man, wiping his wet eyes on Santos' shoulder as the salamander pulled him into an embrace. He couldn't speak; his tongue felt numb and dead in his mouth, both from the abuse it had suffered and from the sheer exhaustion settling into him. He could barely breathe; Kyle's heady body odor surrounded him, and his lungs and stomach were still clenching from the aftershocks of his punishment. He couldn't work up the will to push his captor away, or even to strike at him.

Kyle gripped Jason's jaw, and turned the cobra's face so he could look him right in the older man's teary, indigo eyes. "Say 'yes, sir', pet." A wide smirk, thin and sharp as a razor.

What could Jason do? Even as a snarl twisted his lips, he ducked his head and kept his gaze down. "...Yes, sir."

---

And so it went, day-cycle after day-cycle, until they blended together into an unintelligible mishmash of time spent in Santos' tender, loving care. Jason would wake up on the cot in the storage room which had become his cell with his nape tingling, his arms and legs rendered immobile, and Kyle cuddled up against his side. The bastard would grope and molest the cobra as he pleased, crooning to his 'stinkpet' while licking and suckling on Jason's nipples. He'd snuffle into the older man's rank-smelling, sweaty, hair-filled armpits, and then tug Jason's snout down into his own in turn. The few times that his captive awoke with that affliction all men suffered on occasion, he'd stroke and tease and pump the cobra's throbbing erection while whispering quiet, husky depravities into his ear; and on the very rare occasion that Kyle forced Jason to an unsatisfying orgasm, he'd move down to lick the older man's cum off those heaving, trembling abs and force it into that slack, panting mouth in a deep, insistent kiss.

Only then would the salamander rise up from 'their' bed, click the button on Jason's remote control, and allow the cobra use of his limbs; but any hope of being left to his own devices had quickly been dashed after the first few day-cycles. Sometimes Jason would be left alone for a while as Kyle went out to do his business, or work on his inventions, or whatever else the salamander did in his free time; but his captor would always come back to 'check in' on him. Other times, Kyle would 'take the day off' and stay with his pet; or, very rarely, he'd allow the cobra to wander the ship as long as he stayed in his captor's sight. Either way, the younger man would take every opportunity he could to tease and degrade his captive.

The only clothing Jason was allowed to wear--when he was allowed any clothing at all--was a rank, worn, heavily-stained black lycra jockstrap; the same one Kyle had stripped out of when the older man's captivity first began, and--by Kyle's own admission--had been wearing for weeks beforehand. The salamander had nothing but compliments for how the cobra's package bulged the thin, stinking pouch--"Just like your dad did," he'd murmur with a smirk while Jason tried not to retch at the implications--and how the straps framed his ass so perfectly. Though when Santos would make him hold the pouch open, jack off into it, and force him to go around for the rest of the day-cycle with the sick freak's cum cooling and drying on his cock and balls, Jason couldn't help wishing he could just go naked. But nude or wearing Kyle's--he refused to believe it was his father's--dirty underwear, nothing would prevent the salamander from putting his hands all over the cobra's body.

Groping Jason, molesting him where he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted. Ordering the older man to flex and pose for him, and stroking his erection with a wide, toothy grin while ogling Jason's bulging muscles. Pushing his nose into Jason's armpits, or nuzzling into his crotch, or--as the cobra would hiss and squirm in embarrassed discomfort--tugging the cobra's tail up and spreading his cheeks to take a few deep, shuddering sniffs of his asscrack; and whether it was Jason's pits or his package or his ass, Santos would groan in arousal and remark about how 'musky' his pet had become.

Musky, nothing; Jason knew that he'd started to stink, and he knew that Kyle knew it. The salamander had explicitly forbidden him from showering--didn't even have a shower on his ship, which explained a few things--and so as the day-cycles had passed the older man's body odor had strengthened into a miasma that almost rivalled Santos' own. The sweat in his armpits and on his ballsack had soured, and his natural masculine scent had grown spicy and overly cloying. Smegma built up and grew ripe within the folds of his foreskin, flaking off whenever Kyle would play with his dick. He was only allowed to clean his ass, and even then only after doing his business, but there was only so much that steripaper could do to keep his cleft from growing swampy and rank.

But far viler than his worsening stench, or his captor's apparent enjoyment of it, was when Kyle would force Jason to worship his own. There wasn't any inch of the salamander's body that the cobra wasn't made to explore with his lips and tongue. He'd be pulled down to sniff Santos' own armpits, and even lick the sweat off of those white scales and suck it from that dense, oily pit hair. Or he'd be put on his knees with his face shoved into the bastard's crotch while being told to suck his captor off, and have to do his best to lick and slurp all over that full ballsack and smut-coated erection. Kyle would turn around, lifting his tail and spreading his cheeks, and Jason would rim the sick freak as best he could while trying not to vomit. Even his nipples--the cobra lapping and suckling on those buds while the salamander petted his head and cooed to him--and feet--the older man sucking each toe in turn before lapping at the soles and digging into the raunchy spaces between each digit, all the while hoping his soiled tongue would shrivel up and fall out of his mouth--received their fair share of the captive's compelled affections.

Through it all, there was only one thing in which Jason could take comfort; and perhaps a little pride, if the shattered remains of his own hadn't sunk deep into the mire of his straining mind. It was only in the rare instances that he was afflicted with morning wood that Kyle could get him off; otherwise, no matter how the salamander licked or sucked or pumped or fondled him, the cobra's cock would remain flaccid and unaroused. And even if his captor enjoyed toying with him either way, Jason could see the mounting frustration behind that smug smile he'd come to hate so much.

However, Kyle was smart, cunning, and most of all innovative.

It happened one day-cycle--Jason wasn't sure how long his captivity had lasted by that point, but it had to have been a couple weeks at least--while Kyle had the cobra lying on 'their' bed with his knees bent and his feet planted on the mattress. The younger man was kneeling between the older's spread thighs, straddling Jason's tail and pressing their hairy crotches together. Back and forth. Their sweat-and-pre-and-smut-slick lengths--Kyle's throbbing with arousal, while Jason's merely plumped up a bit at the stimulation--grinding together, and their scaly ballsacks kissing with every rock of the salamander's hips. Santos moaned, lifted his face from where he'd buried it in Jason's bouncing, bulging pecs, and grinned. "You're so hot when you behave, you know that?"

The cobra didn't answer. He kept his face turned away, staring at the wall and waiting for his captor to finish having his fun. He'd follow the bastard's orders. He'd let Santos do anything he wanted to him. But Jason refused to enjoy it.

Kyle lifted off of the larger man, and Jason felt the salamander's hands gliding down his sides and hips. Down his thighs. Lifting his legs up to press the cobra's knees to his chest. Jason only let out a soft grunt, and tried to ignore yet another punch of shame to his gut as he was bent into yet another compromising position. "I've been thinking, you've been so well behaved that you deserve a treat."

"You're gonna let me go?" The words were flat and toneless, without a single shred of belief that they'd actually be true.

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of this." Jason felt something slick, blunt, and firm press against the puckered rim of his asshole, and his entire body seized up in mingled surprise and horror. Would the bastard try shoving his cock into him at last, and force that complete and total degradation onto him? No; it didn't take long for the cobra to realize the thing being pushed into him felt rubbery, not fleshy; and when it popped through, allowing his ring to clamp shut behind it, he only felt a round object about the size of a small egg stretching his inner walls.

"The fuck...?" He finally turned to look up at Kyle as his legs were released, allowing the folded limbs to stretch back out and relax. His face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace at the fullness in his back passage, which had until that moment remained untouched. "What the fuck is-?"

The salamander was holding the remote control for his captive's implants, devilish delight shining in his eyes above a wide, toothy grin. "Like I said, it's your treat." His finger rubbed over a switch on the side of it, and the larger man flinched. "Enjoy it, pet." The remote clicked.

Buzzing. Vibrating. Sensations the cobra had never felt before tingling and surging through his lower body. His eyes flew wide open as his hips jerked with involuntary spasms. He panted and groaned as something within him--some knot of nerves--was mercilessly teased by the thing Kyle had shoved into his ass. He felt flushed. He felt hot. And to his horror, that heat was gathering in his crotch to pulse and throb all through the plumping, hardening shaft of his growing erection.

"Yeah, there we go." A hand wrapping around his length made Jason hiss as his eyes fluttered. "Damn, you're pretty big when you're fully hard. A grower, huh? Nice..." That hand pumping his cock made the cobra's legs jerk and clench. "Come on, pet, say how much you love me playing with your dick." The salamander fondled and squeezed the larger man's ballsack while the pad of his thumb ground over Jason's plump, smut-coated head and leaking piss slit.

"F-fuck..." Jason tried to bite down on the groan of pleasure rumbling in his chest, but despite himself Kyle's hands felt so good on his junk; finding every single sweet spot which stoked the fires of his reluctant arousal with ease. "I... it feels... alright..." He tried to school his expression into a scowl while glaring at the sick freak. "...You fucking fag."

"Who's the fag here? You're the one getting off to a guy touching your stinky dick."

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to growl and yell and kick the fucking bastard away from him. He wanted to kill Kyle, or himself, or find some way to drop all of Nostromo into one of the burning suns at the Costana cluster's heart. But all he could do was turn his face away, huff like a petulant child, and wait for the salamander to finish having his fun.

Stroking. "Oh come on, don't be like that." Pumping "You know I don't care that you're a smelly, gay, stink-loving pervert like your dad was." Rolling the larger man's foreskin back and forth with every thrust of Jason's groin up into his grip; and the cobra grunted and bit back a whimper when a slick tongue lapped around and over his cocktip. "Come up here and give me a kiss."

Even as his stomach did flips and threatened to force its contents up into his already-burning throat, Jason's arms pushed him up. His waist bent forward, and his neck turned and craned to bring his face close to the salamander's. He waited, jaw kept slack, for Kyle to press their lips together; and when that tongue--soiled with acrid smears of the cobra's own cock-filth--ground against his own, he allowed his mind to go blank while waiting for their kiss to end.

When it did, Kyle rubbed his flushing cheek against Jason's with mock-tender affection. The salamander laughed, quiet and rumbling like distant thunder, and the cobra felt a twinge of fear as he waited for his captor to voice whatever new idea had struck him. "Why don't you stand up, pet? Show off that big, gay stud dick of yours?"

Jason grimaced, but obeyed with a gusty sigh. He moved off the bed, standing up--not tall and proud, but still looming over the smaller man--and allowed Kyle--who turned to perch on the edge of the mattress--to direct him between his captor's spread thighs with almost-gentle hands on his hips.

"Yeah, real fucking hot when you behave." Staring up at the larger man with shining, delighted eyes above a toothy grin. "Come on, flex for me."

While the salamander resumed stroking the cobra's cock--even dipping down to grind his nose into the rank-smelling tangle of Jason's pubes and drag his tongue over the sweaty, grimy scales of the reptilian's ballsack--Jason obeyed; his arms lifted and curled to show off his biceps, and he grunted as his pecs bulged and bounced with his flexing.

"That's right. Now, give your armpit a whiff." Groaning and panting as he huffed his captive's overripe musk straight from the source. "Tell me how bad you stink."

The larger man's lips twisted again, but still he obeyed; he lifted one arm up high over his head, pushed his snout into the dank, stinking pit underneath, and took in a deep breath. "I reek... sir." He tried to keep his voice flat, ignoring another roil in his stomach and throb in his drooling erection. "I'm so sweaty and smelly. Haven't showered in... a long time."

"Yeah. Dirty little stinkpet... fuck..." Reaching down to pump his own throbbing erection in time with the stroking he was giving Jason's turgid shaft. "Sniff that smelly fucking pit and tell me you love it."

Jason gnashed and ground his teeth together. Even as his stench burned in his nostrils and filled his lungs like a cloying fog, the vibrating plug in his ass and Kyle jerking his cock were winding the spring in his groin to familiar, insistent tightness. He was about to cum, whether he wanted to or not. "I love sniffing my smelly armpits, sir."

"Mm, pervert." Santos finally pulled back from the cobra's swampy crotch, trying to catch his own racing breath. He let go of the bobbing, straining length between his white-scaled thighs, and lifted that arm high up in a mirror of his captive's pose. Jason grunted as he was tugged forward by his manhood; and then he threw his head back as the feeling of the salamander's sweat-slick scales and damp, wiry armpit hair joined the sensations rocking through him. "Filthy gay pervert, just like your dad." Rubbing. Grinding. Smearing his cocksmut and precum into Kyle's own reeking armpit. "He loved letting me watch him sniff his pits while jerking off, too. And he also loved sniffing and licking mine. So come on, pet." Faster. Harder. "Do him proud and cum for me."

Again, Jason had no choice but to obey; his balls drew up, his shaft jumped in Kyle's squeezing grip, and he came for his captor. Spurt after hot, sticky spurt of his pent-up cum splattered into the salamander's pit, coating it and running down Santos' side as the sick freak moaned in bliss. And Jason moaned as well; he couldn't stop himself as pleasure--forced and unwanted as it was--shot up his spine and drove itself like a knife deep into his reeling brain. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He could only spasm and shudder and wait for his orgasm to end.

When it finally did, sinking under the warm and fuzzy tide of afterglow, Jason let Kyle pull him down off his shaky legs to sit on the bed once more. The cobra groaned but didn't resist as his face was pulled into the mess he'd made under the salamander's lifted arm. And when he was ordered to lick, he did as he was told; he lapped and suckled and cleaned up every bit of his and the salamanders sweat and pre and cum and stench while Santos stroked the back of his head. "That's right. You're my big, hunky stinkpet, aren't you."

He wasn't. "Yes, sir."

"You love being smelly, sweaty, and gay, don't you."

He didn't. He didn't. "Yes, sir." Even as the last shreds of his dignity howled out from where they'd been shoved at the back of his mind, Jason gulped down every bit of filth in his mouth; and then he pulled up to nod and meet Kyle's expectant gaze. "I... love... being gay with you, sir. And I love being... sweaty... and smelly."

The cobra grimaced as the salamander hummed in delight and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss. But once more, Jason kept his jaw slack and allowed Kyle's tongue into his mouth to dance and wriggle and grind against the smut-and-stench-coated length of his own. And when the kiss ended, he stayed still while the smaller man snuggled against him with a sigh of contentment. "Good boy."