Count Your Teeth

—Day 1— Sebastian woke up with a hangover. At least, he assumed it was a hangover. Pounding headache, throat parched to hell, and a general feeling of queasiness that curdled his stomach—yeah, this seemed to fit the typical symptoms he'd heard about. He could only guess, of course, having never had anything beyond a few sips of wine from his mother's glass at the dinner table. And that didn't count. He gave a small noise of discomfort. He'd just tried to move, the keyword being tried, but even the tiniest shift sent daggers of electricity stabbing through his head. He slumped back into place, realizing with painfully slow awareness that he was lying in a bed. Whose bed? His bed? "Welcome back to the land of the living, buddy." Ches? Through the swamp fog in his brain, he registered the voice as belonging to his one and only friend. But why was he so far away? He turned his head toward the sound. "Other way, dude," Ches said. "Wow, it's got you really fucked up, huh?" Sebastian groaned miserably as he turned his head all the way back in the other direction. He cracked one eye open and could just make out a green smudge that may or may not have been Ches seated some distance away. He was straddling a chair, and there was a strange spot of orange glowing where his face was supposed to be. It was a cigarette. Okay, well that ruled out the possibility of this being his bedroom. Must be Ches's. Then again, the room was so dark beyond its meager pool of light, he couldn't be sure. The bed and chair might have been the only two objects in all of existence, as far as Sebastian was concerned. "Wha—" he tried to say, but a dry patch in his throat sent him into a coughing fit. In the next instant, Ches was by his side, a glass of cool water held to his lips. "Here. Drink up." He tried to lift his arms from beneath the sheets to hold it for himself, but Ches just shushed the notion away with a gentle but firm "It's okay. I got you." Sebastian didn't have the energy to argue, grateful to surrender to Ches's help and let himself be lifted to a semi-seated position while he held the glass for him. It was strange being treated like an invalid. Normally, he didn't like relying on anyone, much less being touched. But with Ches's strong arm around him, and his steady heart thrumming beneath his ear, he was lulled into a sense of safety. It helped to ground him and ease the implacable dread churning in the back of his mind. Even the stench from the lit cigarette in Ches's fingers didn't bother him in exchange for the refreshing water. Once he'd had his fill, Ches laid him back down, tucking here and smoothing there until the sheets were snug up to his chin. Now he really did look the part of an invalid. The sheets helped, but his body temperature was still cycling wildly between hot and cold, and he couldn't stop shivering. "I feel like I've been hit by a bus," he said in what had to be the understatement of the century, blinking against the light from the naked bulb above him. "After what happened to you, no shit," Ches said, sitting down again. The mattress's springs groaned beneath his weight with a metallic creak. Metallic. Metal. "The concert!" Sebastian launched himself upright as the memory struck him. Memory and nausea. Another head-splitting stab of pain lanced through him, and he hissed as bolts of fire-white went off behind his eyes. His stomach curled in on itself like a fist, saliva flooding his mouth. Bile frothed at the back of his throat before mercifully retreating, but he was still left shaken and dizzy as he collapsed back onto the sheets. Ches was there the whole time, rubbing his arms and making quiet, consoling sounds. Whatever he said was lost on Sebastian, as disjointed memories flashed through his head like a strobe light. No, wait. There had been an actual strobe light, one that hung in the center of the music venue, kaleidoscoping through pink, blue, and purple stars. They'd splashed over him while he performed at WhoAreThoseFreaksOnStage?'s first proper concert. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he could still feel the thrill he'd gotten from shredding his guitar solos—a swirling and delirious high—but the memory was hard to get a firm grasp on now, too jumbled up with so many other fractured images. And he couldn't be sure if he was even remembering them in the right order: There was a nice girl applying his makeup in the dressing room before he went on stage. Heavy metal blasted in a crowded den where drinks were being poured. Back on stage again, sweating and alive with the band. Back in the den. More drinks. The crowd going wild when they'd finished their set. A packed couch, knees tangled up with others'. The air, thick with perfume and loud music. Someone was talking to him, but they had to yell just to be heard, his ears ringing. Hearty slaps on the back, and laughter, and hands touching him. Too many hands— And then nothing. A barren desert stretched between the last, fleeting image and now. No matter how hard he tried to scrounge around for evidence of more, the memories crumbled apart like sand-rocks. Sebastian groaned with the effort, pressing the side of his face into the pillow. "What the hell happened?" "The after-party is what happened." There was a pause as Ches took another drag on his cigarette, tapping the ashes off on the edge of his sneaker sole. "Don't you remember what a good time you had?" Something that almost sounded like anger sizzled at the edges of his words, gone before Sebastian could even tell whether it'd ever been there. He shook his head, letting his eyelids slip shut as though that might bring the memories back into being. "No, I—I don't remember anything." It sounded pathetic, but it was the truth. "Of course you don't, Glam, you were fucking roofied." At this, Sebastian opened his eyes again and squinted at Ches. "What-ied?" Ches blinked. "Wow. C'mon, man, like this isn't hard enough for me already." He gave a high laugh, scrubbing a hand across his chin and looking at him like he had two heads growing out of his neck. "I mean someone slipped something into your drink." When Sebastian still didn't react beyond raising an eyebrow in a silent request to elaborate, he tucked one leg up under him and turned to face him fully. "Okay. Lemme start from the top. First of all, the concert was a fuckin' hit, so that's one good thing that came out of this. Bob 'n' Lordy, they thought that was enough reason to celebrate. Hell, Lordy looked so stoked, you'd think we'd already signed with a major record label." Sebastian managed a weak laugh, their ongoing joke regarding their bass guitarist's lofty dreams a common touchpoint between them over the past few months. "Anyway, the moment they said the word 'after-party' everyone came rushing over to the bar. Place was packed. We had to have at least 30 fans there, all for us, dude! It was—it was pretty rad." Ches rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, looking off with a wistful wonder that soon took on a regretful shade. That same regret weighed heavy on Sebastian's heart. Their first concert, the one he'd bribed off Lydia for and stayed up all these summer nights for, and he couldn't even remember it! What a waste. "You said you weren't gonna stick around for it, but some of those girls must've made an impression on you, cuz you ended up staying. You kept with your fruit juice, though." Juice? Now this, Sebastian did remember, the lingering taste of orange juice blossoming on his tongue at the word. Someone at the bar had handed him his second refill, silver rings clinking against the glass's sides. "There was a...guy," he started slowly as a face bubbled to the surface: strong jawline, a red carpet smile, and piercing eyes. The guy had been attractive, even by Sebastian's standards, who had never thought it possible to see guys as anything other than "cool." But he had found this particular guy...captivating. "Yeah, well that guy—" Ches all but spat out the word, snapping Sebastian out of his reverie. "—slipped you a Rohypnol when you weren't looking. You were drugged, man." The word hit him like a brick wall. "It took me a while to notice something was up. At first, you were just acting a little loopy. Laughing and getting more touchy-feely than usual. Not yourself, you know? I thought you were just riding the high from the show. But I knew I had to get you out of there when you started letting him hang all over you. And the places his hands were going—" "Okay! I get it already!" Sebastian screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, the remnants of the drug in his system, now spiked with shame, making him break out in a cold sweat. At first, he'd listened with keen interest, hoping to reclaim at least some of what he'd lost. As it was, Ches might as well have been reciting a scene from a play, that was how unreal it felt to him. But as every lurid detail grew worse than the last, he finally couldn't handle hearing any more. This couldn't be true. He was a Shwagenwagens, heir to a master violinist and arguably the city's wealthiest family. People like him didn't get drugged. This was the kind of melodrama reserved for tabloids, where trailer trash or—vice versa—celebrity party animals had their names raked through the mud for being so irresponsible! Disgraced, ridiculed, publicly shamed. No, it couldn't have happened to him! "Didn't think it could happen to you, huh?" Ches's gentle hand came down on his head, brushing the hair from his eyes. It was like he could read his mind. Sebastian hesitated only a moment before nodding shakily. He never liked admitting failure, but he figured he could make a concession as long as he didn't have to admit the failure out loud. Giving it a voice would just make it that much more humiliating. But he knew if there was anyone he could let his walls down around, it was Ches. Ches's expression was just as placid as ever. Genuine concern could be read in the pinched corners of his eyes, but nothing more than that, no harsh rebuke or disappointment prowling in the wings. Just a solemn understanding. Whereas everyone else in his life treated him like a mistake waiting to happen, claws drawn and ready to pounce at the slightest sign of vulnerability, Ches had only shown him infinite patience. It was like Ches didn't have a mean bone in his body. He'd been the ever-benevolent guide from the moment he'd first introduced Sebastian to glam metal: teaching him the guitar; sneaking him into music clubs; showing him the landmarks of the city; or just letting him chill in his room, feeding his soul on freedom and music. It was only in the last few months that Sebastian had felt truly alive, shaking off the shackles of his home and reveling in this second life that Ches had opened his eyes to, where everything was fresh and new. And sometimes, evidently, dangerous. The after-party had been a lesson on that, and one that he'd had the privilege of learning and surviving thanks to Ches. If not for him... Well, he didn't want to think about what would have happened if Ches hadn't been there. But as they said: a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor. Every worthwhile adventure came with its fair share of risk, Sebastian reasoned, and his heart shivered its gratitude to know that he wouldn't be going it alone. When all was said and done, he had to admit that Ches was the best thing that had happened to him. He allowed himself to relax into the touch, appreciating the warmth of Ches's palm on his forehead. It helped to ease the worst of his nausea, made him almost feel human again. He smiled. "You're...you're a really good friend, you know that, Ches?" "Yeah, I know." Ches smiled back, his eyes soft with affection. "I mean, someone has to take care of you." Sebastian blushed beneath that look, the secret he had been harboring in his chest for the past few weeks fluttering cautiously in reply. Was he just imagining it? He was tempted to blame the drug for making his mind slippery and impressionable. After all, he knew better than to hold out hope for the impossible. Someone as worldly and cool as Ches couldn't possibly find anything worthwhile in a mediocrity like him. ...Could he? A part of him would have loved to stop and pore over this little development, one more addition to his short list of what-ifs that he'd been hoarding. But now wasn't the time for thinking about what-ifs. Right now, there were more pressing matters to consider. "My father…" He swallowed back a surge of bitter bile. "My father's gonna kill me when I get home," he said, already trying to get up. His arms shook, and every joint in his upper body protested like it'd taken a blow from a sledgehammer. Before he could get very far, Ches was reaching for him. Steady hands guided him back down to the bed. "Not so fast there, buddy. You're not going anywhere." Ches patted a hand on his thigh good-naturedly. Sebastian forced a chuckle, trying to ignore the goosebumps that radiated out across his skin from that point of contact. "Trust me, I wish I didn't have to." He couldn't stop looking at Ches's hand. The knuckles were bruised, red, and scratched—had he been in a fight?—and a line of silver gleamed at his thumb. It was a ring. "But I seriously need to go." He tried to put more urgency into his voice, although in reality, he was too drained to care. His brain was still running at half-speed, sluggish and dazed. Logically, he knew he should be more concerned, but concern took energy, and energy was just about the last thing he had. Besides, the feel of Ches's hand stroking his thigh was too intoxicating to pay attention to much else. "I can't just stay here," he added, more an afterthought than anything, until he blinked at his surroundings and got the sinking feeling that he didn't actually know where "here" was. He'd already ruled out the possibility of it being his own room, but now he was certain it wasn't Ches's either. It was the smell that gave it away. Like wet concrete and something distinctly metallic. Rust, maybe. And the way his voice echoed into the open air rather than being deadened by furniture, he knew he wasn't in the rear of the cramped trailer home. Then where the hell was he? Before he could ask, Ches was leaning in close—very close—those hazel eyes taking up the entirety of his vision. "Ch-Ches?" His heart made a grab for his vocal cords. This is it! "My poor little zombie." Ches held Sebastian's chin in one hand, his thumb brushing the lower lip as he eyed it hungrily. "You still don't get it. I always knew you were naive, but I never guessed you were this—" He lifted a hand and flicked him in the forehead with his middle finger. "—fucking stupid." Sebastian gave an indignant gasp of surprise. "Hey!" But Ches was already walking away from the bed, slinking off into the shadows while he lay there, his mind spinning. "What the fuck was that for?" "I really can't leave you alone anymore, y'know?" Ches said more to himself than Sebastian, sounding disappointed. "The second I turn around, you go and nearly get yourself killed." Sebastian tried to follow him with his eyes but lost sight of him when he was swallowed up by the darkness. From beyond the edge of the light, he could hear the screech of rusty hinges and the sound of Ches wrestling with something heavy. "C'mon, Ches. Nothing happened," he called out. "So I messed up." Try as he might, he couldn't hold himself up high enough to see anything, so he fell back onto the pillow with an exasperated huff. "You don't have to be an asshole about it." "You really have no idea what that creep could've done to you, do you? It's a good thing I was there. Otherwise, you could've ended up like him." After a final grunt of effort, Ches emerged from the shadows. Only this time, he wasn't alone. An unidentifiable mass loomed behind him like a levitating ghoul. "Now your dear Romeo won't be bothering you again. Or anyone else, for that matter," he said, pulling the figure out into the light. What Sebastian saw made his blood run cold. It was a body. A grown man in tight-fitting jeans and the tattered remains of a shirt hung next to Ches. His arms were suspended over his head, and chains bound his wrists to a mean-looking hook that ran on a metal track embedded in the ceiling. How Sebastian had missed it before was a mystery, but as his eyes regained their focus and adapted to the dim, he realized it resembled the kind used in meat lockers. Only, instead of a pig that hung there, it was none other than the man from the after-party. His face, or what was left of it, was more a lumpy mass of bloodied dough than the attractive man he'd remembered—colored in a medley of pinks and blues and purples, like a fleshy rendition of the strobe light. Blood oozed from his lips, staining the front of his shirt, and one eye had been punched in so badly, it was swollen completely shut beneath a shiny welt. His fingers were bent at odd angles, but Sebastian could still make out the silver shine of his rings. "Not so pretty now, are you?" Ches smacked the man's cheek, the ring stolen from the collection glinting sharply in the light. "Ches," Sebastian breathed, his tongue suddenly dry as dust. "What are you doing?" "Keeping you safe," Ches replied nonchalantly, pulling out a butterfly knife from his pocket and flipping it open—as if he needed any more explanation. He twirled it expertly in his fingers, before trailing its tip down Romeo's torso. The blade's touch seemed to rouse Romeo awake, because he gave a little groan. "I'm telling you, Glam," Ches continued, still looking at Sebastian with a straight face, "this world is full of really fucked-up people. You never know who you can trust. Like this guy? He's a fucking thief. He tried to steal you from me, and that—" He shook his head. "That just isn't cool." Then, like a maestro with his baton, Ches swung the knife up and out before bringing it down—straight into Romeo's stomach. It punched in with a sickening squelch, and Romeo snapped to life. A pained cry tore itself from his throat, and his feet, hobbled at the ankles, skidded across the floor while his body contorted uselessly in place. If he was saying anything, it was impossible to make out around the spittle and shards of broken teeth spraying past his split lips. "What did I say before? No one can hear you down here." Ches tsked, tugging out his knife again. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying him across the face. Romeo's next shrill shriek was joined by Sebastian's own as he skittered back, adrenaline sobering him in an instant. The sudden movement made the world tilt savagely, and vertigo struck him anew as he pressed himself against the headboard, shivering and too shocked to tear his eyes away. A torrent of blood was gushing down from the fresh hole in Romeo's middle, thick and dark and plentiful. It dribbled onto the floor, sounding like someone taking a heavy piss. Panic buzzed in Sebastian's ears and filled his head with its clamor, making his throbbing headache unbearable. His stomach roiled again, but this time he didn't have the luxury of letting it pass uneventfully, and he'd barely made it to the side of the bed before he vomited. Stomach acid mixed with whatever he'd eaten at the after-party came up in an orange slosh that splashed onto the concrete floor, stinging and rancid. His vision blurred as tears flooded his eyes. From the edge of his sight, he could make out Ches's feet turn from Romeo and come to squat in front of him. "Poor thing. Still not feeling well, hm?" The hand that had just stabbed a man carded lovingly through Sebastian's hair, all reassuring care and sweetness, before he lifted his limp form and deposited him back onto the mattress. "Don't worry. I'll be back to deal with you soon. Just gotta finish this up first," he said, leaving Sebastian with a kiss on the crown of his head before idling back to Romeo who was still coughing on his own blood and moaning miserably. Sebastian could only lie there curled on his side, while Ches appraised his victim: a conductor readying for his next piece of music. When the screams started up again, Sebastian cringed and raised his hands to clasp them over his ears. That was when he noticed the chains. No. "Yup. This bastard's probably gotten away with it dozens of times. Slips the mark a roofie, gets his rocks off, and dumps the body. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. I tell ya, some people just have no sense of follow-through." Ches had the gall to hum along to some unheard tune as he set to work, and the melody of tearing flesh filled the air. Sebastian didn't pay him any more attention, too busy gawking at the chains anchored to his wrists by thick leather cuffs. Lifting them in front of his face, he turned his hands to look at the cuffs from every angle, doubting his eyes. They were cracked and worn at the edges, heavy usage written in the scratches that littered their surface. Chainwork had been welded through the leather all the way around, and a small keyhole was sunken into the side of each manacle. His brain tried—and failed—to make sense of the situation. Doing so was like trying to build a house on nothing more than splinters, wobbly and falling into disarray. In the span of a few minutes, Sebastian's definition of reality had been replaced with what he could only describe as a fever dream, one from which he desperately wanted to awaken. After what felt like an eternity staring blankly at his own bound hands, Sebastian registered the fact that Romeo had gone quiet, but he didn't look to see what had actually become of him. He didn't want to know. Nor did he turn to watch what Ches was doing when he stepped behind the bed's headboard. There started a mechanical grinding sound near the floor, followed by the rhythmic squeal of gears turning, and the twin lines of chain tethered to Sebastian's manacles were drawn taut by increments. Sebastian could only watch in bewilderment as they snaked behind him, rattling noisily through a metal slot in the center of the headboard. Unable to resist, he was pulled down onto his back again, arms raised over his head until they were snug up against the frame, a horizontal parody of Romeo's own pose. A heavy clunk, and he was locked in place. Finished with his work, Ches came around and stood at the foot of the bed, arms akimbo and looking very pleased with himself. "There. Much better." Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it carelessly over the chair. Next went his shirt which he used to wipe off the blood from his face before discarding it. It was only once he'd toed off his sneakers and begun to climb onto the mattress that Sebastian realized what was happening. "Ches." The name squeaked out as panic wrung his throat. He looked up, eyes still stinging with tears. Whatever remained of his mascara had dried in dirty streaks down his cheeks, and he flexed his hands into fists, pulling futilely at his binds. They only gave a few inches, before the weight of the chains behind the headboard pulled his arms back up again the moment he let go. Even at his best, he couldn't have pulled them far, and now it was all but impossible. "Ches, p-please. Don't hurt me." "Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you," Ches practically purred as he crawled up the bed. "Well, I mean, not any more than I have to." He settled himself over Sebastian's hips before sweeping his head low to inhale deeply at Sebastian's collar as though smelling something sweet there. "But we're gonna have a lot of work to do, so it depends on how quickly you catch on." The butterfly knife made another appearance, its blade catching the light and gleaming like a fang. "Now don't move, or else I might cut you," Ches chided as he slipped the knife beneath Sebastian's shirt and began the delicate process of slicing upwards from hem to collar. Cool air kissed exposed skin, the torn strips of cloth falling to either side of Sebastian as though he'd been flayed. The tip of the blade grazed down the center of his chest, not enough to break skin, but Sebastian still twitched at the touch, his breath coming fast. He tried to keep his eyes on the blade, not sure when the caress would turn deadly, but he couldn't keep from flicking his gaze up to Ches. He didn't recognize his best friend. Sure, by all measures of outward appearance, he was the same Ches: He still had his usual half-lidded eyes and lazy grin. But there was something else behind that facade that Sebastian hadn't noticed before. Something unhinged. What he'd always read as a laid-back and relaxed demeanor suddenly took on a much more sinister tone. Ches had only ever been calm like the sea is calm above a churning eddy. Like a snake in its coil is calm before striking prey. Like a stormcloud is calm while holding lightning. Had it always been there, hidden beneath the surface? Or had Sebastian just ignored it all this time? For that matter, what the hell did he even know about this boy from the rough part of town? It seemed ludicrous that up until a few minutes ago, he'd actually considered Ches his best friend. Now, after what he'd just seen this monster do, the thought crossed Sebastian's mind that he might not make it out of this alive. Said monster was currently mouthing at Sebastian's chest, his tongue following the same path the knife had just taken, lapping and nipping as his lips passed. It felt like slugs. "Just look at you." He sighed deeply, a sensual eagerness coloring his words. "Baby-soft skin, not an ounce of muscle on you. You've never done a hard day's work your whole life, have you?" Sebastian whimpered when Ches's hands reached the top of his pants. "Don't! Stop!" He tried to buck Ches off of him but, still wrung-out and weak, only managed a wanton roll of his hips. Ches gave him a funny look, then threw back his head and laughed. "Someone's eager to get started. No need to rush things. I'm getting there," he tutted, before setting about to make short work of Sebastian's pants. By the time he was done stripping him down to his briefs, Sebastian was weeping silently, his face hidden against the inside of one arm as he trembled with fear and exhaustion. "W-why are you doing this?" "I already told you, remember? Someone has to take care of you." Ches's voice was so sincere, that Sebastian looked at him, half-expecting mercy. Ches met him with a smile and cupped his cheek. "And no one can do that better than me." Sebastian sniffled around another sob, nuzzling into that palm with each feeble shake of his head. "Please. Let me go." He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to be back home, cozy in his bed after a warm shower and a peaceful evening of classical music from the record player. He wanted to go back to before, when things were simple and predictable, when his biggest concern was mastering the vibrato for Bach's Gavotte en Rondeau. Not stuck in this living nightmare where a dead man was hanging just a few feet away, and his best friend held a knife to his belly. "I want to go home." "Now, I know you don't really mean that." Ches kissed the tears from the corners of his eyes. "Be honest. You hate that place. Besides, you won't survive another second out there. You're not ready yet." He sat back on his haunches to survey his progress. Seeming satisfied, he hooked a finger beneath the fabric of Sebastian's underwear and tugged it far enough to slip the knife between it and Sebastian's balls. "The world is a cruel place, Glam. You need to learn just how bad it can get." The tear of fabric and threat of those final words shocked Sebastian back to a certain level of cognizance, and a spate of defiance flared up within him. With a garbled shout, he summoned the last scraps of his strength, reared back one leg, and kicked at Ches. His coordination was still shot to hell, and he missed him by a mile, his foot landing harmlessly on the opposite side of the mattress. All he'd succeeded in doing was half-turn himself onto his side, which was a small but treasured victory. At least now he could hide his shame from view. As he lay there, panting, Ches grabbed him by the ankles and effortlessly flipped him fully onto his stomach. His shoulders screamed as they were stretched by the awkward position, and his head hung between them, buried face-down in the soft pillow. In an unexpected gesture of consideration, Ches grabbed the pillow out from under him before he could completely smother himself. "I swear to god, Glam, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were getting yourself ready for me." Ches huffed, hoisting Sebastian's hips up to shove the pillow beneath them. The way he was able to manhandle Sebastian with such ease spoke volumes of his strength: cords of iron muscle casually hidden beneath his grungy jacket and relaxed slouch. It just cut like another blade across Sebastian's very pride. He was the taller of the two, yet it was becoming increasingly clear that in a match of brute strength, he would be the loser. Ches knelt between Sebastian's spread legs, running his hands up and down the backs of his bare thighs. "You been waiting for this moment too? You imagine spreading your legs for me?" Sweat broke out across Sebastian's skin as he panted with the effort of holding himself together. His brain spun like soup in a blender, and dark spots flitted across his vision. Mucus clogged his airways and he coughed around the buildup of tears before wheezing, "I'd never—" He nearly bit his tongue when Ches's hands came up to knead appreciatively at the globes of his ass. Ches hummed low in his throat, his thumbs creeping towards Sebastian's center to spread apart his cheeks, exposing his most private parts to his gaze. "No, I guess you wouldn't," he conceded. "You don't even know what sex is." He took one hand away. There was the record-scratch of a zipper, the pop of a lid, and something liquid squelched as it was squeezed from a bottle. "But, lucky for you, you're about to find out." At the touch of something hot and firm against his asshole, Sebastian went stock-still, terror gripping him. His mind raced with images of male anatomy, embarrassingly limited to what he'd seen in textbooks and documentaries. The occasional dirty magazine. His own. His father's. But not like this. He'd only ever imagined, but he'd never thought—could never have pictured it like this. "Ches, please!" he cried out, throwing a desperate look over his shoulder. His arms rallied in protest at the strain, but he kept begging, fear pitching his voice higher. "You don't have to do this. I swear I won't tell anyone if you just let me go. You'll never have to see me again! Just please don't—" But there was no stopping this. Ches edged forward, sliding his cock across Sebastian's hole, which twitched in panicked spasms. "Let you go? Now, why would I do that? You need to experience this. And, fuck, I'd be lying if I said I haven't been hoping to be the one to teach you, Glam." "Please!" Sebastian sobbed openly, wriggling his hips in an attempt to get away. But there was nowhere to go, and he only succeeded in pushing himself back against Ches's waiting cock then forward again, backward and forward, in a clumsy pantomime of fucking. "If you insist." Ches chuckled in amusement, choosing to misinterpret Sebastian's cry. Cock in hand, he guided it to his target. The tip strained against the virgin entrance, slipping off-course once before Ches cursed under his breath and redoubled his efforts. With Ches cramming himself against him, Sebastian was pressed further into the mattress, between a figurative rock and a literal hard place. Still he struggled, more out of blind desperation than any coordinated resistance. But even his best efforts didn't go unpunished. With one last, miscalculated jerk of his hips, Ches's lubricated head finally slipped past the ring of muscle with a slick pop. "Well, hot-diggity-doooog." Ches gave a long, contented sigh, curling over Sebastian's back. "You really couldn't wait for this, could you, babe?" Placing his hands on Sebastian's waist, he rolled his hips, pushing his cock in a few more inches. "I know it always hurts the first time, but I'll show you just how good it can get." The words fell on deaf ears, all of Sebastian's focus taken up with trying to process the searing pain that blazed from his ass. It was like fire, like being stabbed, like being torn in two. He'd never known pain like this could exist, made all the worse by the trial he'd just gone through. But it was nothing compared to when Ches began to move. While he lay in shock, Ches managed to thrust in and out with relative ease, each punch inward forging a path deeper and deeper still, until Sebastian could feel Ches's thighs pressed flush with his own. His organs cramped from being twisted and packed, the delicate flesh of his asshole strained beneath the assault, and Ches's bush of wiry pubic hair scratched at his bottom. Where Sebastian's senses had been drugged to the point of numbness before, now they were sinfully aware, pushed to new levels of hyper-sensitivity, ensnaring themselves like unwitting flies in a web of self-torture. Distantly, Sebastian recognized that he was barely breathing. His mouth fell open around small, cracked gasps, while tears spilled liberally onto the sheets. His fingers curled into claws, and a tremor started up through his arms, down his back, to the point where he was being impaled. His muscles clamped down in a fit of self-preservation, well-meaning but misguided, inadvertently locking Ches in place. "Fuck, Glam," Ches hissed. "I expected tight, but what are you trying to do, squeeze my dick off?" He grunted, "C'mon. Relax a little," punctuating the command with a curt slap to Sebastian's ass. The blow startled him from his stupor, and his gasps spiraled into outright sobs as Ches resumed his brutal pace. He was jostled with each thrust, the heavy chains clanging like a death knoll against the headboard as he was pummeled from behind. With his legs stretched wide, there was no way to get any traction, and he was left to hang from his shoulders, helpless beneath the onslaught. He tried to think about anything else besides the fact that he was being raped, tearing in places he couldn't see but still feel, Ches's sweat dripping onto his back, and rough palms around his hips. But the cocktail of stimuli, sharp and caustic and unfamiliar, were too alien to ignore. And unfortunately for him, Ches was too much of a talker to let Sebastian lose himself in the shelter of his thoughts. "God, you're every bit as good as I'd dreamed you'd be. Should've taken you weeks ago." He groaned. "Maybe I oughta thank Romeo—after all, he practically had you gift-wrapped for me. But what he forgot was that there's a little thing called honor among thieves." He nuzzled his cheek against Sebastian's back. "And no one takes what's already mine." Anger welled up in Sebastian, choked by his tears but still raw. "You're fucking crazy," he gritted through clenched teeth. "How can you say—" A particularly rough thrust wrenched a cry from him. Shushing him with soft cooing noises, Ches slowed his pace to smooth a hand around Sebastian's ribs and down to his groin where he played idly with his flaccid penis. "I know this is probably a lot to get through that little brain of yours, but I mean it when I say I need to keep you safe. The world's gonna chew you up and spit you out. But me?" He gave a few futile tugs of Sebastian's cock before giving up. "I'm gonna savor you." Sebastian's next cry of despair was aimed at Ches, at the universe in general. There was nothing he could do to stop this, but a small corner of his mind still found some relief in the fact that this would end at some point. It had to end. That time just couldn't come soon enough. He clenched his eyes shut to block out everything. His refuge was short-lived, however, as Ches grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back, never pausing in his conquest to deal whatever pain or claim whatever pleasure he so desired from Sebastian's body. "Ah-ah-ah. No checking out of this one. This is important, and you need to pay attention, Glam," he lilted, pistoning his hips at a relentless speed that left no room for distraction. "You never did know how to listen. But maybe you'll learn. You've come a long way since that morning in the alleyway, sniffing around the dumpster, looking for garbage. Utterly pathetic. I almost considered putting you out of your misery right then and there." Through the veil of pain, Sebastian found himself trying to focus on what Ches was saying. The dumpster? He'd almost forgotten about that. It seemed like forever ago, especially now, when each minute stretched into a hellish eternity. But at Ches's reminder, the memory came to life in his mind: It'd been the morning of the conservatory exam. He'd spotted a broken lightbulb on the sidewalk that would make the perfect addition to his model city, and he'd wandered into the alleyway after it. There, he'd met Ches. There, it had all started. He'd never have imagined that single action would someday lead him here to this moment. How differently would things have turned out if he'd simply walked on? Ches was huffing behind him as he picked up the pace, his movements growing more frantic as though egged on by his own voice: form traded in for ferocity. "Rich fucking prick, thought you were above it all. But it was so obvious you needed me." His hips stuttered as his arousal neared its peak. "You still need me...!" He drove himself in to the hilt, crushing himself against Sebastian's battered ass, chasing his own pleasure in a violent and demanding finish. He made a strange coughing sound in his throat, fingers clenching painfully into Sebastian's flesh. There was a final snap of his hips, the swell of his organ tearing Sebastian anew— And then blessed stillness. A foreign heat spread through Sebastian's lower abdomen, and his stomach writhed in response, convulsing with the intention of hurling again. But there was nothing left inside. He was hollowed out, emptied by the depraved act. Whatever innocence he'd had left, even after years of his own father's abuses, was no more. He'd been violated, defiled so thoroughly...by his best friend. Someone he thought he could trust, someone that had given him hope for a new life when he'd been at his lowest. Now Sebastian was beginning to understand the new lows that one could fall to. He hiccuped through his sobs as his asshole spasmed around Ches's cock, frazzled nerves riding out the aftershocks of his trauma. He could feel Ches humming his appreciation into his back, planting stray kisses here and there. Ches shifted his weight, squeezing the breath from Sebastian as he stretched luxuriously on top of him. But he was done. At least he was done. It was over. "N-now—" Sebastian licked his lips, struggling to keep his voice steady. He looked wearily up at the chains on his wrists through tear-stained eyes. "Now will you l-l-l-let me g-go?" Ches paused for a moment behind him before he broke out with a fretful, "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, my little zombie." He lifted himself onto his elbows. "I still have so much more to teach you." Then this nightmare was far from over. "Why...?" "Because I love you, Glam." Love? Betrayal raked its claws over hos heart as everything he'd ever held dear turned to rot. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes. If this was love, then love was madness, sick and deranged and full of hurt. The way the word twisted into something perverse as it dripped from Ches's mouth made him fear he was losing his own mind. "N-no, you can't mean—" He sobbed harder, unable even to finish as another wail surged through him. "I do mean it, Glam. I love you more than anyone ever will," he whispered, his cock pulsing in agreement deep inside him. "I know you don't see the big picture yet or even understand all that I'm doing for you right now." He reached up over Sebastian's head, where his hands hung by their binds. "But someday you'll realize that this was all necessary." He entwined their fingers. Somewhere in the room, there was the tic-tic-tic of blood dripping on the floor. "Someday, Glam, you'll thank me for this."