Count Your Teeth

—Day 2— Sebastian didn't know how long he lay unmoving on the bed once Ches was done with him. He ached all over like a fresh wound after the rape, wrecked and naked, broken in ways he hadn't known were possible. So he lay curled on his side, the chains loosened enough to allow his arms to recover after they'd been strung up to the top of the headboard. The remaining dregs of the roofie left him queasy and gritty around the edges. And he was desperately tired. His eyes burned like a thousand papercuts after what had to be nearing 24 hours without adequate sleep—not counting drug-induced unconsciousness. All those summer nights of running around, leading a dual life, had finally caught up with him. But while his body cried for rest, wariness shimmered along his nerves. He would not sleep as long as Ches was in the room. On the surface, he gave the appearance of dozing peacefully, but in reality he was a ball of anxious adrenaline, trying not to move, not to breathe, and not to watch as Ches disposed of Romeo's body. It was a foul and messy affair, most of which Sebastian had the good sense to shut his eyes to. The sounds alone painted a gruesome picture—the thud of dead weight hitting the floor, the rip of fabric and squelch of a blade ripping through organs and flesh. It was enough to tie his empty stomach in knots as his imagination filled in the missing gaps. Ches, meanwhile, was unfazed, whistling cheerfully while he worked, a tune that Sebastian recognized as coming from their concert setlist. It set his teeth on edge. At some point, Ches announced he was finished and had some things to attend to, that he would be back later. He stopped by the bed briefly to check on Sebastian, running a loving hand down his cheek, before leaving him with a chaste kiss and a casual reminder to clean up his mess before he got back. Sebastian didn't respond. Then there was the ringing clang of footsteps up stairs, and Ches was gone. Sebastian waited a full ten minutes, straining his ears. But nothing happened. Thirty minutes passed, and still nothing. After nearly three-quarters of an hour and no indication that his tormentor was coming back, Sebastian slowly uncurled from where he lay. He first looked to where Ches had last sat, half-expecting him to be there, watching slyly from his chair. But the seat was empty. Romeo was also gone. The only evidence of him that remained was the dark red stain beneath where the body had once hung. Cautiously, he looked around. The single lightbulb glowed above him, but he now perceived there was more light. The room itself was brighter, lit by pre-morning dawn. But that'd only be possible if there was— A window! The cry for help was already high in his throat as he scrambled out of the bed. Bad decision. His legs buckled and went out from under him. He dropped to the floor with a sharp clack of his knees. His entire lower half refused to cooperate, every movement accentuating the damage that he had suspected but severely underestimated. He swallowed a curse, before carefully climbing to his feet again, and hobbled towards the room's single window. It was narrow and set high along the top of one of the walls, the sole connection between him and the outside world. The chains slithered across the floor behind him before stopping him short. Still a good distance shy of the window, he shouted at the top of his lungs for help, for somebody, anybody! But no one came. He wondered if his voice even carried very far, deadened by the thick walls of concrete enclosing him on every side. From his limited vantage point, there was little he could make out through the spatter of raindrops on the windowpane: the unfeeling face of a retaining wall and a sliver of gunmetal gray sky. Eventually he gave up, retreating back to the relative comfort of the bed to lick his wounded pride. He knew it'd been a long shot, but it was still disheartening to be reminded that Ches's earlier threat held water: No one can hear you down here. Now he understood what Ches had meant. He was underground, but where underground was impossible to tell. His first guess was that he was under Ches's trailer home. But that seemed unlikely, considering the trailer park was crowded enough that someone would have heard him just now. Maybe the industrial district. Although that didn't narrow down the possibilities much. He'd visited only a handful of locations, but there were still countless more factory complexes and warehouses to take into account, many of which stood abandoned. All Sebastian knew was that it was quiet outside, no rumble of cars or hum of human activity. Desolate. Just like this room. He looked around, able to get his bearings for the first time since coming here. The room was slightly longer than it was wide, about three times the size of his bedroom, with brushed concrete floors and walls. The corners were shrouded in darkness, too distant even for the light to reach. At a glance, the room appeared mostly barren, but from his position in roughly the center of it, he could make out a smattering of mismatched furniture. The bed was fashioned out of simple hollow pipes that reminded Sebastian of the utilitarian hospital beds of a bygone era. He tried tugging it in the direction of the window, but it was bolted to the floor. A cursory inspection from top to bottom revealed nothing of interest, save for the piping along the headboard where the white paint had been chipped off to expose the rusted metal beneath. How many chains had it taken to rub that spot bare, he had to wonder. Aside from the bed, there was a clawfoot bathtub tucked away in one corner, a nondescript metal table, and what he could only surmise was the room's equivalent to the lavatory: It was nothing more than a hole in the ground where a toilet had once been, a roll of toilet paper placed beside it. Adjacent to the toilet was an industrial-sized sink, the old metal bin stained with rust, and a jug of pink soap and a crusty sponge perched on its lip. A pockmarked mirror hung above it, Sebastian's small figure reflected in its grimy surface, while a rubber hose hung coiled by the sink's side. In another corner, he could make out what looked like floodlights crowded together, their heads bowed and quiet, linked by thick yellow cables to a dozing generator. The more sinister items revealed themselves as dawn opened up into morning. Industrial tools gleamed like fangs on one far wall: bolt cutters, hammers, and saws hung alongside crowbars, more chains, and an array of other equipment that Sebastian couldn't begin to name but looked dangerous all the same. Opposite them was the room's single exit, the one through which Ches had disappeared. Sebastian couldn't see the door itself from where he was, of course, only the wide metal staircase that led up to it, flanked by a bank of light switches. One was flipped to the ON position, thus the working lightbulb, but as to what the rest of the switches powered, he could only guess. Not that he would ever be able to reach them to find out. The chains linked to his wrists limited his range of movement to no more than a dozen feet in any direction from where they were anchored behind the head of the bed. He took a moment to poke and prod at the little trapdoor that hid the chains' mechanical workings beneath the floor, but he could find no way to get inside. The way was blocked by a specially designed lock, and unfortunately for Sebastian, he didn't have the key. He wrung his hands over his manacles as he glared at the locked device, thinking bittersweetly of security levels and hidden compartments. They weren't so fun now that he was on the wrong side of them. There was a strategy to the chains' placement, Sebastian realized, allowing him easy access to the room's lavatory while keeping him well out of reach from the window or stairs, let alone any of the more threatening items in the room's collection. He eyed the bolt cutters longingly, as he made his way with grim resignation to the toilet once the demands of his body refused to be ignored any longer. It took some finagling and a whole lot of willpower before he found a position that worked, perched shakily over the ominous little hole. Willing his muscles to relax at all was a challenge, and his head reeled when a sickly combination of shit and blood-stained cum finally dribbled out of him. Even a simple bowel movement was almost too much for his abused rear, revealing more hidden tears in need of mending. By the time the ordeal was over, he was sweating. Too shaky to stand, he crawled to the sink. Sebastian had never put much stock into his obligatory evening showers back home, but now he was nothing but thankful for the flowing water, even when it sputtered out from a rusty spigot rather than the elegant fixtures he was used to. The water was ice cold for his whore's bath, and scrubbing his skin pink with the lathered sponge was a new form of torture in itself. But he was grateful to slough off the patina of grime as well as the last vestiges of Ches's parting gift from inside of him. The visual made him nauseous, and he tore his eyes away from the red-tinged bubbles that spiraled down the drain. He caught his reflection in the sink's mirror and froze. Haunted eyes above gaunt cheeks looked back at him, and his hair hung limp and unkempt. It was no wonder Ches kept calling him a zombie, the ravages of an "unforgettable" summer wreaking havoc on his youthful features. Last night alone had been the final devastating blow, leaving Sebastian feeling more dead than alive. The siren's call of the bed beckoned him, and despite it having been the site of his defiling, he dragged his feet solemnly back to its bloodied sheets like a condemned man to the gallows. Sidestepping the puddle of vomit on the floor, he flopped face-down on the mattress. Sleep found him within seconds. Vague images visited him, dreams trying to make sense of the previous day's events in the theater of his subconscious: He was performing on stage. The scene from the concert was all there, but the sound was eerily absent and everything moved in slow motion. Ches was beside him, eyes shining and drops of sweat flinging from the tips of his hair as he belted into the mic in silent ecstasy. Strings of electricity danced between his lips and the microphone, mesmerizing Sebastian even while the audience dissolved into a panicked mob. Something told him that he should do the same, run away, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon the song, and his fingers continued their caress of the guitar strings. Ches was looking at him the same way he had that first time Sebastian had performed for him—enraptured and in awe. When next he opened his eyes, day had come and gone, taking the last bit of natural light with it. Just him and the bulb again. He blinked up at it, noting the irony of how such a small and insignificant thing could have such life-changing consequences. His stomach growled. The gnawing hunger he'd been ignoring was what had woken him up, an unwelcome and pesky visitor that had him yearning for Roft's Friday night pesto pasta. He regretted every meal he'd ever turned down. When was the last time he'd eaten? For that matter, when would he eat again? What if Ches never came back? What if he'd left him here to starve? On second thought, Ches had said he'd be back later, so that was promising— Wait, no. He shook his head, banishing the thought. That was terrifying. He'd rather starve than see that monster again. Ches was the reason he was in this mess in the first place. He needed to get out of here. Ches had had his sick fun for long enough. He may have had Sebastian beaten, but that didn't mean he'd won. Not yet. Sebastian hoisted himself up, tender flesh grousing at the disturbance, but still in somewhat better shape thanks to his nap. Revulsion wasn't the only emotion stirred to life at the reminder of what Ches had done to him. Rage danced hot and fitful across his nerves, lending him its strength. He curled his hands into fists. Ches wouldn't get away with this. Who the hell did he think he was? He was just some grungy, smelly little nobody who lived on the wrong side of the tracks with all the other unworthy rabble. He was nothing—nothing but trailer trash! Sebastian sneered at the word. And that trailer trash thought he could do this to someone like him without any consequences? Ches had no idea who he was dealing with. Sebastian was a Shwagenwagens. His family had resources, power, authority! He had come from a long line of proud bluebloods that dated back centuries. The Shwagenwagens dined with royalty, had half a dozen art institutions named after them, and were one of the most respected families in the city. That amount of sway didn't come without its share of perks. He rarely indulged in the privilege that came with being a Shwagenwagens, but now he held his pedigree up like a shield, one that would protect him from all the wrongs of the world. While he doubted his father's approval of him personally, he never once doubted his father's commitment to guarding the family's honor. Gustav Shwagenwagens wouldn't stand idly by while his only son was disgraced like this, allowing some lowlife to bring shame to the family name. Why, he was probably doing everything in his power to get his heir back this very minute! Sebastian's breath was quickening, caught up in the titillating thrill of his fantasy. He didn't deserve this kind of treatment, he reminded himself. He didn't deserve any of this! He'd been a good boy his whole life, took his studies seriously, dedicated himself to the violin—he'd done everything he was supposed to do and should be rewarded for it, not punished. He was too good for this! Once he got out of here—and he would get out of here—Ches would pay for what he did. He would pay dearly. The fire of defiance warmed the numbest parts of him, pushing aside his fatigue and hunger and fortifying his resolve. He wasn't giving in yet! Free from the shackles of the drug, he'd show Ches that he wouldn't take any more of this. Sebastian could feel the fight kindling within him. Yeah! He would get his freedom! The first thing he would do was— A loud, metallic screech followed by a booming clang jarred him from his thoughts. His eyes flew to the staircase, his heartbeat picking up speed in time with the countdown of Ches's descent. He swallowed, willing his limbs to stop shaking. This wouldn't be a repeat of last time, he vowed. But his fists still trembled where he clutched the sheets to his chest, as Ches's face finally came into view. "Hey, Glam! How's it goin'?" Ches grinned from ear to ear, holding up a paper bag in front of him. "Check it out! Burritos! You've got to be hungry. So I thought we could eat together." He looked past him to the sink and then back to Sebastian's face, nodding approvingly. "Looks like you made yourself at home. That's good. But—" He pointed to his own cheek. "You missed a spot." That fucking playful smile again. "Che—" A catch in Sebastian's voice cut off the name. He started again, steeling himself. "Ches, you have to let me go." Ches didn't say anything in reply, just looked down at the puddle of vomit by the bed. His smile fell. "Dude, I thought I told you to clean that up." "Did you hear what I said?!" Sebastian curled his lips in a snarl, trying to draw strength from his words even when his voice threatened to break on him. "Stop acting like everything's normal! You can't just keep me here like this! It's wrong! It's—it's fucked up!" He took a breath, sitting up to his full height as if to impress upon his audience that he was not to be looked down on. "If you let me go right now, I can see about talking my father into going easy on you. He's a very powerful man, and he could have you put away for life, probably worse. A-a lot worse. But this is your one chance to make things right. There's still time to stop this, Ches." Goddamn it, he was supposed to be threatening him, not pleading with him. "But if you keep pushing your luck until it's too late, then you'll wish you'd never crossed a Shwagenwagens!" Throughout his outburst, Ches remained unfazed, staring at the mess on the floor. Sebastian's fists shook at his sides. This wasn't the reaction he was expecting. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?!" It wasn't often that he raised his voice, and adrenaline buzzed through his blood. Made him feel bigger than he was. But Ches's complete lack of response took some of the wind out of his sails, somehow more distressing than if he'd shouted back at him. When Ches finally looked up at him, all the mirth was gone from his eyes, replaced with icy irritation. "You're going to clean that up." "What?" No sooner had the word left Sebastian's mouth than Ches was on him, fisting the hair at the back of his head and yanking him off the bed. Before he could even cry out in surprise, he was forced down onto his knees, and his face was shoved straight into his own vomit. He spluttered and gagged as Ches chastised him patiently from above. "C'mon, Glam, remember what I said about learning how to listen? When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it." He tsked, grinding Sebastian's cheek into the concrete floor. "In case you haven't noticed, your precious butler isn't here anymore. You gotta learn how to clean up after yourself. You're a big boy now, so start acting like one." He pressed down cruelly for emphasis. "Can you do that?" Sebastian's head was still spinning, trying to catch up with what had just happened. One second he'd been on the bed, pumping himself up with righteous indignation. The next, he was having day-old vomit shoved up his nose. How the hell did it all go so wrong so fast? He spat out a chunk of puke that had stuck to his bottom lip, floundering for a response. What was the question again? The part of his brain that only valued self-preservation kicked in. Just give him what he wants! it screamed at him. He nodded on automatic, smacking the floor in the universal sign for surrender. "Okay," he gritted out. Ches just grated him harder against the floor. A pathetic whimper slipped past his lips before he said again, more loudly—more pleadingly, "Okay, I'm sorry! I'll do it!" Immediately, Ches let up, and Sebastian lifted his head away with a gasp. He wavered on his hands and knees, partially digested and rotten food dripping down his chin, as he watched Ches saunter away. His eyes went unfocused, shocked at having given in so easily. Then again, he shouldn't have been that surprised. This was the very same survival tactic he'd used so often in the face of his father's discipline. Rolling over and taking it had always been the safest route, rather than angering him and risking more strikes of the ruler. Sebastian tried to suppress a shiver at the thought that Ches had put him right back in his place, without even breaking a sweat. Ches plunked himself down on the bed, getting comfortable while he opened the takeout bag still in his hand. He wiggled his fingers in anticipation before diving in and plucking out a corn chip. Just before taking a bite, he looked at Sebastian as though remembering he was there. He arched one brow in expectation and made a get on with it gesture with his hand. Sebastian looked away quickly. So apparently, he was going to watch. He didn't want to think about Ches's eyes on him, the feel of his gaze reminding Sebastian keenly of his nakedness. Despite everything that had happened, the impulse to cover himself was strong, and he tried to appear as small as possible where he was curled over the vomit. "Better hurry up, before I eat your dinner," Ches teased, stealing another chip. From the open bag, the smell of spicy grease and toasted tortillas danced tantalizingly across Sebastian's taste buds, kicking his hunger into high gear. His stomach decided to give an obnoxiously loud skirl at that very moment which only made Ches laugh and Sebastian blush. Hunger was hard as hell to ignore. And also one hell of a motivator. He'd told himself he wasn't going to cooperate in this game anymore, but he was ashamed to find he was already looking forward to a reward. And knowing Ches, he probably wouldn't have any qualms wolfing down the very meal Sebastian worked for, just to add insult to injury. He looked around. How was he supposed to clean this mess up anyway? Nothing stood out in the way of a garbage bin—that's where you threw stuff like this out, right? Memories of childhood illnesses spent clutching at the trash can or, later in life, the toilet came to mind. Neither was a viable option. The only disposal nearby seemed to be—ah, there. A rusty floor drain buttoned the center of the room, just a few feet from the bed. Sebastian tried not to dwell on what its presence implied; all that mattered was that it would do the trick. Now for how to get the stuff over there. Eventually, with some trial and plenty of error, he settled for half-scooping, half-dragging the mess across the floor with his forearms. The vomit was cold and slimy to the touch, and he had to turn his head away as he worked to keep from getting sick again. It was only a few feet, but the going was slow and very dirty work, the floor's rough surface catching food particles and leaving long scratches on his arms. When he heard an amused chuckle from behind him, humiliation burned fiercely on his cheeks. Forced to stay on his knees as he minced his way across the floor put him on full display for Ches's amusement. This had probably been part of his plan all along, yet another way to degrade him. He vowed not to look back at Ches and give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt in his eyes. At least Ches kept his distance, happy to watch from the bed and polish off the rest of the chips while Sebastian toiled. By the time he was finished, he was panting and sore. His arms and knees were cut up from the short but treacherous journey, and he suspected he may have ended up getting more of the mess on himself than in the drain. But at least it was done. He wrinkled his nose, finding the whole task beneath him. He'd never spared a thought to things like housework or cleaning before, perfectly content to leave that kind of lowly work to the butler. Self-reproach swatted his conscience at the realization that he'd never appreciated the amount of work it must have taken to keep Shwagenwagens Manor in such immaculate condition. For the first time ever, he sent a silent thanks to Roft for his efforts that had gone unrecognized for so long. He was mulling over this peculiar line of thought when Ches appeared right next to him. Sebastian hadn't heard him approach, and he found himself automatically cowering in his presence. "I—I'm finished," he said quickly, averting his gaze. Ches surveyed his work, eyes moving pointedly across the floor, tracing the glistening sheen that marked Sebastian's path. He pouted his lips in a way that Sebastian had once found endearing but that now sent his guts twisting in panic. "Well, that's one way to do it," he finally conceded with a shrug. The moment he'd stepped away, Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. He was about to head to his meal, when Ches called to him from the sink. "I said that was one way of doing it." He'd uncoiled a length of the rubber hose from its hook and was pointing it straight at Sebastian. "And now I'll show you the smart way." He twisted the valve open. Water shot out in a pressurized blast, hitting Sebastian in the face. He yelped and stumbled backward onto his bottom, holding out his arms in front of him to fend off the spray. But it did him little good. He was doused in an instant, the cold water beating his stomach, drenching his hair, and numbing his fingers. He tried to shout at Ches to stop, but just wound up sputtering around a mouthful of water. As quickly as it'd started, it stopped, Ches aiming the stream of water at the floor. In a few seconds, he'd efficiently washed away the residue left by Sebastian's clumsy trek across the floor, while Sebastian lay shivering in a puddle. He was soaked to the bone and covered in goosebumps. Ches flicked the hose at him again, giving him one last rinse-off before clicking his tongue. "C'mon. Up you go. Dinnertime." He returned the hose and made his way to the bed. It was like Ches wanted to treat him like a pet. It was startling how swiftly Sebastian was being shaped for the role. He'd already been stripped of his clothes, chained, and hosed down like an animal. What was next? He'd have to eat off the floor? Fury crackled down his limbs as he glared at the back of Ches's jacket through a curtain of dripping hair, fire in his eyes. Ignoring his howling stomach, he got shakily to his feet, the chains dragging when he lifted his hands. Without conscious thought, he began to wind the extra length of chain around the backs of his knuckles, the bite of cold metal honing his focus. Ches remained oblivious, busy digging through the bag and casually asking his choice between the carne asada or the chimichanga. Sebastian's arms shook as he approached, stepping lightly even as his heart pounded at the prospect of what he was about to do. He wasn't a violent boy by nature—he'd never even gotten into a schoolyard fight before—but this aspect of his humanity had been taken from him, too. And even a trapped animal could be dangerous when cornered. Two feet away. Now that they were both standing, Ches suddenly didn't look so threatening. After all, Sebastian had the height advantage. He could do this, he thought, as he looked down at him. His fingers trembled from the cold, but a rebellious blaze galvanized him from inside. One foot away. He stepped up behind Ches. "I got us each one so—hrkk!" Before he could think twice about it, he wrapped the chains around Ches's neck and pulled back. Hard. Ches dropped the bag as his hands flew up to scrabble at the chain, but Sebastian just bore down even harder, throwing his entire weight behind it. Raw instinct fueled him, the cocktail of adrenaline and fear ripening into hysterical strength as he fought to keep his hold. Ches was dangerous enough when in control, but now he lashed out like a madman, bucking and thrashing wildly. With a heave, Sebastian hauled them both off-balance, toppling onto his back with Ches on top of him. They wrestled on the floor, Ches trying to break free while Sebastian struggled to maintain the upper hand. The rough concrete clawed at his back, while Ches clawed gashes into his knuckles, backs of his hands, wherever he could reach. But Sebastian held fast. Ches was making horrible, gagging sounds but managed to deal him a sharp elbow to the ribs. Sebastian returned the favor by redoubling his grip. By sheer luck alone, he succeeded in catching both loops of chain in one hand, hooking a leg over Ches's to keep him pinned down. His free hand skirted down the front of Ches's jacket. The keys! Where are the keys?! Sebastian's mind raced. They had to be here somewhere! There! Something small and angular lay nestled in Ches's right breast pocket. He dove in and pulled out a ring of keys. There were three of them, each a different make and size. Not wasting a second, he rolled Ches off him and clambered to his feet. Behind him, Ches hacked pitifully, curled over on his hands and knees as he wheezed out a cracked "Glam." He almost sounded sad. Sebastian ran for the stairs, already flipping quickly through the keys before settling on the smallest of them. Simple in design and with a round pin, it matched the keyhole of his manacles. He stuck it into the one on his right wrist, praying for a miracle. It clicked into place, and with a twist, the lock popped open. Yes! One down and one to go. Elation soared through him, and he could already taste freedom: the rain on his face, clean sheets, a warm meal, and his father's stoic welcome home. His mother, his sister—they were all waiting for him. They had to be. He shook off the cuff and took another step towards the stairs—when the chain on his left wrist suddenly snapped taut. Looking back, he saw Ches had grabbed his restraints and was pulling them towards himself. "What. The fuck. Do you think you're doing?" Ches growled, his voice unnaturally gruff. He slowly rose to his feet, reeling the chain in hand over hand. Reeling him in. Sebastian quickened his efforts, trying to insert the key into the second manacle, but it slipped from his hands. He dove to the floor to retrieve it, even as his chained wrist was pulled straight back behind him, leaving him to fumble for the key with one hand. He caught it between two fingers, dropped it, made another grab for it. Ches was getting closer, the aura of menace crackling around him like an electrical charge. He was right over him, lifting Sebastian's left wrist by the chain—almost there!—pulling him up. Sebastian had just enough time to look up before he was met with a fist to the face. Pain exploded across his cheek, and he went down like a stone. Tangy copper flooded his mouth. The world spun as his brain was rattled in its skull, but he could just register Ches looping the chains around his own fists, using them to drag a stumbling and incapacitated Sebastian to the bed where he was promptly bent over the edge of the mattress. Having sense enough to know what was coming next, he immediately shimmied back on his stomach, refusing to submit so easily. When he tried to get his feet under him, however, Ches kicked them out savagely and brought down his full weight to pin him in place from behind, his knees digging into the backs of Sebastian's thighs. "If you fucked up my tenor, I'm gonna fuck up your face," he rasped into Sebastian's ear, before drawing back a fist and plowing it into the side of his head. The blow was worse the second time around, and a fractured cry escaped him. Despair surged in his chest, slick and sour. This wasn't fair! This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! After everything he'd told himself, he'd wound up in exactly the same place as last night! Hot tears of shame burned as they rolled down his cheeks. "Fuck you," he hissed. "What was that?" "Fffffuck you! FUCK YOU!" Sebastian shouted. His pride had been rubbed raw, whittled down to a sharp and stabbing barb that he clung to—a primitive spear in the face of an AK-47. Still, he screamed long and hard at whatever god was listening and the devil at his back, a litany of threats and curses and primal, unintelligible shrieks until his own ears rang and blood spat past his lips. He screamed out his defiance, the last bastion in this battle that was so cruelly stacked against him, because while Ches may have had rule over his body, at least Sebastian still had his voice. But even that was stolen from him, as the chains were suddenly drawn tight across his own throat. His screams were viciously cut short, his larynx crushed beneath the unforgiving stranglehold, and he couldn't breathe—he couldn't breathe! His eyes bulged as he clawed desperately at the chains, arching off the bed in a blind attempt to lessen the pressure on his neck. "Doesn't feel so nice, does it?" Ches illustrated his point by yanking the chains back even further. "Just remember that anything you dish out to me, I can pay back to you ten times worse." He pulled further still until Sebastian, suffocating and flailing, was certain he'd be decapitated. "But don't worry. I'm not going to go as hard on you as you did me." True to his word, Ches relaxed his grip, and Sebastian gulped down life-giving air, his head going woozy with the sudden rush of oxygen to his brain. "See, I don't want to kill you. I want to make you understand." Sebastian panted, his fingers curled around the chains in a token gesture of resistance as he tried to catch his breath. He felt Ches adjust himself behind him, balling the chains in one hand while the other was free to roam his body. "And right now, you need to understand that of all the things I could do to you, this—" He cupped Sebastian's ass cheek, twirling the pad of his thumb around his asshole. "—is the least of your worries." The touch sent Sebastian's nervous system firing on all cylinders, the still-raw memory of the rape overriding any logic. He jerked forward, away from Ches's hand—straight into the chain's deadly embrace. Ches hummed low in his throat, a tiger's purr. "Guess I should give you some credit. I knew you wouldn't just bend over and take this without putting up a bit of a fight." He drew back on the chains again until Sebastian's torso was lifted clear off the bed so that he could nuzzle at a spot behind his ear. "That's one of the things I love about you. My brave little Glam." He pecked a kiss into his hair, indifferent to his ragged gasps. "But when are you gonna realize you're fighting the wrong person?" Choking on the chains, Sebastian was left with too little, sucking in nothing but a reed-thin stream of air. His lungs burned and his head was beginning to pound. He bucked and kicked for leverage, for some semblance of control. But naturally, Ches didn't give him that luxury. He was the loser in this exchange, just as he'd been from the beginning, entirely at Ches's mercy. Drool spilled over Sebastian's bottom lip as he struggled to keep his eyes open, every overworked beat of his heart sending under-oxygenated blood throughout his body. Right when he thought he'd pass out completely, Ches would loosen his grip, and Sebastian would surface again. Back and forth, back and forth, the morbid seesawing kept him teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. The pattern was deliberate, as much a part of Ches's performance as quaver rests are in any good symphony. And as the conductor of Sebastian's torment, Ches was impeccable in his execution. Sebastian's entire body pulsed like one giant heart as the pressure built, his skin growing insidiously sensitive. Once chilled, every inch of him now inexplicably burned wherever Ches's rough hand touched, leaving strips of fire lancing across his skin. His hand wandered further south of Sebastian's ass, his palm cupping his balls, while his fingers slid along— "Ah. Knew you'd be a quick learner." Ches hummed with approval as he squeezed Sebastian's erection. Whether Sebastian's gasp that followed was out of shock or arousal—or shock at his arousal—he couldn't tell. What the fuck was he doing? He wasn't supposed to be getting off to this! He was dying! But his body wouldn't be dissuaded, the whirlwind of oxygen-deprived delirium turning traitorous. With Ches's fingers working him in undulating strokes, whatever lingering tatters of logic Sebastian had were torn asunder as his reptilian brain told him to latch onto that good feeling. Never let go. He tingled all over, blood gathering in all the wrong places while his head was sapped dry, leaving him confused and disoriented. So eager to feel anything other than the pain and seek out pleasure. To mistake the pain for pleasure. Lightheaded surrender washed over him in waves, each stroke pulling him further out to dangerous waters, where the sea went deep and his feet could no longer touch solid ground. "See how much nicer it can be if you just go with the flow, Glam?" Ches's words oozed like honey in his ear at the same time that he eased up on his neck. "Don't fight it." Another round of oxygen rushed through Sebastian's brain, another shot of stimulation that sent him spiraling higher and higher still. He almost moaned when the chains closed over him again. No longer the enemy, they had become his guide, his refuge, his oasis of dizzying, ill-begotten pleasure. Sebastian didn't know who or what he was anymore. He only knew that to be touched like this was to be spared a moment's torture, his one salvation from this living hell: Ches, both devil and deliverer in one. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his body writhed sumptuously, grinding against Ches's hard-on where it slid along the bevel of his ass. Ches's hand stroking his cock was the one thing keeping him grounded in the here and now, even as the rest of him began to ascend. His vision was failing him, black webs creeping in at the edges. There was pressure and warmth coming in from every angle: his neck, the mattress, Ches's hands—all of it coming together, siphoning his awareness up to new, unparalleled heights. Everything going distant. That familiar anticipation of a crowning orgasm swept through his body. A piercing flute sang in his ears, and every nerve was caught up in this raging swill of arousal. Sebastian jammed his hips into the mattress, into Ches's hand, searching for that nameless something that lay so boldly on the opposite end of pain. Before he could black out for good, the chains slackened one last time and he gaped around a wordless cry. He arched off the bed as if shocked back to life, and Ches was there to hold him, ushering him through it with hushed words of praise. And then, in a blinding flash of white, there was no more pain. There was no more...anything. Sebastian didn't remember passing out, but when he reentered the waking world, the first thing he noticed was that he could breathe. The chains were off of him. He looked at them through unfocused eyes, coiled up like sleeping serpents on the sheets in front of him. They looked so harmless now, even though they were the instrument of his captivity and tool of his torment. A raspy whistle scraped through his head, and it took him a second to realize it was the sound of his own breath. His throat clicked when he swallowed. The second thing he noticed was Ches fucking him. The rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh beat like a lewd drum in the otherwise still air, accompanied by Ches's grunts behind him, as each thrust of his hips rocked Sebastian's limp body into the mattress. This realization alone began to awaken the nerves at his backside. Damaged tissue, still battered and bruised from the day before, made its presence known—not the shredding agony of before but closer to a whinging throb. Sebastian joined in with a pitiable whimper of his own. "Sorry. I'm sorry," Ches panted above him. He curled over to lay a sloppy kiss on his shoulder. "I just couldn't help myself. You looked so fucking delicious." When Sebastian could offer nothing but a broken keen in reply, he shushed him gently, smoothing the hair from his face with perverse kindness. "Don't worry. I'm almost—" He grunted again. "I'll be done soon." Deja vu coated Sebastian's tongue in its bitter syrup. It had happened again. And he could do nothing about it. He'd been reduced to a mere animal, something to be mounted and used in the name of Ches's depravity. His ass was terribly sore, but it was more of a minor nuisance rather than the primary source of his anguish. Vaguely, he thought that was impossible, considering the circumstances. Then again, everything felt vague. He still hadn't recovered from his high, dead brain cells spiraling out of his head and into his bloodstream like used toilet water. It was too much to face the world right now, and he almost considered slipping away into sleep again. Then Ches adjusted the angle of his thrusts, and he rubbed against something inside Sebastian that had him seeing stars. Something that felt good. He hid what threatened to come out as a moan by burying his face in the sheets. Apparently, he hadn't hidden it well enough. There was a pause. "Do that again for me," Ches said eagerly, picking up his pace. Another kiss on his shoulder. "Please, babe?" Sebastian's chest hitched as a quiet sob shook his shoulders. He rolled his head side to side in denial, denial at Ches's request, denial at his own fucked-up reaction. "I'm sorry," Ches said again, even as teeth grazed him where his lips had been. "Too soon. Too soon, I know." He leaned back, readjusted his hold on Sebastian's hips, and fucked him with jarring, staccato thrusts. Before long, Ches found his release, driving himself into Sebastian with an indulgent groan. Again the stretch, again the heat, again the damning defeat of being simultaneously filled yet emptied. Sebastian breathed out a huff of relief around his ravaged vocal cords. He was worn out by the ordeal, depleted and wretched, and when Ches pulled out of him, he barely flinched, although his nerves sang a final thankful hymn. Ches took a moment to catch his breath, one hand rubbing Sebastian's rump like the prized piece of meat he was. "Thanks, babe," he whispered, bending low to suckle at his ear lobe. It should have disgusted him, but it just left him feeling confused and—well, he wouldn't deign to give what else he was feeling a name. But the way Ches's breath caressed his cheek sent coils of electricity down to his groin that still ached. Neglected and incomplete. "I think we've both earned a good rest after that. What do you say, buddy?" Sebastian allowed himself to be pulled up into the bed. He went without resistance, bleary-eyed and barely able to keep his head up. But Ches was patient, nothing like the vicious attacker he'd been earlier, as he guided him beneath the covers. He groaned as he collapsed onto his belly, wishing to disappear into nothing. For a time, he was left undisturbed as he sensed Ches step away to—fuck it. It didn't matter what the hell he was doing. What difference did it make? There would only be suffering, maybe the occasional break, and then more suffering. At the dip of the mattress beside him, he startled. His brow pleated in alarm, but he couldn't find it in himself to open his eyes. Warm hands crept up his skin, enjoying their tour of his unresponsive body, as he could do little more than mewl weakly in protest. Fingers hefted his swollen cock then prodded carefully at his throat for a moment before leaving him in peace. He was rolled onto his side, held firmly in place with an arm across his chest and a warm wall at his back. Something was whispered into his ear, but he couldn't make sense of it, the pull of slumber already rising up to claim him, blotting out all conscious thought and taking him away. He welcomed it with tears in his eyes. There, in sleep, he at last found his freedom, escaping into quiet, escaping into emptiness. Escaping into oblivion.