Count Your Teeth

—Day 3— Morning permeated Sebastian's consciousness, slowly peeling away the veil of sleep until he was supplanted back into the land of the waking. Cocooned in warmth and serenity, he snuggled his face into the pillow and inhaled deeply. His breath skidded on a dry patch in his throat, and he coughed. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it jarred him further out from sleep. He furrowed his brow as something shifted behind him, and an unpleasant pocket of cool air opened at the small of his back. Don't go away, he groused. But he couldn't speak it aloud. His throat ached horribly, the pain revealing itself by degrees. It was scraped raw and throbbing as though he'd been singing for hours. But he didn't sing. He was a violinist. Or guitarist. Yeah, a guitarist in the band. The one who did the singing was— Ches! His eyes flew open as he erupted into wakefulness, reality crashing down on him like a storm front. He was still in the room, its dull gray walls burnished by the late-morning sun. Dust motes floated lazily through golden sunbeams that filtered through the small window. At first glance, the scene would have been romantic, if not for what—or rather who—was currently nestled against his back. Sebastian lay frozen in place, not daring to breathe, as he traced the shorter legs entwined with his own, the one arm flung casually over his chest. Slow and even breaths brushed his shoulder blades. Still asleep, then. He swallowed—or, tried to swallow. Big mistake. Another dry cough rattled out of him, louder this time. Ches shifted in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. But when he next moved, it was to disentangle himself and roll away. In another minute, his breathing had evened out again. Sebastian counted twenty steady ins and outs before he finally released the breath he'd been holding. He let it out in a quiet whoosh, then began the painstaking process of sitting up. This was a challenge in and of itself, as any movement caused his neck to seize up. He touched his fingers to the skin there, expecting them to come away with blood. They were dry. Thank god for small mercies. His eyes slipped down past his fingers to his right wrist, and to the flimsy remains of the days-old bandage still wrapped there. The shackle had never been replaced after he'd managed to break free of it yesterday. He lay his left hand over his wrist as he considered his options. If he moved quietly enough, he could slip out of the bed without being heard. He'd rely on stealth this time, knowing better than to try and take Ches head-on again. His confidence wobbled at the too-fresh memory still etched into his skin in link-shaped bruises. Don't think about that! The keys couldn't be too far. He just had to find them. It was light enough to see by, and with Ches still snoring softly behind him, he'd have plenty of time to... Oh, who was he kidding? His back wilted as hope deserted him utterly. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his head on their peaks. It was hopeless. After the beating he'd received for yesterday's attempted escape, even entertaining thoughts of doing it all over again felt like treason—or more like suicide. There was no getting out of this, and any resistance would be met with brutal punishment. The low-level throbbing at the side of his head was a clear enough reminder of that. With a sigh of defeat, he leaned against the rickety headboard. He lifted his hand, looked dispassionately at its leather manacle, then dropped it to the bed again. "Good boy," Ches spoke up beside him. Sebastian startled, heart jumping to his throat as he looked down. Ches was watching him through half-lidded eyes. He'd rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow, the thin sheet slipping down to expose his bare chest. Sebastian scrambled to say something—an apology fast on his lips—but when all he could manage was a cracked whine, Ches waved it off, winding the chain around his fingers. "Shh, shh. I get it, Glam. No need to say anything." He guided him down with ease until he was lying flat on the mattress between his muscular arms. Ches's eyes were steeped in a hazy affection as he looked him over with approval. "That was a very good thing you did, not trying to run away again." He nuzzled against Sebastian's temple, his breath husking over his ear. "I think you deserve a reward for that." Before Sebastian could wonder what he meant, Ches pulled something out from beneath the pillow. It was the other manacle, dangling on the end of its chain. He swung it side to side as he canted his head with a lazy grin. "Put it on." The contrast of sweetness and gut-wrenching inhumanity gave Sebastian whiplash. Ches couldn't honestly expect him to cooperate in his own captivity, could he? But that look of unflappable conviction told Sebastian that was precisely what he expected. Quashing the voice of dissent that bayed from inside him, he took the manacle and solemnly slipped it over his wrist. The lock clicking into place was as loud as a gunshot in the still morning air. "Very good." Ches preened, sliding further down the bed and dragging the sheet with him until Sebastian was fully bared. He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his bedhead, evidently very pleased with what he saw. Clasping his arms across his chest on automatic, Sebastian tried not to stare, but it was difficult not to. He'd never really seen another boy naked, let alone Ches, and he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering south to where Ches's sex hung thick between his spread thighs. It looked different than his own. He blushed. "Now it's time you got a real reward." Sebastian went stiff as a board, ready for the inevitable attack, when Ches first reached for him. But he simply picked up his hands and placed them at his sides, giving him a cryptic wink. Hesitantly, he complied, not yet sure what to make of this new game. There was no telling what twisted "reward" Ches had in mind, but experience had taught him to prepare for the worst. What came next, however, was not something he could have prepared for. Ches began slowly, his fingers smoothing down Sebastian's chest and spreading outward along his limbs. Featherlight, almost ticklish, he traced chaste paths across his skin over and over again first with his hands, and then his lips. Apprehension kept Sebastian's nerves razor-sharp, poised for the moment when the touch would turn lethal—a painful grab, a bite. But it never came. Minutes passed. Fifteen. Thirty. He lost count. But after the better part of an hour and with nothing but gentle caresses that grew firmer, bringing warmth to his skin, he finally allowed himself to consider that maybe, just maybe, Ches wasn't going to hurt him. He loosened by increments, eyes fluttering shut as his tightly coiled muscles at last unwound. A firm stroke along the outsides of his thighs and up to his lower back, fingertips pressing into the columns of muscle that framed his spine, dislodged a little moan that had been hiding there. He couldn't even conjure up the energy to feel humiliated by it, as from one breath to the next, Sebastian gave himself over completely to the experience. Free from thoughts of danger, his mind was able to focus on what the touch was doing to him and, more importantly, who was doing it. He snuck a glimpse at Ches still curled over him, hands never ceasing in their massage, noting the strength that rippled beneath his tawny skin. Long-hidden fantasies flickered to life at the sight. Once upon a time, he'd imagined the ways in which he and Ches could have grown closer, their friendship blooming into—well, whatever it was that friendships became. Sebastian had only had a vague understanding of what that entailed, but now he realized how childish his fantasies really were: callow and woefully unprepared for the real world. Things had been so much simpler before. His mind drifted to the day they'd first hung out at the park together, when Ches had taught him the basics of guitar. The memory was cast in a rosy hue, softened by his innocence and a budding affection for his new friend. He remembered Ches's laugh and the playful roll of his eyes when he joked. The way his hands had moved across the strings of his acoustic guitar. Those same hands were now on him, kneading muscle with long, lavish strokes and drawing blood to the surface until his skin tingled all over. Sebastian rolled his head to the side to allow Ches easier access when he planted a trail of kisses up his neck to suckle at a spot beneath his ear. His mouth fell open around a breathy gasp. Even his wet dreams had never taken him this far, and he stumbled his way through this unfamiliar yet tantalizing landscape of physical stimulation. Sebastian generally tried to avoid letting anyone touch him, if he could help it. Touch had only ever served two roles in his life: something to be denied him outright or as a form of punishment. Loving kisses and reassuring embraces were the stuff of movies; a raised hand only promised pain. But when it came to Ches...what he offered lay at both extremes, and everything in between. Even amidst the hurricane of last night's torture, his body had clung to the one safe haven that offered a reprieve. He sought out that same reprieve now. His breath began to quicken, and his hands flexed at his sides, itching with the need to touch himself. His erection bounced on his stomach with every beat of his heart, swollen and heavy with need, and left painfully unaddressed. As though summoned by the strength of his want alone, Ches's palm grazed the side of his cock as it brushed over his belly. His hips twitched automatically in that direction, seeking out more. A chuckle rumbled in Ches's chest, before his hand made another close—but not quite close enough—pass, stirring his pubic hair and making his cock jump with anticipation. He tucked his tailbone, trying to rub himself against Ches's hand, but was thwarted when he danced away again. "You're gonna have to tell me what you want," he said, even as he slunk down, kissing a serpentine path lower and lower until his breath skirted over Sebastian's cock. He blushed bright red, shutting his eyes and burying his face in the pillow as though to hide from his shameful lust. He couldn't do that! He wouldn't let himself stoop so low! Patient as a predator on the hunt, Ches walked his fingers just above the head of his cock, drawing small circles around his belly button. It was maddening. "Say it, Glam, or else it won't happen." The same voice that had told him to give in yesterday was back, but this time it tempted him out with promises of pleasure, and with an aspirated wheeze, he finally whispered, "Your hand..." Dear God, he was really going to say it. "On...me." "Thought you'd never ask." Ches's hand immediately made itself at home along his length. His mouth fell open around a fervent "o", the air gusting out of him as he let go of the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The arousal which had been pacing nervously in the wings of his mind dashed out onto stage to thunderous applause, having waited for this moment. His heart was hammering against his ribs, loud enough to silence any voice that begged him to reconsider, to think about what he was doing. But why think—Ches's thumb smeared through the dewdrop of precum at his tip—when he could just feel? Sebastian panted with the effort of parsing through it all: there were Ches's fingers squeezing his girth, the sharp edge of a ring rubbing the underside of his glans, a thigh nudging between his knees. "Spread your legs," Ches huffed, and Sebastian obliged him, bending one leg and tipping his knee open. He was drunk on sexual desire as he bared himself before Ches, so brazenly, so vulnerably. He whimpered when Ches's fingers found his entrance, circling gently until he succumbed to the expectation and relaxed. On his next shaky exhale, Ches slipped two fingers inside. There was no stab of discomfort, but just an inexplicably pleasant stretch, like scratching an itch from a wound that was well on its way to healing. Flesh repairing, becoming more resilient. Ches curled his fingers inside him, nowhere close to reaching the same spot as the night prior, but enough that when he removed his fingers again, they were coated in his leftover spunk. Using it to jerk Sebastian off added a whole new level of sensation, fueled in large part by the abject debauchery of it all. The slick squelch of Ches's hand on his cock was backdropped by his shuddered gasps, loud and raw and impossible to hide. His sinuses stung with the cloying, suffocating musk, his pleasure transcending touch and sight to now encompass sound, smell, taste. Every sense was awash in his own arousal. It was everywhere, inescapable. Ches stroked him closer towards completion, seamlessly alternating between quick and slow as though reading what Sebastian needed in nothing more than the subtle pitch of his moans. It formed the perfect song; and when he pressed his fingers once again inside of Sebastian, pumping in and out at the same pace as his other hand, the addition was not an intrusion but a tasteful accompaniment to his aria. You have to stop this, what still limped along as his pride warned him. This is dangerous. It's wrong. But everything else told him to... Go with the flow, Glam. This was just the permission he'd needed, to let go of decorum and propriety, let go of everything he knew, and give himself over to sweet release. Already his climax was gathering at the base of his cock, even more delightful than last time. Because while last time was intense, it'd been muddled by pain and his own misfired pleasure. But this was—what was this anyway? The answer came without hesitation in the form of a tremor up his thighs and a tightening in his balls. A wave of utter contentment unfurled from his center, an intoxicating, bone-deep relief that made his center glow. It was the kind of relief that comes with the knowledge that one's efforts are at last rewarded, of being precisely where one is meant to be. And Sebastian didn't wish to be anywhere else but here, undone and at the mercy of another. At the mercy of Ches. It was the same as when they'd been on stage, perfectly in harmony, the two crafting the performance for no other reason than it was exactly what they both wanted. At first a sporadic and disjointed bluster, the notes of his arousal began to fall into line, melding into a mellifluous tune. The tempo quickened, growing richer with every corkscrew stroke on his cock, every drive of Ches's fingers into him. In a moment of lucidity, Sebastian reached down for Ches's hand with the intention of stopping him. But Ches only chuckled, swooping low to growl in his ear: "Give me your all." Who was Sebastian to deny him? The performance had reached its peak, everything rushing together in an explosive swell that could not be contained. Rhythm was lost to the burgeoning chaos, sweeping Sebastian up and up on a cresting wave. He hung suspended at the zenith for one dazzling moment, looking down from heaven. Then the climax hit him. His entire body pulsed as one beat, one cymbal crash, one beautiful cacophony of sensation. Alive. He collapsed back onto the bed, back into himself, feeling as though he'd fallen from a great height while his soul was still stretched out somewhere high above him. A flurry of notes trailed after, tumbling in random fits and jumps. Gradually weakening, calming, quieting: a decrescendo of distant thunder after the lightning strike. His head spun from the thrill of it. But he only had to breathe. Just breathe. "Just breathe. There you go." Ches was guiding him down from his high, fingers still wrapped around him and milking his cock for every last pearl of cum until Sebastian had given all of himself, just as he'd been asked. Before the stimulation could tip from pleasant to uncomfortable, Ches peeled away smoothly and got off the bed, while Sebastian was left there to bask in his afterglow. At least what was supposed to be his afterglow. He tingled from the inside out, everything blissfully numb as the melody slowly wound down from its fever pitch. But hot on the heels of his climax, self-reproach blared its strident chirr, all sharp reprimands and rebukes. He was disgusting, getting off to this! He had no right to feel this way, not for a murderous psychopath—Ches—who had kidnapped—rescued—him, killed a man—saved him from a predator—choked him almost to death—and to mind-blowing pleasure—raped and tortured him—but he als He put his hands over his eyes and shook his head. Stop it! This is fucked up. Fucked up! he shouted at himself, biting his tongue against the words that would dare expose his betrayal. It had only been a few days, yet he already felt like he was losing his grip on reality. None of this was making sense. From one minute to the next, he went from cowering in fear of Ches to cumming in his hands. It had to be shock, he reasoned with himself. What else could explain how, in spite of everything, he'd asked Ches to jerk him off? What on earth was he becoming? Two factions fought for dominance inside of him. One howled for justice and some goddamned dignity! The other, however, dared to dote over that little bird of affection that fluttered its clipped wings dolefully against the bars of Sebastian's heart. In the end, shame was the sole victor. Before he could wallow much longer, Ches reappeared by his side, the mattress springs creaking as he took his seat. He held a glass of water. "Here, sit up." He pulled Sebastian up to a kneeling position, then pushed the glass into his hands. He'd since slipped back into his briefs and T-shirt, and Sebastian averted his eyes, feeling even more inadequate now that Ches was partially dressed while he himself was still buck naked. Sitting upright made the spunk on his stomach and chest begin to ooze down in fat globules. He wrinkled his nose at the bold-faced evidence of his sordid perversion. "Here, lemme get that for you." Ches began to dab at the mess with a handful of tissues. Sebastian squirmed, Ches's ministrations just bringing more attention to what they'd done. He felt so dirty. Then he remembered what had happened the last time he'd made a mess, and he scrambled for the tissues in Ches's hand. "Wait. I'll...clean," he managed to croak out. Ches's brows lifted into a curious arch. A smile split his face as he gently pushed Sebastian's hand away. "That's awfully thoughtful of you, Glam. But s'all right. Don't worry about it this time. I've got it." He gave him a peck on the forehead before finishing up and tossing the soiled tissues. Meanwhile, Sebastian stared into the glass in his hands, losing himself in the sheen that glinted off the water's surface and cut a shard of light across his face. So much had changed since the last time he'd been offered this same glass. Hesitantly, he lifted it to his lips, tried to drink, nearly choked when his ravaged throat clamped down in protest, and then eventually settled for taking minuscule sips that he let slip down his esophagus. The water only sharpened his hunger, like feeding a starving animal rocks, and he let out a frustrated huff. Even the simplest things were no longer so simple. The touch of Ches's fingers at his neck startled him, and he clutched the glass to his chest, a pitifully fragile shield. Ches tutted, brushing off his concern as he felt around gingerly, turning Sebastian's chin this way and that as he surveyed the damage to his neck. He sucked his teeth, making a whistling sound through the gap. "That's gonna leave a mark," he admitted, sounding remorseful. "Sorry about that." Ches's eyes met his for a brief moment. From this angle, Sebastian could see the angry red brand Ches wore around his neck. If their short scuffle had done that, he couldn’t imagine what his own neck looked like. "But maybe next time you’ll know not to pull something stupid like that again, hm?" Ruffling his hair affectionately, Ches added, "Anyway, you'll wanna go easy on it for a while," before bending down and scooping something from the floor by the side of the bed. It was the takeout bag. He opened it and took a tentative sniff of its contents. Pursing his lips, he shrugged at Sebastian, fished out a banged-up burrito, and unwrapped it. "How much you wanna bet it tastes like ass?" His joke fell painfully flat, considering that even the smell of half-spoiled meat had Sebastian's mouth watering. He offered him the first bite. "Want some?" An audible grumble from his stomach was Sebastian's only reply, before he shook his head. Water had been hard enough; getting anything solid down was out of the question. "Oh, right." Ches twirled a finger at his own neck. "The throat...thing." With a shrug, he took a hearty bite of the burrito and nodded his approval. "Don't worry, man. You're not missing anything," he mumbled around a mouthful of food. Sebastian's stomach writhed like a wounded animal in its death throes, as he watched on enviably. This was yet another form of torture: to be offered a veritable feast, but to be unable to partake. He sighed openly with want. His predicament did not go unnoticed, and Ches put his fingers to his lips while chewing for a moment before holding them to Sebastian's mouth. "You gotta eat something. C'mon, give it a try." It was a small ball of mashed-up tortilla bread. Sebastian wanted to gag. Just the prospect of eating someone else's half-chewed food sent his gut into riotous fits. He wasn't that desperate, was he? But his lips—his lips had other plans, and after a brief moment's pause, they parted obediently around the small morsel. Slimy and warm, the bread quickly dissolved on his tongue before slipping down his throat with minimal effort. The urge to hurl was strong, but the imperative to survive was stronger. Even one bite immediately took the sharpest edges off his hunger, and despite himself, he leaned forward eagerly for more. This continued for a time, Ches enjoying his meal with all the poise of an untroubled master while Sebastian sat meekly in place, accepting his scraps like a grateful stray. Ches chose his offerings with care, mindful of what he could handle and patiently waiting until he had finished one tiny mouthful before granting him another. It was almost touching—in a deranged sort of way. Sips of water helped the bite-sized pieces go down, and by the time Sebastian had polished off the glass, he had to admit he felt considerably better. Once Ches had finished eating, he crumpled up the paper bag with the refuse as well as the remains of what was supposed to have been Sebastian's dinner still inside. His heart sank as it was taken away. He was then told to clean himself up, an instruction which he found strange but didn't have the guts—or voice—to question. There was no point in defying Ches now, and besides, it was in his best interest to keep Ches happy with him. Things were going...okay this morning so far, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could. As he made use of the facilities, he watched from the corner of his eye as Ches retrieved something from a panel set into the wall by the stairs. It being the same color as the concrete, he hadn't noticed it before, but it was about the size and shape of a circuit breaker, only instead of electrical switches, it held several well-stocked shelves. A medicine cabinet? Ches came back carrying a simple first-aid kit in his hands. "Now let's get that looked at." Plunking himself down on the bed, he motioned for Sebastian to sit beside him. It was with unsettling ease that he found himself quick to obey Ches's directions. Then again, the alternative would only invite punishment. So he sat quietly as Ches tended to his neck, first applying an antiseptic that burned hot and then cold, followed by a petroleum jelly that he rubbed gently around the area. Ever the chatterbox, Ches prattled on about all manner of topics as he worked. Inconsequential nothings about his plans to replace his guitar strings, how his class schedule at the conservatory was shaping up, ideas for new song titles. Sebastian half-listened throughout, lulled into a comfortable state of monotony by the normality of the one-sided conversation. The kiss of cool salve was bliss to his ravaged skin. And while even the slightest stress hurt his throat, Ches's touch was unwaveringly tender. Attentive and careful, it was hard to believe this was the same boy who had almost killed him last night. He kept his gaze fixed on his hands where they were balled into fists on his knees. The scratches on the backs of his knuckles were stinging reminders of the short but savage brawl they'd had. There was a part of him that wanted so desperately to believe it had never happened, that the violence Ches had shown was just an anomaly, and that the laid-back and considerate Ches of now was still the same one he had befriended all those months ago. Next came the bandage, Ches unspooling the white gauze and looping it around his neck several times in more or less a straight line. It was by no means the work of a professional, but he moved with such ease and control, Sebastian had to wonder if Ches had done this before. He thought of the hasty job he would often do on his own right wrist, and his thumb crept beneath the leather manacle to scratch idly at the bandage there. There was obviously a lot that he didn't know about Ches. Sure, they'd hung out nearly every night this past summer, but there were also long swaths of time where Sebastian had no idea how his friend spent his days. He was embarrassed to admit that he didn't even know his real name. It hadn't taken him long to realize that despite their being the same age, the gap in their worldly experience was immense. While he had been raised in relative safety and stability, Ches's situation at home gave Sebastian reason to suspect that life had not been so easy for him. He now wondered if he would ever know the violence that had shaped him to be this ruthless—and this gentle. Sebastian was deep in the brambles of his thoughts, when Ches piped up with a cheerful, "And now for the final touch." Something came down over the bandage, heavy and with an acrid, smoky smell. His hands flew up to feel it: thick, rough-hewn edges inlaid with a metal chain, rigid clasps at opposite sides, and made of the same leather as the cuffs at his wrists. Ches did something at the back of it, there was a click, and the collar was locked into place. The triad of his imprisonment was complete. "Awesooooome." Ches admired the new look with no small amount of pride, running a finger between the collar and Sebastian's bandages. While not tight enough to put any undue pressure on his throat, its weight still served as a constant reminder of its presence. "It really suits you." A confused sob rose in Sebastian's chest. "Aw, Glam, don't look so sad." Ches hooked his finger into a small metal loop at the front of the collar and reeled him in for a hug. "It'll be okay. You just gotta get used to it. Besides, it'll keep you from messing with your neck while it heals up." He rubbed at Sebastian's arm and made soft shushing sounds. Sebastian let himself be held as he cried in pathetic, rickety gasps. He'd been stupid to think he'd turned a corner with Ches, as though his freedom were any closer just because he'd seen a glimpse of kindness in his captor. It was clear that the worst was far from over. When Ches had decided he'd been at it long enough, he patted him on the back with a stern, "All right. Enough of that. I don't like seeing you so upset. We're having a nice morning, aren't we? Let's not ruin it." Forcing Sebastian to face him with a grasp on his chin, he regarded him thoughtfully. "Unless there's something else on your mind?" After a few steadying breaths, Sebastian quieted, considering Ches's offer. The hand on his arm continued its rhythmic caress, slowly coaxing him out. Maybe—maybe he really meant it. Now that he thought about it, for all of Ches's unpredictable violence, he could at least be counted on to be honest. Overlooking the particulars of exactly what he said, no matter how depraved or twisted, Ches hadn't told him a single thing that he didn't follow through with. And right now, he was inviting him to share his thoughts. Conflicted emotions quirked his features. "C'mon, I know that face. You're thinking about something. Might as well get it off your chest." "I..." Sebastian started, before snapping his mouth shut. He knew he'd have to tread carefully. Threatening and cursing Ches had gotten him nowhere last time. But maybe he could get through to him another way. Ches prided himself in playing the part of the benevolent savior, so maybe he could appeal to that side of him. The old adage about honey versus vinegar singsonged through his head, although its playful message had since taken on a much more dire tone. "I...I don't—" His vocal cords slipped, and he coughed before starting again. "I don't...understand." "What don't you understand, Glam?" "You." At Ches's inquisitive brow, Sebastian rushed to elaborate. "You're—" Cruel, demented, insane! "—mean. Then. Nice." He wet his lips, feeling inept and dumbed down as he was forced to mince his utterances to the bare minimum. A tidal wave of words beat at the back of his teeth, but he held them at bay, apportioning out only a trickle at a time. Head bowed, he fidgeted in his seat, making himself look small and pathetic in front of Ches to further push the message: You are the one in control here. I am nothing. Have mercy on me. "Do you like it when I'm nice?" Sebastian hadn't expected this question, and he paused. To admit the truth would only further condemn him to a longer sentence under Ches's twisted sense of love. But could he lie? No, what good would that do? "Yes," he breathed. "I can be nice—" Ches's hand fell from his arm to his thigh. "—as long as you keep behaving. I told you I won't hurt you if I don't have to." He offered a weak smile in apology. "We can both enjoy this. I want us to." The hand on his thigh rode up to fondle his penis. "And you've been behaving beautifully since your lesson last night, Glam." Sebastian clenched his eyes shut and turned his face to the side, bracing his arms in front of his chest. Not quite pushing Ches away, but not allowing him any closer either. He weighed the risk of what he was about to say next, before forging ahead regardless. "Let me. Go?" He felt Ches's hand pause. "Please?" He whispered, scouring his mind for some bargaining chip, something to sweeten the deal in terms Ches might understand. "M-money. My family has money. Can pay you. Whatever. You want." Stringing more than a few words together was only possible by pitching his voice to barely above a whisper. "Whatever you want," he said again, keeping his head bowed so that he wouldn't have to look at Ches as he outright begged. "I want. To go." At first, Ches didn't say anything, each tense moment eating away at his resolve. Eventually, he peeked a glance and found Ches watching him with an unreadable expression. He prayed he hadn't made a mistake. When Ches finally did speak up, his tone was light and conversational. "And just where do you want to go, Glam?" Hope came alive in his chest. "H-home. My family," he answered quickly. "Your family." Ches echoed him, his voice deadpan. He took Sebastian's right wrist in his hand, looking unimpressed by the shabby bandage work there. "I know you didn't do this to yourself," he said as he began to unravel the bandage, loop by unhurried loop, until its tail brushed the floor. He then rotated Sebastian's hand over to reveal the ladder of scars climbing out from beneath the leather cuff. "You wanna tell me who did?" Sebastian could feel his ears growing hot, the attention on his exposed scars even more humiliating than his nudity. "M-my father." The admission curdled on his tongue. "With a ruler." As though that made it any better. "And your mom knew." It wasn't a question, so Sebastian didn't answer. Ches sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Why the hell would you want to go back to those monsters? After what they've done to you." "But—" "But what?" Tension crackled in the air. "He was only—" The words tangled on his tongue. Was he really about to excuse what his father did? So many nights he had cursed his father's abuses, but now he felt compelled to defend him in light of Ches's warped accusation. "It was just. When I messed up." He could still hear the flat vibrato of his last musical piece. "So I could. Get better." He licked his lips. "Be better." Ches's eyes flared with recognition. He grabbed Sebastian by both wrists, appearing to tower over him as he growled, "And how is that any different from what I'm doing?" Sebastian stared in shock. "No." The denial slipped out from him before he could reconsider. There wasn't anything to consider. Of course it wasn't the same, a voice shouted from inside of him, appalled that Ches would dare compare what he did to a few measly slaps on the wrist. It was like comparing arson to a birthday candle. "You hurt me. Just to..." He could think of no plausible explanation. "Just to hurt me." "Wrong, Glam. I do it because I'm trying to make you ready. I love you, remember?" Ches's hands shook where they gripped him with manic strength. Fury danced in his eyes. "Your family never did. I mean, look at what they reduced you to." He sneered and shoved him onto his back. "A fucking spoiled little rich kid. Weak, afraid, ignorant." Sebastian's head banged against the headboard, but he kept his eyes locked on Ches as he began to stalk over him at a measured, steady pace. "You think your family was trying to make you better? They wanted to hold you back, tear you down." A bittersweet smile broke across his face. "They must've seen what you're capable of becoming, and it scared them." He lifted Sebastian's hand to his lips and kissed his scratched knuckles with reverent tenderness. "I see it too, Glam. And it's incredible. But I need to help you get there, man. By the time we're done, there won't be anything you can't handle." Sebastian wrenched his hand free and tucked it against his chest. "No!" His mind raced to come up with a more substantial reason, something that would make Ches understand that he couldn't keep doing this. But how do you reason with insanity? "This—this is wrong." "What they did was wrong." Ches's eyes grew dark. "I had to get you out of there. If a few slaps of the ruler could do this to you, what do you think would've happened when it got worse? And it was going to get worse. It always does." The way Ches's voice cracked on his last words made Sebastian do a double-take. Something slipped through the chink in his facade—something vulnerable. He took a deep breath, but when he next spoke, his voice still trembled with emotion as though he were reciting a painful lesson he wished didn't bear repeating. "I told you before, Glam. The world's a cruel place. And you need to be stronger if you wanna survive it, like I have." He shook his head glumly where it hung between his shoulders. "You have no idea what it can do to you. When the people who are supposed to love you hurt you." He pulled his lips back in a wry smile, jabbing a finger into his temple over and over again, making a tud-tud-tud sound. "Really fucks you up. It—it leaves scars, man." Sebastian recoiled as far as he could, watching Ches the way one watches a wild animal trapped in the same room as them. "You think you had it bad?" He grabbed Sebastian's head, rolling it around and around. "At least you never had a dad who wanted to get rid of you before you were even born." He knocked him back with the heel of his hand as he seethed, "Never had to deal with a mom who called you a piece of shit before you knew your own name." Wrenching one ear, he pulled until Sebastian yelped. "Laughed at you when you cried." "Ches, please—" "Smacked you around just for fun!" An open palm slapped him forcefully across the face in a quick one-two, cutting off his miserable cries of pain. "Dragged you around by the hair!" He grabbed a fistful of his hair and twisted, threatening to pull it out by the roots. "Threw you across the room when she was out of booze! Kicked you in the ribs when you couldn't get back up again!" His voice rose as the intensity of the attacks grew. "S-stop!" Sebastian raised his arms in a feeble attempt to defend himself. But it was useless. He was beaten, knocked about beneath the unrelenting barrage of scratches and punches, strikes and kicks, as Ches demonstrated each and every one of the abuses he'd suffered. But I haven't done anything! I haven't done anything! He wanted to shout at the unfairness of it all, but he couldn't as a sharp cuff to the head dazed him. Ches was still raging when his hearing returned, a shrieking gale behind the whirlwind of violence. "You've never had a dumb, fat cunt put her cigarettes out on you! Stab you with a fork!" He dug his fingernails in cruelly at a spot near Sebastian's left hip. Grabbing him by the collar, he hauled him up, reared back his fist, and roared, "Knock your fucking teeth in!" Sebastian screwed his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow. A pregnant moment passed. Then another. Cautiously, he cracked open an eye. Ches's fist hovered an inch from his mouth. But it was the look on his face that made the world go still and Sebastian's fears fall quiet. Eyes glassy, brow twisted up in anguish, and bottom lip quivering, Ches looked so—so broken. Sebastian could only gape at the sudden transformation. Distantly, he wondered if he had merely stumbled into the eye of the storm, that there might be more abuse to follow the temporary calm. But the part of him that still dared to feel something other than hatred for his abuser, his captor—his best friend—urged him to place his hand gently over Ches's. It shook where it held his collar. "Ches—" He never got another word in. Because at that moment, Ches yanked him close and crushed their lips together. Sebastian stared cross-eyed at the kiss. The simple gesture was somehow even more disturbing than the assault had been, a violation of his person that was different than the thrashings, different even than the rapes, because of its unsettling intimacy. It was his first kiss, and while he recognized that it was childish to put any stock into it, he still felt a pang at its loss. It, like every other aspect of his innocence, had been stolen from him. Whatever Ches wanted, he could—and would—take. So when Ches cupped the back of his head to change the angle and deepen the kiss, Sebastian had no choice but to accept it, helpless and pliant and open beneath this unyielding force that was Ches. Ches drew in Sebastian's bottom lip to nibble on it, his breath puffing against his cheeks, and when he demanded entrance, Sebastian caved to the pressure of his tongue with a flustered whimper. He scrunched his brows at the bizarre feeling of having another's tongue in his mouth—a wet, slick, squirming, living thing. For a moment, he thought Ches was going to shove it down his throat and smother him right then and there, but to his relief, he retreated far enough to grant him room to breathe. Still, he couldn't hold back the small, pitiable noises of being overwhelmed, and he gasped when he heard Ches echo the same. He hadn't meant to sound turned on—he wasn't actually enjoying this, was he?—but as Ches continued to ravage his mouth, diving in and drawing back, penetrating him with the same vicious passion he'd done with his cock, heat began to grow, unbidden, in the pit of his stomach. His toes curled. He arched off the bed, trying to buck Ches off, but his hips only came in contact with the rock-hard erection in Ches's briefs. Ches broke the kiss with a shuddered moan. His head drooped as he panted against Sebastian's racing pulse. Neither boy moved, Sebastian unsure of what to do next; Ches, an even greater mystery than before. Finally, heaving a deep sigh, Ches curled over and laid his cheek on the keystone of Sebastian's ribs, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. His hair tickled where it brushed his skin. "Please believe me. I'm only doing this because I love you, Glam. I love you." Sebastian just focused on trying to catch his breath, looking up dazedly at the metal T-bars that crisscrossed the ceiling. Crisscross, crisscross... "I love you. I love you so, so much." Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. Ches's head lolled, and his hug grew uncomfortably tight. "But sometimes..." Another bitter sigh. "Sometimes I fucking hate you." He didn't say another word after that, just got dressed and readied to go. But before he left, he clasped a chain to Sebastian's collar. —Day 4— Ches didn't come back that day. —Day 5— Or the day after that. Sebastian's throat had healed enough that he could finally drink. He drank from the sink's tap until he'd had his fill, until his belly bulged, until he vomited it all back up again. Then he obediently cleaned up the mess. —Day 6— "Hey, Glam! Wanna make a movie?"