Work Text
"Last night I dreamt
that somebody loved me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm"
- The Smiths
Until Henry threw the glass at him, Vic had strongly believed that they had their lives under control. So great was his belief in that control that he could hardly comprehend it when life grabbed him by the balls and pulled. The crash of glass was puzzling and it dawned on him that it could have easily shattered in his head had the throw been more accurate. When that happened, a wave of emotion struck him, so cold and sudden that Vic almost broke down. He had no control over their lives. None at all. He realized that too late. It happened slowly, subtly. It was so insignificant that Vic completely missed it. He’d come home late after work and he’d eat whatever was left from the boys’ dinner. Then he would grab a beer and settle on the couch beside Belch or Patrick and just watch TV until it was time for bed. Henry would drink in his armchair and it would be all swell. That is until Henry started getting annoyed by Vic coming home so late. It wasn’t his choice. At the moment there was no better job Vic could find if he wanted to come home as early as Henry. But Vic didn’t mention that at first when he noticed Henry’s scowls and his off-hand comments. He’d soothe him with a few kisses and he’d let him touch him at bedtime and it would be enough to shush Henry…Till next time. That was the first thing that should have told Vic to be careful, the first hint at an actual issue. Their small family had no worries, for the most part. And it helped them greatly that neither of them possessed the notorious female jealousy, although Henry and Patrick’s obsessive behaviours were enough of a replacement. But Vic had always felt loved and appreciated, although in a very uncanny, unfashionable way. He’s never felt as though there was something missing and he never had wanted or needed what the rest did. Vic didn’t want a wife, he didn’t want kids, so their arrangement suited him nicely. By the time he had a glass flying his way, Vic would understand that while he enjoyed things as they were and thought them to be different, for Henry, at least, he was playing the role of a pliant house-wife and that fantasy had been created by Henry's cruel mind to soothe the fears he had been raised with. But Vic couldn’t tell how bad things were just yet. He even found he loved Henry’s attention although he wasn’t fond of his side commentary. To Vic, his need for dominance was but a phase that would pass and he’d again be the Henry he knew and built a life with. Henry wasn’t much different than he’s always been and he was still the wild firecracker of a man people feared but Vic got a much different treatment, a better one. He wanted that Henry back, the one that would hug him at night to sleep better, the one whose nightmares Vic would soothe whenever he needed, the one that greeted him home at night… That Henry became a distant memory so thin and faded that it was almost non-existent when Vic came home one evening to find Henry in a mood so foul, he began screaming at him the moment he shut the door. “How many times do I have to tell you to put the food in the fucking fridge, you fucked up flamer! Look at this shit, look at it now…!” Vic had barely had time to take off his shoes and jacket when Henry stormed in the hall, red-faced and scary. He opened his mouth to utter an excuse although he didn’t know what he had done wrong exactly, when Henry grabbed him by the sleeve of the jacket and dragged him, the way he would drag a child no heavier than a hundred pounds, in the kitchen. He threw him into the counter and Vic braced himself against the edge just before Henry could dip his face in the sink. The sour smell of foul food tickled his nose and Vic indeed saw one of Mrs Huggins’ pots lying there in a heap of broken and cracked plates, mugs and water glasses. The edge was dented and the wall behind the sink along with at least half of the counter was covered in splatters of leftover stew. A thin crust of mould had begun forming at the bottom of the pot and Vic thought that maybe they had left it in the fridge a bit too long…But he had barely had time to blink these past few days, he barely ate. The thought of eating the rest of the food to empty the pot or throw it out had never even crossed his mind. Actually, Vic had forgotten it was even there; he had guessed days ago that the boys might have eaten whatever was left and the pot was back in Mrs Huggins’ cupboard, gathering dust. “Henry, I…” Vic said, without even thinking. His lips moved on autopilot and his mind struggled to form the words that his throat couldn’t force out. “I didn’t have time to, I’m sorry…” “You don’t have time? You don’t have time?! You never have time!” Henry screamed, almost in his ear. “What are you so busy with, huh? Where do you spend so much time at when you have to be home fixing your damn messes, huh?!” He grabbed the collar of his shirt and spun him around; the edge of the counter dug hard in the small Vic’s back. He raised his fearful eyes at Henry’s face and tried to remember just when he had seen him so angry last. No such time could come to his mind but Vic thought, with rising dread and crippling sadness, that he had stood aside and laughed while Henry spilt his rage over others. He had found that amusing, he had found it hot…Now he felt ready to beg, run, hide…If he had known how scary it was to be in Henry’s clutches as the enemy, he would have never stayed with him for so long. But Vic had never believed that Henry had it in him to be so vicious towards his…friends? What were they now exactly? “Tell me where you were till now, tell me why you’re late, you damn pansy, you bitch, you…!” “Henry…!” Vic heard Belch yell from the doorframe but his voice was so full of hesitance that it did little to get Henry thinking straight again. “Shut up!” Henry screamed back at him and when he looked back at Vic, he could sense the lingering odour of alcohol on his breath, could see the faded pink outlines of his eyes turning quickly red and sore as they became unfocused and glazed. So he’s been drinking? “Where were you, Vic? You’re always late…You’re never home for dinner…Where the fuck do you go when you’re not here, you sick faggot?!” “I’m at work!” Vic yelled, finally finding his voice as he pushed Henry off him. “I work, you dick! I work to pay your bills and I work to pay for your food…!” “You’re place is right here, in this damn kitchen, scrubbing the damn floor!” “I’m not your fucking wife, Bowers…!” Vic had backed off towards the door, feeling his anger reach new heights as Henry kept speaking to him so, as if he belonged to him, as if he was merely his possession. There had been a time when Vic had loved it, loved the feeling of being needed, but this wasn’t like that. This was obsession. This was degrading, it was unfair. He didn’t like it one bit and if he was as much of a man as he thought and felt he was, he wasn’t going to stand there and let Henry bully him. That was when Henry threw the glass. He reached into the sink and he chugged it his way with the same force a professional baseball player throws the ball. What replaced Vic’s rage with unimaginable fear was the very visible intention he saw in Henry’s. He had been aiming for his face. Vic raised his hands to protect his eyes as a result of pure instinct, otherwise, he found his body frozen still as he trembled. It was a miracle that the glass missed him and Vic thought he was lucky that Henry was too drunk to aim right. Glass shards spilt on the floor and around his unlaced boots and Vic was shocked speechless when Henry grabbed him again. He raised his shaking fist and Vic clenched his jaw, squeeze his eyes tightly shut, and waited, throwing away all his precious pride. Using Henry’s odd moment of hesitance, Belch took the chance to tug him off of Vic. Vic stumbled back, peeking at Henry with all the obedience of a kicked dog. He grabbed onto the wooden doorframe and only then did he notice Patrick standing there, watching the quarrel with intense curiosity and in strenuous silence. His eyes darted from Henry’s face as he spat out profanities and curses so dirty they could make a sailor’s ears burn like a virgin’s, to Vic’s shaking body and tearful eyes filled with wild terror. He bit his thin lips and it would appear he was happy to witness such an intense fight between the two…But each time he threw Vic a look, there was something else there…Perhaps he was angry? Perhaps he was bitter that the one to make Vic shake with fright was Henry and not himself? “You’re a bastard, Bowers!” Vic screamed. “A fucking dick, is what you are, a coward! When you start taking responsibility for yourself then you can ask me questions. You’re just like your daddy, a fuck-up!” He would have bitten his tongue to stop the words but he couldn’t in time and when he finally realised what he had said, Vic swore Henry was ready to kill him, lover or not, love or not. Even Belch couldn’t hold him back from trying to pounce on Vic like an enraged predator. Vic stumbled into the hall without looking back and this time Patrick stepped in Henry’s way to try and hold him back; maybe he too had finally realised how serious things really were. It was no sexual game, it was no scene. Henry meant it, he meant to murder him and Vic had never been more scared in his short life. He never would be again too. “Come out of there, Victor!” Henry yelled, knocking his fists against the door of their bedroom when Vic hid inside. The handle shook furiously in his hands as Henry tried to open the door. “Get your ass out here, right now! Do you hear me?! Get over here or I’ll kill you, you maggot!” Vic pressed his entire weight against the door, hands clasped tightly over the shaking door handle. He listened to Belch trying to calm Henry down outside and when he finally heard them walking away from the door, Vic felt himself break down. He collapsed on his knees by the door, tired, aching, crying like a child after a tantrum, after his momma’s shown him something to scream and kick about. His head was beginning to pound. What had he done to earn such a thing? What had he told Henry, how had he mistreated him? They had been fine just a day ago, just the previous night they had slept in each other’s arms and Vic could still feel Henry’s body over his, his touches lingering long after they had sex last like ghosts across his skin. God, did he love Henry…He ached for him, lived for him. But Vic would lie if he said that now he didn’t hate him with the same passion. He got up from the floor and took his frustration out on their bedroom. Pillows were thrown on the floor, the sheets were left in a heap on the mattress, the books were thrown off their shelves above the desk and Vic had to force himself to stop when his fingers grabbed onto Patrick’s bug boxes. Instead, he took the desk lamp and heaved into the TV. He didn’t deserve any of this, his mind kept screaming, fuelling Vic’s anger. He did not deserve any of this. Vic collapsed in the desk chair, holding his head in his hands and trying to breathe through the wave of tears itching to fall. He thought of everything he had done for their little family and all he kept down for the boys to be happy, all the self-sacrifices he’s made and all the times he’s turned a blind eye to all the shit they’ve done. He came home late, tired, needing attention and understanding and all he was met with was hostile accusations and threats? Vic was no house-wife. He wouldn’t grit his teeth and just take it whenever Henry was in the mood to throw a punch. Vic brushed the snot gathering under his nose with the back of his hand, tears clouding his vision as he stared at the floor. His chest heaved, his body rocked with breathless sobs. Vic sniffled, wondering how things would be from now on when a knock came from the door. He immediately froze, looking up and stopping his body before he could jump up and run to hold onto the handle again. What if it was Henry? What if it was Belch and Henry was just waiting there to strangle him? The knock was too soft, however, to be either of them. When the door creaked open and Patrick came in, Vic relaxed again, although he was still on edge, ready to bolt. Patrick was always the one of them he feared most, although very subtly and without giving him the pleasure of admitting it, but right now he would hide behind his back, let him manipulate him however he liked as long as he didn’t let Henry have him. Patrick had no intentions of hurting him though. He shut the door softly and crossed the room, staring down at Vic’s wary, reddened eyes with a big, loving and extraordinary gentle smile. Patrick loved the sight of tears, it so happened to be, and he loved seeing Vic cry almost as much as seeing Henry do. It was a nasty thing to have in mind now but Vic couldn’t change it and as long as Patrick wasn’t there to rub salt in the wound, he’d accept his comfort. A sob broke past Vic’s lip and he cried. Like water flowing through a faucet in rapid bursts, he let the tears fall, hiding his face in his palms to preserve the little decency he had left. Patrick said nothing. He laid his hand, unsurprisingly cold, on the back of Vic’s neck and squeezed, rubbing his thumb in the stiff joint between his neck and shoulder. His hand then found his jaw, his palm cradled his cheek and his thumb brushed away one salty tear as it fell. Patrick knelt down in front of Vic and even then he was just tall enough that their eyes could meet when Vic let his hands drop to dangle between his knees. “He hurt you, right?” Patrick nearly whispered, cold fingers brushing away the few strands of hair covering Vic’s forehead. He stroked away the thin wrinkles of worry crossing his skin, stroked his brow and the bridge of his nose until Vic’s face relaxed…He never stopped smiling, as predatory as it was sweet. “Hey, Vicky…Do you want to look at me? C’mon, let me see those eyes…Yeah, that’s right. Here you go…There you are.” The smile became wolfish when Vic peeked up at him. Patrick took his face in his hands, stroked away the tears hanging under his eyes and slowly brought him close until he could rest Vic’s head on his shoulder. Vic didn’t complain. He held onto the back of Patrick’s shirt, crumbling the material under his fingers as Patrick rubbed his back, stroked his hair, kissed the side of his forehead…He trailed wet, lingering kisses down his neck and Vic swore, if he felt him getting hard now, he’d cry again with newfound vigour. But nothing like that happened. Not because Patrick wasn’t aroused by the thought of taking Vic right now, just as he was pitiful and crying, even a bit resisting, but because it wouldn’t be very polite. Not after such a grand fight. He could stick to his manners, at least until Vic was calmer. Then he could work his way around the arousal and make Vic willing. He could do that. It was a talent of his. “Why was he mad…?” Vic stuttered quietly, holding onto Patrick. “What did I do?” “People get mad sometimes, Vic,” Patrick explained as if he were talking to a small child. “Hank just had a bit too much to drink…He got angry at something and snapped. It happens.” “You mean that this was okay…? You’re defending him now? After he…” “It’s normal, Vicky.” Patrick shushed him again when Vic began raising his voice. He was convincing him now. “People fight. People get angry. They say things they don’t mean…” “But…It wasn’t my fault, I…” “You didn’t throw out those leftovers. And you would have thought about it if you were home…If you paid attention…You’re working too much, Vic. That’s bad for you…It’s bad for us.” “But…” “No buts. You’re getting distracted. And that’s not good. Think about that.” “So Henry was…right?” “Were you?” Another kiss planted gently against his temple, then another to his damp cheek…Vic bit his lip, worried the soft flesh bloody. He knew what Patrick was telling him was wrong but he had insulted Henry too, badly. He didn’t spend nearly as much time home as he’d like and maybe he paid Henry less attention than he needed. But… “I’m not some woman he can just beat on whenever he feels like it,” Vic told Patrick, sounding very much unconvincing. “But that’s not so bad, Vic.” Patrick smiled, stroking his fingers down Vic’s cheeks in a manner that now disgusted Vic. He didn’t like the look on his face either. “Just be here for Henry. Do what he says. Show him love, attention…It’s not so bad being kind, being a good boy…” His cheek touched Vic’s and Patrick lowered his voice to whisper, his lips just barely tickling the shell of his ear, “Everything can be good if you let it be. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were a good girl, right?” “No,” Vic shook his head, suddenly becoming restless, “No, I can’t, I…” “It’s alright, Vicky. Take your time…” Patrick purred, with such delight…It was infuriating. “I don’t want to.” He forced out. “I don’t want to do that, Patrick, don’t make me…I don’t want him taking everything, I can’t give anymore, I…” “Okay.” Patrick agreed with amazing ease. He pulled back, making sure Vic felt the slow drag of his lips against his skin, before looking at him. “Okay. It’s all up to you, Vic. I can’t force you. But you know what Henry needs and you know what to give him…It’s up to you if you’ll do it.” “No. I’m not…I can’t.” Vic decided although Patrick could tell he was unsure. “That’s enough, Patrick, the last thing I’ll ever be is some goody wife for Henry. That’s not going to…” A lump formed in his throat and he fell silent. Patrick saw him through his struggle with gentle caresses and then his dry lips found Vic’s numb ones. It was surprisingly gentle and kind, soft and wet as Patrick sucked on his lips. His tongue slid across the bitten skin and Vic opened his mouth politely, granting an entrance Patrick hadn’t necessarily wanted. A soft sigh of relief whisked between them and Patrick knew he had Vic right where he wanted. He tugged Vic up by the loops of his belt and the blonde followed the invitation, standing up on shaking legs and leaning into Patrick’s arms. His hands found his neck as Patrick’s wound around his thin waist, fingers squeezing softly, comfortingly. They promised understanding and care, something Patrick rarely gave, and Vic was still wary…But could he do anything but trust him? “See, it can feel nice to be submissive, right?” Patrick teased him when they pulled apart and Vic bit his lip again. “Shut up about it, Pat, really…” “Okay, okay…” He conceded, leaning down to press his nose into Vic’s neck, inhaling the sweet scent of lingering misery. “Beautiful little thing…” Vic kept quiet. He let Patrick tug him towards the bed, turn them around and sit him down on the edge, all the while touching him, grinding into him, kissing whatever patch of naked skin he could find…Vic’s eyes burned, sore from all the crying, and his body ached. He felt tired, as if he weighed tons. When Patrick lowered him onto the unmade bed, Vic swore he wouldn’t be able to move an inch. Worry bubbled in the pit of his stomach. And what was more, he could tell Patrick knew and that he enjoyed it. He never stopped smiling, eyes as clouded with lust as Henry’s had been with alcohol. His needy fingers dipped under his shirt, achingly slow, and Vic shuddered. The soft hairs on his forearms stood up and though he could also tell Patrick promised nothing but pleasure, he was scared of how far things would go after their conversation. He never could tell what Patrick thought, unlike Henry and Belch…But maybe Vic had been confused all this time after he saw Henry act the way he had tonight. The line of flesh his hands exposed teased him nicely as Patrick reached for Vic’s belt next. He undid it, slowly, his eyes never once leaving Vic’s scared ones. Practised fingers stroked him nice and tight, in brave tight circles…Blood filled not only Vic’s cheeks and his breath stuttered as he felt his body respond to the unwanted attention. “Belch…?” He breathed out when Patrick pushed the edge of his shirt up again to expose a toned, flat belly, bony ribs and soft warm skin. “Henry…” “Belch took Hank out to cool off,” Patrick reassured him. “You’re fine, Vicky. You’re alright. I’m right here. Nothing can get you. Do you trust me?” He kissed him again, a brief peck pressed against pliant lips. “Huh? Do you trust me?” “I want to.” Vic breathed, sinking into the mattress. “Then trust me.” Vic’s eyes fluttered closed; more kisses, wet, warm, pressed down his skin, then soft suction over his sharp collarbone. Fingers laced with his and held him down, forced him down. He toed off his boots and his knees went up when Patrick ground down into him. They kissed again and Patrick urged him to sit up so Vic could take off his T-Shirt. Trembling fingers dug under his overshirt and slid it down Patrick’s shoulders, down his arms…They broke the kiss only when Patrick had to take off his undershirt, then they were onto each other again, grinding, sharing the warmth of their skin, leaving behind bruises and scratches, marks of need. “I love you, Vicky,” Patrick whispered into his lips. His fingers dug into his hair and then tightened, slowly, softly, until Vic groaned. “Do you love me too? Hm? You do, right?” Vic looked up at him dreamily and when Patrick began to tug down his pants, his palm dipping under to stroke along one toned thigh as confidant fingers touched and groped, he replied without hesitance: “I love you.” Patrick’s lips stretched into a wide, feral grin and Vic’s heart skipped a beat; fear and want coursed like poison through him and finally, he felt the sparks of arousal buzzing under his skin. Patrick kissed him again only this time the way Patrick knew best – sloppy, needy, wild…He bit, sucked, growled. His hand dipped into Vic’s underwear and easily slid them down as Vic helped him by arching his back and kicking down his pants. “Condom…” He reminded briefly when Patrick latched onto his chest, palms sliding down the tasty skin as his lips followed with nips and sucks. “Patience,” Patrick tutted. He licked his lips and undid his belt, helped by Vic who tugged the tight jeans down his thighs. His legs came around Patrick’s hips to keep him in place as if he would leave him if he let him go. “Talk to me, Vicky. Tell me how much you want me, come on.” “I need you,” Vic whispered, feeling a blush crawl up his cheeks as he indulged the other. “Please, Patrick, I need you, want you…I love you, promise. Love you so much…” “I know you do. What else can you do?” He pulled away only for a moment to reach for the nightstand. In the drawer, among other things, they kept a handful of condoms, always ready. A tube of lubricant was hidden in the back behind a pack of cigarettes. Patrick grabbed that too. “You’re a needy boy, right Vic? But you’ll be good for me, won’t you? You’ll do what I tell you?” “Yes…” Vic gasped. “Promise to be a good boy, Vic?” “I promise.” Patrick dropped the rectangular piece of foil and the plastic tube beside Vic before taking his hands and slinking their fingers together. He moved them slowly across the sheets so they lay just above Vic’s head. “Close your eyes,” Patrick told him. The edge of a command hid underneath the kind tone. Vic hesitated, staring doubtfully up at Patrick. “Come on,” he urged again, “don’t you trust me? Don’t worry, Vicky, just close your eyes.” “Why?” He couldn’t help but ask. Patrick grinned and it did not help Victor’s decision one bit. “I’ll show you a good time.” Vic’s eyelids fell slowly shut and he took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself. It wasn’t as though he didn’t trust Patrick not to hurt him but there was no way for him to know that he really wouldn’t. Vic knew well what got Patrick off and he had decided long ago that it wasn’t his cup of tea. He was afraid that Patrick would just take advantage and he wouldn’t say a word because he couldn’t. Not now. A kiss was pressed to one eyelid, then the next, and it tickled; Vic nearly opened his eyes when he felt one of Patrick’s hands leave his, then the sound of a belt buckle’s merry jingle got his attention. His eyes flew open just as Patrick was pulling his leather belt out through the loops of his jeans. “I said keep your eyes shut.” Patrick scowled. “What’s that for?” Vic’s breath stuttered. He twisted under Patrick but stopped when Patrick forced his weight down on him. “Vicky, will you let me make you feel good or not?” “I just want to know what you’ll do with that.” “Just close your eyes and keep them shut, okay?” The leather tickled his skin as Patrick brought the folded belt up his side, his chest, his naked arm…Vic got a good idea now what he would be doing with it. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Patrick told him before laying a palm over Vic’s eyes and closing them forcefully. Vic bit his lip. He had more questions to ask but he didn’t want to make Patrick angry. He was annoyed so far but if Vic kept resisting… The belt came around his thin wrists and Patrick tied and tightened it with ease, as if he had practised for the occasion. Vic wondered briefly just how it felt to have such intimate time with Patrick. Normally he’s been alone only with Henry like this, the rest of the times the four of them found nice ways to play…He didn’t know what to expect now. “You’re amazing, Vic…” Patrick sighed, running his greedy hands over him. Vic knew he was leering. He was glad now that he had an excuse not to open his eyes. “Keep those pretty eyes shut for me now. Don’t peek.” A shudder rolled through his body as Vic felt his pants go, tugged slowly away by Patrick’s deft fingers. He was bare now, left only in his underwear and he felt vulnerable. But Patrick was right for one thing, he felt good. He felt great even. A drawn-out sigh left Vic’s lips when he felt Patrick finally relieve him of the constricting material of his briefs before taking his half-hard cock in his hand. He drew his knees up, spread his thighs involuntarily and Patrick easily found a warm, comfortable spot between them. He worked Vic up to full hardness with a few languid strokes and confidant twists of his wrist, quickening the pace until he had Vic panting and arching his back before slowing down to feathery caresses until he relaxed again, whining. By the time he was satisfied a thin sheen of sweat had formed over Vic’s skin, droplets rolled down his neck and dotted his quivering stomach like morning dew. The edges of his teeth played over his bottom lip and he breathed through his nose in fear of getting too loud. “Are you close?” Patrick teased quietly, his hold becoming achingly tight for a brief moment until it released again. “I’m close…” Vic stammered, catching his breath. “Patrick, please…” Patrick licked his lips and that Vic couldn’t see but he felt when his thumb brushed his cheekbone, teasing the edge of his lashes. “Tell me more.” He urged, taking the tube of lube in hand but leaving the condom to rest there. “Speak to me, Vicky, tell me how much you need me.” “I…” Vic gulped, “I need you, Patrick. A lot…” “Do you?” “Mhm…” “You love me more than Henry? Keep your eyes shut…” “I…I love you, I need you more than Henry. Just please, go on, don’t just stop…” “Don’t worry, Vicky,” Patrick reassured him with unhidden smugness, “I’ll treat you better than Henry. I’ll give you all you need.” He stroked his hair once, like he would the fur of a pliant dog, and uncapped the lube. He opened Vic up one finger at a time, thoroughly and with forced care, tearing away whatever thought of Henry Vic might have still had on his mind. He couldn’t see him or move and he couldn’t stop if he needed Patrick to and that sent an entirely new feeling of want through Vic. “You’re really bad at dirty talking,” Patrick told him once with amusement as he watched Vic biting his lip, wriggling under him, groaning, moaning. “Good thing you’re here for that…” Vic gasped out. Patrick grinned. Patrick stopped once he felt Vic getting close again, his body tightening around him and his groans changing volume with rapid speed. And once his fingers left him wet, empty and wanting, he slumped back into the mattress. Vic nearly blinked his eyes open; his throat was raw and his chest rose and fell rapidly with every short breath he took. Sweat covered his forehead. He looked wrecked. “Do you know how much I love it when you’re cocky?” Patrick growled. “I love it when you play hard to get…When you talk back. Henry doesn’t even know how hot it is. God, if you could see yourself right now…Next time…Next time, Vicky, I’ll make you watch. I’ll bend you right over the sink in the bathroom, make you look yourself in the mirror so you can see just how filthy you look. And you’d love it.” He pulled Vic up from the bed and tugged him roughly over himself. Vic blinked, startled and stunned, until he remembered Patrick’s rule and squeezed his eyes shut again. He could feel that Patrick was only half naked – he still had his jeans around his thighs and he tugged down his underwear only when Vic was over him. Vic leaned up clumsily, bracing his hands over Patrick’s chest and feeling his ribs underneath his fingers with every breath. He could feel him, hot and hard and aching at his inner thigh…Vic wanted to look. After so long he felt disorientated and his senses were stronger, adding to his arousal. He could feel his head spinning in the dark. “You know what to do.” Patrick urged him. Vic heard the tearing of the foil, felt Patrick’s hands caress his aching cock and inner thighs as he rolled the rubber over himself. He gulped, bit the inside of his cheek and hesitated. His nervousness was clear though it wasn’t his first time in such a position. And though he felt like he should open his eyes, look at Patrick and plead for him to just stop and do it the way he liked…He couldn’t find his voice to. Not when Patrick’s hands held his waist with such care, his grip soft and secretly demanding. Not when he knew he was staring up at him with childish wonder and want and the closest thing Patrick Hockstetter’s ever felt to love. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves and force the last rational thought out of his mind, Vic raised his hips before slowly guiding himself down and onto Patrick. He hissed through his teeth when he felt him enter and his fingers tightened into fists over his chest…A groan slithered through his clenched teeth and he could tell Patrick had liked it. Vic just knew. He heaved one heavy, impatient breath once he was finally settled fully on Patrick’s lap; shivers of pulsing need rolled through him like electricity, warming his body and numbing his senses. He took a moment to savour the feeling of being so intimately close to another person, the pain of the stretch and sweetness of the pleasure that the warmth brought. Having his eyes closed made him feel like he was floating; like nothing was really real, not even Patrick. Maybe that was the reason he made him do it? Whatever it was, Vic wasn’t afraid anymore. The worry ebbed away, melted like ice and left nothing but an ache of loneliness that would be filled now. A little nudge from the impatient Patrick got him moving, slowly at first. Languid rolls of his hips tore groans and sighs of delight from Patrick, urged him to do better and move faster. This Vic knew how to do, although he’d never admit it. His movements were drawn out but not teasing; they were lasting and deep and he had Patrick breathing heavily in minutes. His hands tightened around Vic’s slender hips, tugging him down with impatience and force, urging him to do more. Vic’s movements became quick, shallow, lost their rhythm. He lowered himself down and drew his hips back up with as much regard for Patrick’s pleasure as he had for his own. Heat pooled and tightened like a scorching knot in his lower belly and he knew he was close. His body tingled, skin overheated and oversensitive. A tear gathered at the edge of his eye, burning as it coiled under his lashes. “Pat…” Vic sobbed, fingers scrambling to find something to hold on to. “Patrick, I’m…” Hunger burned in Patrick’s eyes and if Vic had seen that flame, he would probably have stopped, brought back into a much less pleasurable reality. But he couldn’t and so he was again taken by surprise when Patrick shoved him down on the bed again. He kissed his panting mouth, all teeth and tongue and saliva, as he fucked him nice and deep. His mouth found Vic’s neck and Vic cried out as he bit down as if intentionally trying to leave not a hickey but a deep indent of his teeth. His hands left marks as he gripped his frail thighs – bruises and scratches so deep that droplets of blood began to form, dotting his skin. It was rough, animalistic, it was painful. The shocks of sharp pain confused Vic’s fuzzy mind and he had no time to tell Patrick to stop before he was cumming, longer and harder than he’s had in a very long time. He could hear his voice, loud and broken, screaming as if he were being skinned alive. His muscles clenched, his hands fought against the restraining belt... Patrick wasn’t done. With remarkable cruelty, he made sure his next few thrusts till his own peak of pleasure were harsh, painful, meant to make Vic scream his throat raw. He watched, bewildered, as tears rolled down Vic’s face. And he still kept his eyes tightly shut, pliant, willing to listen. With a deep groan, Patrick came, resting his weight over Vic as he caught his breath. A painful moan tore from Vic’s lips; his hands were sore and his thighs ached… Patrick smiled, the same loving way he had when he first entered the room. Vic was sobbing, gulping down breath after breath with urgency, thighs red and bleeding, sticky with sweat and lube. A stain of cooling cum marked his heaving belly and his tied up hands lay numb on his chest. Gently, Patrick stroked away the few strands of hair stuck to his forehead with the sweat and then thumbed away the tears running down the sides of his face. His warm breath tickled the lobe of his ear as he whispered: “See? It feels good to be pliant and listen, doesn’t it?” Vic opened his eyes and looked at Patrick…For a brief moment, he appeared confused, caught off guard to hear a sentence that included actual words and not guttural sounds of passion. Then all that had happened rushed back into his mind, all that was the reason for…this show of dominance, this lesson. His breathing had just begun to even out but as his chest became tight with the force of the impending wave of sobs Vic began to heave again. His eyes filled with tears, ones of despair and shame. He couldn’t stand to look at Patrick’s knowing grin anymore. Vic rolled around to face the window, grabbed onto the sheets left to cover the stained mattress under his head and sobbed. He felt the mattress dip behind him as Patrick moved closer, slotting his body behind his and wrapping his thin arms around him, holding him not tight but enough to let him know he was there, to make Vic feel his presence. He nuzzled his neck, pressed his cheek onto Vic’s damp forehead and hummed with happiness, breathed in the raw scent of tears and sex that Vic’s body emitted. “Don’t cry, Vicky.” Patrick muttered into his skin, quietly, softly. “I’ve got you. Nobody else but me has to know…Henry can never give you any of this the way I can. He can never satisfy you like this, yeah. And he doesn’t have to. You just listen to me, Vicky, and everything will be fine. I promise…” “I’m not…I don’t…” Vic stuttered wetly, letting Patrick talk him into submission. “Shh…You’re safe, Vic.” He promised and as disgusted as Vic felt, of himself and Patrick and what they had just done, he believed him. “I’ll never let Henry touch you. I love you.” Vic had a hunch that wasn’t true. But he would never say it aloud, he would never admit it. He didn’t want to, fearing what it might mean. It was easier for him and for Patrick to believe in something imaginary as long as it was good. Only Vic couldn’t help but feel used, abused, he couldn’t help feeling like he had just been made a fool of and Patrick was there to laugh at his unconditional trust. Vic let Patrick talk to him, let him whisper promises and comforting nonsense to him until the last bad thought was chased out of his mind and all that was left was the blank static of the afterglow. He felt less dirty and when Patrick left him for just a moment to throw away the condom Vic let him cover them up nice and tight when he returned. His arms came around him again and all that was left of Vic’s nearly hysteric crying were a handful of dry sobs and sniffles. He let Patrick kiss him into oblivion, let him soothe his guilt as he rubbed his sore wrists after freeing them from the tightness of the belt. Vic must have nodded off, far too tired and emotionally drained to stay awake much longer. The creaking of the bedroom door startled him out of his sleep and he nearly jumped out of the bed before he felt Patrick’s arms tighten around him as he shushed him, carefully pulling him back into bed. Vic’s heart beat wildly in his chest; he realised that that’s much how a heart attack had to feel. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” He heard Patrick’s voice through the haze of lingering fear and sleep. “There, there, it’s just Belch. Calm down, Vic, calm down, babes…” “Pat, what the hell…” They heard Belch mutter in the silence of the room as he carefully shut the door. He scanned the room, taking in the sight of chaos and then he eyed Patrick and Vic, tangled together in the badly made bed and surely he could piece together what had happened in his time out with Henry. Seeing how dishevelled and miserable Vic looked sparked a kind of motherly worry and anger he couldn’t explain but he was sure in the mood to punch Patrick’s smug mug if he heard something he wouldn’t like. “What the hell did you do?” “Nothing,” Patrick said in his defence, whispering just like Belch did, although there was no reason to. “It’s all good, promise. I behaved.” “He didn’t do anything.” Vic rasped. His throat ached and his eyes felt sore, puffy. He looked up at Belch, pleading, urging him to come closer and lay down with them. “Nothing happened, I swear. Just…Can you come over here…?” He was unconvinced but what else could Belch do but answer the broken plea of his friend, lover, love…He sighed heavily, rubbed the bridge of his nose to dispose of the forming headache (Vic’s head already throbbed, as if he had just woken up with a horrendous hangover) and went over to the bed. He laid down on his spot by the edge and Vic’s skinny arm wound around his middle, pulling him close, needy… “I didn’t do anything, Reg…” He whispered, looking up at Belch like a child searching for affection and forgiveness. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make him mad…” “It wasn’t your fault.” Belch reassured him, sighing. “Nothing’s your fault. Henry was just…He wasn’t in the best mood but you know how he is, right? You didn’t do anything, Vic.” “Can you…Can you call at work tomorrow? Tell them I can’t go?” “Of course…” Belch promised with a hint of worry. Vic never skipped work. He had a reason to now but he never skipped work. And judging by his tone, that wasn’t all that he had on his mind. “Anything.” “I don’t want to go to work anymore, Reg,” Vic whispered. Behind him, Patrick hid a content grin in the skin of his shoulder. “Can you…Can you tell them I won’t go there anymore?” Belch noticed Patrick’s delight…He frowned. But, for Vic’s sake, he kept his thoughts to himself. “Sure.” Belch said instead. “Sure, yeah…Whatever you want, Vic.” A short moment later, Vic looked up at him again to ask, “Henry…?” “He’s out cold on the couch.” Belch assured him, getting comfortable under the duvet. “Don’t you worry about him. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? You just sleep it off now.” In the dark, Vic nodded like the good boy he now was. He closed his eyes, nestled close in the warmth between Belch and Patrick, and finally found himself safe enough to let his guard down and sleep. He felt Belch plant a kiss to his cheek, his warm palm took his hand, thumb rubbed along his knuckles… Sleep came over him quickly and painlessly and Vic aloud it. It was far better than thinking. And tomorrow, he’d think about everything. Now, all he needed was to be far away.