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Jon pushes his forehead into the cool pillow as if it could temper the fevered heat that pulses behind his eyes. Temptation nearly drags him down to bury his whole face there -- it would allow him a brief respite from the obscenity of his low and constant moaning -- but he desperately needs to breathe. Instead he lets his head fall to the side, his cheek pushed up the pillow again and again as Jonah fucks into him languid and slow. With every deep and powerful thrust Jon slips a little further into it. One moment his mouth drops open. The next, the pillow feels damp beneath him.
“ Oh ,” Jonah says, and the soft little sound from behind him makes Jon shiver and clench. Jon’s face isn’t the only thing pressed down into the mattress: Jonah rocks between his splayed legs and every time he moves against him, Jon’s cock rubs against his silky sheets. As if from a great distance, Jon feels Jonah shift his weight, and suddenly light fingers are caressing his back. The gentle touch makes him shudder when Jonah brushes over his shoulders and his neck. Jon arches into it and now Jonah’s pressing down, fingers pushing small patterns into him.
“Incredible,” Jonah breathes, and he presses harder in a way that makes Jon gasp and squirm. “Like a constellation… A perfect cluster of stars.”
“Shut up ,” Jon moans, his mind too soft from the fucking to consider self preservation in this moment.
“How very cold of you, Jon. You’d deny me a little sentimentality now? When I have you like this ?” Jon can hear amusement ring clear in his voice.
“I just--” Jon cuts himself off with a breathy moan. “I wouldn’t say poetry is your strongest suit.”
“Philistine,” Jonah says, with a breathless laugh. “You’ve never had any taste.” Jonah chuckles again and Jon feels him lower himself down, draping his body over Jon’s. Jon’s shoulders jerk and tense and he whimpers helplessly when he feels Jonah’s tongue dip into the little indentations that litter his back, his shoulders, his neck. Jonah drags his tongue between the old clusters of healed-over holes, connecting them with slick and glistening trails.
“You really can’t appreciate the artistry at work here? Truly?” Jonah asks him. He’s pressed his forehead against the base of Jon’s neck and Jon can feel his lips move against him. “You can’t see the beauty in what we’ve wrought?” Now these words make Jon hide himself against the pillow. He clings to the horror of the knowledge that he’s a sculpted object to Jonah. He tries to expel from inside himself the thought that Jonah thinks him a worthy one.
“It’s vile,” Jon says, the words losing some venom in the degree to which they’re muffled. At that, Jonah grabs him by his slim hips and pulls , lifting him up and onto his knees. Jon moans loud and surprised into the pillow.
“It’s divine , Jon,” Jonah says, and he pulls and positions Jon, nudging his knees until they’re spread even wider for him. He takes a moment to circle his hips, rubbing against the deepest parts of Jon. Then he continues to speak. “You’ll learn to wear my marks with pride, Jon. You will .” Jon aches at the certainty in his voice. There’s nothing he can do to prove him wrong. But he does take pride in something .
“You’ll have to make me, then,” Jon bites out, while Jonah reaches down to his shoulder and digs his blunt nails into the old evidence of violence there.
“Will I?” Jonah asks, clearly enjoying this game. Jon wants to weep with how tired he is of playing. Jonah lets his other hand wander from Jon’s hip and slides it up his side. As Jonah pushes and presses his fingers into the soft yielding absence in Jon, he starts to feel little tendrils of understanding seep into his consciousness. Words like exquisite perfection , images of Jon standing hallowed and holy before their god, feelings of lust and excitement and power and control. But they don’t take root-- they recede as soft and as sweetly as they entered him. Jon lets out a little sob at the threat. “I certainly have some things to show you,” Jonah whispers, in his vicious way. And then he leans forward again and grabs Jon by his hair, yanking him up onto his hands and knees. Jon cries out.
“C-can you really… take such a proprietary ah --” Jon can’t finish the word as Jonah releases his hair and curls his fingers around Jon’s throat instead. Jon’s back is forced to arch tight as Jonah applies gentle pressure to the place where he was once torn, and since healed.
“Mm?” Jonah asks, making Jon say it instead of taking it from him.
“They don’t belong to you,” Jon chokes out. “D-didn’t get your hands dirty.” Jon supposes this boldness comes of some apparently endless desire for self-destruction. He doesn’t want this warmth from Jonah, twisted as it is. His scorn or disinterest or even his hatred would be much easier to bear, surely. Indeed, those reactions are the ones that he deserves.
“Please, Jon,” Jonah says, waving away Jon’s feeble attempt at resistance. “The Avatars put their hands on you as an extension of my own. As an extension of me, of my plan.” Jon scoffs as best he can at this, but at the derisive sound Jonah pushes him down by the back of his neck, forcing him into the pillow again. With his other hand he grabs Jon’s mangled one, yanking his arm back. Jon’s little noises of hurt are once again pushed out into the bed. Jonah fucks into Jon hard, now, his earlier gentleness dissipated in its entirety. The old familiar fear that suffuses their every interaction has returned. Jonah continues to fuck thin high sounds out of Jon, and soon he makes a thoughtful noise of his own.
“A valid point, actually, certainly worth taking into consideration,” Jonah eventually says, his words at home in a staff meeting and his tone anything but. “I suppose if you’re so desperate for it…” Jonah pulls out of Jon and lets him go, and his body crumples, bent and damp, down onto the mattress. He feels Jonah stand up and walk to the other side of the room and he lets his eyes slip closed.
***
Martin wants nothing more than to be able to treasure this time that Jonah allows them. But so many thoughts feel like spikes under his nails: of course they’re not truly alone, Jonah must be watching them and every little thing they do together. And whatever intimacy they’re permitted to have, it’s tainted by the knowledge that Jonah only gives them this as some prelude to his own sick performance where he plays them like puppets. And on top of that , their time is restricted by a bunch of stupid, horrible rules that stop him from comforting Jon like he wants. Like he needs . So he holds Jon and tries to mentally send out, as loudly as he possibly can, the thought that Jonah should fuck OFF. And he leaves it at that, because Jon deserves his undivided attention now.
Jon melts into his embrace in a way that never quite happened before. He wraps his thin arms around Martin and buries his face in his neck. Martin strokes his hair, grown longer than he ever remembered it being, and Jon shivers and makes quiet sounds against him. Martin thinks about how before they were trapped here in Jonah’s tower, it would take Jon forever to go soft and pliant in his arms. Not that Martin wasn’t always happy to wait, it’s just... Jon never volunteered any explanation for it, but Martin figured Jon stayed stiff and unyielding because his brain was working overtime, rolling whatever terror he’d recently consumed over and over in his mind. It was only when he was drifting off to sleep that his breathing would start to slow and he’d really lean into Martin. That is, until he fell properly asleep. That’s when the nightmares began.
“Jon,” Martin whispers into his hair, and he presses his lips soft against Jon’s forehead. Jon makes a small warm sound. It always feels as if Jon doesn’t want to talk during these short intermissions in their excruciating drama, but Martin thinks that maybe it’d help ease their-- that maybe it’d help . “Jon, d’you want--” But Jon doesn’t let him finish, and he shows him what he wants by pressing his cracked lips to Martin’s. Martin doesn’t think this is healthy, doesn’t think this is right, wants to help bear whatever pain’s been inflicted upon Jon this time. But it’s really hard to resist Jon’s insistence when he’s gone without him for so long. And as long as they can abide by Jonah’s rules…
So Martin starts to kiss him back, sucking gently on his lips and stroking them with his tongue. Jon opens for him easily and presses against him, too. And Martin can’t help but roll them over so he’s on top of Jon, because he knows he takes comfort in that feeling of Martin’s weight pressing him down onto the bed. Jon confirms this with a soft sigh into his mouth. This time Martin takes a moment to bury his face in Jon’s neck. Overwhelmed as he is he inhales deeply, trying to find the smell that’s uniquely Jon’s under all the other ones that aren’t.
“ Jon ,” Martin tries again, he really does, but Jon’s mouth is busy licking around the shell of his ear and then dragging across his jaw and back to his lips. Martin supposes they can talk later. Now, they can hold each other and feel the warmth of each other’s lips.
Jon pushes weakly against Martin’s shoulders and the pressure doesn’t even begin to move him. It makes Martin drop his forehead against Jon’s, and they both laugh together quietly. Martin aches with how he wants to keep this moment inside of him forever, but wonders if he’ll have to let it go to protect it from its inevitable perversion. He almost wishes he could go blank like Jon does sometimes. Wishes he could just be with Jon without feeling him in ways Jonah could later take. He thinks it’s worth it, though, and he rolls off of Jon to let him switch their positions.
They lie together in silence for a while, and Martin tries to experience it as a comfortable one. Jon’s got his head pillowed against Martin’s chest like he’s listening to life beating inside him, and he’s running his fingers over Martin’s shoulder like he’s absorbed in the texture of his shirt. But soon enough Jon tips his head up to mouth along Martin’s chin and then they’re at it again, swallowing each other's soft moans. Martin’s hands come up to grasp Jon’s hips and he can’t help it, he knows the rules but he’s sliding his hands up and under Jon’s shirt to stroke him there, slipping them down when Jon moans in quiet appreciation, then inching his fingers up Jon’s soft shorts. Jon hisses and puts his hand over Martin’s to stop him, and in his confusion, Martin looks up into Jon’s face. He doesn’t understand the terror that he sees there.
***
“So? How do you like my little idea? Do we have a deal?” Jonah asks him.
“No, please , Jonah. That’s enough .” Jon’s not so sure he can win if he plays this game.
“You don’t think you can hold up your side of the bargain, Jon? Would it really be so difficult to exert a little self control?” Jon considers the whole thing seriously for a moment. If he does play along, there’s always a chance he could win, isn’t there?
“Right. I… I can do it,” Jon says, as he holds Jonah’s gaze in a tenuous grasp. He can, it won’t be so hard. Jonah may be able to play his body and his mind like a finely tuned instrument, but if he clings to his fundamental disgust at this constant violation… This may even turn out to be a beneficial exercise. He shouldn’t be giving himself over so easily to Jonah’s desires. He should be fighting him to win. Perhaps the fear of punishment will help steel him against the inherent weakness of his flesh. Jonah smiles.
“What fun,” Jonah says mildly, raising an eyebrow. He sets a knife down gently on the bedside table, beside the other implements that Jonah’s used to turn Jon pliant and open, to make him tremble and cry. “Nothing can quite keep you down, can it?” Jonah says conversationally, as he flips Jon easily onto his back. “And that’s what’s so very delightful about you, Jon, do you see? Look how I wind you up and let you go, and you always land right back down to where you’re wanted.” There’s something devastating in this, to Jon. To have it put so plainly to him that it doesn’t matter if he fights or if he gives himself up to Jonah. Any choice inevitably leads to Jon’s submission to his will. Nevertheless, as always, he resolves to try.
“I don’t intend to make it easy for you,” Jon says with a sneer. And in one last desperate grasp for any sort of control of the situation, he lets his legs fall loose and open around Jonah. He sees that this has won him a barely noticeable -- but clearly present -- little swallow. Jonah might be constantly rewriting the rulebook in his elegant hand, but Jon decides to draw satisfaction from even gaining a point. Jonah just smiles indulgently and slides himself down the bed.
“You’re always easy for me, Jon,” Jonah breathes against him, as he slips two fingers inside of him, and takes the head of his cock into his mouth.
***
There was a time when the only emotions Jon wore plainly on his face were snide derision, skepticism, doubt-- expressions that captivated Martin as much as they seemed to repulse everyone else. There was something just so incredibly charming about it: where everyone else saw Jon’s personality as some kind of impassable wall, Martin knew it was more like a door. It would just take time and patience to find the key.
And over time and with careful attention, Martin was able to decipher depths that Jon himself had probably yet to process. His analytical priorities lay elsewhere, of course, and that was fine. In the past, this sort of thing had made Martin more than a little self-conscious. Trying to peel open Jon’s strange chrysalis to see what was growing inside sprang from an instinct Martin had never really learned to suppress; an instinct that when applied elsewhere made him feel like he was prying uninvited into the affairs of others. But at least it made him good at his job.
Right now, though, it’s all the more alarming to see the range of feelings plainly on display across Jon’s unguarded face. There’s shock and there’s horror and there’s so much else that makes Martin ache with how badly he doesn’t want to see Jon like this. In another life, maybe, there’d be something incredible about seeing Jon without all his barriers up. But knowing exactly who it was that broke them down -- and how -- is horrifying. So the ache inside him turns into agony when he draws his fingers from Jon’s leg and sees red.
“What did he do?” Martin demands, as he tries to push Jon’s shorts up to see. “What did he do to you?” Martin has seen bruises on Jon often enough after his time alone with Jonah. They’ve decorated his wrists and his ankles and his throat and the insides of his thighs. He hasn’t seen any permanent marks before this, though. Presumably Jon has done something serious to enrage Jonah this time, and he’s stepped up his punishments.
“Martin, I’m… I’m sorry,” Jon says, desperately.
“What!” Martin exclaims, concern for a moment bleeding into outrage. “It’s not your fault, Jon. No matter how much he hurts you, I don’t care, it’s not your fault!” Martin knows Jon wants to hide whatever’s under there, but if there’s blood, at this point it’s about Jon’s health. He holds Jon’s wrist in one hand, careful not to grasp him too tightly, and lifts it to look underneath. He sucks in a loud breath because just seeing Jon damaged makes him feel an answering kind of pain that clenches low in his guts. There are four lines… carved … into Jon, parallel ones that are bisected by another.
“Why, though,” Martin whispers. He can’t help but ask.
“W-why? Oh,” Jon says, and Martin feels as if maybe Jon’s forgotten that not everybody has instant access to all knowledge, all the time. Jon seems to rally somewhat. “I… I lost a bet.” Martin waits for Jon to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, Martin is struck by a traitorous thought: How many times has Jon withheld information from him when he knows that Martin could never do the same? The terrible notion and the stretching silence both make him feel like he’s vibrating out of his skin. He has to do something .
“Sick, he’s sick ,” Martin says, as he gets up to search for supplies in the elegant washroom nearby. He’ll feel better if he can do something proactive, if he can at least take care of Jon like this. And maybe it’ll make Jon feel better, too.
“It’s not necessary to… you don’t have to--” Jon tries, still clearly thrown by Martin’s discovery. But Martin won’t allow it, needs to keep Jon as safe as he is able, and he gently pushes Jon down on the bed and slides off his shorts. He carefully cleans the wounds with a damp cloth, flinching when Jon hisses. He tries not to wonder how fresh they are, because with Jon’s rate of healing there’s no way to tell, and Jon clearly doesn’t want him to ask. So Martin just slides Jon’s shorts back on, and resists the urge to leave a kiss there.
***
“I can feel how close you are, Jon,” Jonah whispers into his ear, low and quiet. Despite everything he’s told himself, Jon has his arms and legs locked tight around Jonah where he’s pressed up against him. “I don’t even need to be inside your mind to see it.” Jon moans at the threat, and the slow and incredible way Jonah’s rubbing him inside and out. Has it been hours, has it been days? Of course time is meaningless here, and so is everything else. There’s only the way Jonah’s been sweetly tormenting every part of him, breaking him down with his fingers, his lips, his cock.
“ N-no ,” Jon whimpers, because he’s made a promise to himself. As much as his hungry body craves completion, the cost of going to pieces is just too great to bear. He’ll ride out this all-consuming pleasure that Jonah forces upon him forever, never cresting that tantalizing peak. Perhaps Jonah will grow bored. Jonah makes a small sound of amusement against Jon’s neck.
“Jon, Jon ,” he moans on every slow thrust. “I’m inside you here --” At this, Jonah pushes into Jon a little harder. “-- but I’m not even in here , yet.” He presses one hand against Jon’s temple and Jon leans into his palm and he moans. “I don’t even have to do it to you,” Jonah says, with a touch of honest wonder to his words. “Just the promise of what I can put there makes you -- ah. ” Jon knows his cock is twitching where it’s trapped between their bodies. He knows his insides are squeezing Jonah tight where he’s buried deep inside. And Jon begins to panic now, a little. Why did he think he could ever win like this, when Jonah can easily reach into him and extract an understanding of exactly what Jon needs to make him fall apart?
“ Please ,” Jon says. “Please.” He shuts off his mind to exactly what it is he’s begging for.
“Your body remembers it,” Jonah continues, drawing the soft lobe of Jon’s ear between his lips, his teeth. “Your mind remembers it.” Jonah moves to slip his tongue into Jon’s mouth and he does, he does feel all the things that Jonah’s done to him before. For he has intimately known the pleasure of so many others, how Jonah’s made them feel, how they’ve stirred themselves up, he’s known lust and pleasure and aching and fucking and how Jonah feels when he’s buried inside him . And Jon comes like that, moaning yes instead of no , untouched and clenching tightly around Jonah’s cock, twitching and spurting and thrusting weakly against him. When he falls back against the pillow, melted, there are tears in his eyes. The realization of what this means for him feels like a thought that belongs to someone else.
“Ah,” Jonah says, with deep satisfaction. He pushes himself up and off of Jon to look down upon him. Jonah can’t seem to help twitching his hips against him, still inside, and it makes Jon whimper every time. He reaches down and pushes his fingers into the mess Jon made on his belly, rubbing it around and into his skin. “I win,” Jonah says, finally pulling out of Jon. “Again.” And he slips quietly out of bed to retrieve his knife from the table.
***
Martin isn’t sure that he knows why Jonah’s allowed Martin to… to have Jon like this, this time. It doesn't seem fair to Martin that Jon is trapped by knowledge -- consumed by it -- when Martin always seems to be left without any at all. As always, he tries to save the moment like a snapshot he can tear Jonah out of later. Jon’s writhing hot in his lap, and Martin runs his hands all over him, trying to leave impressions of his touch on every inch of him so that he knows who-- god , not who he belongs to, but--
“Strip him,” Jonah says, rescuing him from that internal struggle and plunging him into a whole new one. Martin’s show of resistance is a small and frustrated sound. He wants to take Jon apart and put him back together whole at his own pace, but Jonah seems to have reduced him to this pathetic thing that’s grateful for what it’s given. So he helps pull Jon’s shirt over his head, and despite everything it’s still a rush of hot pleasure to have Jon’s narrow chest in front of him. He leans forward to suck a wet kiss into his collarbone, and Jon throws his head back and moans.
Then Martin lifts Jon gently off his lap and stands him up in front of him. He slips his fingers under the waistband of Jon’s shorts and he sinks down to his knees as he pulls them down with him. He brings his hands up to grip Jon’s thighs, imagining how incredible he’s going to make him feel, but he is stopped by what he sees there.
It’s so much worse than the last time he cleaned Jon up.
“Stop it,” Martin says, hating the tremble in his voice. “Stop doing that to him,” he says, a little louder this time.
“Well, I’m sure that I would , Martin,” Jonah says. “But it’s out of my hands, really.” Martin doesn’t want to bite. But he does.
“What?” he asks, and he feels like he’s starting to understand the sort of soul-exhaustion that Jon’s been living with for so long.
“Jon’s completely capable of choosing to go without them,” Jonah tells him.
“You can’t,” Martin starts. “You can’t blame him for this, you can’t .”
“Jonah--” Jon says, more pleading than warning, and turns to him.
“You mean he doesn’t know , Jon? You haven’t told him? What they’re for ?” Jonah laughs, and it’s dark and it is evil.
“They’re… for something?” Martin asks. Jon turns back to look down at him, and there’s something wretched behind his eyes.
“Yes, a diverting little riddle between the three of us, it would seem. But I know you’re clever enough to figure it out.”
“Martin, please--” Jon’s clearly trying to stop this before it all gets out of control, and he grips Martin’s shoulders, tight and insistent.
“Do you give up? You can always ask Jon for a little hint, if you’d like.” Jonah’s stood up from where he’s sitting, and his hands have come to rest on Jon’s thin shoulders.
“Martin, please , let it go,” Jon finally says. Martin would do anything to stop him from begging.
“Alright,” Martin whispers, for Jon. “Alright.” He leans into Jon to rest his forehead against his belly for a moment, and takes a long and trembling breath.
***
Jonah’s sigh sounds like it comes from the very depths of him, and he rakes his thoughtful, hungry gaze down Jon’s exposed body. He slowly taps the flat of the blade against his fingers as he considers Jon with an incredible intensity. Jon has to look away.
“Not a great deal of free real estate, I must admit,” Jonah says. Jon fights the useless urge to try and cover up some part of himself. “Any suggestions?” Jon briefly considers the best way to play this; whether Jonah will show him rare mercy or if he will hear his demands and then do exactly the opposite. Then he considers the futility of internal planning when Jonah has complete access to all that he is.
“Someplace… hidden,” Jon says, dismantled by his desperation for Jonah to spare him some indignity.
“A secret just for us, hm?” Jonah says, teasingly. He perches on the edge of the bed and runs gentle fingers from Jon’s collarbones down his sides. Jon sucks in a soft breath at the sensation, and the feelings that accompany it. Jonah’s hands move to his belly, stroking low down to the space above his soft cock. Jon twitches, and Jonah’s fingers move to his hip bones, where he rubs his thumbs. Jon watches this journey in quiet horror. Jonah watches Jon for a reaction.
Finally, Jonah slides his hands down to Jon’s thighs. He squeezes and kneads them, and he pets the soft parts inside. He spreads them apart a little, and reaches down to kiss them. With his lips still touching the top of one, he looks up to meet Jon’s damp eyes.
“Here, I think,” he whispers. And Jon shakily nods. Jonah brings the knife up against Jon and barely presses it into him, only indenting the skin a little. “I could make you do it yourself,” Jonah muses, playing with the idea. “Would you like that instead?” The sound Jon makes is high and desperate. “No, no. You’re right. I do recall the point of all this,” Jonah says.
The muscles in Jon’s leg tense and twitch in anticipation and he pulls his lip between his teeth. He watches, cannot turn away now, his eyes flicking from Jonah’s enraptured face to where he slides his sharp knife into Jon. It makes him whimper.
Jonah’s knife in him doesn’t hurt any more than the flames that melted his flesh or the bones that were torn from his body. But somehow the accompanying fear is even greater. Inside of him, Jon now has the knowledge that he’s been permanently marked by his pleasure at this man’s hands. He has the understanding that his submission to ecstasy is now on display for anyone to see. And that is what threatens to unmake him.
Jonah slides the knife out with a sigh to admire his work. Slow fat beads of blood slip out of it, and Jonah leans down to drink from him. He licks the redness off his lips and grins down at Jon.
“Excellent,” he says. “And the first of many!” He reaches down to the floor to gather up the soft shirt Jon had been wearing before, and wipes his blade clean on it. “Imagine how you’ll look, soon. Marked all mine. I can hardly stand to let you leave my bed.” He puts down the shirt and the blade, and his hands return to the cut and his cock. His fingers press into the wound, smearing Jon’s blood around his thigh. His other hand pumps his stiff cock hard, and he moans deeply. Jon gasps with the burn and the ache of it.
“Aren’t you-- aren’t you excited about all the fun we can have?” Jonah asks, with difficulty. Jon closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Jonah’s hand on his cock, feels him dig his fingers into his thigh. “I might put another one on you… on you while you come,” he continues. “Won’t that be-- ngh! ” Jon’s eyes are forced open again and he watches Jonah come copiously over the mark he put on him, his spend dripping hot and slow down his leg. Jonah slows his hand and his breathing, and he wipes his fingers on Jon’s belly.
Jon’s cock strains hard against it.
“Shall we go again?” Jonah says.
***
Martin kneels at the foot of the bed with his hands clenched tightly in his lap. It’s big enough that Jonah can fuck into Jon along the width of it, and Martin stares into Jon’s unfocussed eyes while he takes it. When they slip closed, Martin’s focus wanders to his lips, open and panting, and his hair splayed out around his head like a halo. He can’t stop one hand from reaching out to brush through its softness. Jonah doesn’t stop him either.
From there it’s only a few inches to Jon’s fingers, as his twitching hands rest on either side of his head. Without daring to look to Jonah for permission, Martin slowly reaches down to take Jon’s hand in his own. He threads their fingers together, and every time Jonah hits deep Martin feels Jon squeeze him involuntarily.
But this contact only makes Martin ache with want, and this time he does turn to Jonah. Jonah nods towards Jon with what he must believe to be magnanimity, and strange and awkward as the angle is, Martin leans down to press his lips to Jon’s. Jon moans at the feel of him and Martin’s hands fly helplessly to Jon’s face, holding him in the perfect position to drink in his sweet sounds of terrible pleasure.
“Oh, he likes that,” Jonah says approvingly. Despite their contact, hearing this feels like it tears him from Jon, and he slams his fist down against the mattress. He feels Jon jump in alarm. “Though I don’t think he likes that .”
Martin makes a sound of frustration into Jon and slips his hands up the sides of his face to cover his ears. It doesn't matter, it doesn’t matter that Jonah’s here. Martin will make Jon think only of him and they’ll get through this together. But Martin can still hear Jonah speak.
“Make him feel good,” Jonah tells him, and he leans back to allow Martin full access to Jon. Martin lets out a slow breath and he wants to, he really wants to, regardless of Jonah’s commands. So he drops a hand down from Jon’s face and wraps it around his cock instead. Jon makes a sound high in his throat and thrusts up into Martin’s fist.
“ N-no ,” he says softly, and Martin closes his eyes.
“It’s okay, Jon, it’s okay,” Martin says quietly, squeezing him tight. “It’s okay if… that you feel good when he… I don’t care , Jon, just focus-- just focus on me.”
“ No, please ,” Jon moans again, and Martin briefly fails to take his own advice. He thinks of all the ways he’d like to kill Jonah for making Jon feel so ashamed of himself that he can’t even enjoy Martin. Jonah laughs.
“Get out. Of my head,” Martin grinds out. Jonah might be laughing now, but the day he finally drops his guard and Martin gets his hands around his neck…
“As amusing a concept as that is, Martin, that isn’t why I’m laughing.” He fucks into Jon with a particularly sharp thrust, pushing his cock hard into Martin’s grasp. “You really, truly don’t get it yet, do you?” Martin pulls on Jon’s cock harder; maybe if Jon feels good enough the pleasure could block out Jonah’s horrible taunting words. “Have I underestimated your ability for observation? But you aren’t stupid, are you. So maybe you do understand. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Why don’t you just check and see which one it is?” Martin asks bitterly, and he looks down and watches Jon edge closer and closer to completion as he shakes apart in his hand.
“I think that would spoil the fun,” Jonah says, and when Martin sees Jon’s eyes widen and his head shaking no , he turns around to see that Jonah has a knife in his hand. He feels Jon’s cock twitch and spurt hot come all over his fingers.
The realization slams into Martin’s chest like he’s been hit by a train, and when Jonah reaches down to bring the knife to Jon’s thigh Martin moves to lunge forward and stop him. Just as quickly, Jonah brings the blade to Jon’s throat.
“You wouldn’t,” Martin breathes, with certainty. Jonah brings the knife down between Jon’s legs. “You wouldn’t! ” Jonah looks Martin straight in the eye.
“You have no idea what I would do,” he says, with quiet, annihilating menace. “But!” he says, his tone suddenly light and pleasant in a way that steals Martin’s breath. And then he puts exactly what he’s been doing to Jon inside of Martin’s head. He shows him all the despicable and degrading acts to which he has subjected Jon, all those times when Martin could only sit quietly on the other side of the wall and listen to him moan. It’s enough to immobilize Martin, but not enough to close his eyes and his mind to what he now sees happening.
Jonah cuts a horizontal gash across four new cuts on Jon’s upper thigh, completing a full set of marks that tally the number of times that Jon has come with Jonah inside him.
A hot tear slides down Martin’s cheek.