Chapter Text
It was hell in his house. Complete and utter hell. There were no bars on the windows or external locks sealing the doors from both the outside and in. Anyone who was in the small, five-room house could easily open any door or window and leave—anyone who wasn’t Vic.
Vic knew better than to touch the window latches or go anywhere near the front door, the only door. Even if there were no bars on the windows or locks keeping him trapped, he was still unable to muster the courage to flee. Outside in the fenced in yard was a vicious dog which barked and growled fiercely at anything which drew too near to the rural property.
No matter what tortures went on inside, Vic still valued his life too much to risk being ripped limb from limb by massive, brown and white dog. He’d been beaten, he’d been starved, he’d been bound and gagged, and he’d been raped—but even so he couldn’t bring himself to run.
For the first few months after he’d been taken, his captor had kept him locked down in the cellar. It was dark, filthy space full of insects and cobwebs. The compacted dirt floor left him with no warmth when he was made to lay on it, and the stone walls showed him no mercy when he was pressed again them.
Vic remembered vividly how hard he tried to escape back then. He pounded and kicked at the metal storm cellar doors again and again, praying someone would hear him over the monstrous growling of the dog which scratched and slammed against the door from the other side.
Kept in the dark, kept in the cold, Vic had even dared an attempt at tunneling through the floor with only a broken plank of wood to use as a shovel. When the hole got to be too deep, that was when the man finally brought him inside.
He’d been taken off the street at the height of the summer. There was snow on the ground when he was pulled by his arm up out of the cellar and dragged round the front of the house. By that point he was too weak to resist as the man took him inside.
He let the man scrub him raw in the bath tub and stared at his reflection in the mirror the whole time. He looked like a corpse with blackened eyes, dull hair and even duller skin. He’d spent another few weeks bound to the bed during every hour his kidnapped was gone or asleep, then the man given him free reign to roam the cramped, cluttered house—even in his absence.
By that point he’d lost all his fight. Fear of the dog was enough of an excuse for Vic to still feel sane for staying in the house. He’d been given a list of tasks to complete before his keeper came home and an even longer list of punishments he would receive if he failed to do them.
The tasks gave him something to pass the time which had seemed so endless when he’d been locked in the cellar—not knowing whether it was day or night. At least in the house he could see daylight. At least in the house he could see when the man was coming for him.
Four years—or maybe it was five—had passed since he’d been grabbed out of a bar he wasn’t old enough to be in. He’d gotten a fake ID off of his brother’s friend and had gone out drinking after catching his girlfriend giving some other dick from their high school a handjob. Heartbroken and devastated, he’d gone out to drink his sorrow with the other lonely people at the bar just outside of town.
That was where he found him. He was sat at the bar drinking rum and Coke, and had been far too excited to strike up a conversation with Vic who wanted left alone. He’d gone to the bar to be around other people, to keep from doing something stupid like he would have if he’d stayed home, but he’d wanted left alone.
It was the biggest mistake of his life and it played over and over in his head nearly every time he was forced to make love to Eddie.
At the start, the sex had been brutal. There had been bruising and tearing and blood. He’d screamed until his voice was wrecked and then some. He’d been beaten into submission countless times before he learned that it was easier to give in to Eddie’s will that to fight it. He would always, always lose if he fought, but if he obeyed Eddie’s every whim, the pain would be less.
In four years, Eddie had destroyed whoever Vic had been before. His fight—his spark—had all been snuffed out by the repeated acts of violence. He had no sense of purpose, no illusion of self-worth beyond being “the best lay” Eddie had ever had. His only value came from the very man who had stripped him of his life.
His only happiness could come from the man who had destroyed every dream he’d ever had.
Vic was going to be a musician someday, he’d told himself all his life—from the time he’d been a small child. He was going to be somebody.
Now, as he lay under Eddie—hugging the man’s broad shoulders out of necessity as he was fucked into the mattress—Vic’s voice was used only for moaning and screaming. He was nobody, and no one would ever hear him sing again. Especially not Eddie.
The searing pain Vic had come accustomed to feeling nearly every day faded into a dull ache as Eddie forced himself in and out of his captive’s body. Vic held Eddie tight with his arms—knowing that signs of affection kept the other man calm and benevolent—but kept his legs splayed as wide as they could go in hopes that the pain would be less. His moans were fake, but Eddie demanded them. His mind was elsewhere as he forced noise after noise past his lips.
His dream had been to be a singer who could reach people and help them through his lyrics, but now his voice was used only for this—to give pleasure to one man who delighted only in the sounds of pain.
It ended sooner than Vic had anticipated. He was still so far gone in his head—in his memories—that he was still faking cries and moans even after Eddie had stopped moving. That earned him a slap across the mouth, effectively silencing him before he was flipped over onto his face.
Vic trembled as he felt Eddie’s nails rake down his bared back, stopping at the base of his hips.
“Am I that boring?” Eddie asked before delivering a powerful smack to Vic’s ass.
“No, Sir,” Vic said, just loud enough for Eddie to hear.
“Really? It sure sounds like it.” Eddie smacked him again, then grabbed him by his right shoulder and flipped him over onto his back again. “Guess I’ll have to do something to keep your interest then, won’t I?”
“No, Sir,” Vic whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt Eddie’s hand wrap around his throat. He took in a shaking breath, then found his air supply cut off as Eddie’s fingers tightened. He squirmed helplessly, knowing better than to claw at Eddie’s hand or face, then began thrashing when his brain screamed for oxygen.
Eddie laughed at him and squeezed even tighter until Vic did seize his wrist—instinct taking over as he panicked. Eddie just kept cackling as Vic’s vision turned white and tears rushed down his face.
He was going to kill him. Tonight was the night Eddie was finally going to end his pathetic, worthless life.
( ) ( ) ( )
Vic knew something was wrong when he woke up handcuffed to the bed. He was only bound when Eddie had company and that set off alarm bells in Vic’s head. His eyes went wide and he tugged at the metal clasped around his wrist.
“Quiet!” Eddie barked from the other room.
Vic bit back his cry of fear and stopped pulling at his bindings, not wanting a whipping to be added to whatever torture lay in store for him in the next room.
“I said be quiet!” Eddie boomed again.
Vic whimpered and pressed himself harder into the worn mattress. He hadn’t thought himself to be that loud when the cuffs rattled against the metal headboard.
Then it came to his attention that Eddie wasn’t screaming at him—there was another person in the house whose shrill cries had mixed in with the screeching of metal on metal. Accompanying the cries and Eddie’s angry shouts were intermittent slaps and bangs, a scuffle, then the noise of someone collapsing in the other room—banging into a piece of furniture which gave a loud grunt as it scratched across the hardwood flooring.
Vic stared through the dark at the cracked bedroom doorway, staring at the yellow beam of light coming from the living room. He could see a shadow being cast across the door every now and then as the fight raged on.
Eddie’s deep voice overpowered the desperate cries and pleas of his new victim as the scuffle drew closer and closer to the bedroom. Vic had only enough time to scoot to the edge of the bed before the fight burst into the room where he lay trapped.
Eddie came in with his back to Vic, his arms wrapped around the waist and neck of a violently resisting person half his size. Whether the being was male or female, Vic honestly couldn’t tell. All he knew was Eddie had seized someone else and someone new had entered into this, his hell.
“No!—No! Let go of me! Let go! Let go!” The person screamed in a voice so shrill it caused Vic’s ears to ring. Whoever it was dressed in tight jeans and had long hair—dark hair that shined in the yellow glow.
Eddie grunted and growled as he pulled the resisting prisoner toward the bed—sometimes leaning back in a way that lifted his captive’s feet from the floor. He was only able to stagger forward a few steps before he had to set the screaming person down on its feet again, but all that fighting was in vain.
The new victim didn’t stand a chance. As soon as its body was thrown onto the bed, its bony hips and back colliding with Vic’s upper thighs and abdomen, all hope was lost.
Vic gave a fearful and pained squeak when the body hit him, but Eddie paid no mind to him as he lunged for the bed—pouncing on his prey. He fisted a hand in that long, dark hair and forced the person face down into the pillows as he climbed over top them. Eddie sat on his captive’s thighs, one knee on either side of their leg, and relished in smothering the cries with the pillow.
Even with the body so close, Vic still couldn’t discern a gender. All he could make out were tight, dark jeans and a reddish, slightly baggy t-shirt. He trembled and shook as he watched the person thrash and scream. Every now and again one of their hands would collide with Vic’s chest and arms, and they would pound against Vic’s bones as hard as if they believed he were Eddie.
Eddie, however, paid no mind to Vic. His attention was wholly focused on his new prisoner who—either out of exhaustion or lack of air—fought less and less until they laid face down and screamed, voice muffled by Eddie’s dirty pillow.
Eddie fisted his left hand in the victim’s hair and kept them pinned by their skull as his right hand reached around and slide between the person’s hips and the bed. Their crying became more frantic when Eddie lifted himself off their body in order to yank their hips upward—getting them into position so he could unbutton their pants. To Eddie’s chagrin, they wore a belt which proved a challenge to unfasten when they jerked their hips from side to side to avoid him.
Vic closed his eyes and tried to scoot even closer to the edge of the bed—though cautious not to fall off the side. He was rendered as helpless as the prisoner beside him, forced to listen—forced to watch—as the pitiful being’s jeans were yanked down his hips.
His…
Eddie had captured another boy.
The cries died off after one last, loud and piercing scream, fading instead into labored breaths taken through the pillow as he was smothered. He was trying hard to turn his face in order to get air, but Eddie wouldn’t let him. His goal was to smother the fight out of his captive so he would have a chance to grab his supplies from the end table drawer.
The boy lay panting under Eddie, frantic and rapid breaths filling the air—becoming more and more choked with each passing second. Vic let out a sob as he listened, filled to the brim with fear and pity. He knew how that felt. He, more than anyone, knew how this poor, nameless boy was feeling.
He was frightened, he was in shock. Half of his mind will have begun fueling him into panic and desperation—telling him he had a chance to get free—and then the other half would be succumbing to survival instincts and helplessness. He wasn’t getting free. The only hope he had was to do as Eddie commanded—abandon all pride and masculinity and fall into submission to a stronger man.
“Put your hands by your head,” Eddie commanded, shouting over the noise of the creaking mattress, the boy’s frenzied panting, and Vic’s low sobs. Though Vic’s eyes were tightly closed, he imagined the boy must’ve obeyed.
The bed creaked, the end table drawer slid open, and the boy gasped shortly after the clinking of metal filled the room. Eddie allowed him a breath of air only after he’d handcuffed both of the boy’s wrists to the headboard.
“Don’t!” The boy cried, desperation overwhelming his fight. “Please! Please, don’t do this! Stop! Stop!”
Vic slowly opened his eyes and grimaced through his tears as he watched Eddie run his hands along his new captive’s sides, pushing up his shirt until his entire back was exposed and the fabric of the t-shirt was draped over the boy’s head. He had the boy bared as much as could without removing his shoes in order to take off his jeans and without cutting off his shirt.
Eddie listened to the screams and pleas, getting drunk off of them before reaching into the end table drawer again to retrieve his bottle of lubricant.
Vic closed his eyes again and willed himself away to a different place. A better, safer place. It had gotten so easy for him to disconnect when he was violated, but this time it proved impossible. No matter what he tried, there was no escaping the pained voice of Eddie’s new boy. That shrill, beautiful tone was haunting him to his core.
( ) ( ) ( )
Kellin screamed as the searing pain tore through him. Every bit of him hurt from the struggle, but nothing he’d endured on this awful night could have prepared him for this agony. He’d felt the other man’s length pressing at his opening and steeled himself against it in a childish belief that he would be able to make himself impenetrable. All he’d succeeded in doing was making it hurt worse as the man rutted against him—pressing in then pulling out again as quickly. Over and over it happened until he managed to fit more than just the tip of his length inside.
White hot pain radiated trough him and he felt as if he’d been lit on fire. Sweat dripped down his back and tears mixed with spit in the pillow he was forced to sob into as his body was violated.
His head was spinning with terror and agony, the only phrase in his head being “this isn’t real.” Over and over he could hear himself saying “this isn’t real; this isn’t happening to me” though all he could force out his mouth were obscene grunts and screams.
With the pain came the unbearable fullness, made worse by the weight of the other man leaning down on his back. He tried to spread his legs to make room for the thickness, but his jeans were still at his knees—binding him as effectively as ropes.
His whole body was trembling and the only thing keeping him steady were the hands bruising his hips—the hands that drew him back against the painful intrusion again and again and again in an awful, steady rhythm.
When his head was finally, finally freed, Kellin turned his face out of the pillow in order to take a breath of cool air. His eyes snapped open as he tried to take in his surroundings, still trying to find a way out even though his wrists were bound and his situation proved dire.
All he saw was a man laying next to him with his eyes squeezed shut, sobbing and shaking as well. He, too, had his wrists handcuffed over his head, though he didn’t even try tugging at them to make an escape. Whoever he was, he had long ago surrendered and his very existence terrified Kellin more than anything. How long had he been here?—How long was this monster planning to keep them both here?
What kind of hell was this?
Kellin let out a low moan of pain as the man slowed his thrusts—dragging them out longer and longer in order to maximize the amount of agony his motions caused his victim.
“Yes, doesn’t that feel good?” The man cackled, snapping his hips forward until to pull back slowly—making Kellin groan again. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, little whore? You love it.”
Kellin sobbed and shook his head, degradation washing over him as he was made to endure every bit of the torture. He tried to stifle his sounds, but the pain proved too much. In the end, his screams died down into hot, heavy sobs as he stared blankly at the person cowering beside him on the bed.
At one point during the torture, their eyes met for the first time. Kellin stared at him, weeping—trying to plead for help with his eyes even though he knew this person was in no position to save him.
“I’m sorry,” that other man mouthed, white teeth flashing in the dark. Kellin tried to focus on his features in an attempt to leave his body and the cruelties behind. Dark hair, defined eyebrows, soft features…an angular jaw.
Kellin could tell by looking at him why he himself had been targeted by the madman above him. They didn’t look alike, but they were similar—similar hair, similar features but a different bone structure. The fact that he’d been targeted based on his looks terrified him even more. If this wasn’t random, had he been being watched beforehand? For days? Or weeks? Had he missed something—some clue that he was being spied on—and in that way allowed this awful thing to happen to himself?
Kellin hissed as he felt an even sharper sting fill his insides, burning even hotter than the previous pain. The man’s hands were squeezing his hips so hard Kellin feared a bone may break under the force, then he began to slowly—horribly slowly—extract himself.
The man said something cruel in his ear as he finally pulled all the way out, but the words were lost in a sea of other thoughts in Kellin’s head. Tears still poured from his eyes as he lay without fight against the mattress, allowing his hips to drop onto the bed.
The pain didn’t stop even after the attack was over, but Kellin relished the moment of peace before he felt his cheeks being parted once again.
He squeaked in fear and surprise as fingers were pressed inside of him, finally causing him to break his eye contact with the stranger, digging away at his insides as they twisted round and round until pressing against the only spot within him that ensured any kind of good feelings.
There was too much pain for him to feel more than a subtle jolt of pleasure, but the pressure caused by the fingers made him moan. Even if it mostly a noise of pain, Kellin’s face still burned hot with shame. He wasn’t aroused by this. He wasn’t. It hurt too much and those merciless digits rubbing him raw inside only worked to humiliate him further as he wiggled his hips in vain—knowing there was no escape.
Finally, the pain became too much and Kellin’s vision started to turn hazy. All of him went limp at once and he felt the handcuffs bite into his wrists harder than ever.
The man pulled away at that point and, after a strange, uncertain moment where Kellin was no longer certain if he were awake or not, barked an order at the other man on the bed.
There was a rattle of metal and then a quick, “Clean him up—Clean him up, Vic! Now!”
Kellin stared through the static in his vision at the man who had been laying beside him. All at once, he was gone and Kellin let his eyes slip closed in complete and utter surrender. There was no running from this. There was no escape from this…