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In an old hotel, Tim's hand wrapped around a glass bottle.
Some shoddy liquor he'd stolen from a gas station as a treat to himself. He'd probably even call it celebration, if the thought didn't make his innards do flips.
Tim lifted his drink to his lips.
He had no home. He'd lived in his car for what, two, three years now? Time was a blur. Sometimes he had a job, most times he didn't. And he never had any friends. He couldn't bring himself to open up after the last time.
He’d loved Jay. Jay who was now dead. He’d loved Alex, who he’d killed, or killed some horrible variation he’d become.
He’d loved Brian most of all.
Brian, with his bright gap-toothed smile. Brian, with the way you always seemed to agree with whatever he wanted to do. Brian, who was so effortlessly hot and had Tim wrapped around his finger so easily.
His mind kept wandering, the emotional pain being blurred by the alcohol as he lost track of where or when he was.
“You should really put that down, man.”
Tim glanced over at Brian, who sat on the counter.
“Not good for you.”
Tim scoffed, but put it down anyway.
Brian slid off the counter, walking towards Tim. “Gonna tell me what’s wrong this time?”
“Why? So you can manipulate me and try to get me into that mask again?”
Brian sighs. He doesn’t deny it, though.
“You used me, jackass. You used me to get to Alex and now I’m a fucking murderer, and all I get from you is more manipulation. Do you ever think about-“
“Tim.” Brian’s voice is firm. “Unbutton your pants.”
It’s not a request. Tim knows that tone, he knows what it means. Hot prickles go from his chest to his face and his gut as he sets the bottle down and obeys.
“Sit up. I want you to watch what you’re doing to yourself.”
The headboard is cool against Tim’s back. His shirt is thin. He wishes he had money for new clothes, but not for long.
Brian has another command.
“Touch.”
Tim is eager to obey, the pain of betrayal eased by the voice of his first ever friend. Some small part of him wondered if they could still be called that, though he knew if history ever remembered them that would be their title.
Calloused stained hands rubbed over the rough fabric of Tim's boxers, cupping his half-hard dick as he tried to delude himself into believing the hands were soft and clean and Brian's.
"Good. You look so good like that, really. You're too stressed, you should let loose a little. It's okay to feel good, love, nobody would blame you," Brian coos. Soft, cold lips almost touch Tim's face. Instead of solid flesh, it's a slight pressure change and a silky residue.
Tim grabbed for the bottle and gulped again before continuing. His breath hitched as Brian nibbled at his neck, right over the artery where Tim had plunged his knife on the thing wearing Alex's skin.
He shook the thought away as he tipped his head back, letting Brian mouth at his throat.
"Pull it out for me, baby."
Tim was always good for Brian. He had been since they started fooling around in senior year of high school, always eager to go along with Brian's suggestions.
Tim shivered as he exposed his dick to the cool air. It twitched, in either protest or else anticipation as Tim waited for the go-ahead.
Brian nodded. Tim spit into his hand, tracing a finger from base to tip slowly before squeezing himself just below the head.
This was the one good thing about being unmedicated again— Tim could get an erection. He often found himself roughly chasing the endorphins of an orgasm to get through the day, never taking the time to actually enjoy it or think too hard about it.
Brian intended to correct that, at least for the night.
“Slower. Drag it out.”
Tim obeyed. He pulled back his foreskin, gently thumbing his tip, Brian’s words going straight to the heat pooling below his stomach. He bit back a whimper. Brian praised him, not-quite-kissing his scrunched face once more.
His breathing staggered and hitched as he slowly stroked himself up and down. He thumbed his tip, the precum mixing with drying saliva to make things easier.
Easy. With Brian things had always felt so easy. Growing up gay in Alabama of all places was so hard, but Brian made everything easy. Soft. Brian was soft and warm and Tim wanted that feeling just as much as he wanted to get off right about now, but Brian’s softness was tainted with a sick chill— some forgotten knowledge. Tim doesn’t think too hard, just chasing the pleasure Brian’s steering him towards.
He has to force himself to slow down some, his abdomen twitching and clenching as he fights to obey. Drag it out for me meant agonizing torture after so long of five-minute sessions focusing only on the end, and not the journey.
Brian was pleased, though. He looked pleased anyway, to Tim, when his tongue caressed his lover's bright red ear. A pathetic yelp stripped away what little dignity the man had left, and he finally allowed himself to disobey just a little.
He squeezed on the downstroke, tight heat building between his legs. He fought against it anyway, trying to be good for Brian. God, Tim hoped Brian would hold him after this. Whisper sweet nothings into his scalp, hold him, comfort him.
The idea of being held by someone else sent him over the edge almost instantly, milky white staining the sheets. His eyes screwed shut as his body jolted with the force of it all, ears ringing as he panted.
When he opened his eyes, there was no Brian. Because of course there wasn't--
Brian was dead.
Alex was dead.
Jay was dead.
And Tim was alone in a hotel room jacking off to nothing but ghosts.