Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's a mean bone in my body

It's connected to the problems that I won't take for an answer

And I won't take that from you

Because I'd

Hurt a fly

Oh, so the little creep thought he could hide from me. He should really know better by now than to try and bail on the standing appointment he had with my fist. Like I didn't know exactly where to look. If Francis wasn't creeping out the front doors with the rest of them, that meant he was holed up in the AV room again.

There wasn't even an AV club anymore. It was just where they locked up that one old ass TV they still used to play Bill Nye on VHS, and whatever laptops and projectors and shit they didn't wanna leave lying around. The computer teacher had given him an extra key, out of like, freak solidarity or something. 

But hey if he wanted to hide in a tiny room with a shitty lock where nobody would come poking around, I wasn't gonna complain. No one else to butt in when I pin him against the wall and - I shoved the thought away before it made me too angry to pick the lock. It would be good to not get my ass thrown in detention again because some idiot couldn't mind their own fucking business, that was all.

I didn't exactly enter quietly, but I guess his little laptop screen must've been engaging ‘cause he didn't even glance up. That annoyed me. Everything about him annoyed me. He was a greasy, chubby, freckle-covered little dork. His hair was too long, his glasses too big, his body so much smaller than mine but overflowing with soft, bouncy flesh to grab and squeeze and his eyes, light grey and half-lidded until he saw me and then they went so fucking wide

I slammed the door behind me. He didn't even flinch. Okay, that was actually kind of fucking weird. His posture was all stiff and his expression was just completely blank as he stared at the screen.

"What'cha looking at bitch boy?" I asked, stepping forward. Nothing. Was he like- I mean, I didn't care , obviously, but he was okay right? I crossed the small room and rounded the little table he was sitting at. 

Just as I got close, a shudder went through him. Like he was waking up, he blinked and glanced around. Then he saw me. And there they were, those wide, terrified fucking eyes. Gorgeous.

I grinned, and as he went to try and stand I stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Where you going, Francis? We've barely started." He didn't seem to catch any uneasiness in me. That made it easier to swallow down, scrambling back to more familiar ground.

"Bruce? When did you - how did you even get in here?" I snorted. He hadn't bothered to lock the door last time I caught him in here. Idiot must've actually thought he was safe.

"I picked the lock dumbass. So what kind of faggy porn got you so distracted you couldn't even say hello, huh?" I asked, glancing at his laptop screen

"No, wait-" He tried to cover it with his arms but I just shoved him to the ground, chair and all. I got a good look at the screen and-

NEW USER DETECTED

BEGINNING INITIAL SCAN AND DATABASE ENTRY

DATABASE ENTRY COMPLETE

INITIAL SCAN COMPLETE

BEGINNING DATABASE INTEGRATION WITH EXISTING USERS

EXISTING USERS: 1

NEW USERS: 1

TOTAL USERS: 2

SCANNING DATA FOR REDUNDANCIES

SCAN COMPLETE

REDUNDANCY INTEGRATION COMPLETE

COMPARING DATA

CROSS-REFERENCING COMPLETE

DATABASE INTEGRATION COMPLETE

NEW INFERENCES AVAILABLE

There wasn't a moment of waking up. There was no missing time at all, from my perspective. I glanced at the screen, and then I was on the ground. The laptop was up on the table but angled down so the screen was still pointing at me. It was just a black screen with white text. 'NO NEW USERS DETECTED' in big letters, and then a smaller button in the corner to 'LEAVE INPUT SCREEN'. What the fuck. I looked around wildly and saw Francis back in his chair, playing on his phone above me. I realized I was bound and gagged with electrical tape. What the fuck. What the FUCK! What did that little freak do to me? I tried to cuss him out but through the tape it was just a bunch of muffled noise. It got his attention though. He looked down at me and cringed.

"Okay, uh. So I guess, it's done then? And you're. Awake. Okay." He sounded like he was on the verge of panicking. I glared at him and he flinched again. Ha. He may have gotten me bound and gagged somehow but he was still a fucking bitch. Bound and gagged, totally at his mercy. What the fuck. No, no absolutely not, the normal shit was bad enough I couldn't - like I wasn't fucking gay but when my traitor brain tried to fuck with me it usually at least had the decency not to cast me as the fucking bottom!

"God, I really am a bitch, huh?" Yes! See? He's the bitch. He gets it! "Even now you still fucking terrify me. Unconscious and you terrified me. I feel like I can't even hate you properly - I mean, if Jackson or one of his jackass friends had been about to put themselves in a trance like that you think I would have stopped them? No way in hell! I mean the thing works, kills them or does nothing. Win-win-draw from my perspective. But you walk in and suddenly I'm so worried about making you mad as though you're ever not mad!" Normally it was funny when he got mad. Cute, even. Now though, it sent dread creeping back up inside me. Then he laughed, and the dread bloomed.

"Well, I guess that's the first thing to fix right? I mean it's still probably B.S. but it did knock us both out so... Might as well see if it works like it says." He slid the laptop over to himself, the screen angled away from me. "It's supposed to be some kind of like - person control program? Like according to the documentation you scan people in and then you just have access to all the information about them and you can change it. So you know, obvious bullshit and probably a virus but I was like 'fuck it, not like it's the first time I've downloaded malware onto a school computer'." Full on terror took hold of me, which was so fucking stupid. He literally said it was obviously bullshit, sci-fi mind control stuff wasn't real, I needed to get a fucking grip already. It felt pretty real when he was staring at nothing like that. Pretty real that you glanced at a screen and now you're taped up on the floor. Do you even know how long you were out? Shut up, shut up, it's fake I'm fine it's fake it's fake-

"Holy shit there's actually stuff here. Like, a lot of stuff. My height, my weight, what I'm doing right now, my living situation, my family. Wait, does it know - damn it. Fine, whatever. Doesn't matter." It sounded like it mattered, whatever it was. He'd been excited for a second there.. You should comfort him. One, no. Two, currently impossible even if it wasn't a fucking stupid idea from the worst part of my brain. Three, he was probably lying and this whole thing was probably still fake but if it wasn't then this was good. If there was information missing, there was still a chance that he wouldn't find out. Find out what? Thought there was nothing to find Mr. Heterosexual. SHUT UP.

"Okay, command bar thing there we go. 'No longer afraid of Bruce-' Your last name is Killoran? Huh. Feels kind of on the nose, doesn't it? I mean, it's got the word kill right in there." That was it? A couple of keystrokes and all that fear I'd spent so long nurturing just. Gone. Why does that make you sad? What the fuck is wrong with you? I didn't have an answer.

Francis looked down at me again. I glared back, but now he just smiled. And, shit, that smile. I'd seen it before, a couple times, small and smug and mean. He'd only directed it at me once, way back, the first time I got in trouble for picking on him. It was a little different now. The first time had driven me so crazy I'd knocked one of his teeth out and that little gap was still there. And now I couldn't do anything but try and glare as he rested his shoe right in the middle of my chest.

"Oh that's much better. Look at you now, big guy. Totally helpless. I can do whatever I want to you now. I wonder what the..." He trailed off, noticing something below my head. Noticing... No. No no no no no -

"Did that - are you hard right now?" He sounded too baffled to even be mean about it. Like my boner was an absolute non-sequitur. My brain refused to function, I couldn't think or feel anything besides sheer panic and that awful horrible undercurrent of arousal. Still looking more surprised than anything, he moved his other shoe to my crotch and nudged. I couldn't tell if the noise that came out of me was a squeal or a growl. He laughed.

"Oh my god, you are. What the fuck. You're getting off on this? I mean I guess I see it, the power stuff and the bondage, it's pretty kinky. But I never would've pegged you for a sub. And I mean shit dude, it's me. You're really that pathetic? Get off on the humiliation so much that you don't even need a hot girl to be the one tying you up and making fun of you?" I couldn't even be relieved. It didn't feel like I was off the hook, just digging it in deeper. Prolonging my flailing. The feel of his rubber sole pressing against my bulge was rough and unyielding and just this side of painful. Not exactly getting less hard though are we? Sort of feels fucking incredible, right?

"Fuck, I can only imagine how pathetic you'd look if someone you were really into was here instead of me. Who're you thinking of, hmm? Naomi's hot in kind of a mean way, maybe her? Or Ms. Bensen maybe, I could see her as a mommy-dom type. You into MILFs big guy?"

I tried to glare again, desperate to regain some kind of control. He laughed at me, again.

"Guess you can't tell me right now. Well I guess I could ungag you. Or..." He turned back towards the laptop without moving his feet, humming lightly to himself. "Mmmkay let's see. There's supposed to be a little activity log type thing, constantly updating with all your thoughts and your feelings but I'm not sure - oh there we go~" His tone was so bubbly and casual almost fucking "Flirty?"

Pure blind panic. I couldn't even process what he was saying as he continued "I mean, that's not exactly what I was going for but I guess it kind of fits. Wow you are just really freaking out now okay. There might be a bit of a learning curve to the mind reading part of this, it gets totally unreadable when you stop having like a coherent internal monologue. I honestly almost feel bad right now."

My mind swam. Streams of consciousness overlapped and flooded, drowning everything out. My eyes were squeezed shut and I didn't even remember doing that but I just couldn't stand to look or feel or see anything. And then, rising above it all on a raft made of my fucking bones, one thought shone through bright and clear over everything: Fucking wild that he's taking this long to figure out you're gay for him.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I couldn't see if he was staring at me anymore. I didn't care if it made me look weak, I wasn't opening my eyes again.

"This isn't - this can't be right. I mean, what are you even, what? I'm me. Not to mention that you're you. Fuck, you're not even looking at me. Oh my god. It's true isn't it? Oh my fucking god." The sheer disbelief in his voice almost made it better. I'd felt so obvious. It was gratifying, to know that I'd been so successful at hiding it. Maybe I could've spent the rest of my life hiding it. It had been easier after all, before I'd noticed him. The little voice in the back of my head quieter, more deniable. If I could've just made it out of high school, moved somewhere I'd never have to risk running into him.

But it was my own fault, wasn't it? I couldn't keep my shit in check. Kept seeking him out anyway. So now everyone would know. My parents would find out. My dad. So I guess I didn't have to worry anymore. Probably wasn't making it out of high school alive anyways.

Francis was silent. A mouse click, some typing. More silence. I opened my eyes. He was looking at the screen. When he looked back at me, I couldn't interpret his expression at all.

"So, you're so into me that you got mad at me for turning you gay and that's why you beat the shit out of me so much."

Well I guess I was still capable of emotion because hearing him say it like that made me want to kill myself. Frankly, saying that sentence out loud to me seemed crueller than anything I'd ever done to him. And I've done some pretty fucked up stuff! When he laughed this time there was no cruelty in it, which made it feel worse.

"I'm sorry, I can't get over this, like... Me? I'm the guy so hot he's turning straight dudes gay? I almost thought that, maybe because I was so scared of you you didn't realize how annoying I was, which would still be fucking weird because fucking look at me. But I clicked around and no, the fact that I'm insufferable is apparently like, a core part of it? Like, no wonder you were so mad; you've got really terrible taste in dudes. Honestly, I can hardly blame you for thinking I was making you attracted to me somehow."

Fucking dumbass idiot bitch how the hell does he not get it has he seen himself what the fuck. My own anger surprised me. Like it was kind of depressing that he was just saying it but everything he said was basically true. It pissed me off though, that he couldn't understand how fucking intoxicating he is. Fucking make him understand, just pin him down and -

"You know I guess I can actually do that now." Well. Yeah, I guess. Kind of a moot point though at this point, right? He met my eyes, like he was looking for something in them. Considering something. "Because like. This is a pretty hot situation. And if I can get past how funny it is, the fact that you're so into me that it was like, driving you insane is pretty damn flattering. Kind of a shame for me not to get the most out of it, just 'cause what? Some quirk of biology that I'm not into dudes?" 

Are you fucking kidding me? He wasn't seriously saying what I thought he was, right? He was lucky enough to be born straight and he was just gonna throw it away? So that he can fuck you. He's throwing it away so he can fuck you idiot. Oh. I was pulled out of my head and back into my body where my rock hard cock was still being lightly squished under the rubber tread of his sneakers. Full-body shivers. His tone was back to taunting when he said:

"Oh wow. I just felt your dick pulse . Maybe I shouldn't. I mean, you're still a huge asshole. Should I really just give you what you want like that?" I shivered again. Not because I fell for it, I was fucked up right now but I wasn't stupid, I understood what taunting foreplay sounded like. But fuck, it was hot .

"Shit. Yeah, even now this is getting me pretty far. I can't pass this up." He didn't turn away from me this time, instead he pulled the laptop off the table and onto his lap to do it. The typing and clicking was more frantic now. Impatient. He didn't narrate it out loud to me this time, but muttered to himself occasionally, too mumbly to make out. "Okay. I don't feel any different but let's see if that..." He trailed off as he looked at me. His eyes widened slightly, and he laughed.

"What the fuck. I mean, Lily said at some point that girls thought you were hot but I thought she was just being a dick. You know you're way out of my league right? I mean, it was already weird that you were into me, but now it's honestly kind of pathetic." Heat raced through me. I was dying. This was gonna kill me, if he kept doing stuff.

He stood up, and the loss of his foot on my crotch almost made me whimper. He kneeled down and pulled me close by the back of my head, touching my face. I cringed, unable to stand how close he was, how closely he was looking.

"No, come on big guy, look at me. I wanna see those pretty eyes." PRETTY? Yeah, no, my eyes were staying shut. He clicked his tongue. "Bad boy. Gonna have to fix that." Shit, fuck had I just lost my eyelid privileges? I didn't care anymore, I couldn't stop him from doing what he wanted, but I wasn't gonna just fold and do whatever he said. I could at least do that, at least make sure it wasn't all my own fault. Something landed on my chest. He settled under my head, arms going to either side of my neck to use it. I opened my eyes despite myself. It was the laptop. He had the program open to a screen titled 'Bruce Killoran'. And he was going into a tab titled 'Enter Commands'. "Oh now you're looking. Too late big guy; you've gone and given me ideas."

Into the bar he wrote:

'Bruce Killoran does whatever Francis Carver tells him to.'

Chapter Text

Get stomped like a snake

Lie down in the dirt

Cling to my convictions

Even when I get hurt

But I tried the losing side

I don't wanna die in here

'Bruce Killoran does whatever Francis Carver tells him to.'

The words stared at me from the screen. Sitting with my head propped up on his lap, Francis bent down to murmur in my ear.

"Stay quiet for me, 'kay?" The tape was ripped from my mouth. I choked on a scream. I could feel the grin in his breath as he whispered "There we go. Isn't it funny, that the one time you're quiet is when I end up actually learning about you? Fuck, your mouth is all red and drooling." He leaned further over me, cradling my face, his hair falling around him like a greasy, ginger waterfall before he tucked it back behind his ears. I closed my eyes again, face on fire, desperate to be anywhere else. He laughed softly.

"And where do you think that's gonna get you, huh? Open your eyes and look at me." I couldn't fight my eyelids opening. His eyes were as pale and cold as the surface of the moon. Any hope that his heavy lids and dorky glasses would lessen the impact vanished, like the aperture of a camera they only made it more intense. He ran a thumb over my lips, gently parting them.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this close up. Not long enough to appreciate the view anyways. You've got nice eyes. Dark. With those long eyelashes – kinda looks like you're wearing makeup or something, but your face is all angular and masculine. It's a good contrast." His voice was soft and thoughtful. Genuine, but also detached. Like he wasn't saying any of it for my benefit, just appreciating the details of his new possession. It was a new kind of terrible. His thumb pressed deeper into my mouth, running up against my teeth. I opened for him without thinking, only noticing when he blinded me with his grin.

"We're starting to learn now, huh? Good. Quit fighting it so hard; this was basically your idea after all." Okay well that was just total bullshit. Fine, maybe I had wanted to fuck him, but the fantasies I'd fought off and tried to avoid hadn't gone down like this. Was it turning me on? Unfortunately yes, but it wasn't my idea. He chuckled, pressing his thumb down on my tongue and flooding my mouth with drool.

"What, you disagree? This is exactly what you wanted, I just flipped the tables. Or are you gonna try and tell me that breaking my nose and then shoving my head into a toilet was your acceptable alternative to really sweet, gentle sex?" His voice strained just a little, enough to let me know for sure he was actually still extremely pissed at me. Which, to be clear, was totally fair. I'd never once thought he shouldn't hate me for the shit I put him through. I'd just assumed he wouldn't be able to, you know, actually do anything about it.

"I can still read your thoughts, idiot." That one was angrier and maybe I'd fucked up but I was almost relieved. I hadn't gotten my shit kicked in real bad since I got big enough to back up my bad attitude, but it was always better when they were angry or scared too and there was adrenaline enough to share. Better than cold 'discipline' that made you feel stupid and small on top of the pain.

Except, of course, that he could see what I was thinking and he wanted it to be terrible for me, so I should probably shut the fuck up. How do I shut the fuck up in my head? How do I stop thinking, come on, I seem so fucking good at it most of the time why was it so hard – OW. He'd pinched my cheek super hard.

"You are such a fucking mess. Open your mouth." He took a moment to really collect as much saliva as he could before he spit in my mouth. It tasted like energy drinks and was thicker than mine, maybe 'cause he'd made sure to dredge up that throat stuff for me. "Now swallow. Fuck yeah. Hope you enjoy the taste of my spit, 'cause it's what you deserve. You ever dream about spitting in my mouth? Making sure I understood my place?" My mouth was so fucking wet, just soaking my tongue and chin. I was glad for the earlier order to stay quiet, it was easier to nod than if I'd had to say 'yes' out loud.

"I knew it. Perverted fucking wannabe-rapist. You're lucky you're a fag; if you liked women you'd probably be in prison right now." I felt like I'd gotten stabbed in a body part I didn't even know existed. I didn't know if it was true, I hoped it wasn't but it felt true because it hurt and it hurt because it felt true. His grin sharpened.

"You wanted to rape me so bad, didn't you? Shove me to the ground and finally shut me up? But instead, I'm gonna rape you, and you're gonna love it. Freak." I didn't know it was possible for my heart to beat any faster, and yet. He stood up, letting my head fall out of his lap and directly onto the tile ground. He grabbed the laptop by its screen and put it back on the desk haphazardly, eyes focused solely on me as he sat back down in the shitty plastic chair like it was a throne. At least he wasn't looking at the screen anymore. He wouldn't be making fun of my thoughts in real time. It wasn't that comforting, not once he grinned down at me like a cat and said:

"What are you waiting for big guy? Get over here. I want you on your knees for me." The tape made it difficult, binding my arms behind my back, and my legs together at the ankles and knees. I managed to struggle into place, feeling like a worm. As soon as I was situated between his legs, he grabbed the back of my head and pressed my face into his crotch. I could feel his cock throbbing against my face through the strained denim of his ill-fitting jeans. His gut pressed against my forehead and my wet mouth left a stain against the seam. He moaned, low and breathy.

"Fuck yes. Perfect. Here's what's gonna happen now, okay? You're gonna use your mouth to get my cock out. And then you're gonna give me the blowjob you've always imagined me giving you. Make as much noise as you want. If anyone interrupts, you're telling them it was your idea. Got it?" My blood froze but my heart raced. I made an affirmative noise into his bulge, and the vibrations made him shiver. I struggled with his fly a moment before managing to catch the zipper between my teeth and pull it down. His flesh popped out from its over-tight denim prison, the wet spot in his boxers pressing into my cheek already. He helped me when I struggled with those. I guess his impatience was stronger than his need to be a dick at this point.

Finally I was face to face with his cock. Immediately I started kissing it, playing out fantasies I'd had behind locked doors of my mind and in moments of weakness, but in the wrong position. He groaned as I licked and kissed my way down the shaft to his balls. Moaning and sucking on them was bad enough, but coppery pubic hairs scratched at the roof of my mouth like a tangle of wires and I was liking the taste far more than I wanted to. But of course, I hadn't been imagining the worst guy in the world at shutting the fuck up giving me a blowjob quietly.

"Is this okay? Am I doing good? Please don't hurt me." I whimpered, removing myself just enough to be audible. The words and tone were so unlike me that it took Francis by surprise. He looked genuinely concerned for a moment, and I consciously felt the permanent knot of guilt in my chest for the first time in years. The sheer embarrassment on my face and my inability to look him in the eyes as I went back to gargling his balls like they were mouthwash seemed to clue him in though, and his smile got real dark.

"Oh. Of course. You were being such a good slut for me, I almost forgot you're a fucking monster for a second there. That's on me, really – we were just talking about how the only reason you're not a rapist is that you're too much of a coward. Seriously Bruce – fuck, wait that feels really good. Keep doing that. Shit. Seriously Bruce, you know how easy it would've been to keep me quiet? Hey, what do you think your dad would prefer – a raped fag or a faggot rapist?"

I froze. Only for a second, before the programming kicked back in and I started licking my way back up his shaft, letting the glans poke me in the eyelid and drip precum down my lashes. He laughed, mean and bitter. I didn't know how to respond, couldn't even try to form a response, my brain eighteen miles out of town in the back seat of a jeep.

My body didn't need my brain to form a reply though. It had the program for that now.

"I don't know. I think, he could respect a faggot rapist more. For taking what they wanted, like a real man. A raped faggot is more pathetic. But, maybe fixable if they weren't gay before. Hard to get someone to man up when they're so weak even a fag can beat him though." At least my voice sounded like my own that time, despair so bitter and exhausted it came out almost monotone. It wasn't a part of me that surfaced much in front of Francis, in front of most people really. I caught the smallest second of regret on his face before gagging myself on his cock. I don't even know if it was the program that did it or if I just couldn't stand to remain in that moment.

He groaned, pleased and surprised, and his hand landed on my head, scrabbling for a second like he was trying to grab my hair before settling flat on my buzzed scalp, fingers gently stroking. It felt like I was being pet, and the sensation was so viscerally pleasant for a second I didn't feel the guilt or fear or the cock choking me from the inside. Then the last one really caught up to me and I immediately recoiled, gasping and retching. He laughed, and if it had been regret I'd seen in those pale eyes, it was gone now.

"Aww, my sluts not good at deepthroating yet, huh? I would've let you go slow but, I guess you wanted me to choke on it. Asshole." To my humiliation, I moaned. Gasping I answered, submissive dream-Francis voice returning as we got back on script.

"I'm sorry, boss. Your cock is just too fucking big, I can't handle it." His cock was short and fat like the rest of him. The girth was an issue, sure, but it wouldn't have been such a problem except I kept driving my head down on it with so much force it was a miracle I hadn't puked. I wondered if that was the program too. Francis had never puked in my fantasies. My gay thoughts had to make their point quick before I chased them off, only my most pressing kinks could make the cut.

He laughed again, more breathless himself now.

"Fuck. Fuck, you look so silly right now. Those big angry eyebrows making such slutty expressions. So fucking big and tough but you were just made to suck cock, huh?" He held my head down at the root, keeping me from answering, burying my face in his gut so that I really, truly couldn't breathe for a long moment before finally releasing me. I wasn't even allowed to catch my breath before that stupid, impossible piece of software had me trying to dive back down, urging me to keep milking his fat cock inside my throat until he came. My own stupid fantasies letting it know that making my rapist cum was more important than breathing. It was fucked up, that the thought was just as intoxicating from this side of it. He didn't laugh this time, but his grin was so fucking smug as he moved his hand to my forehead to stop me.

"So hungry for it, aren't you big guy? Too bad. I'm not letting you off that easy, fucker. Get on the ground." He punctuated that last part with a shove, managing to time it so that it actually felt like he was pushing me over even though I knew he wasn't strong enough for that.

He stood over me again, and really it was impressive how naturally he took to looming when he was too short to have had many chances to practice. He walked away from the little area of floorspace by the table we'd been inhabiting, going to one of the shelves of dusty cardboard boxes that looked too old for a room that was meant to contain technology. My view from the floor wasn't good enough to see what he was rooting around for, until he reappeared above me with a pair of scissors.

"I think this is an entirely new pair of scissors, I straight up have no idea where the pair I used earlier went. I guess I must have put them away somewhere but like why? What was the plan there, just leave you taped up forever?" He paused "Oh. Right, you terrified me. Guess that was kind of the plan then, huh? That's a weird feeling. Anyways."

He practically fell on top of me and started trying to expose my chest in maybe the least efficient manner possible, making wild and random cuts into my thinning gray hoodie with shocking intensity given how casually he'd just been talking. I guess the blowjob ending gave me my voice back, because before I could stop myself I was shouting.

"The fuck are you doing to my clothes?!" He paused and slowly looked at me, one eyebrow faintly raised. I felt that pang of fucked up sadness again, seeing him react so nonchalantly to my shouting. I flushed and averted my eyes from that cool, pale gaze, mad that I'd let myself speak without being forced to. He grabbed my chin and brought me back up to face him. There was something new in his eyes. Something hungry.

"Are you scared I'll make you walk home naked?" I stayed silent and tried to summon a glare, now that I had regained some tiny sliver of control over my own body. He smiled and stroked my cheek. "I could, you know. I wouldn't even have to destroy your clothes. I could just tell you not to wear them. I can do whatever I want to you, and you can't do a single fucking thing to stop me." I really wanted to keep my little vow of silence going but I just couldn't fucking manage to keep my mouth shut. I tried to glare twice as hard to make up for it.

"Yeah. You can make me do whatever, I get it already, freak." He grinned wider

"Yeah? You get it? Then why are you back trying to fight me, big guy?" I closed my eyes and sighed, frown still etched on my face like the stupid moody teenager I was.

"Why wouldn't I? It doesn't fucking matter what I do." There was a beat. My eyes remained closed.

"You're such an idiot." I was fucked up by the condescending affection in his tone. "How do I put this? You're like, basically my toy now. And so far, playing with you has been really fun. I could rat you out as a faggot. Make you a prisoner in your own body. Any number of other fucked up things. But I don't have to. The more fun you are right out the box, the less likely I am to get bored and start really fucking things up for you. I mean, I don't really care either way. But wouldn't it make more sense, to try and make me happy? You know. Convince me to keep you." I opened my eyes. His face was so close to mine, his weight pressed down on me. His still naked erection wept on my hoodie. The effort it took to force out my next words made me wish I was still just a puppet.

"What... should I be doing then? To make you happy?" His grin was beautiful. So radiant in his triumph it almost took the sting out of my surrender. Almost.

"I guess I could give you a hint, since you asked. If you want something – or, want me not to do something..." He pulled up a triangle of fabric from my hoodie and cut, "Try begging. If it's good enough, I might even consider giving you a treat." My skin crawled at the thought but, fuck, if there was a way to make it out of this with my clothes intact I had to try.

"Please – please don't make me walk home without clothes, Francis." To my horror, I felt tears welling up and tried to force them back down. He leaned closer though, and licked a broad stripe up my cheek to lap up an unshed tear. Mouth still inches from my face he whispered:

"Not bad, big guy. What was it you called me earlier, ‘boss’? Try including that for me, would you?" His breath on my face was so hot it burned.

"P-please don't make me walk home naked, boss." My voice quavered, sickening me. He inched down my body just enough to bury his face in the crook of my neck.

"Lift yourself up a little, so I can get at the tape on your hands." My relief was bitter, tainted by the process of achieving it. He slipped the scissors below me once I lifted myself up enough, clumsily freeing my arms. He moved off of me at last but lingered by my head, tracing the closed blade along my jawline.

"Rip it open." My arms were moving before I could process the betrayal. The hoodie ripped easily, the fabric worn thin even before it had been poked full of holes. I had a heartbeat of hope when it stalled out along the pocket, until it ripped sideways along the seam and I was left with a big stupid hole in the front of my hoodie. My expression made him laugh.

"Might let you keep the shirt, if you can convince me." The kicking and screaming embers of my pride tried to burst back into flame, but I managed to smother them. It was still so fucking hard though. How was he so good at the gloating and menacing already? I barely knew what begging sounded like, coming out of my own mouth. Surly deflection and kicking at rocks was the closest thing I had. The only time I'd felt half this powerless was when Dad got pissed at me, and the move there was always to shut the fuck up.

"I- please? Please, let me keep my shirt, I need it, please boss, I'm sorry, please don't make me go home naked."

"Hmm..." He tilted his head to one side like he was really thinking about it. Then he cut through the whole shirt in one long rip of the scissors and I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He wanted the begging so he could ignore it. Obviously. How many times had I ignored his begging? It was only fair.

I kept begging, as he cut through the tape on my legs. Halfway through him taking off my second sneaker it occurred to me that he didn't need to do that if he was going to shred my pants too. For some reason I couldn't stop though. It was like something had broken inside of me. I guess breaking for him got me a treat, because he pulled my pants down intact. I stared numbly at the drop ceiling.

"Th-" I cleared my throat "Thank you."

He had almost all of me unwrapped for him then. My hairy, muscular chest and stomach, my strong tree-trunk legs. The tent in my boxers was as soaked as my face by this point. He traced a finger over my head through the fabric, the feel of wet fabric on my sensitive glans making me hiss.

"You're welcome. Glad you're finally saying it. I mean, look at you. Bet this is the best day of your life." His voice was almost reverent, eyes fixed on my crotch as he traced a nail along my slit through the fabric. It hurt. Maybe I liked it anyway. Maybe I wanted it to hurt. I still yelped when he snapped the elastic against my stomach. He picked the scissors back up, making my breath hitch as he neared my dick. He snorted and cut a hole in my underwear for my dick and balls to poke through.

"Shit. I knew it'd be big. Look at that thing." Somewhere deep inside a flicker of pride reignited. He grabbed my dick hard, and started rubbing it slow and tight.

"Fuck." I breathed, head collapsing back. I heard that fucking laugh. God. Francis Carver is touching my dick right now. Wasn't that all I wanted, really? Does anything else really matter? I felt the cold metal of the scissor blade as he cut my underwear deeper. The cold air brushed my asshole for barely a moment before he thrust two spit covered fingers in hard.

"Fuck!" I jerked away unconsciously, hard enough to pull off of his fingers entirely. Done fucking around, he growled,

"Just let yourself get fucked, shithead." I froze. The fingers plunged back in, and they fucking burned. I felt like my asshole was about to split open, he stretched me so wide and so quick. Maybe he'd spent too long playing mind games, 'cause he fingered me fast and dirty, and it felt like barely thirty seconds before he was pulling them out.

At least he spit on my hole, before shoving in. Maybe that helped. It's tough to say, ‘cause even with the extra lubrication it felt like I was being cored, his hot mass of cock shoving in and ripping me open. I bit my own forearm to keep from screaming. Blood filled my mouth and I could barely taste it, so all-consuming was the feeling of him inside me. He let out a series of curses and I had to wonder if it even felt good for him.

He started to thrust, slow because he had no other choice. My ass was too tight and under-lubed, giving him no room to work. Liquid started to ease his slide and for a delirious moment I thought I must be melting before I realized it was his precum, and probably also my blood. He groaned when he looked down at me, a deep and ugly one that made me pulse and flutter around him. Gently, he grabbed my arm and pulled it away from my mouth. He pulled it to his lips and licked the wound, making eye contact with me as he did. I made a noise, and then he started sucking a hickey onto my wrist and the noise turned into a full-on moan.

He pulled away and grinned at me and fuck. That bloodsoaked fucking smile. I tried to push back, or pull him closer, or do anything but I couldn't, he'd given me an order, and so I just whined like a fucking dog and he laughed and it was so hot.

"Fuck, lemme, please, fuck. Lemme fuck you back Francis please please please please, god, why are you so fucking hot? " The words came out in a jumble, halfway between a whine and a moan. He was already pink with exertion but he turned pinker and broke eye contact for a second, his control stuttering.

"God. You're fucking crazy. Fine, go ahead. Make me fucking cum."

Immediately, I pulled him into a deep and bloody kiss. I had to prop myself up on my other arm to make it work, since he was so much shorter than me, tightening my abs in a way that made him groan into my mouth. So I kept doing that, squeezing down on him, even though it made the pain worse. The next thrust though, suddenly he was hitting this spot that sparked, and I gasped and squeezed tighter.

His thrusts got harder, faster, right into that spot inside me and then he reached between us and started stroking me off, until my spasming hole pushed him over the edge. He came hard inside of me, filling my guts and flooding my hole. I was vaguely surprised to feel his hand keep going, until the white heat of my orgasm obliterated all thoughts from my brain.

I technically pulled away from the kiss first, though more accurately I collapsed to the ground like a limp and wet thing. He stayed above and inside me for a long moment, panting hard. Finally, he pulled away. I just lay there, blank and numb, like I'd been borrowing the energy to stay upright and now loansharks had shown up to collect the debt with tire irons.

I don't know how long it was before he spoke again. Hours maybe, or seconds.

"Looks like nothing hospital-worthy. I made sure nothing'll get infected so, yeah." It felt like fifty years before I understood that he meant the bleeding. Looking over he was bent over the laptop again, so, yeah. I couldn't figure out what I should say, or remember how to speak, so I just stayed silent. He turned back to me and just looked for a long time, expression unreadable. My cum was on his shirt, and his own streaked his thighs along with my blood. I probably looked worse, bloody and used on both ends, wearing the tatters of my underwear and a cut open shirt. I guess he liked it though, 'cause he took out his phone and snapped a picture. I didn't have any panic left in me, but I did manage a defeated groan that made him chuckle.

"Relax. That's just for me. For now, anyway."

He cleaned himself up with the rags of my hoodie. I remembered way too late that it was my only one. Oh well. Couldn't have stopped it anyways.

Once his coat was on and the school-property laptop was in his bag and I still hadn't moved, he looked at me again and thought for a moment. Reaching some kind of decision, he pulled a key from his pocket and dropped it on top of me.

"Lock up before you go. You can get the key back to me tomorrow. Wear something nice for me, yeah?" I wanted to cringe at his smug, satisfied smile. How justified it was. I managed to look him in the eye and just silently nod. So that was something, at least. His smile grew, and I almost thought he was gonna say or do something else, but the moment passed, and he stepped over me on his way out the door.

Chapter Text

If I had it in me, I'd tear me apart

And put aside the legs and the head and the heart

And here I'd stay wrapped in your arms

Without the mind or the feeling

Or the means to run

Dad's eyes were on me throughout breakfast, black as his coffee but with none of the warmth. I stared intently at my plate, trying to eat as normally as possible. He didn't say anything which was usually good, except when it was really really really bad. I was wearing a black t-shirt that was too small for me even with the sleeves and neckline cut off, causing it to cling a little too tight to my muscles. No sign of my usually ever-present hoodie, even though it was autumn. A bead of sweat crawled along my skin like the blade of Francis' scissors, and I cursed the stupid greasy freak out in my head for the eighth time that morning.

'Dress nice' he'd said. I didn't own anything even remotely nice. Mom stopped getting me clothes awhile ago. Her standards were too high given her budget and how my body had just kept getting bigger. If I was going to look trashy anyway she'd rather wash her hands of it. Especially given dad's reaction to the last second-hand sweater she'd gotten for me. Knitwear was for women, apparently. I'd sold weed for a while with Zedd, but since we'd stopped talking my wardrobe had gotten pretty limited. 

Eventually I managed to convince the fucking computer program running around in my skull that this was as close to dressing nice that it was gonna get. Not before I wasted a lot of time trying to wear one of the three -- no, after yesterday it was two now -- shirts that were still fully intact. I wished I could say I had no idea why they were deemed less 'nice' than the ragged-edged DIY muscle shirt, but one look at my bare arms and way the fabric visibly stretched trying to contain my chest muscles gave me a pretty good idea. At least I'd been allowed to put my beanie in my bag to put on after I left. The accessory had been bizarrely pivotal to letting me leave my room, but last time I wore a hat to a meal I'd lost both the hat and the privilege of eating.

Mom, who sat across from me with a fake smile and straightened hair and an outfit that looked more expensive than it was, asked one of her fake questions:

"Isn't that shirt a little small for you, dear? Maybe you could wear something else." I knew what she was really saying: 'You look like a broke thug. Be normal.' It was basically the only thing she said to me, even if she used different words every time to make it sound nicer.

I snuck a glance at dad from the corner of my eye. Unreadable as ever. But he didn't look like he'd say anything, so I shrugged.

"It's fine. Bus'll be here soon, I don't feel like changing." Her smile got brighter and sunnier, like it did when she had to fight harder to maintain it.

"Okay Bruce, if that's what you want." Finally, Dad spoke.

"Don't wear it again. You should've thrown it away by now." I kept my eyes on my plate.

"Yeah, okay." Now was when I should've asked him for money. I'd known for months that I wouldn't have a coat that fit me by winter, and with the hoodie gone my last real excuse went with it. The idea terrified me. Pathetic little faggot. No wonder that loser could make you his bitch. 

Mom was the only one who spoke for the rest of breakfast.

I found Francis by his locker before school started. A kid walking by in the other direction slowed her pace, hoping to catch the show, but one glare from me sent her scurrying. Francis looked up at me, and for a moment it felt like so many times I'd caught him here before. Like I was about to give him a wedgie or try to shove him in a locker even though he never quite fit. 

He looked me up and down and the feeling vanished, replaced with a burst of insecurity that I cussed myself out for internally. This freak raped you and you're worried about being pretty enough for him. Amazing he even needed mind control when you're so fucking weak. I averted my eyes and tried to silently return Francis' key. He didn't reach for it immediately though, instead leaning against his locker with a smirk.

"Hey there big guy. How was your night?" The knowledge we were in public gave me the willpower to fight off a blush, but just barely. He looked so fucking good from above, and his new attitude did nothing to change that. He was like a tiny little kitten, who knew that the giant dog looming over him was already at the end of his leash and couldn't get an inch closer. No matter how bad he wanted to bite that smug little shit in two.

"Fine." I muttered. I felt so conspicuous, like everyone who walked by was staring at me. The feeling was so strong I couldn't even begin to gauge how true it was. Francis' smile grew.

"Mine was pretty good. Pretty uneventful, compared to our little hangout, but very... productive. Really spent some time figuring out that program I showed you. Got a lot of new ideas, I'm really excited to show you some of them." I couldn't quite hide my shiver. He revelled in my fear for a moment, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Then someone hit the open door of his locker, clanging it into the back of his head.

"Bruce! How's it going bro?" God damn it, not this fucking guy. No fear was strong enough to prevent the tide of eye-rolling irritation that swept over me. Jackson liked to pretend we were friends but didn't try very hard to sell it, the one thing I would ever thank him for. The strawberry blonde football player had an easy bro-y charm to him, like he and you were in on some secret joke, that no one seemed to see through despite what an obviously insecure little bitch he was. And I didn't just think that because I'd fucked his girlfriend. Twice somehow. More of an achievement on her end than mine, really, given just how little I was into women despite my best efforts.

"Fine." I said flatly, giving him my favourite dead-eyed stare for getting people like him to leave me alone. The one that said 'we both know it's a bad idea for me to beat the shit out of you, but if you annoy me bad enough I will stop caring and do it anyways'. From the way his shoulders tensed up and his eyes darted away he got the message loud and clear. I suppressed my grin, because it would actually be a terrible idea to get into a fight with him, but it was so fucking funny. He was so fucking scared of me, even though he was one of the only people I knew who arguably didn't have a reason to be. I mean he was a football player, I was pretty sure tackling giant dudes was like their main thing. He clearly knew how pathetic it was too, even now I could see him starting to get worked up just from talking to me.

Francis glared up at him, the top of his head the height of Jackson's shoulder, and despite the vast differences you could tell they were related just from looking. It was somewhere in their noses I think, or the shape of their eyes.

"What do you want, Jackson?" He asked his cousin, voice venomous with irritation. Jackson rolled his eyes and swatted him, casually enough that the weight of the blow surprised me. It looked like it genuinely hurt.

"Nothing from you, dweeb. I told you before, don't talk to me in public, especially at school." The growl left my throat before I could stop it, and they both looked back at me in surprise. Watching someone else bully Francis always pissed me off so bad, even if he mostly just seemed irritated. Now it was even worse. Not only was someone else doing my job but I couldn't even do it myself anymore. Acting like a jealous little bitch. How pathetic can you get? The thought did not help me get less mad. Still, I tried to play it off as best as I could.

"Get to the fucking point already, I got shit to do." Jackson seemed to buy it, failing to hide another flinch. Francis on the other hand was looking at me like I'd just sent the gears in his head spinning faster than ever, and a sly smirk crept back onto his face. I wanted to scream and hit him, Jackson was right there, he was gonna give the whole game away, but luckily Jackson was too busy trying to decide if he was going to appease me or attack me. He picked the former, because he was a coward. You'd know all about cowardice, wouldn't you? I ignored it.

"Oh, uh, yeah no problem man. Sor- uh, there's a party, next Saturday, and I thought you might wanna come? I, you know, asked Zedd but he only does... you know. The one thing." I laughed. It was probably the wrong call, but it was fucking funny, sue me. Zedd knew people who could get him other shit, but he'd never been comfortable selling anything but weed. I guess technically I'd met some of those people too, but honestly the idea of trying to sell drugs on my own had never even occurred to me. Idiot. If your lungs didn't move on their own you wouldn't breathe unless someone told you to.

Laughing in his face had clearly made Jackson even more insecure. Too bad he could probably get the whole football team to jump me if I pushed him too far, or fucking with him would honestly be pretty fun.

"Zedd was my hookup. I couldn't even get you weed anymore." He blinked. I guess he'd assumed I was in a gang or something.

"Oh. Uh, okay well. Feel free to come anyways, you know?" He clearly regretted it the instant he said it, so even though there was no way in hell I was going to a party thrown by this moron I said:

"Yeah sure, why not?" Francis audibly snorted, and Jackson's smile looked more like a grimace.

"Cool. I'll text you the details later, then. See you around, bro." I nodded in dismissal and he finally left. Francis didn't bother waiting until he was out of earshot before cracking up. Making him laugh filled my chest with a warmth that made me want to scream and hit things. Easy weak soft faggot loser.

"That was actually so much fun to watch. You always hate him, or did you just get jealous?" There was no fighting off the blush this time, and I turned my face upwards and towards the lockers hoping it would keep bystanders from seeing.

"Both. I guess. I don't know." IDIOT! Why the FUCK would you just ADMIT it! He didn't even have to make you, you miserable puddle of sludge. Thank god I wasn't looking directly at him or his grin would've blinded me.

"You're way too tall to be that cute, you know that?" Well, that shut up the self hatred for a second. And also everything else. My ears started ringing, and then kept ringing because that was actually the bell. He finally grabbed the stupid fucking key. The places his hand touched mine in the process burst into metaphorical flame. He paused one last moment before leaving.

"Hmm. It's Wednesday today, isn't it? I think you're gonna help me out with something. Meet me after school, okay big guy?" He didn't wait for an answer, and I wasn't sure if I could've given one anyway.

Thank fuck the park was only a couple minutes walk from school because Francis was somehow quiet the whole way there and it was spiking my anxiety through the roof. Not to mention how many people had seen us leaving together. I'd tried to act like it was normal, but I had no idea what they were thinking watching it.

The park was a nice one though, real big, lots of trails and trees and shit for hiking. I used to come here pretty often, when I didn't want to be at home. But once Zedd stopped talking to me it felt awkward, like I was gonna turn a corner and see him getting drunk or smoking weed or trying to skateboard for the eight thousandth time and failing just as hard as the first.

The feeling eased as Francis led us deeper into the woods, away from the neat and maintained area with the playground and little pond he preferred to stick to, especially on his own. Still, it didn't exactly help my anxiety. Finally, alone among the trees, Francis decided to tell me what we were here for.

"So, Jackson does his stupid runs here on Wednesdays. He lost an airpod a couple weeks ago and made me go look for it, so I have the route he takes on my phone. I figured out what trail we can take to cut him off at the most isolated part of his route. Once he shows up, you just gotta grab him and keep him quiet long enough for me to knock him out with the initial scan. Got it?" I blinked. Why hadn't it occurred to me that he'd want to do this to more people? Because you're unbelievably stupid. Now you're gonna get jealous that you're not enough to satisfy him, right? Or even worse, you're grateful that he's letting you help. It was both. I imagined how my own skin would feel under my nails if I clawed it all off strip by agonizing strip. Wet and flaky I bet, like sawdust and blood.

"You lugged that laptop all the way out here?" At least my voice was still dead as ever.

"What? Oh, no, there's an app. I mean it sucks, the UI is totally garbage and doing anything complicated takes way longer, but it can do the scanning thing pretty easily. You think I'm gonna risk someone else getting their hands on this thing? The laptop's staying locked up tight. I'm only even risking the app because I can brick my phone remotely." I looked at the sky.

"There's an app now. Great." I muttered, mostly to myself. Fully out loud I said "Alright, I guess I got it then." He smiled at me, and I couldn't wait until we caught that dumbass Jackson because I needed to do something violent as soon as humanly possible.

I had to wait though. Even after we got to the right spot and found places to hide just off the trail, the fucker made me wait another ten, fifteen minutes before showing. Francis, who played with his phone passing the time but made me keep my eyes on the trail, glanced over at one point and smiled at my expression.

"He's making you wait for it, huh big guy? Always a mistake." Making me wait? Oh. Oh.

There was a faint warning bell in my head, that he might be setting me up for some even bigger fall. But the idea that he was going to let me play a role I actually knew, not just out of convenience but because he wanted to watch me perform... The weak fag told me to make the hot guy happy so he'd fuck me, and the angry thug told me to prove I was still tough and scary enough, and the program told me to do whatever Francis Carver told me to. So if what Francis was gonna tell me to do was unleash the same hell I'd been giving him onto anyone else he didn't like? If he was just going to hand me a way to make all those conflicting voices happy for even a second? Hell, he could tell me outright that it was a trap and I'd still end up falling for it.

I flashed him a mean grin, like we were partners, and his smile grew into an extremely pleased grin of his own.

Finally Jackson showed up, though only after making me wait for a couple more minutes. A lot more bearable, now that I was genuinely excited. He wasn't even fucking running, just going for a little walk with his hands in his track jacket, wearing a pair of gym shorts that made me really start to see the family resemblance. His ass wasn't as fat as Francis', but he still had a real nice little dumptruck back there huh? I wondered if it was from working those glutes, or if it was just genetics. Maybe all the athletic jock bullshit was to try and keep it check, so sickos like me didn't learn what he was really good for. I wondered if Francis would let me... Don't you fucking dare, cut the bullshit and beat this dumbass down already.

I could do that.

I crept out from the bushes behind him, totally clueless with his fucking airpods in. Not that hearing me coming could've saved him. I was practically stepping on his heels when he finally noticed something was off, and then I had one arm around his throat and the other pinning his arms back before his head had even finished turning towards me.

It felt good , cutting off his scream before it could start with a single flex against his throat. He thrashed in surprise and I laughed, wishing I could see his face right now. He still couldn't hear me, which was fun because he had no idea what was happening but probably getting in the way of keeping him still, so I licked the shell of his ear before pulling out his airpod with my teeth and spitting it onto the dirt. I stomped on it hard, grinning as I felt it break beneath my heavy old work boot.

"Keep struggling and I'll choke you out." Finishing the threat had barely even been necessary; the little bitch froze as soon as he recognized my voice. It felt incredible. Even without all the extra stress and powerlessness of the last day, just being able to finally prove what we'd both always known deep down, that he was a weak, stupid coward who I could take out without even trying, was intensely satisfying.

"Hey, Jackson. Need a little help?" God, I wished I could see his face so bad when he heard Francis' smug, gloating voice. When he saw his loser cousin stroll up out of the woods, braces flashing in his triumphant grin. My wish might just come true if Francis felt generous, because he was holding his phone in a way that clearly indicated that he was filming. "I could get him to put you down, you know. If you ask me nicely enough."

Part of me was upset, to have his control over me revealed like that. But it made Jackson so much more confused and upset, it was hard to feel the sting too badly. Especially when I could tell that even if Jackson begged like a baby, there was no way Francis was actually gonna let him get out of this. Jackson started making pathetic little choked out noises, and sure enough Francis made no gesture to indicate I should let him speak. Instead he cupped a hand around his ear mockingly, like he was trying to hear him better.

"What's that? I can't quite hear you, 'bro'. Guess you don't need my help then, huh? Oh of course, I'm sorry. We're in public. I shouldn't even be talking to you." The menace in his voice got Jackson struggling again. He really was strong enough to have given me trouble, except he was just blindly panicking instead of making any real concerted effort to try and break my hold. All he really ended up doing was grinding that tight ass against my cock, and suddenly I had to think about how hard I was getting and whether or not he could feel it. Rage coursed through me at the idea of this stupid meathead bitch, with his styled hair and his tight ass shorts, judging me and I tightened my grip around his throat.

For a moment I was so tunnel visioned I didn't even notice him fall limp. Not until Francis' laughter cut through the sound of my pulse, and he said

"Go ahead and let him breathe, big guy. He's already under." Just like he'd said, the phone screen was pointing towards us. I eased up on Jackson's throat, and his limp body gasped for air even as it remained eerily still. A shiver threatened to roll down my spine, but suppressing it was easy now that I'd vented my frustrations just a little. I carefully released Jackson just enough to get a look at his face. I wasn't really worried about him snapping out of it, but I wasn't sure whether he'd remain standing or not if I let him go fully. He had that same totally blank expression as Francis'd had when I'd first walked in on him. His big brown eyes were glazed over and unseeing and yet completely fixated on the screen in Francis' hands. It was creepy, but also kind of hot. You could just tell that there wasn't a single useless thought left in that empty little head. I poked his cheek, and there was no reaction besides the soft give beneath my finger, even as I pressed down harder and harder.

Francis closed the distance, just as eager to really start playing with him as I was. As he did, I saw Jackson's eyes move without blinking, tracking the screen. I was looking at it before I could even think about it, my eyes drawn to try and start reading the words. Nothing happened though. It was just the same type of basic font, 'NEW USER DETECTED / BEGINNING INITIAL SCAN AND DATABASE ENTRY / INITIAL SCAN IN PROGRESS'. It just looked like a normal phone screen open to a really low budget app. I bet this is what you looked like when he had you under. He saw you looking just as stupid and empty as Jackson looks right now.

I didn't know if the thought was meant to make me horny or upset, but it succeeded at both. I swallowed it, focusing on Francis's adorably giddy expression as he prodded his comatose cousin.

"That felt so good. Spoiled asshole had no idea what was happening, it was hysterical. I can't wait until he wakes up. The last thing in his memory is gonna be getting choked out. Let's move this party somewhere a little more private before then, yeah?"