by Katsura
“Fucking hell, don’t you think if I knew where the fuck the alleged thing was I wouldn’t bring it and ram it down your throat? Fuck. I’d gladly give it to you if it fucking existed just to get you off my fucking back!”
“Yeah, like I believe that. No, you took something from me. That is how I see it. You take from me, so I will take from you.”
“Take what?” Fergus growled menacingly into the phone.
“Oh that would be telling.” Judas seemed amused, “I will let it be a little surprise.”
Fergus cut the call off before Judas could say anything further. He sat back down heavily in his chair again and glared at the wall as his chest rose and fell in rage. With the phone still in his hand, he felt a sudden surge in anger at the man who had dumped him without so much as a goodbye. He began to send a text, a bitter frown on his face.
*
Finally the rope that bound Mikhail’s wrists gave way. He let out a gasp as he was able to move his arms in front of himself again. Mikhail’s shoulders ached at being forced into the unnatural position for so long and his hands were numb from the exertion required to cut the rope.
Tears flowed freely down his face and he wiped his sleeve across his cheek seeing his coat stain with mascara and appear more filthy than it had been already.
He must look a sight.
Cautiously he lifted the fragment of broken mirror and looked at the small part of his reflection that he could see there. His lips parted in shock. Mikhail’s once carefully applied make up was in streaks all over his face. His chin looked rough and filthy, his lips pale and lifeless. Although he couldn’t remember exactly how long he had been in this place, he felt that his decline to the condition that he was in now, had been a rapid one. He had to get away from here. Although he never in a million years would want anyone to see him in this state, it didn’t stop him praying for rescue. His looks were the least of his worries. His concern was more for his strength as that would determine whether or not he got out of here alive.
He crawled towards the bag that he had once watched Hugo tie and toss out of his reach. Hugo said that it contained food. Right now, although he knew he should try to consume something, Mikhail was certain he would likely vomit up anything that he ate.
But he was completely dehydrated. If there really was food in there, perhaps there was also water. Once the bag was within his trembling fingers he untied it slowly. His hands still ached so much and he felt pain shoot up his wrists as he tipped the contents haphazardly out onto the dirt floor.
There were various cereal bars, a vial of moisturiser, thankfully some bottled water and bizarrely, an old fashioned cut throat razor. Mikhail opened the water bottle as quickly as his swollen fingers would allow and he took a great gulp of the fresh tasting liquid. Only someone who had been without a drink for so long could appreciate how wonderful the flavour seemed to him.
After taking a few more gulps, he secured the lid as he was terrified of losing the remainder of the precious contents to the dirt. His fingers couldn’t be trusted with anything as valuable as this, so he placed the bottle upright on the ground. Gingerly, he then lifted the razor. Mikhail was no psychic, and frankly didn’t believe in any of that rubbish, but he fancied that he had a vision of Hugo’s intentions when the little crackpot decided to put the item in the bag.
Hugo presumed that Mikhail would use it to commit suicide. Wretched and trapped, he would resort to taking his own life.
Fleetingly Mikhail entertained the fantasy that he would overcome Hugo if he ever returned, the metal pressed to his throat as he forced him up the stairs. But this was pushed aside by a rather more vain use for the item. He lifted the moisturiser, another strange addition to the bag. What purpose did Hugo have for that, he wondered? It was a type that people with scarring to the skin used as it contained an oil that was meant to lessen the appearance of the roughness of healed tissue. The receipt for this and all the other items, aside from the razor, was still in the bag. Hugo must have bought it for use on the small marks on his face and had neglected to remove it and take it with him.
How sinister. To shop for items to torment your captive victim with, then to suddenly think oh and I need some Bio-Oil. Mikhail almost laughed at the thought of what else might have been left in there. Dog biscuits? An evening paper?
He clutched the moisturiser in one hand and the razor in the other and raised an eyebrow. There was no-one here to judge him for his vanity, so perhaps he could now shave that unsightly growth from off of his chin.
*
As the little dog ran for the door, Hugo shooed it playfully and put on his coat.
“No, Mikhail.” He smiled indulgently at his pet, “Not just now. You can go later.
Mummy has something to do.”
Fergus stood by the doorway to the sitting room, a tumbler full of whisky in one hand. “What did you say to that mutt? You called it Mikhail?” He stepped into the centre of the hallway, his eyes narrowed as he watched Hugo pull on his boots and give what appeared to be a nervous smile.
“Oh, yes.” Hugo laughed. “It is a pretty name don’t you think? And the poor little darling never had a name for so long. I just thought…well Mikhail is such a nice person and—“
“If you even think of calling it that, I’ll fucking throttle it.” Fergus interrupted him.
He took a large swig of his whisky and fixed Hugo with a firm stare.
“I don’t see what the problem is?” Hugo stared back. “After all, it is really just a name.”
“Call it Mikhail, and I promise you I will wring its whinging little neck.” Fergus took a few steps toward him, with a menacing frown on his face to show that he was serious. Nothing would give him greater pleasure and a part of him hoped that Hugo was in one of those defiant moods of his. Then he could carry out his threat in front him and watch the expression on his pale face. “And where do you think you are going?”
“Just out.” Hugo glanced at the hall mirror and neatened the fur on his collar. “I actually thought that you were asleep and I thought that I would take a little stroll.”
“Without the mutt? Why go out and not take it with you?” Fergus could feel a growing knot of suspicion. What was it Judas MacGregor had said? I will take something of yours?
An attempted seduction of that little alcoholic prick, who now stood in front of him would have been just like MacGregor. The typical kind of low move he would pull.
“Take your coat off.” Fergus emptied his glass. “From now on you go nowhere without me. You stay here and let no one into the house if I am not around. If you want to go out, you wait until I am in a mood to take you.”
Hugo looked aghast and he threw his hands up. “Fergus you can’t do that to me! I already don’t go to your social things. I hardly ever go anywhere. You can’t make me even more of a prisoner!”
“Watch me.” Fergus grabbed him and wrestled him out of his coat. The dog barked in protest at this manhandling of its owner. Hugo was no match for Fergus so he didn’t struggle. He just gave up without a fight, but looked grim.
“So be it.” He lifted the dog and walked into the sitting room. “If I can’t go out…then I can’t go out.”
Hugo stared at Fergus in a manner that seemed to imply something but Fergus couldn’t figure out what, so he simply ignored him. “I don’t want you wandering about out there. Any fucking thing could happen to you.” Fergus refilled his glass and took it to the sofa where he sat down. A wave of dizziness blurred his vision for a moment and he realised that he was a bit drunk. The irony of this actually stunned him. There he was getting slowly pished while Hugo seemed to be stone cold sober. Stone cold sober but with a bizarrely delighted smile.
“Oh, darling you are so sweet to worry about me.” Hugo put his dog down. He approached Fergus with a practically skipping gait and sat close to him. He snuggled against Fergus’s chest and sighed happily. “You are so right of course. There are all sorts of nutcases out there.”
“Hugo,” Fergus s
mirked despite himself, “If I’d let you go, you’d be the nuttiest one out there.”
Rather that strop off offended at this remark, Hugo laughed. He seemed genuinely amused as he hit Fergus a playful slap on the arm. “Oh, you!” He shook his head. “But of course I know that is true. But still…you worry about me and that makes me feel wanted.”
“Wanted?” Fergus tried to sneer. It must have looked more like a smile because Hugo gazed at him soppily in return.
“Yes.” He kissed Fergus’s cheek. “I am the luckiest person alive. I have you, my little dog and this beautiful home. I really don’t need anything else. And neither do you, darling. We have each other and that is all that matters.”
Fergus stared at him.
A strange emotion crept over him. It felt almost like a memory, like a thing from his past making an attempt to become part of his present. The sensation was not an unpleasant one. In fact, there was something oddly comfortable about it. As though he had just realised that he could get away from some sort of thing that he’d felt bound him or tied him down in some way. Not Hugo, which truly was peculiar as he did normally feel that way about him.
Hugo stared back at him and Fergus suddenly realised.
He’d felt that sensation years ago when he decided to move in with Hugo. It was the feeling of being liberated. Finally he had done something that was for him and not his father. He had made a choice about his own future. Been honest about his sexuality.
Hugo had helped to give him that courage.
“Fuck.” He heard the startled lilt to his own voice and Hugo leaned and kissed his lips.
“You are in a funny mood tonight, darling.” Hugo’s voice seemed to lull right now, and not grate. “But I do like it.”
Flames sparkled in Hugo’s eyes. It was a particularly cold evening and the coal fire had been lit. Something about the way the light danced in the black depths of Hugo’s pupils made him appear quite striking, even one might say, alluring. Because Hugo had been wearing a ski mask on the occasion of their first meeting, it was his eyes that first caught Fergus’s attention. That and the fact that he was blowing some poor fuck’s face off with a sawn off shotgun. Later, when the mask had been pulled off and Fergus was able to see the rest of Hugo’s face completely, it was something of a let-down. Hugo was not unattractive, but his eyes were certainly his best feature.
By killing the man who had been about to bludgeon Fergus over the head with an iron bar, Hugo had saved Fergus’s life. Or at least he had saved him from having to live the rest of it as a vegetable. He owed his very existence now to that crazy little sod. But the thing he remembered being most grateful to him for was being given the balls to drag his ass out of a very overcrowded closet.
Fergus put his drink down. Cupping Hugo’s chin in his fingers, he raised his face and covered Hugo’s mouth in a kiss. It felt oddly natural to kiss in Hugo this way.
There was no revulsion, or attempt to humiliate Hugo with the action. It felt natural to kiss him and Hugo responded to the kiss with a gentle sigh and a tender movement of his lips.
Fergus parted from him and once more searched the depths of the ebony irises. So dark were they, it was impossible to tell if Hugo’s pupils were dilated or not, but he did seem to be in a dreamlike state judging from his slow breathing.
“Fergus.” His voice was childlike. “Won’t you do me like you used to?”
Without saying a word, Fergus reached out and began to undress his waif-like spouse. He removed the dark clothes from him, the overlarge sweater, the black jeans that always hung on his hips and never sat snug on his body the way Mikhail’s clothing did. Soon Hugo was naked, and Fergus let his eyes wander openly over Hugo’s exposed skin. His chest. The small pink nipples and the visible ribs. His flat stomach and the protruding hip bones. He looked emaciated, but somehow at this particular moment, Fergus found the vulnerability attractive. Hugo hadn’t seemed to have aged at all. He had the body of a youth many years his junior. Unable to stop himself, Fergus bowed his head and let his tongue trace around the young man’s navel. Hugo’s skin was salty and smelled of some sort of soap or body lotion. Nothing too flowery, more aromatic and woody.
Hugo tangled his fingers in Fergus’s hair and seemed to want Fergus’s tongue to move lower. Despite the arousal that Fergus felt, coupled with this unusual desire to please Hugo, Fergus couldn’t bring himself to lick the cock that was brushing ever so slightly against his chin. Probably all guys like blowjobs, so why wouldn’t Hugo want one? Fergus just couldn’t do that for him; the thought was completely alien to him. To take another man’s cock into your mouth was wrong. When Mikhail did it for Fergus, it did seem so beautifully right though. He had to stop thinking about Mikhail. Mikhail was not here. He was somewhere, who knows where, busily ignoring all the texts and phone calls.
Fergus stood up and scooped Hugo into his arms. Hugo wrapped his legs around Fergus’s waist and his arms around his neck. As they made their way up the stairs together, Hugo gazed down into Fergus’s face, breathlessly. He weighed nothing so the journey was not a difficult one, even though Fergus was clearly inebriated. With each step he took Hugo kissed him. His lips, his eyes, his nose. He purred like a cat and squirmed gently against Fergus’s chest as Fergus ran his hands over Hugo’s bony little back.
Once inside Hugo’s bedroom, Fergus lay him down on the bedcovers. He stepped back and began to undress, the room only slightly spinning if he concentrated hard enough. As he took off his shirt, he noticed that Hugo’s eyes never left his chest. The young man lay there, his hands at rest against his concave belly and above his erection, his legs spread and bent at the knees. His thighs were smooth and pale and Fergus’s gaze travelled down the inside of them to the shadows that barely concealed his entrance. The position was one of such submission and absolute trust. Hugo had laid himself bare and offered every part of his body to the lustful gaze of his husband, but instead of lust, Fergus resolved to try to love him.
Fergus’s shirt fell to the floor, followed by his trousers and then lastly, his shorts.
The shedding of the final garment inspired an audible gasp from Hugo and Fergus smiled. Hugo wanted him. His slim hips ground as though they were already fucking.
No. Not fucking. Making love.
They had never made love.
Tonight they were going to try, at least if Fergus had his way.
Fergus lay back on the bed and instinctively, Hugo straddled his hips. With his fingers clasped around Fergus’s cock, he wet the palm of his other hand with his tongue and worked it over Fergus’s skin. Once Fergus’s cock glistened in Hugo’s spit, Hugo positioned his ass over it and eased the throbbing organ into his body. Fergus reached out his hands and held Hugo’s waist. He was so thin, that Fergus’s thumbs almost touched just above his navel and this, coupled with how tight Hugo’s ass felt around Fergus’s hard cock, send a myriad of erotic thoughts through Fergus’s mind. Hugo felt like a virgin. God knows he was never one when Fergus knew him but he felt like one now. Would it still be making love if Fergus thrust his hips to make that little hole widen enough to take some more of him? Hugo propped his hands on Fergus’s stomach and looked as though he prepared himself to ride on Fergus’s cock like he sometimes did. All wild, untamed and with a seemingly limitless amount of energy.
Fergus didn’t want to feel the unbridled ministrations of a skilful lover. Tonight, he wanted some purity.
“Hugo…” he whispered, “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you…”
Hugo immediately took the cue and his expression changed to one of apprehension.
His eyes became large and his lips pursed into a pretty pout. “You promise me?”
He slid his hips up so that Fergus was now barely inside him. Only the head of his cock nestled within Hugo’s ass. “You feel so big, I don’t know if I can take it all…uh…”
The small sound he made sent a shiver of desire through Fergus. Still with his hands on Hugo’s waist, he rolled with him
so that Hugo was beneath him, his legs looped around Fergus’s hips.
“Hugo, you are such the little actor. My Hugo…” Fergus whispered his name over and over again as he thrust in and out of his tight hole. Hugo pressed his hands against Fergus’s belly, in an attempt, it seemed, to slow his movements or even to push Fergus off. The resistance completed the scenario for Fergus and he thrust faster and harder, eliciting a loud cry from Hugo as their skin slapped noisily together when Fergus’s cock embedded almost fully into him.
With his back arched so that his cock received the full benefit of the friction between their bodies, Hugo turned his face to the side. He whimpered deliciously and bit restlessly at his lower lip as Fergus pounded steadily into him, enjoying his expression greedily. Hugo was perfect. He took it like he had never done it before.
Hugo spread his legs wider still, like someone eager to see what it would be like to have it all.
Fergus gave it to him and the base of his shaft stretched Hugo’s delicate skin to its capacity.
“I’m going to come!” Hugo cried out and his face reddened. The blush of colour spread down his neck and over his youthful chest as Fergus felt the splash of cum hit like a hot ribbon whipped sharply across his abdomen.
Hugo screamed as he came and his nails raked into Fergus’s skin. Fergus’s eyes widened as he looked down at his husband’s face. His balls tingled and tightened. His cock swelled against the channel that surrounded it. He came copiously and Hugo’s hips jolted with every wave of semen that was pumped into him.
They finally stopped the slower glide of their hips and Hugo trembled beneath him, his face stained in tears. Real tears perhaps and Fergus bowed his head to press his hot lips to Hugo’s cheeks and he kissed them all away before they could evaporate on the furnace that was Hugo’s skin.
Fergus slumped exhausted, his mind now empty of all thoughts.
Now this was rather odd, Hugo mused as he lay back against the sheets.