by Peter Styles
“So I’m stressed,” I said. “I’m dealing with it. And I’m so sorry I’m not in the mood to run with you for your entertainment.”
“You don’t seem to be dealing with it. Not well, anyway. What was with him bursting into work yesterday?”
I shrugged. “He thought he saw the piece of shit he ran away from and he was freaked out.”
“You mean his owner?”
I glared. “Don’t call him that.”
Remy shrugged. “That’s what he calls him. Why shouldn’t I do the same thing?”
“Because it makes it sound legitimate,” I snapped. “It makes it sound like that bastard actually owned him or that he was allowed to hurt and control him like that.”
Remy gave up the fight; he knew that arguing with me about Rousseau, Nicky’s former “owner,” wouldn’t earn him much more than a punch in the face. “But he hasn’t been around him for, what, eight years?”
“Something like that, yeah,” I said. “He’d escaped from him a few months before we started dating.”
“It just seems like he’d be over it by now. Doesn’t it?”
I stared. “Remy, he was enslaved for four years by that asshole. And the people who were in his life before that weren’t much better.”
“I didn’t say his life wasn’t shitty. I just said it seems like he’s had enough time to get his shit together, at least enough to get a real job.”
I ran my hands over my face, scrubbing hard at my skin. I had all of my arguments lined up. I could point out all of the fallacies in his logic and all of the stigmas and stereotypes that he was incorrectly adhering to. I could tell him all about Nicky’s lack of education, his lack of confidence, and his plans for the future. It was the stuff I knew I was supposed to say, and it was the stuff I wanted to say.
But a part of me couldn’t help but agree with him. I knew that part of me was wrong. I knew that all of the arguments I should be feeding him were the same ones I should be subscribing to myself. But underneath it all was my anger and my resentment. They were my greatest shame, but also my greatest challenge to overcome.
I wanted to fight just as much as Remy wanted me to. I wanted to yell and scream at Nicky without having to watch him wither in fear, which always gagged me with guilt. I wanted to tell him to just get a fucking job already, to realize that he wasn’t alone anymore, and to get over his problems. I wanted to snap at him to get over himself and help me, especially when I felt like I was starting to drown and he didn’t even seem to notice. I wanted him to be fixed so I could stop worrying.
And that was what burned me up inside. That was the fire that was being fed by overdue bills and sleepless nights and gray hairs. No matter how much I knew it was wrong, it kept building and building inside me, wearing away at me.
But I couldn’t tell Remy that. So I just stayed silent.
The quiet was broken by the sound of feet bounding down the rickety stairs. I looked up to see Nicky in all his dazzling glory, fresh out of the shower, his hair wet and his pale skin still gleaming. The flowers on his side seemed to glow, as if they’d been freshly watered. He was wearing tight boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination; they clung tight to his firm ass and the thick bulge between his legs. I couldn’t help but shoot Remy a look, and I felt a mixture of pride and self-satisfaction at the way his mouth hung open in amazement. Remy could talk all the crap he wanted about Nicky, but even he couldn’t deny how gorgeous he was.
“Hey!” Nicky’s eyes lit up when he saw Remy. “What’s up, man?”
“Uh.” Remy blinked and made an attempt at swallowing, but I could tell his mouth had gone completely dry. “Not much. How about you?”
“Ah, nothing, really,” Nicky said, smile firmly in place. “I was actually going to run by Louis’s place today, but I have a lot of work to do on my equipment and everything. Were you going to see him?”
“Yeah, I was.”
“Great!” Nicky dug around in a basket by the stairs, bending over to give us a great view of his shapely ass. He was pretending not to notice us staring, but I knew he could tell. He may have had trouble reading a room, but he could always tell how people reacted to his body. I could feel myself starting to harden and tried to subtly adjust myself. Nicky shot me a mischievous glance over his shoulder and wiggled just a little more than necessary. He had been trained to use his body in a very particular way, and he’d gotten extremely good at it. More than that, he knew it, and it was possibly the only true source of pride he had.
When he turned back, he tossed what looked like a small film cartridge over to Remy, who fumbled with it helplessly before he finally got a grasp on it. “It’s only a hundred bucks’ worth,” Nicky explained. “If you could bring the money back over here after you’re done hanging out with him, I’d really appreciate it.”
Remy was the type of guy who wouldn’t piss on his dearest friend if they were on fire, but Nicky’s charms were so intense that Remy just nodded and pocketed the little canister.
A knock at the door jerked me and Remy out of our stupors, and Nicky wasted no time in flinging the front door open. On the opposite side was a tiny UPS driver. Her pale face instantly went red when she saw Nicky. “Um… P-packages for Nicholas Driver?” she squeaked, embarrassed.
“Oh, awesome! That’s me.” Nicky gave her a stunning grin. She shoved the signature device towards him, doing her best to look everywhere but at him and failing in spite of her gallant efforts. Nicky signed and took three massive, teetering boxes from her. He kicked the door closed behind him and craned his neck out from behind the stack to look at us. “Can someone open the basement door?” he asked.
I didn’t move. “What’s all this?”
“Equipment.” He hefted it up into his arms. “I needed a few things.”
The air felt thick with tension. Nicky gave me a confused look, but I just ground my teeth and gave him a pained smiled. “Okay. Just… be careful with that, okay? I’ve noticed a lot of stuff coming to the house for you lately, and we still have a lot of bills we have to pay.”
“Of course.” He nodded and bowed a little, or at least as much as he could while still holding the boxes. “I get it.”
“Good. Just wanted to mention it,” I said.
“No problem. I understand.”
We continued standing and looking at each other. Nicky was wearing a polite smile, but something in his eyes told me that he could feel the discomfort building up around me. I continued smiling at him too, but it felt more like a grimace.
After a minute, Remy got up and opened the basement door.
“Thanks, Remy!” Nicky hustled over to the stairs and wasted no time in slamming the door behind him. I could hear him jostling the boxes as he went, and each step made my blood run a little bit hotter. I looked at the stack of bills on the coffee table and stood up abruptly.
“You know what, Remy?” I said. “I think a run might do me some good.”
I didn’t add that it might be the only thing keeping me from losing it at my beloved boyfriend.
Chapter Four
Nicky spent most of that day and night in the basement, only ascending to grab something to eat or give me a quick kiss. He looked flushed, sweaty, and excitable, but happy. “I think I’ve got it,” he told me as he wolfed down a turkey sandwich for lunch. “I think I’ve finally figured out something that’s really going to work.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, trying not to sound skeptical.
“Definitely. I just need to finish it up, but once this product is done, we won’t have to worry about money for a good, long time.” He devoured his food in less than a minute, then planted a kiss on the top of my head, apparently oblivious to the bills spread out before me. He half-skipped to the basement and disappeared once more.
I spent several minutes straining to hear anything. There were tiny, muffled thumps, but no music that I could discern. Then again, it was rare that I ever actually heard what he was working on; he’d practically sound
proofed the basement.
Still, it gave me pause. What was he doing down there that could be so silent? What was so vitally important that he had to have a bunch of presumably expensive boxes delivered to the house day in and day out?
I looked down at the bills. The rent was overdue by a couple of weeks, and I didn’t doubt I was going to get a nasty call from our angry German landlord, but he sometimes forgot about us for a while before coming to collect. The internet had gone down that morning, and I decided I wouldn’t pay the bill until we absolutely needed it. I went over the grocery receipts and took stock of all the food in the house; too much of it was perishable. I started looking up what I could freeze and what I couldn’t.
That night, I was beyond stressed. When I closed my eyes, all I could see were numbers and giant letters reading OVERDUE on the inside of my eyelids.
I had been tossing and turning in bed for nearly half an hour when Nicky finally joined me. He snuggled up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing at my neck. I thought about swatting him away, but it felt good. Even when I was annoyed at him, I couldn’t pretend he didn’t have extremely talented hands and lips, and I shivered when he nibbled at the spot just below my ear. “You know how much I love you, right?” he whispered, and those words were still enough to make me shiver.
I grabbed his hand, which had slithered up my shirt to brush over the hard muscle of my stomach. I intertwined my fingers with his, and all of the stress of the day seemed to evaporate. “I love you too, babe,” I murmured.
His tongue flicked over the shell of my ear, and I gasped. “I love everything you do to take care of us.” He nibbled gently at my neck. “You’re such an amazing partner, and you do so much to support me. You make me so happy.”
I felt a stupid, dizzying grin spread over my face. “You make me happy too.” And that was true; when my brain wasn’t occupied with other things, I felt transcendently happy just being in his presence.
His hand slipped out of mine and moved slowly down to my boxers, where he massaged my rapidly hardening cock through the thin material. “You think I could make you happier?”
I groaned. “Fuck. I know you can,” I gasped.
That was all he needed to hear.
He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me onto my back, divesting me of my shirt and my boxers with almost supernatural quickness. His warm, soft mouth left little pink marks from light nips and laps from his tongue across my chest and stomach. I ran my fingers through his dark hair, pushing it back from his forehead so I could watch as he nuzzled against my stomach. He peppered my abs with kisses, tracing my muscles with his lips and tongue. I was already feeling shaky, and when he grabbed my bare cock, it was already completely hard. “Oh God,” I hissed, and I felt him chuckle against my stomach. He started to pump in smooth, even strokes, and my eyes fluttered closed, letting myself just appreciate the soft, building pleasure of his hand working over my shaft.
“I love you so much, Tim,” he breathed. His hand stopped and I almost complained, but any noise died in my throat when he kissed the underside of my cock. He worked his way up my shaft, kissing along the way before lavishing the head with his tongue. He sucked softly at the tip, his tongue slipped beneath the ridge and flicking against the underside of the head until my eyes rolled back. He chuckled, apparently proud of himself. “I’m so happy I can do this for you,” he said, his warm breath making my cock twitch. “I love pleasing you.”
I looked down at him, breathing hard. I ran my thumb over the soft skin of his cheekbone. “I know you do, baby,” I sighed. Chills ran up my spine as he dragged his tongue up my shaft. “And you’re so good at it.”
That made him. It always did. It prompted him to finally start sucking me, wrapping his lips around my cock and sliding it down his warm, velvety throat.
I let out a loud moan. “Fuuuck, babe… You’re the greatest cocksucker I’ve ever met.”
He moaned around my shaft, and the vibrations went straight to my core, where pleasure was welling up greater and greater with every second. I put a hand to the back of his head and guided him, bobbing his head faster and faster. His tongue lashed at the shaft as he moved, practically devouring me, and it only doubled the sensation. “Yes, Nicky,” I murmured, tightening my grip on his hair. “You feel so good, baby. You’re always so good.”
My comments were getting to him. He looked up at me from his position between my legs, his eyes begging. Little keening noises were coming from the back of his throat, sending jolts of pleasure through my cock. “You’re such a good boy, Nicky,” I said, and he started sucking harder, hollowing out his cheeks.
It wasn’t long before I was at my limit. “You want my cum, baby?” I asked, panting. “You want me to cum for you?”
He mewled softly, sucking hard, his eyes desperate.
“Make me cum, baby,” I told him quietly. “Make me cum like only you can.”
He shivered, and just watching the waves of pleasure roll through him was enough to put me on the edge. One of his hands was between his legs, stroking himself desperately, and his little moans and whimpers told me that he was getting close. And if there was one thing I knew he loved, it was a mouthful of cum.
I gave him a moan of warning and my pleasure bubbled over, tipping me over the edge into my orgasm. I thrust deep into his throat, feeling him swallowing eagerly, and I could tell by the way his body stiffened between my legs that he had cum as well. A rope of his seed hit my thigh, prompting a gasp from me and another twitch from my cock. As always, Nicky didn’t let me up until he was sure that I was completely satisfied, licking up every drop.
He fell into bed next to me, curling up against my side. I wrapped a boneless arm around him, and he kissed my shoulder. “I love you, Tim,” he murmured sleepily.
“I love you too, Nicky. More than you’ll ever know.”
And in that moment, none of the stress existed. It was swallowed up entirely by pleasure and the soft, sleepy afterglow.
If only it could have stayed that way.
Chapter Five
As soon as I woke up, something seemed off.
Nicky was snoring softly beside me, and I still felt pleasantly light from the orgasm-induced sleep, but the air was too still and hot. I pulled myself up and glared blearily around the room.
When I fell asleep the night before, I’d been sure that the fan had been on, but it was still. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the wall, where I could see that the switch was still in the on position.
I stared at it stupidly, my sleep brain still in a borderline Neanderthal state. I felt Nicky’s fingers wrap around my bicep, and I nearly let myself be dragged back onto the sheets. After all, I thought, the fan would still be off when I woke up later. It would still be broken. I could fix it then.
I settled back against the mattress for a second, already dreaming of my first morning of sleeping in that I’d had in months, when my eyes popped back open.
It wasn’t the fan that wasn’t working. It was the switch.
The switch was connected to the electricity.
Our power had been shut off.
I jumped out of bed, practically sliding into the wall in the narrow stairway. I trampled down the stairs and ran into the kitchen, whipping open the fridge.
The moment I opened it, I knew that it was going to be a blood bath. The power must have died hours before I woke up, because a faint stench of stale and sour food was already permeating the kitchen. I dug through the fridge in borderline desperation, but almost everything in it was going to go bad or had started to already.
I opened the freezer. Water dripped down the sides, splattering onto the floor and my feet. Ice cream had melted. Frozen vegetables had already started to wilt. And some of the food I’d gone through so much effort to save—like the soup Nicky had made with leftovers—was starting to unthaw. I wasn’t just looking at ruined food, I was looking at an entire wasted paycheck and two weeks of ramen.
I knew it wasn’t a mistak
e, but I called the power company anyway. I raged at some poor innocent desk worker about how “I have autopay, dammit, how did something like this happen?” I snarled and refused to be put on hold. I demanded to speak to supervisors. I even asked to be compensated for my losses.
But, of course, the answer came back with what I knew, deep down, it was going to be. “Sir,” the anxious desk worker half-whispered after my tirade had ended, “I’m looking at your account right now, and it looks like you had insufficient funds in your bank account. We had to turn off your power.”
I swore loudly. “Aren’t you people supposed to send me some kind of notice before you do something like that?!”
“We did,” the desk worker said meekly. “We emailed you.”
Of course. Email. The thing that could only be accessed by internet, which I also hadn’t paid. Shit. “I obviously didn’t get the email,” I spat, but the fire was gone from my tone. I knew perfectly well that I’d lost.
Apparently, the desk worker knew it too. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But until you pay this month’s fee and your overdue fee, we won’t be able to restore your power.” And with that, she hung up.
I didn’t blame her. I wished I could have hung up on myself.
I called the bank. Again, I was trying to fool myself into believing that there had been some catastrophic mistake that the bank would be able to put right and that I would be able to justifiable outrage over. Instead, they just told me that all that was left in my account was twelve dollars. “Twelve dollars?” I choked, horrified. “That’s all?”
“And eighty-two cents,” the teller supplied helpfully. For some reason, that didn’t make me feel better. I hung up then and there.
I knew what had happened, but it wasn’t the time to get angry. It was the time to be proactive. The anger, I decided, would keep until I could unleash it on the appropriate target for once. The few precious remaining items of food that were about to spoil, however, wouldn’t.