“Of course not,” Mathias growled against his ass. Nikolai felt a flash of teeth—not biting, just bared—and then tongue again, like a good little slave.
“Then you must help him to let go of you.”
Mat leaned up on his forearms, met Nikolai’s eyes. “Not gonna happen. Remember the running thing? He started that when he was five and he never fucking stopped. Six miles every goddamn morning at the crack of fucking dawn. I don’t even think he likes running. But he’d do anything to stay with me. Spend time with me. Make me happy. Make me love him, even though he doesn’t need to do anything for that at all.” His eyes welled up with tears at that, but he blinked them away, went back to lapping Nikolai’s ass. Anything to avoid this conversation, apparently.
Left unsaid was, And I’ll do anything to protect him, spend time with him, make him happy, make him love me, though Nikolai heard it anyway.
Nikolai gave his hardening cock a lazy stroke. “He idolizes you.” A statement, not a question.
“Yeah.” So much emotion in that one little word, despite his clear determination to hide it.
“Then you must, as always, be the protector, Mathias. Be the stronger man. Be the one who makes the hard choices.”
“And if I do? If I drive him away some-fucking-how?”
“All the unnecessary pain in his life stops. Nearly instantly. He won’t be free, but he won’t need to be. I’ll take care of him. Keep him warm and fed and loved. He’ll want for nothing. He’ll never hurt again.”
“Bullshit. Everything hurts here. How can it not?”
“Because love can grow even in the most unlikely places, Mathias. But his love for you strangles all others.”
“His love for me. That’s what’s keeping him from being a good little slave for you, isn’t it. You just want a fucktoy, and he—” Mathias blinked back those stubborn tears in his eyes. “I’m all he has to live for. To stay human for.”
“All he has to suffer for,” Nikolai corrected. “It won’t end, Mathias. It will never end. There’s no escaping this place. No going back to his old life. All he can do is move forward with his new one. Make the best of it. He could be happy, Mathias. He could have what you never can; he could be shaped into a man like Roger, madly in love, happy to serve. Loved back. Respected. Appreciated. I would see to it. Or he can hold onto the idea of you, the mirage of you, and resist and struggle and fight until it kills him by torturous inches. There is no third choice. I know you wish there were, but wishing is a fool’s game, and you’re no fool.”
Mathias had no reply to that. Just the sounds of his mouth and tongue, his breath rasping through his nose. Stalling. Nikolai didn’t mind, though, because the sensation of being tongue-fucked by his tightly reined feral slave was positively beyond compare.
At last, Mathias pulled back, every line of his body crying his defeat. His face was stamped with tragedy, loss—a man in mourning. He spoke softly. “What do I have to do, then?”
What do I have to do to save my brother in the only way I have left?
Nikolai smiled, victory pulsating through every artery and vein. In these tiny moments, however brief, he was a god.
He pushed Mathias’s face back between his thighs—his fighter took the hint perfectly well and began to lick and suck him again—and said, “I’ve arranged a meeting for you both with a ‘client.’ He’s actually a colleague of mine with a very specific fetish I sometimes indulge. You’ll both be prepared to meet him. In private, without me, in a room with no windows or cameras or guards. When you do, he’ll take an interest in your brother, as any man would. He won’t be gentle. In fact, he’ll be cruel even by my standards. Barbaric. Sadistic. Between you and me, he’s an absolute monster, but you will let him have his way with your broth—”
“What?” This time Mathias did more than just rear back; he sat up, practically loomed right over Nikolai. “You think I’m just gonna si—”
Nikolai smacked the rest of that sentence right from Mathias’s mouth, then shoved the man’s head back to his ass. Mathias knew better than to interrupt again, though Nikolai had to shake him by his too-short hair before he remembered to start servicing his master again.
“You will sit there, yes, while your brother endures my colleague’s brutality. And the whole time, your brother’s eyes will be on you, watching you, unable to wrap his mind around why you won’t make his pain stop. He’ll beg you to save him, and it will be within your power to save him, but you won’t.”
“What the fuck makes you think I’d go along with that?” Mathias growled against Nikolai’s balls.
“Because, Mathias, however painful his time in that room is, it will be over quickly. Just long enough for him to lose his idolatry of his hero brother. And I promise you, he’ll crack quickly. Just a few minutes of pain. But if you disobey me? If you interfere with my plan in any way? I’ll need resort to so much more than just a few minutes of pain, more than these necessary deceptions.” He paused, letting that word soak in. Pain. And oh, yes, Mathias had caught on, but that didn’t mean Nikolai couldn’t still elaborate and make the threat clear. “I’ll have no choice but to use the serum, Mathias. For as long as it takes. Twelve straight hours didn’t break you. How long will your brother last, do you think?”
Mathias’s tongue stilled; Nikolai felt the hardness of bared teeth pressed against his perineum, the too-fast flutter of eyelashes against one thigh. But the man remained stubbornly silent.
“So tell me which is better, Mathias: a few minutes of pain, easily ended, or several days, drawn out even longer by his continued need to impress you? And don’t think I won’t tell him tales of how well you withstood the serum’s assault. I may exaggerate somewhat. You won’t be there to contradict me, after all.”
Mathias raised his head again, bright blue eyes narrowing, cunning replacing fear. “You wouldn’t. You love him—well, you feel your sick fucking version of love for him. You wouldn’t hurt him that way. I’m trash. He’s your prize fucking pet.”
“I’ll do what I must to achieve the results I require. And the end result will be the same no matter what. Dead, or my obedient slave. What I must resort to in order to reach that point . . . that’s up to you. Now, as much as I’m enjoying this conversation, we’ve reached the point where it either ends in ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir,’ and I’d like to come now. Sit on my cock while you think over your answer.”
Mathias stood, wiping the spit from his lips and chin. Yanked down his tight shorts. Spat into his hand to lubricate himself at least somewhat. There was no fear in him. No hesitance at all. Just begrudging resignation and pure single-minded gumption. The mind of a champion, truly.
He straddled Nikolai, hard gaze locked on Nikolai’s own the whole time, and lowered himself perfunctorily onto Nikolai’s cock. He wasn’t as tight as his brother—it seemed he knew how to relax those muscles by choice—but then, he didn’t need to be. He was good enough for a rough dry fuck, and while Nikolai was far from a sadist, the pain evident in Mathias’s rigid posture only made it sweeter for knowing he was giving it willingly, suffering it willingly.
“Promise never to hurt him. Promise never to use that serum on him, ever,” Mathias growled out between pants and little unbidden grunts. He bounced on Nikolai’s cock relentlessly, athletic thighs working, body a perfectly tuned instrument in every single way.
“I don’t make promises to ill-trained slaves, Mathias. But I will see your brother cared for, and cherished, and loved, and one day he’ll be as happy as Roger is now.”
“F-fine,” Mathias replied, milking Nikolai’s cock with his inner muscles, no doubt hoping to speed things along. Appalling behavior, but Nikolai was willing to put off that discussion in favor of the current one. “Deal,” Mathias said. “I’ll do it. Just please don’t . . .” He closed his eyes, dropped his chin to his chest. “Please don’t make me have to see him again after that. I don’t think I could stand it.”
Nikolai was getting close. He planted his feet
on the bed, grabbed hold of Mathias’s waist, and jerked his hips up in time to meet Mathias’s thrusts, impaling the stubborn man on his cock. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t make promises to ill-trained slaves. You’ll stand whatever you need to stand, just like you always have.”
“Sir,” Mathias acknowledged, stoic in his defeat, and Nikolai pumped him full of cum to seal their pact.
Sunlight.
Dougie turned his face up, eyes closed, and let the bright light touch his cheeks and warm them for the first time in what felt like months. He knew this place, of course. Hanauma Bay, Hawaii, where they’d gone on a family vacation to celebrate Mat’s graduation. Mat and their dad had spent hours with snorkels on, covering every inch of reef, chasing sea turtles through the bright water while Dougie and Mom sunned on the sand, eating ice cream from the concession stand and enjoying the view.
He was there again. Now. With her. He looked to his left and saw her stretched out on her beach towel with a romance novel and a smear of white sunscreen down her nose. She smiled when she noticed him staring. “All right, Dougie? You need some money for a drink?”
“No, thanks,” he replied, because God, how could he leave her side even for a second, not when she was here, alive and beautiful and happy. Which wasn’t possible because his voice wasn’t a child’s voice, it was . . . it was a man’s voice. How could he be a man and be at Hanauma Bay? He hadn’t been here since he was eleven or ten—no, ten, ten, because that was the year Mat had graduated and Dougie’s birthday, of course, hadn’t been until after.
Mat was waving to him from far out on the water, still wearing his snorkel, hair dripping and plastered to his skull. Seventeen and so grown up and strong and handsome, and Dougie wanted nothing more than to be like him, be grown up and strong and handsome and graduated from school a year early, be out swimming with him, chasing sea turtles with him and their dad. But he’d gone running with Mat on the beach this morning, in the wet sticky sand that sucked at your feet and made everything so much harder, and though they’d had fun playing in the waves, he’d begged out halfway through and was still too sore to swim out as far as they were. And anyway, it was dangerous, what with the spiky coral and the eels and even the blacktip sharks, although maybe that was just something Mat had told him to scare him.
Mat wasn’t scared of anything.
Dougie shifted on his beach towel, unable to quite get comfortable. The beach here was soft sand, but maybe some coral had washed ashore and he was sitting on it or something. He wiggled back and forth, still uncomfortable, and finally turned onto his belly, the sun immediately warming his back.
He should ask his mother to put some sunscreen on him before he got burned. His skin was already burning around the back of his thighs a little, like he’d been stung by hundreds of tiny jellyfish.
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” his mother asked. “You look a little pale.”
He shook his head, and then, because he was so impossibly happy to see her again and didn’t want to waste it, not for a second, said, “Maybe a hug?”
She smiled brightly and put her novel aside and opened her arms. Dougie climbed into them and basked there, like she was the sun. He was too big for this now, but she didn’t seem to notice. She petted his hair and kissed the top of his head just like she always had. “Why don’t you go exploring? I’ll be right here.”
He didn’t want to leave her. But then, Dad was in the water, and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here or why he seemed so out of place, but it all seemed so fragile somehow, like maybe the clouds were going to come and cover the sun any moment. Like it all might wash out with the tide, and he had to see Dad before that happened.
Walking was a little strange—a little stiff, a little sore. He must’ve run harder this morning than he’d realized; his legs were still so short and he wasn’t as strong as Mat and he couldn’t always keep up no matter how hard he tried, even though he was pretty sure Mat would slow down just for him if he asked. He sort of duck-walked into the water, feeling schools of fish darting around his calves, exploring him, touching his skin, and he couldn’t kick them away, knew he’d be punished terribly if he did. And the water was . . . it was cold. Ice cold, and dark black, not blue like it was supposed to be. And when he looked out toward the horizon, Mat was gone, but his father was still there, just further out, silhouetted by a steel gray sky.
“Dad?” he called, suddenly afraid but he didn’t know why. This was Hawaii. They were on vacation. Nothing bad happened on vacation. “Dad?”
His father pushed his goggles up his head, rucking his dark hair. He grinned and waved. Between the mask and the silly smile and the stupid five-for-ten-dollars puca shell necklace he wore, he looked pretty goofy. Handsome and strong, like Mat, but goofy. Dougie forgot to be afraid. He waded out until the water reached his chest and waved back.
His dad swam up to meet him, and Dougie threw his arms around his waist, pressed his cheek to his dad’s broad chest. “Where’s Mat?” he asked.
His dad hugged him back, picked him up easily and dangled him over his head. “Who’s Mat?” he asked, then gave Dougie a hard heave and sent him flying.
Dougie should’ve laughed—he loved when his dad tossed him around in the water like this—but he landed hard, the icy water knocking the breath out of his lungs. The salt water stung his eyes, ran down his cheeks and into his mouth. Something small and squirmy swam up one leg of his swim trunks and bit him square on the ass. He screamed. Lurched. Planted his feet in the sand and stumbled back until he was in the shallows. His father followed, looking concerned, but Dougie ignored him—he was mad at him, he’d lost Mat—and headed straight for Mom instead.
“Mom. Mom!” he cried, racing up the beach and throwing himself, dripping wet, into her arms. He could feel her book wedged between them in her lap, poking uncomfortably at his crotch. “Mom, where’s Mat? He was in the water and now he’s gone and I don’t—”
“Mat?” She took him by the shoulders, pushed him back so she could meet his eyes, and smiled tentatively. “Who’s Mat? Did you make a friend, honey? Does he need help?” She looked over his shoulder, to his dad. “Craig? Did you see a boy in the water? Should I get a lifeguard?”
His father just shook his head and shrugged, and Dougie wanted to shake them both, scream and rage and make them stop. “Cut it out!” he shouted. “It’s not funny anymore! You’re scaring me!”
He shoved away. Mom tried to hold him, but Mat had taught him ten different ways at least to shake out of someone’s grasp and he wormed right out from under her, ran back toward the water, shouting Mat’s name.
Nobody answered. Nobody was there. The beach was empty. So was the ocean. When had that happened? Where was everyone? When had it gotten so cold out? He had to go to the bathroom. Badly, in fact. Felt so much pressure, suddenly, and then his gut cramped, and he hurt, and he backed away from the water before he could fall in and drown.
He swung around, searching out his parents, because even if they were playing cruel tricks on him, it was better than this horrible emptiness. But when he turned, only one man was standing there: a man wearing a suit—why was he wearing a suit on the beach?—with one hand tucked casually into his pocket.
“Who—who are you?” Dougie asked, even though he felt like . . . he felt like . . . like he should know the answer, or maybe a piece of the answer. “Where’s my father?”
The man reached out, and even though they’d been separated by at least a couple yards just a second ago, now they were toe to toe, and the man’s hand was clasped around Dougie’s upper arm, holding him tight enough to hurt. “Right here, Douglas. I’m your father now, remember?”
No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. He jerked away, but the man just caught him again, held him tight, and not one of the things Mat had taught him about making people let go of you did a lick of good.
And then suddenly they were in the ocean—far, far out in the ocean, farther than D
ougie had ever been and the beach was just a speck in the distance and the waves were so tall and the current was so strong and he was drowning, he was drowning—
“Shhh, it’s all right, Douglas. Hold on to me. I’ll save you.”
“No!” he wailed, and water gushed into his mouth, choking him. “No, this isn’t right, this isn’t right!”
But the arms around him were warm and steady and strong, and the body holding his kept the ocean from swallowing him whole. He was too tired to swim anymore. Too tired to keep fighting. The water was so cold it burned, ate through him like acid, and he didn’t want to hurt anymore, and he didn’t want to die.
“Will you let me help you, Douglas?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Dougie said, almost too weary to form the word. “Yes.”
The man kissed his wet hair and towed him back to the shore. The sun didn’t shine again—might never shine again—and everyone he loved was dead, but at least the man’s body was warm. It was enough. It had to be.
Dougie woke gasping.
Had he even been asleep? Consciousness washed in and out, in and out, in and— Oh, Nikolai was here, wearing his latex gloves again. Milking him. His fingers sliding in and out. How many days had it been now with the plug and the cage and Nikolai’s gloved fingers and eating his own cum? Three? Four? He couldn’t remember. It was all just one blurred wash of agony and humiliation, hopelessness and helplessness, and everyone he loved was gone and he was too tired to keep fighting anymore and he wanted it—needed it—to end.
“Stop,” he whispered, and Nikolai must have heard him, because his fingers stilled.
“What was that, boy?”
“Stop. Stop. Please stop. I give in. I want . . .” I want this suffering to end. “I want to do what you want. I want to be who you want me to be. Please, sir, tell me how. Help me. Please.”
Nikolai’s latex gloves snapped, and then his bare hands were on Dougie’s shoulders, helping him to his feet, turning him until he was crushed against Nikolai’s broad chest. Warm. Solid. Not drowning now, he won’t let me drown. He even smelled good. Dougie sighed, relaxing into Nikolai’s grip. “Of course, Douglas,” Nikolai said to him, indulgent as a father on Christmas. He tilted Dougie’s face up by the chin and planted a soft kiss on his mouth. “Of course I will.”
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