by T. J. Hamel
“Where are you going?” sir asks in a husky voice.
“My breath smells, sir. From - from throwing up.”
Sir chuckles. “God, the fact that you care - you’re so fucking good, sweet boy. I’m so happy to have you.”
“Really?” Carter asks in wonder.
“Really.” Sir presses a kiss to Carter’s lips. It’s soft. Chaste. Just like the one before the party when sir had begged him to behave tonight. Guilt crawls up Carter’s throat, threatening to strangle him. He squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head, trying not to cry.
“Do you feel sick again, sweetheart?”
Carter’s heart breaks. This man is so kind to him. He doesn’t deserve it. “I’m fine, sir.”
“Okay, let’s get you back in bed then. I’ll find you a bucket so you don’t have to keep going back and forth. It’ll be good for you to get some rest.” Carter nods, letting sir help him get to his feet. He has to lean on him to walk. He wants to apologize for the inconvenience, but he can’t find the words. Everything feels awful and wrong, and he’s fairly certain he’s dying, even if sir said he’s not.
Sir tucks Carter in when they reach the bed, taking care with his IV as he hangs the bag back on its hook. Carter sinks into the pillows and watches the man as he continues to fuss over Carter like a worried mother, putting an empty waste basket by the side of the bed, getting Carter his stuffed moose, checking Carter’s IV, getting Carter a damp cloth for his forehead, getting Carter fresh water, getting Carter a straw when he can’t get himself to sit up for the water, getting Carter some heavenly gel for his welts, getting Carter a new cloth for his forehead because his fever is warming it up too quickly, checking Carter’s IV again, getting Carter-
“Sir?” Carter rasps, barely able to keep his eyes open any longer.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Can you jus’… lay with me? ‘N – ‘n hold me?”
There’s a slight pause, but then Carter feels the bed dip beside him. The next moment, sir’s hand is running through his hair like earlier, each stroke slow and gentle and reassuring. Sir’s lips press a kiss to his temple. Then his cheek. Then that spot behind his ear.
As Carter drifts off, he thinks he hears sir once again whispering an apology. He knows it’s not real, but he still lets himself smile.
Chapter Twenty-two
Carter is pretty in and out for a while. He’s not sure how much time passes, or what really happens to him during any of it. All he has are hazy, fragmented moments that may not even be real:
Waking up to sir frowning down at him with a thermometer in his hand, saying something about a fever. The sticky taste of medicine on his tongue. Cool water running down his throat as sir urges him to drink.
Sir’s deep voice coaxing him from sleep as he reads familiar words about three mischievous friends at a wizarding school, the soft sound of pages turning lulling Carter back to sleep far too soon.
Waking up all alone, sir nowhere to be found. He tries his best to stay awake long enough for sir to come back, but Carter doesn’t last.
Stirring awake to find the room dark, lit only by a muted TV. Sir is sleeping peacefully beside him, one arm bent and tucked behind his head, his large, bare chest rising and falling steadily, his dirty blonde hair a disaster, his lips slightly parted. He looks beautiful, breathtakingly so, and Carter manages to stay awake longer than usual so he can soak it in.
Then Carter wakes up feeling better. Steadier. More human. His muscles aren’t aching and his skin isn’t on fire anymore. Soft fingers are carding through his hair, a warm body pressed up against his side. Once he’s blinked a few times to clear his vision, Carter looks up to find sir lying beside him, propped up on one elbow. Sir’s smile is brilliant when their eyes meet. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”
“Mmm.” Carter shifts, trying to assess his body. He’s thirsty and still pretty tired, but other than that, he feels relatively good, all things considered. “Better, sir.”
“Good.” Sir runs a fingertip across his forehead, then down to bop the tip of his nose. It makes Carter laugh under his breath. Sir’s smile widens. “Your fever broke a few hours ago, and you haven’t thrown up all day. Hopefully you’re close to the end.”
Carter looks away from sir’s face and focuses instead on his bare chest, his fingers pressed against a tattooed bird in flight as guilt threatens to swallow him whole. How long has he been out? How long has sir had to deal with him? “I feel well enough to make you feel good, sir.”
Sir’s throat clicks as he swallows hard. “What?”
“I mean, you don’t have to worry about when this will end. You can use me still. I promise I won’t… I won’t throw up on you or anything.”
“I’ll use you when I deem fit. You’re not well enough yet, and you’re not going to argue with me about it. Your job is to get better. That’s all you should be worrying about. Okay, sweetheart?”
Carter frowns. “Okay, sir…”
“Do you think you’re well enough for a bath?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perfect.” Sir plants a kiss on Carter’s forehead, making Carter blush. “You stay. I’ll be back.”
“But-”
Sir stops him with a pointed finger, his eyebrows pulled in and his gaze narrowed playfully. “No, you stay. Rest. Look cute. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, sir. Staying. Resting. Looking cute.”
“Good boy.”
Carter tries to hold back a smile, but he fails. He just loves this version of sir so much. The version who cares. The version that’s almost… human.
The smile slips away when he realizes how dangerous it is for him to enjoy this version of the monster. This version isn’t real. It’s only a matter of time before Carter gets hurt again.
Sir isn’t human.
Neither is Carter.
It’s best he remembers that.
Except… it’s so hard when the man is walking around with a mischievous smile, coming in and out of the suite to bring snacks and juice and something in a small bottle that Carter can’t make out before it’s being placed too far away for him to see.
It’s so hard when the man is taking Carter’s hands and helping him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing himself against Carter’s front, his lips skimming Carter’s forehead as he murmurs, “Good boy.”
It’s so hard when sir scoops him up to carry him bridal style to the bathroom, the man chuckling fondly when Carter squeaks in surprise.
It’s not real, Carter reminds himself. You can enjoy it - you might as well squeeze out everything you can while he’s being nice - but don’t ever forget that it’s not real, Carter.
The bathwater is warm, the oil swirling in it smelling divine. Carter’s healed enough for the heat not to hurt too badly. It’s mostly a relieving sensation as the lingering pain and tension in his muscles begins to melt away.
Carter watches sir carefully, his heart sinking as he realizes sir might not be joining him. He wants to beg, but he’s already been so bad the past few days, he doesn’t want to disappoint sir again. He wants to prove he can be good. Even if it means being lonely. His feelings don’t matter. All that matters is sir.
If sir has no desire to use him right now, then Carter has to just - Carter’s thoughts blank when he realizes sir is pushing his sweatpants down, revealing that he’s naked beneath them. His heart races as he watches sir’s tall, muscular body move towards him, sir’s cock half-hard as he eyes Carter up like Carter is his prey.
It should terrify Carter.
It doesn’t.
Carter attempts to move over to give sir some room as he climbs in, but once sir is seated and has turned the faucet off, he’s reaching over and moving Carter until Carter’s left leg is hitched over sir’s right one. He rests one of his arms across the lip of the tub behind Carter, his hand closing around Carter’s shoulder. Sir begins stroking his skin. Carter shivers and rests his head on sir’s chest, ma
king him chuckle in a low, sexy way that sounds fond.
It’s not real, Carter. It’s not real.
“I’ve missed you,” sir whispers.
Carter’s world narrows, focusing down to nothing but those three words. His voice trembles when he asks, “Really, sir?”
“Really. It’s very lonely and boring without you.”
An awful thought comes to Carter. It catches him off guard, pouring out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Did you use other slaves, sir?"
Sir doesn't even hesitate. "No."
"But… they could have made you feel good, sir."
"I don't want them to be the ones making me feel good."
Carter's stomach flutters at that. He remembers sir's erection when he was getting into the tub. If sir has gone this long without release, Carter needs to step up. Sir's pleasure is Carter's sole purpose. He needs to show sir how seriously he takes that. He needs to show sir he was worth waiting for.
Slowly, Carter moves in the bath until he’s straddling sir. The water laps around them as he reaches down for sir’s cock. It’s barely hard, but Carter can fix that. He starts to stroke him in what he hopes isn’t too clumsy of a rhythm, planning to get him hard enough to put him in his ass. Carter isn’t prepped, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is sir’s-
“No, sweetheart,” sir says softly, his hand encircling Carter’s wrist and gently pulling him away from his cock.
Carter whimpers. “Please, sir?”
“Why?” sir asks, sounding angry and frustrated and desperate to understand. “Why do you keep trying to get me off?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Carter whispers as he hunches his shoulders and shrinks in on himself. “I just – I don’t know what else to do. It’s all that I am…”
“What’s all that you are?”
“Holes, sir.” Carter looks sir in the eyes, needing him to understand. He should understand. He’s who taught Carter this in the first place. “I’m just holes. If you don’t want to – to use me anymore, then I’m nothing, sir. I’m useless…”
Sir just stares at him, looking upset in a way Carter can’t place. It’s not anger or annoyance, but it’s not sadness either. Panic seizes Carter’s chest.
Oh god, what if sir doesn’t want him anymore?
Carter shakes his head, tears burning his eyes. “Sir, please. I don’t want to be nothing. I – I thought maybe… the other day, after everything, I thought maybe I wanted to, but I don’t. I don’t want to die, sir. Please. I can still be useful. I’m not nothing. My holes, they – they still work. Let me show you, sir. Let me p - prove to you that I’m not-”
“Shhh.” Sir has his eyes screwed shut, his forehead wrinkled. His hands tremble where they hold Carter’s hips. “Just – shhh. Okay?”
“Sorry, sir,” Carter frantically whispers. He scrambles off of him and hurries to the opposite side of the tub. Unable to stop the overwhelming emotions raging inside of him, Carter curls into a ball and buries his face in his hands. He grits his teeth so hard he’s worried they’ll break, but it muffles most of the broken sounds he can’t seem to stop, so it’s worth it. He doesn’t want to upset sir by being loud or annoying after the man specifically asked for silence.
Carter hears a choked, “Christ,” before water splashes and two arms wrap around him.
“I’m sorry, sir!” Carter cries, no longer able to keep himself quiet. He frantically clings to sir. “I’m sorry I c-can’t stop cry-crying. I keep messing up and – and being bad. I’m sorry for – I’m so b-bad!”
“Oh, Carter. Sweetheart. No.” Sir cradles Carter’s head against his chest with one hand and uses the other to rub his back in soothing circles as he slowly rocks him in the warm water. “Shhh. You’re so good, Carter. So good for me. You make me so happy, sweetheart.”
“B-but how?” Carter asks between shuddery breaths. “You w-won’t u-use me!”
Sir holds him tighter, a sound coming from his throat that almost matches some of Carter’s. “I lied, okay? I lied to you. You’re not just holes. You’re not nothing. Fuck, Carter, you’re so much more than any of that. You’re every-”
“No!” Carter blurts out, pulling away from sir and desperately shaking his head. He can’t do that. He can’t let sir take him back to before. Before was too hard. Before, when Carter tried to stay himself, to cling to what was left, all he felt was pain and confusion. This is easier. He wants to stay like this. “I’m not Carter. I’m nothing, sir. Please. I’m nothing. I’m just holes!”
“Carter-”
“No! I’m not him! I’m not him! I’m not-” Carter’s words are cut off when sir’s lips crash against his. He sobs once into sir’s mouth, but sir just swallows the sound and kisses him harder.
Then sir just… keeps kissing him. He kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Sometimes on Carter’s lips. Sometimes on his neck. Or his chest. His ears. His nose. His forehead. His cheeks. His eyelids. That little spot behind Carter’s ear that never fails to drive him wild.
Sir kisses Carter until he feels fuzzy inside.
Panting, sir pulls back to look at Carter with brown eyes that are lighter than Carter thinks he’s ever seen them before. He pushes to his feet without letting Carter go, pulling him up along with him. Carter stumbles out of the bath. He nearly slips, but sir catches him, never letting go as he leads Carter into the bedroom with a surprising urgency. They’re both still dripping wet, but sir apparently doesn’t care. He just lays Carter down in the middle of the bed and climbs on top of him.
Then sir is kissing him again.
And kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him.
Carter prays he never stops.
◆◆◆
Nathan can’t stop. Every time he manages to get Carter breathless and panting, he just drags his lips elsewhere while Carter fights to catch his breath before returning to his mouth once again. When he’s not kissing the boy’s mouth, he’s trailing his lips and tongue elsewhere. Fucking everywhere. He makes sure to be gentle where he’s still healing, but it takes a whole lot of effort. He feels fucking feverish with his need for the boy beneath him.
Carter tastes fresh from the collarbone down, but his neck and face taste salty from his sweat that he never got a chance to wash off before Nathan dragged him to the bedroom. Nathan spends extra time in these places. He likes the taste of Carter.
“S-sir,” Carter pants when Nathan wraps his lips around one of his nipples. He squirms, then gasps, “Oooh, shit,” when Nathan nips at it.
Chuckling, Nathan moves on to Carter’s other nipple. He pulled a swear out of the boy. It’s a start, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. He wants to pull all of Carter out of him. Make him come back to Nathan. No more mindless slave. No more believing he’s nothing but holes. He wants his fire. His passion. His sassy little attitude.
Nathan licks his way up the center of Carter’s chest before latching onto the side of his throat and sucking. He adds a little bit of teeth at the end, wanting to mark Carter as his - fucking needing to mark Carter as his - and groans when it makes Carter grind his cock up against him.
“That’s it, Carter.” Nathan wraps his large hand around Carter’s slim hip and encourages Carter to grind against him again. It doesn’t take much convincing at all before the boy is shamelessly humping him. “That’s it. Good boy. Such a good boy.”
“Sir!” Carter whines, his hips moving faster against Nathan.
And Nathan, maybe because of his fear at the idea of losing what makes Carter Carter, or because of the blood that’s leaving his brain to fill his cock, or maybe even because of his need to just feel fucking human, drags his mouth to Carter’s and whispers, “Nathan,” against his lips.
“W-what?” Carter pants, pulling back to look Nathan in the eyes.
“Nathan, Carter. Call me Nathan.”
“But-”
“Carter.” Nathan rests on his left elbow, moving his weight so he can reach up and cup Carter’s cheek with his r
ight hand. “Right now, you’re Carter and I’m Nathan, okay?”
For a moment, Nathan is terrified that Carter is going to freak out again like in the tub. His blue eyes go wide, his breath stopping, but then the boy tentatively raises a hand to cup Nathan’s cheek just like Nathan is cupping his. He drags his thumb along Nathan’s cheekbone, staring at Nathan like he’s a work of art. The attention is intoxicating.
What’s even better, though, is when Carter looks him in the eyes and whispers, “Hey, Nathan.”
Nathan fucking shudders at the sound of his name as it rolls off Carter’s tongue. “Hey, Carter.”
The boy’s smile is brilliant. Nathan feels like he can finally fucking breathe again.
“I want to keep kissing you.” Nathan rests the pad of his thumb on Carter’s bottom lip and tugs. “Can I kiss you, Carter?”
“I - it’s up to me?”
“Yes.”
“Because we’re Carter and Nathan.”
Nathan smiles. “Yes.”
Carter opens and closes his mouth twice before breaking eye contact with Nathan, his gaze focusing on Nathan’s chest instead. His eyelashes are wet with unshed tears. “How fucked up am I if I let you?”
“Does it matter?” Nathan asks quietly, praying it doesn’t. “Because it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I shouldn’t want to be with you.”
“Probably not, no.”
“But I-” Carter pauses. He licks his lips before peeking up at Nathan. The poor boy looks so afraid and confused. “I really really want you to kiss me…”
The confession hangs in the small pocket of air between them. Nathan isn’t sure if it’s consent. He wants Carter to give him explicit permission. He’s just terrified the boy will withdraw if he pushes further for it.
Then he gets an idea.