“Yes,” Tom answers, strained this time. “Can I…?”
Ethan doesn’t know what exactly Tom’s asking for, but it doesn’t matter, the answer bubbles out of him before Tom can find the words. “Yes. Anything.”
It’s dangerous permission to give this man, given the circumstances. But the noise Tom makes in response is the most delicious, pained noise, and Ethan can’t bring himself to regret anything right now.
Tom’s palm immediately finds Ethan’s hip, strong fingers gripping hard as Ethan bucks his hips forward under the touch.
Fuck, he’s hard and he wants Tom to know it. There’s no way Tom can miss the swollen length of Ethan’s shaft pressing against him as Ethan mashes his body forward against him.
Tom growls in the most deliciously frustrated way. “Do what you asked,” he says, gruffly, almost accusing.
“What?” Ethan asks, brain foggy with arousal. And then, “Oh. Kiss you?”
“Yeah.” Tom’s grip tightens on Ethan’s hip, pulling his hips closer, guiding them to rock against his body.
Ethan wants to lunge forward and take Tom’s mouth against his own right now—but…
“I’ve never…” Ethan breathes, embarrassment catching the rest of the sentence before he has the courage to spit it out.
“Never kissed?” Tom asks, and when Ethan manages a nod, says, “we’re the same.”
We’re the same.
We’re the same.
Something about that makes Ethan’s skin flush hotter.
Except—except, they’re not the same at all. Tom’s heavily sheltered. Repressed. Ethan is neither of those things.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” Ethan says, shuddering under the overwhelming sensations. Tom’s hand on his waist. Tom’s body next to his. His hips rocking his clothed erection forward, forward, forward against Tom’s stomach. “Except, except what we did yesterday. That was the first time I—with anyone, I—”
“Yeah,” Tom grunts. Suddenly, he’s sitting up, shifting his hand to Ethan’s shoulder and pushing Ethan down onto his back. “Me too.”
With that, Tom is looming over him, mouth crashing against Ethan’s with a clang of teeth that splits open Ethan’s lip again. The burst of pain mixes fluidly with the rush of arousal pulsing through Ethan’s whole body.
Ethan’s back arches off the bed. He whines helplessly against Tom’s mouth when his hips jerk forward only to meet air and not the wonderful friction of Tom’s body.
Tom reaches down and cups Ethan’s groin, palm flat and firm against the bulge in Ethan’s pants. Ethan’s moan is high-pitched and shuddering, almost a scream muffled by Tom’s lips.
Tom’s lips—Tom’s lips—they’re soft and rough all at once, warm and inviting. Ethan had no idea kissing would feel this good. His senses explode with a scent that is unique to Tom, and Ethan can taste him before he ever opens his mouth. When he does open his mouth against Tom’s, their tongues find each other, move against each other. It’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world.
Ethan’s moans are a steady purr into Tom’s mouth. Tom’s hand is pressing so hard against his clothed erection that he manages to pin Ethan’s squirming hips to the mattress. It’s all Ethan can do to fist his hands in Tom’s shirt and writhe helplessly beneath the man.
“Tom,” Ethan manages to pant between kisses, “Tom, Tom, Tom.”
Tom’s responding growl is the most beautiful, possessive noise Ethan has ever heard.
“Fuck,” Ethan curses, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—Tom.”
He pulls away from the kiss to drag his teeth down Tom’s smooth jaw. Tom’s been clean-shaven since Ethan met him, not a trace of stubble. This feels like intimate knowledge, somehow, and Ethan thinks, through the haze of his arousal, that he’d kill to watch Tom methodically shaving in the morning. It seems like such an absurdly domestic thing, and—god, Ethan wants that. Wants to bear witness to this strange man performing the most mundane activities.
It’s Tom’s turn to groan when Ethan latches his mouth just below his jaw, sucking hard at the sensitive flesh at the junction of Tom’s neck.
“I love this,” Ethan says, saliva-slick lips against Tom’s wet neck. “I love doing this with you.”
Tom grunts in agreement and squeezes Ethan through his pants.
“Fuck,” Ethan practically yelps, arching hard against Tom’s hand.
Tom chuckles, thumb stroking the side of Ethan’s shaft, tracing the shape of the bulge.
Ethan’s brows knit in frustration, body growing hotter under the shock of Tom’s amusement.
“How can,” Ethan breathes, struggling to form words, “How can you be so calm about this?”
Tom’s definitely not calm—his breath is heavy and his body is corded with tension. But compared to Ethan, writhing and moaning like a rutting animal, Tom is the picture of serenity.
Tom laughs again. “Self-restraint.”
Ethan grunts at that. Whines, “It isn’t fair.”
Tom’s grin is feral and full of sharp canines when he claims Ethan’s mouth again.
Ethan genuinely worries he might come in his pants.
The world snaps back into focuses when a crashing bang resounds from upstairs.
They both freeze.
A door slamming.
Heavy footsteps stomping across the floor.
Tom’s expression flashes to fury, almost accusation. Fear?
Ethan barely has time to process Tom untangling himself from Ethan and rushing to his feet. Ethan’s frozen, struggling for his thoughts to catch up with reality.
Tom doesn’t seem to have time to wait for Ethan to react—he grabs Ethan by the arm, grip hard enough to sting, and pulls him upright, dragging him off the bed until he stumbles onto shaky legs.
“Tom, what—”
Tom silences him with a hard look and drags him out of the bedroom area, through the curtain and before Ethan knows it, he’s being lifted back up onto the table next to Jed.
Just in the time for the basement door to slam open.
“Tommy!” a woman’s voice shrieks. One of his sisters.
Oh. Shit.
Of course.
Of course Tom wouldn’t want his family to know what he’s getting up to with their captive.
Tom grabs the chains and forces them into Ethan’s hand with a purposeful look. He doesn’t have time to tie Ethan back up, Ethan realizes.
Ethan takes the hint and takes the chain, holding it behind his back so that it at least looks like he’s chained up.
Sally appears halfway down the stairs, stopping there to glare daggers at Tom.
“The fuck are you doing down here, Tommy?” she spits. “Ain’t you know you’re supposed to be scrapping the fucking motorcycles today? Ma’s not gonna keep you around if you don’t make your sorry ass useful.”
“Okay,” Tom says, as even and toneless as ever. “Will do it soon.”
“You fucking better,” she sneers, stomping back up the stairs and slamming the door behind her. Disappearing as abruptly as she came.
Ethan trains all his sympathy on Tom.
Tom doesn’t speak, just scowls. He huffs a few deeply controlled, enraged breaths before he seems to snap into action. Roughly, he pulls Ethan forward and grabs the rope and chain, quickly binding Ethan for real again.
Ethan doesn’t know what he expected.
His heart beats quickly in disgust.
Disgust at his own crushing disappointment.
The rope around his wrists feels like the ultimate betrayal after the time they just spent together.
Tears prickle Ethan’s eyes. He can’t contain his glare, the sourness on his face.
Ethan has never felt so used.
It turns something that felt so illicitly right into something overwhelmingly shameful and dirty.
Disgusting.
Ethan’s disgusting.
He should have never…
Tom finishes binding him.
All Ethan ca
n do is glare down at his own lap, hating himself for his dick still straining visibly in his pants. Angry tears fill his eyes until his vision is nothing but a wet blur of color.
Long, excruciating moments pass, until Tom’s fingers are under Ethan’s chin, lifting his head.
Ethan blinks and the tears spill hot and humiliating down his face. There’s no use. Ethan’s entire plan is blown. He can’t keep the fucking anger off of his face. The humiliation. The betrayal. He can’t even pretend right now. The accusation in his glare must be palpable.
Any progress he’s made befriending Tom is sure to crumble now.
Tom’s going to hate him, see Ethan’s negative emotions as a threat. He’s going to change his mind about liking Ethan.
Fuck.
Somehow, impossibly, there’s no anger in Tom’s expression anymore. His frown is soft.
“Have to,” Tom says. “Family can’t know.”
Ethan’s anger deflates just a fraction, and he hates himself for it. He hates how much that reassures him. He hates how much relief he feels, knowing Tom is accepting his anger rather than combating it.
“Sisters come down here sometimes,” Tom says, cupping Ethan’s face now, brushing the saline streaks from his face with the pad of his thumb. What is it about Ethan’s tears that makes Tom want to touch his face?
“It just hurts,” Ethan blurts, against his better judgement. This type of honesty has no room between them, not when Ethan needs to keep things as sweet and sugary with Tom as possible to save his own life. “After what we did.”
“Yeah,” Tom agrees, as if he could possibly understand.
“You don’t trust me,” Ethan grumbles, pathetically. “You don’t trust me to be untied without you.”
Tom is silent for a long moment. Eventually, he reiterates, “They can’t know.”
Ethan bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood, anger returning in waves. “I shouldn’t like you. Not when you have to tie me up while you’re not around.”
God. Every impulsive emotion flying out of his mouth should be manipulation instead. It should be a genuine attempt to convince Tom to keep him untied so he can find a way out. But it’s not—it’s fucking not. It’s Ethan’s own self-image breaking down, the cracks filling in with shame. Shame because—because he fucking actually likes Tom. And he’s fucking insulted that Tom is tying him up again. Not because he wants his freedom back, no, he’s not thinking about that at all right now. He’s insulted because of what it means that Tom wants to keep him bound and chained in his basement.
Ethan’s not an equal here.
Tom’s incapable of genuinely liking him.
Ethan knew that, this whole time.
But…
Fuck.
What is wrong with him?
Ethan jerks out of Tom’s grasp and bows his head, sobbing harder than he’s ever sobbed in his life.
He’s a mess. A fucking mess of a human being.
“They can’t know,” Tom repeats again, firmer now. “Too much risk. They’ll hurt you.”
Ethan’s head snaps up, glare lethal. “Oh? They will? They’re the dangerous ones? More dangerous than you?”
Tom’s frown is hard now. The gentleness is gone. He takes a step away from Ethan, as if Ethan’s a rabid dog on a chain that might lunge forward any moment with snapping teeth.
“You’re going to kill me anyway, so what does it matter if they kill me first?” Ethan growls. He really is a rabid animal.
“Won’t kill you,” Tom says quietly. Easily. “Can’t. Won't”
Ethan scoffs. Shoves his gaze to the wall.
“Like you too much,” Tom says. Simply. Matter-of-fact.
Somehow, Ethan believes him.
He still can’t bring himself to look at Tom. He sniffles. Glares at nothing.
“Only while I’m gone,” Tom assures. “Untie you when I’m here. Promise.”
“Whatever,” Ethan grumbles, emotions overriding his sense of self-preservation.
“Promise,” Tom assures again, and then, without another word, he retreats up the basement stairs, leaving Ethan alone with an unconscious Jed.
Ethan crumples into a ball and cries.
11
Dozens of hours pass until Ethan sees Tom again. He suspects it’s probably sundown now, over forty-eight hours since first being brought to this house, this basement. At least forty-eight hours. Maybe more. He has no way of knowing.
The sight of the larger man instantly pulls Ethan out of his slow, hazy thoughts that come with staring at the same surroundings for hours.
Tom’s wearing only a white tank top tucked into his worn jeans, utility belt heavy around his waist. Sweat gleens across his skin, soaking into the collar of his shirt. He’s definitely been doing hard labor on the farm all day with the sun blaring overhead.
What Ethan would have given to be out there with him, watching him work.
What does he even work on? The farm looked barren except for a few barns with nothing but tools in them. The animals can’t take that much time to care for, right?
Ethan’s so busy staring at the bulging curves of the man’s arms that he barely registers when Tom, true to his word, unties him first thing.
Ethan rubs his raw wrists, ringed red with rope burn. He scoots to the edge of the table. Dangles his sore legs. “Jed hasn’t woken up all day. Isn’t snoring anymore either. But he’s breathing.”
Tom grunts, not even bothering to look at the man slumped beside Ethan. The information is meaningless to him, isn’t it? Even though Tom’s been changing Jed’s duct tape gag periodically to force water down his throat, he doesn’t seem to care if Jed lives or dies.
Honestly, Ethan doesn’t know if he cares, either. Should he, after the violence Jed incited against him?
“What were you doing all day?” Ethan asks, swinging his legs and accepting the granola bar Tom offers him from a drawer where he’s apparently stashed them.
“Making things,” Tom says, dismissive. “Carpentry.”
Ethan knits his brows. “Like, furniture…? Or sheds?”
“Furniture. Tables. Chairs. Sally drives into the city. Sells it all.”
Ethan frowns. “Is that how your family makes money? Just from the work you do?”
Tom shrugs. “Mostly. Ma works the gas station on weekends. Rest comes from the carpentry and animals. Milk the goats. Sell off the piglets.”
Ethan can’t school away the concern that bleeds into his expression. Tom’s family forces him to build furniture and tend the animals. All day. And at the end of the day, they make him stay in the basement in terrible living conditions, even though the house is two stories and must have plenty of space for everyone.
“That’s really the only way your family makes its money?”
“Besides my work? Just Ma at the gas station,” Tom confirms, tilting his head as if he finds the question strange. “Carpentry makes more.”
“And who keeps all the money from selling the furniture you make?
“Ma. Beth. Sal.”
“You don’t keep any of it?”
“No.” Tom shrugs again. “They buy food with it. I eat that. They buy me clothes. More tools. Wood. Other things.”
Ethan hums in frustration. Why doesn’t Tom see how fucked up that is, that not only is he the only one working to put food on the table, but he’s not allowed to handle the money at all? Not to mention he’s treated badly on top of all of that.
“Why do you stay in the basement?” Ethan asks. “Do you prefer it down here?”
“Always been that way ever since they let me live in the house. No choice. Like it enough.” He pauses at Ethan’s frown. “Family don’t bother me much, down here.”
Ah. So Tom tolerates living in the basement because it keeps him hidden away from at least one sister that beats him. Ethan’s sure Sally and Ma don’t treat Tom any better than what he saw Beth do.
It all strikes Ethan as such unnecessary suffering. All of it. Tom doesn’t
realize he can leave, does he? Leaving isn’t an option to him, probably because this farmhouse and his family are the only things he knows. His whole world is right here, in this basement. He doesn’t know how easy it would be, in the grand scheme of things, to leave this place and never look back.
There’s unnecessary suffering elsewhere, too. In Daisy. In Ethan, even, being held here against his will. The bikers who were murdered by this family’s skewed sense of vigilante justice. How many people has this family killed? For how small a reason? Do they murder shoplifters at their gas station? The fact that Ethan’s here at all is evidence that they’re not above hurting innocent people.
Ethan’s not honestly sure he’ll ever be able to get Tom to understand the crimes his family is committing against him. He sighs, attempts a smile. “Can I see it sometime, the furniture you make?”
Tom blinks once in surprise. “Yeah,” and then, “Sometime.”
Ethan smiles wider at that, even though he’s not sure if it’s a promise Tom will be able to keep. But…
Ethan looks down at his freed wrists. Tom has kept the one promise he’s made so far.
“Can I go wherever I want?” Ethan asks. “In the basement, I mean?”
Ethan braces for anger. Simple rejection. Anything but permission. But Tom only nods.
The basement. Ethan’s seen enough of it in the listless hours he’s spent tied up with sleep eluding him. What is there to explore? He’s not about to start going through boxes of forgotten belongings or inspecting the tools stored in drawers and hanging from the walls. Nothing in the world could bring Ethan to going anywhere near the back of the room where Ricky was slaughtered. Not today.
Ethan pivots, gets a full view of the basement in a new light. Lets the tiny freedom Tom has given him sink in.
He’s allowed to walk around. To explore, if he wants to.
Ethan’s gaze falls back on Tom. Standing next to him like this makes their height difference all too obvious.
The only thing Ethan wants to explore is Tom.
Ethan reaches out carefully, as if to a wild animal, and places the flat of his palm on Tom’s chest. He gives Tom plenty of time to reject him, to withdraw—but he doesn’t. Tom tilts his head curiously. The touch would be too intimate if it weren’t for Tom’s shirt. It’s almost too intimate with the thin fabric barrier between skin on skin.
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