Dangerous Savior

by Wulff, Carson

  “I’m sorry,” Ethan says quietly, lifting an imploring expression to meet Tom’s curious one. “For my outburst, before you left. I just…”

  What can he say? He’s a captive here. He’s just suffering. He’s just afraid. He’s just traumatized.

  Tom shakes his head, stifling Ethan’s explanation. He brushes a large hand over Ethan’s curly hair.

  Ethan gets the message. Tom doesn’t need him to apologize.

  “I like you, Tom. Genuinely,” Ethan admits, eventually. “I don’t know what that says about me. I’m afraid to think about it.”

  “Like you, too,” Tom says in that gruff, matter-of-fact way that Ethan can’t help but believe.

  “I’m a captive here,” Ethan continues, words tiptoed through caution tape. This is a difficult subject. He’s trusting Tom not to explode under his feet like an active minefield. “Your family plans to kill me. Plans for you to kill me.”

  None of it is a question, and Tom doesn’t object to a syllable of it.

  “How are you going to deal with this? What’s going to happen to me?”

  Tom frowns, a gnarled mix of misery and anger. “Will figure something out.”

  It’s not a plan. Hell, it’s not even reassuring—but relief floods through Ethan anyway. Because—because Tom is on his side. He has been this whole time, and Ethan feels more confident about that fact than ever.

  “Promise?” Ethan asks, barely above a whisper.

  “Promise,” Tom agrees without hesitation, deep voice so, so sure.

  Ethan lets his head fall forward to rest against Tom’s chest with a soft thunk. His fingers splay over Tom’s stomach, smoothing his shirt over the hard muscle beneath.

  Tom’s arms wrap around Ethan’s back, holding him closer, pinning him to Tom’s solid chest.

  Being wrapped in the other man’s arms like this is so much less claustrophobic than it should be. Being pinned by strong arms, rendered immobile by the embrace should have Ethan hyperventilating with fear. Instead, he sighs contentedly at the comfort that washes through him in warm, buzzing waves.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Ethan asks, suddenly. He’s braver, somehow, buried against Tom’s chest. “About your family?”

  Tom grunts in acquiescence.

  “Why does your family have you butcher people and put their meat in the freezer?”

  Tom is silent. Ethan can feel his body tense.

  Fuck. That came out much more direct than Ethan intended it.

  Tom exhales heavily. “To get rid of it. The evidence.”

  That doesn’t answer the question at all, really. Ethan can feel a cold sweat beading over his skin, suddenly. In fact, Tom’s answer only helps confirm Ethan’s suspicions of cannibalism.

  Carefully, Ethan asks, “...What do they do with the meat from the people you butcher?”

  “Cook it,” Tom answers, and then releases Ethan when the smaller man has a visceral response to that, jerking away from Tom and stumbling back. “Feed it to the sows.”

  Ethan’s face twists from horror to confusion. “What?”

  “Cook it and feed it to the sows,” Tom repeats, frowning. He looks seconds away from scooping Ethan up and hushing him until he calms down.

  “You—you feed it to the pigs?” Ethan asks, aghast.

  “Opportunistic feeders,” Tom explains. “Will eat anything.”

  “Y-yeah, I know, but—”

  “Gets rid of evidence. But mostly cheap way to feed sows.”

  “Y-you just butcher what can be stored in the freezer for the pigs?”

  “Yeah. The rest get driven away. Buried. Sometimes just burned in the pit out back.”

  Ethan can’t help it—he laughs. His mind is reeling. He has to hold on to the table for stability.

  Tom’s expression is one of utmost concern and confusion.

  There are tears in Ethan’s eyes from how hard he’s laughing. Jed groans in his sleep from the noise.

  “I thought,” Ethan struggles between wheezes, “I thought—I thought you guys ate them!”

  “What?”

  “I thought you were cannibals!” Ethan exclaims, still laughing. He feels fucking insane right now—it is insane, to be relieved that these people aren’t cannibals, when—when, god, it doesn’t fucking matter, because they’re still slaughtering human beings, butchering them, and feeding them to their livestock.

  What fucking difference does it make if the pigs eat their victims instead of the family themselves?

  And.

  Fuck.

  Ethan knows. Ethan knows what difference it makes.

  Ethan stumbles forward and grabs Tom’s shirt in fistfuls. He pulls the man down, but still has to stand on the tips of his toes to kiss the man on the mouth.

  Tom isn’t a fucking cannibal.

  Tom isn’t a cannibal.

  And that shouldn’t make Ethan’s heart soar with joy.

  But it does.

  Of course it does.

  Because, because that’s one less fucked up thing about this situation. A little detail that makes it slightly less awful and disgusting that Ethan wants to kiss Tom until his lips are sore.

  Tom grunts, surprised by Ethan’s eagerness, but he recovers quickly, reciprocating with enthusiasm.

  Tom’s lips are soft, even though the kiss is anything but—all hard suction and insistence. Ethan grasps at Tom’s shirt, unable press close enough to Tom, even though his tongue is inside his mouth.

  “Bed,” Ethan gasps, when he pulls away for air. The poor wound on his lip is throbbing from the abuse, the pain familiar and oddly right.

  Tom doesn’t need telling twice, he lifts Ethan easily in his arms and walks him past the curtain.

  Ethan bounces when he’s dumped unceremoniously onto the mattress.

  Tom towers over him, staring, waiting. Ethan forgives him for the towering—Tom can’t help it, it’s in his nature. The staring Ethan understands, he can’t take his eyes off of Tom, either.

  “Come here,” Ethan prompts, attempting to tug Tom down by the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t budge. “Really, Tom, it’s okay. You can do whatever you want.”

  It’s too much permission to give away, considering Ethan’s situation. But Ethan trusts Tom, he realizes. He’s trusted him this whole time, since the moment he first saw him. It’s a blind trust, admittedly, faith in the benevolence of strangers.

  It’s a trust that hasn’t been broken, not really, not yet, not by Tom. And maybe that’s just because Ethan’s expectations aren’t high—but Tom’s been so careful with Ethan, this whole time. As careful as a wolf can be with a lamb.

  The next thing Ethan knows, Tom is on him, mattress sinking under the man’s solid weight as Tom’s thighs straddle Ethan’s hips.

  And—oh, god, it’s such a pleasant feeling, having the other man’s weight on him.

  “Your clothes,” Tom says.

  “Yeah,” Ethan agrees, knowing immediately what Tom wants. Ethan struggles out of his shirt and tosses it away.

  Tom’s hands are on him like magnets, smoothing over Ethan’s bare chest. Tom exhales, slow and shaky when Ethan arches into his palms, nipples hardening under Tom’s fingers. Tom grunts, a fiery sort of wonder written over his features.

  Ethan keeps his hips arched off the bed, erection pressing insistently against Tom.

  Tom’s voice is gruff, hot against Ethan’s neck when he asks, “Hard again?”

  Ethan’s surprised by his own laugh. “Yeah. Because of you.”

  That earns a growl of appreciation from Tom. Pleasure sends Ethan’s skin alight as Tom’s teeth graze his neck.

  With shaky fingers, Ethan tests the waters, unbuttoning Tom’s shirt between their bodies. Tom’s mouth opens against Ethan’s neck, latching there, sucking.

  “Oh, God,” Ethan moans, fingers fumbling faster over the buttons. When Tom’s shirt falls open, he smooths his hands down Tom’s sides, marveling at the way he can feel the other man’s chest expand as he inhales
vigorously.

  Ethan rubs his fingers methodically above Tom’s waistband and it’s Tom’s turn to moan, deep and aggressive.

  Ethan dips his fingers just under the hem of Tom’s pants. “Can I touch you this time?”

  “Touching me now,” Tom deflects, voice like sandpaper.

  Ethan bites his raw lip, searches Tom’s face. “No, I mean your cock.”

  Tom rushes forward to kiss him, as if trying to stifle Ethan’s offensive language. Tom’s hips grind down against Ethan, rutting against him with need.

  “Please,” Ethan begs between breaths.

  Gently, Ethan pushes against Tom’s chest until Tom leans back—all the way, until Tom is lying back on the mattress, sitting up on his elbows. His legs are spread. Ethan settles himself between them.

  Ethan can’t help himself, he immediately puts his hands on Tom’s thick thighs, holding them open. Holding eye contact, Ethan leans forward and kisses the bulge straining against Tom’s jeans.

  Tom’s grunt is a deep, desperate noise as he snaps his hips forward, thrusting against Ethan’s face.

  Ethan laughs. “Can I… get rid of it?” He feels much too sly, using Tom’s words from the shower.

  Without hesitation, Tom nods.

  Ethan’s already pounding pulse climbs into his throat.

  “Say it.”

  “Yes,” Tom growls in frustration. And then, “Please.”

  Fuck. The words go straight to Ethan’s dick.

  Ethan’s fingers are no longer shaking as he rips Tom’s fly open and tugs his pants down enough to release Tom’s full erection. He’s not wearing any underwear. This knowledge feels more intimate than the fact that the man’s dick is bobbing in front of Ethan’s face.

  Tom’s cock is impossibly large, swollen with desire. Much thicker than Ethan’s own. The sight of it makes Ethan’s mouth water.

  God, how many times did he fantasize about this when he was a hormonal teenager? He feels like a hormonal teenager now, sitting between Tom’s spread thighs.

  Ethan lowers his face, nuzzles against the warm, smooth flesh of Tom’s erection.

  Tom groans, gaze locked on Ethan between his legs. His mouth falls open with a need for more air when Ethan kisses the head of his erection.

  Pre-cum beads from the slit, slicking Ethan’s lips. There’s something so attractive about the way Tom’s cock stands in a nest of dark curls. The pubic hair thins into a trail that leads up to his navel. The rest of his chest is hairless, all heaving, sculpted muscle.

  It’s an odd and wonderful feeling, wrapping his fingers around a cock that isn’t his own. He grabs Tom at the base and opens his mouth around the head, engulfing Tom’s cock in damp heat.

  There’s a musky taste that is uniquely Tom and Ethan isn’t surprised at all to find he loves it. He’s loved the idea of having his mouth on another man’s cock for as long as he knew what a blowjob was, and it’s just as amazing as he imagined.

  Ethan sinks his mouth halfway down, wetting the silky flesh with the press of his tongue. He sucks in time with a squeeze and pump of his fist around the base. The groan the ministrations elicit from Tom sends a surge of arousal through the pit of Ethan’s stomach. His own dick is throbbing with need inside his pants.

  Ethan’s careful to mind his teeth as he bobs his head up and down on Tom’s cock. His face must be flushed from ear to ear just at the obscene, wet sounds emitting from his efforts.

  Tom’s groan becomes a growl. His chest is heaving now. His skin is flushed too, even across the hard features of his face. That gets Ethan going more than anything else.

  Ethan pulls away from Tom’s cock with a wet pop. Catches his breath, and says, “I like the way you taste, Tom.”

  Tom’s resulting exhale is more groan than anything else. His hand shoots forward to tangle in Ethan’s hair, fingers cupping the back of his head.

  Ethan groans and tries to lean into the touch, but Tom’s hand presses him forward until his face is bumping against his slick cock again.

  Somehow, Tom’s always managed to communicate with Ethan, even if unconventionally. Ethan gets the picture.

  Giddy with the knowledge of how badly Tom wants him, Ethan laughs and takes Tom back into his mouth. He immediately feels spit roasted between Tom’s bucking hips and his insistent hand urging him forward.

  There’s a moment of panic when Ethan realizes just how little control he actually has—but after a few wrangled breaths, Ethan relaxes. He lets Tom fuck his face, the man’s hips setting the quick, desperate pace as he thrusts into Ethan’s mouth. Ethan does his best to angle the man’s cock so that its blunt head stabs into the soft inside of his cheek with every thrust.

  Tom’s fingers in his hair send a delicious prickle of pleasure down his spine, and soon Tom’s hips are snapping up more and more erratically to fuck his mouth.

  That and a low reverberation from deep in Tom’s chest is Ethan’s only warning before Tom’s cock spasms in his mouth. Ethan stills as Tom’s hand holds his mouth sheathed to the other man’s cock. Warm, surprisingly powerful spurts of come fill Ethan’s mouth. The taste is strong and too much, but he can’t pull away with Tom’s hand pinning him in place. So Ethan swallows greedily to rid his tongue of the taste.

  Tom groans sharply, as if the added pressure of Ethan swallowing is too much, and promptly releases Ethan’s head.

  Ethan’s careful not to overstimulate the other man as he pulls his mouth off of his spent cock.

  Now that it’s over, Ethan sits back and wipes his mouth. Admires his work.

  Tom is… glorious. Sweat beading his smooth chest, which is heaving with excitement and arousal. His mouth is slack, his expression dazed and satisfied.

  Ethan has never been so aroused in his life.

  Growling, Tom reaches for Ethan, snagging him on the arm and dragging him forward until his body topples onto Tom’s. Ethan barely has time to grip Tom’s shoulders before Tom is kissing him hungrily.

  Ethan’s sure Tom must be able to taste himself in his mouth.

  Fuck.

  Ethan reaches into his pants, strokes himself with none of the tentative sentimentality that he awarded his first time giving a blowjob. It’s all quick, rough strokes as fast as he can manage with his fist down his pants.

  He comes quickly, before Tom can even register that he’s jerking himself off. But when Tom does realize through his dazed state, he holds Ethan close as his body shudders through the shock waves of orgasm.

  “Don’t worry,” Tom reassures, voice hoarse. “I’ve got you.”

  Ethan’s too heady to be embarrassed by the whine of contentment that spills from him.

  They stay like that for what feels like forever—Tom holding him tight in his arms, Ethan trying to remember how to breathe. Eventually, Ethan matches his breaths to the deep rise and fall of Tom’s chest.

  They can’t fall asleep like this, Ethan will regret it in the morning when he wakes up with semen drying in his pants. Somehow, he coaxes Tom up for a brief, sleepy trip to his small bathroom to clean their bodies of the mess they’ve made. Ethan changes into fresh clothes from his rooted-through luggage.

  Afterwards, he hesitates, but decides not to push his luck with Tom. He’ll be good and go back to the table where he’s been chained up for the last few days. But when he starts to walk towards the curtain, Tom snags him by the arm.

  “No. Sleep here.”

  “With you?” Ethan asks, hopeful.

  Tom nods and they fall into each other’s arms, forced into wonderful proximity by the tiny mattress. The heat of skin on skin is too good. Tom falls asleep almost instantly, his previously possessive grip on Ethan going slack. Ethan fights the weight of his own eyelids.

  He can’t fall asleep.

  He’s unbound.

  Unmonitored with Tom asleep.

  Suddenly, Ethan’s wide awake, adrenaline surging anew.

  His heart pounds, climbing full of anxiety into his throat.

  He knows what
he has to do.

  12

  Ethan’s chest is pressed against Tom’s sleeping form. His heart is beating so fast that he can’t believe it’s not enough to wake the sleeping man. Ethan waits as long as he can stand, body alight with apprehension. How many minutes has Tom been asleep? Fifteen? Twenty? More? Ethan has no way of knowing.

  There’s no point in risking falling asleep himself—he needs to do this. Now.

  Gingerly, Ethan pries Tom’s arms from where they’re wound possessively around his torso. After some nerve-wracking coaxing, Tom’s arms go slack. Now that they’re dead weight, Ethan lifts the other man’s arms off of him. With excruciatingly slow movements, he slides out of bed.

  Tom doesn’t wake up.

  Free now, cool concrete under his bare feet, Ethan studies Tom through the darkness. There’s a peacefulness to Tom’s sleeping face despite all its hard lines.

  If Ethan’s escape attempt works, this might be the last time he ever sees Tom’s face.

  If it doesn’t work and he gets caught… then, well, this might be the last time he sees Tom’s face looking anywhere close to contentment.

  If Ethan gets caught... he’ll have broken whatever tentative trust he’s managed to form with this man.

  Ethan's heart pangs at the thought of losing this intimacy. Of going back to his old life, lonely and without Tom. What will he do without the delirious pleasure of Tom's mouth on his? Could any random hookup replace the intense blend of emotions Tom makes him feel?

  No. He can’t think like that. He has to get out of here. For his own sake. For Tom’s too, even. If Ethan escapes, it’ll free Tom from this house—because jail would be better for Tom than this little bubble of abuse he’s been living in. Fuck. That’s—that’s not even what Ethan should be worrying about. The biggest priority is getting himself to a hospital. He has no idea how bad the internal injuries he sustained from the biker’s beating are.

  As Ethan quietly dresses himself in the corner of Tom’s small room, he can’t help but feel like the pounding of his heartbeat is so loud it’s going to jostle Tom awake. Even his own breath is much too loud.