Dangerous Savior

by Wulff, Carson

  Still. He dresses himself and pads out of Tom’s room, carefully slipping past the curtain.

  Tom didn’t shut off the lights in this part of the basement, the harsh incandescent light bulbs frazzle his vision for a moment. The first thing he notices when his eyes adjust is that Jed is awake.

  Shit. Jed. What is Ethan going to do about him?

  Ethan can’t risk untying him, it would waste precious time. Not that he even knows if he wants to give Jed that mercy.

  As Ethan approaches, Jed’s eyes follow him, stare hard. Ethan half expects him to alert, to scream through the duct tape around his mouth and wake Tom just to watch Ethan suffer.

  But of course, that would be counterproductive to escaping this.

  “If I make it, I’ll send help,” Ethan whispers.

  Jed’s eyes narrow, what’s visible of his nose wrinkles in a snarl. He thought Ethan was going to untie him, didn’t he? Ethan’s breath catches, waiting for the inevitable.

  Jed is going to alert Tom, after all, isn’t he? Just out of spite.

  But… no. He doesn’t. It must take a lot of self-restraint on Jed’s part.

  Ethan sucks in a breath and moves past Jed, trying his best to forget about the man and focus on his goal: getting out of this house alive.

  Briefly, Ethan considers trying to pack what’s left of the food that was in his luggage, in case help is several days away. He decides against it, his need for instant freedom clawing through his skin like an allergic reaction.

  The stairs. He starts up them painfully slow, knowing from Tom’s trips up and down the stairs that each step creaks.

  It’s dark, so Ethan feels out each step with his foot before putting his weight on it. Each groan of the old, splintered wood resounds as loud and dangerous as gunshots in Ethan’s mind. His breath is racing now. He’s almost to the door.

  When Ethan finally reaches the top of the stairs, he carefully leans his body against the heavy metal door, pressing his ear against it. He listens for any signs of life.

  The only sound he can hear is his own pulse thudding through his veins. He tries to swallow his heartbeat, but it keeps rising up like rancid food. There is no light coming from the crack below the door. He touches his fingers to the doorknob.

  Slowly, so the door won’t make any noise, Ethan turns the doorknob.

  It won’t budge.

  It’s locked.

  He turns it harder just to be sure. Pushes.

  There aren’t any locks inside the basement door, Ethan runs his fingers along the edge of the smooth metal just to be sure in the half-light.

  The door is locked from the outside.

  It’s then Ethan recalls the rows of deadbolts lining the door from the outside, from when Tom first brought him into the basement.

  The door is locked from the outside.

  Heavily locked.

  Tom is locked down here with the captives.

  Ethan’s mind reels, and for one crazed moment he thinks that maybe Tom told his family he’d be leaving Ethan unchained, and to lock the door just in case. But Tom couldn’t have told them, wouldn’t have. Ethan is Tom’s little secret and Ethan can’t imagine Tom’s family being happy about what Tom’s been doing with him.

  Briefly, Ethan considers breaking down the door—throwing his shoulder against it again and again until it bursts open. Making a run for it before Tom’s family can react.

  Ethan doubts he even has the strength to do that.

  He can’t risk it.

  Tom’s the safer risk.

  Relying on Tom to keep him alive is still the best option right now. Ethan can’t think of any others.

  Tom’s safer, Tom’s safer than trying to beat his hands bloody on the door right now. Than trying to claw his way out through solid metal.

  Tom’s safer.

  Still, it feels like another missed opportunity when Ethan pulls away from the door and creeps back down the stairs.

  Tom’s safer.

  It’s the mantra in his brain to keep his knees from buckling under the weight of this defeat.

  Tom’s safer.

  Tom’s safer.

  Alive in Tom’s basement is better than dead.

  Dead is finality.

  Tom is hope.

  If Ethan’s wrong—if this is the wrong choice then… so be it.

  Ethan can barely meet Jed’s eyes as he slinks past the man without explanation.

  Jed’s expression is utterly scandalized, he groans out a muffled protest beneath the duct-tape. His chains rattle dangerously loud as he lunges against them toward Ethan, as if he wants to grab Ethan by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. As if he could with his hands bound behind his back.

  There’s no point in trying to quiet Jed, so Ethan grits his teeth and hurries back into Tom’s bedroom.

  Ethan strips his clothes off and slips back into Tom’s bed without incident.

  He curls up against Tom’s warm body and tries to feel safe.

  Ethan’s not sure he’ll feel safe ever again.

  13

  Ethan rouses from sleep, his body held tightly in Tom’s strong arms. It hits him like a dam breaking—the musty smell of the basement mingling with the now familiar musk of Tom’s skin. The knowledge of what he tried to do last night stabs him in the gut. He tried to escape this man.

  Every action he takes from here forward will be deceit as long as that truth is omitted. But of course Ethan can’t tell Tom anything. Can’t even ask him why his family locks him down here at night, too. Can’t ask how long they’ve been keeping him caged beneath the house.

  Tom’s already awake, watching Ethan’s face intently. How long has he been watching Ethan sleep?

  “Hi,” Ethan says quietly, voice hoarse from sleep.

  Tom grunts in response, never one for words when something easier will suffice. His hands slip down Ethan’s sides, over his sensitive, bruised ribs. He stops at Ethan’s hips, stroking his thumb along the slope of the pelvis bone that dips towards his groin.

  Ethan squirms against Tom, body responding with delight to a touch that is new and familiar all at once.

  Tom shifts, pressing the hard length of his shaft against Ethan’s thigh, as if to make him wordlessly aware of his need.

  Tom doesn’t know how to ask for sex, does he? Doesn’t know how to express to Ethan that he wants him.

  There’s a raw, animalistic sort of desire that exudes from Tom. The desire of a man deprived and repressed for too much of his adult life. A desire for self-discovery. Tom has been alone with this desire for too long. Completely unlike Ethan, who, despite being a virgin and entirely inexperienced, at least know from society and education what sex is, how it works, why he feels the way he does.

  There’s something so visceral about the way Tom presses his cock against Ethan, insistently, overwhelmed with a need for relief that his self-restraint is struggling to hold back.

  It turns Ethan on like nothing else ever has.

  “We can do whatever you want,” Ethan says, breathy. The permission is as exciting as it is dangerous. He has no idea what Tom will do to him.

  Of course Tom doesn’t have words for what he wants. Instead, he sits up and pushes Ethan down until his face is in his lap. He threads his fingers through Ethan’s curly hair and guides his head forward until Ethan's lips bump the head of his cock.

  Ethan’s balls tighten in a surge of arousal from being manhandled by Tom. For being needed. At the same time, he’s vaguely disappointed by Tom wanting more head, as if Ethan’s mouth on his cock is the best thing he could possibly imagine.

  Still, Ethan wets his lips with his tongue before popping his mouth open over Tom’s cock and taking him inside. He splays his tongue flat and pushes against the underside of Tom’s shaft, lapping across the base of the head.

  Tom groans deeply at that, tight stomach muscles clenching as his hips lift up to push himself further into Ethan’s mouth.

  This is fine, Ethan tells himself. />
  He should be glad that Tom isn’t asking for more than head, when that’s what Ethan has chosen to give him so far. If Tom had asked him for sex, it surely would have struck Ethan with a panic of pressure.

  So why is Ethan disappointed?

  Why does he keep thinking about the bottle of lube in his luggage he uses to finger himself during masturbation?

  Why does he keep thinking of Tom’s much larger fingers entering him instead?

  He shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t be the instigator. But when Tom tightens his grip on his hair, sending a wave of pleasure down his spine, all Ethan can do is moan around Tom’s cock.

  When Ethan makes up his mind on faulty, arousal fogged impulse, he gently pats Tom’s arm to ask to be let up. It only sends Ethan’s heart aflutter when Tom understands what he’s asking and releases his grip.

  Tom’s cock slips from his mouth with a slick pop, and Ethan flashes his eyes up to him, heart racing.

  “There’s something else we can do…” Ethan trails off, searching for some sign of recognition in Tom’s face. He’s surprised to find it.

  “You want to?” Tom asks, skeptical tone overwritten by the growl of arousal in his voice.

  Ethan nods, face flushed, lips still pressed against the slit of Tom’s cock.

  “I haven’t—” Tom begins, as if in protest.

  Ethan cuts him off. “I know. Me neither. We’ll figure it out.”

  Tom nods, and Ethan sits up, licking the saline taste of pre-cum from his lips.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ethan says when Tom reaches to stop him as he tries to get out of bed. Tom releases him reluctantly, the barest trace of a pout on his stony face.

  Ethan’s hands are shaking as he digs through his luggage. He finds the bottle of lube mixed in with his clothes at the bottom of the bag. He wishes he was the type to be optimistic enough to carry condoms on him. He hadn’t been expecting to lose his virginity on this road trip. Foregoing the condom is dangerous and desperate, but isn’t everything about his connection to Tom?

  It almost seems fitting that he’s putting himself so at risk here. He knows it's not good that he feels a self-deprecating sense of humor at the symmetry.

  Ethan returns to Tom, nervous and flushed, but smiling.

  Tom’s sitting up, watching with a transfixed intensity as Ethan climbs onto his lap, hovering over Tom.

  Ethan feels powerful, somehow, straddling Tom. Maybe it’s the way Tom’s looking at him like he’s seeing another human being for the first time. Maybe he is. Maybe Ethan is the first taste of humanity Tom’s ever had.

  Ethan snaps the cap open and slicks two of his fingers with lube. Tom watches as Ethan reaches between his legs, past his hard cock to his entrance. Ethan swirls lube against his entrance, trying his best to mentally relax.

  “Can I sit on your lap?” Ethan asks, too embarrassed to be direct, to say something more appropriate like can I put your cock in me?

  “Yes,” Tom says, breathy and deep.

  Ethan can’t accept that. He has to clarify, because knowing Tom wants this is more important than anything right now. He steels himself, then asks, “Can I put your cock inside me?”

  “Yes,” Tom affirms.

  Ethan grabs the base of Tom’s cock and lines the head up against his slick ass. “Here?”

  Tom’s voice is strained when he answers, “Yes.” His fingers grip Ethan’s hips like a lifeline.

  Ethan closes his eyes. Steadies his own breath. He thinks about the first time he explored himself with his fingers, pushed one into his body and then two. Remembers how good it felt to brush his prostate for the first time. This is going to be the first time he’s had something larger than his own fingers inside him.

  He manages to calm himself enough to push the blunt head of Tom’s cock past the tight ring of muscle. Gasping, Ethan grips desperately at Tom’s shoulder for support. Heat shoots through his body as he feels himself stretching around Tom’s girth. There’s discomfort at the size, but as his body relaxes, it adjusts.

  Tom’s hands find Ethan’s hips, a welcome anchor to steady his trembling body.

  Ethan sinks down slowly on Tom’s cock, letting it fill him. Pleasure curls up his spine like ivy, weaving, embedding itself there. A hot swirl of arousal pools in his groin.

  Tom shudders harshly as he’s sheathed inside Ethan. His fingers tighten on Ethan's hips hard enough to bruise.

  Ethan won’t mind these bruises.

  “It’s taking so much restraint, isn’t it?” Ethan whispers as he takes Tom fully, sitting flush in his lap now. “To keep from thrusting into me?”

  Something close to a whine comes out of Tom’s mouth. He grabs Ethan by the back of the neck and guides their mouths together in a clash of lips and tongue. It’s as if he’s pouring all of the vicious desire boiling inside him into the kiss instead of using it to push Ethan against the mattress and pound into him.

  Finally able to move, Ethan lifts himself up the length of Tom’s cock slowly. The low, rumbling moan Tom produces deep in his throat is enough to make Ethan’s skin hot all over. Bolstered, Ethan manages to roll his hips up and down at a steady pace.

  Tom catches on to the rhythm after a moment and helps lift and lower Ethan’s hips. Tom’s intense stare lowers from Ethan’s face to his cock bobbing between them.

  “Want to touch you,” Tom growls, voice hoarse with arousal.

  “You already are,” Ethan says, panting.

  Tom’s eyes flick up to Ethan’s face again, and then pointedly back down to his cock.

  “O-Oh,” Ethan breathes. “Oh.”

  Tom hasn’t touched him there yet. Not really. Only through his pants.

  “Please,” Ethan answers, after the cogs in his brain start moving again.

  Ethan’s never had another person’s hand on his cock before.

  Tom’s massive hand winds around him, stroking him slow and gentle.

  The burst of sensation drives Ethan wild. Needing more, he bounces quicker in Tom’s lap to thrust himself up into Tom’s palm.

  Tom holds his fist there, stills it, as if to force Ethan to fuck him faster to get friction against Tom’s hand.

  Ethan whines, half collapsing forward against Tom, forehead against Tom’s sweat-slick shoulder. There’s so much heat radiating between their bodies, the scent of Tom overwhelming him.

  Tom. It’s Tom’s body against him. Tom’s cock filling him. Tom, Tom, Tom.

  “Tom,” Ethan gasps, coming hard into the other man’s hand. His body tightens around Tom in spasms.

  Tom grunts and comes too, Ethan can feel his cock pulsing inside him, his hot seed spilling inside him.

  “Fuck,” Ethan pants against Tom’s shoulder, biting and sucking at the skin there to release some of his tension. His body goes completely limp against Tom. He can barely breathe.

  “Yeah,” Tom agrees, chest heaving.

  Ethan is so sated by the orgasm that he barely has time to think about how fucked up the whole situation is. Right now everything is just so blissfully right.

  Tom can’t keep his hands off of Ethan for the rest of the morning. He paws at his naked, bruised body with his rough hands. Kisses him sloppy and visceral, splotching suction bruises all along Ethan's neck and collar bone.

  Ethan enjoys the sensations that crawl up his spine, that make him mewl and arch under Tom’s efforts. He lets the pleasure dull his mind, keep it from wandering to the locked door he found last night and what that means.

  Eventually though, an alarm that Ethan didn’t know Tom had goes off on some sort of fraying wristwatch. Tom responds to it like a dog whistle, untangling himself from Ethan and hurrying out of bed.

  Ethan watches the other man dress, curling up against Tom’s worn mattress and trying to enjoy the comfort of the bed while it lasts. Because Tom is going to leave for the day, and that means Ethan will be tied back up again.

  “Have to go,” Tom grunts, pausing to stare at Ethan’s body splayed pale and bare o
n his bed. The faintest hint of fondness passes over his expression, disappearing soon after, replaced by something torn.

  “Time to chain me back up?” Ethan offers with a sad smile. Part of him understands. Part of him knows this whole situation is strange and frightening for the both of them.

  Ethan swings his legs out of bed and stands. An act of obedience. Trust that isn’t entirely true, nor entirely a lie.

  Tom looks away, raises his face to the ceiling. Sighs heavily. “Don’t want to.”

  “I know,” Ethan assures gently. He doesn’t want Tom to tie him back up, either.

  “Not going to,” Tom grumbles after a moment. He trains his gaze back on Ethan, features severe. “If you hear someone come, hop up on the table. Pretend to be chained.”

  Tom’s having a change of heart?

  Ethan swallows his surprise and asks, “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Have to pretend to be locked up though. Ma threatens to cut fingers off if I forget.” Tom holds up his left hand, which bears a half-inch thick horizontal scar dragging over four of his fingers.

  He hadn’t noticed that scar before. Ethan’s brows knit in futile concern. The scar is pale against Tom’s sun-tanned skin. It must be pretty old. Ethan's glad Tom's fingers are still intact, that a scar is the only souvenir he has from his mother's threat.

  Ethan steps forward and takes Tom’s hand before he can pull it away. Kisses his knuckles, right across the scar, peppers his lips across its length.

  Tom exhales, deep and measured. When Ethan pulls back, a flush ghosts across Tom’s face.

  “I saw all the locks on the outside of the basement door when you brought me down here,” Ethan says, suddenly, against his better judgement. “Are those locks just for the people your family kills down here, or…?”

  Or is it to keep you locked down here, too?

  Ethan can’t finish the sentence.

  “Don’t kill often,” Tom grunts, surprisingly candid. “Locks are for me.”

  A wave of sympathy hits Ethan like a freight train. So his family does keep him locked down here. For how long? Since he was a child? Why only him and not his sisters?