Ethan instantly wishes he hadn’t mentioned his status as a captive here. Or at least, not mentioned it so bitterly.
Tom’s hands shift wordlessly to Ethan’s waist. “Don’t want you to be,” he says, leaning possessively over Ethan and kissing forceful and slow down the side of his face. “Want you to be free.”
Ethan’s not sure if it’s the words or Tom’s lips that make his heart pound.
Tom’s grip on his waist coaxes him to move, backing him up behind Jed’s field of view, to the back half of the basement. Tom lifts Ethan onto the cold metal table he used to butcher Ricky. Its surface is clean now, hosed down at some point, at least, but Ethan can’t help but cringe. How many lives has Tom taken on this table? How many bodies has he cut up with those strong arms while wearing that handsome, stoic expression?
Somehow, even with the array of hand saws and knives hanging next to the table, Ethan isn’t afraid at all. Tom has other tools at his disposal that he prefers to use on Ethan—his hands, his mouth, the thick, swollen manhood between his legs.
Shame flares through Ethan at how excited he is. He shouldn’t be. Tom has ended so many lives on this very table. Strung up bodies right here and allowed their blood to drain.
The shame is flammable—it only serves to fuel the arousal burning through Ethan’s body, engulfing him. He knows it’s wrong. He knows. He can’t stop it. Doesn’t want to stop it, maybe.
Tom’s palms slide up Ethan’s calves and push under the dress. He squeezes Ethan’s thighs, and when he urges Ethan’s legs to spread, they spread willingly.
Ethan leans forward to wrap his arms around Tom’s neck, draw him closer, claim his mouth. The kiss is slow and gentle, all soft tongue and careful teeth. All the while Tom flexes his grip on Ethan’s legs, strokes the smooth, sensitive skin of Ethan’s inner thighs.
Ethan doesn’t think he’s ever gotten hard so fast in his life. He pulls away from the kiss and leans back slightly. Slowly, Ethan hikes up the skirt for Tom, until his underwear is revealed. His erection strains at the women’s underwear, which are definitely not designed to hold a cock, let alone an engorged one. The hem of the underwear pulls away from his stomach in the front, elastic hem stretching with the strain of his fully erect member.
Tom halts all motion, scarcely breathing, as if struck to stunned awe by the sight.
Tom likes this, Ethan realizes. The dress. The underwear. The sight of him adorned in both. Ethan’s not entirely sure it’s the fact that they’re women’s clothing specifically that seizes Tom’s interest. He thinks… he thinks, maybe, he could be wearing anything new and Tom would be enraptured by him.
Ethan’s breath hitches in surprise when Tom drops to his knees in front of the table, suddenly settling between Ethan’s open legs. His heart rushes towards painful speeds at the sight of Tom between his legs, face so close to his straining erection.
Tom’s gaze holds Ethan’s own for what feels like an intensely long time before he dives in, mouth finding Ethan’s inner thighs and latching on. He sucks and bites at the pale flesh, which quickly blooms with a flush, and then the purple speckling of hickies.
“So good,” Tom murmurs between bites. “So pretty.”
Ethan’s inhale is half sob as he moans, overwhelmed by sensation.
“Prettiest thing I ever seen.” Tom’s voice reverberates, low and rough against Ethan’s skin.
Ethan’s body jerks at the drag of the slight stubble on Tom’s jaw as he nuzzles Ethan’s thigh.
Tom’s thumbs hook in one leg of the panties, then, lifting them, shifting the fabric and elastic until Ethan’s cock pops free from the leg hole. For a moment Ethan thinks Tom is just going to push the panties to the side and fuck him with them still on, but no—Tom wastes no time taking Ethan’s cock into his mouth.
Oh.
Oh god—Ethan’s never felt anything close to the soft, wet heat of Tom’s mouth.
He…
He never thought for a second that Tom would be willing to do this for him.
That anyone would ever want to.
Fuck—he—wow.
Tom’s mouth sinks down Ethan’s shaft, and then back up again, mouth creating a slight suction along the way. The pressure is intense and almost too much for Ethan to bear. He squirms involuntarily under the attention.
Tom’s clearly clumsy, perhaps clumsier than Ethan was the first time he sucked Tom off. There’s a slight scrape of teeth, but Ethan likes it.
Tom holds Ethan steady at the base of his shaft while his other hand keeps a hard grip on Ethan’s hips to keep them pinned to the table.
Once Tom gets the hang of it, he sucks so hard, taking Ethan so deep into his mouth, that Ethan screams and doubles over, hands flying to Tom’s short hair.
Tom moans in response, and Ethan can’t help but think frantically that it’s the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard. Tom’s vocalizations create a delicious vibration on Ethan’s cock, almost eliciting too much pleasure near the tip.
The sight of Tom between his legs is too much.
Too much, too much.
So strong. Everything about Tom’s body exudes strength—his demeanor, the curve of his jaw, the sheer mass of him.
And he’s kneeling for Ethan. Worshiping his body. Letting Ethan’s fingers scramble at his hair and push his mouth further down on his cock.
That’s what does it—the control. The way Tom just lets him force his cock deeper.
Ethan comes hard and with only a guttural moan as warning.
Tom doesn’t falter, stilling until Ethan’s body stops spasming.
And, unlike Ethan, Tom swallows every last drop of his come gratefully.
Tom rises, pulls Ethan’s head against his chest as Ethan pants loudly, struggling to come down from the shock of his orgasm.
Ethan slumps gratefully against Tom.
Fuck. He. He doesn’t know how he managed to do that after how exhausted he was.
Hell, he didn’t even care that Jed is just meters from them, his back turned, but able to hear everything.
After today, after everything that’s happened since Ethan first encountered the biker gang, he is fresh out of shame and embarrassment.
Once Ethan catches his breath, he reaches for Tom’s fly to take care of the bulge straining Tom’s jeans.
Tom catches his wrists, leans his hips out of reach. “No. That was just for you. I want it to be just for you.”
Ethan can’t explain why those words, that sentiment, renews the flare of red heat painted across his face.
Tom tucks Ethan back into the panties, smooths the dress back down over his legs. It strikes Ethan as absurdly sweet. Maybe he’s just delirious with the stress of the day, the heaviness of it. Gently, Tom lifts Ethan’s body into his arms and carries him, cradled close to his chest, past the curtain and into the bedroom.
“Thank you for everything,” Ethan says as Tom sets him on the bed. He kisses the corner of Tom’s mouth lazily, and then his cheek, and then all over his face without discretion. “I like you so much.”
“I like you too,” Tom grunts, surprised by Ethan’s words.
Ethan wonders if they’re communicating properly—if like is really the word they both mean right now. The right feeling. Need seems more fitting. I need you so much. But that’s not all. Ethan’s so… affected by Tom.
Ethan tucks his head against Tom’s chest when he shifts to sit beside him on the bed. He can feel Tom’s heartbeat against his face, racing.
It’s mutual, isn’t it? The like, the need, the way in which they affect one another.
Seeming to remember something, Tom pulls away and gets to his feet. He crosses the room, shuffling through some of his broken drawers. Tom returns to Ethan with an offering.
A shirt.
Tom’s shirt.
“Don’t have to wear that anymore,” Tom says, indicating the dress. “Deserve something more comfortable.”
Ethan hesitates inappropriately, because he really is touched,
but the thought of Beth’s potential anger scratches at the back of his mind. He quickly pushes that thought away and takes the shirt.
“Thank you,” he says, peeling the dress over his head and replacing it with the shirt. Tom’s shirt.
It’s several sizes too large and fits Ethan almost like a dress, though it isn’t quite long enough to cover his underwear—which he leaves on, in case Beth decides to barge in again in the morning.
Ethan likes the shirt much better than the dress. It smells like Tom. He hopes he’ll be allowed to wear it tomorrow, to keep Tom’s scent on him all day. Right now, though, he has the real thing.
Ethan curls up with Tom on the small mattress, settling in for sleep.
This.
This thing he has with Tom. It makes up for the awful day. For the awful situation.
And that terrifies Ethan, that anything can soothe that wound.
But that’s just it—it’s just soothed. Numbed. Bandaged and cleaned. But not healed.
Nothing has managed to heal the emotional wound he’s gained from this experience.
It’s seeping, raw as ever, and it’s only a matter of time before it festers into something stinking and fatal.
He needs to get out of this.
Get out of here.
He’ll have to bide his time.
How long will he have to live like this?
Ethan peers up at Tom—face serene with his eyes shut, lashes brushing just barely against his cheeks.
He tries to imagine Tom meeting his parents.
His roommates.
Getting an apartment with him.
Cooking meals for each other.
Sleeping in a clean room with a bed big enough for both of them.
Showering together.
Trying to mend the psychological wounds left over from this place, this house. They’re both sure to be riddled with trauma.
Ethan wants that.
Wants a normal life with Tom—whatever normal will mean after this.
He wants it so bad.
He can never have it.
What the hell is he going to do?
Will he be able to go back to normal life at all?
He has to. It’s the only option.
Bide time.
Escape.
He’ll have to figure out the rest later.
19
It turns out that Ethan doesn’t have to wait long for a chance to escape.
It rains the next day, firing-squad sheets of fat droplets. The downpour rattles the windows and reduces fields outside to patches of large puddles. The storm darkens the skies, flashes of lightning preceding booming thunder.
Ethan is washing dishes when it starts. In the morning he reluctantly changed back into the dress, sure that if he wore Tom’s clothes instead that Beth would see it as a small form of rebellion.
No, Ethan can’t risk provoking Tom’s family in any way. Especially Beth. He’s lucky that Beth’s abuse towards him so far has been solely emotional. Psychological. It hasn’t escalated to physical abuse. Yet. But maybe physical abuse would be better than this. There’s no easy treatment for emotional wounds. Maybe he should prefer beatings.
The rain beats against the roof in a way that would be calming if it wasn’t for the fact that calm is impossible for Ethan lately outside of Tom’s arms.
The plate Ethan’s scrubbing slips from his hands when he jumps at a boom of thunder that sounds directly overhead, shaking the house. He’s never heard the whip-crack of thunder that loud before, or seen so bright a flash. The storm must be directly overhead.
Ethan flinches, scrambling back when the plate crashes to the floor, shattering into jagged ceramic triangles. He expects immediate retaliation, bracing for Beth to yell, or hit him. Instead, Beth pays him no mind, instead rushing to the sink to look out the window above the soaking dishes.
“Oh, holy hell,” she gasps, horrified.
Ethan peers around her, trying to spot whatever she’s seeing out the window. The first thing he notices is a flash of pink as a pig dashes through the grass as fast as its stubby legs will carry it.
The animals have escaped their pen? How?
It’s then Ethan notices the fire blazing distantly in the barn, building quickly despite the rain, as if the raging droplets do nothing to quell it.
What started it? An electrical fire caused by the rain? The lightning strike itself? Did the lighting hit the barn?
It’s then Ethan spots Tom hurrying across the field towards the barn. He must have been at the animal pens, must have abandoned them in a hurry, left the gate open or didn’t latch it properly in his haste to reach the barn.
Ethan whines in protest when Tom disappears into the smoking barn, likely trying to salvage whatever contents within are worth anything.
“Stupid man!” Ma exclaims from behind Ethan and Beth, craning to see past their shoulders. “The furniture don’t matter if he lets that fire spread to the house!”
Sally rushes up next, standing on the tips of her toes and bracing her hands on her sister’s shoulders to peer out the window. “Won’t the rain put the fire out?”
“No, you stupid child, does it look like the rain’s putting it out?!” Ma yells, smacking Sally on the side of the head hard enough to make her stumble. “Get out there!”
“And do what?!” Sally yells back, throwing her arms up to shield from another blow.
Beth is quiet, dangerously so, but Ethan can see the panic written plainly on her face.
“Get the damn hose!” Ma screams. “Put that fire out before the barn collapses! And for God’s sake, wrangle the swine back into their pen! Go!”
Sally and Beth don’t hesitate to obey, rushing from the kitchen and down the hall, the front door slamming open and then shut.
This is his chance.
Beth and Sally are thoroughly distracted by the storm and the fire and the escaped animals. Even Tom… Even Tom won’t be able to realize quickly enough if Ethan makes a run for it.
Without thinking, Ethan starts moving to follow Beth and Sally, planning to run in the opposite direction of the barn as soon as he hits the front porch.
Fingernails dig hard into his arm as Ma shoots her hand out to grab him, halting him.
“Where do you think you’re going, boy?”
“Shouldn’t I go help with the pigs? The fire?” Ethan asks, heart pounding in sick anticipation. He’s close—so close. This is the only chance he might ever have.
“No,” Ma replies firmly, eyes narrowed. “You’ll stay in the house where I can keep an eye on you.”
Ethan’s heart sinks, his insides twist into a messy knot.
“Okay,” he says, as neutrally as he can manage. And then, meekly, “I’ll get started on laundry, then.”
Ma waves him off, more concerned with lighting up a cigarette and watching her children out the window.
Ethan retreats to the hall, hesitating. The front door is shut. The old woman would surely hear it squeak on its hinges if he were to make a run for it now.
Could she catch him? Ethan isn’t sure—but a quick glance behind him into the kitchen reveals the gun strapped to Ma’s hip in its leather holster, in plain sight. The whole time he’s been here, Ethan hasn’t seen her without her gun. She carries it on herself so plainly. Flashing it like a warning sign. The holster. The black metal of the gun’s grip. The sight is more effective than caution tape.
Even if she can’t outrun him, she may be able to shoot him. There’s no cover from the house to the tree line. It’s too far to run without the woman having a clear shot at his back.
Is he being too cautious? Can anyone aim that well with a pistol? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know. He only has one chance at escape.
He needs to think. Needs to find some way to make sure the old woman won’t notice him making a break for it.
The barn fire has been a good distraction. But not good enough.
The fire, the fire.
What can
Ethan do, other than pray the fire spreads to the house and forces Ma to flee with Daisy in a panic?
It won’t though, will it? Beth, Sally, and Tom will make sure of that.
Shit, shit, shit.
Right now Ethan has to avoid suspicion. Move his feet. Act normal.
Ethan makes his way up the stairs to the second floor to collect laundry. Ma pays him little attention because his only real means of escape is the front door, which she is well within earshot of.
Upstairs, Ethan can hear Daisy in her room, talking to herself in her melodic high-pitched voice. She must be playing with dolls. At least she’s distracted, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging in the clouds overhead. Not that a child would be able to stop him from escaping. The most she could do is sound the alarm.
Ethan moves past Daisy’s room and into Ma’s room. Focuses on collecting her laundry basket. He needs to at least pretend to be doing chores while he thinks.
He moves quietly to the window in the bedroom. When he tries to open it, he finds it isn’t just locked, but nailed shut. Why? Probably because this family is so paranoid about intruders.
Futilely, Ethan picks at one of the nails in the window frame, trying to wiggle it free. It doesn’t budge.
There are tools in the basement… should he attempt to sneak a hammer upstairs? Try to take the nails out?
He peers out the window to the grass below. It’s a straight drop from the second story. He’d have to knot sheets together as a makeshift rope if he even wanted to attempt a climb down from the window.
It’s too time-consuming. Too risky. And of course breaking the window isn’t an option.
What if Beth hadn’t caught him in Tom’s bed yesterday? What if Ethan was locked in the basement right now during this chaos? Jed is.
And. If the fire were to spread to the house, anyone in the basement would be trapped there, locked inside as the house blazed.
The basement.
The gears churning his thoughts stutter and then spin full speed—the basement.
The dots connect when Ethan’s distracted gaze lands on the pack of cigarettes and lighter lying on Ma’s bedside table next to an overflowing ashtray.
Dangerous Savior Page 17