The onset of dusk came quicker than either Charon or Jared could have imagined. Streams of molten gold light poured in through the grimy windowpane and just barely penetrated the ruined, moth-eaten drapes that hung from rickety, rusted curtain-rods, bathing the otherwise pitch black room in a scant ochre hue.
In the dim lighting, Charon could barely make out his surroundings. Luckily, they had been holed up in the house for so long that he memorized the bedroom like it was the back of his charred hand.
All that was left within the room as a means for furnishings was a thoroughly raided dresser, a hard bed sloppily resting on an equally hard bedframe, and a lonely lounge chair that sat adjacent to the bathroom door; which hung loosely from its hinges and looked moments away from yielding to the seductive pull of gravity.
Charon had half a mind to take it down before it fell to avoid alerting the raiders lurking around outside but, alas, there were more pressing matters at present—like, Jared the Wandering Junky and his withdrawal symptoms.
It had been four days since Jared had his last take of Jet and the kid was seconds away from going ballistic. Shaking, sweating, cursing and almost more than half-mad, he laid bound and gagged on the aforementioned bed. Writhing and uttering the filthiest curses at Charon from behind the leather belt that was roughly shoved in his mouth. He struggled against his makeshift bindings—two belts on his wrists and ankles, effectively incapacitating the otherwise deadly addict—despite the deep, purple bruises and painful, bleeding lacerations that appeared on his skin.
Glancing at Jared over his shoulder, Charon almost felt bad for the kid.
He obviously had no clue what he was getting himself into before he got into Jet; now he was suffering greatly for his naivety. A slave to his vices, Jared lived for his next fix; burning through his caps, whoring himself out, drinking himself under a table, whatever was needed to take the edge of the need for more Jet.
Sympathy was replaced with the usual feeling of resentment when Charon rifled through Jared's bag and found yet another empty flask of booze. The kid was a bottomless pit of depravity.
Sure, Charon was no saint himself but the kind of shit Jared got off on could, no doubt, make even the most seasoned adventurers blush.
Orgies with less than willing participants, embezzlement, armed-robbery, human-trafficking, and this was the shit he did for fun, the little shit was the Devil incarnate after all—those who knew Jared would say.
Turning Jared's rucksack over, Charon dumped the contents as quietly as possible and found the wedding ring of a settler that they 'helped' with the finger still attached to it. Scowling as maggots crawled the length of the decaying appendage, the ghoul nudged the finger away from himself with the barrel of Jared's 10MM. The kid had a lot of guns; all of them now lay scattered on the floorboards. If they hadn't all been empty, Charon would have suggested they try to make a run for it before it became night—but given Jared's unstable state as is, the Raiders would still wipe with the floor with them anyways.
Fuck, Charon hated the idea of spending the night in this relic of an era-passed; these remains of the "American Dream", the domestic life and the quant Suburban family. If not for the fact that all the pre-war memorabilia he kept on stumbling upon was driving him crazy; it was because at any time in the night, if he even tried to sleep, Jared would most definitely drown in his own bile.
Which wouldn't necessarily be half bad, seeing as Charon would be freed from the prick's contract… The ghoul looked over his shoulder again, eying Jared with increasing disregard for the kid's safety when he noticed that the kid had stopped shaking.
That he was just staring—at what, who knows? He could've been looking at Charon or the wall behind him; maybe even the gun in his hand. The only thing the ghoul was sure of was that Jared was looking in his general direction.
"What?" He spat derisively, suddenly self-conscious as he began packing away all of Jared's mislaid belongings. So, he hadn't found the kid a temporary fix for his ills in the bottom of his knapsack; they would have to wait for tomorrow then.
Jared inhaled deeply, finding his words as he closed his eyes. Through the gag, Charon could still make out what the young man was saying:
"C'mere, Charon… please, I want you to c'mere."
Heat trickled down the ghoul's neck. The wanton look Jared's eyes all too familiar to Charon even though he had never before been the recipient of said look. Charon could admit to himself that he hasn't gotten much action in his lifetime—that is, if jerking off could be counted as action; if not, then he hasn't gotten any action in his lifetime—but this was ridiculous. Sporting a hard-on for his asshole addict pretty-boy boss, he should be ashamed of himself.
Despite his misgivings, Charon obeyed Jared. Rising to his feet, the ghoul approached the younger man quietly and unarmed. Standing tall at the foot of Jared's bed, Charon crossed his arms expectantly. "Well?"
"Sit…" Jared managed around the belt. Squirming as he tried to make room for Charon to sit. The ghoul, again, obeyed begrudgingly. Sitting beside his 'master', Charon looked pissed. Jared tried to smile but ended up looking pained instead. "Touch me…" he pleaded.
"What?" Charon snapped, flinching at the volume of his voice as he heard the raiders circling the house in search of them.
"Touch me." Jared repeated, tugging at his bindings.
Charon reached forward and removed the belt from Jared's mouth only to be surprised when the Vault-kid lurched forward and began necking with him with all this pent-up frustration and tongue—and before Charon shoved him away, he noted that the kid's lips were soft and that he kissed like he was made to do so.
"Ge'off me." Charon snapped, planting two strong hands on Jared's chest and forcing the kid back against the brass bedstead.
Jared moaned, tongue flicking out to lick his lips hungrily as he eyed Charon like he was a prized piece of meat. He struggled against the ghoul's hands on him as he tried to lean forward and kiss the other man again. "Please…" He rasped. "I can't—I need…"
"You need to sleep, you little shit." Charon interrupted, bearing down on Jared's chest until the former Vault-Dweller could scarcely breathe before he stood abruptly and crossed the room to return to his original task.
Jared sucked in a few shaky breaths before gravelly pleading. "Charon, I'm begging you."
"Shut the fuck up before I make you." Though Charon's tone was rough and angry, he could feel his erection straining against his trousers. His hands balled into fists as the ghoul sat back down on the floor and began rifling through Jared's belongings.
The smoothskin groaned at Charon's words. The bed creaked underneath him as he thrashed about in total desperation. "Yes—yes, do it, Charon. Please…!"
Charon didn't remember standing, didn't remember climbing onto the bed with Jared—all he knew was that he had wrapped his hands around the kid's throat and started to squeeze. Jared moaned and sputtered; hard body twisting in Charon's hold as he let himself be strangled.
The ghoul was strong—stronger than any of Jared's previous lovers and that made him want Charon all the more because, damn, that kind of strength was fucking sexy—with his hands bearing down so hard on Jared's airway, the kid hadn't much of a chance.
Gasping fruitlessly, his vision began to darken around the edges. The world was hazy and Jared looked up into Charon's eyes as he tried to just breathe. Seeing the scorching-hot fury in the usually guarded blue-eyes above him and the somehow hearing the enraged growl that Charon emitted over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, Jared came like his release was being ripped from him.
A breathless cry finally escaped his agape mouth and his eyes fluttered closed as he went limp thereafter.
Charon was breathing hard. Nearly too riled to stop throttling his lifeless charge. When he heard noise just beyond the window, though—like indistinct conversation and guns being locked and loaded—the ghoul found himself. He would deal the little bastard later, Charon resolved. Climbing off the bed, he retrieved his knife from the sheath on his black. Right now, those fucking raiders were going get it.