Wants Me Dead: Rough Timeline relation – Living at Waylon's home. Pre chapter 13

Park's house was painfully quaint. After a near month of living in its walls Jeremy ought to have acclimatized but each and every day he was taken aback by just how quaint it really was.

It wasn't the house itself exactly that gave off that agonizingly charming feeling of homeliness. No, it was the fact it was so lived in that had Jeremy baffled. It was the little things that he hadn't noticed in the first few days that now stuck out at him. At first it had been the clamor, the toys left around by the boys. The photos that took up every available space and wall. Right down to the distinct smell of each room. Jeremy hadn't noticed that first night he snuck in, how could he be expected to notice that Waylon and Lisa's room smelt of clean sheets and light perfumes when compared to somewhere like the boy's room – something distinctly electrical and grassy from the dirt the boys brought in from the garden.

Now that he had noticed, Jeremy couldn't seem to stop focusing on it. Each room had a particular feel. It belonged to the person who lived in it most and if it was shared by the house then it felt like its purpose. The living room was bright, lively, inviting. The kitchen – when kept tidy by him no less – felt clean.

Jeremy thought this was all very unusual. He'd lived in his family home for all his childhood and never noticed any difference between any given room in the house. They all felt the same, even his own room had that same feel to it. Nothing stuck out, it was all uniform. So to suddenly be in a house where the mood and tone could flip on its head just by passing through one doorway, well it was all rather overwhelming.

That was why he currently sat in his borrowed room. Taking a moment to just appreciate the quiet of his room. There was nothing that stuck out in particular in this room. It was unused before he arrived according to Waylon, so that left it without the marks of another person. Jeremy felt like he could breath again when he sat on this borrowed bed. He imagined that if he'd sat on any other bed in the house the sheer force of the sense of 'trespassing' would have chased him off in an instant.

Today had been a long one and Jeremy needed this break. The boys had been relentless in their nagging. Wanting to rush off to some playground down the road. Jeremy knew he couldn't do that, even if Lisa wasn't liable to shank him for it, the idea that Murkoff was around every corner hadn't worn off yet. He'd had to barter with them, chocolates and a movie just a little too mature for them had done the trick.

Actually now he thought about it, Lisa might still shank him for that.

With a tired sigh Jeremy fell back flat onto his borrowed bed that was rapidly becoming his inside his own head. God his body hurt. It was not like the terrible agony he'd been in months earlier, it was more of a deep set aching. The sign of a day spent hoisting kids up where he'd never had to lift anything heavier than a paper weight before. A day spent racing after Jackie to stop him from doing something colossally stupid like trying to juggle knives. Which Jeremy himself might have inadvertently put into the kid's head. He didn't think he'd actually try it.

He'd underestimated the boy's determination and ego. Never again.

The ache in his bones wasn't actually awful. He wished it didn't exist but thinking about what caused it brought Jeremy some satisfaction. Especially when he compared it to other pains he'd felt. Far worse pains.

Although he doubted that he'd be able to get any sleep. Certainly not enough to help chase off lingering soreness. Tiredly Jeremy stared at the ceiling, glowering as the irritation thought crossed his mind. There was no way he would get a good night's rest. Not when he knew all that waited beyond his eyelids was nightmares.

They'd been getting worse as of late. He'd actually screamed when he woke up, loud enough that he'd scared Waylon awake. The man thought he was so sly, checking in on him once he thought Jeremy was asleep again. Of course he wasn't bloody asleep, not after screaming bloody murder thinking his neck had just been slit open.

It irritated Jeremy that Waylon had checked on him at all. Like he cared about a man like Blaire.

That was…impossible.

Trying to will away uncomfortable thoughts, Jeremy closed his eyes. If he couldn't sleep he could at least rest them, try to fight off the sting of dry eyes. He must have only been laying there for a few minutes, that was all it felt like but when he opened his eyes next all the light was gone from the room. The sudden change in time startled Jeremy, he'd only closed his eyes for a moment but it looked like he'd lost the last of the daylight.

Confused and groggy Jeremy tried to move, to sit up and see what the time was. It was only when he felt the weight of his own body and the lingering aches and pains that it occurred to him that he hadn't dreamt. If hours really had passed…he must have slept and he didn't recall any nightmares. This was as exhilarating as it was confusing. Jeremy wasn't sure he was ready to just accept this.

Most good things came with a hefty price tag.

Blearily Jeremy glanced towards the window. As expected it was dark outside, he could even see the light of the moon somewhere up above. That was fine, but what took a moment to settle into his head and a few more seconds to make sense was the fact the window was actually open.

Confused Jeremy tried to remember opening it or if he'd seen that it was open earlier. No, he definitely remembered it being shut. He didn't think it was like Waylon or Lisa to come open it when he was asleep. Certainly not on a night like this, the air was chilly and now that he'd noticed the open window, he felt the draft that came with it. The temperature of the room was uncomfortably low and Jeremy mumbled a low curse under his breath as he hoisted himself up off the bed.

It was going to take ages to get the room warm again, but he could start by closing the window.

"Who the actual fuck…" Jeremy snarled letting the thought die away as he pulled the window shut roughly. He flinched as it slammed against the wooden frame and for a second wondered if he might accidentally wake up the Parks. Unlikely, only one of his screams had ever stirred Waylon and there'd been plenty more than one those past few weeks.

With the window shut Jeremy thought he should give sleep another go. But his legs didn't turn to pull him back to the bed, instead he stayed put staring at his hands on the window for a moment longer.

It didn't make sense. He was puzzled by this window being open. Normally this wouldn't be enough to ward him off going back to bed, but tonight the thought wouldn't leave his head. He just kept staring at his hands, wondering what it was that he was missing.

Slowly but surely it settled in. The realization that the prickling at the back of his mind wasn't just confusion, but fear. Something had spooked him and Jeremy barely even noticed it.

Then Jeremy knew.

He pinpointed what was wrong. His room had changed. His room didn't feel like it had when he want to sleep. There was something new here. Something familiar.

It happened quickly, but didn't things always when Jeremy wasn't prepared? The sudden strike from behind forced Jeremy up against the wall, chest flat against the window he'd just closed as a set of cold hands pulled his arm up against his back, using it to press him more harshly against the solid surface of the glass.

Jeremy winced, a cry of alarm being knocked out of him as he was winded. The icy temperature of the window a near match for the hands that kept his wrist jammed up against his spine – too high to not be painful but not yet high enough to pop anything out of place. Yet.

He'd been found.

The thought only just clicked into place as Jeremy felt something smooth slide along his neck. Instinctively he tensed, knowing exactly what it was without having to look down. He knew that if he budged so much as an inch, that knife might just draw blood.

"Look at that." The familiar voice hummed next to his ear. "You're so well trained, Mr. Blaire. Now, if I'd done that a few months ago you would have struggled. Look at you now. Perfectly well behaved."

"How?" Jeremy ground out past clenched teeth, too afraid to even take a deep breath least that knife pull up against his throat a little tighter.

"How?" Sinclair purred, tone nothing but viciously smug as he cornered Blaire. "How did I find you? Oh, Mr. Blaire. Didn't I tell you time and time again?" The knife pressed in a little deeper and Jeremy stopped breathing. "I'm not ever letting you go."

Jeremy felt cold dread pooling into his stomach. He could imagine it now, that little shack room and musty old mattress. The ropes, the hammer – all of it coming back. He was going to die this time. This time Sinclair was going to cut off his legs, make sure he cold never run this distance again. He knew it, he knew it—

"Now, you and I are going to have a little chat about your behaviour and then we're going home." Sinclair told him in a voice that was almost reasonable. Were it not for the knife and the hiss behind the man's words – he might have even sounded sane. "I really don't know what got into your head, thinking you could just…"

Sinclair stopped.

The sudden halt to his usually endless stream of speaking alarmed Jeremy. What now? Was he going to start early, break something even while under Waylon's roof? Jeremy wanted to squirm, wanted to scream – anything to get some attention but not a single sound left his mouth. He couldn't seem to even twitch, body locked up in some desperate attempt to avoid the pain that was definitely be coming its way.

Shifting behind Jeremy as if to better situate himself, Sinclair let out a soft sound of puzzlement. Jeremy made a choked sound of pain as Sinclair's movements forced his arm high up along his back. If Sinclair noticed or thought anything of the pained sound he did nothing to alleviate Jeremy's discomfort, instead the knife he'd pressed against Jeremy's neck began to idly drag up and down his throat, as if the man was just toiling time away while thinking.

Then finally he spoke again; it was not what Jeremy expected.

"You know, Mr. Blaire, I always imagined you'd sleep in your suit." He mused and Jeremy's mind went completely silent. Not sure what to make of that comment and now acutely aware of just how little he actually was wearing. Lucky him it wasn't the state of complete undress he'd slept in back when he was on top of the world. "Silly isn't it? The thoughts of a terrified man." Sinclair continued, chuckling lowly as though he truly did find it to be very funny.

Jeremy hissed sharply as the man's knife left his throat and drifted lazily across his chest. In that moment he dearly wished he had worn all the clothes Sinclair thought he would have to bed.

Sinclair was still thinking about something. Jeremy couldn't move at all, but he knew if he'd looked back he'd see the blonde's face pinched into that look of deep contemplation. Then the knife paused and Jeremy's breath hitched. Of all the places to linger, he had to…

"This would be too cruel wouldn't it?" Sinclair pondered aloud, voice twisted with an unspoken glee as the thought bounced around his head. The knife lingering pointedly above Jeremy's crotch. "Oh, you might never forgive me if I broke this part of you." Then just to prove his point Sinclair laid the flat side of the blade against Jeremy's groin and the man let out a shameless yelp of panic.

Part of him wildly rallied against this, frantically thought over and over again that Sinclair wouldn't. Surely even he had some boundaries, some sense of mercy to not go that far. He'd scarred Jeremy before, left marks on him – but this? This was…

"Don't." Jeremy bit out, just able to feel his body shivering. He was sure he'd broken out in a cold sweat but he couldn't seem to feel anything but that the pressure of the knife. Separated from his skin only by the thin material of his pants. "Sinclair, don't."

"Hmm." The disapproval in the hum sent Jeremy's heart racing. "That doesn't sound much like a please to me."

It took longer than it should have. Just forcing the words out felt like driving nails through fingers. But then again, he imagined the actual pain of what might happen if he didn't would be far worse. "Sinclair…please stop." He eventually managed to hiss out and Jeremy could actually feel the man's satisfaction.

He felt it in the way the knife moved away from his body and the rough grasp on his wrist softened. For a moment he was at a loss, not sure if he was willing to believe that Sinclair was backing off fully just because he'd asked nicely. Then the knife returned, back up to his throat along with a new order.

"You're not going to move are you?" Sinclair asked brightly, and Jeremy scowled at him from the corner of his eye. He knew damn well he wasn't going anywhere with Sinclair so fucking close and in possession of a knife. His stony silence must have been answer enough because Sinclair laughed and released his wrist entirely. "There's a good boy."

He didn't even have time to register relief before horror came barreling back in. Jeremy jumped, a cry of alarm catching in his throat as Sinclair's icy fingers dipped bellow the elastic of his pants, freezing the skin they touched. His mind reeled, falling back against too many confused thoughts to muster up even one coherent enough to explain what was happening.

A small reminder to keep his body in line came as the knife pressed against his neck. Digging deep enough to pull a small line of blood from under his skin, Jeremy shuddered as it slipped down his throat. Hot at first but turning cold in a matter of seconds. All the while the only other thing he could focus on was Sinclair's cold fingers pushing his only coverage down and out of the way.

"Wha…What are you doing?" He knew. Of course he bloody, fucking knew, but his mind was refusing to process this information. Because it was Sinclair, because this had just never occurred to him.

It hadn't. He insisted in his own head. A thought like this had never crossed his mind, not once, not even for a second. Jeremy absolutely refused to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, in the briefest moments his mind might have. What was worse was the fact that those cold hands felt exactly how he thought they would. Firm enough to hold him together, and perfectly capable of pulling him apart.

Sinclair didn't answer him, instead he seemed to focus on this new line of thought, his hand curious more than anything else as it brushed over his skin. Occasionally Jeremy heard the man mumbling something to himself, sometimes a murmur of appreciation. He'd patched up nearly every part of Jeremy, but there were still places he hadn't seen yet. Now his hand was roaming freely along the inside of his thighs and Jeremy didn't think he'd ever felt so helpless than he did in that moment.

"Hush." Sinclair demanded and Jeremy only became aware of his own quiet noises of discomfort after being told to be silent. "Don't whine now." Sinclair continued and Jeremy could feel the man smiling against his bare shoulder. He let out a soft sound of satisfaction that had Jeremy giving a full body shudder. "You're so warm, for a man that crawled his way right out of hell I expected you to be colder."

"T-That's rich." Jeremy gasped out, unable to help himself. "Coming from the walking iceman."

"Cute." Jeremy hissed as Sinclair's teeth sank into his shoulder. He would have expected the bite to be more vicious; to draw blood but it was little more than a warning nip. If he'd been cruel with his bite it might have been less agonizing. But now suddenly it was all gentle.

The knife at his neck hovered a small distance away, pulling no more blood. The teeth that had seconds earlier forced down against his shoulder were replaced with little more than a smile being pressed against his skin. Even the invading hand wasn't rough in his handling.

If anything it was…

"Why don't you just do it?" Jeremy snarled, regretting the words the moment he said them. He wished he could pull them back, somehow take them away before Sinclair noticed his frustration. But it was too late now and Jeremy felt the man's mouth twitch up into a smirk against his shoulder.

"Why, Jeremy." Sinclair chuckled. "Anyone would think you're asking for more."

"As if, you sick fucking freak." Gritting his teeth Jeremy forced his eyes away from Sinclair. Difficult when he could see the man's smirk through the reflection of the window.

Cursing quietly Jeremy tried not to focus on how his body twitched and burned wherever Sinclair's fingers would rest. Tried not to think about how close they were to actually touching him properly. So close but…damn it was he teasing?

"No, no. None of that" Sinclair chided quietly, feeling Jeremy's frustration as he muscles bound up tight. Feeling Jeremy's urge to start fighting again before the man even had the chance to give it a shot.

When his hand finally stopped tormenting Jeremy he damn near went weak in the knees. Sinclair finally enclosed his scarred hand around Jeremy's cock, only to laugh in disbelief when he found the man already half hard under his fingers. "Oh you little liar." Sinclair breathed gleefully. His fingers were less gentle now, rubbing harder as the body under him quivered and a groan that Jeremy tried to strangle managed to slip out.

"More of that. More of those sounds." Sinclair demanded tone near feverish, and Jeremy barely even registered the sound of the knife being dropped, clattering to the floor. It only dawned on him that Sinclair had abandoned his weapon when the man's fingers urged his head up, leaving his throat exposed and making it difficult to keep all those little sounds smothered. "You're so mouthy all the time, don't be silent now." Sinclair groused, teeth gliding across his exposed throat as a warning. Jeremy was suddenly stubbornly silent and that just wasn't going to do. "Have you forgotten your position? If I tell you to be quiet you don't say a word. I tell you to make sound then I had better hear some wonderful noises coming out of those lips. If I tell you to be a good boy and cum—"

He came out of his thoughts as he heard Jeremy's breath hitch, felt his body moving, seeming to try and buck into the inviting palm, and the blonde stared in disbelief and just a bit of confusion. Then slowly his expression broke down into a wicked sneer at understanding washed over him. "Oh, it's like that is it?" He whispered, voice a mix of mocking and tenderness, it all went straight down to Jeremy's cock and Sinclair chuckled, feeling the man shaking under his hold. "You like that?"

"Please." Jeremy gasped, barely recognizing his own breathless voice. But god did he need this, he didn't care how wrecked his voice sounded, so long as he got what he wanted. "Please just say…ah!" His hips stuttered forward, not ready for how Sinclair's fingers tightened around him. God he wished it would hurt; if it hurt maybe he could pull basic common sense back into his head. If it stayed this gentle Jeremy was liable to forget exactly which version of Sinclair he was with.

"What is it you want to hear, Jeremy?" Sinclair…or was it Sebastian now – cooed wickedly against the back of his neck. "Do you want to hear filth coming out of my mouth? Do you want me to tell you what I want to do to you? Would it undo you if I just said I wanted to fuck you?" And god, if hearing that simple word falling out of Sebastian's usually sweet tongue wasn't the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard.

Sebastian felt Jeremy's body shivering against him, the violent shudder a perfect tell for what he wanted. He barely even needed the words and Jeremy couldn't tell if he hated Sebastian for the horrible little things he whispered to him, or if he loved him for it.

"Could have done this to you so many times already. I could have had you while you were tied down on that filthy bed. Oh, you would have complained, but that's just like you isn't it? Can't let anyone know you want something, so I have to take it from you." Jeremy was only just listening, finding it difficult to hear anything beyond the roaring in his head from lack of oxygen and the fingers that continued to pull up and down his shaft, keeping him trapped with barely any effort at all. "Enjoying that thought, Jeremy? Imagine that, the great Jeremy Blaire practically begging to be forced down – how depraved can you be, love?"

The answer was in his body. The way he twisted and writhed against Sinclair's hands, but didn't once try to pull them away. Even as his fingers loosely curled around the man's wrist, he didn't even try to pull Sebastian's hands off of his body. If it stopped now Jeremy was sure he might actually lose what was left of his mind.

"Tell me." Sinclair demanded in a hushed voice. It settled deep into Jeremy's stomach, a low burn he couldn't ignore, tightening the coil that was gradually knotting up inside of him. It sounded like Sebastian's amused voice, lacking the expected scorn. "Tell me what you want, Jeremy. I won't even make you beg, love. Just tell me."

Despite himself, the words came out. Choked and barely more than a whisper – but they got out all the same. "I want…" He gulped, body shaking as what was left of his mind wondered if he was really going to say it. He did. "…I want you to fuck me."

The answer was not the one he wanted. "Maybe next time." Sinclair hummed cheerfully, his attentions focused on pulling Jeremy apart, forcing him over the cliff he was rapidly approaching. He was being spoiled and he loved it. Jeremy groaned, wishing the sound was a snarl, but he knew better than to snap at Sinclair when the man's fingers lingered around his throat.

But he was rewarded. Sebastian always did reward him and punish him in equal measure. Jeremy swore he saw stars for a moment, having nearly forgotten what it felt like to come apart under someone's hands. Even when he'd still been in control of his life, this sort of indulgence was a rarity, especially at the hands of someone else. He'd never not been in control, but now he had no choice but to melt into the hands that held him as they brought him to his limit.

With that, he came with a sharp intake of breath and a barely contained whimper. A sound that no doubt Sebastian heard and loved much to Jeremy's mortification. But that could wait, there was no room for any other thoughts in his head except how good it felt to just for a moment see nothing but white. Even as overstimulation began to set in and Jeremy's quiet sounds of contentment turned to near whines and complaints, he wasn't quite all there again.

Finally he was released. And Jeremy cringed as he felt the damp patch of his pants without Sebastian's hand there any longer. As much freedom as the blonde was willing to give him in that moment, his hands back was not among those liberties. Instead they were drawn behind his back again, not rough in their handling this time. Hell if he tried Jeremy was sure he could have easily broken away from the loose, one handed grasp Sebastian held them in.

He didn't try.

Then slowly it all faded. He calmed back down and what was close to some sense of reality came back to him. With it came clarity and a sinking understanding.

"This isn't real." Jeremy whispered, the realization washing over him. It was sobering and in that moment he couldn't tell if it was better this way or not. "I'm…you're not Sebastian. You're not real."

The nightmare grinned at him and Jeremy's blood ran cold again. The fear returning. Of course this wasn't real. When was the last time he had slept without nightmares? This was just…a new one for him. The not actually Sebastian wound his arms around Jeremy's torso, unconcerned by how tense his partner was.

"Of course not." He whispered viciously. His fingers sliding up to violently jerk Jeremy's chip upwards, looking as though he'd like nothing more than to break that little neck. "When I find you I'm going to rip your throat out. You think he'll be this forgiving when he finds you Mr. Blaire? Oh sweet thing, you'll be lucky if he lets you die quickly."

Then something in the nightmare's eyes sparked. Something cold and cruel, something that nearly reflected Jeremy's former self back to him. Something devoid of compassion of any kind. "You didn't think….oh darling, you didn't really believe he'd do this? With you?"

The nightmare barked a laugh that sounded nothing like Sebastian. "Poor delusional little thing." Pulling Jeremy's head back further, this time with fingers in his hair, the nightmare spoke in a low snarl against Jeremy's ear. "He wants you dead."

He's had enough now.

When the nightmare does end, Jeremy doesn't scream. That must have been a first.

Rather than jerking awake, frantic and expecting the walls of the asylum to be surrounding him. Jeremy comes back to the real world feeling hollowed out, a deep set terror in his bones that wasn't going to leave for days. He would have traded it for the usual brand of feverish panic in a second, anything to somehow wash away the thoughts in his head.

Because his nightmares had always been painful, but they'd never been quite so cruel before. He spent that night awake, wondering which bones Sebastian would start with if he ever did find him. He wondered idly if when Sebastian did come across him, would the memory of that nightmare come back to him?

No. Jeremy would rather Sebastian just end his life. Keep it clean, nothing but blades, blood and broken bones. Nothing tender, nothing that might feel like a gentle touch.

Better he never know.