Roger followed the tracks through the dirty jungle floor. They were sloppy and different than the normal piglet tracks.
'This one has to be big.' He thought as his dark bangs hung into his eyes.
A twig snapped behind him, Roger rushed over to the opposite direction. He stumbled on something, hearing a stretching sound close by. Before the hunter could react, his ankles were being strung up over his head. Roger was bound by a rope, hanging upside down.
"What the…" He sneered as he squirmed around, dropping his spear.
Just then, a taller figure walked from behind Roger. A smirk was glued on to his face,
"How's it hangin Roger?"
Roger narrowed his silver gray eyes; he was leveled with the other's torso. Only the puckered scars gave away who he was,
"Shut up Maurice."
Maurice was the one Roger liked to tease, he was bigger than Roger but shy and soft. He was his hunting partner and tormenting Maurice became a daily activity. Sometimes he found entertainment in grabbing his short black hair to yank him off the ground when he tried to rest. Other days Roger would pinch, poke, prod and mostly recently-he would grope.
Perhaps he would have stopped the bullying if Maurice told him to, but he never did. He seemed to enjoy it. Just like Roger.
Maurice chuckled gently, "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I got stuck in someone's bloody trap-cut me down!" Roger ordered, but Maurice simply squatted down to meet Roger's face.
He had shocking blue eyes that glowed behind Maurice's downy soft black hair. It didn't pass his ears like Roger's hair, but it was messy-like a pile of dusty feathers.
Maurice gripped the back of Roger's neck and pulled him in closer,
"This is my bloody trap." He cooed before letting the boy swing back.
He ignored Roger's mutters and pulled another rope out from behind a tree. Roger eyes it with small hints of intimidation,
"Maurice…if you don't get me down from here-I swear I will-"
"Oh-I know you will. But that's what this rope is for."
The unbound hunter snags Roger's wrists and ties them up behind his back, one wrist besides the other. Maurice knots it tight and then faces Roger's chest. He pulls out a knife, smaller than Jack's but sharper. The handle is a marble red and the perfect shape of the weapon makes the smaller boy shiver.
Maurice drags the blade from the sickly warm skin of Roger's neck, past the fast beats from Roger's heart, and up to his belly button. He circles the inward flesh then moves to his waist band.
'Left-flat side, right-tip' Maurice follows the pattern as he lines the skin above his captives shorts. He receives short inward breaths and then moves up a little more.
Roger stops squirming around, his face pale as the cool silver carefully trails over a bundle in his shorts. The flesh twitches-making Maurice snicker deviously before dragging the knife up his leg. Goose bumps pucker against Roger's skin and he shudders involuntarily. The movement causes the knife to slice into his leg and Roger whimpers.
"That's how it feels, Roger." Maurice murmurs from above. The sticky warm fluid runs down the smaller boy's skin. A trail melts into his shorts, making the cloth within wet and slippery.
"That's how it feels when you cut me, did you know?" He asks his slave as he settles down into a crouch to get close to Roger's face. The dark boy sweats and shakes.
"Well, did you?" Maurice asks again, only this time he slides his hand up across the torso. He feels the musky ridges of Roger's abs and then shoves his large hand into his shorts.
Roger moans with a red blush across his nose. Maurice's fingers slide and curl around Roger. He pumps the captured boy's member, causing him to writhe like a silk worm. He groans, watching Roger pant and moan. The sweat drips from Roger's strands, his face turns a violent red and just as Maurice begins to worry…the boy quakes.
"Maurice-please!" Cries a desperate voice projecting from Roger's mouth. Something spurts against the shell of Maurice's palm and Roger groans.
Maurice slides his hand out, finding it covered with white and little swirls of pink from the cut. He picks up his knife again, slashing the rope. Maurice catches the dizzy Roger in his arms before he can meet the harsh jungle floor. The boy tries to glower at him but can not pin point which set of blurs are Maurice's eyes. Instead, Maurice shifts down and plants a small shy peck on Roger's lips. His own lips are dry and warm, but Roger's are damp and cold.
The binding on Roger's small wrists are broken, but he still curls against Maurice's hot chest. Roger's small finger, pale from the rope, traces the scars he left on Maurice.
"I'm sorry." Roger states in a blank tone. Maurice smiles and nuzzles his nose into Roger's neck.