In the pitch black bedroom, Christian stumbles from the bed, grasping to the night stand to balance himself, palms moist and cold sweat running down his face and marked neck. His breath is labored and sharp, moving as quickly as he could while using everything along the way to support him upwards. His clammy fingers grasp onto the bathroom counter, practically having dove for it the second he got to the door, he closes his eyes, his head drooping as he slumps further into the sink.
Footsteps in the unlit hall force his eyes open, his breath is caught in his throat and released as the door is pushed open. Christian looks up, forcing his neck to crane up his head; as forced as the smile on his face, he turns, trying to look as if worry wasn't ready to cloud the eyes he tried to make look reflective of undying happiness. His fear shows, regardless of his efforts; he refuses to turn and faces everything directly, instead, choosing to stare at the man's reflection in the mirror: stained wife beater that may have been white at one point, he can recognize his own blood drops on it. Christian draws a shaky breath as arms are placed around him, muscles rippling against his abs; he steadies himself against the embrace; he's picked up and brought back to the unlit bedroom. His weak arms wrapped around the bigger man's neck instinctively, resting his head into the crook of his neck and nuzzling against his unkempt, long black beard.
Christian is laid back on the bed, the sound of heavy, slow footsteps yet again force him to sit up; ringing in his head like a demonic metronome. He looks up at the tall, unmoving figure beside him and reaches out, grasping hold of the stained shirt fabric. The menacing figure of Bray enters the room; his silhouette outlined by the now flickering, dimly lit hall; his dark eyes look between the two and Christian drags his knees up to his chest and the dingy bed sheet to cover himself as he releases the man's top. He feels dirty with those eyes burrowing into him. The Wyatt Family leader steps into the room, instantly at the former champion's side.
He sits, hand combing through Christian's short gold hair and the smaller man doesn't dare to pull away when his face is caressed and manipulative lips press against his forehead. Wyatt questions his "First Son," interrogating him about the bathroom conversation and the things knocked over in the bathroom, hallway and now the bedroom. Christian hadn't realized he held conversation with the man forced upon him as his new lover, or that he had created such a mess in his wake; his shaky hands unwrap from holding his knees against his chest, cupping them out in front of him and appearing lost and homeless. He nods a thank you when the leader's hands reach out to his, holding them firmly, dropping their gift into his sweaty palms before standing.
Christian stares at the same white pills he's become accustomed to, that he relies on to live this way. Before he can ask, he's given the water needed to swallow the small white pills. He's watched closely until they go down his dry throat, Wyatt observes the two before he leaves. His caretaker sighs softly, taking his place back on the bed. Christian's not sure why he's smiling, but he leans in, and his lips press against those of Luke Harper's. His eyes freeze open, they would study the bigger man's face had there been light to see with; Luke kisses deeper, his hands slinking between his arms and wrapping around his bare torso, the heat radiating from his body, Christian refuses to breathe.
His lips are soft, loving, and the stolen man thinks he might have just fallen for this person under different circumstances. He's pushed back, so gently, a hand moving to his lower back and the weight of Harper's body moves him onto his back, his warm lips and willing tongue begging for entrance into his mouth. Another hand makes it's way down his side, Christian trembles, it doesn't truly bother him - nothing was going to happen, regardless of how hard he could feel Harper was becoming, how he was beginning to fail at bucking his hips against his, rubbing himself against the blonde, groaning into their kiss. Harper always quit, Christian couldn't figure out why- why anything: all from why this was happening, to why Harper wanted him to be willing before he went any further.
He couldn't help but cave to the sensuous feeling; but the pills healed consciousness. He fades quickly, hand falling from where it had just begun to tangle into the man's black, shoulder length hair. Luke wraps an arm around Christian as he rolls off him, pulling the older man on top of him and comfortably situating him.
The morning comes quick, Christian's head burrowed into Harper's chest; the rise and fall while he breathed felt perfect until he opened his eyes, realizing where he had been. Finding out that waking up and this was not a dream was a false sense of security he had abandoned long ago - Toronto, his home, his cats, everything was a world away. Steadily, he rises up to his feet, his numb legs regaining blood with each step. He makes his way from the bedroom and the two story house is still so dark, even with daylight beating down on it. His heart rushes as he walks past the bathroom a few paces, with no sound of Harper's following footsteps - he was always awake before him, or directly after. The moment he walked through the doorway seemed to be like tripping a wire to the rest of The Family. Today, there had been no following footsteps. No sense of impending doom lurking over him just to find that Bray Wyatt, The Eater of Worlds, was standing over him each step.
Maybe there was something left in him that was still, undeniably "Christian." He grins, he smiles for the first time, and it means something to him. He walks right to the staircase, not breathing as he takes every cautious step, peering over the railing and down the hall. The front door was visible from the top of the stair case. He had this - though his feet and mind could barely cooperate to step onto the ground of the first floor, choosing to stay on the step and finally breathe. He steps in time to the air inhaling into his lungs - choking on it when the sheep masked "Second Son" is staring him down from the opposite end of the hall. He freezes, his breathing stopped dead in his lungs, his feet stuck to the ground until he bursts forth to the door and stomps storm down the staircase, his hand is grabbed from the doorknob and body pulled in close to Harper, an arm slung around his waist and possessed hand lovingly held before letting go to grab onto the door handle himself. Christian isn't sure why, but he feels nothing but safety with the First Son beside him.
Luke turns, as if his name was spoken and Christian sinks into his side. Bray questions Christian directly, demandingly loud. The younger man can not form words and looks up to Wyatt's "son," moving behind his back as the leader approaches them. It's only in a moment that Luke is able to come forth with a response - it's not a lie, he would never do such a thing to the man he looked up to, but a sudden decision to cover the escapee-actions of the man he loved to death.
Christian's eyes light up. He was going outside - and it scared him more than relieved him. Bray refuses the action, it was too much of a chance for Harper, and The Family to take had the older man bolted; he was lightning quick, and given due credit for it. The way Bray's eyes locked onto Christian, suspecting - knowing. He orders Luke to follow Rowan, and he looks over Christian apologetically before leaving.
Wyatt waits until the two are out of sight and his First Son dares to not look back as if he questioned the actions or the call that was made - he never did, today wasn't the day he was going to start. Christian's grabbed, his arm twisted in tightly to Wyatt's body, pulling him forward and he trips over his own feet until he's tossed into a nearby room just a few feet from the door.
Bray takes a seat in front of Christian. With a soothing, ominous voice, Christian is scolded and drugged all in one go. He moves to his knees, being taught to obey all over again. He can see the idea of chains all over the young man's face. It fills him with fear and makes him do everything - Bray didn't need drugs, or anything of the sort to make anyone do as he asked. His only tool of persuasion had been his voice. Christian didn't know what he had become addicted to, three little pills had been a privilege, something he had to earn or something that his lover had to beg for. Numbness was better than feeling any of this firey hell. Words were starting to become just as addicting, perhaps he was caught in this world he had once thought loved him, embraced him, he was surrounded by friends and yet, nearing fourty, he was still without love, without family… until now - until The Wyatt's. What if this was it?
Luke's arms wrap around Christian, lifting him up off the floor and carrying him from the room, his long, leggy remains cradled carefully against his warm frame. Slowly, blue mint-toned eyes begin to come to, flickering open and finding the security in Harper. It didn't seem like hours had passed, and he doesn't bother to guess how many. Nightfall had came, another day lost to this demonic place.
What if this was it? Everything.
Christian shifts in Harper's strong arms, no longer letting his own just dangle there, he wraps one around Luke's neck and when Christian's hand comes to rest so gently on the enormous man's cheek it gets him to stop walking and just look down at the man in his arms. He guides his face down and leans up to kiss him. Everything seemed so opposite; Luke wasn't breathing, his pulse was racing, the beautiful blonde could feel it. His half lidded eyes met Harper's wide open brown ones before they too closed. They share the moment in silence before he's brought up the stairs to the bedroom, where Wyatt would carelessly throw him, his First Son was more than gentle as he placed him so delicately on the sheets. A few tears stream down Christian's tan cheeks, if he had not already been laying he would have surely just fallen over, shaking with emotion. Where Luke had been all too ready to jump in, he was standing straight and ready to walk away when the blonde sits up, drying his eyes on the back of his hands and reaching out for him.
Luke sighs and smiles. Being wanted was a brand new thing. He would never even think to question what Bray had done, but was more than thankful for it. Christian links his fingers with Harpers, his dorky, beaming grin was evident even in the darkness, what little his eyes had adjusted - and became accustomed to - was enough. Someone out there cared enough to actually kidnap him, to take control of his life. Bray had frightened and pained him into this, but Harper relieved everything with his devotion and affections - be they misguided or not.
He pushes the image of Wyatt from his brain as the bed sinks down next to him, he looks at the sheets with uncharacteristic shyness; a blush on his face. Luke leans forward and kisses him cautiously, gentle and tender. Christian watches, his eyes open, studying every line on his unintended lover's face. His body and breath freeze at once to the hands on his body, but he soon begins to guide them further, relaxing into it. Luke's lips were so soft and supple behind that full beard; wet and as eager as his body was, and for once he hopes that the younger man is not bothered by the taste of blood on his lips. He moves into the touch, into his arms, his body surrendering into the sheets and hands on him. Christian looks up as Luke's six foot five form hovers above his, positioning himself. The blonde closes his eyes to avoid the flickering, dim hall.
His body involuntarily shudders at the hand that finds it's way to his inner thigh, his heart pounds as he buries his head in the sheets and surrenders himself to his captor. Large hands glide up his torso as the much too big, oversized black shirt is pulled up and over his head. A few kisses are placed on his neck, collar bone, and down his chest; the hot breath on his neck and strands of hair trailing across tanned flesh. His fingernails dig into Harper's skin, earning a soft growl that's hushed by another kiss. Christian's muscles tighten when fingers slip between the fabric of his pants and his skin though not paralyzed by fear; his free hand moving to entwine in the long locks, guiding their lips back together.