Games in the Dark

by Masked Man 2

"They had gone too far. They'd done enough to the poor runt already... Then again...it wasn't like he was any better than they were. After all, he was still standing here. Cox's little mewling cries beat at his conscience continuously, and here he was, standing at the door like a lump, doing nothing. He was no better than any of the others. He might even have been worse."

Author's Note: ...I do believe I just created a fandom. Go, me! In light of that, I apologize if this sucks. I wrote this as a gift for my friend Meredith (AKA StrongButGentle over on DeviantArt), and also as a challenge for myself...basically, to see if I could successfully write a sex scene. So...yeah, this is rated M, for obvious reasons. Enjoy? Hopefully?

A note about the film: Good and Bad at Games was one of the first films that Britain's Channel Four (now FilmFour) had made; it was released for TV in 1983, written by William Boyd, directed by Jack Gold, and starring Martyn Stanbridge, Anton Lesser, and Laura Davenport. The film was buried shortly after its release, and never released on DVD. I managed to find it on Youtube, much to my delight (sans part 7, which included the boot room scene), and if you haven't seen it, you really should go and watch it. It's an incredibly powerful, bleak, and moving film.

Disclaimer: I don't own the film Good and Bad at Games, and all of the dialogue before the sixth set of X breaks (the ones in bold), misquoted or otherwise, is taken directly from the film. That being said, I've never actually seen the 'boot room' scene; I'm going off of what I've read in reviews, so I took liberties with the staging of it. I also adopted a simpler style of 'speech' for the simple-minded Niles, so...there's THAT warning taken care of.

Small sounds had never seemed quite so loud to Niles as they did right then. He was standing some six meters away from that sodden, solitary trunk beneath the shower, but he could hear every muffled grunt and sob from within as clearly as if he were standing directly in front of it. He could hear how the sounds were growing fainter, how every crackle of wicker that bore the burden of desperate hands tearing and beating against it grew less sharp with each heave, taunting in its strength as that of the body within waned. He could hear the choking, hiccuping groans of someone whose every breath was choked by the relentless cascade of water that flowed from the showerhead, and the fading ring of the other boys' drunken song that hung in the air as a cruel testament to...well, their cruelty. These sounds, pounding and stabbing remorselessly against his ears, were the very music of cruelty, echoing with rage and fear and pain, and the music forced its way into his mind wholly against his will, making him burn with chagrined shock and a dark, gnawing guilt that was both entirely unwelcome and impossible to shake.

X X X

Little bastard. Smoking like that! THWACK. Little spastic. It's his bloody smoking, that's what! THWACK. God, I hate that guy. Hate his sodding guts! THWACK.

X X X

Alright. Alright. So he hadn't done anything to stop the others doing what they were doing. He'd been four to the floor, jovially giddy with the energy of his friends holding him and his spirits high, and when they'd stumbled into the boot room to find Cox, desperately cowering in the darkest corner with a still-smoking cig stub clutched between his shaking fingers, it hadn't occurred to him to do anything but laugh as Mount sauntered over to grab him. He'd collapsed back against Colenso, who had breathed his husky baritone chuckle into his neck as he'd clapped him on the shoulder, and had cheered right along with the rest when Mount yanked off his tie and bound Cox's hands behind his back with it. Neither had he thought to say anything when Joyce and Harrop had handed over their ties, to be used, amidst jeering snickers and cries of filthy animal, smoking in the dark like a faggot, as a blindfold and gag, or when they'd all hustled the little fellow into a nearby changeroom and held him up by all four limbs like a bird on a spit. Grab the other leg, for Christ's sake, Woggy!, Mount had called to him, laughing all the while, and he'd laughed, too, and complied without a word.

Squeezing the toothpaste up Cox's arse had been right funny, really...even if he had caught a foot to the face as the younger boy thrashed, screaming curses around the silk tie in his mouth while tears streamed down his face. Even Joyce pulling that razor out of the pocket of his blazer, telling Mount to give the animal a bloody haircut, had just been a bit of fun. It wasn't until Mount took the blade to the kid's pubes, rather than his head, that Niles began to feel a twinge of discomfort deep within his chest in the place where he thought his soul must be. He'd seen Colenso try shaving his pubes once on a dare, while drunk, and they wound up having to call the Matron because there'd been so much blood.

Quentin Niles was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that there was no way this could end well, especially with Mount, the ultimate nick-master, doing the dirty work. When he'd opened his mouth to say something, though, Mount had just punched him lightly in the arm and asked him to turn Cox over, and...he hated to admit it, chafed at the thought, but the sense of satisfaction he felt at being included, at being given such a key job, far outweighed his dodgy morality, and that, too, he'd done without a word of protest, even as his heart railed against having its sense of integrity so forcefully tamped down.

Still...integrity could only be pushed so far before it began to bleed through the barrier of complacent wrong, and locking Cox in that wicker trunk had been the last straw. He'd been frozen in place, completely stunned and more than a little horrified when Mount and Harrop had begun dragging the thing over. He'd dropped Cox, actually, and the poor runt had been about to make a break for it, hobbling pathetically through what had to be pain on both sides, but Colenso and Joyce had both moved as one to catch him and strip him of ties and force him into the trunk. He hadn't resisted; there was no way he could've overpowered all four of the bigger, much stronger blokes, even if they were plastered to high heaven, and they bundled him into the trunk like he weighed nothing at all, launching into 'Maggie May' without a care in the world as they pushed it under the shower and switched the water on full blast.

X X X

It was so dark, so dark, and there was water running everywhere, in all of the places it should never go; he couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't breathe-! It was a weight, a living force, like lead pelting down on him and sliding along his stinging skin to morph into hands, hands that pressed him down into the damp wicker, holding him fast like chains. Their eyes were on him, gleaming vicious and gleeful and so very cold, like the steel blade they'd violated him with, playing with his body and his life like he was nothing more than a dirty little insect under a microscope, primed for dissection. He hated them, hated them with every fiber of his being, hated them as he'd hated nothing else in his life before coming here- they had nothing but ice where their hearts should've been, all of them! All of the BASTARDS, 'cos that was all they were! Kicking the trunk, calling him names, tying him up, plugging him with toothpaste, shaving his bits- what he he done to deserve it, what?! Bloody nothing, was bloody what! NOTHING! Nothing at all!

Help me, someone, please...but of course he couldn't bloody well say that, now, could he Who would help him, in this place? Everyone else was asleep...and it wasn't like they'd do much good if they weren't. He had only his own blasted self, and said self was tiring rapidly, strength stolen away with his sight and speech and breath. Typical. Just fucking typical. Stupid, stupid animal, him, had he really forgotten what tonight was? Dance night, right?! Those boors were bound to get bored, what with the buttoned-up Catholic girls being the only shags, and when they got bored, they got pissed, and when they got pissed, they got it into their heads that going out for a wander and hunting down fresh game for their bastard games was a right brilliant idea-!

And of course their target was him; it always was. He really had to stop expecting anything else, especially from that lot. Even Niles, his Niles, had joined in the fun, blissfully unaware of the fact that it could just as easily have been him in this position, locked in a wicker trunk with a shaved and bleeding cock and toothpaste jammed up where it had no bloody right whatsoever to be. He wouldn't tell him that, though, if he got out; Niles wasn't in with the rest now, as they had their wicked way with the trunk, but off somewhere else...of course he was. His Niles wasn't cruel at heart, he really wasn't, and Cox loved him all the more for that...even if he was bloody thick. On the other hand, love was good for nothing if it existed only inside one's own heart and not in the open air, and right now, he was wet, sore, and so bloody tired of living in perpetual fear; no love on Earth could ever be strong enough to banish that fear. It simply wasn't possible.

X X X

Even after the others had left, Niles couldn't bring himself to move away from the door frame. His mind, still fuzzy from the booze, was reeling, unable to wrap itself fully around the truth of what they'd...what he'd...done. He might not have liked Cox- no one did- but that didn't mean it was in any way right to do...any of this. This was...this would be considered torture, wouldn't it, if it had happened anywhere but in a prep school? How could Mount and the rest of his mates shrug off the fact that they'd tortured a bloke so easily? Christ, they'd been singing! Did they care at all?

...It was an uncomfortable thought, wondering if they didn't. Niles had never been a very curious person- he'd always been content to deal with things as they came before him, not bothering to spend time contemplating someone's inner nature and the things they kept hidden- but he was beginning to think that his mates weren't quite as nice as he'd assumed, if they could do something like this so callously. On the other hand...this was Cox that they'd done it to. Cox, bloody Animal Cox, whom everyone hated. You could be nasty to Cox and still be a nice person. Mount, Joyce, Colenso, and Harrop were some of the nicest fellows he'd ever met; there was no reason that that view should change just because they'd taken things a bit too far...was there?

...They had gone too far, though. They'd done enough to the poor runt already; locking him in a trunk under running water was just overkill. Then again...it wasn't like he was any better than they were. After all, he was still standing here. Cox's little mewling cries beat at his conscience continuously, and here he was, standing at the door like a lump, doing nothing. He was no better than any of the others, staying out of the kick-fest be damned. He might even have been worse.

Before Niles had even made a conscious decision to do so, he was striding toward the shower, his thoughts a swirling maelstrom of anger and confusion and remorse that made his body numb and his vision tainted red. He switched off the water, undid the leather strap with fingers that fumbled in their furious haste, insisting to himself all the while that he was just putting right what he'd done wrong. He would let Cox out, and he would leave: no harm, no foul. His mates would never know; they probably wouldn't even remember this. They wouldn't remember how he'd been too much of a coward to join them in their sport, too much of a weakling to leave the joke to play out in full. He could redeem himself now, and no one would think the worse of him for it. It would all work out for the best.

X X X

He threw the lid of the trunk open forcefully enough to crack it against the tile of the shower wall, and both he and Cox flinched at the sound. The younger boy was staring up at him with terror in his impossibly wide gray-blue eyes, his arms flying up to cover his face like he expected to be hit, which...probably wasn't an unreasonable assumption to make: a fact that infuriated Niles far more than it should have. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead, he was panting like he'd forgotten what air tasted like, and as they stared into each other's eyes, the terror gradually faded, to be replaced with the deepest burn of gratitude and adoration that Niles had ever seen, like he was some holy savior pulling a sinner into the light.

Christ, he couldn't. He couldn't bear to look at this kid, with his gobsmacked hero-worship and his...bloody pathetic blue eyes. Get him out. Go your way. That was it. He couldn't handle anything more.

"Get out, Cox," he muttered, more roughly than he'd meant to. "You can go."

"What?" The younger boy's reedy voice was husky and sharp, breath rattling in his throat where the water had choked it off. The wonder in his eyes had dimmed slightly, the light of confusion now shining bright within them. Did he not understand what Niles had said? How tough was it, to comprehend those two simple commands? Get out. Go. It wasn't bloody rocket science, Christ!

"You can go!" Niles snapped, feeling that inexplicable anger rise up within him once more. "Clear off, get back to bed!"

"Oh." But Cox still didn't stand up, didn't even move- just cast his eyes around, searching for...what, Niles had no bloody clue. The others? Bloody hell, he'd heard them leave; was he so thick, to think that Niles would be doing this with them around?

...Well. That was a lovely thought. If there was one thing that Niles hated, it was introspection, and being confronted with his own cowardice like this made him feel immensely uncomfortable. Even his own act of charity was being thrown in his face. Somewhere, somehow, Cox had been so strongly conditioned to expect abuse that he couldn't even accept pity when it was offered. Of course, that wasn't Niles's fault. Still...it was an odd thing to realize, to accept: that someone he himself had hated mostly on principle was human, and capable of being hurt.

He didn't like that thought, either; it was another shattering of his conception of the way his world worked, and...bugger all, but he was far too tired and far too drunk to be having this conversation with himself. He was far too tired and drunk to be conversing with himself at all, and here was bloody Cox, just...complicating everything! Of course he couldn't just do his good deed and walk away with a clear conscience! No, he had to start thinking of...bloody sympathy, and moral dilemmas, and all of that crap, just because this...little runt was still bloody here!

"Well, go on, then!" he shouted, his frustration spilling over into his words, making them crack against the damp, stale air like whips. He needed to leave. He needed to leave, and not ponder these questions once he was alone. Christ, was that too much to ask?

"Oh...right."

Apparently it was. Cox climbed out of the trunk, painfully slowly (Niles deliberately turned away, unwilling to look at the smaller chap's sodden pyjamas, with his trousers draped over his shoulder and blood staining the insides of his scrawny thighs), but he didn't make any move to leave the room. Instead he leaned against the dripping tile of the wall, still panting hard, with the adoration back full force in his gaze as he breathed out what could barely pass for a laugh and gestured spasmodically, awkwardly, with his blood-stained hands.

"I'm just...a bit...uh…." Christ, why couldn't he just go? What more did he want?! "Thanks, Niles."

"Go on, piss off!" Niles shot back, not even bothering to look at Cox as he spoke. He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about that, but this was too far outside his comfort zone, too passionate, for him. Cox should not have been this grateful to him, for doing what any decent person might have done. Something else was at play here, something that sparked whenever Cox tried to talk to him and he gave him a proper wigging back, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

"Thanks, Niles," Cox repeated, greater fervor in the words, greater thanks in his eyes, and Niles had had just about enough of this. He didn't know what Cox wanted, but by God, he wasn't going to get it from him!

With a forcefulness that surprised even himself, Niles grabbed the smaller boy roughly by the shoulders and began pushing him toward the door that led to the hall.

"Bugger off out of it, you little runt!" he snarled, throwing him out into the hall and turning abruptly away to lean against the door frame. Cox hit the floor like a crumpled rag, never saying a word, his eyes sliding closed as he fought quietly for breath, and Niles lowered his head to rest it on the hard wood, cursing himself for his rash actions. He'd had one chance, one bloody chance to do something good, something right, and he'd blown it. He'd let his bloody tangled thoughts get in the way of his decency, the one thing he'd always prided himself on maintaining, and now the poor runt was lying on the floor, resignedly silent in the face of Niles's misplaced fury, and he couldn't even bring himself to see if he was alright.

X X X

Time passed, unheeded. Niles could've been standing by that door for a few mere minutes, or for hours, and he'd have had no way of knowing- his thoughts were still too jumbled, too caught up between the horrors of the boot room and the adoration in Cox's eyes and the voice of his mum, telling him to give everyone the kindness you want them to give you, always. Well, he had failed her there. Not given to introspection, his arse, but there was no way he could honestly have said that he didn't hate himself now, just a bit, for everything he'd done. The shouting. The cursing. The throwing. Christ, what a bloody good show he'd put on. Bloody waste of time, that.

Finally he sighed, heavily, and turned away from the door, furiously working to push those lingering stabs of pity and self-loathing down as he started briskly down the darkened hall, thinking only of the peace he would find in his bed, and not of the helpless figure still curled motionless on the floor behind him.

Wait.

Apparently shock was quite a good remedy for fits of inner turmoil. Niles spun around, blinking hard, unable to quite wrap his mind around what his eyes were telling him. Cox...hadn't moved.He was still lying there, right where he'd fallen, half-naked and curled on his side like some abandoned rag doll. His head rested on his bent left arm, his right curled protectively around his chest like he was nursing sore ribs...or a sore heart. His eyes remained firmly closed, and Niles was suddenly overcome by the ridiculous (yet all too plausible) notion that he was...waiting. Waiting for someone to come down that dark hall and find him and do...something. Anything. What any self-respecting study in schoolboy cruelty would do if they found their worst enemy at his most vulnerable.

And of course it would be Cox that that would happen to. Everything bad always happened to Cox. Before tonight, Niles would've said without hesitation that there was good reason for that. Now...now, though he couldn't have said precisely why, the very thought made him sick.

X X X

Feeling an extraordinary sense of déjà vu, Niles strode over to the prone form of the smaller boy and knelt down to shake his shoulder.

"Animal," he said, and immediately clenched his eyes shut in shame. Bloody hell, but he would only make things worse, going on like that. "Cox."

When Cox didn't respond, didn't so much as twitch, Niles couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. Surely he hadn't thrown him so hard as to hurt him...had he? Christ, if he had…. He didn't even want to think about that. He wouldn't think about that.

"Come on, Cox," he urged, some of his nebulous concern bleeding out into his words, making them sharp and hard as he moved to grab the boy's arm. "Get back to-"

"Shut up." Niles didn't even recognize Cox's voice when he spoke. Gone was the high reediness, the smooth lilt- in their place was only rough gravel, impossibly dark and almost...bestial, and before Niles even had a chance to react to the sudden change, Cox's mouth was on his, kissing with force enough to bruise, his wet hands burying themselves in the thick strands of Niles's hair and tugging, bringing them both to the ground. Niles could feel the hard, cold stone of the floor digging sharply into his back, could feel how his lips were starting to respond to the unexpected...well, it could only be called a snog. His heart jumped, unable to believe that Cox, mousy little Animal Cox, had the nerve to do this, equally unable to believe that he was starting to like it. He was breathless, senseless, torn between begging Cox to stop and begging for more….

...Until he felt tongue worming its way into his mouth. Tongue...and a hand moving away from Niles's hair and down, tracing the length of his back and circling his hip to come to rest on the button of his trousers, fumbling to desperately to try and- no. NO. Not that. Anything but that-!

The slap was harsh, Niles's hand coming up like lightning to shove the younger boy away. Breath coming in hard, ragged gasps, he sat up, pushing Cox roughly off of him and bringing the same hand convulsively to his mouth before lashing out to slap him again.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he cried, stomach twisting uncomfortably as Cox's face shuttered, lust-bright eyes going dark and dull like storm clouds. "Are you mad? Christ, you really are an animal! A flea-bitten, mangy little faggot of an animal!"

This was a sin. Buggery was a sin, right? In any case it was plain wrong, just...sick and twisted and...fuck all if he'd ever admit that he'd been enjoying it far more than he should've been.

Cox had, at some point, pushed himself to a crouching position, and was sitting there with his head hanging low, with the barest trace of a smile playing over his lips, like Niles's enraged words were something to be expected...something to be cherished. Punish me all you like, his pale, stoic face seemed to say, I won't care. It won't make a difference. Go on, do your worst. Do worse than that. I won't bloody care.

"Well, piss off, then!" Niles shouted, the tension of the moment mounting in his blood to unbearable heights. He reached over to shove Cox again, this time taking a perverse pleasure from the hard THUMP his body made as it hit the floor. "Get the hell away from me, and stay away, you minging puff! Bloody Christ!"

X X X

Niles quickly stood, shaking all over, but Cox remained where he was, silent and meek and pitiful once again. This time, though, his eyes remained open, and though every bone and muscle in his body begged him to run, Niles couldn't help but be transfixed by the sheer depth of agony pervading those slate-blue orbs. There was sorrow there, profound sorrow, but it was mingled uneasily with the roiling tempest of desire and the equally fierce burn of longing, as though he knew exactly the wrong he'd done, and yearned both to take it back and repeat it. As though he were begging Niles, who had so roughly rejected him, to take control, to mend the hurt in one of their hearts, no matter which one.

And he would wait, Niles realized suddenly, conscience chafing at the thought. He would wait for him to either accept him, and put right the wrongs of both tonight's abuse and that of every night and day that came before and would surely come after, or to reject him again, and leave him at the mercy of his own weak body and crushed heart, and...he would accept either choice. Gladly. Niles could give him strength to live, or he could kill him, and Cox wouldn't care either way.

Christ, he wasn't ready to make that sort of decision! He wasn't...how could he, Niles, possibly be expected to make this decision? He wasn't stupid, but neither was he cruel, nor blind; he could see how, beneath all of the darkness in Cox's dull eyes, a single spark gleamed triumphant and wholly intact. A spark of something he'd thought was a myth. It was love, shining in those eyes...a love that should never have existed, maybe, but it was a love that couldn't be ignored.

X X X

This was Cox. Cox, quiet and creepy and never fitting in anywhere. Cox, thrashed at every turn. Cox, hated by everyone...but Niles couldn't bring himself to hate him. Not anymore. Not after seeing that desperate, stupid love in his eyes, even after everything he'd been made to endure. Niles didn't love him, or even like him- he didn't think anyone ever could- but he...well. He could put that aside, could pull one last modicum of decency out of his arse for this mad boy who was lying there with weary despair in his eyes, resigning himself to being left alone in the dark. He could make himself forget the groundless hatred, the easy indifference. He could make himself...love. For one night...he could. He would.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, and knelt once again, grabbed once again...and met Cox's lips with his own, threading his fingers between the damp curls and feeling a wetness on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the water from the shower. Cox was crying as Niles gently kissed him, whispering a broken chorus of thank you, thank you, I love you against his mouth, and the only thought running through his mind was so, so RIGHT.

Um...surprise? It wasn't quite a sex scene, but there was some right proper snogging going down, so...I consider that a victory. :D For the record, I had help writing the latter half of this; Meredith wrote out her version of the 'sex' scene, and I tweaked it as inspiration took me. Thanks, friend! You're the best.

Oh, and a word of advice: don't go calling someone who pisses you off a minging puff. That's...REALLY not a nice thing to call someone.

Um...that's about all from me. Reviews would be nice, though. ;)

OH! One last thing. I'll be heading off to college in a couple of days, so my posting rate will most likely plummet downward. I'll still be available to read and talk, though, and hopefully I can still get some writing done. Just thought I should let you guys know.