AN: Content warnings for this entire story include: rape (noncon and dubcon), graphic violence, physical and emotional abuse, mentions of suicide and child abuse, and explicit sex. Please proceed at your own discretion.
Blinded by the rising sun, Waylon Park pulled down the sun visor and squinted ahead. Miles Upshur's Jeep ate up the road, Waylon's foot heavy on the gas pedal as he put mile after blessed mile between him and Mount Massive Asylum.
He had been lucky to escape with his life.
That wasn't all he had escaped with.
He spared a quick look at his passenger before flicking on his turn signal and turning off the highway.
"I need to stop in Leadville to pick up a few things," he said. Eddie didn't respond. He was too busy staring out the windscreen at the road. Waylon figured he probably hadn't seen this much open space in years.
It took around forty-five minutes all in all to make the drive into the suburbs, but Waylon rolled around the block a few times, anxiously glancing at the clock on the dash, until he was certain Lisa and the boys would be out of the house. He longed to see them again, and ached to know how Lisa was doing, what she was doing. She must have gone through hell, and he knew she had been fighting with everything she had to get to him, to get him out of that hellhole…
But he couldn't bring Eddie Gluskin into his family home. The idea of Eddie and Lisa running into each other… Well, it was unthinkable.
"Stay in the car," he said as he pulled up at last, after having checked the drive was empty and the lights were out. It was morning. The boys would be at school, Lisa at work.
"What is this place?" Eddie asked, finally rousing himself from his vacant silence and staring at the neat little house with its white fence outside. "It's beautiful."
"Just stay here," Waylon said, and got out, slamming the door harder than he needed. Why hadn't he thought to grab some handcuffs before leaving the asylum? Why had he brought Eddie with him at all?
But of course, he hadn't had any choice. There hadn't been time to hunt for cuffs or anything else, not with Blaire trying to kill him or that thing, the walrider, out for blood, anyone's blood. Waylon had hoped it would get Eddie too, but they had been out of the building before he could do anything about it, and then it was too late to separate and he hadn't had time to think of anything beyond getting the hell away from that place before the walrider came back for seconds.
No, he was committed to this road now, and he would have to think on his feet if he wanted to keep his head – and everything else – attached.
I've made my bed, he thought to himself. Now I have to lie in it.
He steered his thoughts away from the black hole that was his memories of the asylum, of exactly how he got into this particular marriage bed, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
He didn't have his keys, but they kept a spare under a planter around the back. He shinned over the low fence, found the key, and carefully let himself in by the back door. He moved on tiptoe until he was certain there was nobody home.
He stood for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, taking deep breaths and just absorbing the sensation of being home. Everything looked the way it should, just the way he remembered. The mess from breakfast was piled by the sink, and toys littered the hallway just beyond the kitchen door. In the asylum he'd wondered if he would ever be able to come back here again. Now he was here, it felt like he'd never left.
One glance down at his filthy jumpsuit reminded him of the truth.
He swore under his breath. He grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen from the junk drawer and scribbled a note for Lisa. He wished it could be longer, but every second he spent in the house was a risk. Besides, the more Lisa knew, the more danger she could end up in. He told her only that he was alive and that he would tell her the truth one day. One day he would show everyone the truth about what happened in that awful place, but for now he had to focus on staying alive. He told her to take the boys and go somewhere safe, somewhere far away from Mount Massive. He told her that he loved her.
He pinned the note to the refrigerator with a magnet and then dashed upstairs. He found his old gym bag in a closet and started filling it with essentials – his laptop, for starters. The one he'd had at the asylum had been a work machine, his personal laptop was still here at home, right where he'd left it in his office. He put it in the bag, along with an external hard-drive and various cables, and then moved back to the bedroom to grab clean clothes.
When he got there he pulled up short. Eddie stood in the middle of the room, staring around at the bland furnishings, the wallpaper, the shelves of knick-knacks and photographs. He looked so profoundly out of place, and his presence was a violation of a whole new sort. Waylon watched as he opened drawers and poked around, inspecting their contents.
"I said to wait in the car," Waylon snarled, panic making him careless.
"This is your home," Eddie said. He crossed to a chest of drawers, picked up a framed photo. "Who's this?"
Waylon's blood froze. "...No one."
Eddie set the photograph down and padded very quietly over to Waylon. Waylon packed handfuls of shirts and socks into his gym bag without seeing what he was picking up, trying to pretend he hadn't felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees.
"Don't lie to me, darling." Eddie was right behind Waylon now. Waylon stood up straight, braced himself, and dared turn to face him. Eddie's expression was bland, but Waylon knew him better than that by now.
"I was married before," Waylon said. "That's my wife, Lisa."
"Lisa." Eddie considered the name, seeming almost to taste it. It felt like he dirtied her name just by speaking it. "Where is she now?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her in weeks," Waylon said truthfully. "I'm just here to pick up some stuff, and then we can leave."
"Won't she be wondering where you are?"
"Probably." Waylon crammed the last few things he could into his bag and forced the zipper shut. He took a deep breath, slung the bag's strap over his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. I'm with you now," he made himself say.
Eddie clucked in disapproval. "I can't say I'm happy about this. I had hoped to be your first." Eddie reached out, took the bag from Waylon's shoulder and dropped it to the floor. Then he grabbed the front of Waylon's jumpsuit and pulled him toward him, into a harsh and biting kiss. Waylon squirmed and pushed at Eddie's chest, but Eddie swiftly turned him around and walked him to the bed, then threw him down on top of the rumpled white comforter.
No, Waylon thought desperately. Not here, not on the bed I shared with her…!
"Eddie, wait-" Waylon tried as Eddie crawled on top of him. A hand tangled in his hair, forcing his head back. Eddie licked up the column of Waylon's throat, then placed a line of slow, sucking kisses all the way back down. "It's… it's not safe here. Not here."
"Mm? Why?" Eddie's other hand was already burrowing under Waylon's clothes. Dirt from Waylon's jumpsuit was transferring to the comforter, leaving dark smudges.
Waylon wriggled beneath Eddie and persisted, "This will be the first place Murkoff look for me – for us. We can't afford to relax until we're far away."
"Hmm..." Eddie frowned, but he lifted himself off Waylon and let the smaller man back onto his feet.
Relieved his gambit worked, Waylon grabbed his bag once again and made for the door, gesturing for Eddie to hurry after him. Eddie dawdled, poking his head into the doorways they passed, including Waylon's home office and the boys' bedrooms. That made Waylon's skin crawl, and he couldn't be more eager to get Eddie out of this house for good.
"This is a nice house," Eddie remarked as they made their way downstairs. "We should come back here, after everything's smoothed over. Settle down… This would be a nice place to raise a family."
It is a nice place to raise a family, Waylon thought, gritting his teeth.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Waylon heard a key turn in the front lock. He froze for just a second, before reaching behind him to grab Eddie's wrist and tugging the big man forward. "Hurry!" he whispered. He led Eddie through the kitchen and out the back door, keeping low, even as the front door opened. He didn't stop to lock the back door, instead dragging Eddie out the garden, over the fence, and back to the Jeep. "Get in."
Eddie wasn't as fast moving as Waylon would have liked, but he still obeyed. Waylon tossed the gym bag into the back of the car and threw himself into the driving seat. As he slammed the door shut, the front door of the house opened again. He looked, he couldn't help it. Lisa peered out at the car across the street. The wind swept her dark hair around her shoulders, and her eyes found his instantly. She was as beautiful as he ever remembered.
He recovered an instant later, started the car even though his fingers were shaking and slippery with sweat. He threw the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb without looking, slammed his foot on the gas as Lisa ran into the road behind the car, calling his name.
"Wait… Stop. Please stop."
"Now now. We need to make it official, darling."
Waylon fought back tears as Eddie laid him down upon the makeshift altar. Eddie loomed over him, admiring his handiwork, and ran his hands down Waylon's body. The wedding gown Eddie had made for him hugged the taper of Waylon's waist, accentuated his narrow hips to make them appear slightly wider than they were. The bodice was padded in the chest to give the illusion of breasts. Eddie grabbed fistfuls of the stiff fabric and lifted up the full skirts, exposing Waylon's legs. Waylon tried to push him away but he didn't dare to truly fight him. Eddie didn't need his knives to kill – one swipe of those meaty fists could crack his skull open like an egg.
He cast a frantic look at the "guests" – Eddie had rounded up a handful of patients, and those who were still alive were either too mutilated to go anywhere or else they sat in a catatonic stupor upon the chairs Eddie had arranged in rows in this mockery of a chapel. And now Eddie was going to consummate this farce of a marriage in front of them all.
Waylon gave a choked sob. There was no one there to save him.
"Please-"
"Yes, yes, I know. I'm eager too." Eddie's fixed smile didn't falter, but Waylon saw a glitter in his eyes that warned him not to do anything to push Eddie out of his delusion. Better to submit to this humiliation than find himself strapped down in Eddie's torture chamber again. He was lucky to still be intact at all. Who knew how long that would last?
Eddie's hands roamed over Waylon's skin as the skirt rucked up about Waylon's waist. Waylon let his head fall back against the altar, and he shut his eyes in a vain attempt to block out everything around him. But he couldn't block out the ever-present stink of blood and fear-sweat, nor could he drown out the muttering and moaning of the guests, and he sure as hell couldn't take his mind off Eddie's hands, large and hot and demanding, grasping his hips and pulling his ass to the edge of the altar. Waylon's legs fell open and Eddie muscled in between them. Waylon gave a broken cry as Eddie thrust inside him. He was dry, but Eddie was determined. Eddie shushed and soothed him, wiped his tears away with gentle swipes of his thumbs, but he didn't stop.
"It's all right, my love," he cooed. "Hush now, it'll be over soon. I know you can bear it, for me. The first time is supposed to hurt."
They didn't speak for hours. Waylon pulled in at a gas station just past midday. He'd had the presence of mind to grab some cash from home, and used some of it to buy some food. Eddie was in an uncharacteristically quiet mood, and accepted the sandwich Waylon got him without remark.
Waylon thought about using the payphone at the gas station and calling the cops, but in the end he didn't. The combined risk of Murkoff catching up with him, and Eddie's wrath should he find out, was more than Waylon was ready to contend with yet.
Hating himself for his cowardice, he kept driving until the sun was well beyond the horizon and night had fallen, and exhaustion was setting in. his vision was getting blurry, and his hands shook at the wheel. When he saw a sign for a motel, he turned in without hesitation.
He took care of getting the room, and Eddie still didn't say a word. His silence ate away at Waylon's peace of mind, such as it was. He tried not to react to it. Like with a mad dog, Eddie might turn aggressive if he scented fear.
As soon as they entered the small, dim motel room Waylon set his gym bag on the little table and busied himself getting out his laptop and setting it up, intending to get the footage off his camera and onto the computer as soon as possible.
He heard the lock click and glanced up to see Eddie's imposing shape blocking the door. He kicked off his shoes and padded toward Waylon slowly, unfastening and removing his tie as he did so. Next he shrugged off the waistcoat, and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Not now," Waylon said. He had just managed to get the laptop up and running and the camera plugged in.
"Now," Eddie said. He grabbed Waylon's arm and threw him across the room, startling Waylon with the reminder of his easy and brutal strength. He tumbled to the floor, and as he was rising to his feet Eddie grasped the back of his collar and heaved him up, only to toss him onto the bed. He pushed him face down and tore at Waylon's clothes. Waylon heard fabric rip, and instinctively tried to crawl away from his attacker. Eddie grabbed him by the hair and smashed his face down against the mattress until Waylon stopped struggling purely out of a desire to be able to breathe. Eddie made short work of Waylon's clothes. The filth-encrusted uniform from Mount Massive was reduced to nothing but tattered rags, leaving Waylon naked and exposed.
"Who do you belong to?" Eddie straddled Waylon's thighs and raked his nails down Waylon's back.
"What?"
"Tell me, my love. My sweet." There was an edge to Eddie's voice despite his sugary words. He stretched himself out atop Waylon, pinning him down with the weight of his body and sliding a hand around Waylon's throat. Waylon's breath hitched, and he held himself very still. Eddie's hand tightened around Waylon's neck, tighter and tighter, until black spots swam in Waylon's vision.
Forgive me, Lisa.
Waylon squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't cry. He'd cried himself dry in the asylum, and there were no tears left any more.
Waylon gasped for breath, and Eddie eased off the pressure just enough to let him speak.
"I… You," he choked. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. "I belong to you."
After the wedding, Waylon lost his sense of time.
The first time had hurt, a lot. And so had the second time, and the third, and after that Waylon had lost track. He had retreated into himself for a time, it was impossible to say how long. It could have been hours, it could have been weeks, months, a lifetime.
Paralysed as he was by fear, he somehow managed to distinguish himself from the long line of failed brides, enough to keep Eddie's interest, enough to avoid falling into the myriad pitfalls that would end with him labelled as just another pretender, another lying bitch who didn't deserve love. On the contrary, Eddie doted on him. He found himself elevated to the position of queen of Eddie's macabre hell.
The trouble with sitting atop a pedestal was that one could fall from it at any moment, and in Waylon's case it was a very, very long way to fall. The sickly scents of rotting flesh and blood invaded his nostrils, permeated his entire being. He dwelled amongst Eddie's monstrous tableaux, blocked out the sounds of screams, pretended not to see when Eddie took out his rage on another hapless inmate foolish enough to descend into his domain.
Waylon might have been the queen, but Eddie still had his concubines. Waylon thought there might have been more deaths if he hadn't been there to mitigate Eddie's tempers and give him an outlet for certain of his more ardent passions, but he couldn't say for sure. Maybe that was just something he told himself to justify looking the other way and being grateful it was them and not him under Eddie's knife.
Eddie's desperate search for love was supposedly over, but habits were hard to break, and whatever dark desires drove Eddie to cut and kill went beyond simple lust, or the savage fury of a spurned lover.
Waylon did things, in that time. Things he didn't enjoy, and some things he did. Things he wasn't proud of, a lot of things he didn't care to remember, all in the name of survival as he waited for the perfect moment of opportunity when he could give Eddie the slip and make his escape.
That moment never came.
Waylon took the first shower. Eddie didn't argue, saying something about ladies needing their pampering. Waylon didn't care to correct him, and locked himself in the tiny bathroom for a few minutes of blissful respite. Being with Eddie all the time was wearing his nerves ragged. He leant against the door and took a deep breath, then pushed aside the mildewed shower curtain and set the water running. He turned the temperature as high as he could stand, and stepped into the tub and under the spray of the shower. He turned his face up into the water and simply stood there for a while, eyes closed, water so hot it was almost scalding running down his face and body and washing away the grime of the asylum. Would that it would wash away the filth inside of him as well. He felt as though his soul itself was dirtied. He unwrapped the small bar of soap provided and worked up a lather, then proceeded to scrub himself all over until his skin was pink. When he finally felt that he could do no more, he turned off the water and stepped out. He still didn't feel clean – he didn't think he would ever feel clean again – but if he scrubbed any more he'd start taking off skin.
He grabbed one of the towels and dried himself off. Then he wiped steam from the mirror and took a look at himself. He barely recognised the man staring back at him. His eyes were set in deep, dark hollows, and his skin was pale and dull. He was surprised he hadn't gained some grey hairs, but perhaps they would come in soon enough. It wouldn't be long before his roots grew out, after all. He looked like he had lost some weight as well.
He sighed, and then turned towards the door. He bit the inside of his lip as he stared at the lock. He glanced to the window and spent a few minutes wondering on the feasibility of squeezing through the little window and limping away to freedom, and simply leaving Eddie behind to be Someone Else's Problem. It was a small window, and he wouldn't get very far on foot. The car keys were in the bedroom, with Eddie.
Waylon silently cursed himself and his stupidity.
He had no choice but to keep playing happy families with the psychopath, at least for now.
He stared hard at the door for a while longer, until he was sure Eddie would wonder if he had escaped after all, and then he steeled his will and stepped out.
When he emerged from the bathroom he found Eddie sitting on the bed with a swath of dark fabric across his knees and a needle and thread in his hand. A moment later, Waylon realised the second bed was missing its covers. Of course Eddie would assume they'd share a bed, even if it was one of these tiny twins. Well, it was far more luxurious than anything they had at Mount Massive, at least.
"What are you doing?" Waylon asked. "Where did you even get those from?"
Eddie was humming as he worked, but he paused to reply, "Making a new dress for you."
Waylon pursed his lips and dared to come closer. He examined Eddie's work.
"I have clothes," he said. "I got some from the house, remember?"
Eddie chuckled and shook his head. "Those are hardly suitable," he said.
Waylon watched him work for a moment more, and then said, "Pants. Not a dress."
Eddie clicked his tongue in disapproval. With a sigh, he said, "You modern girls. What's wrong with something more traditional?"
Waylon hissed, in no mood to reason with the madman.
"Pants are more practical," he said. "In case you forgot, we are on the run." He paused, ran a hand through his hair. "The bathroom is free."
Eddie looked up at him and seemed to notice for the first time that Waylon was wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet, and a few droplets of water remained on his skin. Waylon couldn't read the look in Eddie's eyes, but then, when could he ever? Uncomfortable, he said, "You should get cleaned up."
"Mmm." Eddie set his sewing aside and stood up. Waylon instinctively backed away as Eddie rose to his full height, reminded yet again of just how big the man was. Eddie lingered a moment, raking his eyes over Waylon's body and causing him to shiver, his nipples pulling taut under the older man's gaze. Then Eddie smiled and strolled to the bathroom, humming as he went.
Eddie didn't bother to close the door, and Waylon moved to the other side of the room to put some distance between them. He stood by the window and nervously peered out past the edge of the curtain. The Jeep stood outside in its parking spot. Waylon could take the keys and go now. Would he make it out of the parking lot before Eddie dragged him out of the car and back to the room, he wondered? And what would be his punishment for such a betrayal? His mind shied away from the question, the memories of other punishments too raw to touch.
Waylon heard water splashing in the bathroom while Eddie sang a cheerful tune. After a while, when Eddie still hadn't come out, Waylon's steps took him to the bathroom door. He ducked inside. Eddie hadn't bothered using the curtain, and water was splashing all over the floor. Waylon barely noticed that, however, as his eyes were drawn inescapably to Eddie's muscular back, his broad shoulders, taut buttocks and strong legs. How had he kept in such good shape in the asylum? Chasing his victims, Waylon's brain helpfully answered, and he cursed himself again. Hanging bodies swung in Waylon's mind's eye, and the worst thing was the rising tide of nausea wasn't nearly enough to douse his interest.
"See something you like?"
Waylon startled, forced his gaze upwards again. Eddie was watching him over his shoulder with a smile on his face. Waylon's cheeks burned. He hated being caught out, but the truth was… yes, he did. He shouldn't. By god and anything else that was holy, he shouldn't. But something had snapped inside him in the asylum, and now here he was in a mockery of a marriage to a man who would mutilate and kill him at the smallest provocation. Perhaps the attraction was merely a survival instinct on Waylon's part. Yeah, that has to be it, he told himself, knowing as he did so he was lying.
As Eddie turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, Waylon grabbed the remaining towel off the rack, opened it out, and offered it. Eddie took it and tossed it aside. He advanced on Waylon, who backed up until he stumbled, his bare feet slipping on the wet floor. Eddie caught him, his hands like iron around Waylon's waist. He backed Waylon into the wall and kissed him.
"You're insatiable," Eddie murmured, sounding anything but unhappy about it. Waylon would have argued with him but his mouth was sealed with another consuming kiss. Eddie liked to kiss so deeply Waylon felt he was suffocating, drowning, his jaw pried open and his throat full of Eddie's tongue. Waylon's towel was swiftly undone and dropped to the floor. Eddie pressed his body against Waylon's, pinning him to the wall with his bulk. Waylon brought his hands up to Eddie's chest, but whether to push him away or simply to touch him, Waylon couldn't have said.
Eddie forced his thigh between Waylon's legs, and then grunted and pulled back abruptly. Waylon had begun to get hard, and Eddie had felt it. Waylon was roughly turned to face the wall, and then the hot, solid wall of Eddie's body was pressed against his back. Waylon wasn't entirely sure how Eddie really saw him, somewhere in that messed up head of his. He called him his wife and usually referred to him as a woman, but the truth was Waylon didn't look anything like a girl. He was slender, sure, but not particularly feminine. Eddie avoided touching his cock, and seemed to prefer to pretend it didn't exist. Waylon didn't dare broach the issue.
Waylon pressed his hands against the wall, trying to find some purchase so he wouldn't lose his balance as Eddie took hold of his hips and started to grind his erection in between Waylon's buttocks.
"That's it, darling," Eddie crooned. "That's what you want, isn't it? My, but you just can't get enough."
Waylon panted and pressed his eyes shut. Goddammit, but he did want it. His whole body was crying out for it.
"Well, my love? Why don't you tell me?" Eddie's thumbs dug into Waylon's ass and pried it apart, exposing his hole. Waylon grit his teeth, fought back sobs.
He was so, so hard.
Eddie pressed the length of his body against him again and whispered directly into his ear, "Tell me what you want, love."
"I want you..." Waylon said in a hoarse whisper. "I want you to f-fuck me-"
"Tsk! What a filthy mouth you have. Where on Earth did you learn such foul fucking language?" There was a growl in Eddie's voice, just enough to send Waylon's stomach flipping in a crazy, frantic combination of excitement and terror. "I didn't marry a whore, did I?" Eddie's fingers dug harder into Waylon's flesh, enough to hurt. Waylon let out a whimper of frustrated, agonised longing.
"Wait!" Waylon twisted, managed to make eye contact over his shoulder. "Eddie, I meant… I meant, make love to me."
Eddie's whole face transformed, and he got the sappiest look in his eyes. Beaming, he said, "There's my sweet, good girl." He stroked Waylon's hair, and then the next thing Waylon knew Eddie had gathered him up in his arms and was carrying him back into the bedroom. "We are on our honeymoon, after all."
He laid Waylon on the bed that still had all its covers, sweeping his sewing project onto the floor to make space. He stretched out beside him, ran one hand down Waylon's body to his hip, then around to his ass. Waylon, through the burning haze of his ill-gotten desire, knew he should divert Eddie's attention before he was rudely reminded of Waylon's vulgar, imperfect anatomy. He kissed him hard, and then pressed him to the mattress.
"Let me..." He made his way down Eddie's body, kissing still-damp skin here and there, suckling and teasing. "I can… I can make it so good for you..."
Eddie groaned, pressed his hands to his face and tilted his head back, seemingly overcome. Waylon bit one of his nipples, then soothed the bite with soft swipes of his tongue. Eddie's cock jutted impatiently against Waylon's belly, but Waylon took his sweet time reaching it. He let himself take a good look at it when he got to Eddie's hips. He licked at the crease of Eddie's hip, kneading his thighs with his hands, staring at the monstrous length his mouth was watering for.
"You don't have to do that, darling," Eddie breathed. When Waylon looked up, Eddie had propped himself up on his elbows and was staring down at Waylon with wonder and adoration in his eyes. Waylon licked his lower lip, and Eddie spread his legs. No matter what he said, he was offering himself for Waylon to eat up.
Waylon couldn't take another moment of that adoring gaze, so he closed his eyes and nuzzled Eddie's cock instead. He breathed in a deep lungful of the other man's scent. It was mostly the cheap soap from the shower, but underneath there was still something unique that was all Eddie, and which Waylon was fast becoming conditioned to respond to in certain, very particular ways. He moaned, even as he felt sick and disgusted with himself.
Eddie stroked Waylon's hair. Waylon kissed his way up Eddie's cock until he reached the tip, and then he opened wide and took him into his mouth. He felt Eddie shudder beneath him and enjoyed a brief, dizzying rush of power. Eddie was too big for Waylon to take all of him comfortably, but he gradually worked his way down, taking in a little more each time he slowly bobbed his head, his lips sealed tight around hot flesh that pulsated against his tongue. It was all too easy to forget the horror and the reality of the situation he was in when all he had to think about was the taste and weight of the cock in his mouth, the stretch of his lips, the ache in his jaw. He could let himself be totally absorbed in the mindless act, let his brain check out for a while and his body take over.
At some point Eddie stopped stroking Waylon's hair and took hold of it instead, grabbing two fistfuls and taking over the movement of Waylon's head. He forced more of his cock down Waylon's throat, until Waylon's eyes rolled back and he started to choke. Waylon was dimly aware of Eddie murmuring praise, cooing at him like a lovestruck fool, telling him he was such a good girl…
Suddenly Waylon's world turned upside down – Eddie had rolled him over, so Waylon now lay on his back and Eddie was above him, his dick still buried in Waylon's mouth. Eddie didn't even pretend to be gentle any more. Waylon was almost grateful. If Eddie forced him, if he was rough and it hurt, then nobody could say Waylon chose it for himself. Nobody could place the blame on him… Eddie thrust into Waylon's mouth in shallow jerks, his whole body tensing and trembling as he grunted and snarled like a beast. His hands were tangled in Waylon's hair, his weight pressing down on him, suffocating him. Waylon didn't fight. He held onto the sheets and let Eddie have his way.
When Eddie came, he thrust in deeper than he had before, forcing Waylon to take all of his cock, right down to the root. Waylon couldn't breathe, but as he felt Eddie pulse inside him he found he almost didn't mind. Suffocating on Eddie's throbbing cock seemed a more merciful, if no less humiliating, death than what some of Eddie's other victims had suffered through. Eddie released deep into Waylon's throat, and then slowly pulled out and rolled off him, finally allowing Waylon to breathe. Waylon sucked in a few gulps of air and waited for the room to stop spinning. Suddenly he rolled to the side of the bed and retched, but nothing came up. It was probably just as well he hadn't eaten in a while.
He became aware of Eddie rubbing his back. He turned back to him, sitting up.
"I'm so sorry, darling," Eddie said breathlessly. He wiped Waylon's mouth with a corner of the sheet, and pushed Waylon's damp hair back from his brow. "You know that sometimes a man can't help himself, especially when faced with such… beauty. It's really us who are the weaker sex, my love, no matter what anyone says." He clicked his tongue and smiled ruefully.
"It's all right," Waylon heard himself say. His voice was hoarse and quiet. He licked his lips. Eddie's eyes gleamed as he watched that, and the next moment he leant in and stole another kiss. Surprisingly, this kiss was just a light peck, the most chaste Eddie had ever given him. It left Waylon strangely dissatisfied, and as Eddie moved back he chased after him. Eddie had come, but Waylon's body still thrummed with unfulfilled desire. He kissed Eddie's lips, bit one of them, pressed himself close against Eddie's body. Eddie chuckled, didn't seem to mind Waylon's hands all over him at all.
"Now, now," he soothed. "Aren't you eager? Give me a few minutes, darling, and I'll be ready to go again. I can give you what you need."
"Really?" Waylon raised an eyebrow. He'd placed Eddie somewhere in his forties if he had to guess. "Are you sure about that?"
Eddie growled. "Are you being bad, now?"
Waylon reached for him. "I just need..."
"Need what?" Eddie rolled on top of him. He didn't even seem to notice Waylon's erection pressed between them now. His body covered Waylon's completely, his weight pressed Waylon down into the mattress. His eyes looked darker from this angle, and Waylon stared up into them, feeling their bloodshot intensity pierce him to his soul.
"Need you," Waylon whispered.
Eddie licked his fingers and said, "Spread your legs." Waylon obeyed, and Eddie reached down between their bodies. As expected, he ignored Waylon's cock entirely, and reached between Waylon's legs to the waiting pucker of his anus. "Is this hungry for me?" Eddie murmured. Waylon nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away, but Eddie snapped, "Look at me." Waylon couldn't disobey. Eddie's eyes kept him pinned just as surely as his body kept him pinned to the bed. Eddie watched every minute expression flit across Waylon's face as the first of his fingers penetrated Waylon's entrance. Waylon cried out and tried to clutch onto Eddie. Eddie whispered soothing words and continued. Waylon should have been ashamed of the way his body opened up for him. He should have been ashamed of a lot of things, but he just didn't have room in his brain for shame right now. He bucked his hips upwards, wordlessly asking for more, more, more. Eddie added a second finger, gently stretching Waylon wider. It wasn't what Waylon wanted, not quite, but he would take what he could get until Eddie let him have his cock again.
Eddie rolled off him to lie beside him, allowing Waylon to spread his legs wider and Eddie to dig his fingers in even deeper. Eddie had thick, long fingers. Waylon looped his arms around Eddie's neck and pulled him down into a messy, wet kiss which Eddie quickly took control over.
As Eddie's thrusts got harder and deeper, he moved his kisses from Waylon's mouth to his neck, and Waylon tilted his head back to offer his throat. He wrapped a hand around his own cock and stroked, and as Eddie drove those thick fingers of his into Waylon again and again Waylon arched and panted, wanton and mindless, not a thought in his head beyond getting off. Eddie bit into Waylon's throat, and that was the moment Waylon came, screaming.
Eddie's arms were around him at once. He held him, soothed him, stroked him all over. Waylon shook in his embrace, ripples of stinging pleasure still racking him. Eddie was still shushing and caressing him when the pleasure haze receded and Waylon began to laugh. Eddie watched him in confusion, but Waylon laughed and laughed, because if he didn't laugh he would cry, and if he started crying again this time he would never stop.