The Price of Silence, a heavy rain fanfic

This is pretty short; it was pretty much just an experiment. Just want to say this first, though: If you are a homophobe or just the type of moron who likes to read things they hate just so they can tell you how much they hate it, please LEAVE NOW. Do not just leave a review bitching about how much you hate me. Here, I'll get it out of the way for you now. "This would never happen wtf they're both guys zomfg you suck at lifeeeee!!!" There. I did it for you; now you don't have to. 'Kay thanks.

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The Price of Silence

It was the price he had to pay for secrecy, and apparently secrecy was exorbitant these days.

It wasn't the first time he had been held down to the mattress, wrists cuffed and pinned above him and Blake's cock buried deep in his ass.

He only wished that his body didn't enjoy it so obviously; he was a masochist at heart and the brutality Blake offered was what he privately craved, but when the aggressor took as much pleasure in his humiliation as in his body, Norman's pride reared indignantly, demanding that the interaction somehow involve equality between himself and the person fucking him. His body was his emotions' betrayer.

And yes, he moaned like a whore, because that was part of the price that Blake had named when he grudgingly agreed not to expose Norman as a drug addict and fuck up his life. He was even allowed to struggle a bit so that Blake could punish him, put him in his place by brutally fucking him in ways that demonstrated a creativity that Norman would never have guessed he had.

Norman gasped audibly as Blake pulled out of him, flipping him onto his stomach and raising his hips for another go. In addition to his creativity, Blake had an intimidating endurance, and he was not one to be sated by just a single fuck.

Norman gasped again when Blake penetrated him from behind, his voice twisting into a moan at the reestablishment of a rhythm. His body rocked back and forth on his knees, his cheek pressed into a pillow as he was used. He felt cum draining slowly down his inner thighs; he didn't need to look to know that it was accompanied by blood. With wordless compliance, Norman arched his back and Blake climaxed, fingers tight on Norman's hips. He thrust a few more times before withdrawing, allowing Norman to sink to the mattress, breathing hard, desperately using every second to recover before the inevitable next round.

And at that moment the world fragmented; his vision blurred and his hands began shaking. He felt a chill run down his spine and he groaned, "Blake..."

"There a problem, Norman?" Blake said behind him, prepared for another round on Norman's ass.

"It... it's happening again. Pl-please, I need to take some..."

Blake chuckled and closed his hands over Norman's, which was awkwardly reaching toward his jacket on the desk chair a short ways off.

"No, I think you'll go without. Think of it as me helping you get clean, Norman. You get nothing until we're finished here."

He pushed Norman onto his back, observed the shaking form and the half-lidded eyes, the moist, parted lips gasping for air. Blake was briefly possessed by a longing to fuck that pretty mouth, but he checked himself—all in good time.

"Blake," Norman begged, blackness fading in and out over his vision. "Blake, if you don't let me have some, I'm going to faint..."

Blake, positioned between Norman's spread legs, said, "Norman, if you pass out, I'll just fuck you until you wake up again and can resume your services. Can't promise I won't try any weird shit while you're out cold, either..."

Norman glared at him, cheeks hot and breath laborious. "Bastard..."

His back arched off the bed at the feeling of Blake taking up another harsh rhythm, and it continued to arch with each brutal, selfish thrust. Blake's sinister smile bared his incisors, the predatory insinuation all too clear. His hands gripped Norman's torso, one at the waist, the other at the chest, the thumb scraping a painfully erect nipple, provoking arousal but doing nothing to indulge it.

And between each thrust, the withdrawal symptoms tortured him. They clutched him in their vicious hold, threatened to tear him away from the world until the searing pain in his ass brought him back.

His hands trembled, the metal of the handcuffs preventing him from obtaining what he needed. Blake's hands slid down to his ass, and they grasped either buttock as Blake thrust ever harder, forcing shame and pleasure and agony and humiliation upon the pliant body beneath him. Norman's cries and moans kept getting in the way of his voice, of his begging for the mercy of just one vial.

Blake didn't seem like he cared either way, and he continued working up to a brilliant, violent climax. Norman's eyelids gradually fell shut, his addiction beginning to deny him consciousness. As Blake fucked him into oblivion, Norman's body quietly weakened and ceased resistance, and, quickly praying that he wouldn't wake up with a wine bottle up his ass, Norman passed out.