AN: This one's a sequel to another story of mine, Pushing the Envelope. It was the very first conworth thing I finished and shared with any sort of public, and sort of set a precedent for how I write them. Even when my Worth is playing nice, he's still pretty much a dick. And nothing is off-limits. Someone requested that a sequel contain a Conrad who was so hurt that he never did come see Worth, but I don't think that's how Conrad functions. In addition to having his little faggy heart stomped on, he was fucking pissed off. But he went cold, so you get Conrad taking control, topping, and having the presence of mind to know just what Worth won't like. I had fun writing Conrad in charge because I just don't go here. Hopefully everyone will enjoy! (Also uh I might have to do a follow-up to this one, too, with this ending.) That all said, Hanna is Not a Boy's Name is still the property of the magnificent Tessa Stone and I am still not meaning any offense or infringement.
.
DOUBLING DOWN
-by: Lira-
.
It took three days. Worth was surprised; he would have expected Conrad to snap faster. He was anticipating it with every breath, far more than he would ever admit least of all because Conrad just wouldn't appreciate the knowledge. He'd slept in the back room of his clinic each night, unwilling to leave lest that be the time at which Conrad chose to show up and settle business. It didn't matter that during the daylight hours Conrad would be confined to his home. No, it was necessary that Worth be there for the duration.
He was digging through his banged up filing cabinet when Conrad came in.
Conrad, usually, was timid. It didn't matter that he was a vampire and that most vampires could close a distance in an instant, silently, so that one moment you were alone and the next they had their hands around your throat. For the first time in Worth's experience, Conrad managed the move. Worth had heard a faint creaking from his door, and then moments later one of Conrad's hands clamped down on his shoulder and wrenched him around.
Worth swore he could feel his bones rattle when Conrad slammed him against the wall.
Looking into Conrad's eyes was like watching wildfires, and Worth only hoped that Conrad's rage would try to eat him alive. Let it burn. Let it hurt. He would enjoy every minute of it and bite his lip to keep from begging for more, because if he revealed that this was all that he wanted Conrad might summon the presence of mind to make it stop. For a long moment Conrad simply glared at Worth, like he was trying to understand what had brought him this far, what he'd thought he would do once he had Worth's skinny frame within his grasp.
For a moment he just shook Worth, hard, jarring him back against the wall so that Worth's skull cracked against the plaster. It hurt and Worth saw stars and it was still absolutely perfect. For a moment his eyes glazed, and that was some sort of trigger for Conrad as his glare tempered into something more purposeful.
"I'm not going to bite you, you'd like that too much," Conrad grit out between teeth still clenched. "But I'd love to show you just a fraction of what you had done."
For once, Worth didn't feel the need to give a snarky response, to goad Conrad into rage further. The icy loathing from days before was still there, in Conrad's eyes, beneath the brushfire. Worth was absolutely certain he could arouse it if he tried. And he was just as certain that Conrad burning hot would do wonderfully painful things to him that he could remember for days after, while Conrad burning cold might make him genuinely suffer, without touching him. They were finally close enough, mentally, that Conrad might realize the worst insult to Worth would be to drop him and leave, bite someone else.
"We're doing what I want, this time," Conrad ground out next.
He shook Worth one last time and then went for Worth's pants. Considering how angry he seemed, Conrad's hands were perfectly steady for all that they were working far too fast. He ripped Worth's belt out of the way, so that two of the belt loops came free from their moorings. Worth couldn't tell if his fly and zip had been undone or if Conrad had simply grabbed on and yanked hard enough to bring the material of Worth's pants to his ankles. His underwear went in the same motion. Conrad's hand closed tight around his dick, perhaps the first time someone else had grabbed him more roughly than he grabbed himself.
Quickly, the motion not graceful, Conrad looped the old, worn leather of Worth's belt around his dick and behind his balls, before feeding the end through the buckle and pulling tight. Worth looked down, actually surprised that his belt would go that snug, so that the buckle dug into the side of his dick and pinched painfully. He had to bite into his lip to keep from saying anything, this going, if anything, better than Worth had hoped.
"This isn't for you," Conrad insisted, swiftly, yanking up on the end of the belt that was in his hand.
The edge of the leather cut into Worth's balls when Conrad did that, causing him to gasp out quietly in spite of himself. And Conrad said that this wasn't for him. Clearly Conrad needed to obtain a better grasp on what Worth would and would not enjoy, because this was still well within the realms of "fucking excellent."
Conrad chose to ignore the gasp, and Worth chose to pretend he hadn't uttered it. Conrad dug something out of his pocket, and when Worth smelled pomegranates, he realized it was the same exact lube from that night in Conrad's condo. Didn't Conrad think that was a little fucked up? Lube was lube to Worth, but Conrad always seemed the type of prissy faggot who would have attributed some meaning to that particular bottle of lube. He hadn't a clue what it meant that Conrad was squeezing just the smallest of dollops into his hand then.
Conrad only took a few seconds, stroking himself quickly and then shoving Worth into the wall again, so that his own body remained pressed close. He shoved into Worth with just a simple thrust of his hips, still in close contact. It was briefly disorienting in Worth's head, because it was the sort of thing Lamont would do, but the chilled body pressed against his own clearly did not belong to his old friend.
"You," Conrad hissed as he pulled back. "Have no idea what you've done, do you?"
Conrad maintained eye contact the entire time. Even as he thrust back in, repeated the motion, managed to make each thrust of his hips feel like an accusation. It was the first time Conrad had ever taken control of anything, with them. Usually Worth had to goad Conrad until he would bite, and drink, and after he was through he was still angry but it was like eating made him stupid. Or at least complacent. Worth always took back control and did the fucking, because it was the only way it would get done right.
But this time Conrad had not fed, had not bit Worth once or tasted a single drop of his blood. This time Conrad had dangerous clarity, a mindset that would let him drive forth his hips like he was yanking through Worth. It was almost no lube and it hurt, how it hurt, a familiar sort of ache that Lamont had taught him in their younger years. Every so often Conrad would pull up on the belt, but rather like he didn't realize he was doing it. The belt against his cock and his balls hurt worse than any fucking, and Worth could feel the need to come rising.
But then he realized what Conrad had done.
"You always use people," Conrad accused him. "Like some sociopath."
The belt was more snug than Worth had realized. Like a cock ring. Like a device meant to delay orgasm, and he suspected that had been Conrad's point but would Conrad of all people have even thought of this?
It was more something Worth would have thought of himself; perhaps he was projecting.
"Would you even notice if someone was using you back?" Conrad asked, rhetorically.
By that point Conrad's breathing was ragged, his face still a horrible mask of anger and even some fractured hurt. But he forced the words out through his teeth as he shoved into Worth again and again. Worth couldn't tell how close Conrad was. He just knew that the ache in his dick was beginning to cross the threshold from pain he would enjoy to the sort of agony he would regret later. And still he couldn't come, the vise that was his belt impeding him.
"I'm. Not. You," Conrad said.
Still the thrusting, still the being pressed against the grimy wall, still the rough feel of the leather against his sensitized flesh.
"But you liked it too."
Those words were the most vicious of all, that last accusation. The thought that Worth had not simply gotten caught up in the charade, in selling the fiction that he was reformed and wished to do normal date-like activities with Conrad. The thought that even some fraction of Worth wanted to have sweet sex in a bed, with candles and scented lube and Conrad clinging to him like a real lover and not just a set of teeth and a hole. Worth might have laughed it off, just laughed in Conrad's face even with the perfect scowl the vampire was wearing, but first he realized that Conrad was coming.
Conrad was shuddering against him, the hand wrapped around the end of the belt pressed hard against Worth's chest. Like Conrad was trying to put his fist through Worth's chest cavity. Conrad's hand was raised high enough to maintain a tight strain on Worth's dick, so that the entire time Conrad's cock was pulsing inside of him his own organ was feeling tortured and raw from all of the rubbing. It felt like such a long time, the duration of Conrad's orgasm, something powerful enough that it briefly erased all the torment and anguish from Conrad's pale face. But when the pleasure ebbed away the stony expression was back, offering for Worth no mercy.
"Even you aren't that good of an actor," Conrad told him, voice now clipped and almost polite.
Conrad let go of the end of the belt, like he didn't care any more. He'd held it taut for so long that it loosened only marginally, not enough to reduce the spasms of pain that were jumping from Worth's dick up his spine to his brain. Worth realized Conrad had already pulled out; Worth hadn't noticed the exact moment at which it had happened.
"I realize that," Conrad clarified. "But you are enough of a selfish prick that you're never going to admit it. I fucking know you liked it, Worth, and I know you're going to lie so just shut the fuck up. Maybe some day you'll wake up but I'm not waiting on you."
When he was done speaking, Conrad tucked his cock back inside his pants, straightened his clothes in just a few swift motions. Looking at him, Worth would admit that Conrad looked as if nothing had changed from before his entrance, looked as if he was perfectly composed. Conrad still hadn't taken a single sip of blood, asked for a single packet, and Worth still hadn't come, was still aching pretty much everywhere because the pain had spread throughout his body like a tide.
After that, Conrad just turned around and walked out of the clinic, pulling the door closed behind himself so that it didn't even slam.
Worth had been right about one thing – Conrad had been mad enough to make it hurt. He had possessed the presence of mind not to drink so that he could have the clarity necessary to inflict that pain. Worth was sure that part was on purpose, sure Conrad had somehow figured out this thing that would verge on unpleasant even for someone like Worth. But he wouldn't give Conrad credit for knowing how to take his pleasure and leave Worth without. He refused to admit that Conrad was the one who had won.
Worth straightened his own clothes because it seemed like the thing to do, and didn't even jerk off then, even though his dick was raw and it had the potential to be excellent. He especially did not want to prove any of Conrad's heated words true. But he found that he was thinking about it – about his performance. About the things he had done supposedly for the sole purpose of causing Conrad emotional pain and himself sexual release.
But Conrad sounded so composed, like he really had come to terms with Worth's "betrayal" for all that he could still feel the heat of his anger. Like Conrad had gotten over the emotional pain, and like Worth was never going to get that unparalleled release he had imagined from this. The best he would get was a few one-offs in the bathroom while his dick still hurt, and that he could have done to himself.
Among other things, Worth would not admit that he had lost. But when he was playing against himself, the only answer was to double down, to give Conrad another run for his money because fuck, what else was there to do?