One of the most terrifying things Oz had ever woken up to was the glint of a single blood red eye glinting in the darkness at the bottom of his bed. He didn't know if that eye knew he was awake, but he didn't want to move. He was locked in position by fear, his whole body stiff and frigid. His body looked normal – he was in the same position he always slept in – but his face was contorted with fear and his eyes were wide and cast down to the foot of the bed where that one eye seemed like a large drop of blood suspended in the dark and heavy atmosphere. In his half asleep state, he didn't recall that Break was the proud possessor of a single, crimson eye, and that Break had a habit of appearing in the damndest places and got a thorough, sadistic enjoyment from tormenting and scaring people, his current flavour of the month being the young Bezarius. It wasn't until the laugh echoed off the walls of his room that he fully woke up and stopped trying to convince himself he was dreaming. The laugh sent a wave of shivers up his spine to tingle his scalp. It was quiet but sounded louder in the large room. It was brief but had an underlying note of sheer madness to it. Insanity was always strongest when it affected ones speech and laugh. And this thing was clearly insa-
"Break!" Oz thought he would scream the name, but the hand of terror still clutched at his throat, gluing his vocal chords. The laugh came again, louder this time as the crazy was closer to him, and that hand tightened its grip. Break had been crouching as though he was about to pounce at the foot of Oz's bed and had slowly slithered in a fluid motion like a snake so that he was positioned at Oz's feet. The only thing that gave it away as being Break – for Oz's mind was still groggy from the sudden wakeup, though he didn't know what it was that had actually woken him, only that there was something at the end of his bed – was the way the miniscule fraction of light in the room caught the silver of the mans hair and made it glimmer like a new coin. For some reason though, Oz still didn't seem to register that it was Break being his usual creepy self. Maybe he was too tired. Maybe he was purely afraid. Or maybe, he was afraid of what the man was going to do.
"Good morning, Oz-kun." The voice came to him distantly, breathy. His mind isn't too far gone to not realise that it most definitely is not morning. Morning is not characterised by inky black skies and the sun is not silver… silver like… his hair… Oz suddenly has the desire to touch the mans silver hair but refrains himself. Morning. Morning is not characterised by being woken somehow only to feel your body in the iron fist that is pure, unadulterated fear. Somehow, he finds his voice. A very small, weak voice.
"It's not morning." He squeaks pitifully. The seemingly shapeless figure slithers further up his body until the familiar – but still horrifically terrifying – face is looming above him. The figure has taken shape. And its shape is most definitely Xerxes Break on his hands and knees with Oz's rigid body pinioned beneath him. He is now so close the young boy can feel his warm breath on his cheek, a stray strand of hair tickling his skin in the breeze emitted from Break's mouth that is split in a grin. A grin that is still scary to Oz but also mischievous.
It's only Break. It's only Break. Xerxes Break. It's not a monster or a chain. It's Break… Oh my god, it's Break on my bed! Suddenly, he finds his voice.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He shouts, struggling to get up, only to be shoved down with a single powerful and easy looking push from Break, whose grin spreads.
"I came to say good morning, Oz-kun."
Woah…De-ja vu. "It's the middle of the night. Get out of my room." He commanded, that familiar feeling of fear tingling his nerve endings. Damn it, why did this man scare him so much? What a stupid question! He scared him because he was looming over him in his bed, his eye looking to be bleeding, his hand –
"Ah!" Oz cried out. That was most definitely Break's hand around his penis. "Get off me!" He cried, cursing himself for choosing to sleep in only a shirt.
"You don't really want me to stop, do you?" Break murmured into his ear, flicking the pointy tip of his tongue over the lobe. His hand began moving up and down his embarrassingly hardening length. He tried to voice his complaints, he wanted to scream at him to stop but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but feel the unbelievably pleasurable way that Break's hand was stroking his now erect member. He bit down hard on his hand to stop himself making any unwanted noise, refusing to allow Break to pleasure him, but failing drastically when he cried out as a sudden, rather savage bite was placed onto his neck.
"Mmm, seems to me that you've found your voice again." There was another, much softer bite at his neck, this time making Oz moan as he felt Break's tongue slide up his neck to the delicate skin behind his ear, where his lips kissed deeply, making him feel dizzy. Said lips drifted, stroking a path along his skin, to his lips, where they pressed gently. And then they weren't very gentle at all. Break had pushed the wet muscle of his tongue into Oz's mouth and it was doing something inside that made him groan into the kiss. Somehow, he could feel the man smirk. And he could also feel his free hand under his shirt stroking one of his hardened nipples, pinching it and making him break the kiss, crying out at the multitude of sensations. Break had increased the speed of his massaging of Oz's shamefully erect member and it was making his breath come hard and fast, his chest heaving, colliding into Break, who was still looming above him.
The teen felt as though he was drunk, impossibly intoxicated. He had that feeling in his body as though his limbs were filled with air, making them light, loose. Disconnected. His brain seemed to be disconnected from his body, because it is screaming No! Stop! Stop! Stop! But his body simply has a mind of its own. It responds of its own accord, shut off from the sensible logic in his brain. His body his making his hips meet with Break's jerking hand, his precum making him slippery. His body is enjoying every sensation the creep is giving him as he kissed places he didn't know could feel so much pleasure. His lips and tongue are pressed against one of Oz's slender wrists, delivering such unusual pleasure in such an unusual place that he can't help but cry out the name of the man who is violating him against his will. His brain knows his body is reacting naturally, but his brain also knows that this is so, so wrong on every level. Break is literally molesting him; he is taking advantage of his taller and stronger frame to manipulate the young boy. He must be at least eighty years old, no matter how young and beautiful he looks, and he is touching sixteen year old Oz's most intimate areas.
But if it's so wrong, why does it feel so damn right?
"I really don't feel like dawdling today. So just do what I tell you and it will be much, much easier." The laugh comes again, and it stiffens his body – again. Fear stops him trying to figure out what the beautiful but insane man is saying, but it doesn't matter any more. Because suddenly, that crazy man has his mouth over Oz's erection and is licking and sucking it like one of his favoured lolly pops. Within seconds, Oz has abandoned all care and logic and is sobbing out Break's name as his climax releases itself into that grinning mouth. He closes his eyes and falls back against his pillows, his breath uneven and shaky as Break climbs on top of him and kisses his lips. Half of him is horrified that he can taste his own come on his lips. The other half is inexplicably aroused.
"Well, that's was quick." Break whispered lustily into his ear, pushing his pelvis against him. He didn't think it possible, but he was growing hard again and gasping at the feeling of Break rubbing his erection against him. And then the feeling is gone as Break sits up on his knees, Oz's hips trapped between them, and undoes his trousers. Vaguely there is something inside Oz shouting and screaming at him to stop the perverted – but pretty – man doing what he knows he's going to do. But it's only vague. He still feels drunk. So drunk that he doesn't fight Break as he feels his large erection pressing against his virgin entrance. So drunk that even the searing hot pain doesn't make him push Break away. So utterly intoxicated that he holds onto Break as he thrusts in and out of him with powerful movement, his breathing heavy, making the air humid. He looks up at the mans face and sees the single eye glazed over with lust. That voice in his head is telling him that Break is raping him. Break is abusing him. But though he is in terrible amounts of pain he doesn't stop his rapist as he turns him over onto his hands and knees and enters him from behind, holding onto his trembling hips and burying himself within his painfully tight behind. Because through that pain there is immense pleasure. There is the feel of Breaks hand caressing his body, of his lips pressing onto his neck. There is the sound of his heavy breathing and occasional groans, and the sound of his own moaning. He hadn't even realised he was moaning, but he was, louder and louder as Break picked up the pace and kept pushing against somewhere within him that made his back arch and his voice cry out. He didn't know how much longer this went on, but eventually he felt Breaks seed spilling inside of him and heard him groan, his nails digging into his hips when he delivered a final thrust.
The last thing Oz remembered was that Break had kissed him almost lovingly before disappearing into the darkness again, and leaving him lying there exhausted and in pain, not quite sure whether he had been raped or willing gave his body over to Break and one of his sudden sick desires.
Whatever he had done, when he awoke in the morning, he would have doubted it being real were it not for the discomfort in his behind and the lolly lying on the pillow beside him.