Chapter Two
Surprise
The rustle of clothes made Pitch open his eyes and turn towards his captor; Jamie was leaving him to go out into the world again. In some ways he was glad, and in some ways he would miss him. Pitch wasn't sure how he felt anymore; shouldn't he be grateful the man gave him any attention at all? Isn't that what Jamie was always telling him? No one believed in the Boogeyman, no one had come for him, no one had ever even looked for him, and no one ever would.
The first half of a decade he'd fought. Endless thoughts devoted to breaking free. He'd called out when the gag had been removed; he'd screamed bloody murder to a sky that wept not a tear for the likes of him, although Pitch shed many bitter tears for himself. Jamie had made him wear the gag whenever he'd leave to ensure no such antics occurred again. It was his own fault. He'd hurt Jamie, and Pitch paid dearly for his blatant disrespect. He had been ignored thoroughly for a whole week's time until Pitch had sank into a state of lethargy.
Out of all the horrible pains he'd suffered, to feel the pain of utter and complete disregard was the worst for Pitch. Years of being overlooked and shoved back into the shadows to suffer quietly alone had done a number on the nightmare lord's psyche, "When… when will you be back?" Pitch called out hoarsely; his voice tinged with a slight desperation.
"Soon. Remember I told you I have a surprise for you?" Jamie moved closer to the bed to grab his bag. The boards creaked under his feet.
Pitch nodded, the eclipsed eyes watching him intently.
Jamie knelt down on the rickety mattress running a hand along the set of Pitch's jaw tenderly. His chestnut eyes traced each angled sharp aspect of Pitch's face, his beautiful prize. That's what Pitch was, a hard earned award that Jamie had won. "You're going to be mine forever," Jamie mused his mouth parting slightly in his silent fascination and rising desire.
Pitch did not speak, he didn't move at all, but his eyes took on a glaze of uncertainty. Jamie's words struck chords within him that resonated a deep-seeded longing, but the finality behind the words and what they meant were dually terrifying. Jamie hadn't released him in this long, he was still quite young and although Jamie couldn't actually keep the promise that he crooned unless he became a spirit himself, he could still keep Pitch for many, many more decades, and then what would Pitch do? He'd be all alone again.
Jamie saw the doubt reflecting back through Pitch's eyes. Pitch had grown much quieter over the years only speaking when Jamie deigned to want to talk about something and, unless prompted, never when Jamie got like this.
These days, Jamie was more interested in touching, experimenting with the Boogeyman's flesh, to make him hold poses while he took pictures and voyeuristically watched him, and when his need grew great enough, Jamie would reach out to run explorative hands over the nightmare lord's long limbs, abdomen, chest, and face. More often now while also touching himself.
It was only a matter of time before Jamie was going to move beyond the satisfaction of sensual touches and watching to something a little more carnal. The invasive pictures were just the beginning, and Pitch felt the barrier of Jamie's resolve to not step to the next level of conquest deteriorating like a malignant cancer.
Jamie rose withdrawing from the Boogeyman with small regretful steps backwards. Pearly white teeth shined down at the Boogeyman with sinister intent, Jamie had always taken care to brush well ever since that fateful Easter.
Tooth always thought he had a wonderful smile and had told him as much the scant times a year they would see each other. Jamie still saw the guardians even now. Never once did the mention of Pitch ever arise in casual conversation from their lips. It was a testament that Jamie was the only one who cared about Pitch, and he was sure to tell Pitch as much. The boogeyman needed to know his place was by his side after all.
He turned to leave, "Only a couple more days, to wait; you're going to love it. Things are going to change, and you're going to be so thankful," the last sentence was foreboding murmured in a throaty promise that dripped with too much eagerness as the boy bounded down the stairs and out of sight.
Jamie wiped his brow observing the bedroom appreciatively; it wasn't very big, but it was going to be perfect for Pitch. He was tired of Pitch being so far away, and with college and work, it lent little time for him to see the Boogeyman. This two bedroom quaint little house was set in a dilapidated part of town that saw little local interest outside of the lake (which tended to stay frozen over for the better part of the year due to the certain proclivity of a wont frost sprite.)
The house was set on a sloping hilltop leading into the woods and eventually to the lake. Not quite lakefront, but there were no neighbors behind him, and the neighbors beside him were spaced far enough away to be visually absent. Because of its size, it was cheap, and other than the groaning wooden floorboards and the horrible faded 70's print wallpaper in the kitchen, the place was fairly well maintained.
Sarah, or Cupcake as Jamie and his friends had always called her, had gotten into real estate and had told him about the place when old man, Whitman, had finally passed away and the place had went up for sale. The two had grown apart through the years, but on occasion, if they saw each other, they would take a few minutes to catch up. Jamie had expressed interest some time ago that he was looking for an out of the way quiet place without a lot of noisy neighbors, so of course when she'd seen Jamie, she was quick to mention it.
The town of Burgess was small, and the population seemed to be decreasing rather than growing as children grew and moved away and the elderly passed. The Whitman place had already been on the market six months without so much as a bite even though it was considered lakefront property, and as such the price of the little house had sank to under sixty thousand which made for a low mortgage payment.
Jamie's parents, who had long since mended their differences, had agreed to sign on the house after many promises that Jamie would keep the place up. He was well on his way to a photography degree, and worked hard even though he'd become a very secular boy locking himself away in his room when he was home or disappearing through the night. His grades remained high, he held a steady job, so the Bennetts didn't pry.
It had taken several months to appropriate the living space of the smallest room of the house carefully to contain Pitch properly. The solar lighting had been a pain to install himself, but he was a studious sort and worked very hard to make accommodations for Pitch and ensure he could in fact never leave him. Even in the event of a power outage, Jamie had set up a generator to safeguard the dark man couldn't shadow jump. It was Jamie's duty to keep Pitch, and as such, he took great pains to imprison him.
Of course he cared for Pitch too and because he cared, Jamie bought an elegant canopy bed (just for the metal rigging not the aesthetic value.) The framework bowed across the top of the bed in the shape of an 'X' where each main post connected. The design would allow Pitch movement while still being chained to be able to rise off the bed onto his knees with his arms latched above him. Thinking of Pitch strung up and able to be physically manipulated into a variety of positions Jamie couldn't see him in currently made a wash of need course through him. He wanted to see the dark man's lean body contort for him. He had an extra special surprise in store for Pitch. Tonight the nightmare lord was going to truly belong to him.
