Pairing: Chase/Tyler. Requested from (and dedicated to) my new besitie - Mizu. I hope it doesn't suck… ^_^ And sorry it's taken so long…it's your fault and your damn Rping…:P
Warning: SEX. Used-to-be and yet-not-quite RAPE. Manipulation. Chase being Chase. And Tyler being Tyler. And peeping Reid - though that's never directly stated.. Language. I've been reading Anita Blake, so if you see some similarities…that's probably why. (Like Tyler being trained not to cum, I got that specifically from Nathaniel, who I love). I also apologize, because in the beginning, it was just supposed to be about sex and I turned it into something serious - which I hadn't meant to do.
Rating: M. You have been warned.
Note: I've been trying to write this idea for roughly a week, or two. But I got this new idea while I was trying not to wake up one morning. The story is the exact same as it was before. Except suddenly - it's seen through a third party's eyes. One Reid Garwin. I'd appreciate feed back. I know Reid seems out of character. I'm just trying to change the mold everybody assumes Reid fits.
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"Baby Boy."
The name had started out in endearment, spoken first by my own mother, twisted and distorted with concern most parents can't even muster for their own kids. I abused the name every chance I got, choosing to ignore the faces Tyler made. I knew it hurt him, but acted like I didn't just so I could claim ignorance later. I fixed it. Eventually. I slowly saw exactly what my mother had always seen in Tyler. Band-Aids can only hide his scars for so long, before the bandage becomes encrusted, worn out and feeble. The words sounded different in Chase's mouth, twisted. Broken. Distorted, and yet there was also something else there. Hunger. Lust. Desire. Need. Want. S.E.X. That's what it sounded like, smoothed over in Chase's voice. Tyler's childhood nickname sounded like sex. And it made him freeze up in fear.
Tyler turned around because the thought of what Chase could do behind his back made him tremble. "It's only been a few days," he almost whined. I'd heard that whine before. When we were younger and I pushed Tyler to do things I knew he didn't want to just because I knew he wouldn't say no. Tyler never said no. And even as he tried to convince me to let it go, his voice hadn't ever twisted - not like that.
"Apprehension looks good on you," Chase said. He approached Tyler in much the same way that a lion would approach an injured deer. The lion already knew his prey was ensured. He'd already won, and yet he moved slowly, stealthily even though he was in plain view of his prey. He still put on the show, even though he reigned superior. It was just an act….
The dorm room was empty. I wasn't supposed to be here. And I guess in a way, I really wasn't. Without physical manifestation, would anyone really exist? That's what makes it so much easier to challenge miracles and god and faith. Because if they existed, they would impact something, anything - physically. The world is physical proof of god, that's the argument they've got. I know different, but that knowledge doesn't do shit for me, because it's mental and not physical. Knowledge can only go so far, and it means nothing when it's locked inside of your head. That's what I was right now - locked inside of Tyler's head.
"Chase." The name made his voice shake. Images exploded in front of Tyler's eyes, and I wanted to flinch at the intensity of it all. But I couldn't, because Tyler didn't. He remained stoic, even as he trembled. Memories began and ended as Tyler stared at Chase, as if they were sped up - like a DVD, as if he were just fast forwarding through the boring parts. A porno that had too much talking in it. Except that's all these memories were - it's what Tyler was looking for. He wanted the talking and all the other parts made him cringe. But the memories had to be old, frequently watched, because they no longer affected Tyler. He licked his lips, chapped and well bitten. "Reid -"
"Won't be back tonight," Chase interrupted. He lifted a hand and caressed Tyler's cheek softly, mockingly affectionate. Tyler didn't move away, not like I wanted to. That response had already been beaten out of him. And I felt it all, more than I saw it. More memories. Tyler's face pressed hard into the ground under him, metal that Chase didn't really need biting into his wrists, his shoulders shaking with tremors at the strain of it all. Marks I'd never seen carved deep into the skin of Tyler's back, his butt, his thighs. Blood running down his skin, replacing the tanned tint he'd had for as long as I could remember with a darker shade of red, turning the ground beneath him red. Thick enough to make puddles and bring tears to his eyes. Chase was talking but I couldn't hear him. Tyler couldn't force the words to make sense. The fear was getting to him, more than the memories.
Chase's hand left Tyler's face and dropped away, only to reappear at the bottom of Tyler's shirt. He tugged, insistently, on the material until Tyler obediently pulled it off over his head. He tossed the shirt away, out of harm's way. Chase had already ruined too many shirts. I hadn't noticed how limited Tyler's wardrobe was growing.
Chase's hands touched him, pulled at him, caressed him and Tyler didn't stop him. He should have been modest, but he couldn't manage it. The touches were familiar. He couldn't flinch or shiver or shudder, because the touches were so worn, almost like a second layer of skin - almost like they belonged there. The touches were burned into his mind. He felt them long after Chase had left him. Days after. Weeks. Until Chase came back and seared them into his mind all over again, as if he could ever forget in the first place. Burns upon burns scarred his mind, each distinct and unique. Different, but overlapping each other so thoroughly that they were all the same. One huge burn, marking his mind so completely that sometimes he couldn't even recognize it. Sometimes it wasn't he who owned the marks - his mind - it was Chase.
Those marks weren't good enough for Chase though, even Tyler knew that. Chase could still see them, every flinch, every falter Tyler made, Chase saw the burns; when he obeyed without hesitance or second thought, Chase knew he owned them. It wasn't because he needed to see the marks. He wasn't that insecure - he didn't have to hope they existed, he didn't need the reassurance. It was because he needed everybody else to see them. It hadn't ever been about Chase, not really. It had always been about the everybody else. The people who looked at Tyler and knew something was going on. But they'd never really know. We never really knew, because Tyler won't ever tell. Seeing isn't really knowing - it isn't physical, or even mental. Get it? But all Chase cared about was the seeing - the assumptions everybody made. They weren't ever really close to the truth, though.
Chase walked forward, and Tyler stumbled back. It looked sloppy and sudden, but it was all really a well choreographed danced they always did. Chase backed Tyler up until his knees hit the foot of his bed and he fell back. He made to rise, but a hand, firm and definite, on his thigh stopped all movement. Hands tugged, and pulled in their haste to undress Tyler. Pants, shoes, socks, boxers, it was all forgotten as Chase tossed each article of clothing to the side. And he knelt, on the ground, in between Tyler's legs. Chase's hand pressed against Tyler's thigh once more, holding him down, still, while creating designs in the skin. Tyler's hands clenched at his side, sweaty, clutching helplessly at the blanket beneath him. "Don't move," Chase said before Tyler had even begun to move. It was a little game Chase liked to play. A show of superiority and control. I knew who always ended up losing, because Tyler knew. He didn't ever win because that's not how the game was designed. He was already predisposed to losing. Like fate. And you couldn't ever argue fate, because it was greater than you, and all of this. Chase was greater than us. Final. Lethal. Tyler had learned to not argue with him, so he remained still as told.
Chase's breathe ghosted over Tyler, slow, heated and deliberate. And Tyler was hard, anticipating what he knew always came next - always accompanied the pain. Chase's fingers, taunting and searching at the same time, pressed against Tyler's inner thigh, kneading the skin they found there. Tyler didn't move. Chase stayed, knelt between his limp legs on the ground, his mouth dangerously close to Tyler's precious jewels. A tongue, dry even within his mouth, darted out, almost, tentatively. Tyler jumped at the first touch, even after anticipating it, and squeezed his eyes shut. Behind those eyelids he remembered. The images were jumbled, almost too quick to identify. Images of Chase's face twisting into a pleased smirk, the hand prints, a deeper red than I'd ever seen before, marring Tyler's thighs, his lower stomach, bite marks turned purple and bloody imprinting Tyler's neck and collar bone, his fingers bloody from their grip on the wooden ground, his lips bitten almost all the way through by his own teeth. I almost wondered why Tyler hadn't remembered the sex. It had to be bad, right? If the foreplay was this violent, sex couldn't possibly be better…and then Chase started talking again.
"I told you not to move." His voice was taunting, satisfied, happy even. His kneading on Tyler's thigh turned rough before he lifted his hand altogether and brought it down again, hard. Tyler jerked at the sudden pain, biting his barely healed bottom lip to stifle the yelp. It was defiance - because Tyler knew the yelp always pleased Tyler more than tears, more than the pain, or the sex. All he wanted was Tyler's voice twisted beyond recognition, pleading, begging, pained. Chase's hand massaged the abused flesh of Tyler's inner thigh before he slapped it again. And again. And again, until Tyler yelped loudly. And then, grinning madly, Chase lowered his face to kiss the reddened skin. His lips felt cool against the heated handprints. Tyler liked the touch. He almost let that special word slip past his quivering lips. Please. But it was unrecognizable - hidden beneath a heavy sob.
Chase only provided Tyler with pleasure because he liked watching him squirm. That's Tyler's first thought, when Chase lowered his mouth and covered Tyler's hard dick in one move. He liked watching Tyler's body convulse with his own attempts to remain still. Because movement meant disobedience, it meant pain. That's really only pleasure to Chase. Just another word for pain. Another word for hurt, and torture, and control. Pleasure had turned into so many other things, each new word taking bits of Pleasure away, until the word didn't even exist anymore. Until Tyler wasn't sure what Chase was doing to him - because it couldn't be sex, it couldn't be pleasure. It shouldn't feel good…
Chase pulled his mouth back, his tongue dragging roughly against Tyler's dick, firm and commanding. Tyler didn't move, not bodily. His bottom lip quivered, bleeding, caught painfully between his teeth - teeth as ruthless as Chase had ever been. The pain of his bleeding lip was forgotten as Chase's tongue circled the head of his cock. Even his tongue was predatory.
Tyler's head tilted back, tiredly, against the mattress beneath him. He swallowed hard, blood thickened saliva moved sluggishly down his throat, shoving away all the rising moans. Moans were worst than yelps. Yelps were defiant, but moans were encouraging. Chase wanted to hear the sounds, but he wouldn't let Tyler move until they were fucking. It was his own special kind of power. And so he didn't move, he stayed like that. His eyes squeezed shut tightly, mouth twisted into a firm line, teeth barely visible around his bottom lip. Blood pulsed and pooled before gravity dragged the droplets down Tyler's chin and neck. Hands clenched, reaching without ever moving, against the blanket beneath him.
Tyler jumped again when he felt Chase's finger prodding his opening. Chase wasn't trying to prepare him. The concept hadn't ever occurred to Chase before. Preparation lessened the pain, and if not for pain then what was the point of any of this? His finger shoved harder against Tyler, until Tyler forced himself to relax enough for Chase's finger to slip in. He squirmed. And Chase pinched his abused inner thigh with his free hand, mouth never leaving Tyler's dick.
Tyler gasped, hiccupped a half concealed sob. Chase was being deliberately rough, punishing Tyler for something he wasn't sure he even did. But the way Chase's mouth moved, slow, carefully, on his dick was different. It should have felt good, even with the throbbing pain from his thigh and ass. It should have felt good, but Tyler didn't want it to. The mere fact that he managed to get hard at all - with Chase in the room, with the promise of mind numbing pain, made him sick with himself. He should be fighting, but he stayed still. And he wanted to believe it was from fear -and it was. But he feared it was also because of something else. Like pleasure.
Tyler was real close to the edge, a pressure building in his gut. And then he did something I didn't even know was possible. He shoved it back down, and ignored it. He didn't cum. What the fuck? The tension was still there, twisting his stomach into painful knots, like you've been waiting too long to shit and you can feel it in your gut, still there, still impatient - stabbing at you like maybe you'd managed to forget about it. But he managed to just ignore it, even when Chase didn't pull away. His tongue flattened against the head of Tyler's dick, brushing against it in a deliberately taunting way.
The thought flashed across Tyler's mind before I could even come to the conclusion. I know I wouldn't have even if Tyler had given me the time to think about it. Chase was taunting him. Because Chase knew he'd already reached his limit, he knew Tyler wanted to cum, and he was pushing it, seeing how hard he could push before Tyler asked him to stop. Before Tyler begged. And why would he beg for that? Because cumming without permission meant more pain than he wanted. He'd been trained. Like a fucking dog. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Tyler remembered exactly why he couldn't cum. And that's when I realized to what extents this power could be taken to - how exactly powerful you can be upon ascension. I saw Tyler writhing on the ground, more blood around him than before. Fingers trembling too violently to ever offer comfort clutching his other hand, the blood turning everything red so I couldn't see anything. Still, I knew he was trembling, his sobbing straining painfully against already tired vocal cords - because he'd screamed that time, until his voice cut out. I knew he was holding his hand because Chase had taken punishment to new heights. He'd severed Tyler's fingers for twenty three minutes, providing Tyler with a lecture they both knew he didn't hear, before reattaching the fingers - a process that was purposely just as agonizing as tearing the fingers off had been. And then he crushed the bones in Tyler's hand, without ever touching him - with the power alone. And with that power he organized the bones, rebreaking them just so they'd fit back into their original spot. It was supposed to hurt - hurt in ways we knew healing shouldn't hurt. But Chase only healed him so he could hurt him all over again, leaving those burns on his mind rather than regular wounds. Wounds that were bound to heal. But once they were mental, they couldn't heal. Not really. Because Tyler would always remember. And that is why he shoved away the intense need curling, writhing inside of his gut. Because the pain of needing this release was better than anything else Chase was offering.
Chase pulled away, Tyler knew it was because his mouth had gotten tired, and they'd already established Tyler's obedience. And if he kept it up, Tyler would be too loose - it wouldn't hurt as much as he wanted it to. Tyler used to hope for this, but he already knew that Chase could hurt him in other ways. Sex wasn't ever the worst. It didn't have to hurt to make Tyler dread it.
Chase crawled onto the bed, naked, though I don't remember him ever undressing. I don't remember because Tyler didn't - because Tyler hadn't been watching him. His eyes had been closed. Chase crawled over his body, his trembling body and stopped only once he was straddling Tyler's waist. He slapped Tyler across the face, not as hard as he could, Tyler knew. He opened his eyes because he knew he was supposed to. And Chase kissed Tyler. Tyler tasted himself, his precum, his fear - everything Chase had been eating, consuming hungrily, too eager to care about how vicious he was being. Tyler's jaws moved, his tongue moved against Chase's as he attempted to kiss back. Another thing he did without having to think about it, without having to talk himself into it. Because it could be worst.
Chase gestured, and Tyler dragged himself back across the bed, only until his feet were on the mattress instead of the floor. Rehearsed steps to a dance that shouldn't ever need to be rehearsed. Chase entered Tyler, their mouths once more sealed, his thrust slow and hard at the same time. Tyler grunted in surprise and displeasure, the sound silent against Chase's probing tongue. But lack of noise didn't make it any less existent, because Chase felt it and that made it physical. Real.
Tyler's legs moved, pressed against Chase's side, almost like they fit there - like they'd always fit there, molded to perfection. Chase pulled his head back, lips curving perfectly against Tyler's as he sucked on Tyler's bottom lip. He trailed his tongue down, licking the blood from Tyler's chin and neck. He didn't hold Tyler's arms down, even though Tyler wanted him to. Maybe even because Tyler wanted to. I don't know. The thought was Tyler's, and his mind was muddled, bias. To move meant that you had to - that you had no other choice. If you can walk, you're supposed to work and walk away from trouble. You're just supposed to. But to be unable to walk, it meant that you had no choice. That you had to stay exactly where you were. But Tyler could move away, even when he had the ability to walk. And yet he wasn't held down either. Which meant that he could move away, but he had to force himself not to.
His back arched, not with pleasure, but with something else. He arched closer to Chase, their chests pressed together, motionless despite the sweat eliminating friction. Chase's hands shoved against the mattress on both sides of Tyler's head, their faces real close together. Tyler could taste Chase's breath, inhaling every heavy pant and moan, swallowing it all down. His hands clutched at the blanket, really wanting to clutch at Chase's hair. But he couldn't, because Chase had told him not to. His head pressed harder in the mattress. He wanted to turn away but Chase's hands left no room for that. Instead he closed his eyes, and tried not to tilt his head back. He failed at that.
With each thrust Tyler let out a grunt, sometimes soft, sometimes loud. His grunts conveyed more than he'd like. They meant pain, or pleasure, sometimes he confused the two. They meant helpless, and needing, and wanting without really wanting to want. His lips were parted, even though his teeth were clenched together as if his life depended on it. And sometimes Chase would lean closer, and press his own lips to Tyler's, just to let his own moans vibrate against Tyler's skin. He wasn't ashamed of the pleasure he drew from Tyler.
His thrusting quickened because even as he trained Tyler, he couldn't ignore his own need; he never needed to before. The thrusts turned rough as if he no longer had the time to worry about any of that. As if he ever worried about it before. And Tyler's grunts turned into moans. They both moaned. For different reasons. Chase came, Tyler didn't, even though I could tell he wanted to - even when he hated himself for wanting it. He was so hard it hurt, but he couldn't cum until Chase specifically gave him permission to. Sometimes Chase never did. He just left Tyler like that. Smirking.
Sighing, still unashamed, content even, the weight Chase had been supporting collapsed against Tyler. Chase was still inside of him, no longer hard, but still there. His head laid against Tyler's shoulder because he knew Tyler wouldn't ever hurt him. His lips pressed against the curve of Tyler's neck, kissing and not really kissing at the same time, just there. His breathe hot against the skin of his jaw but Tyler couldn't turn away. He couldn't turn away from Chase's fingers, weakly pressing against his jaw, and his lips - bloody once more. Eventually, Chase's fingers made it up to Tyler's eyes, pressing against the fat trails of tears, smearing the moisture just a little bit. His fingers twitched, and at first it felt like an accident. But no. Chase really was wiping away Tyler's tears, rubbing at his cheeks until they were dry, until Tyler had managed to control his trembling.
I don't know what happened next, because that's when I came back to myself. I was torn from Tyler's head, and I know he felt it too, because he writhed beneath Chase, his gasps and sobs louder than they had been. I came back to myself, hard and violently, recoiling - as if I'd jerked awake from a nightmare, gasping and disoriented. But the nightmare wasn't there, foggy even when I tried to think about it. I remembered it all, everything. And I felt it all. Chase's touches, Tyler's fear, I felt it even when I knew it wasn't real. Even though I wanted it to be a dream. It all exists. Because it was all physical. And that's all that ever matters. Physicality. That's all they care about.