The fact that Black Hat didn't need directions to Flug's apartment building was concerning, to say the least.
The fact that Black Hat insisted on walking Flug to his apartment door was the icing on the cake on concern. All it needed was for Black Hat to invite himself into Flug's home and that cake would be iced, lighted, and ready for the birthday party of worry Flug was mentally throwing himself.
Thankfully it never came to that. The two men arrived at the door, Flug was cordially wished a good night by his top hatted companion, and said man left without anymore ominous words.
Leaving the poor Rocinante Flugslys alone in his apartment to mull over things.
Ok, Black Hat knew about the incident back in flight school. Ok, fine. He knew that contrary to official records and even first-hand accounts, Flug had been responsible for the death of thirty people.
Most of them had been his fellow cadets, eleven of which had made it their hobby tormenting Flug and another man, Julio.
Oh, right, Julio. Black Hat probably knew all about him too. Him and what their relationship had been.
Fourteen of the dead had been innocent people. Innocent people who'd done nothing to him or his boyfriend. They were just caught in the crossfire. Fourteen men and women who died for absolutely no reason.
The remaining five people were academy officials and investigators. People who knew the truth of the matter. Flug had taken it upon himself to silence them. Permanently.
Perhaps, if he hadn't done that, he'd be able to lie to himself. Tell himself that Black Hat was wrong. Tell himself he didn't have a villainous bone in his body.
But he killed 25 people. Actually, almost 27 people died that night. It was a miracle both he and Julio survived the crash. And even after that, after the murder of 25 of his fellow students, of people he knew and had sat next to and eaten with, he went and killed five more.
To cover his tracks.
And yet here he was, three years later, carrying on as a student at the Universidad most can only dream of attending, as if nothing had ever happened.
And Black Hat knew all of that.
To most people, without the scars on his face and his ruined eyesight (hidden by the prescription lenses, very well I might add), it would seem that nothing HAD ever happened.
He hadn't had a nightmare about it in over a year. Hadn't even had a conscious thought about it even longer.
Flug had a sinking feeling those waking nightmares would rear their ugly head soon enough.
It was Thursday. Usually, Flug would pass by Black Hat on the way to his next afternoon class. He had considered taking an alternate route, but decided that he had to face him again.
If he wanted an answer now, in front of everyone, he'd give it to him.
But, oddly, Flug didn't see him.
He shrugged it off, guessing he must've missed him, and went about his business.
It was getting late, he'd spent hours in the Robotics Lab with no results and decided to stop by for a late night drink. Flug was sitting at a table alone in Cafe Triste, the same place he and Black Hat had visited twice before. Together.
Now he was by himself. Striking up a conversation with the same waitress he'd seen the night before.
According to her name tag, her name was Demetra.
It was pretty dead inside, which meant it was perfectly fine for the employees to be chatting up lonely customers.
She was just as bubbly and cheery as he remembered. Very talkative.
He got a hot chocolate this time, remembering how hard it was to sleep with caffeine in his system.
He offered her a seat at his table, but she just waved him off. "Hey, I'm still on the clock, buddy. Take me out after hours."
He wasn't much of a conversationalist, and he didn't think the two of them would have much in common. So he asked her about the one thing she may actually know about.
"H-has the guy I was with last time come in today?"
She thought about it for a second, tapping her index finger on her chin and gazing up at the ceiling with her tongue stuck out. Like a young child might.
"Hmmm, nope! Not that I've noticed! And I think I would notice."
Flug nodded his head. He stared down at his cup, unsure of why he felt his heart sink a bit.
"Hey, hey, what's up?" Demetra asked, leaning over to look him in the eyes. "You two have a fight or something?"
"No, no. N-nothing like that. I just...didn't see him at all today."
Friday, Flug had a free day from his class schedule. In his hubris, however, he had agreed to back-to-back double shifts at his part-time job. He figured he had the time, so why not?
Hunger, apparently, was why not.
He ended up scarfing down two burritos in record time, regretting the damage he would be doing to his toilet later that night.
He considered going down to the Robotics Lab, seeing if anyone had made any progress on their individual pieces, but ultimately just wanted to go home.
It was roughly 6:30 when he reached his bus stop. He played with the idea of walking over to Cafe Triste for a bit, until he found himself standing in front of his apartment building.
Well, he was already home. Why make plans to be out now?
Once safely inside and behind locked doors, he promptly threw off his pants and shoes and let his thighs feel the cool air of his apartment.
The stockings he wore were a soft blue, which clashed against the velvety red panties he was wearing. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and struck what was meant to be some kind of seductive pose. It ended up looking pretty ridiculous, and he lightly chuckled to himself.
He looked pretty silly, even to himself. Who was he ever going to seduce like this? It wasn't like his lithe torso was all that attractive. His glasses made him look like a dork, which he was. He had good legs, he supposed. The soft womanly garments did almost give the illusion of curves in places most men had none.
He spun around, trying to get a good look at his backside.
Well, okay, that was one thing he could safely say he was happy with.
He pulled the stockings up a bit higher on his thighs, playing with the dark blue ribbons at the hem. They, at least, went with the small bow on his panties.
Red and blue, he mused to himself. I almost look like that superhero.
Oh yeah...heroes.
And villains.
He stopped smiling and checking out his reflection.
I'm a villain.
Having nothing else to do he got himself a fattening snack and turned on the TV. He watched anime in his underwear until the wee hours of the morning, when he finally fell asleep on his couch to the sounds of giant robots destroying each other.
The rest of the weekend was spent in much the same way. Flug went to work, he went home, and he did everything possible to avoid thinking. So lots of internet, television, and homework.
He did end up going back to Cafe Triste Sunday afternoon. Demetra wasn't there, he guessed she got Sunday's off, so it was an uneventful time.
Flug stared at his phone in his hand while he absentmindedly sipped at his coffee and nibbled on the small pastry he had gotten on impulse. It tasted sweet, almost too sweet even for him, but he was glad he got something else besides just a drink.
It was so awkward just sitting here alone sipping coffee last time.
He couldn't even pretend he was busy with his phone! Not convincingly, at least. He was mainly staring at it, half-hoping that someone - ANYONE - would call or text him right now. Just anyone. To give him a tangible reason to avoid thinking about himself.
The other half was praying that he never got a call from anyone ever and was able to resume his school life in peace without anyone bringing up mistakes from his past or mistakes he'll potentially make in the future.
The very near future in fact. Like if he ever gets a call and accepts a job working for a villain in a top hat.
You know, the insane part of his mind whispered. You could always, and bare with me here it's a crazy thought but...you could, oh, I don't know, CALL HIM?
Flug gulped down what remained of his coffee.
You've done it before.
With nothing else to do he focused on finishing his little cake-thing. It was like eating raw sugar. Jesus, what was in this?
The number is in your phone.
He finished his Death by Sweetness (Hey, not a bad band name), paid, got up and left.
11:56 pm. Sunday night. Rocinante Flugslys was doing the one thing that was sure to get his mind off his situation. He was desperate. He had sworn he was going to stop doing this to himself. He hadn't wanted to, in his mind it was like sinking far, far, far down into a hole of shame that he thought he was capable of stopping himself from going down.
But, the pictures on his computer screen were more than willing to throw him down. Hard. Hard enough to get him to forget about his life for one night, he hoped.
Aurelio Cruz.
Photos from his most recent beach trip.
Because unlike Rocinante, Aurelio had a life. He had a circle of friends that hung around him. He was a person who went out and actually lived. He wasn't just sitting around, he left the house and actually experienced things. He had an aura that drew people in and spat them back out once he became bored. A presence that radiated absolute energy, like the sun.
A sun which Flug was staring at on his computer screen in awe at how such a man could existence in the same universe as him.
He wanted to think there was some trick, some falsity to these images. Aurelio Cruz simply COULDN'T be at this level of perfection naturally. It had to be photoshop, or some other kind of image editing, something! Or maybe he had plastic surgery! There had to be some kind of explanation for just how just...everything about his body was perfect!
People don't...they just don't look better than your fantasies! People aren't supposed to look even better than you could possibly imagine! What...what was this?
He dropped the pretenses. That wasn't what he was focused on.
What he was focused on was keeping his eyes on his screen while his hands moved to take care of the ache between his legs.
Rocinante felt his breathing hitch as he grasped himself fully. His head automatically tilted back, as if he was offering his neck up to be bitten and claimed. His eyes, though half lidded, were trained on the body of his desires.
It was a bit awkward, with his glasses, but without them he wouldn't be able to see the dark bronze flesh he pretended was on display just for him.
He moaned through pursed lips, trying to stop himself from rocking his entire body in his chair. As it was, he was barely able to maintain control of his hips, which still longed to buck and grind against that darkly tanned flesh he was imagining.
He wanted to imagine other hands touching him. Bigger, stronger, more masculine hands dark from so much time spent out in the sun stroking him as he sat in a mewling mess on his lap begging for more. But he wouldn't give it, would he?
No, Aurelio wouldn't just simply jerk him off. No no no. No, he'd play with him, wouldn't he. Yes he would. Start off with that fast and firm grip from shaft to tip, then slow it down and go gently gently gently to the point where it was almost painful to be touching so slightly. And then back to gripping him hard and pulling like he was going to rip it off. Pressure exactly where it was needed in order to send him off the deep end, stopping right when he was about to come undone. Just so that he could start it over again and again until he final broke
And Rocinante would love all of it. Love how he'd know exactly how to touch him to get him worked up and when to stop to bring him back down just to launch him back up and-
He wanted more. It made him ashamed but he wanted more of his fantasy.
He wanted to imagine Aurelio pinning him down and strippin- NO! He'd make Rocinante strip for him! Yes! He would! He'd force him to take everything off and leave him naked and vulnerable and and wanting and oh OH OOOHHH THAT'S GOOD!
What else? What else?
He'd...he'd...oh Rocinante would be begging him to stop, to let him go, to get away from him, but would he? No! Aurelio would not leave him be! He'd just get closer and touch him deeper and move his own body against him and spread him- NO NO you've got that wrong he'd make Rocinante spread himself! Yes he'd make him his greedy little whore, just for him to fuck at his leisure begging and begging and begging for his-
Roci.
It was just one word, one little pet name, but it stopped Rocinante. Right on the precipice of his release, he was stopped.
By the pet name Julio would call him.
Roci.
He felt horrible. Whenever he broke down and did this he ended up thinking of his former love and that usually left him too guilty to finish. It was a toxic cycle, much like his own pattern of bringing himself up to the edge only to deny himself until he simply couldn't keep it up.
But this was worse. Now he felt guilty, ashamed, unclean, and there was still the raging erection in his hands that he kind of wanted to be done with already.
He was trying to NOT think about the past right now, thank you very much.
Putting those thoughts aside to harass him in the morning, he tried to get back to what he was doing.
Where were we? Aurelio. Yes that's right. Flug scrolled through the pictures on his screen, trying to find one that put him back into the mood. Here was one, Aurelio and some girl (flavor of the week) in a cabana. She was sitting on his lap and they were both striking poses that on anyone else would have looked cheesy.
But lo and behold, once Aurelio did it it became artwork.
Flug remembered how he'd grasped his wrist a few days ago. How he'd pulled their bodies together right in front of everyone.
Right in front of everyone…
How differently could that have gone?
He could have kissed him. Could have forced him to kiss back. Could have outright groped and molested him in front of everyone. His fellow club members, the guys, the girls, suppose a teacher walked in.
And no one would do anything. No one ever did anything. They just let Aurelio have whatever he wanted.
If he had wanted Flug, they'd have just let him take him. Right there.
They'd have let him grab his ass hard enough to leave bruises. Let him force Rocinante to move his body against him and rub together like some horny teenager. As Aurelio stuck his tongue into his mouth and ripped the air out of his lungs until he couldn't do anything but allow it to go on because let's face it there was no fighting it. No fighting him.
No fighting, no fighting, just let him take me…
Without all that energy put into struggling against the inevitable he'd moan loudly like a wanton whore for him. His voice getting higher and breathier as Aurelio forced pleasurable sounds from him. His mind would scream that this was wrong, it was rape, he didn't want it, but his body had already given in the moment their skin had touched so it was pointless to do anything but ride it out.
And ride I would.
On top of him, clad in nothing but fishnets and a lacy skirt because Aurelio liked seeing his little slut dress the part he'd ride him. Shoving his hips down to get Aurelio deeper inside him while Aurelio himself thrust upwards hitting all the right spots to have him screaming out his name like it was the key to salvation YES YES YES FUCK ME AURELIO PLEASE I WANT IT SO BADLY I NEED IT I NEED YOU AURELIO I NEED YOU TO-
RING!
RING!
RING!
Who the fuck was calling him?
He didn't want to stop not now not again right when he was getting so close again someone had to go and FUCK IT UP because God forbid he get any of this built up tension and sexual frustration out. He couldn't keep his concentration with that annoying sound.
That damn ringing was still going on. Flug didn't even bother checking who it was he just rejected the call, his breathing was still heavy he was panting loudly his heart was thumping against his ribcage AND BY GOD HE WAS GOING TO FINISH TONIGHT IF IT KILLED HIM!
With the latest distraction taken care of, Rocinante regained his focus. It was a bit difficult, but he managed to return to the mewling state he so desired to be in.
AURELIO
OH PLEASE
YES
YES
AAHHH YES YES
PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE AURELIO
MORE
PLEASE MORE
I-I-I NEED IT
NEED IT
PLEASE AURELIO PLEASE
He came hard against his knuckles, some reaching to splash across the table. It was promptly wiped away. He cleaned himself up, undressed, and decided he would sleep in the nude tonight. He didn't want anything spoiling his post-climax high.
Monday morning, Flug became aware of two things.
One: His alarm hadn't gone off.
Two: He hadn't charged his phone last night.
He scrambled around his apartment racing to finish his morning routine before his 10:00 am class. Damn it, he'd slept in till almost 9:30! He was going to miss the bus!
He put on the first garments he could find, they probably didn't go together but he was so beyond caring right now as long as his underwear wasn't on the outside he was sure he could live with it.
He raced down without having a single thing to eat OR his morning coffee, and just barely made it before the bus pulled out of the stop.
He managed to make it to his morning class, thankfully had all the notebooks he needed for the day, and besides his bad case of bedhead and drowsiness from lack of caffeine, it was a normal morning.
After class, he was free for a few minutes. So he plugged his phone into one of the power outlets in the hallways to get it some power.
He noticed he had one voicemail message. Oh, that call last night! Wonder who it was? He didn't recognize the number-
"Flug!" came an all too familiar raspy voice.
"I meant to call earlier, I've just been extremely busy. There's something I want to show you! Are you free this weekend? I think you'll really like it! We'll make a road trip of it! Call me back!"
Flug was frozen for a few seconds.
He could barely handle being around this man for a few minutes at a time. And now he wanted to take a weekend road trip with him?
He needed coffee.