With You, I Can Breathe (Chapter 1)
Title: With You, I Can Breathe
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters are not mine, please don’t sue.
Word Count: ~1300 this chapter/~14 000 total
Summary: Pre-Klaine. Blaine gets sexually assaulted. Burt is the one to pick up the pieces. The Hummel-Hudson household is the safe haven. My spin on the old prompt.
A/N: Once upon a time, I don’t even remember where, there was a prompt like this. And this idea got stuck in my brain. I’ve been fighting it for months, because one, there are stories like that already (I know I even read initial chapters of one, I’m not sure if it got finished later though), and two, I don’t write non-con. I’m really only interested in the comfort part of it, not the hurt.
But since Kurt in my head keeps jumping up and down (he may or may not have his Gaga heels on, ouch) and squeaking that he wants to help, and whatever I try to write lately turns into little scenes for this… I gave up. Here it is. I tried to keep the hurt part to minimum, because frankly, I felt a little sick writing it. It’s all in chapter 1, then we move on to making things better. And since I (thankfully) have no real idea about these things, it may all be naïve or unrealistic. Please let me know. I’m off to give myself diabetes with cotton candy fluff now.
This story is almost complete in 8 chapters (as of now - there may be one more or less if I decide to rearrange things while editing) and will be updated daily here at my Livejournal and FF.
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CHAPTER 1
The night that ended so catastrophically bad began with lots of fun. Blaine had never been to a club before and quickly decided that he loved it - the loud music, the dancing, the flashing lights, the anonymity of the crowd. But most of all he enjoyed the attention of Eric, the gorgeous blond college student that sneaked him in there and was keeping him entertained all evening. And even if entertainment included several alcoholic drinks, Blaine wasn’t going to complain. He was having fun, he had no plans to sit behind the wheel any time soon, since Eric was driving - what’s the problem with being a little bit more relaxed, a little naughty? It’s not like he was drunk. Well, maybe just a bit - everything seemed hilarious and Eric’s eyes were getting more and more beautiful, his lips red and tempting. Around midnight, when Blaine started to lean on the taller boy more and more while dancing, the blonde laughed good-naturedly.
“Looks like someone is ready to move to a more private location. My dorm room is empty tonight, you know.”
And it should have been a warning sign, but it didn’t sound this way. In fact, it sounded like a very good idea at that time. A place where he could finally, finally kiss Eric? Awesome! Bring it on!
So they run out, holding hands and laughing, found Eric’s car in one of the side streets and sped toward campus. Blaine felt a bit dazed, his head suddenly spinning much more than he realized in the flashing darkness of the club. A quick What are you doing? What would Kurt say if he knew? flashed through his mind, but he ignored it determinedly. He wouldn’t think of Kurt. It was his night. And if Kurt wanted to be jealous and try to spoil it for him, then it was his own problem. He would have to accept that Blaine was in love with this guy, this 21-year-old student who’d flirted with him at a party a week before, who was mature and confident, and a little mysterious, and so very handsome… And if Kurt couldn’t support him and would keep insulting Eric like that day Blaine introduced them in the coffee shop, then well, maybe he wasn’t really his friend after all. What was he doing anyway, thinking about Kurt, when they were on their way to Eric’s empty room where they could kiss for hours without interruptions? Blaine sighed, delighted - so far his date was almost too much of a gentleman, not even trying to move past hand-holding and a peck on the cheek, but he felt confident that tonight they would go further. And he was so ready to finally have his first kiss, to explore Eric’s lips, his tongue, his mouth, until he knew them by heart. True, the blonde was a smoker and the cigarette smell lingering around him was a bit of a turn-off, but Blaine refused to be hindered by such details, enthralled as he was by the prospect of having a boyfriend.
Eric’s room was small, cluttered and kind of smelly, and Blaine’s brain was trying to break through the alcoholic fog and tell him it was not a good idea after all, but the older boy quickly silenced it with another drink, and then they were finally kissing, hungrily, passionately, and it was amazing.
Until it wasn’t.
Because gradually Eric became more - more hungry, more insistent, more aggressive. As long as it was just his lips and neck, Blaine could deal with it, though he felt overwhelmed. But then Eric was pinning him to the bed - and woah, when did they lay down? and why was the room spinning so much? - and his hands were under Blaine’s shirt, and in the next instant the shirt was off and Eric’s hand was navigating towards his buckle belt, his teeth on Blaine’s nipple, and it was too much, too soon, too fast.
“No. Stop it.”
“What’s the matter, baby? Are you uncomfortable? Let’s just peel these pants off of you and I’ll make it all better.”
“No. It’s too much.”
“Oh come on, you know you want it.”
“No, I really don’t.” He felt like he was going to be sick from sudden vertigo when Eric’s hand landed on his zipper anyway.
“Huh, it seems you’re right, you don’t seem interested at all. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you this last drink after all. Well, I’ll just let you sleep it off then, there’s no use going all the way back to your house. You can bunk here. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go take a shower.”
Blaine must have dozed off then, right where he was, because the next thing he noticed was a quiet clinking noise and something cold on his wrist, pulling his arm over his head. It was all really curious, so he forced himself somewhat awake, tried to sit up and see… And he couldn’t. Something was wrong, something held him down. Panic raising slowly in his chest chased away all remnants of sleepiness. He looked up. There were handcuffs linking his left wrist to the bars of the metal headboard. He was trapped. And Eric was standing over him with a smile that wasn’t kind and charming anymore, just devious, and a second pair of silver handcuffs ready to use.
In a burst of adrenaline Blaine tried to get off the bed, yanking his hand free from the cuff, but the only thing he gained was ripping pain in his shoulder. The headboard didn’t even budge. And then there was sudden pounding in his head and copper taste of blood on his tongue, and Eric was kneeling on the bed, the hand that had just hit him still raised.
“Behave, you little slut. Did you think that you could tease me all this time and then refuse to deliver? You can’t do this. It’s really impolite, you know. Now be a good little boy and turn over so that I can secure your other hand. Don’t make me force you. You’ll like it, I promise.”
This was the moment when all sense left Blaine in an overwhelming wave of fear and the rest of the night consisted of disjointed sounds and sensations.
Being flipped over on the bed, his left arm twisted at painfully wrong angle. More clinking as his other wrist was quickly secured to the headboard. The feeling of his jeans and underwear being pulled off. Eric’s unwanted touches, kisses, sharp bites breaking skin. His words washing over Blaine, praising him on being a perfect little slut, telling him he’d like it, promising to prepare him real good, warning to be quiet or else. And then crinkling of a wrapper, terrible pressure of slick fingers, then more than fingers, Eric’s obscene moans, his weight on him and pain, an ocean of pain that he was drowning in. The other man’s jerky movements and breathless sounds, fingernails leaving long burning lines, and then finally stillness and silence, disturbed only by harsh breathing.
He didn’t know how long he lay there, the pillow underneath his face wet with tears and blood from the lip he was biting on to stop himself from screaming, but then his hands were free, his clothes thrown on the bed next to him, and Eric whispered in his ear “I told you you’d like it. Now get out of here. And if you ever think of complaining - remember, you asked for it, you little cocktease. You just got what you deserve. You don’t want anyone to know what a worthless slut you are, do you?”
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters are not mine, please don’t sue.
Word Count: ~1300 this chapter/~14 000 total
Summary: Pre-Klaine. Blaine gets sexually assaulted. Burt is the one to pick up the pieces. The Hummel-Hudson household is the safe haven. My spin on the old prompt.
A/N: Once upon a time, I don’t even remember where, there was a prompt like this. And this idea got stuck in my brain. I’ve been fighting it for months, because one, there are stories like that already (I know I even read initial chapters of one, I’m not sure if it got finished later though), and two, I don’t write non-con. I’m really only interested in the comfort part of it, not the hurt.
But since Kurt in my head keeps jumping up and down (he may or may not have his Gaga heels on, ouch) and squeaking that he wants to help, and whatever I try to write lately turns into little scenes for this… I gave up. Here it is. I tried to keep the hurt part to minimum, because frankly, I felt a little sick writing it. It’s all in chapter 1, then we move on to making things better. And since I (thankfully) have no real idea about these things, it may all be naïve or unrealistic. Please let me know. I’m off to give myself diabetes with cotton candy fluff now.
This story is almost complete in 8 chapters (as of now - there may be one more or less if I decide to rearrange things while editing) and will be updated daily here at my Livejournal and FF.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 1
The night that ended so catastrophically bad began with lots of fun. Blaine had never been to a club before and quickly decided that he loved it - the loud music, the dancing, the flashing lights, the anonymity of the crowd. But most of all he enjoyed the attention of Eric, the gorgeous blond college student that sneaked him in there and was keeping him entertained all evening. And even if entertainment included several alcoholic drinks, Blaine wasn’t going to complain. He was having fun, he had no plans to sit behind the wheel any time soon, since Eric was driving - what’s the problem with being a little bit more relaxed, a little naughty? It’s not like he was drunk. Well, maybe just a bit - everything seemed hilarious and Eric’s eyes were getting more and more beautiful, his lips red and tempting. Around midnight, when Blaine started to lean on the taller boy more and more while dancing, the blonde laughed good-naturedly.
“Looks like someone is ready to move to a more private location. My dorm room is empty tonight, you know.”
And it should have been a warning sign, but it didn’t sound this way. In fact, it sounded like a very good idea at that time. A place where he could finally, finally kiss Eric? Awesome! Bring it on!
So they run out, holding hands and laughing, found Eric’s car in one of the side streets and sped toward campus. Blaine felt a bit dazed, his head suddenly spinning much more than he realized in the flashing darkness of the club. A quick What are you doing? What would Kurt say if he knew? flashed through his mind, but he ignored it determinedly. He wouldn’t think of Kurt. It was his night. And if Kurt wanted to be jealous and try to spoil it for him, then it was his own problem. He would have to accept that Blaine was in love with this guy, this 21-year-old student who’d flirted with him at a party a week before, who was mature and confident, and a little mysterious, and so very handsome… And if Kurt couldn’t support him and would keep insulting Eric like that day Blaine introduced them in the coffee shop, then well, maybe he wasn’t really his friend after all. What was he doing anyway, thinking about Kurt, when they were on their way to Eric’s empty room where they could kiss for hours without interruptions? Blaine sighed, delighted - so far his date was almost too much of a gentleman, not even trying to move past hand-holding and a peck on the cheek, but he felt confident that tonight they would go further. And he was so ready to finally have his first kiss, to explore Eric’s lips, his tongue, his mouth, until he knew them by heart. True, the blonde was a smoker and the cigarette smell lingering around him was a bit of a turn-off, but Blaine refused to be hindered by such details, enthralled as he was by the prospect of having a boyfriend.
Eric’s room was small, cluttered and kind of smelly, and Blaine’s brain was trying to break through the alcoholic fog and tell him it was not a good idea after all, but the older boy quickly silenced it with another drink, and then they were finally kissing, hungrily, passionately, and it was amazing.
Until it wasn’t.
Because gradually Eric became more - more hungry, more insistent, more aggressive. As long as it was just his lips and neck, Blaine could deal with it, though he felt overwhelmed. But then Eric was pinning him to the bed - and woah, when did they lay down? and why was the room spinning so much? - and his hands were under Blaine’s shirt, and in the next instant the shirt was off and Eric’s hand was navigating towards his buckle belt, his teeth on Blaine’s nipple, and it was too much, too soon, too fast.
“No. Stop it.”
“What’s the matter, baby? Are you uncomfortable? Let’s just peel these pants off of you and I’ll make it all better.”
“No. It’s too much.”
“Oh come on, you know you want it.”
“No, I really don’t.” He felt like he was going to be sick from sudden vertigo when Eric’s hand landed on his zipper anyway.
“Huh, it seems you’re right, you don’t seem interested at all. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you this last drink after all. Well, I’ll just let you sleep it off then, there’s no use going all the way back to your house. You can bunk here. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go take a shower.”
Blaine must have dozed off then, right where he was, because the next thing he noticed was a quiet clinking noise and something cold on his wrist, pulling his arm over his head. It was all really curious, so he forced himself somewhat awake, tried to sit up and see… And he couldn’t. Something was wrong, something held him down. Panic raising slowly in his chest chased away all remnants of sleepiness. He looked up. There were handcuffs linking his left wrist to the bars of the metal headboard. He was trapped. And Eric was standing over him with a smile that wasn’t kind and charming anymore, just devious, and a second pair of silver handcuffs ready to use.
In a burst of adrenaline Blaine tried to get off the bed, yanking his hand free from the cuff, but the only thing he gained was ripping pain in his shoulder. The headboard didn’t even budge. And then there was sudden pounding in his head and copper taste of blood on his tongue, and Eric was kneeling on the bed, the hand that had just hit him still raised.
“Behave, you little slut. Did you think that you could tease me all this time and then refuse to deliver? You can’t do this. It’s really impolite, you know. Now be a good little boy and turn over so that I can secure your other hand. Don’t make me force you. You’ll like it, I promise.”
This was the moment when all sense left Blaine in an overwhelming wave of fear and the rest of the night consisted of disjointed sounds and sensations.
Being flipped over on the bed, his left arm twisted at painfully wrong angle. More clinking as his other wrist was quickly secured to the headboard. The feeling of his jeans and underwear being pulled off. Eric’s unwanted touches, kisses, sharp bites breaking skin. His words washing over Blaine, praising him on being a perfect little slut, telling him he’d like it, promising to prepare him real good, warning to be quiet or else. And then crinkling of a wrapper, terrible pressure of slick fingers, then more than fingers, Eric’s obscene moans, his weight on him and pain, an ocean of pain that he was drowning in. The other man’s jerky movements and breathless sounds, fingernails leaving long burning lines, and then finally stillness and silence, disturbed only by harsh breathing.
He didn’t know how long he lay there, the pillow underneath his face wet with tears and blood from the lip he was biting on to stop himself from screaming, but then his hands were free, his clothes thrown on the bed next to him, and Eric whispered in his ear “I told you you’d like it. Now get out of here. And if you ever think of complaining - remember, you asked for it, you little cocktease. You just got what you deserve. You don’t want anyone to know what a worthless slut you are, do you?”