shadowed [two]
Shadowed
Status: completed
Warnings: LOTS of them; see tags
Rating: R
Word Count: 102k
In the backseat of the taxi, Bill leisurely drops his hand high up on Matt's thigh. He swallows the lump of disgust and stares out the window, trying to block out Bill's whispering. He ignores the fear cowering in the pit of his stomach, resists the urge to bolt from the car, and sits still in his seat. His father will know. His father will know. His father will know.
No matter how he thinks it, the prospect is still terrifying.
House upon house upon house-
"Gonna fuck you raw-"
-dogs, children playing, someone getting held up at gunpoint in an alleyway-
"'Til you bleed, scream my-"
Desperately focusing, shoveling, a couple dancing in front of their open window, another fighting in front of theirs-
Matt nearly lets out a choke of relief when the taxi stops at Bill's house fifteen minutes later. Bill reluctantly lets go of Matt's thigh. The skin there tremors, as though even it knows of Bill's disturbing touch. Matt follows after a moment's hesitation, standing in the wind and snow while Bill pays the driver.
Bill's house, like Jon's, is deceiving. It appears just as peaceful as those surrounding it, but Matt knows better. Bill corrupts everything he touches, everything he breathes on, and if he doesn't actively push it away, Matt knows he'll break down like everything else.
A hand lands on his back between his shoulder blades and Matt lurches forward before he can think about it. Bill chuckles under his breath and pushes Matt forward to the door of the house. Matt can hear the thunk of his shoes hitting the ground, heavy, crunching the snow beneath them. Now, the burn of the snow on his face is a welcome refrain from the heat coming from Bill's hand. He wants no comfort from the man.
In the back of his head, Matt hears cars honking their horn, speeding down roads; life continues around them, however unhappily. With each step, Matt comes closer to Bill's door, where he knows he'll be shoved into the basement for the next three days until he's released, probably early Friday morning, where his father will refuse to come to pick him up. Matt shivers; Bill hums in the back of his throat as they stomp up the porch steps.
Matt takes a deep breath and counts to ten.
One - on the porch.
Two - Bill's jiggling his keys out of his pocket.
Three - his fingers dig into his neck; not painfully, just reminding.
Four - he struggles to find the right key.
Five - Bill presses it into the doorknob - six - grins - seven - and opens the door.
Matt feels like he's going to pass out. Bill does exactly what he'd expected, but he can't help but stumble his way down the first few steps into the basement. Bill laughs, throws a few cusswords Matt's way, and slams the door closed.
He's too afraid to fumble for a light. He doesn't want to see the basement, anyway. Instead, he sits at the bottom of the steps, and waits. It's then that his nerves get the best of him. Anxiety settles next to the fear in his stomach and he starts biting at his fingernails, digging his palms into his hands, hyperventilating as hypothetical images run around his head again. He knows - the sane part of him, at least - his imagination is just running wild with what it can consciously acquire from his memory, but that thought doesn't help the part of him that is currently losing his mind about being stuck in the dark, alone, in a strange house.
He isn't sure how long he sits there - five minutes, half an hour, a few hours - before Bill's voice comes from the top of the steps. Matt considers hiding, but knows that any place he would find, Bill would know about, and if did manage to hide without Bill catching him, he wouldn't be able to outrun or lie his way out of anything, and what would be waiting for him at home would be much worse than anything Bill can give him.
With this thought placed firmly in his head, Matt stays where he is. I hope he trips and breaks his neck, Matt thinks, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath of the musky basement air.
Behind him, Bill chuckles again. "Waiting for me, huh?" He takes the steps slowly, and Matt feels the vibrations from each footstep crackle along his spine. "Jon was right, you do love this."
Matt ignores him. Bill lets out a frustrated growl and floods the basement with light, but Matt's eyes aren't fast enough, and the short burst of light between Bill flipping the switch and Matt closing his eyes was more than enough to flood his mind.
"God, you're tight-"
"First time?"
He remembers reaching his arm out, veins feeling like they're exploding with heat, nerves spider-webbing across his skin - touching something wet, furry-
Recoiling from Bill's touch-
"Think I'll keep you around for a while…"
Bill's words get chopped up and turned around in his head, and when Matt puts his head between his knees, he smells ammonia.
"-experiment."
Matt releases the smallest blip of a whimper before Bill clamps his hand down around his throat.
"You remember the rules," he whispers menacingly into Matt's ear as he lowers the lights. "No screaming, no talking, no sound." With that, he wraps something that feels distantly like fabric, but stiffer, around his eyes, and shoves some sort of ball in his mouth, taping that in place, too. "Rules, don't you remember?" Bill asks, trapping Matt's Adam's apple with his thumb. Matt doesn't dare swallow. "We're not done yet…"
Matt closes his eyes tightly against the blindfold, bites down on the ball in his mouth as Bill roughly ties his hands behind his back. Even if he wasn't afraid of the repercussions of fighting him, if he dared to do it, his arms are too tired from carrying thirty pounds of dog food fifteen blocks; he couldn't stop Bill if he tried. The image of the bright basement burns against his eyelids, but he refuses to let this get the best of him.
Bill's chuckle comes from far away in the dark, as though it's from the top of the stairs, but Matt doesn't dare let his nerves calm or his muscles relax. This is nowhere near the beginning, and nowhere near the end. Matt won't let himself have even the smallest flicker of hope until Bill decides when he's ready.
For the next odd hours, Matt busies himself with trying to remember the Spanish alphabet, chemical formulas, geometrical theorems, anything to get his mind off the dripping faucet in the back of the virtually empty room in which he's helplessly lying on the floor.
He feels a spider cross the bare skin on his back a few times, and shivers every time it does. After the third time, it gets angry and bites him, sharp, and Matt lets out a low whine, like a dog, and his face instantly heats up with embarrassment.
As though he couldn't be having a worse time.
The floorboards above him squeak with the weight of Bill's body, and it takes Matt a few moments until he realizes that Bill isn't alone. He desperately wants to make out some of the words they're saying, but try as he might, he can't. Tolerating Bill is one thing; tolerating more than one is impossible. Matt's sure he'll break every single one of Bill's rules if that's the case.
Matt hears the floorboards creak with the weight of multiple people, and can't help the shudder that floods through his spine at the thought of-and the basement door opens and Bill's voice trips along the steps.
"He's young, boys, remember that. He's only used to me and three other guys, and we've never been around him at the same time. He's easily subdued, though, so don't worry about any of that…"
Matt squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to think about formulas again until Bill stops talking about him like an animal. When he's finished, it's silent in the basement, but Matt can feel someone's presence, and tenses up. When he feels someone touch his cheek, he jerks away, his cheeks heating with embarrassment again when the room erupts in laughter.
Bill wasn't touching him; someone else was - a smoother touch, a gentler touch, but touching him nonetheless. Bill laughs the loudest. "He's terrified of us!"
Matt desperately wishes that weren't true.
Another hand touches him, grazing the bare skin on his lower back, across the spider bite, and he jerks away again, trying to keep his voice in check; if he behaves, no sound, Bill might start giving him a break and ease him into threesomes or foursomes or whatever people call them now.
"Okay, boys, back down. He's a bit like a rabbit at first, you gotta break him in, work up to multiple partners-" Matt shudders. "-so you boys just watch, I'll get him all riled up and you'll slip in when I let you know…"
Matt bites down harder. It already feels like his jaw is about to pop off, but any self-injury would be welcomed compared to what Bill's got on his mind.
When Matt hears the scissors, he clenches his eyes shut, tries to relax, and counts backwards from three thousand.
He doesn't reach two thousand eight hundred before he blacks out. A welcome reprieve.
When he comes to, it's silent; oddly silent, eerily silent, and Matt's muscles tense before he realizes it hurts. He swallows back the whimper and wishes he could lie down.
Something's nuzzling against his foot; wet, furry, smelly, like ammonia and musk, and Matt really doesn't want to know what it is, but it lets out a soft little meow and licks Matt's foot gently. Matt lets out a half sob, half chuckle around the gag, and wishes he could pet the cat, even just a little, but he's not sure if a semblance of normal would help or hinder at this point. He just lets the cat purr contentedly and nuzzle around his ankles. It doesn't take much for him to black out for a second time.
The second time he wakes, the cat's gone. The ball still in his mouth, he can't speak a word, so settles for banging his head against the wall gently. Without clothes, he feels the grit of the cement floor that much worse, and the coolness of the air makes each individual hair stand on end. The floor feels wet between his legs, but Matt refuses to let himself think about it. He doesn't need his imagination to work any farther than it already has.
Matt isn't sure what to think of. It must be late, and even Bill, the creep that he is, can't stay down here all night with Matt; he has to sleep at some point. That comforts him a little, but the cat is still gone, and somehow, Matt doesn't think he's anywhere near out of the woods for the night.
His jaw aches with the effort of being forced open for hours on end. His wrists burn, rubbed raw from the rope around them, and he knows the soreness between his legs isn't just coming from sitting on the cement floor.
The week can't be over yet, he thinks, which means this is just beginning. His heart thumps wildly against his chest as he thinks about that, but he forces the thoughts of the remaining days in Bill's basement out of his mind before the anxiety settles back in.
The uncertainty about the nights events keep him awake; if waking up when it's over is possible, waking up when Bill's mid-torture is just as possible, and Matt would prefer not to experience that.
Status: completed
Warnings: LOTS of them; see tags
Rating: R
Word Count: 102k
In the backseat of the taxi, Bill leisurely drops his hand high up on Matt's thigh. He swallows the lump of disgust and stares out the window, trying to block out Bill's whispering. He ignores the fear cowering in the pit of his stomach, resists the urge to bolt from the car, and sits still in his seat. His father will know. His father will know. His father will know.
No matter how he thinks it, the prospect is still terrifying.
House upon house upon house-
"Gonna fuck you raw-"
-dogs, children playing, someone getting held up at gunpoint in an alleyway-
"'Til you bleed, scream my-"
Desperately focusing, shoveling, a couple dancing in front of their open window, another fighting in front of theirs-
Matt nearly lets out a choke of relief when the taxi stops at Bill's house fifteen minutes later. Bill reluctantly lets go of Matt's thigh. The skin there tremors, as though even it knows of Bill's disturbing touch. Matt follows after a moment's hesitation, standing in the wind and snow while Bill pays the driver.
Bill's house, like Jon's, is deceiving. It appears just as peaceful as those surrounding it, but Matt knows better. Bill corrupts everything he touches, everything he breathes on, and if he doesn't actively push it away, Matt knows he'll break down like everything else.
A hand lands on his back between his shoulder blades and Matt lurches forward before he can think about it. Bill chuckles under his breath and pushes Matt forward to the door of the house. Matt can hear the thunk of his shoes hitting the ground, heavy, crunching the snow beneath them. Now, the burn of the snow on his face is a welcome refrain from the heat coming from Bill's hand. He wants no comfort from the man.
In the back of his head, Matt hears cars honking their horn, speeding down roads; life continues around them, however unhappily. With each step, Matt comes closer to Bill's door, where he knows he'll be shoved into the basement for the next three days until he's released, probably early Friday morning, where his father will refuse to come to pick him up. Matt shivers; Bill hums in the back of his throat as they stomp up the porch steps.
Matt takes a deep breath and counts to ten.
One - on the porch.
Two - Bill's jiggling his keys out of his pocket.
Three - his fingers dig into his neck; not painfully, just reminding.
Four - he struggles to find the right key.
Five - Bill presses it into the doorknob - six - grins - seven - and opens the door.
Matt feels like he's going to pass out. Bill does exactly what he'd expected, but he can't help but stumble his way down the first few steps into the basement. Bill laughs, throws a few cusswords Matt's way, and slams the door closed.
He's too afraid to fumble for a light. He doesn't want to see the basement, anyway. Instead, he sits at the bottom of the steps, and waits. It's then that his nerves get the best of him. Anxiety settles next to the fear in his stomach and he starts biting at his fingernails, digging his palms into his hands, hyperventilating as hypothetical images run around his head again. He knows - the sane part of him, at least - his imagination is just running wild with what it can consciously acquire from his memory, but that thought doesn't help the part of him that is currently losing his mind about being stuck in the dark, alone, in a strange house.
He isn't sure how long he sits there - five minutes, half an hour, a few hours - before Bill's voice comes from the top of the steps. Matt considers hiding, but knows that any place he would find, Bill would know about, and if did manage to hide without Bill catching him, he wouldn't be able to outrun or lie his way out of anything, and what would be waiting for him at home would be much worse than anything Bill can give him.
With this thought placed firmly in his head, Matt stays where he is. I hope he trips and breaks his neck, Matt thinks, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath of the musky basement air.
Behind him, Bill chuckles again. "Waiting for me, huh?" He takes the steps slowly, and Matt feels the vibrations from each footstep crackle along his spine. "Jon was right, you do love this."
Matt ignores him. Bill lets out a frustrated growl and floods the basement with light, but Matt's eyes aren't fast enough, and the short burst of light between Bill flipping the switch and Matt closing his eyes was more than enough to flood his mind.
"God, you're tight-"
"First time?"
He remembers reaching his arm out, veins feeling like they're exploding with heat, nerves spider-webbing across his skin - touching something wet, furry-
Recoiling from Bill's touch-
"Think I'll keep you around for a while…"
Bill's words get chopped up and turned around in his head, and when Matt puts his head between his knees, he smells ammonia.
"-experiment."
Matt releases the smallest blip of a whimper before Bill clamps his hand down around his throat.
"You remember the rules," he whispers menacingly into Matt's ear as he lowers the lights. "No screaming, no talking, no sound." With that, he wraps something that feels distantly like fabric, but stiffer, around his eyes, and shoves some sort of ball in his mouth, taping that in place, too. "Rules, don't you remember?" Bill asks, trapping Matt's Adam's apple with his thumb. Matt doesn't dare swallow. "We're not done yet…"
Matt closes his eyes tightly against the blindfold, bites down on the ball in his mouth as Bill roughly ties his hands behind his back. Even if he wasn't afraid of the repercussions of fighting him, if he dared to do it, his arms are too tired from carrying thirty pounds of dog food fifteen blocks; he couldn't stop Bill if he tried. The image of the bright basement burns against his eyelids, but he refuses to let this get the best of him.
Bill's chuckle comes from far away in the dark, as though it's from the top of the stairs, but Matt doesn't dare let his nerves calm or his muscles relax. This is nowhere near the beginning, and nowhere near the end. Matt won't let himself have even the smallest flicker of hope until Bill decides when he's ready.
For the next odd hours, Matt busies himself with trying to remember the Spanish alphabet, chemical formulas, geometrical theorems, anything to get his mind off the dripping faucet in the back of the virtually empty room in which he's helplessly lying on the floor.
He feels a spider cross the bare skin on his back a few times, and shivers every time it does. After the third time, it gets angry and bites him, sharp, and Matt lets out a low whine, like a dog, and his face instantly heats up with embarrassment.
As though he couldn't be having a worse time.
The floorboards above him squeak with the weight of Bill's body, and it takes Matt a few moments until he realizes that Bill isn't alone. He desperately wants to make out some of the words they're saying, but try as he might, he can't. Tolerating Bill is one thing; tolerating more than one is impossible. Matt's sure he'll break every single one of Bill's rules if that's the case.
Matt hears the floorboards creak with the weight of multiple people, and can't help the shudder that floods through his spine at the thought of-and the basement door opens and Bill's voice trips along the steps.
"He's young, boys, remember that. He's only used to me and three other guys, and we've never been around him at the same time. He's easily subdued, though, so don't worry about any of that…"
Matt squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to think about formulas again until Bill stops talking about him like an animal. When he's finished, it's silent in the basement, but Matt can feel someone's presence, and tenses up. When he feels someone touch his cheek, he jerks away, his cheeks heating with embarrassment again when the room erupts in laughter.
Bill wasn't touching him; someone else was - a smoother touch, a gentler touch, but touching him nonetheless. Bill laughs the loudest. "He's terrified of us!"
Matt desperately wishes that weren't true.
Another hand touches him, grazing the bare skin on his lower back, across the spider bite, and he jerks away again, trying to keep his voice in check; if he behaves, no sound, Bill might start giving him a break and ease him into threesomes or foursomes or whatever people call them now.
"Okay, boys, back down. He's a bit like a rabbit at first, you gotta break him in, work up to multiple partners-" Matt shudders. "-so you boys just watch, I'll get him all riled up and you'll slip in when I let you know…"
Matt bites down harder. It already feels like his jaw is about to pop off, but any self-injury would be welcomed compared to what Bill's got on his mind.
When Matt hears the scissors, he clenches his eyes shut, tries to relax, and counts backwards from three thousand.
He doesn't reach two thousand eight hundred before he blacks out. A welcome reprieve.
When he comes to, it's silent; oddly silent, eerily silent, and Matt's muscles tense before he realizes it hurts. He swallows back the whimper and wishes he could lie down.
Something's nuzzling against his foot; wet, furry, smelly, like ammonia and musk, and Matt really doesn't want to know what it is, but it lets out a soft little meow and licks Matt's foot gently. Matt lets out a half sob, half chuckle around the gag, and wishes he could pet the cat, even just a little, but he's not sure if a semblance of normal would help or hinder at this point. He just lets the cat purr contentedly and nuzzle around his ankles. It doesn't take much for him to black out for a second time.
The second time he wakes, the cat's gone. The ball still in his mouth, he can't speak a word, so settles for banging his head against the wall gently. Without clothes, he feels the grit of the cement floor that much worse, and the coolness of the air makes each individual hair stand on end. The floor feels wet between his legs, but Matt refuses to let himself think about it. He doesn't need his imagination to work any farther than it already has.
Matt isn't sure what to think of. It must be late, and even Bill, the creep that he is, can't stay down here all night with Matt; he has to sleep at some point. That comforts him a little, but the cat is still gone, and somehow, Matt doesn't think he's anywhere near out of the woods for the night.
His jaw aches with the effort of being forced open for hours on end. His wrists burn, rubbed raw from the rope around them, and he knows the soreness between his legs isn't just coming from sitting on the cement floor.
The week can't be over yet, he thinks, which means this is just beginning. His heart thumps wildly against his chest as he thinks about that, but he forces the thoughts of the remaining days in Bill's basement out of his mind before the anxiety settles back in.
The uncertainty about the nights events keep him awake; if waking up when it's over is possible, waking up when Bill's mid-torture is just as possible, and Matt would prefer not to experience that.