It starts like this: Adam, naked and on his knees with his hands clasped behind his back. The chill from the floor seeps up into his skin, and his kneecaps ache from contact with the hardwood. Nigel prowls around him like a wild thing, looking down on him from on high.
It starts like this.
“Open your fucking mouth,” Nigel growls, and Adam whimpers.
“I don’t want to.”
He does. He doesn’t. It doesn’t matter because Nigel grips him by the hair and pulls, just hard enough to tilt his head back. He drags his eyes up to Nigel’s face just in time to see the smirk that twists across his lips.
“Did I fucking ask what you want?”
He does as he’s told. He opens. Nigel’s fingers are in his mouth immediately, two of them dragging over his tongue, pushing into the back of his throat and making him gag. He tries to turn his head, but Nigel doesn’t let him. He’s held fast by the hand at the nape of his neck, keeping him in place while Nigel plays with his mouth, dragging his fingers in and out while Adam’s eyes water.
He closes his lips and sucks, and it draws an approving groan from Nigel, makes him push further in. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on Adam’s face, streaking saliva across his cheek. It’s embarrassing, and it makes his cock jump. He’s leaking on the floor, desperate with wanting.
“You’re a pretty little whore, aren’t you?” Nigel asks, and Adam moans. “Got a mouth made for sucking cock, so pretty and red.” He lets Adam go with a final shake of the hand fisted in his hair. “Now don’t fucking move.”
Adam doesn’t move. He waits, panting, while Nigel unzips his pants and shoves them down around his hips. He’s bigger than Adam remembers, hard and glistening at the tip, and he strokes himself once, twice. He looks at Adam like Adam is prey. It makes him feel prickly and hot, even though he’s naked and the room is cold.
Nigel’s face softens, becomes someone Adam recognizes again. He touches Adam’s cheek gently. “Is this okay, darling?” He asks. “Are you alright?”
Adam nods because he doesn’t trust his voice.
Nigel takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
Then the fierce grip is back at the back of Adam’s head, and Nigel jerks him back by the hair hard this time, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and make him cry out. Nigel brings his cock to Adam’s mouth, painting pre-come across his lips. It’s bitter and salty when he darts his tongue out to taste.
“Open your mouth,” Nigel says again, and Adam shakes his head.
He struggles because it’s okay if he struggles. Because Nigel is here and he’s got him. Nigel slaps him in the face, hard enough that he sees lights where a heavy palm catches him in the eye. It startles him more than it hurts, but there’s a sharp sting in his face when Nigel uses the moment of surprise to force his way into Adam’s mouth.
He shoves his way in deep, so deep that Adam’s choking, throat working to push the intrusion out. Nigel pins him there and starts to thrust, working his hips in little shallow motions that mean he pulls out just enough to give Adam little sips of breath before plunging back in.
Tears are running down his face, and he’s gagging, and Adam clenches his hands together tight, so hard that the nails bite into his palms. This is good, or it’s bad—or it’s something else completely and good and bad don’t actually mean anything anymore—
And then Nigel swears and pulls out, pulling away and leaving Adam bereft.
Adam blinks, trying to come back from wherever it is he’s gone, sorting through the situation and trying to understand why Nigel’s used his safeword.
Nigel sits heavily beside Adam, dragging a hand over his face. His cock is laying against his thigh, halfway to soft while he mutters something in Romanian. He switches to English to say, “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I just can’t. Anything—fucking anything else. I can’t watch you cry like that. I love you. I just can’t do that to you.”
“It’s okay,” Adam says, voice small. “But you hurt people for a living. You sell drugs, and you hurt people, so I thought it would be okay. I didn’t know it would be so bad for you. I thought maybe you’d like it. I was hoping you would. He liked it.” His voice is raw from tears and rough treatment, and Nigel looks stricken when he hears it. “Are the things I want that wrong?”
“C’mere, baby, please?” He holds a hand out to Adam, who shuffles forward on his knees until his body meets Nigel’s.
Adam’s still hard, but that seems unimportant now. Nigel folds his arms around Adam, leans them both back so he’s resting against the back of the couch and Adam is resting against him. He buries his face in Adam’s hair and breathes in deep, shuddering. He is warm and solid and real.
He is so upset, and Adam did this.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He tugs at Nigel’s sleeve. “Nigel, I’m sorry,” and then he starts to cry.
Nigel shushes and gentles him through the tears, (“It’s fine, darling. Everything’s alright. I’m fine and you’re fine, yeah?”) and it only makes him cry harder.