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The mattress slides against the dusty floor and the corner walls. My hands are vices on his upper arms, and I can feel the muscles and bones shift in my grip as we move. I rut against him hard but slow, savoring each breathy grunt I draw from his covered mouth. He hasn’t said a word yet.
I wish I had the courage to taste him. I wish I had the courage to discard our masks for a moment and see if he still tasted like I remember, or if the smell of pond water and the rusty flavor of blood have taken over the man I knew.
In the back of my mind, a dry, sour voice reminds me that he probably still tastes like Alex from the night before. Blood and lead and melted plastic. I’m painfully aware of the dried cum on the edge of his mask, hidden by the rest of the grime. My hips grind against his. I use all my weight and strength so I’m sure he’ll bruise. I squeeze him even harder and my leather gloves squeak along with the rusty mattress springs. It didn’t start out this way, but now my vision is blurred with black ink and anger.
I saw them in the concrete shack. On my good days I can find my way around the entirety of Rosswood even in the dark, and yesterday I was tracking Brian. He moved like a ghost-- there one moment, then vanished without a trace. He was able to escape me for several hours, and then appear again just when I thought I’d lost him completely. It was maddening to think he was toying with me, but arousing to think it was by choice that he kept up the chase.
I would say it was luck that eventually let me catch him, but that would be a lie. I caught up to him at the concrete shack, but not out of skill. He was distracted.
I never wanted to see what I saw. I never wanted to know that Alex meant anything to Brian. The star of Marble Hornets, and the director. A pairing that I’d always thought to be too cliche to actually happen. But it turns out the two of them had been wrapped up in this from the start, and I was blind to it for all of eight years. I saw him on his knees with Alex’s dick in his mouth, without a gun to his head. Alex didn’t even force him-- he just knew what to do, like a trained dog.
I smash my hips against his.
“H-hurts,” he whispers, his breath scarce and muffled by the mask.
He’s not telling me to stop, but I feel him shaking. I do my best to banish those images from my mind, and focus on what’s happening now. I take a deep breath through my nose and lessen my grip slightly. I’ve already made my mark on his body, but that will fade with time. Now I will make one in his memory that will stay with him forever. And I’ll make him forget all about Alex.
His stomach is slick with pre from both of us. He’s been rock-hard since I started, and our cocks slide and press together sloppily. I let go of his arms and hold his hip down instead, as my other hand wraps around his dick. He yelps a bit as I start jacking him off, my glove getting slippery, and then I press myself into my hand at the same time. He shudders, head falling back against the mattress, his hips jolting up to meet the pressure every few seconds as he gets closer to his release.
Then I use both hands. The supple leather of my gloves is slick with sweat and pre, and I make a tight channel for both of us. I can feel his length throbbing against mine. He suddenly grabs my jacket collar and my shoulder, trying to pull me over him more, his motions begging me to consume him.
“Ghh, oh, oh, fu--uck!” I hear him gasp, feel him tense and shiver in my hands, and he comes all over my gloves and his stomach.
I’m so transfixed, watching and listening to him, that my orgasm takes me by surprise and it’s ripped out of me as I watch him shudder in aftershocks. I shoot hard into my gloves, rutting erratically against his deflating member, my mind filled with blank pleasure.
Several moments later I can barely keep myself from falling on top of him. I shift backwards on my knees and grab a corner of the ratty blanket to clean us off. He doesn’t make a sound.
I lean back against the wall and stare at him as I catch my breath. I wonder if he passed out already. I button my jeans and stand up to leave.
“No, wait,” he says, voice shaky, almost like he was crying. “Please.”
He zips up his jeans, then moves to one side of the mattress and stretches an arm up to me in invitation. He wants me to lie down with him?
I’m moving before my brain can catch up to my body. I lie on my side behind him, pressed up against his back. He’s so warm. This is not what I should be doing. If Alex knows where this place is, he could be back at any time. I should leave.
But against my better judgement, I stay. I’ll close my eyes, just for a few minutes. Brian pulls my arm over his chest and holds it against his heart.
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