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When Arkin woke up the first thing he did was look at the door. It was open. His breath quickened and he didn’t wait long before he sluggishly stood up. The last time he’d been too late The Collector had not been happy. He’d beaten him within an inch of death and it had taken Arkin weeks to heal completely. Refusing the invitation was also impossible. He began the walk towards The Collector’s room. The man didn’t have a specific room in that hellhole of a mansion. At least not one Arkin was aware of, but when he wanted the thief to join him he was always in the same place. The open door was his summons. At first Arkin had seen this as an opportunity to run and with a bit of luck escape but it didn’t take long for the devious traps to get him and then The Collector himself showed up to drag him away. His punishment had been cruel and long but he clearly didn’t learn his lesson because the second time his door was left open he ran again. He attempted to escape a total of three times before he decided it wasn’t worth it, not before he knew the lay of the land better, and he walked along the markings on the floor.
The Collector had drawn red arrows, obviously meant to lead him, all the way to another room on the same floor. Surprisingly Arkin didn’t come across a single trap as he carefully made his way along the seemingly endless hall. It still didn’t stop him from flinching at every minute sound. The last arrow disappeared under an equally bright red door. There was light filtering from under the wood and it danced across his toes. It looked out of place in the gloom and it screamed TRAP. Arkin took one last longing glance down the corridor before he pushed the door ajar. The room was bright and Arkin had to squint at first before he could figure out where he was. It was a spacious room but very empty. The only piece of furniture he could see was the huge bed directly in front of him and it wasn’t empty. Sitting there, like a king on his throne was The Collector, watching Arkin’s every uncertain move. He tried to fight the impulse, he honest to god did, but when Arkin saw that sadistic monster just sitting there without a care in the world he lost it. He lunged for him, putting all his rage and frustration into the assault but of course the killer anticipated his reaction. The scuffle, if it could even be called that, lasted seconds before Arkin was shoved face first into the soft pillows.
That had been the first night The Collector fucked him. It had been a brutal act of pure violation. He held Arkin down, twisting his arms painfully behind his back and thrust into him over and over until he was satisfied, or rather until the thief was subdued. By the time The Collector was done he’d stopped struggling and he’d stopped cursing. It was like Arkin’s spirit was floating above his body and watching himself be broken apart but unable to do anything about it. He didn’t recall how that first encounter ended since he’d been so disconnected. He hadn’t passed out but it was like someone else was driving his body around. He thought The Collector bathed him and brought him back to his room but he honestly couldn’t swear to it. Sometimes he remembered walking back by himself, naked and bruised. Sometimes he remembered lying in the large bed with his abuser, falling asleep in his arms despite the pure unadulterated hate he held for the killer.
A few nights later Arkin awoke to his door open again but this time he knew what waited for him at the end of the hallway. He decided to take his chances with the buzz saws and machetes but The Collector was waiting for him around the corner. He didn’t take more than a step before he was caught and dragged towards the room despite fighting like a cornered animal. He begged to be punished with pain instead. He’d take the beatings or the beetles or whatever other ungodly pastime The Collector came with but he begged not to take him to that room. Naturally, the more he cried and begged the harder his captor held on. That second encounter had been just as brutal and as raw except this time Arkin recalled how it ended. The Collector grabbed hold of his throat and squeezed. He squeezed until Arkin was sure he would die but he must have just passed out since he awoke in his room. It was actually just a bare room but The Collector left him there so often he’d started to think of it as his own. At first Arkin thought the whole affair had been some fever induced nightmare but then he touched the bruises on his neck and knew better.
Arkin was left alone for close to a week and he was grateful. He felt tired. Too tired to think of ways to escape like he usually did when he found a moment of peaceful solitude. He just stayed huddled in a corner, moving only when he couldn’t stave off hunger any longer. Then shortly after the door was left open again and Arkin stared accusingly at it. He didn’t move towards it for hours. He didn’t want to run away and he certainly didn’t want to go to The Collector’s room so he stayed put. There was no doubt in his mind The Collector was waiting just outside that door but he never came to get him. Arkin never left that night, eventually passing out while staring at the crack with open apprehension. When he woke up the door was still open and once more he made no move towards it. The cycle continued and Arkin would have been fine letting it go on endlessly except the food stopped coming and the thief was quickly approaching his limit. The implications were crystal clear. Arkin was free to do as he pleased but as long as he ignored The Collector’s invitation, The Collector would ignore him in turn.
He managed to last six whole days but eventually he couldn’t go on and Arkin crawled to the door. He couldn’t stand so he used whatever energy he had left to warm his way to the red door. He managed to cross the threshold before passing out. The last thing he saw was a leather booth just in front of his face. Arkin woke on a dissection table with an IV replenishing his bodily needs and fresh food on a nearby chair. He’d like to say he’d shown some dignity in the moment but the starved man descended upon the nourishment like a famished dog. Arkin was a survivor because he understood when to yield and when to fight and this was a losing battle. He couldn’t very well break away from the clutches of The Collector if he was starving to death and he’d tried multiple times to open the door to his room. He had to escape one of the nights when The Collector was feeling frisky but he needed to understand the lay of the mansion first. Until such an opportunity arose he’d have to be a good little pawn and play the sicko’s game. The thought literally made him hurl and he expelled most of the food he’d just wolfed down.
His mind was somewhat more resolute when the door opened for him next. He wasn’t at all eager but he was willing to bite down on every instinct still kicking and screaming in his battered shell of a body and take The Collector’s newest form of punishment. He’d done it twice already and survived, surely he was strong enough to keep going. He let himself in the lit room and closed the red door behind him. The Collector was standing in front of him and Arkin waited to be grabbed and forced to the bed but the other man approached him slowly. The thief refused to flinch or look away, standing as tall as he could under the circumstances, while the sadist ran a finger up his shoulder to pull at the strap of his top. That was it.
He pulled away and stared Arkin down until he understood the instruction. He had to strip, remove his defences all by himself. The Collector wanted him to offer himself up like a sacrifice. Arkin gritted his teeth and began to undress, still refusing to look away from the reflective eyes. Once bare he waited again for The Collector to swoop him away but again, things didn’t go according to his expectations. He began walking around Arkin, studying him like a piece of art. He touched a few scars and traced his tattoo but didn’t press on any healing injuries, something he always delighted in. Even when he touched a particular hot poker scar, left there from when he was a child, the sadist didn’t linger. The Collector knew from previous explorations that particular scar held a lot of trauma for Arkin and despite its age it still seemed to burn to the touch. It was the perfect way to psychologically torture the man so he couldn’t comprehend why the killer chose to bypass such low hanging fruit.
Apparently happy to move on, The Collector went to lie on the bed, his eyes focusing back on Arkin’s. The other man shivered, not altogether from the cold, and he wondered why The Collector was choosing this particular brand of cruelty. By making Arkin go to him he was taking his last defence away. He wouldn’t be able to hide behind the knowledge that he was forced and unwilling. Even if his rational brain told him he had no choice wither way, it was different if he walked the last few steps to the bed himself. The Collector surely knew this and watched him expectantly, predicting the thief’s eventual decision. Arkin’s feet began walking before his consciousness approved. He was hesitant but The Collector seemed happy to wait until he slowly climbed the ledge of the bed and crawled over.
Arkin shakily reached for The Collector’s crotch and freed his hard member, paralyzed by the thought of what he’d have to do next. The Collector reached for his chin and ran his thumb over his lips, instructing him on how to proceed. Arkin swallowed thickly and lowered his head, giving the member a hasty lick first before going at his task with more focus. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to suck cock and he knew what he was doing. He knew how to dissociate and go about the task like it was just another low paid job he had no choice but take. Eventually he felt The Collector’s hand on the back of his head, pushing just hard enough to let him know he wanted Arkin to go faster before he felt the salty taste coat his tongue. He wanted to throw up but he held himself in check, moving in time for most of the cum to shoot on his face. The Collector sighed and ran fingers through his own release, smearing it across Arkin’s cheek and lips before he pointed at the door. Arkin blinked, wondering if this was just another test. Was he seriously free to go? Was The Collector content with just this much or was he rewarding Arkin for being good with a kinder approach? Arkin decided not to question his lucky stars however and he crawled back, keeping his eyes on The Collector like he was a snake poised to strike at the slightest chance but nothing stopped him from returning back to his cage.
The next time The Collector expected more out of him but once more, Arkin was rewarded with kindness because he did his part. The Collector touched him all over and moved inside the pliant body at a leisurely pace. Arkin found no pleasure in it all and it showed but that was not The Collector’s aim, not yet. When he finished, Arkin was once again shown the door and he walked back to his dark corner, silently sobbing until sleep finally came for him. Arkin made one last escape attempt when the door opened but when The Collector trapped and brought him to his room, he didn’t fight. It was more of a tantrum than an honest desire to be free. When The Collector closed the red door behind them, Arkin stayed passive while the man had his way with him. He wasn’t as cruel as he could have been but he wasn’t pleased either and the night ended with hands clenched around his throat again though this time Arkin didn’t have the luxury of passing out.
It took some time but Arkin learned his place. He learned to answer The Collector’s summons and willingly give him the pleasure he desired. His body learned to accept the pleasure returned too though his mind continued to fight against the truth. A voice continued to whisper reassurances of playing his cards right and eventually get the hell out but that voice was becoming quieter and quieter after every encounter. He began to hate having to walk back to his room. It was so much darker and colder. He told himself it had nothing to do with The Collector himself but sometimes he’d dream about the man touching him and it’d arouse him. Something was changing inside Arkin and he didn’t know how to stop it but he knew that if he kept raging against it, it would break him completely.
Tonight the Arkin O’Brian who stood in front of the red door was not the same Arkin O’Brian who was dragged kicking and screaming inside its gaping maw. He walked in the light and began undressing without having to be told. He neared towards the bed with easy, steady steps and didn’t hesitate to approach the killer. The Collector made no move as Arkin dutifully reached for his crotch and began swallowing the twitching erection. He moved his tongue at exactly the speed The Collector liked and swallowed the member when he knew the man was growing impatient. He’d had enough practice to swallow the entire length in one go without choking on it and he knew The Collector loved it when it hit the back of his throat. He set a quick but steady pace until he felt the length jump against his tongue and Arkin pulled back. The Collector was close but he wasn’t done with the thief yet. Arkin knew how to read him and he knew what the man was in the mood for. It was all in his posture. The Collector was in the mood to spectate and Arkin had to put on a show.
He straddled the larger man’s hips, coming in closer. He began working The Collector’s length inside him, openly wincing at the burn. He wasn’t allowed to prepare and he wasn’t afforded the courtesy of lubricant, ever. The Collector may have been gentler since Arkin got with the program but he was still a sadist through and through. He liked seeing Arkin’s expression twist in pain as he fucked himself on the rigid cock. Arkin’s hips ascended and descended in an increasing tempo because he could tell The Collector was close and didn’t have the patience for him to take it slow. As if to prove his point the man’s large hands grabbed his hips and began moving Arkin up and down like he weighed nothing. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room and the thief didn’t hold back his noises of rapture. The Collector was always silent except a growl here and there and he growled now as Arkin reached for him to steady himself. Beads of precum were running down his length and he ached to touch himself but that was another rule he couldn’t break.
The Collector kept one hand on his hip, though his hips were screwing up into the quivering body of their own free will, and he curled his free fingers around Arkin’s throat. The ex-con placed his hand over the larger one but didn’t pry it away. He laboured breathing began to change to gasps as the digits constricted. His body fought against the act, every cell in his body begging to survive, but Arkin was grinning. He felt the bubble of pleasure getting tighter and tighter inside him as if mirroring the constricting grip around his neck. His eyes fluttered as everything went white and tight. Arkin felt The Collector achieve his own high a moment later, no doubt driven into a frenzy after seeing his debouched expression but Arkin barely registered the extra heat while swimming in his own molten wave. The Collector released his throat and he collapsed along the other man, sated and ashamed but unwilling to reflect on either. Every breath felt like sharp nails through his abused larynx but he knew he’d sleep better than he had in days. Arkin felt fingers ruffle his hair approvingly and he hummed his appreciation.
***
This was the first time Arkin was allowed to stay in The Collector’s room even after they finished fucking. He awoke in the middle of the night, he assumed, on soft sheets and he was disorientated for a moment. He blinked until he came back to full awareness and rolled over, expecting to find the room empty only to freeze. The Collector was there too. The Collector was asleep beside him, completely unguarded. Arkin blinked some more, refusing to believe the killer could be this stupid. For such a meticulous criminal there was no way he’d be so defenceless in the presence of a man, his victim, who swore to kill him. Arkin slowly rose, moving as quietly as possible. He touched the man’s arm, expecting the trap to spring and The Collector to turn on him. He was still wearing his mask but Arkin could see enough to tell he was asleep. His breathing was even and the rise of his chest was steady. Contrary to all rational though The Collector was indeed slumbering beside him.
Arkin glanced around the room, his heart pounding a tattoo against his ribcage. It sounded so loud in his ears he was sure it would awaken the slumbering monster but The Collector didn’t stir. He needed to find a weapon and kill him fast. He needed something sharp to slice his throat. Even The Collector would die with a cut jugular, surely. Arkin oh so carefully got out of bed and tip toed around the room. He’d grown to associate the other man with sharp pain so much he couldn’t imagine there wasn’t a knife hidden somewhere around the room. His search was slow but eventually it bore fruit. Arkin caught the glint of something below a barricaded window. Enough moonlight infiltrated between the wood bars for Arkin to locate the jagged piece of glass or perhaps it was from a mirror. It didn’t matter. It was sharp and in his hand, deadly. He tiptoed back to the bed and smoothly straddled The Collector, making sure to touch him as little as possible. His throat was exposed. He could see the flesh between the mask and the man’s black shirt.
Arkin pressed the edge of the shard against the skin, right against the vein and watched as a single drop of blood ran over the weapon. His hand was trembling and he couldn’t figure out why. All he had to do was pull and he’d be free. He could take his time figuring out the traps and eventually get out. He could save the other victims. He could see Lisa and his daughter again. He could finally kill The Collector. Arkin furrowed his brows and glanced at the sleeping face except two glowing eyes stared back. The Collector was awake and watching him curiously. He could swat Arkin away like a fly but he stayed still, leaving his life in the thief’s hands. Arkin wanted to curse him and scream his pent up rage but his trembling fingers never moved. He was crying but he couldn’t understand why. He could have everything he wanted yet he was paralysed like a puppet with cut strings. He couldn’t kill The Collector. The fact was bouncing around in his skull, a loud admission which effectively pulverized whatever hope he’d foolishly still been entertaining.
He dropped the shard and The Collector stood to meet him. Arkin refused to look at his face until the other man gave him no choice, fingers grabbing his chin painfully. His vision was blurry but when The Collector leaned to press their lips together he reflexively opened his mouth. The sadist licked away his tears, kissing his eyes while pulling the victim in closer. Arkin had just joined the collection and that meant he was loved. The Collector was never going to let him go now and the truly terrifying thought which made Arkin sob harder was, he didn’t think he wanted to leave.