Chapter Text
Notim gives the delivery driver a hmph of acknowledgement as he briefly checks inside of the plastic bag - everything he ordered is there, so he retreats back inside and shuts the door on the teenager’s face. “I’ve got something for you,” he drawls as he lets the bag handle dangle off his index finger. He sets it down on top of a couple cigarette butts, making some roll off. They fall to the carpet, adding to the ring - or rather, rectangle - of trash around the table. P1 whines a bit, making pitiful efforts to shuffle forwards on the couch. He tosses his head to the side to move hair out of his face, blinking repeatedly at the assortment of food packed tightly into plastic containers, like he’s in disbelief. Notim pulls out the last one and discards the bag on the floor.
“Is- is that for me?” P1 asks, a bit desperately. Notim looks up at him, letting his face morph into the closest thing that P1’s seen to a smile on his face. “‘Course,” He pulls off the lids of one of the containers, and P1 shuffles forward a bit more. “Easy,” Notim glances back at his captive. He breaks apart the two wooden chopsticks and holds up a generous mouthful of fried rice to P1. He nearly falls off the edge of the couch trying to lean forward to get the food in his mouth. It’s not even particularly good. The rice is dry, and so is the chicken. The chef clearly went too heavy on the salt, but to P1, it’s a sublime taste of heaven. He practically inhales his first bite as Notim digs up more rice onto the chopsticks. P1 enthusiastically scarfs down his next serving too. And the next. And the next. He has to take gasping breaths after the next one, swallowing with effort. “Oh, sir! Oh, thank you, sir. You are so-”
“Just eat,” Notim shoves the end of the chopsticks back into P1’s mouth mid-babble. He’s clearly caught off guard, but he doesn’t complain, chewing the rice with the same fervency that he had before. It only takes him a couple of minutes to finish the container down to the last few grains of white rice. Notim places the empty container aside and opens another; it’s noodles with some kind of sauce on them. And prawns. Lots of prawns. Notim wraps a great heaping of noodles around the chopsticks, bringing them back up to P1. He eats, of course, but his pace has slowed since the rice. Notim frowns a bit and picks a few grains of rice out of P1’s hair before serving him again. “Fucking pig,” he mutters. P1 is too busy chewing to hear.
He finishes that container down to the bottom too. When Notim holds up a third full container, P1 hesitates. “I’m- I’m full. Thank you, though. Thank you.”
“Since when was it established that you had a choice?”
“…What?”
“Eat. Pig.” Notim spits, forcing chopsticks that are holding a floret of broccoli between P1’s lips. He can’t exactly fight back, you know, considering the being-in-a-straitjacket situation and all, so eat he does.
Notim’s just stuffing him now. He’s feeding P1 like he’s gutloading him, and it feels like he ordered enough food to feed a football team (No, seriously. Does it ever end?) P1 gags a bit midway through the fourth box of food and Notim quickly mashes his palm against his mouth, scowling. “Keep it down.” P1 whimpers. “Keep. It. Down.”
He swallows. Notim resumes. After they finish up on the fifth container, Notim graciously allows P1 a small break, petting the top of his head. “Just two more, kiddo.” P1 vigorously shakes his head at that. “Please. I can’t- I’ll be sick. Please.”
“You can handle it.” Notim’s eyes drag across his captive. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” P1 replies near-instantly, “No, sir- of course not, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” Notim opens another container. P1 can’t even hold his head up anymore, laying limp on his side and simply allowing food to be shovelled into him, mouthful after mouthful. He’s chewing pathetically slow at this point, but he never stops, so that must count for something. His stomach feels like it’s overflowing, packed full of shitty Chinese takeout. It was stupid of him to think that this was just food with no strings attached in the first place. God, why would it have just been food? Nothing’s ever just anything.
P1’s bottom lip gets poked again. He doesn’t even know what he’s eating anymore, he just opens his mouth lamely and lets it happen. He tastes bile after his next mouthful, but miraculously, nothing comes of it. The acidic flavour is replaced by more food. Notim hums, taking the last bite for himself. The last bite of that box, that is. He places the container on top of the pile. When he shovels food from the last box down P1’s throat, it’s lukewarm. Had it been that long? P1 doesn’t want to think about that, so he eats instead. Surely his stomach was going to rupture soon. Maybe it would, and he’d die. That doesn’t sound so bad, in comparison to being agonisingly nauseous.
“You’ve only got this much left. You can fit it in,” Notim purrs at his captive. P1 groans like he’s been sucker punched - he takes another mouthful anyway. He can make him proud, he has to. “Look at you go,” Notim says halfheartedly. P1 can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s proving to be decent motivation. The threat of being beat is also such, but P1 has been trying to ignore that this whole time. It's a fickle thing.
After far too long, Notim places the last empty container on top of the finished pile. P1 glances towards them and it makes him gag, so he stares at the roof instead, laying on his back in an attempt to alleviate the dull pain in his stomach. He gets pulled onto Notim’s lap as he lights himself a joint. P1 gets smoke blown in his face.
Eventually, P1 has had enough of holding it in. He glances up towards Notim, who looks right back down. It's a stare that intimidates P1 enough so that he stops making eye contact before speaking up. “…Sir. Um. I've. I've gotta go.”
Something pokes his back, P1 can only assume Notim's knee. (It feels a bit higher than that, actually). He leans into the back of the couch and palms his stubble. “Thought you weren't gonna ask and just shit your pants.” And P1 doesn't have a chance to get another word out before he's being dragged to the bathroom by one of the belts on his straitjacket. At least Notim was honouring his request? He was known for not allowing him the toilet. On occasion.
P1 flinches once cold air hits his erogenous zones… and now he's being manhandled to sit on the bowl. Notim steps back and just stares. P1 looks at the floor to try alleviate the uncomfortable feeling, but it doesn't help. He bows his head downwards and mutters out a small “Um, sir? I can't go with you watching… sorry.”
Notim frowns. “You’d better learn real fucking fast. I’m not letting you off until you go.”
P1’s stomach curls in on itself. Would he really humiliate himself like this in front of him?
That’s a stupid question. He’s already done that multiple times in the past. Licked Notim’s boots clean, been kicked in the stomach until he pissed himself, used as an ashtray. He’s done it all.
At least, he thinks he has.
He decides, hesitantly, he has nothing left to lose. So he pushes. Gravity has already been doing some work, so it’s coming out easier than anticipated. Which is weird, considering he’d been loaded with food that he was pretty sure was guaranteed to give him digestive problems. Or maybe it coming out easy is the concerning part. He steals an upwards glance, and Notim is still staring. He’s staring like he’s interested, actually. P1’s cheeks warm up. There’s no stopping now, though; he’s past the point of no return.
Notim palms the front of his pants when he hears the first log drop in the water. Jesus, he’s been hard this entire time, but that? That almost sent him over the edge. The fact that P1 would allow himself to look this pitiful - this depraved. No normal person would be as easy as he is being in this situation. They’d argue. They’d fight back. But here P1 was, playing the perfect captive, acting out Notim’s most deep-set fantasies. He swallows the lump that had formed in his throat and kneels beside P1. He flinches, but he doesn’t move otherwise.
Dick pressed against the front of his pants, Notim leans against P1. The scent is fucking putrid, but it only serves to turn him on further. He grasps hostage’s thigh just as he pushes more shit out - P1 has this frazzled look on his face when Notim touches him, and he can feel as his muscles tense under his skin.
“Fuck,” Notim mutters. P1 doesn’t say anything. The silence that follows is palpable.
He can’t pace himself anymore.
“Get the fuck over here, pig.” P1 yelps - yeah, yelps - as he gets yanked off the toilet seat and onto the floor by his straitjacket. It’s mere moments later until he’s thrown up against the front of the bowl, bent over it so that he has no choice but to look at his own mess. And he’s whining out pathetic, squeaky little “stop, stop”-s, but Notim already has his dick over the top of his waistband. As he presses the tip against P1’s clenched hole, he forces P1’s head deeper in the bowl, tugging his hair at the roots. The head of his cock slips in, but Notim immediately removes it. P1 doesn’t question that. He’s just happy it’s not inside at the moment.
Notim almost cums again at the sight of brown. He pushes back inside, and apparently P1 still had some more in him, because he can’t fit all of it in. That’s not a problem at all. He just presses his tip against it harsher, raping it right back up P1’s rectal passage. P1 sobs hysterically as Notim inserts himself again, torturously. For him, not for P1, of course. He holds the straps of the straitjacket like he’s holding reins on a horse. He’s not nice about it, (when is he ever nice in general?) the pace is brutal. He’s fucking like he wants to kill P1.
Only, he doesn’t. He very well could kill him if he wanted to. But P1 is far too precious to become just another body that Notim will use for a few days, then discard in the river behind his house. He’s quiet, he does as he’s told, and he knows his place. Sure, it took a few weeks of breaking his mind, of blood-soaked torture, but Notim’s work has paid off, he thinks as he fucks the scat-smeared hole, inserting up to the hilt each time he pushes back inside.
There’s only a few more blissful moments before he tips over the edge - Notim knows that. So he’ll make the best of it. He picks up his pace, practically slamming into P1, who’s since stopped making any kind of noises apart from heavy panting. Notim pauses on one of the thrusts, just long enough to besmirch his palm and fingertips with P1’s shit, right from the source. He resumes at the same speed he’d left off at, managing to fuck out a breathless whine from his rapemeat.
“Shut the fuck up,” he grits out at that. Fine. P1 gets forced to straighten up in a moment of reprieve. But only a moment. A hand reaches around from behind to cup his face, and two fingers find their way into his mouth. P1 nearly throws up.
“C’mon. You’re such a fucking pig, you know you want to eat your own slop.” He bullies his fingers down to the back of P1’s tongue. P1’s trying to spit him up in vain, making these tortured ahs and mnghs in his throat all the while. That just pisses Notim off more. He smears the mess against the flat of P1’s tongue, making very sure that he can taste it.
He really is vile.
Who? P1, of course. Because just when Notim thought he was going to have to beat some sense into him, he feels lips suction around his fingers.
Perfect.
He fucks into P1 - deep. Like he’s trying to fuck up into his kidneys or something. His finish is searing. Sticky and hot. It’s pummelling him, lighting up the ends of all his veins. Pulling out directly after is a necessary evil so that he doesn't crumple on top of P1. He’s left kneeling behind him, breathing in long gasps.
It doesn’t take long to get soft again, which allows Notim to tuck himself back into his pants. By the time he gets up, P1 has already flopped onto the floor tiles. Notim stares at him for a long while, with this look like he’s contemplating about what to do with him next. He’s not cleaning P1 up, that’s a given, he thinks, lolling his head from side to side. He’s weighing something up in his head. Then, he dunks his hand into the toilet.
Yeah.
He has to hold it with an amount of care that’s unfamiliar to Notim so that it doesn’t fall apart in his hand. “Here - replenish your electrolytes.” P1 is only able to glance up for a moment - one so brief that he doesn’t even have a chance to protest before Notim forces his jaw open, stuffing more shit in him. Notim sneers. He chuckles to himself as P1 starts writhing against his restraints on the floor, looking like a fish out of water.
“You’ll swallow if you know what’s good for you.”
What’s the saying? What goes around comes around?