Chapter Text
we take things a little far but you couldn't name a place i wouldn't go with you
a plane, a train, a car, i'd run; if i was dead, i'd float
i'd crawl in bed with you, even over someone else's love
on top of someone else's blood
(- amigo the devil, 'hell and you')
Everything is white.
The blinding, sterile white of cheap LED lightbulbs.
The shoddy paintjob of a stranger's eggshell walls.
Gordie's tighty whities, pulled halfway to his knees, and the thick cum streaking Niall's belly.
Downstairs, the party continues. Music seeps through the floor. The Sex Pistols, backed by three dozen screeching teenagers, make the bed rock. Or maybe those are just Gordie's final, shuddering thrusts.
Niall's dick went soft ages ago. He turns his head to the side and waits for it to be over.
And then— glorious, blazing red. A face seething with anger. A familiar jersey, strained across broad shoulders and a blustering chest.
“Fucking nonce,” Ruben snarls. He heaves the man forward, dragging him by the collar like a dog. Gordie’s lower lip trembles as he staggers from the bed. He casts Niall one last pleading glance before taking a punch to the abdomen, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to his knees. “The hell’re you doing with my little brother, you sick bastard?”
Niall never heard the door open. Or slam shut, for that matter. They're alone with no witnesses.
He thinks Gordie might be a dead man.
“He asked for it!” Gordie wheezes, already winded. He looks so bug-eyed and pathetic on the floor that Niall feels nauseated. He wonders how he'd almost let this creep take his virginity. The other one, he means. The one Ruben couldn't take care of.
“Oh, did he now?” Ruben jeers, cocking his head. Looming over Gordie, he’s all flared nostrils, bared teeth, and white-knuckled fists. “My brother was so desperate for some potbellied fag, huh? Asked you to rut on him like a fucking mongrel? Jesus Christ.”
Ruben drives his foot into Gordie’s ribs so hard the bones click. Niall doesn’t flinch. His cock, which had wilted under Gordie’s touch, gives a curious twitch.
He inhales, sharply.
“He didn’t hurt me, Ruben. And I— I didn’t say no.”
Niall did more than that. Gordie’s telling the truth: he had asked for it. He’d approached the stranger who kept leering at him because under the right lighting, Gordie’s eyes were a familiar blue, and he smiled in the same twisty, lopsided way that–
That Ruben did.
So, braced with liquid courage, Niall suggested they find a room. Gordie didn’t know his name or age. Didn’t ask for them, either. He appraised Niall like a piece of meat, like a fuckthing and not a person. Then Gordie’s large hand had squeezed his arm, so big the fingers overlapped, and the older man yanked him up the stairs.
Arousal had pooled low in Niall’s belly, a swell of liquid heat that made his toes curl. Shame was a heady afterthought.
Ruben scoffs disbelievingly. Kicks Gordie again, this time in the stomach. The man groans and curls in on himself like a dead bug. “Don’t you dare stick up for this piece of shit. Wannabe fucking rapist. As if he gave you the chance.”
“But he did.” Gordie spasms violently when Ruben stomps on his side. The sounds are gruesome, and wet, and much more erotic than the moans of pleasure he let out earlier. Meeting his brother’s narrowed eyes, Niall swallows thickly. “And I didn’t, Ruben. I didn’t say no. I wanted it.”
He must be suicidal. The dangerous glint in Ruben’s eye suggests he's thinking the same thing.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Niall. You just can’t. Because, from over here, it sounds like you’re telling me you wanted this perv to wank off on you. I mean, Jesus fuck. It looks like cat puke.”
Gordie’s cum does look like vomit. Same colour, same gelatinous texture. Somewhat milky. Wrinkling his nose, Niall uses the bedsheets to wipe it from his stomach.
“I didn’t think that far ahead,” he admits.
Ruben looks sick. His fists tremble at his sides but, other than that, he hangs still for what feels like minutes. They stare at each other while Gordie plays dead. Something intense and unnameable passes between them. By the end of it, Ruben only looks more nauseous.
“You’re drunk,” he says finally. He stoops down and hawks a gob of spit into Gordie’s face, rubbing it in with his heel. “You’re drunk off your ass and this bastard took advantage of you.”
“I wanted it,” Niall tries again, meekly. It doesn’t sound convincing anymore.
Gordie starts crawling and Ruben takes one perfunctory step after him, right onto his outstretched hand. Fingers crunch. The man slumps like a puppet with its strings cut. He barely even responds to the next blow.
“I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t.”
“I’ll fucking put him in the ground.”
“Ruben, don’t.”
“Don’t you get it, Bambi? You’re off your face and saying stupid shit you’d never say sober and this guy— this guy’s grown. He’s not a kid, he’s not one of us. He’s probably got a wife back home and a kid and— and— here he is, touching you. Even when he knows you don’t want him. When everybody knows you don’t want him.”
Niall stares. It feels like he can’t breathe. There’s a long silence, punctuated only by Gordie’s snivelling. “Why?”
Ruben rears his leg back like he’s imagining a ball through a goal. The ball being Gordie’s face.
He kicks the man so ferociously, his nose snaps to the side.
Gordie wails. The bone makes a crinkling sound when nudged and his sobbing takes on a leaky quality. Red climax. If he tilts his head back, all that blood will surge down his oesophagus. His mouth must taste of metal and the sole of Ruben’s shoe. Niall drinks the image in. Then, his stare returns to his brother, where it belongs.
Ruben’s chest is heaving. He abandons Gordie to advance on Niall, planting both hands on the mattress and leaning in close.
“Because you want me.”