bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty-one. 💛

As the weeks went by, Case flexed his newfound power. Sex with Sir became a weird game of manipulation. He learned Sir's body. What he liked, what he wanted. Case learned how to fake it—fake everything. He learned how to illicit a response from Sir, how to steer him away from inflicting harm, how to satisfy him quicker. When to cry in pain, when to feign pleasure. What he did struggle with was the random lapses between feigned and genuine pleasure. The slips of self-restraint. The moments his body reacted against his will, and he had to remind himself it was the normal response to stimulation . . . but it was getting harder to convince himself.

On the third night Sir restocked his supplies, Case decided to push the limits of his power. Time to see if he'd earned enough good faith so he could get something else in return. The idea had been on his mind for a while, something to stew over in the long lapses of loneliness. He didn't want much. Something small, which could lead to something big, like access to upstairs, to outside.

Sir had finished, now pulling his underwear back up with a whipcrack snap of elastic. Case, still naked and sore on the bed, waited until he sensed the right moment to ask. He chewed his bottom lip, watching intently as Sir gathered his clothes that he would end up taking back upstairs with him. The metal of Sir's belt buckle clanged softly. Case swallowed against his dry throat.

"Hey . . ."

Sir grunted in response, gathering up the last of his clothes, his back turned.

"I did think of something. For the supplies tub."

"What?"

"Umm . . ." He swallowed again. Cleared his throat, injected some confidence into his small voice. "Can I get a blank journal? Or a coloring book or something?" He ended in a rush. A clear rush, no chance for misunderstanding.

Sir paused, locked in a crouch. The energy in the room darkened, tightened, weighed down by a sinister presence. Case dug his fingernails into his hand, studying Sir's posture. Stiff, low to the ground, like a predator poised and alert before striking.

"No." His voice was firm, flat. He straightened his posture, carrying his clothes in a bundle at his waist. He avoided looking at Case as he made his way to leave.

Case sat up. "Why?"

"Pencils and crayons are hazards."

"How?"

"Stabbing and choking."

"Oh, come on," Case grumbled. That wasn't good enough. He got up, following Sir. "I thought I was too weak for suicide. Remember?"

Sir stopped. Turned, shoulders hunched.

Case staggered to a halt, narrowly avoiding collision. A shadow continued to darken behind Sir's face; Case panic continued to rise. "What about a blanket?" he blurted out. "Or bed sheets. Something to-to-to keep clean. Or warm. It's October now, right? It's gonna get cold, soon. Don't you want it to be clean and warm down here?"

Grim lines covered Sir's face. Between his brow, across his mouth.

C'mon, get it together, the voice scolded. He's not going to take pity on you for being an anxious mess.

Case inhaled deep, settling his nerves. Tentatively, he toyed with the silver band of Sir's wristwatch. He offered half-smile, half-whisper. "I promise not to turn it into a noose."

"No."

"Why?"

"You don't get to ask why."

Case half-smile pulled into a snarl. His fingers curled around Sir's wrist, tightening. "What if I work for it?"