Blue Eyes (boyxboy)

Third

Oliver stared down at where Simon rested against him. He was molded perfectly to Oliver's form while his head rested on his shoulder. His dark hair was matted to his forehead and Oliver's chest by sweat.

Swallowing hard, Oliver tried to relax, to let himself rest, but it was hard. He'd been bad, hadn't done what he was supposed to. He'd kept Simon from coming, and he wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to simply pleasure him, not torture him until he was begging for a mercy Oliver had no intention of giving very quickly.

Grinding his teeth, he kept perfectly still. He knew his hands were cuffed to the headboard. It was impossible for him not to know: he'd been the one to get the key from Silvia, unlock Simon, then lock himself up. No help required: he'd done it enough times before, he knew the drill.

Still, knowing he was trapped like this and feeling the metal cutting into his skin as he tried to escape were two different things.

Breathing through the terror and memories clogging his mind, Oliver breathed in through his nose, taking in the smell of Simon. The dark spices scent that made his boyfriend so unique.

The voices of the past tried to rise, but he beat them down. He wouldn't allow them to ruin his memories of Simon. They were all he had that was good, and he wouldn't let anything destroy their purity.

Still, something deep inside him said that something was coming for him, and Oliver's instincts had only led him astray once. The night he'd made the decision not to go to supper, to let his little brother eat alone in the hall.

His heart breaking at the memory, he tried to silence his mind, but it was nearly impossible. The only thing that grounded him was Simon's steady breathing; the smell of him.

Focusing on his boyfriend, Oliver tried to sleep. He tried to get comfortable, but it didn't work. Every time he managed to fall half asleep, he'd move his arms, and the reality of the cuffs would come back.

"Why me, pere? Why do you hurt me so? What did I do wrong?" The memory of when his pere - his father - had tied him to the pole in the back yard, bare-assed and freezing, surfaced for a moment.

Oliver shuddered and stared up at the ceiling, suddenly resigned to not sleeping ever again. His mind was tired, but he would deal with it. He had survived on fewer hours of sleep than he had the past three days. He could go another night.

'Cause really, what was four nights of sleeplessness compared to dreaming of a lifetime of hell?

Simon came awake to feel himself cuddled against a hard, defined body. Breathing in through his nose, he smiled at the smell of Oliver. Dark and musky, his lover's scent was unmistakable.

He opened his eyes, and his smile immediately dropped. "Oliver?"

Tormented green eyes stared up at the ceiling. "What?"

Simon wasn't sure what to say.  His boyfriend was cuffed to the headboard on his back, and from the bruises around his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept at all last night. "You okay?" he finally managed.

After a minute, Oliver took a deep breath and looked over at him. Simon sat up next to him, frowning.

"I'm fine, Sim." He motioned with a movement of his head to the handcuffs. "You wanted me restrained?"

Simon tensed at the wording. He didn't want Oliver restrained; he wanted him strung up with pleasure. He wanted his lover to feel the very same, intense, mind-numbing ecstasy he'd felt last night.

A shiver ran through him at the memory. He had no idea where Oliver had learned the extensive sexual knowledge, but it spoke volumes of what had been done to him.