Blue Eyes (boyxboy)

Forth

Simon growled as he set down his glass of milk. Oliver hadn’t come out yet, and he knew it. To reach the front door, he would have to pass by the kitchen. "I swear. What did he do, crawl out the window?"

At the thought of Oliver being gone, his heart shriveled up, dying inside his chest. But, much as he hated it, he knew his lover leaving was the only thing left. He was tired of Oliver wanting to be punished for pleasing him, and seeing him locked up like that for the first time drove it home.

Much as he wished, Oliver would never change. He would always want to be punished.

Swallowing against the knot in his throat, Simon took another drink of his milk. He didn't like the stuff, but the only other thing he had a particular taste for right now was whiskey.

And that he didn't need any of right now.

Silvia came into the kitchen wide-eyed and surprised.

"What?"

She pointed to the stairs leading to their rooms. "I think you should check your room, little brother. You've got a surprise waiting for you up there."

Frowning, Simon stood and took a deep breath to orient himself. He didn't need one of the people living in the apartments complaining about his lack of attention. He got enough complaints about broken or clogged toilets, sinks, and showers.

Forcing the ache in his chest to the back of his mind, he made his way up to his room. No one was standing next to his door, so he pushed the door open slightly, wondering if they'd be stupid enough to rob him of anything.

And it would be stupid. The only thing of value in his apartment was a picture of him and Oliver as boys. And that he kept in a fire-proof frame in his nightstand.

Walking in, he saw nothing amiss. Frowning, he walked to the bedroom and pushed the door open.

His jaw dropped.

Oliver, bare-assed naked, was sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed, writing. The cuffs were back on him, but this time, he had only one arm cuffed to the corner of the bed. He was using the other to type hunt-and-peck style.

"Oliver?" Simon asked cautiously once he found his voice and picked up his jaw.

Pausing in his work, Oliver glanced up at him, his green eyes fearful.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at the cuffs, then back at Simon. "I didn't want to leave."

Simon frowned. "So you cuffed yourself to the bed again?"

Oliver nodded.

He sighed and rubbed his brow for a second. "Oliver, I really can't deal with this anymore-"

"Klith Brown."

Simon froze at the name. Though he'd been dead for over a decade, the name still scared those old enough to remember him. A fierce drug dealer and a power-hungry pimp, Klith had been a murderous, vengeful animal. "What about him."

"What do you know of him? Not the public bullshit the media put out, but the real fucked-up head case he was that the government kept from the media."

"He was psychotic and lethal and pimped out even his two young nephews, Steven and Brandon, and his niece, Gracie. My mother was on his case and managed to see one of the boys escape - she never found out what happened to him, though. Dad told me she got to see the boy run out, his sickly body running off into the night naked and terrified. She tried to find him, but he never turned up. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or bad, that final disappearance."