Gorehound |-/ Joshler

Chapter Ten: Purple, Yellow, Red And Blue

S M U T

The basement was empty.

Well, as empty as it could be with the mutilated corpse of a cop. Beside the corpse lay the velvet cloth whose purity was no longer. The blood and dirt had stained its rich feeling and color.

Last but not least, the chains remained. The chains had been unlocked, the cuffs left open upon the ground. Joshua was no longer a prisoner to them. He was now a prisoner to Tyler's rapacious predatory habits.

A fine trail of blood followed up the steps, which had come from Joshua. None of it belonged to him; it had shaken from his hair or his back after lying on the floor.

The two men had staggered up the stairs, drunk on each other. Joshua's back had scraped against the wall in a furious makeout fit as they went up the stairs, leaving a wide, loose marking of blood all along the wallpaper.

The two didn't care about the mess they made, even when up in the kitchen. Tyler was slammed against the wall with important phone numbers taped to it by Tyler, who kissed him with such a force that it made the killer's head spin.

His grip was tight on the front of Tyler's neck, drawing him as close as possible to himself. If he was going to have Tyler and he him, then they'd do it in the most animalistic, beautiful way.

As the papers fluttered to the ground, Joshua shifted over to the fridge, where he in turn was shoved against the surface, Tyler reaching down and grabbing his crotch with an obscene amount of strength.

The pain that amounted from it morphed into a sensation of pleasure soon enough, as Tyler's hand continued to knead the growing bulge as he breathily sucked on the reporter's neck.

Joshua wormed around, his body rubbing against Tyler's as he rode out the ever-increasing bliss. The tension between them was mounting faster than their minds could take it.

"T-Tyler..." Joshua groaned. He tried to shift away slightly from his hand so that he didn't blow in his pants right there, but Tyler's hand seemed to follow wherever he went without fail. "Don't m-make me cum yet." He begged.

Tyler's head was still buried in the nape of Joshua's neck. His lips lazily trailed over his skin, which finally stopped and curled into a lecherous grin.

"But Joshua, I'm not going to make you do anything." Tyler stepped back, removing his hand, which Joshua began to object to with heavy breath and a furrowed brow.

"You're going to do it all to me."

"What?" questioned Joshua.

"It's your turn to have the power. You get to have me under your thumb, under your body. You get to pin me down and fuck me into whatever surface you choose."

Tyler's hand had discreetly slid down to the button of his pants, which he popped open with one quick motion. His navy blue skin-tight boxer briefs contrasted beautifully with his tan skin in a way that drove Joshua insane.

Though he had spent hours fantasizing about doing all sorts of things to his captor, when confronted with doing said things, his chest wound itself up. He was nervous.

"What?" Tyler asked with faux innocence. His hand skated across his small section of exposed flesh. "Don't you want your revenge on me? Don't you want to hurt me?"

That sparked something inside of Joshua. The twisting in his chest was pushed aside. The hurt that he had been put through was nothing compared to what Joshua could ever do to him, but he could very well try to match it.