Page 130 of Oleander

I’d imagined seeing him again so many times, hours and hours of walkthroughs, of contemplating what I’d say when I got the chance to look him in the eye, how much better I’d be. How this time I’d stand up tall, how I’d not embarrass myself again. I’d be in control, sensible, cunning.

But, once again he’d reduced me to a fucking animal. From beaten and broken in that birdwatcher’s hut to this. A fucking predator.

Caspien pushed off the wall, but instead of going toward the door to leave, he came toward me – slowly, his calculated gaze fixed on mine.

No, I wasn’t the predator.He was. He’d always been the one hunting me. I’d only ever tried to survive him.

“Sometimes I wish you’d done it that day. Instead of crying and begging the way you did,” his mouth twisted with contempt. “I wish you’d held me down and fucked me – who knows, maybe things would have turned out differently if you’d behaved like a man instead of a little boy.”

Something snapped.

I slammed the bottle down, heard it topple and glug onto the carpet, and reached for him. He seemed to weigh nothing as I threw him on the bed. He made some half-hearted attempt atfighting me at first, but then I felt his body go pliant and loose, opening itself to me. I think he took his coat off himself, or it shrugged off his shoulders as we tussled. I reached for his belt, black and thin around his slim waist, and pulled at it before tearing down his trousers. He wore black briefs, neat and tight against his body which I also tore at with a feral need. Layers. He wore a shirt and a pullover, and we both fought the fabric off his body.

When he was naked but for his trousers at his ankles and his shoes and socks, I flipped him over so that he was on his front and grabbed him by the hips to pull him up towards my mouth. I’d never done this before, eaten someone’s ass, and I don’t recall it being a conscious thought even then. It was only need, a crushing overwhelming need to taste him and open him, get him wet and ready before I fucked him. I spat and licked and shoved my tongue into him over and over. My fingers, too, pushing and spearing in and out. I watched him writhe and pant and twist, and I gave him more than what I thought he could stand if the noises he made were any indication.

I tried not to think about Blackwell, about how intimately he knew this part of Caspien’s body, but it was impossible and so I licked and ate and sucked at every part of skin I could reach. Jealousy and possessiveness fought with lust and arousal, which only made me rougher.

I forced him to fuck my mouth, pulling hard on his hips as I made a meal of him. When I felt him reach for his dick, I grabbed his hand and held it in mine before slapping him hard on the side of his ass. He stopped moving then.

When I leaned back to look at his hole, I saw it was red, open, and clenching desperately.

I pulled his legs out from under him and he pitched face forward, then I climbed onto him, yanking down my sweats. Iwas painfully hard, throbbing and hot. I looked at his hole: I was going to ruin it.

“I don’t think I’ll use a condom, you know,” I said, running my cock over his gaping hole. It was thick and red and angry against the faded golden tan of his ass, an ass which was pinked from my mouth and hands. “I think I’ll fuck you raw. Make you go back to him with my come inside you.”

He made a desperate whimpering noise against the duvet. I leaned forward and dropped another mouthful of spit into his open hole.

I felt more powerful than I ever had in my life. I’d never felt so divinely righteous, so mighty, so completely in control of my own fate as I did then. Caspien under me and helpless, unable to say no, suffering me. It should have terrified me. And there was a low-level hum of terror at what I was prepared to do to him whether he wanted me to or not. I loved him, desperately, and he’d taken that love and turned it into this, turned me into this.

Or had this always lived inside me, dormant and ready to be unleashed? Whatever it was, he held the key to its cage. Only him.

Either way, I understood that there was a side of myself that existed only in opposition to him, a side that, when I was alone and tried to understand it, felt so separate from my conscious mind that I imagined it was what possession felt like.

I leaned forward and fisted, roughly, a handful of soft golden hair, pulling his head back to meet me.

“Tell me to stop, Cas,” I hissed in his ear. The head of my dick pulsed against his hole and I was sure I was asking only so I could refuse him. But I said again, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

His face was flushed with desire, and his eyes bright and alive as stars. He looked both furious and utterly resigned.

And in a voice that would haunt my dreams, he said, “Make it hurt.”

And, like always, I obeyed.

Eight

That night now is like a fever dream to me.

I remember, vividly, the sensations. The pleasure. Endless and extreme. The things I did to him, the things he let me do. I had not known I was capable of them. They were filthy and depraved, and I never wanted to stop. Lust and alcohol and pain and desire coalesced, turning me inside out, so that I was a red raw mass of animal with a single goal. Take. Fuck. Survive.

We passed out, and my next memory was of me thrusting inside him again. I had rolled over in my sleep and took him; his body was soft and pliant and covered in me. He opened for me readily, his mouth and hands reaching for mine in the dark as he came awake. I came inside him again.

This. This was all I needed. All I wanted. All I’d ever wanted. I needed nothing else to survive but this, and I slipped back into sleep while I was still inside him.

When I woke again, the room was cold and milky white, and he wasn’t in the bed.

I sat up to find him sitting at my desk, writing something. He was dressed in only his shirt and trousers, completely absorbed in whatever words he was scratching into what looked to be my notebook.

“Don’t bother,” I said, and he startled, turning. “Whatever you’re writing, don’t bother.”