He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry around the gag. Those swords were cheap imitations of a Spanish cavalry sabre, the kind he'd seen carried during La Guerra Civil. He couldn't even have the dubious pride of being stabbed to death with the genuine article!
He could almost imagine How watching, a cruel little grin on his face. He'd nod, pointing it out to Nicky, critiquing John's grip on the blade or his form. Nicky watching, closely, glass-green eyes bright as the firey agony peaked. Booker moaned and closed his eyes as the blade breached his skin---sure enough, the tip poked out right above his navel. John seemed to be experimenting, twisting the handle back and forth. Steadily destroying Booker's entrails. He could feel the blood leaving him in a rush, all his warmth leeching out with it. Exsanguinaton. Interesting. He hadn't died that way yet.
The thing about bleeding out, he soon realized, was that it isn't fast. It takes minutes to go into shock, and from there slip away into the comforting blackness. He wondered vaguely what the audience thought of it all. It had been their idea. They must have paid fair money to watch a man die to their exact specifications.
Boss....I pray to everything you never see this tape...
By the time he resurfaced, a new burning replacing the pain as his injuries healed, Booker found himself wrapped in a bloody bedsheet , lying on something too hard and unyielding to be the mattress. John must have finished and cleaned up, then. He was no longer bound, nor drugged. A bit of frustrated wriggling and he freed himself from the erstwhile shroud. John was nowhere to be seen, but he could be heard in a room nearby clacking away at a keyboard. Uploading tonight's recording, no doubt. This was his chance. There was no time to search for his clothes; he just wrapped himself in that sheet and kicked the screen out of the window. As he lept out he glanced back over his shoulder and saw John staring at him like he'd just seen a ghost.
It proved to be a long walk in the dark back into town, and he was freezing and shaking like a leaf by the time he got back to his flat and broke in. But somehow it wasn't until he got into the shower, letting the water beat down as hot as he could stand, that the full horror of the night crashed over him. Just looking down at his own naked body brought John's hands creeping all over him, and with it a wave of revulsion so strong he retched dryly. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but those hands kept touching him, that foul voice whispering to him, calling him baby boy and slut and David. Drying off, he dressed in his softest sleep pants and an ancient t-shirt and made a nest on the floor with several bottles of whiskey and every blanket he could find. He would remain there all week.
On the other side of the world, James Copley was trawling the internet for scum in need of wiping out, when a video caught his eye. REAL RED ROOM, screamed the title, DEAD DAVID FUCKED WITH DAGGER. Mousing over the video displayed a few seconds of a preview. Copley froze. Then he reached for his phone.
"Andy, it's me. I know it's late and I'm sorry, but there's something you need to see."
Wrong Side of Heaven (Booker/OMC , Booker/Joe/Nicky, sex work, drugged sex, noncon, gore, pain 4/?)
He could almost imagine How watching, a cruel little grin on his face. He'd nod, pointing it out to Nicky, critiquing John's grip on the blade or his form. Nicky watching, closely, glass-green eyes bright as the firey agony peaked. Booker moaned and closed his eyes as the blade breached his skin---sure enough, the tip poked out right above his navel. John seemed to be experimenting, twisting the handle back and forth. Steadily destroying Booker's entrails. He could feel the blood leaving him in a rush, all his warmth leeching out with it. Exsanguinaton. Interesting. He hadn't died that way yet.
The thing about bleeding out, he soon realized, was that it isn't fast. It takes minutes to go into shock, and from there slip away into the comforting blackness. He wondered vaguely what the audience thought of it all. It had been their idea. They must have paid fair money to watch a man die to their exact specifications.
Boss....I pray to everything you never see this tape...
By the time he resurfaced, a new burning replacing the pain as his injuries healed, Booker found himself wrapped in a bloody bedsheet , lying on something too hard and unyielding to be the mattress. John must have finished and cleaned up, then. He was no longer bound, nor drugged. A bit of frustrated wriggling and he freed himself from the erstwhile shroud. John was nowhere to be seen, but he could be heard in a room nearby clacking away at a keyboard. Uploading tonight's recording, no doubt. This was his chance. There was no time to search for his clothes; he just wrapped himself in that sheet and kicked the screen out of the window. As he lept out he glanced back over his shoulder and saw John staring at him like he'd just seen a ghost.
It proved to be a long walk in the dark back into town, and he was freezing and shaking like a leaf by the time he got back to his flat and broke in. But somehow it wasn't until he got into the shower, letting the water beat down as hot as he could stand, that the full horror of the night crashed over him. Just looking down at his own naked body brought John's hands creeping all over him, and with it a wave of revulsion so strong he retched dryly. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but those hands kept touching him, that foul voice whispering to him, calling him baby boy and slut and David. Drying off, he dressed in his softest sleep pants and an ancient t-shirt and made a nest on the floor with several bottles of whiskey and every blanket he could find. He would remain there all week.
On the other side of the world, James Copley was trawling the internet for scum in need of wiping out, when a video caught his eye. REAL RED ROOM, screamed the title, DEAD DAVID FUCKED WITH DAGGER. Mousing over the video displayed a few seconds of a preview. Copley froze. Then he reached for his phone.
"Andy, it's me. I know it's late and I'm sorry, but there's something you need to see."