Graphic non-con, heavy angst, dead dove: do not eat,



Part One -


"Yusuf, Yusuf, please!" Nicky pleads. He's not yet crying, but Joe can tell from how his face is contorting that he is close to tears. Perhaps that should horrify him. It doesn't, the way Nicky's lips form the words and the panic in his voice is thrilling. Joe feels a response stirring in his gut, the hot bloom of arousal.

"Yus-" Nicky begins again, but his plea is choked out by a high gasp as the man atop him bites at his throat, and Joe watches the first tears fall from Nicky's eyes and slide down his face. The man is Keane, and Joe does not question why he is alive, as he does not question how or why they are here, back in the lab with the man between a weeping Nicky's thighs. Nicky writhes beneath Keane, shoving furtively at his chest, attempting to push him off.

"Hold his hands," Joe says, suddenly concerned that Nicky might succeed in fighting Keane off. He can't have that, he can't have Nicky escaping just as things promise to become good. Surprisingly, Keane obeys, knocking Nicky's hands away and seizing his wrists, pinning both of them above his head in a one-handed grip. "Yes, like that," Joe says approvingly, his eyes devouring how Nicky's body is stretched taut, and Nicky lets out a sob of fright and shock, his chest heaving and his eyes wide in horror as he twists his head to look at Joe.

"Yusuf!" he screams, his voice high and unbelieving as Keane's free hand smooths over his face and neck, his thumb passing over and dipping between his lips before moving down and over his chest. "What are you doing? Please, help me!" Joe shakes his head, tracking Keane's hand as it disappears under Nicky's shirt.

"Be quiet, my love." he orders. Under the shirt, Keane's hand roves all over, mapping out the planes of Nicky's heaving body, and when Nicky releases a sharp and pained cry, despite what Joe just said.

Joe just knows Keane must have twisted his nipples. Those are sensitive, he knows that from much experience. Nicky's cry sends another flashflare of arousal through him, heating his blood and tightening his pants. Nicky's noises are to die for, and this one in particular stirs up a dark lust, it's like the mewling of a young and frightened animal. Joe has not known until now how wonderful such a sound is.

It must stir something in Keane too, for the man growls, shoving his lower body against Nicky's, grinding down between his thighs with his hand still very much in Nicky's shirt, his fingers still clamped around a tender nipple. Nicky kicks out, bucks his hips, furiously trying to dislodge him. "Hold still, you little slut." Joe hears Keane say, but Nicky does not listen and keeps squirming frantically as Keane ruts himself on him.

"Yusuf!" Nicky calls out again, and from the tremble in his voice Joe knows he's crying in earnest. "Please, help me. Please, please." Joe makes no move to help. The sight and sounds are too alluring, too arousing. If he helps, it will all be ruined.

"Put him on his knees," he says to Keane, Nicky will be much more manageable that way, on his hands and knees. Keane does, grabbing Nicky at the waist and easily flipping him over, releasing his hands as he does. Nicky immediately tries to crawl away, but Keane holds him by the hips, drawing him back, pressing himself up against the curve of his ass.

"Where are you going?" Keane smirks, amused and predatory. Joe agrees with him. Where does Nicky think he is going? It's useless to struggle, Keane is going to fuck him, and Joe is going to watch, whether Nicky likes it or not.

Keane fumbles at Nicky's waist, undoing his pants despite Nicky's cries to stop, stop, please! Keane shoves his pants down to his knees, leaving him bare, his hand crushing bruises into Nicky's hip from the force of his grip. He raises his other hand to his mouth, licking his fingers, then brings them back down, shoving one or perhaps two, cruelly into Nicky, Joe can't exactly tell how many from this angle. Nicky's breath hitches at the intrusion, and then he sobs out in pain, resuming his efforts to crawl away.

Joe find it delicious to see, Nicky weeping as he fruitlessly tries to free himself, Keane's fingers pumping into him, making his hips twitch and jerk. It's quite a show.

Keane pulls his fingers out all too soon, but Joe doesn't mind as much, since he knows what's coming next, and it will be much better than a few fingers. So does Nicky, who meets Joe's eyes, his own glassy and red from tears. "Please, please, Yusuf," Nicky whimpers as Keane shoves his head against the floor, holding him prone with a hand wrapped around his neck, "Stop this, please."

Joe doesn't care to look him back, focusing on how Keane is unzipping himself, lining himself up with Nicky, and nearly goes dizzy with the sick pleasure he feels from it. Keane is a quite big man, and it's only when he begins to press himself inside Nicky, that Joe lets himself look at Nicky, wanting to see his expression.

Nicky's lips tremble as his mouth opens in a wordless scream, and Joe licks his own lips, wishing he was close enough to capture Nicky's mouth, to feel his lips tremble under his, to bite down on them. Nicky begins to scream aloud as the thrusts start, but his screams taper off into whimpers as Keane quickly fucks him rougher, and Joe has to strain to hear the sounds over the slap of flesh on flesh.

Keane moves his hand from Nicky's neck to drag it over his back, pushing his shirt up and clawing at his skin, nails leaving red markings as he digs his fingers in during one particularly brutal thrust, drawing a choking, broken sob from Nicky's mouth. Nicky raises his head, attempts to meet Joe's eyes again, but Joe looks past him, to Keane, and only says "Harder."

Keane obliges, taking hold of Nicky's hips with both his hands and starting to thrust brutally, swearing as he buries himself in Nicky;s body. "You're so fucking tight," he grunts out, and Joe hums along with that observation.

"Not for long." Joe chuckles meaningfully, catching Keane's eye as he begins to work his hand into the front of his own pants. "Between you and me," he goes on to Keane, "We'll make sure he's fucked properly."

Nicky whimpers, a desperate, broken little sound, and Joe can feel his cock swell under his own fingers at the noise. He wants to hear more of those. "Come on, now," he urges Keane, groaning as he palms at himself, "He can take it a little rougher. He likes it that way."

Keane leers in response, pulling Nicky back so he's flush with his hips, and Nicky drops his head onto his arms, utterly defeated, his shoulders shaking with sobs, Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf, please, falling brokenly from his lips -


- and Joe awakes with a start.

He pants out into the darkness around him, the residual tingle of arousal in his belly already fading into a churning nausea. What the fuck was that? How could he, how could he even dare-


He sits upright, and backs himself against the headboard of the bed, leaning against the cool wood and letting it leach the heat from his fevered skin. A dream. It was just a dream, nothing more. The taste of bile is in his mouth, and he takes a deep breath against it, running his hands through his hair, then letting them drop onto his lap. A dream, he reminds himself, his fingers twitching as his fists clench and unclench.

Certainly one of the most vivid and detailed dreams he's remembered having recently, and certainly one of the worst. Bad things, bad happenings beget bad dreams, he knows this. But it's not the dream that makes him want to vomit - he's dreamed of things like this before, dreamed of Nicky or himself in such situations - but he has never once dreamed of himself in the way that he just did.

He was...enjoying it. Even actively participating in it - hold his hands...put him on his stomach - yes, it was only a dream, but he was enjoying it, responding to it, his sweat and softening hardness are proof enough of that.

He would never, ever condone such a travesty, would never allow a hand to be placed on Nicky, the thought of bestowing an unwanted touch on him disgusts him. So why then would he dream of himself in such a manner? He refuses the idea that it's something he wants, some secret desire dredged up from the dark corners of his mind, because he knows himself at least that much after all these years, to know he harbors no such desires.

He's still gripped with the overwhelming urge to vomit, what he would do or not do is meaningless, if he is capable of taking pleasure from Nicky's pain, even in his own mind. It's a betrayal, of Nicky and of himself. He pushes aside the covers and moves to get up, Nicky is a warm weight in the bed beside him, and at any other time, for any other dream, he'd simply roll over and into his love's arms to seek comfort, but this is not something he can share in good conscience, and the idea of touching Nicky turns his stomach.


He's rising when a soft laugh comes out of the darkness, and a hand curls gently around his thigh. "Where are you going?" Nicky's voice is low and rough with sleep, but amused. Joe tenses under his grip, each of Nicky's fingers like a hot brand on his skin.

"It was...getting too warm." he lies quickly. The air is rather tepid, given their current location, so it's believable enough. Nicky laughs again, sweet, and so, so unaware of Joe's turmoil. His hand flattens on Joe's thigh, softly caressing, and Joe grabs at the bedsheets to keep himself from bolting up.

"Liar," he says, and Joe's breath catches in his throat. "You were dreaming."


Joe's eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now, and he can dimly see Nicky's face, the glint of white teeth as he grins. He's propped up on one elbow, the faded shirt he'd put on to sleep rumpled and hitched up at the waist, exposing a strip of skin. Joe sees fingers on that skin, fingers that cruelly dig in, and Nicky's smile fades into a grimace of pain.

He shakes his head, and the fingers are gone, and Nicky is smiling once more, now regarding him slyly. "It sounded like a good dream." he says, his hand sliding up Joe's thigh, his fingers skirting the waistband of his thin sleep pants. His words hang in Joe's ears, dealing another blow with their implications. Sounded. Meaning he had been vocal in his enjoyment, vocal enough for Nicky to hear.

And Nicky must have mistaken it for one of the casually sexual dreams that are common for the both of them. Why would he have any reason to think it was something otherwise?

Nicky's hand dips into his pants, slipping along his abdomen, moving dangerously low. "Tell me what it was."

"No," Joe grits out, and squeezes his eyes shut against the images that flash through his mind.

"Stubborn." Nicky murmurs, blinded by the clinging haze of sleep to Joe's tone, and now he moves, pulling himself up on his knees and shuffling up close to Joe, his hand moving lower, just shy of Joe's cock.

"Was it like this?" he speaks into Joe's ear, letting his fingers graze over Joe as he does. Joe's throat goes dry at his closeness, at his heat and the warmth of his breath against his ear. If Nicky had any idea of the true nature of his dream, he'd shove him away in disgust. "Or maybe like this?" Nicky goes on, now palming at Joe's cock, his other hand going down to tangle with one of Joe's.

Joe barely resists pulling his hand away from Nicky's, not wanting to alarm him. Nicky's touch brings none of its usual arousal, it only serves to intensify the twisting in his stomach. You shouldn't touch me, you shouldn't touch me, he thinks. Look what I let happen to you.

Nicky has no means by which to hear him, and continues his ministrations, working his hand between Joe's thighs and peppering soft kisses against his neck. He thinks nothing of Joe's stillness, as Joe is famously languid post-waking up.


"Vieni amore mio," he says in modern Italian, guiding Joe's hand to the front of his own pants, "dimmi cosa hai sognato."

Joe shakes his head, no, no. He can't tell him, he can't touch him, no. Not after - not after what he did would be inaccurate, as he has done nothing really. Nothing except watch with rapt attention as his love was violated - fueled by the shame of that thought, he pulls his hand away before Nicky can place it on his body, and shrugs Nicky firmly but gently back. Nicky's hand slips from his pants, leaving his still soft cock. He hadn't even begin to harden.


"Yusuf?" Nicky says, confused, and for moment, Joe can hear his broken and begging voice again, Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf, please! He draws in a deep breath and stands up, avoiding Nicky's worried eyes.

"I can't...not now, Nicolo, not now..." he says, and turns and leaves the room.