Chapter 10: Mason Whitting
A cool breeze and a partly sunny sky was a perfect day for Austin’s trip to the library. He’d gone to look at the display of local quilts celebrating traditional designs and found the geometric patterns interesting. He’d begun to wonder whether he wanted to try his hand at making a quilt. He knew he had no skills in that department; his mother certainly didn’t have any to hand down to him.
I’ll have to stop at the thrift store and see whether I can find a solid sewing machine, he told himself. He wondered whether he should just head there at that moment when a group of cyclists zipped by. Austin caught a glimpse of several well toned asses, and his mind immediately switched to finding a willing bottom.
“Too bad you’re is such a hurry,” he said in their direction, knowing that he wasn’t loud enough for any of them to hear. Maybe some hunk is walking and I won’t have to chase after him.
Austin glanced around, and that’s when he spotted a police car just down the street. Wasn’t there one just outside the library when I left, he asked himself. He turned and walked briskly to the next corner and hurried to the next street over. His quick paces took him past the Bohemian boutique and in front of the Ice Cream Delight, where he stopped and pretended to look at the ground. The police cruiser came to a stop at the corner. Austin walked toward the curb and picked up an acorn. The car turned the corner and moved closer. Austin saw Jeff Watson watching him from the open window.
Austin reached into his pocket and removed the small billfold that held his license and his library card. He walked up to the police car.
Jeff Watson was smiling. “Spotted me, huh?”
Austin stood in front of the windows. “A blind man with a white stick could have spotted you. Failed undercover class did you?”
Officer Watson chuckled. “Just checking to make sure you’re doing OK. Staying out of trouble, I see.”
Austin shows him his driver’s license. “My ID officer, in case you don’t already have my address.” He smirks.
The officer takes it and scans it. “Let’s make sure you don’t have any outstanding warrants.”
“I don’t have any warrants at all,” Austin replied. “By the way, I’m free after work tomorrow if you want to pick me up. Don’t worry, I’m a cheap date.”
The officer locked eyes with Austin. “Be safe, Austin.” Handing the ID back, he adds, “No warrants.”
Austin turned and hurried back the way he came. A slight breeze rustled the leaves and gave him a bit of a chill. “Is Officer Watson just interested in my well-being?” he asked himself aloud. “Or is he after my ass?”
A woman in her mid fifties turned to look in his direction as she wondered why he was talking to himself. Or is he on one of those new almost invisible phones? The sun continued to play hide and seek with the clouds, and Austin felt an uneasiness building inside him. Another cyclist zoomed by, and a glance at his quads caused Austin’s groin to twitch. “I need to get fucked,” he said in a whisper. He decided to get on-line when he got back home and find a willing accomplice. A few blocks from home, he saw a man pushing a bike. A broken chain and a man with a limp changed Austin’s focus.
“Need some help?” offered Austin.
“I actually do. I need to get my bike up to my apartment, and I’m not sure how I’m going to manage it.”
“I can do it.”
“Thanks. My roommate is gone.”
“Looks like you’re banged up.”
“Yeah. The chain broke and it threw me. I’m sure it's just a sprain.”
“Well, let’s get this thing up there and get a cold pack on it. I’m Austin.”
“Mason.”
Mason offered a pained but grateful smile. He was taller than Austin by a few inches, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist that tapered down into long, powerful legs encased in dirty gray cargo shorts. His t-shirt was stained with grease and grass, clinging tightly to his chest, outlining the definition of a man who spent a good amount of time at the gym, or perhaps doing physical labor. His dark hair was cropped short, military style, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the morning chill.
Austin maneuvered the heavy mountain bike up the flight of concrete stairs to the second floor. Mason winced with every step, favoring his right leg. Austin watched the way his back muscles bunched and rolled under the damp fabric of his shirt. There was a raw masculinity to Mason that Austin found instantly magnetic. It wasn't the polished, groomed look of the guys he usually saw at the dealership or the coffee shop; this was rougher, unrefined. He needed Mason to pound him.
At that instant, Mike’s image flashed into his head. He’d had similar thoughts about Mike. Austin pushed the thoughts away.
“Here we go,” Mason grunted as they reached the landing of number 204. He dug a set of keys out of his pocket with fumbling fingers, his breathing slightly ragged.
The apartment inside was a reflection of the man, spare, functional, and smelling faintly of sawdust and leather. Furniture was minimal: a large, worn leather sectional facing a sizable television, a sturdy coffee table made of reclaimed wood, and weights tucked into the corner of the living room. Austin leaned the bike against the wall near the door while Mason collapsed onto the couch, exhaling sharply.
“Thanks, man,” Mason said, rubbing his knee. “I think I must have twisted it when the pedal snapped back. You didn’t have to stop. I certainly appreciate it.”
“I couldn’t just watch you struggle,” Austin said, lingering near the doorway. He felt a sudden surge of confidence, emboldened by the exchange with Officer Watson warning him to be careful and rebellious urge to do just the opposite. “Besides, you’re a fellow citizen. We have to look out for each other.”
Mason looked up, his eyes, a piercing, sharp shade of hazel, scanning Austin from his sneakers up to his face. “You live close by?”
“Yeah. Just down the street a bit.”
“I’ve seen you around.” Mason’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Checking out the guys, right?”
Austin laughed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Busted. But then, how would you know unless you were checking out the guys who were checking out the guys?”
“Just looking for my next victim.” Mason chuckled. “Can I get you a beer? Or water? It’s the least I can do.”
“I’m good,” Austin said as he sat right next to Mason. “But I should help you with your sprain.”
Mason leaned forward and placed a hand on Austin’s knee. “I’m actually feeling better already.”
Austin moved his hand to Mason’s and massaged the back of it.
“You have good hands,” Mason said, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't pull his hand away immediately.
Austin flipped Mason’s hand and massaged the palm.
“Strong grip,” said Mason.
Austin met his gaze, holding it. “Comes from... various hobbies.”
Mason laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “I bet.” He leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes for a moment. His eyelashes were impossibly long, dark fans against his tanned skin. “So what do you do when you’re not helping injured welders with their broken bikes?”
Austin’s eyes traced the line of Mason’s jaw. There was a faint scar running through his eyebrow, barely visible unless you were looking for it. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to trace the history of this man’s skin.
“I fix cars.”
Mason opened his eyes, the hazel darkening as he locked onto Austin. There was a shift in the air, a sudden thickening of tension that went beyond simple neighborly gratitude. The silence stretched, charged with unspoken questions. Mason shifted his hand and intertwined his fingers with Austin’s. He pulled him closer. The touch was firm, possessive.
Austin didn't pull away. A warning shot through his brain. Too aggressive. But he wanted Mason, so, instead, he leaned into it, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Mason didn't hesitate with his response. He moved with a sudden fluidity that belied his injury, closing the small distance between them on the couch. He cupped Austin’s face with both hands, his thumbs grazing the cheekbones, and kissed him.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hard, demanding, tasting faintly of copper and the lingering salt of sweat. Mason’s lips were chapped, rough against Austin’s softer mouth, but the sensation was intoxicating. Austin gasped into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip Mason’s shoulders, feeling the hard coil of muscle beneath the t-shirt.
Mason deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into Austin’s mouth, claiming him. The logical side of his brain told Austin to run, to get away. The rest of his brain gave in. His dick began to run the show. He moaned, a low sound in his throat that seemed to spur Mason on. He pushed Austin back against the armrest of the couch, his body pressing down, heavy and hot. Austin could feel the ridge of Mason’s erection through his shorts, hard and insistent against his hip.
“Wow, you’re responsive,” Mason growled against his lips, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes were blown wide with lust. “I’ve seen you every now and again for months. Wondering if you’d ever stop.”
“I’m stopped now,” Austin breathed, his hands sliding down Mason’s chest to the hem of his shirt. He tugged it upward, eager to feel skin.
Mason sat back long enough to yank the shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. His torso was a masterpiece of physical labor, broad shoulders sloping down to a hairy, defined chest, the abs not perfectly chiseled like a gym model but solid and real, covered in a dusting of dark hair that tapered down into the waistband of his shorts.
Austin ran his hands over the heated skin, feeling the muscles jump and twitch under his touch. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the center of Mason’s chest, tasting the salt and musk. Mason groaned, his hands tangling in Austin’s hair, holding him close.
“Yeah,” Mason hissed. “Touch me.”
Austin’s mind reacted by telling him to get away, but he moved closer, exploring Mason’s body with an eager reverence, tracing the lines of his ribs, scraping his nails lightly over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of those cargo shorts. He felt Mason shudder, heard the sharp intake of breath. It was a powerful feeling, knowing he could elicit such a reaction from this strong, stoic man.
Mason pulled him up for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, exploring the contours of Austin’s mouth with a deliberate thoroughness. His hands were everywhere, running down Austin’s spine, cupping his ass through his jeans, dragging him closer until there was no space left between them.
“Let's get this off you,” Mason murmured, tugging at the hem of Austin’s hoodie.
Austin raised his arms, letting Mason strip the layer away. Underneath, he wore a simple white t-shirt that followed quickly. Mason didn't just toss it aside; he buried his face in Austin’s neck, inhaling deeply, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there. Austin tilted his head back, giving him better access, his eyes fluttering shut as Mason’s teeth grazed the pulse point in his throat.
“You smell good,” Mason grunted, his voice vibrating against Austin’s collarbone. “Clean. Like soap and rain.”
“It’s the library scent,” Austin joked weakly, his breath hitching as Mason’s hand slid under the waistband of his jeans, his fingers dipping into the hollow of his lower back.
“Shut up,” Mason said, but there was no malice in it, only a raw, hungry affection. He kissed his way down Austin’s chest, pausing to leave his tongue over a nipple, teasing it to a hardened peak. Austin cried out, his back arching off the leather couch.
The friction of Mason’s stubble against his skin was an exquisite torture, rough and abrasive in the best possible way. Austin felt like he was burning up, consumed by a fire he hadn't realized he was starving for. He dug his fingers into Mason’s shoulders, his nails biting into the skin, anchoring himself as Mason continued his downward descent.
Mason knelt on the floor between Austin’s legs, pushing them apart to make room for his broad shoulders. He looked up at Austin, his eyes dark and predatory, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. He reached for the button of Austin’s jeans, his fingers deft despite the urgency radiating off him.
“Lift up,” he commanded.
Austin obeyed, lifting his hips so Mason could peel the denim down his legs. Mason tossed the jeans aside, leaving Austin in his boxer briefs. The grey cotton did little to hide his arousal, the fabric straining against him.
Mason leaned in, his face hovering inches from the bulge. He didn't touch it yet. Instead, he pressed his nose against the fabric, inhaling Austin’s scent, his hot breath seeping through the cotton to tease the sensitive flesh beneath. Austin whined, his hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more friction.
“Patience,” Mason chided, his hands gripping Austin’s thighs to hold him still. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the boxers and slowly dragged them down, freeing Austin’s length. The cool air of the apartment hit his heated skin, but it was quickly replaced by the wet heat of Mason’s mouth.
Austin cried out, his head falling back against the cushions. Mason’s mouth was heaven, hot, wet, and impossibly skilled. He took Austin deep, his throat relaxing to accommodate him, his tongue swirling around the head before dipping into the slit. Austin’s hands flew to Mason’s hair, his fingers gripping at the short strands, holding on for dear life as Mason began to suck him in earnest.
The sound of slurping and wet, slick noises filled the quiet apartment, mixed with Mason’s occasional grunts of satisfaction and Austin’s broken gasps. Mason wasn't gentle. He sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing out, his hand stroking the base of Austin’s cock in time with the movements of his mouth. He looked up, locking eyes with Austin, watching him fall apart.
It was the eye contact that undid him. Seeing Mason’s face, flushed and concentrated on his pleasure, the sheer intensity in his gaze, it was too much. Austin felt the coil of heat tightening in his belly, his toes curling.
“Mason, I’m... I’m gonna...” he gasped out.
Mason pulled off with a wet pop, his hand replacing his mouth, stroking Austin quickly. “Not yet. You don't get to come yet.”
Austin let out a frustrated groan, his chest heaving. “You’re killing me.”
Mason stood up, wincing slightly as he put weight on his bad leg, but he didn't let it slow him down. He towered over Austin, looking down at him with a possessive hunger that made Austin’s stomach flip.
“Stand up,” Mason ordered.
Austin scrambled to obey, his legs feeling weak and shaky. Mason pulled him close, crushing their bodies together. He kissed him again, tasting himself on Mason’s tongue. It was dirty and intimate, and Austin both loved and hated it.
“Bedroom,” Mason said against his lips. “Now.”
He steered Austin toward the hallway, his hand gripping the back of Austin’s neck firmly. The bedroom was dark, the heavy blinds drawn against the morning sun. It smelled of Mason, that same musk and leather, but stronger here. The bed was a massive king-sized platform with a sturdy wooden frame and dark grey sheets.
Mason pushed Austin onto the bed. Austin landed on his back, bouncing slightly on the mattress. He watched as Mason undid his own shorts, letting them drop to the floor. He wasn't wearing underwear.
Austin’s breath hitched. Mason was magnificent. His cock was thick and heavy, curving slightly upward, already leaking pre-come. His thighs were massive, pillars of muscle dusted with dark hair. He looked like a statue carved from marble, but warm, alive, and pulsing with need.
Mason crawled onto the bed, moving over Austin like a predator stalking its prey. He bracketed Austin’s head with his arms, his weight settling heavily on top of him. The feeling of Mason’s naked skin against his own was overwhelming.
“Turn over,” Mason said, his voice low and rough.
Austin hesitated for a split second, a flash of vulnerability piercing through the haze of lust. He always preferred face-to-face; he liked the connection, the ability to see his partner. But there was something in Mason’s tone, a dominance that brooked no refusal; Austin felt himself a teenager again, unable to disobey. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow that smelled like cedar and Mason.
He felt Mason’s hands on his ass, kneading the flesh, spreading his cheeks. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both terrifying and incredibly arousing. He heard the nightstand drawer open, the crinkle of a foil wrapper, the snap of a cap.
“Relax,” Mason commanded, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Austin’s lower back. The first touch of Mason’s finger was cold with lube, sliding down the crease of his ass. Austin gasped into the pillow, his muscles tightening instinctively.
“Shh,” Mason soothed, leaning down to kiss the back of Austin’s neck. “Let me in.”
Austin forced himself to breathe, to unclench. Mason worked him open slowly, methodically. One finger became two, scissoring him, stretching him. Mason’s fingers were huge. The burn faded into a dull ache that quickly morphed into pleasure as Mason found his prostate.
Austin moaned, his hips pushing back against Mason’s hand. “Please...”
“Please what?” Mason asked, his voice taunting.
“Please fuck me,” Austin begged, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I need it.”
Mason laughed darkly. “You need it? Look at you, begging for it like a little slut.”
“I am a slut. Give me your dick. Austin felt a rush of heat. He liked it. He liked being talked to like that, he deserved to be talked to like that; he deserved to be used. “Yeah,” Austin admitted, his face burning. “I’m your slut.”
“Good boy,” Mason praised, withdrawing his fingers.
The emptiness was immediate and aching, but it was short-lived. Mason settled between his legs, his heavy cock nudging against Austin’s entrance. He pushed in slowly, the head breaching the ring of muscle.
Austin grunted at the stretch, his fingers clawing at the sheets. Mason was big.
“Breathe,” Mason instructed, pausing to let him adjust. “Just breathe.”
Austin exhaled shakily, forcing his muscles to relax. Mason pushed in further, inch by thick inch, until he was fully seated, his hips flush against Austin’s ass. The sensation of being so full, so stuffed, was indescribable. Austin felt owned, possessed, completely at Mason’s mercy.
Mason leaned down, draping his body over Austin’s back, covering him like a blanket. He wrapped one arm around Austin’s chest, pulling him up slightly, and buried his face in Austin’s neck.
“You feel so good,” Mason whispered hotly in his ear. “So tight. Like you were made for me.”
He began to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. The pace was brutal, unforgiving. Mason fucked him with a raw, primal energy that rattled the bed frame. A sound that was a raw percussion, a beat of flesh against flesh, the slick slap of skin meeting skin filling the room, mingled with their harsh, ragged breathing and the low, guttural grunts Mason let out with every thrust.
Austin was lost in a haze of sensation. The burn of the stretch had long since faded, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that emanated from his core and radiated outward to his fingertips and toes. Every time Mason drove into him, he saw stars behind his closed eyelids. He felt completely surrendered, his body just a vessel for Mason’s use, and the realization flooded him with a dark, intoxicating heat. And that annoying warning signal deep within him.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” Mason growled, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of Austin’s shoulder blade, marking him. The sharp sting of the bite only served to heighten the pleasure, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. “Look at this ass. Taking every inch of me.”
Austin couldn't form words. He could only moan, a high, desperate sound that he barely recognized as his own. He buried his face in the pillow, his fingers digging into the fabric so hard his knuckles turned white. He pushed back against Mason, meeting his thrusts, silently begging for more, harder, deeper. He wanted to be bruised, he wanted to be ruined. He deserved it.
Mason shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust hit Austin’s prostate with dead-on accuracy. Austin cried out, his back arching sharply, his entire body convulsing.
“There it is,” Mason growled, a wicked note of triumph in his voice. “Found the spot.”
He began to aim for it relentlessly, snapping his hips with a precision that was devastating. He pulverized that bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through Austin’s system. Austin was panting, sweat dripping down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He felt like he was drowning, like he was being pulled apart and put back together with every stroke.
Mason reached around, his hand wrapping around Austin’s neglected cock, which was leaking copiously onto the dark sheets beneath him. He began to stroke Austin in time with his thrusts, his grip tight and calloused. The dual stimulation was too much.
“Mason, I’m gonna...” Austin gasped, his voice trembling.
“Hold it,” Mason commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“I... I can’t,” Austin whined, his control fracturing.
“Yes, you can,” Mason said, his pace somehow increasing, his thrusts becoming even more powerful. He was like a machine, driving into Austin with a relentless, mechanical rhythm. “You come when I say you come.”
Austin whimpered, his entire body shaking with the effort to obey. He felt like he was standing on a precipice, ready to fall over the edge into the abyss of release, but Mason’s hand on his throat, his voice in his ear, held him back. It was torture, sweet, agonizing torture.
The room swam in front of Austin’s eyes, the dark shapes of the furniture blurring into the background. The only thing that existed was the weight on top of him, the cock inside him, the hand on his dick. He was reduced to sensation, to nerve endings firing in overdrive. The warning beacon flashed with an increased frequency.
Mason’s breathing was ragged in his ear, hot and damp. He could feel the sweat dripping from Mason’s nose onto his neck, mixing with his own. The scent of sex was overpowering, musk and sweat and latex and the faint, metallic tang of blood from where Mason had bitten his lip. It was a primal, animalistic smell that triggered something deep in Austin’s lizard brain. He was being mated, claimed, and every cell in his body screamed disapproval.
“Gonna fill you up,” Mason gritted out, his rhythm beginning to falter slightly, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Gonna breed this tight little ass. Gonna fill that pussy with my cum.”
Austin tried to grunt a no. “Please.”
Mason let out a guttural roar, his hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself balls-deep inside Austin. Austin felt the cock pulsing, throbbing as it pumped its load into the condom. The feeling triggered his own release. His vision whited out, his body seizing up as he came harder than he ever had in his life, spurting all over Mason’s hand and the sheets beneath him.
They collapsed together onto the bed, sweaty limbs and heaving chests. Mason rolled them onto their sides, keeping his cock buried inside Austin, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight against his chest. Austin could feel Mason’s heart pounding against his back, a rapid, frantic rhythm that slowly began to sync with his own.
Neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was their slowing breaths and the distant hum of traffic from the street below. Austin felt boneless, his muscles turned to jelly. He drifted in a post-orgasmic haze; he should feel safe and protected in Mason’s arms, but he didn’t. He felt dirty, used.
He felt Mason press a kiss to the back of his neck, a soft, lingering gesture that was at odds with the rough, pounding sex they’d just had. Austin shivered.
But as the fog of lust began to clear, Austin started to notice things he’d been too distracted to perceive before. He felt the coarse hair on Mason’s thighs against his own, the stickiness of sweat drying on their skin. He noticed a faint, recurring mechanical click coming from the corner of the room, maybe a fan, or a clock, or something else entirely. It was a rhythmic sound, precise and unyielding, like a metronome counting out a beat.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It was a small sound, barely noticeable, but it began to gnaw at him. It pulled at a thread of memory, a loose end in the tapestry of his mind that he didn't want to pull. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the warmth of Mason’s body, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He tried to lose himself in the afterglow, but the sound was like a worm burrowing into his brain, wriggling deeper with every passing second.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It reminded him of something. Something from a long time ago. A sound from a childhood he tried very hard not to remember. A memory of a locked door, of heavy footsteps, of a voice that whispered in the dark.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the images, but they were persistent, flashing behind his eyelids like a strobe light. A mattress on the floor. An argument in the next room. The smell of rodents and bug spray. The sound of a wind-up clock.
Mason’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer, and the feeling of confinement, of being trapped, sent a spike of panic through his chest. He tried to breathe, to remind himself where he was, in Mason’s apartment, in Mason’s bed, but the walls of the bedroom seemed to be closing in. The air felt stale, recycled, dirty. He felt a sudden, desperate need to get out, to escape the weight of Mason’s body, the smell of him, the touch of him.
He started to shift, to pull away, but Mason held him fast.
“Don't move,” Mason murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “I want to fuck you like that every night.”
The words hit Austin like a bucket of ice water.
I want to fuck you like that every night.
The room spun. The air left his lungs in a rush. The walls of the bedroom melted away, replaced by the damp, dirty walls of a slum apartment. He was a kid again, not quite a man, helpless, curled up on a dusty mattress. The smell of decay and rot was overpowering, choking him. The weight on top of him wasn't Mason; it was heavier, rougher, more menacing.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound wasn't a fan. It was the old clock in the corner, counting down the seconds of his imprisonment.
“Mike,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“Shh,” the voice in his ear said, but it wasn't Mason's voice anymore. It was deeper, harsher, laced with a cruel amusement that made his skin crawl. “You’re my special boy, Austin. You know that. I’m going to keep you here forever. I’m going to fuck you like that every night.”
The memory slammed into him with the force of a freight train. Uncle Mike. The step-uncle who had moved in when he was sixteen, who had smiled too much and touched him too often. The man who had locked him in his room when he'd been bad, the man he wanted for his father, the man who had told him it was their little secret, who had made him feel dirty and small and broken, who’d told him how much he loved him.
The panic surged, hot and violent bile rising in his throat. The comfort of the bed, the warmth of the skin against his own, instantly twisted into a claustrophobic nightmare. He was suffocating. The heavy arm draped over his waist wasn't a lover's embrace; it was a shackle. The hot breath on his neck wasn't affection; it was a threat.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound wasn't a clock anymore. It was a countdown. There was a bomb about to go off. He had to get out. He had to get out now.
Austin’s body moved before his mind could fully process the command. He jerked his elbow back, driving it hard into Mason’s ribs. He felt the connect, heard the "oof" of expelled air, but he didn't wait to see the result. He scrambled forward, kicking his legs frantically, trying to untangle himself from the sweat-dampened sheets.
“Whoa, Austin!” Mason’s voice was groggy, confused, reaching out to grab him. “What the—”
“Don't touch me!” Austin screamed, his voice cracking, high and thin with terror. He shoved at Mason’s hands, batting them away like they were poisonous spiders. He rolled off the edge of the bed, hitting the floor with a jarring thud that rattled his teeth.
He scrambled to his feet, his legs shaking so badly he nearly collapsed. The room was dark, shadows looming like monsters in the corners. He couldn't find his clothes. He couldn't see. Panic made his vision swim, black spots dancing at the edges.
“Austin? Baby, what’s wrong?” Mason was sitting up now, his silhouette looming large and terrifying in the gloom. He reached for the lamp, but Austin screamed again.
“No! Don't look at me!”
He dropped to his hands and knees, frantically patting the carpet, searching for his jeans, his shirt, anything to cover himself. He felt exposed, filthy, violated. The phantom sensation of rough, calloused hands on his skin made him want to crawl out of his own body. His fingers brushed denim—the jeans. He snatched them up, clutching the fabric to his chest like a shield.
“Hey, calm down,” Mason said, his voice rising, edged with confusion and a hint of anger. “You’re freaking out. Just take a breath.”
Austin found his shirt balled up near the nightstand and grabbed it. His shoes, he saw one near the doorway. He didn't bother looking for the other. He just grabbed a sock he’d been wearing and bolted.
He didn't look back. He couldn't look back. If he looked back, he would see Mason’s face, and he was terrified of what he would see. He was terrified that the kind, handsome neighbor would be gone, replaced by the leering, predatory grin of Uncle Mike.
He slammed the bedroom door behind him, not bothering to close it gently. He ran through the living room, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood, clutching his bundle of clothes against his naked chest. The apartment smelled of sex and leather, a scent that had turned from arousing to repulsive in the span of a heartbeat.
“Austin! Stop!” Mason’s heavy footsteps followed him, thudding down the hallway. “Where are you going?”
Austin wrenched the front door open, not caring that he was naked, not caring that he was running out in broad daylight. He just needed air. He needed space. He needed to be away from him.
He burst out into the cool late morning air, the sunlight hitting his eyes like a physical blow. He stumbled down the concrete stairs, nearly losing his balance. He heard the door open behind him again, Mason’s voice calling his name, but Austin didn't stop.
He ran across the patch of grass separating the buildings, his bare feet smarting on the gravel and twigs. He ran and he ran. He was dimly aware of the door to his own building opening, a neighbor walking out with a dog, stopping to stare at the naked boy sprinting past them with a wild look in his eyes. He didn't care. Let them look. Let them stare. It didn't matter.
Nothing mattered except getting inside, getting behind a locked door, and scrubbing Mike’s touch off his skin until he bled.
He fumbled with his keys, his hands trembling so badly he couldn't get the key into the lock. He dropped his clothes in his haste, cursing, sobbing, sweat stinging his eyes. He finally managed to shove the key home, turning it with a violent twist. He threw the door open, dashed inside, and slammed it shut, engaging the deadbolt with a shaking hand.
He leaned back against the wood, sliding down until he hit the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms, and let the sobs tear out of him. They were ugly, ragged sounds, sounds of a wounded animal. He could still smell Mike on him—the musk, the sweat, the faint scent of sawdust.
Like that every night.
The words echoed in his head, over and over, a relentless chant. Every night. Every night. Every night.
He clawed at his skin, scraping his fingernails down his arms, his chest, his thighs. He felt dirty. He felt used. He felt like a fool. He had invited this monster in. He had smiled at him, flirted with him, helped him with his bike. He had wanted him. And that was the worst part. He had wanted it, just like Mike had said he did.
“You like it, don’t you, Austin? You’re a dirty little man.”
He scrambled up from the floor, unable to bear the feeling of his own skin. He ran to the bathroom, turning the shower handle as far as it would go. He didn't wait for the water to warm up. He stepped under the freezing spray, gasping as the cold shock hit him, but he welcomed it. He grabbed the soap, scrubbing frantically, washing away the sweat, the lube, the memory.
He scrubbed until his skin was red and raw, until the soap stung his eyes. He stayed under the water until it ran cold, but it was no use. The ghost of Uncle Mike was still there, lingering in the steam, whispering in his ear.
Finally, exhausted, shivering, and raw, he turned off the water. He stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around himself. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror—a pale, gaunt face with haunted eyes, looking back at him like a stranger. He looked away quickly, unable to face what he saw.
Mason stood in the middle of his living room, staring at the open front door. He was still naked, his chest heaving, his mind racing.
He replayed the last ten minutes in his head, trying to make sense of what had happened. It had been perfect. It had been intense, sure, but amazing. Austin had been into it. He had begged for it. He had come harder than Mason had ever seen anyone come.
And then... snap.
One minute, Austin was curled in his arms, all soft and pliant. The next, he was thrashing like a wildcat, screaming, eyes wide with terror. He’d looked at Mason like he was a monster. Like he was the thing nightmares were made of.
“Monster!” Austin had screamed.
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