Night Terrors: Death Game

I began to come to very uncomfortably. My head was tipped forward onto something very hard, and I was in a kneeling position. I opened my eyes to see the control panel of a treadmill. My hands were tucked into leather gloves that curled my fingers in, and were fastened at the wrists. They were like boxing gloves that could only be removed from the outside, and the wrists were connected to the arms of the treadmill. I was able to stand with no problem.

Rafael was standing behind me, injecting a fluid into the tube that was going into my ass. I was regaining energy. I guessed it was some sort of a stimulant to wake me up. In front of me, I saw the others, all still asleep and hooked up the same way I was. We were in a circle, facing each other.

Suspended from the ceiling in the center of the ring, hung a clear vat of pink liquid I recognized – Billy and the others were in there. Clear tubes came from the bottom of the vat and linked up to everyone's rear tubes. Nothing was in the tubes yet, so there was no flow happening. More tubes came from our dick tubes to deposit into the top of the vat.

I took a few steps on the treadmill, pushing it without the power on. It pulled about a foot of pink fluid out of everyone else into their dick tube. For me, the same amount of fluid came from the vat and into my ass intake. So it was like that, was it? We were supposed to race or something to empty each other? How was he going to force us to participate?

“How are you holding up, Rafael?” I asked.

“Miserable,” he said. “I'm glad Billy was able to lock me up for that last round so I could get a break from seeing people die. I liked him?”

“This must be hard on you.”

“I hate it,” Rafael said. “I hate all of it. I hate that people are dying; I hate that I'm doing it; I hate that I have no way to stop my own body from doing it. But, most of all, I hate that it's my fault.”

“It's not,” I told him. “Why would you think that?”

“Because he made me pick all of you out,” Rafael explained. “He told me to choose the hottest guys from a stack of pictures: the guys I'd have sex with if I were still alive. Everyone I picked is here, either on a treadmill, in that vat, or inside you guys. You must hate me.”

“For looking at pictures and choosing who you thought was the cutest?” I asked. “We all do that. You had no idea what it was for. If anything, I hate him more for manipulating you and giving you so much guilt.”

A tear rolled down Rafael's cheek. “Thank you, Cameron. If I weren't so dead, I'd want to kiss you.”

“Same,” I replied. “Any way you can stop what you're doing and let us out?”

“I wish,” he said, removing the clear tube from Conrad's intake to push a syringe full of green fluid into it. Conrad began awakening. Rafael moved around the circle and woke everyone else up the same way. They all looked to me, standing at the ready, first. Only after the last person was alert did the Host speak to us.

Welcome to the fifth test,” he said. “Cameron, tell them what you've figured out about the setup.”

I didn't want to play his game, but maybe I could get them not to play either if I was the one speaking. “If you take a step, it pulls the life out of everyone else to go into the vat, and pulls some of the vat into you. See, there's a little coming out of you and a little coming out of the vat into me? That's three steps worth. That's all I needed to know that walking on these would kill you guys, so I stopped. If we don't walk, we live.”

“He's right so far, with the information he's been given,” The Host said. “However, I'm about to change the settings. The treadmills are going to move on their own at one mile per hour. They will drain you slowly. You will have to push it to two miles per hour with your legs to make the vat fill you up at the same rate you're losing it. Of course, pushing it will make everyone else drain faster, so you will have to run faster to keep from being drained. I'm going to be generous in telling you that, should you all go six miles per hour, there will be a balance where everyone gains and loses the same rate. Anyone who reaches the ten mile mark will have their exit pumps turned off so they will no longer be drained.”

Devices lowered from the ceiling in front of each of our faces. There were tubes coming down and two spouts on each one. One was marked 'water' and the other one 'energy'.

“The water tube is just that, water. It will always be active. Every mile the light on the energy tube will come on for a minute and you may drink. It pulls from the vat, so you will reclaim some of what you lost. It also adds a special stimulant to boost your energy levels. The more you drink in the minute, the more life you will reclaim, and the easier it will be to do the next mile.” So we would have to drink the bodily fluids of dead men mixed with some mystery chemical to get an advantage? Aside from it being disgusting, I didn't trust it.

“Are we ready to begin?” the Host asked.

“No,” Jonathan said.

“What? Why not?” the Host asked.

“Because I can't,” Jonathan replied. “Look in my clothes, since I'm sure you have them with you, wherever you are. In my front pocket is my inhaler. I'll collapse before the first mile is over.”

“Then you will fail,” the Host said. “Others will fail as well. I must say, I will be sad to see you go.”

“Ryan,” Jonathan said immediately. “The one I was paired with for the first round. If I'm going to die anyway, I'd like to do what he did, with Conrad, so that he can skip the round. You still get one person eliminated and the power consolidated.”

“Don't you dare,” Conrad said to him.

“Do you want me to die here on the treadmill, or in a highly intimate and pleasurable act with you?” Jonathan asked the actor. “Those are my two options right now.”

Conrad looked down at his feet. “Fine,” he growled.

“I accept as well,” the Host said. “It truly is the most intimate act you can have with him, and you two can fully be together before you die. And I promise that Mr. James will move forward to round six. If anyone else would like to sacrifice themselves, save someone else, and die in the throes of ecstasy, now is the chance to speak up.” No one did. No one was willing to take a sweet death over the chance of living through this.

Rafael came by and injected a blue fluid into the intake ports of Jonathan and Conrad. Both of them slowly sank to the treadmill, and Rafael unhooked them, dragging them one by one out through another curtained door.

“Paralytics,” the host said. “They're awake, but can't move. They're going to be taken to do the first challenge again, and Jonathan will be entering Conrad. The difference is that Jonathan will have a compound in his system that will link him to Conrad so they can both feel what the other is feeling. Jonathan will also be given instructions on how to manipulate Conrad's pleasure centers from inside. I've been in Conrad's positions before, and feels like every cell in your body is orgasming at once. I'm almost jealous of him.”

“He's falling for Jonathan,” Jason said flatly. “Are you jealous of him watching someone he loves die?”

There was no verbal response. The treadmills started up, and it seemed that the time for banter was over. “With two gone, the new break-even speed is five miles per hour,” the host said clinically, then cut off the microphone. The part about watching his lover die had hit a nerve with him, and I could tell that he still wasn't over watching Rafael die. I realized that I was the only one in the room who knew any of their back story.

“Alright, if we can all stay at that speed for ten miles, we will all live,” I said to the nine others still with me.

To say that what happened next was a clusterfuck would be an understatement. I got my treadmill to five miles per hour, watching the reading on the display to maintain it. I tried to hold it there, but I wasn't a runner, so even maintaining the jog was difficult. Most of the other men were having a hard time, aside from Jason and two men I didn't know. Obviously, running was something they did regularly.

Another of the men was slowing down, panting. “Come on, man,” I encouraged him between puffs of breath. “This is life or death. Don't give up!” But I knew how he was feeling. Less than a mile in, and I was already feeling like I wanted to die. The man started back up, but was still slow, and getting slower.

I reached the first mile marker, and the light next to the energy tube turned on, but I had no intention of drinking the liquefied human remains. I saw Jason refuse it as well, but the other two runners took short sips from theirs.

A minute or so later, when the others reached their first mile markers, the struggling men drank as well. Between panting, I asked them, “are you guys keeping to five miles per hour? Four of us got to the mile marker at the same time, but the rest of you were late.”

“I don't have a display,” one of the other men said

“Mine turned off after the first minute,” another one said.

“Mine too,” said one of the runners, much more easily than the rest of us were talking.

At the second mile, I was the only one who didn't take a drink. Even Jason took a couple sips. I did take some water, though, since I was getting dehydrated. The man who had been slowing early on, though, was now standing with his feet on the edges, not running at all, and quite motionless. He wasn't even breathing. I knew what was happening, and it was confirmed when his legs started retracting into his body and his height started lowering. I turned my head back to my monitor to avoid watching the rest of the process.

While I knew that break-even speed would now be slower with one fewer person running, I also knew we had no way of coordinating our speed. Obviously, it was deliberate sabotage to throw chaos into the challenge. The faster other people went, the faster we got drained, so that sipping from the energy tube would make us speed up even more. That, in turn, would drain the others faster. And around and around we would go.

At mile three, the other eight men drank again, but I refused, just going for water again. One of the others started guzzling from the tube on purpose, then began sprinting. I could see his logic. He was trying to get to the ten mile cutoff so he could stop sooner. I pulled in more water and ran a bit faster to offset him. A second set of readings appeared on my monitor, showing my intake and output from the vat, and I had to speed up a little bit to get the numbers even.

Did the others get that reading? I highly doubted it. I suspected that it was to help me, specifically, stay alive. I tried to mention that to the others, but my lungs wouldn't do anything more than pant.

As I maintained that speed for a while, I noticed that it was actually getting easier. My body adjusted to the speed, and I could feel a bit of a rush coming over me. Was this what a runner's high felt like?”

Mile four. Jason didn't drink, but the others did. All except for one, who had also given in and was now being consumed from the inside. His body bumped and bounced on his moving treadmill as it was drained. Each thump echoed in my head and etched itself into my memory. I would never be able to disassociate that sound from this experience.

I maintained my speed, even though I was being drained less, in order to get a little bit of a refill without drinking the other chemical. I felt like my pace was good. The sprinter reached his fifth mile long before we did, and guzzled even more of the fluid.

Another man was slowing down, unable to keep up with the extra drain from the sprinter, and it wasn't long until we were down to seven. I tried not to think about it. It was then me, Jason, the other two runners, the sprinter, and two more men who were trying to keep up.

One of those other two men was focused on his screen and readjusting his pace like I was. He must have had a readout like mine. I wondered if he was one of the other men the Host had chosen to win. Probably. I had no idea who he was, and I barely knew his face. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know anyone else personally here.

The sprinter kept going, drinking more and speeding more, passing the mile markers at break neck speed. Soon the other non-runner, the one without the special readouts on his screen, went down. There were six of us.

Finally, the sprinter stopped running, passing the last mile marker and having his treadmills power down completely. Both his intake and output tubes drained completely, and he stood there, panting and triumphant. He looked quite unaware that what he had done had cause three men to die when they couldn't keep up with him.

Now, however, the need for insane speeds were gone. Both the other non-runner and I slowed down to a brisk walk. Jason and the other two runners let up a bit as well, seeing us relax. For the last three miles, none of us took energy, only water, and we all made it safely to the end.

“Congratulations to all of you who made it to the end of round five. None of you were willing to give up in the face of adversity, and you pushed through to the end. That spirit is something I highly value, and the lazy were weeded out. Now, I'm going to turn on the treadmills again, but at a very relaxed pace, and without the drain from your bodies. I want to finish emptying the vat into the rest of you before starting round six.”

^^^

It was a very odd sensation for Conrad to be awake and fully aware of everything that was going on , but completely unable to move his own muscles. He was being pulled down a corridor into another room by the strange robed man, who seemed to have little trouble moving him. Something about that fact seemed wrong, like there was something he should be putting together, but his brain couldn't make the leap to figure it out. He needed Cameron or Billy...but billy was dead now. Jonathan was next. Conrad tried to kick or buck or anything that could help him get out and fight what was happening, but his body wouldn't obey him. He pulled on his acting ability to project calmness, and held it within himself. He would have to observe and learn so he could make his moves later. He had to try and channel Cameron.

In the next room, the robed man pulled the ports out of the rubber underwear, which gave Conrad a brief sensation of being stroked and fucked at the same time, then slid off the underwear itself. Such a quick and mild pleasure distracted him for half a second, but no more than that. With his emotions so worked up, Conrad didn't think he could possibly experience anything close to real pleasure without the Host intervening with some of his strange drugs.

The robed figure lifted Conrad, fully nude and as limp as a rag doll, onto a metal table with wheels, laying Conrad on his back. His arms were set out to his sides gently and his legs got spread slightly past a comfortable resting angle.

A few minutes after leaving the room again, the robed man dragged Jonathan in, stripping him as well. Instead of depositing Jonathan onto another table, though, he was placed on top of Conrad. They were chest to chest and crotch to crotch, with Jonathan's legs between Conrad's. Suddenly, the angle of Conrad's legs was no longer uncomfortable with Jonathan between them. The robed man used ropes to strap them down in a stack.

“I thought you might prefer me taking you upstairs this way,” the robed man told them. “It's a little extra time together.”

“I'm sure they appreciate the sentiment, Rafael,” the Host said. “You're such a sappy romantic. Now, bring them up to my lab. I'll meet you there.” The Host was going to meet them? Was this going to be an opportunity to get some answers?

As much as Conrad hated to admit it, he was appreciative of being pressed body to body with Jonathan. His skin was smooth and soft against Conrad's, and every shift or bump of the table rubbed them against each other more.

They were wheeled, to an elevator, and taken up a long way. When they exited, they were back in hallways that were intended for hotel guests, warmly lit and well decorated. Rafael pushed them down carpeted hallways and to a door that looked like any other hotel room door. He manually unlocked it with a long brass key, then pushed it open and used a chain on the inside to hold it that way. What he pushed them into looked like a normal inexpensive hotel room. It wasn't a suite like the ones they had been in for the first challenge. This one was just a basic two-bed, table and chair, dresser and television affair that regular people would stay in. Conrad hadn't seen a room like that since he was fifteen, when he was just starting his road to teen idol status.

Once they were inside, Rafael locked the door and came back into the room. He moved to yet another door, this one to what would be an adjoining room, if it weren't for the fact that this one was the last room in the hallway, so there wouldn't be a room there.

He pushed them through the door and into another hotel room, the mirror image of the previous one, but one that shouldn't exist, and locked the connector door behind us as well. When he took us out of the new room's front door, it was into another hotel hallway, but with no decorations, and the doors didn't have numbers. The hallway felt strange to him.

As if on cue, Rafael spoke. “We just left a fake room, connected to a fake room, and we're now in a fake hallway, all of which is on a floor that's not marked on the elevator's control panel. None of the doors here are real. Anyone trying to find this place would have to first find their way to the floor with the elevator's secret code, then know which room was the decoy, then pick the lock for the decoy room, figure out that there would be no adjoining room, pick that lock, and then come out of that room. Then they'd be in this trap hallway, since the lock for that door is only accessible from the inside of the room.”

Even without having crazy deductive powers, Conrad had figured that much out, so he didn't think that their decoy room was as special as they thought it was. “All of these fake doors have real locks, shich are set with silent alarms and triggers to seal the hallway and flood it with a poisonous gas.” That part was pretty clever, though. Anyone trying to fumble through would end up dead for their efforts, imagining how clever they had been in picking all of those locks up until the moment when it would bite them in the ass.

At the far end of the hallway, three doors in from the last, Rafael unlocked a door that should have led back toward the interior of the hotel, if Conrad's directional awareness was correct. What it actually led to was a very sterile antechamber, white and chrome. He locked the door behind us as well, spending more time on that lock than any other. His body blocked me from seeing what he was doing.

“The trap on the door forward is deactivated by a series of triggers on the door backward,” he said. “Just in case either of you have any ideas of escaping. This room will kill you if you don't know the way through it. Your only escape from the next rooms is to have one of us let you out. And, just so you know, the Host would rather die than let either of you go, so it's really just me that could let you out. Keep that in mind before you start getting violent. Take me down and you'll be trapped inside forever.”

Conrad had read hundreds of scripts. Subtext and hidden meanings were as familiar to him as breathing by that point. He knew a misdirect when he saw it. What he heard behind what Rafael had told him was that, were they to take down the Host, Rafael would help them escape. Was Rafael not a willing participant in all of this? Conrad filed that away for later, if it was something he'd be able to use.

Once he got the trapped door open, Rafael took them to a new place that completely abandoned all pretense to being part of a hotel. The library they were in was extensive, taking up what would be about six hotel suites worth of space. The wood was dark and rich, and every bit of it matched in every piece of furniture, including the wooden columns in the center of the room that held sconces of cream and gold on every face, which bathed the room in a warm amber light. The place was designed to be cozy and comfortable. Even though there was a grand, heavy wooden table in the center, with lamps the same style as the sconces, there were also chairs and sofas at various places in the room to accommodate a more relaxed form of study. Aside from the two doors to the room, every inch of wall space on the perimeter was lined with bookcases, with no empty spaces, either on the walls or the shelves.

“Outside of Alexandria's great library, this is the greatest collection of scientific, medical, and magical information in the world,” Rafael said. Magical? There was magic happening here as well? “Other libraries might have more books, but this one cuts out all of the fiction, biographies, and other fields of study that are outside the host's needs, as well as all of the introductory and beginner materials. There are also no duplicates. No piece of information in any of these books is repeated in another. Basically, this is the condensed and distilled information of the entire world, through all of recorded history.”

Conrad couldn't help but be impressed. The Host wasn't merely a sick and perverted murderer, he was possibly the most brilliant mind of all time. It made sense why he was championing Cameron. Getting rid of Billy probably crushed the mad genius, as would killing Jonathan, who was another science nerd. Why in the world would he want to keep Conrad above those other great minds?

He knew the answer, though, and it was a blow to his ego. The Host didn't want Conrad for his mind, just for his body. His money and fame might tied in as well, but he knew his looks were the main reason. He hadn't worked since thirteen on sculpting the perfect Hollywood body for nothing. He pulled in his resolve and decided that he would use it to his advantage. He had thought that the reward for all of that time and effort were fans, celebrity, millions of dollars, but no. This was. Surviving this was going to be his true reward.

They stopped by the large table in the center of the room and Rafael unstrapped the two of them. Then he gently lifted Jonathan off of him and deposited his unmoving body onto the table. Conrad immediately missed the warmth and gentle breathing of the other man.

Out of another door, apart from the one they had entered through, walked a second robed figure, but this robe was white with accents of gold. His gloves matched the robe, and he had a beautiful porcelain mask on his face, also accented with gold. Conrad instinctively knew that man had to be the Host, and when the man spoke, Conrad knew he was right. “You may bring Jonathan in here, Rafael,” said the voice Conrad had only, to that point, heard through speakers. “I have a spot for him to be placed while I prep Mr. James for the process.”

The Host, to Conrad's surprise, was very slight of build, and the shortest man Conrad had seen since coming to the hotel. Was he even an adult? The Host followed Rafael and Jonathan through the door.

After several moments, Rafael returned to the library to collect Conrad. Instead of wheeling him in, Rafael lifted the actor to carry him in by hand. Once again, his strength struck Conrad as odd, and now he knew why. Billy had been a twink. Sure, he was a bit taller than your average twink, and he had some wrestling knowledge, but any man who could lift and carry Conrad's bulk would have been able to keep someone Billy's size at bay. Rafael had thrown that fight. The amount of acting skill Rafael had shown, both in the fight, and in convincing Billy that the ankle straps in his tank had been mis-latched by accident, astounded Conrad. Ineptitude was hard to convincingly fake to a shrewd mind. People who were bad at faking clumsiness never made it past infomercials. Rafael definitely had some experience, and Conrad couldn't help but be impressed.

The next room, the Host's lab, was a strange mixture of the mad scientist's lair set from when Conrad beat the evil genius Abercrombie Curie in his movie “Maximum Carnage II”, and the wizard's tower set from when he defeated the evil sorcerer Moravel Farnsworth in the third movie of “The Cornerstone Chronicles”, where Conrad had played a young squire of fourteen. He'd been nineteen at the time, but that was just how Hollywood worked.

The shelves were lined with jars and flasks, labeled with symbols Conrad didn't recognize. The ones Conrad could see into had everything from colored liquids, to powders with chemical symbols, to brightly colored crystals and flowers, to grotesque bits and pieces of animals and humans. There were more books inside as well – textbooks that looked glossy and new, next to spell books that looked worn and ancient. The counters had candlesticks of various colors and sizes next to Bunsen burners and Erlenmeyer flasks. What the hell was this man?

The Host was at the counter island in the center of the lab, busying himself over a large pewter bowl, maybe iron, Conrad couldn't tell the difference. The lip of the bowl was golden, and underneath that was a ring that looked like it was made from clear crystal. The rest of the bowl was the metal Conrad couldn't identify, carved with scrollwork patterns that gave Conrad a headache when he tried to focus on them. Something about that bowl felt ancient, powerful, and incredibly important.

The Host measured liquids into graduated cylinders, weighed out powders on digital scales, set two human eyeballs and a bat wing on a piece of wax paper next to the bowl, and did a small chant over a clay jar, which sang a hymn when he opened it to pull out a pinch of sparkling white powder. All of that was done while Rafael tied Conrad to a simple rolling fold out bed.

Once Conrad was secured, Rafael brought a small vial across his nose. “This will counteract the paralysis,” he said. “Everything will come back slowly, but you should have some time to talk to Jonathan before we start.” He gestured over to a large leather chair in the corner, where Jonathan's paralyzed body had been placed to watch the action in the rest of the lab.

The Host chanted, did complex hand motions, and interspersed it with slow mixing as he added each ingredient to the bowl. At one point, he said a single syllable and the bowl sprang to life. The crystal ring began glowing in an intense violet color, and the inscribed patterns lit up with a whitish blue tone. The writing forced Conrad to close his eyes, which he could now thankfully do. He turned his head away and tried to blink moisture back into his eyes. Instead of watching the Host prepare whatever he was making in the headache bowl, he watch Rafael move Jonathan to another rolling fold away bed and tie him down as well. He waved the vial under Jonathan's nose to counteract the paralysis in him, so soon the two of them would be able to speak again.

Rafael then proceeded to lean down and give Jonathan a list of instructions, but low enough that Conrad couldn't hear them over the chanting, bubbling and hissing in the center of the room. The Host had said that Jonathan would be able to manipulate Conrad sexually from the inside, so that was probably Rafael telling him how. Part of Conrad was getting angry that they were basically teaching Jonathan how to die, and that Jonathan was participating willingly. But the other part of Conrad, the part that wanted Jonathan more than anything else in the world, knew Jonathan was being told how to give Conrad more pleasure than he'd ever felt in his life. When that thought crossed his mind, he got hard involuntarily.

After about fifteen minutes of prepping, Jonathan's be was wheeled next to Conrad's. He tested his voice. “Can you speak yet?” Conrad asked.

“Yes,” Jonathan replied.

“How do we get out of this?”

“That's not on the table,” Jonathan replied. “There was no was for me to get out alive, so I chose this to be close to you one last time, and to keep you alive for as long as I could.. There is no plan other than that.

Conrad tried to grasp for anything he could. “Cameron could figure something out to save us if we can stall long enough.” In his desperation, he didn't notice that the Host had stopped and was filling a bottle with the contents of the headache bowl.

“He can't and won't,” Jonathan said. “He's really smart, but he's barely figuring things out in time to save himself. They're sending new challenges too fast for him to get ahead. Still, it's better than the rest of us are doing.”

“But it's not fair!” Conrad yelled out. “All I want is to walk out of here with you by my side and there's nothing I can do to make that happen!”

“You're right. There isn't,” Jonathan said sadly. While Conrad was paying attention to Jonathan, he didn't see that the Host had walked over to him and that Rafael was there as well. Something was quickly and unceremoniously shoved up Conrad's ass by the Host, while Rafael quickly applied force to keep Conrad from moving. The liquid from the bowl was being squeezed into him. If he could have kicked either of the two men at that point, he would have. “It's the enema solution from the first round,” the Host told him. “I had to whip up a new batch just for you. I left out the vocal paralysis this time, though, so you'll be able to moan and groan to your heart's content.”

He moved over to Jonathan with another vial. “Would you like to drink this or have it injected?” he asked. “I can assure you that it will taste pleasant if you drink it, but burn like hell if it enters your veins.”

“I'll drink it,” Jonathan replied, and the swallow full of liquid was soon gone.

“Excellent,” The Host said. “Rafael, move them to the testing chamber next door and unlatch Jonathan. Then lock them inside.” Rafael complied and wheeled them into the next room, which only had one door and nothing else inside. The walls were made of what looked like a dark mirrored glass: one way mirrors. That meant there was a room all around that one for observation, and probably recording as well.

“I'm only going to release your hands,” Rafael told Jonathan once they were both inside. “You'll be able to release yourself from that point and then release Conrad...or not. He may not choose to cooperate and you might need to have him restrained like you were with Ryan.” He did as he said and then left the room, and the door was latched from the other side. They were locked in.

“We'll be ready in ten minutes,” the Host said calmly over the speakers. Just the sound of his voice once again over the speakers gave Conrad a chill. The torment was about to start back up. “I regret all of this; but it's too late to stop now. I'm glad you two will at least get the intimacy you wanted from each other.”

“Conrad will need the emotional support, not me,” Jonathan told him bitterly as he freed himself from the bed. “I'm nearly dead.”

“Jonathan,” Conrad breathed, and Jonathan walked over to Conrad's bed and knelt down next to him.

Jonathan looked Conrad in the eyes, putting a hand to the Actor's cheek. “It's all right,” Jonathan said to him. “Just promise me you'll do everything within your power to make it out alive after I'm gone. Honor my memory with your life.”

“I promise,” Conrad said softly. “Still, you don't have to do this. Stay with me and fight this.”

“That is no longer an option,” the Host said through the speaker. “The formula in Jonathan's system has a nasty side effect of liquefying the person who ingested it. In an hour, he'll be gone, no matter what choice you make. The formula in your system will prevent the liquefication from passing to you when you absorb him. You have the choice of using the gift I've given you, and being with each other, or ignoring it. I'm going to monitor the others and I'll be back with you in an hour to bring you back to them. Personally, I'd rather not have to mop up Jonathan when I do.”

Conrad squeezed his eyes closed to hold back the tears that were threatening to escape. A gentle hand on his chest caused him to exhale the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “Can I please kiss you?” Jonathan asked. “It's something we haven't gotten a chance to do, and I'd really like to do it before...you know.”

Conrad opened his eyes to find Jonathan's right in front of them. He was so beautiful to Conrad that his chest hurt. He didn't really want Jonathan to see him cry, but there was no stopping it. “Of course I want that,” Conrad choked, his voice shaky.

There was no hesitation. Jonathan leaned the last few inches and fire flowed through his veins. The kiss was passionate and sexy and excruciatingly devastating, all at once. Conrad was at the apex of Heaven and the rock bottom of Hell. There were more tears on his cheeks than he was producing himself.

When the kiss ended, Jonathan climbed up onto Conrad and lay there, chest to chest, touching foreheads. “I fell hard,” Jonathan told him.

“Love?” Conrad asked.

“Yeah.”

“I think I did, too, even though it was stupid fast. I barely even know you and I think I love you,” Conrad breathed.

Jonathan chuckled. “I know. I don't get it either. Out there, in the real world, I never even thought twice about you.”

“What? I wasn't one of your celebrity five?” Conrad teased.

“Nope. But you're just so much different in person. Normal person Conrad is way more my type than Celebrity Conrad. Normal Conrad is number one on my list.”

Conrad smiled. “Good, because it's really hard to be Celebrity Conrad all the time. The bravado and swagger just isn't me. Hey Jonathan?”

“Yeah?”

“Marry me and live in the suburbs with me.”

“Ok,” Jonathan breathed as he moved in for another kiss.

It didn't last long as Jonathan started moving his kisses down Conrad's neck, which made him rock hard. He worked his way around and over Conrad's nipples and then down his abs. Each touch sent electricity through Conrad's body, straight to his dick. Pretty soon, that's also where the electricity originated, as Jonathan's tongue traced a line up the underside of it. Conrad moaned as Jonathan worked him over, bringing him close and then letting him go back to normal. He went in a second time once Conrad's breathing returned to normal, and once again let up before Conrad could climax.

He got off and pushed the second bed around so they made one long bed, and climbed up to start playing with Conrad's thighs with his bare feet. Conrad was so pent up with cum that he didn't register what Jonathan was starting to do. He was just lost in the sensation of Jonathan's toes playing with his balls. They stroked his taint a little, and then touched his hole.

That's when the waves of pleasure hit Conrad. His back arched and he would have left the bed if his wrists and ankles weren't still strapped to it. He felt his ass pulling hungrily at Jonathan's feet and his insides filling slowly. His own feet began tingling, almost vibrating, as Jonathan's experience overlapped his own. The buzz moved slowly, sensually, over his ankles and up his legs. He definitely didn't remember that feeling from the first time, not that he remembered much from that drug induced near-coma.

He was panting heavily as the buzz moved up his thighs, and yelled out as the sensation of the buzz on his ass mixed with the feeling of it being filled with something massive. Jonathan's dick went inside, and Conrad's dick became alive with its own internal vibration. When his hands began to tingle, he knew Jonathan's were inside of him. That's when his prostate started to get massaged, on top of the vibration. More bucking, from Jonathan, and he felt both of their dicks being stroked at the same time.

“I'm fucking the inside of your dick with mine,” Jonathan told him. Conrad couldn't say anything, though, as the first wave of the orgasm started taking over. It almost hurt with the power of it, and because it wouldn't stop. The buzz continued to move up his chest, coupled with the bucking, and the cum shot out in blasts at the ceiling. “Shoot both of our loads, baby!” Jonathan cried out. Conrad screamed as the blasting orgasm took him over and the buzz engulfed his head.

And then it started to subside. Conrad's dick shot less and less, going to a dribble, and finally nothing at all as he stopped feeling the sensations Jonathan was feeling. Jonathan wasn't feeling anything any more. He was gone.