Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

III stumbles over himself as he shoves his clothes in his backpack. His hands are shaking and he can’t do it quick enough. He doesn’t have much stuff should have time before his boyfriend gets home, he knows this but he can’t get rid of the fear that something’s going to go wrong.

It’s taken him so long to get to this stage, he barely trusts that he’ll manage it now, especially with all the threats lately, but- but they can’t be real. 

They can’t.

III refused to believe his boyfriend would share sex tapes of III to his parents. It’s just a fear tactic, Rick knows his parents are homophobic and he wants to keep III. It makes sense. III refused to believe that Rick could do something like that to him, maybe things haven’t been going great lately but they were together for a reason, he’s not an awful person he’s just… not quite right for III.

He’s lost in his thoughts and panic so he doesn’t notice when the door swings open, doesn’t notice the other man walk in until the clothes are knocked out of his hands. Maybe he was right to be worried.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rick snarls, anger rolling off him, III’s stomach utterly drops.

“It’s-it’s not-“ III stammers out, but the words just won’t come, all he can do is stare in panic at his partner.

Rick catches the flash of pure terror in III’s eyes, and he allows the silence to drag on, watching as III visibly deflates in front of him with each passing second. He knows that III desperately hates silence, but he’s never seen him shake this hard, his fingers digging into his scrawny chest.

“Were you leaving me?” Rick demands, the anger making his voice shake. He grows more furious as III seems incapable of answering him, and the rage and betrayal course through his veins like battery acid. 

His last, thin veneer of control cracks at III’s insulting lack of a reply, and his hand shoots out to grab him by the jaw, wrenching his face up to look at him. He clenches his fist even tighter until III starts to grimace, a desperate, panicky keen coming from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“Did you think you could leave?!” Rick shouts, and with a furious snarl he flings him to the ground.

He watches with some satisfaction as III’s long limbs stumble in the tight space, sending him crashing to the hard floor at his feet where a swift, unexpected stomp had him rolling in pain.

III chokes out a No, it’s broken and ragged and not believable for a second. 

Rick fumes. How dare III?! After everything Rick’s done for him, how dare he think he has a right to leave. 

He crouches down, low and menacing and fists his hand in III’s overgrown hair, “Don’t you fucking dare think you can just leave me.”

III squeaks in response “I promise, I swear I wasn’t, I was just moving some clothes around, please, you know I’d never leave you.”

Rick knew that losers like him didn’t get the pretty boys like III. Boys like III were supposed to be at parties with all their friends, laughing until their stomachs hurt, dancing with other nice boys, living perfect happy lives with perfect, happy relationships.

They weren’t supposed to be caged up in his dark room watching him play games all day, the glow from the computer making his delicate skin look pale and sickly. 

Every day Rick is thankful to III’s shitty parents for driving him into his waiting arms, for making him so broken and desperate for any scrap of love that he’d be desperate for even his. They had given him the perfect roadmap for how to treat him, and he revelled in the power of making this pretty boy grovel at his feet for even a scrap of his affection.

He knew that one day he’d try to leave him just like he was trying to distance himself from his parents, he just didn’t know that the day would come so soon, and he decided it was time to clip III’s wings.

He grins down at III, a sharp, cruel smile. He’ll make sure that III is sorry for even thinking that he could leave. 

He needs to show III who owns him. 

Luckily, III is already on the floor, cowering below him. He barely has to move to yank III’s legs apart, cruel fingers digging in. III’s thin and fragile and Rick knows these bruises will last for a long time. 

Good. Hopefully he won’t forget in a hurry. 

III doesn’t struggle, he’s used to Rick taking from him and right now he’d do anything to appease his boyfriend. He doesn’t know yet that Rick plans to be a bit… crueler than normal. Usually he’ll prep III, even if it’s minimal, but today he wants to make III scream.

III can feel that familiar panic start to build. He’s used to Rick leaving marks, but this time he’s gripping him so hard that it feels like he’s trying to push his fingers into his skin— and for a moment he’s worried he’ll succeed. He’s grateful when they finally move away and tries to let his whole body go lax as his legs are twisted and roughly yanked apart.

He knows the drill by now and tries to relax as he hears the cap of the lube open, his eyes squeezing shut as Rick yanks his legs even farther apart, pushing them into an uncomfortable stretch. 

“Look at me.” Rick’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts, and III looks up at him fearfully, hoping this will be over soon. “Do you love me?” He asks, his elbows digging painfully into his thighs, keeping them spread.

“Yeah.” III’s voice cracks. “I love you.” Fat tears are already spilling down his cheeks, and he tries to look away from Rick’s hard cock, bobbing between his spread legs.

Rick snarls. It’s the words he wants to hear but he knows III doesn’t mean them, knows they’re lies. 

He’ll just have to make III mean them. 

He adds a little bit of lube to his cock so the friction on it won’t be too bad before he shoves into III’s hole. It’s too tight and he has to force his way in. III starts bleeding in seconds and Rick smirks in satisfaction. He’s going to ruin him.

“I don’t think you do.” He keeps his eyes on III’s face, eagerly watching the surprise, then horror, then absolute panic as Rick continues to shove his cock inside of him with no prep. The instant tearing makes it easier, and it’s not long before III’s composure cracks and he starts to thrash in earnest, babbling out panicked pleas for him to stop. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…. please stop, please Rick, please.” His voice is thick with tears but it only serves to make Rick groan as his achingly hard cock carves into him, slick with his blood.

III’s head is spinning, he feels sick and desperately wants to be free, none of it was supposed to happen like this. 

Fuck, he was going to pack his stuff and leave. He was finally strong enough and knew this was the best thing to do, not… not have this happen. 

He can’t leave. He was foolish to think that. He’s never going to be free. 

It feels like his chest is crushing in on itself, both from the mental and physical pain. He can’t do this. Everything hurts so badly and his only option is to beg Rick to forgive him. If he’d never tried to leave none of this would have happened. It’s his fault, all of it is his own fault.

He isn’t sure how long it goes on for. It feels unending just as it feels like mere moments. Time doesn’t have any meaning for him in this state, all he knows is pain and betrayal. Eventually, he feels Rick cum deep inside of him, his cock kicks and spurts and if III had any energy left in him he’d probably shriek at the way it aggravates the wounds inside. 

Rick kisses him at this. His tongue invades III’s mouth and it makes III want to gag, the guilt he feels at this is high when he knows that this is his boyfriend, and he’s not supposed to think these things. But the violent ra-sex and the taste of Rick’s unwashed mouth make III feel sick. 

He holds it back but it’s a struggle. Instead, he does his best to return the kiss, to reassure Rick that III is his.

Rick enjoys the feeling of III squirming below him, feeling his whole body stiffen in disgust as he struggles to return the kiss. 

Such potential, he smiles to himself. So eager to try for his forgiveness.

He let his full weight press down onto III and pushes his skinny frame into the filthy hardwood floor, the evidence of his attempted escape still scattered around them. 

He could see the fear in III’s eyes, but he could also see the glimmer of hope, and scowles as he reaches over to grab his phone. III’s eyes try to nervously track what he’s doing, but he’s too smart to ask by now, and Rick gives him a bright smile as he leans in close.

“Help me pick.” He says with a smirk, turning the screen around to show him dozens of video previous of them naked in his room.

III stares at the videos in horror, they’d experimented with filming once or twice but… but that was it. It wasn’t something III had enjoyed and they’d stopped quick enough. 

There’s far too many here for that. 

“Wh-what?” III’s voice is barely above a whisper and Rick grins in satisfaction.

“Here, I like this one,” he states, ignoring III’s question and clicking on one. 

“Daddy” III hears his own voice moan, “Fuck me daddy,” it sounds like a bad porno and III can’t help but cringe away from it.

The angle on the screen isn’t the best, but it’s enough to see III getting split apart on Ricks cock. It’s enough to see his tears and the way he begs for it. 

He stares at Rick in horror, and Rick just grins, pushing into III’s body a bit more. His softening cock is still in III’s ass and if III felt present at all he thinks he’d be crying. As it is he barely feels real. None of this can be real.

His thoughts are racing as his eyes flash wildly around the room. Was this being recorded? “You can’t, that’s not… You can’t do that.” III stammers, the shame and horror helping him find his voice— It feels like more of a violation than the unwanted cock still nuzzled limply inside of him. 

“Why?” Rick’s eyes glint. 

“It’s wrong!”

“So are you embarassed of us?” Rick’s voice becomes cold, his voice rising. “Are you embarassed of seeing yourself with me?” He challenges. 

III realizes the trap that he’s wandered into just a moment too late and tries to salvage it as Rick’s eyes begin to sear into him. “I love you.” III whimpers even as Rick’s hand fists in his hair, yanking so hard that tears spring to his eyes. 

Rick begins to click through various videos, the phone inches from III’s face as it gets redder and redder, humiliated as he sees flashes of himself being fucked every which way. 

“Which is your favourite?” Rick asks, and III shuts his eyes tightly, completely overwhelmed. He can feel the cold cum seeping out of him, the hard floor digging into his back… The weight of Rick is still pinning him down making it hard to breathe, and he just wants to say whatever it takes to be able to go clean him off of him.

“This one, it’s- it’s this one-“ III says frantically, not even looking at which video he’s pressing. 

“Good,” Rick smirks, “That’s one of my favourites too. It’s the first time you pissed yourself for me. You were so filthy III.”

III’s cheeks burn in shame, he hadn’t meant to do that but Rick had given him so many energy drinks and had fucked him for so long III hadn’t had a chance to do anything else. 

“Now them, since you like this one so much, you won’t mind sharing it, will you?” Rick states, his cock kicking a little in anticipation, although unable to become fully hard again in such a short amount of time. 

The pure terror on III’s face at those words is delicious and Rick wants to bottle it up. 

He’ll make sure III never goes to leave him again. 

With that he quickly presses the share button and finds III’s mum’s contact easy enough, he’d saved it a while ago when he’d taken III’s phone to check he hadn’t been cheating. 

He’d not told III that of course, III had always thought the threats of sending them anything were empty. That’s his own fault. 

III doesn’t even try and stop Rick, simply watching in mortification as Rick sends it. It’s perfect. 

The video gets sent off with a small whoosh and Rick grins down at his prey III. He’ll never leave now.

It feels simultaneously like a lifetime and only a fraction of a second before III’s phone starts to ring.

“You should get that.” Rick says coolly, but III can‘t tear his eyes away from the expression on Rick’s face, who’s watching him with an almost clinical fascination as III falls to pieces beneath him. Finally the ringing stops, but any scrap of relief III might feel is short-lived when it instantly begins to ring again. 

This time Rick moves to get it, leaning over to sort through his scattered belongings. “It’s your mum.” He says with a cold smile. “She must really want to speak with you,” and III feels like he’s staring up at a stranger as Rick taps the accept button and shoves his phone up to his ear. 

“M-mum…” III croaks out, barely able to speak as his chest seizes in panic. Her wailing is somehow worse than anything he could have imagined, a sound reserved for someone who’s just lost their child.

“P-Please…” He stammers through his choking tears, and he hasn’t cried this hard since he was a child— great hiccuping, heaving sobs wracking his thin frame. 

The snot and tears are streaming down his face as he tries to suck in a panicked breath, but soon he’s hyperventilating, desperately trying to twist away from the phone that Rick has pressed firmly against his ear as his dad begins to scream at him.

Rick doesn’t let him move. Of course he doesn’t. III can barely hear what his father is saying but the tone is clear enough. It’s pure hatred. 

“You’re no son of mine,” is the last thing III catches before the phone is turned off and he’s left with the awful sounds of his own sobs. 

They aren’t… the best parents in the world. But they were his. And he’s not ready to lose them, not yet. 

He doesn’t have a choice though. It was clear from his father’s tone if he ever shows up again…

He’s not going to think about that. He’s not going to think about how a father could hate his own son so much. He’s not going to think about everything he’s just lost. 

He’s not a fool, he knows it’s too risky to even try to back for his stuff. His entire life has suddenly been narrowed down to the contents he has in these four walls. 

Suddenly his joy at not having to pack too much has vanished. He doesn’t have his own money, his parents had blocked him getting a bank account and all his savings he’d burrowed in his room… They’re gone. 

He can’t go out and buy new clothes. He can’t even afford to feed himself. He’s entirely dependent on Rick now. 

Rick who he tried to leave, Rick who has no reason to be nice to him anymore. Rick who’s already proven that he won’t be. 

Panic overtakes III, and he hates every inch of himself. If he hadn’t tried to leave… He knew Rick was possessive. He’d even warned III. Fuck. How could he have been so stupid?

And the whole time Rick is just grinning down at him, the predatory look on his eye making III want to run away and hide. 

He has no where to run to. He wants so badly to go home, to crawl into his bed and wail, but he doesn’t have a home anymore.

When Rick finally pulls his half-hard cock out of III, he’s only capable of curling up into a tight little ball on the floor. He’s not sure how long he lies there, only being startled back into awareness by Rick crouching down in front of him, his car keys jingling in his hand.

”Get dressed.” He says, not sparing him another look as he begins to gather the small amount of personal effects still littered around him, stuffing them into an old plastic bag. He pauses to chuck a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt at III, who can only look at him with confusion, not understanding. 

”You wanted to leave me, so let’s go.”

”N-no, wait!” III’s mind stutters and stalls as he tries to make sense of this, his emotions so frayed that he doesn’t even feel present anymore, like he’s an outside observer, this has to be a threat, he’s just trying to scare him, he wouldn’t do this, he’s got nowhere to go.

Rick roughly pulls him up and he winces as it feels like each tear inside of him is re-opened again as clothes  are roughly tugged onto him, and before he can even make himself fully present he’s being shoved inside of Rick’s car, the plastic bag chucked at his feet.

”So where am I dropping you off.”

III tries to reach out to him— he just wants to make it all better, but Rick slaps his hand away and starts the car, pulling onto the street.

”You can stop sulking, you did this to yourself.” Rick huffs. As usual he’s driving too quickly, and soon the houses turn into apartments as they reach downtown.

“If you don’t tell me a place by the time we get to the city centre, I’m just leaving you there.” Rick warns, and III scrambles to think of anyone, anywhere that he can go.

It takes every last ounce of bravery inside of him for his shaky fingers to dial his parents phone number, and he feels a little part of him die inside when only a call cannot be completed flashes on his screen.

He has nowhere the only people in III’s life are-were his parents and Rick. 

Surely he can’t be doing this? 

“I don’t- Baby you know they have all my money. Can I not… can’t I stay with you?” He feels pathetic as he asks, and that feeling only amplifies when Rick scoffs at him. 

“You wanted to leave. I’m just giving you what you want. You’re resourceful, you’ll sort something out.”

The last part is said as more of an insult and III curls in on himself in shame. He’s not quite sure how but Rick has a habit of turning nice statements into words that make his stomach roll. 

Too quickly Rick pulls up at the city centre, he doesn’t find anywhere proper to park, just rolls up on the side and waits for III to leave. He doesn’t say anything, just unlocks the car and waits for III to leave. 

Chapter Text

III so desperately wants to beg, but he knows it won’t change Rick’s mind, and maybe if he does what he asks when he cools down he’ll take III back… Maybe. So he grabs his bag and shuffles out the car, his body is screaming at him but he has no choice.

He limps away and tries not to think about how pathetic he must look. He can feel blood trickling down his legs and he’s just grateful the trousers he has are loose and dark, hopefully no one can see. His head is spinning. Hadn’t Rick just… Wasn’t all that because he didn’t want to lose III? And now he’s kicking him out. It doesn’t make any sense.

His hand clenches around the plastic bag, it’s not even a good quality one, a flimsy Co-op bag that’s seconds away from breaking entirely, and does his best not to sob. He needs to work something out, heading to a coffee shop to situate himself before remembering his lack of funds. Fuck.

Luckily it’s not raining, although the grey clouds don’t fill him with much hope. He does his best to find an alley way, somewhere to stop in away from the eye of the public as he goes to pull himself together. He craves a warm bed and a shower but this will have to do. Luckily, he finds a side street easy enough.

He goes to crouch only to get a searing pain in his ass and quickly realises the mistake that will be, so he leans awkwardly against the wall instead, pulling his phone out. In the top right corner his phone warns him he’s only on 7% and he hits his hand against the solid brick in frustration, he’s stranded with no phone, no money, and barely any clothes. He’s never been more lost.

Rick watches from the warm interior of his car as III stumbles like a newborn foal into the first dark alley that he sees, shaking his head in disbelief. Grabbing the phone off his dash he fires off a quick message, a mean smile on his face as he instantly gets a reply.

—I see him

—Just don’t do anything permanent, I need him pretty for the camera.

With a self-satisfied smirk he puts his car into drive and pulls out into the evening traffic, catching the black shadowy shapes of two men slipping into the alley behind him.

III feels the evening chill start to set into his skinny frame and awkwardly tries to balance his bag in his hand, trying to sift through it to find his favourite hoodie. The bag slips and he curses as all of his things fall into the damp concrete and he feels like crying as he struggles to reach down and pick it up.

“You alright kid?” A reedy voice makes him jump, and he stands up quickly, his clothes forgotten. The man’s built a bit like III but stronger, with a beer belly sticking out of his faded shirt.

A heavy-set man stands a bit behind him, his face shrouded in darkness. “Ohh, he’s had a rough night.” He says with fake concern, and III jolts back into the wall, unable to go any further as the man’s thumb reaches out, wiping away some tears.

“I’m fine.” III says quickly, scrubbing at his face with the back of his arm, grimacing at how wet it comes away with snot and tears. He stares ruefully at his bag scattered on the ground, but inches away from it.

“We’re just trying to help you.” The man says with a smile that’s all wrong, herding III deeper into the alley. He can feel his heart in his throat as he scans the alley for an escape and readies himself for a fight, but he can only manage a weak sob as the man lunges at him, a surprisingly strong hand wrapping around his thin neck.

He tries his best to fight, his long limbs thrashing about in a blind panic but everything happens too quickly and a heavy blow catches him in the side of his head, sending him sprawled out on the cold ground, his mind trying desperately to catch up. They operate together as if they’ve done this a million times before and with a practised ease one of them has his hands pinned to the rough ground, while the other is tugging down his sweats.

III’s mind is spinning, this can’t be happening ag- this can’t be happening. It never happened before, him and Rick just had… angry sex. It wasn’t the same. It’s not the same. He can’t compare them. These are strangers and III’s never been so vulnerable.

One of the men whistles at the sight of III, “I see we aren’t the first, didn’t realise you were such a slut.”

III flames at the comment, choking down the bile and unease, “I’m not, that was my… my boyfriend, I don’t want this, please.” He’s not actually sure if he can still call Rick his boyfriend but he hopes things only temporary and Rick will take him back, he just needs to blow off some steam.

Still, he wants to cry when the man responds, “Boyfriend huh? Well if you like it this rough I suppose we don’t need to prepare you.” There’s no way he can explain that he doesn’t without it sounding like something it wasn’t, so he just clenches his jaw and tries his best to not spiral. It’s hard when he hears one of their zippers being pulled down, when he feels a blunt tip being pushed to his edge. Rick had used lube at least, the only lube these guys are using is Rick’s cum and III’s blood.

The pain is agonising as the man pushes in, III can feel the scabs being torn open and he screams against the gravel, maybe if he’s loud enough someone will help him.

“Oh someone’s loud, do you want someone else to join in? Our cocks aren’t enough for you?” The man not currently in him says, before crouching in front of him and pulling on his hair tightly, III can feel his neck crack as he pulls his head back with anger, “You better quiet down pretty boy.”

III gasps, breathing is hard in this angle and the pain inside him is intense. He doesn’t know how to respond or what to do, he does his best to nod in agreement but the man hasn’t left him any space for movement and he just hurts himself more. Tears stream down his face, hot and wet and he so desperately wants to run away, he doesn’t understand what he’s done to cause all of this, he just knows he needs to live through this so he can make it up to Rick. Once Rick takes him back he can have a hot shower and sleep in a bed and everything will be okay.

Will he even want you back after this? His mind unhelpfully supplies, just as an even worse stab of pain cuts through him. It’s so much worse than before as the thin man forces his cock inside of him as if he’s in a race, and all III can do is sob as he feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside. He hates that he can tell this cock feels different than Rick’s, hates that he’ll be able to remember a difference when if Rick takes him back.

“He’s too tight.” The thin man grunts, trying to stab into him, but III has tensed up around him. The larger man sighs and lets III’s head go, and too dazed to stop himself he feels his face smack into the rough pavement below, his nose exploding in pain.

“Just move him… here.” The larger man grunts, helping to lift III’s hips, his face now being dragged along the ground as they try to reposition him like a ragdoll.

“Relax.” A smack at the back of his head has him gasping as the cock starts to push in again.

“Is that better?”

“A bit… I just need to…there.” A rough thrust has III screaming as something deep inside of him tears, and it feels like he’s getting ripped apart as a warm wet feeling begins to smooth the way.

“There you go.” A sneering voice says as a heavy hand pats him roughly on the back of the head, and III’s eyes open impossibly wide with a gasp as the man starts to fuck him even harder.

No matter how hard he tries there’s no escaping, no floaty world he escapes to into inside his head when Rick fucks him. Each thrust drives him into the ground, soggy wet gravel driving into his bony knees and face— even the smell keeps him present, the scent of rotting garbage and piss surrounds him. Each of his senses go haywire in a reminder of where he is, of what’s happening to him.

“You like my cock in you?” The man grunts above him, his fingers digging into his thin ass with a bruising grip, spreading him apart to watch himself disappear into III’s torn hole.

“Answer him.” The larger man growls.

“No” III gasps out, there’s not much fight he can give with his body in the state it’s in, but he doesn’t have to give in to this at least.

Neither man is happy with this answer though and the larger man slaps him hard in the face, “You’re lying you little slut, you love this don’t you?”

“No” III spits, using every last inch of his strength to do so. He won’t give in, they can make him do so much but they can’t make him do that. The smaller man growls and starts fucking him harder, grinding in each time and making sure III feels every inch of it, III feels delirious from everything and he starts laughing, “In fact it’s a little small, I barely know it’s there.”

He’s lying, obviously. It’s carved a place in his body out and he can feel every fucking inch of it, but he doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care when the larger man slams his head onto the pavement, he doesn’t care when blood trickles down his eye or comes from his mouth. All he can do is laugh. “Is that all you’ve got? P-Pathetic,” he giggles. They might well kill them for this but he doesn’t particularly mind, something inside him has snapped and this is all he has.

Unbeknownst to him in his mania, the larger man has dropped his head and is starting to get panicked, “Fuck, fuck man his head, this isn’t… There’s so much blood.” The smaller man grunts, his ego hurting.

“Who the fuck cares dude? He’s being a mouthy little shit.”

“Yeah but… We said we wouldn’t do anything permanent, I don’t know…”

The smaller man scoffs and squeezes III’s ass tight, “That little prick? He’ll get over it.” It’s not ideal but the larger man gives in, sitting back a bit, he wants a turn after all and III isn’t saying much of anything right now, just giggling like a freak. So long as he leaves his head alone it should be okay.

The way the thin man grunts while he’s cumming is something III hopes he can wipe from his memory as he feels the man’s thrusts get more slick as he cums, even as it burns and irritates the cuts deep inside of him. When the smaller man’s cock finally pulls out III collapses to the cold wet ground, cum and blood dripping down his thigh, cooling instantly.

Distantly he wonders why he's still laughing— it only makes it harder for him to breathe as his own blood drips down the back of his throat, choking him. He feels numb in a way that makes something inside of him feel irrevocably broken, and he dully hopes that it’s an emotional numbness, something easier to hide than a physical injury, a tangible reminder of this night.

“Fuck, what a mess.” The bigger man grunts, and III feels a thick finger pushing deep inside of him. The smaller man crouches by III, watching his expression eagerly as a thick, short cock begins to press inside of him.

“There it is” He says eagerly, watching how III’s face twists up in pain. “Get him to shut up already, he’s creeping me out.”

The man behind him grunts, and III realises that the eerie, keening giggle sound is still coming from him. “He made a pretty big mess all over my cock, maybe cleaning it will shut him up.” A hand in his hair tugs him his head forward roughly until he’s nestled in the smaller man’s lap, his soft bloody cock pressed up against III’s cheek, already sticky.

“You trust your dick in that lunatic's mouth?”

The smaller man thinks better of it, watching III sceptically until he thinks of a solution. “Lick it clean.” He says instead, frowning as III clamps his mouth shut tight. Instantly there are fingers pinching his nose shut, and III thrashes, feeling like he’s drowning in his own blood as it drips down the back of his throat with nowhere to go. “Come on, fucking slut.” He squeezes tighter, and fresh tears stream down III’s face as the dull pain of his injured nose becomes excruciating.

Eventually III can’t hold his breath anymore and his mouth falls open in a ragged gasp, blood and spit flow from it and the smaller man grins, shoving his cock next to it. It’s not inside III’s mouth but his lips are grazing it and the smell makes him gag more, the hand in his hair is still tight and unforgiving and III’s tries to turn his head away but there’s nowhere for it to go.

He ends up spitting a small one of bile up- grateful he hasn’t eaten for there to be more, and the smaller man sneers “You’re just adding more mess. Lick. It. Clean.” III so desperately wants to fight still, wants to refuse, but he hurts so much and the mania from before is leaving him, instead he just has a hollow pit in his stomach and he just wants to get this over with.

Timidly, he pokes his tongue out and gives a feeble lick. He recoils at once, the taste is utterly foul and he wants this to end. It doesn’t of course, and the man keeps a firm grip on his hair making sure that III continues. So he does. He does his best to keep it to small kitten licks so as not to get overwhelmed, but with the bigger man thrusting into him and practically pushing him on the cock, more than once he gets an awful mouthful.

He’s just glad he scared them enough that he doesn’t have to suck him off. This is bad enough, the idea of that in his throat… Aside from anything he knows how much Rick loves blowjobs. He doesn’t want to upset him when he’s finally been forgiven by whining too much because of a sore throat.

Eventually he finishes, the man’s cock is wet but clean and it looks like nothing ever happened. Like there’s not trace. Except from III’s body of course, and the droplets on the ground. The man notices them too and grins, “Looks like you aren’t finished after all.”

III pales, he can’t.. what would be the point? It’s awful but he understands why for his cock but this..? But the man is still hurting from the comments III made about his size and he wants to humiliate III.

III knows automatically it’s not worth the fight to protest, the bigger man is still pounding into him but with any luck he’ll be done soon and the sooner he gets everything clean the sooner they’ll leave him alone and III can go h- The sooner they’ll leave him alone. So he bends his head down, it tastes so much worse than his cock, the loose gravel embeds itself in his tongue.

He wants to spit it out but he doesn’t know how he can do that without them seeing, doesn’t know a way out of this. So he leaves his mouth full of gravel and dirt and his own filth, and the others. But he swallows it all, until there’s nothing left to see and finally he just rests his head across the harsh floor and cries as the bigger man chases his end.

“He’s fine, noses bleed so fucking much.” The smaller man is dragging his limp head back and forth across the ground as he pokes at his face, but all he can focus on is to try not to be sick on the man’s shoes. He wouldn’t like to see how he’d make him clean that up.

He’s still lying limply on the ground as the two men stand up, chatting casually with each other as they do up their pants. He wants to scream, he wants to yell, he wants to cry. he wants them to understand that they’ve just ruined his life for a 20 minute fuck. Instead he waits there silently for an eternity as he lies there with his face to the cold, filthy ground, waiting for them to leave.

Finally their voices fade away, but his relief is quickly replaced with another problem: Getting up is suddenly the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. The pain is immeasurable as each scratch, tear and muscle aches as he brings himself to his knees. His stomach roils and he’s introduced to an even worse pain when every muscle seizes, and he throws up onto the ground.

After spitting out the little pebbles and all the blood that he’s swallowed, he gazes pathetically at his phone and bag lying scattered on the other side. He’s not sure how he gets there, but when he does he studies the contents sadly. His torn up bloody sweats will have to come off, but the only other pants he’s been packed are a pair of uncomfortable jeans that he’d bought for a night out, a lifetime ago. He wants to cry, he wants to give up, but even more he wants to get out of there so he tries to pull each leg up, ignoring the wet cum and blood that seeps out of him with every movement.

The jeans hug his body too much, even before he’s pulled them all the way up, and he wants to fucking scream. It’s like he can feel each fibre of the fabric and it’s too much for him. All of this is too much for him. But he doesn’t have a choice, clearly he’s already discovered what hanging around dirty alleys can do to him and he doesn’t want to spend another moment here, he needs to leave. So he shuffles them all the way up, pausing for a moment to dig a sock out of his bag and places it around his ass. It’s humiliating but he’s just grateful it’s clean, he needs something to attempt to catch the blood and cum.

Once that’s done he goes to close them, grimacing at how the button digs into his lower stomach and how tight the waistband is against his hips. He gives himself a second to sob, before pulling out a shirt he has, luckily it’s loose, even if it’s not the best for the weather, and he shuffles it on, along with a denim jacket he has.

God, if it wasn’t for the state of his face he’d look like he’s going on a night out. Probably looks like he’s just come back from one.

It’s all so surreal he has to take a moment to brace himself. Never could he have imagined that this is where he’d have ended up when he woke this morning. He knew trying to leave was risky but not like this. This is… this is something else.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, he limps out of the alley. It hurts more than he can put into words but there’s no way he can stay there. Which leaves him with another dilemma. Where the fuck can he go now. It’s getting dark and he needs to sort something out, although it’s looking more and more likely that it’ll be a night on the streets.

He stares at his phone, 3%. Fuck. He knows it’s not worth it but he can’t help to try his parents again. Nothing. He hovers his thumb over Rick’s contact for a moment before pressing on it. Also nothing. It feels like his world is crashing around him, but he’d expected this, and he shoves those two issues into the corner of his mind. Right now he needs warmth, and thank fuck when he’d put those trousers on he’d discovered a tenner in the pocket. It’s not much but it’s… it’s enough.

Most clubs are getting annoyingly expensive, or would turn him away due to his appearance, but there’s one where entry is only a fiver and they don’t care who you are or what you look like. The only slight issue is they do have some standards, and he definitely can’t bring an old bag full of his stained clothes in.

He tucks them down a small side street, there’s every chance they’ll be stolen, which he doesn’t care too much about considering what happened, but they have suddenly become the only things he owns. He can’t just throw them away. If they somehow end up there by the time he gets back he’ll keep them and work out a way to wash them but if not… well what he’s wearing now will have to do.

Chapter Text

III barely pulls it together for the bouncer who is luckily distracted by the pretty girls behind him. He feels a sad sort of longing when the wrinkled £10 becomes a £5, but it all feels worthwhile once he steps out of the cold and into the warm club. It’s loud, it’s dark, but he’s invisible.

Keeping to the edges of the room he shuffles past the crowds of dancing people to the very back, gravitating towards a dark table in the corner. There’s no chance he could sit down right now, so instead he leans against a high-top table and avoids the eyes of anyone who looks his way.

Just make it through the night, tomorrow he can work on… everything.

He’s never been allowed to go to a club like this before and he watches it all with a sort of sick fascination, wishing more than anything that he could’ve been one of these laughing, carefree people.

It didn’t close until 4, and that was nearly 5, which was nearly daylight, and then—

“Let’s go, you can’t sleep here.”

He feels himself being shaken awake by an unimpressed bouncer who has a tight grip on his upper arm as he lays slumped against the table.

“Go sleep it off at home.”

How had he fallen asleep? Was he that tired? Or had he lost that much blood?

“Wait, no, I’m sorry!” III tries to struggle, his entire body filled with dread as he’s dragged away.

“Wait.” A voice calls out, and they both turn to see a man seated in a booth by his table. ”He’s helping with the band, I’ve got him.”

“Please.” III pleads, looking up at him. “Don’t make me leave.” He wasn’t sure if it was the bouncer's discomfort with his tears, or if this man was someone important but the bouncer let go, watching sceptically as III tried valiantly to not sway on his feet.

“Keep him out of trouble or you’re both out.”

III could have cried from relief— the idea of being thrown out into an alley makes him sick with fear, and he takes a moment to swallow down the rising bile that threatens to come up again.

After the relief, the realisation the man hasn’t just left and the gnawing horror that another man wants to spend time with him grows on III, he hunches his shoulders into self protection mode.

Luckily, the man looks at him kindly, and keeps a distance from III as if he knows how easy the man is to spook right now.

He probably does, it’s written all over III’s body, and as much as he wants to pretend today’s events haven’t affected him, they have, how could they not?

“Hey, it’s alright, come on,” the man says, nodding his head.

It’s hard to hear him over the music playing in the club but the bouncer is still staring at him and III has no choice but to follow.

Distantly, he hopes it’s not a trap. And then he has to bite back that laughter again, he can feel it bubbling in his throat, hot and sharp and uncontrollable.

Even his luck can’t be bad enough for this to be some kind of trap right? He can’t fully believe that, not after everything that’s happened, but he hopes it desperately.

The man takes him through a side door and III feels his heart rate start to pick up, they’re in private and he could do anything to III. He’s shorter, yes, but he has some muscle on him and in the state III’s in there’s no way he could fight back.

His stomach turns in agony as he already accepts his fate. The man leads III to a small room, its cramped and full of junk and when III sees the sofa he can’t stop himself from crying.

At least this time it won’t be on the ground.

“Woah! Hey, hey what’s wrong?” The man says, panic in his voice.

III doesn’t pickup on that, convinced he knows where this is going and he can’t stop shaking “P-please b-be gentle, I won’t fight j-just please” III says through hiccuping sobs.

He doesn’t have any fight in him, he’ll do whatever this man asks he just can’t take the brutality again.

“Fuck, No! You’ve gotten the wrong idea I don’t- No! I just thought you might want a place to sleep, you look like you’ve had a rough time mate.”

III barely hears him through his choked sobs but… fuck. Does he mean it? Can he really sleep? The sofa looks like the highest of luxuries to III right now and his tears intensify, for different reasons.

The man meanwhile, has no idea what caused this and he stares at III with concern. It’s clear something happened to the taller man but he has no way of knowing exactly what.

Instinctively he wants to go over to comfort him, but he doesn’t think his touch would be welcome right now, so he takes a few steps back and doesn’t his bets to act like things are normal.

“Look, we play here pretty frequently, they know us here, if you stay in this room no one will bother you alright? We only use this for storage anyway, it’s too cramped for us to actually stay in.”

“I don’t have anything to give you for this,” III chokes out through sobs, between his parents and Rick he’s not used to kindness for the sake of kindness, and he knows he’ll be expected to give him something.

Then he remembers the crumpled fiver in his pocket, honestly it’s probably more of an insult than anything to give him something so little, but it’s all he has so he digs it out and holds it out to the man, who just stares at it in horror.

“No, keep that yeah?”

III stares at him blankly, he has nothing else, only his phone. It’s dying but he needs that. “Please I don’t have- I only have my phone. Don’t take that. Please. It’s dead anyway it won’t be any use,” he starts begging, terrified the man is going to take his only lifeline away from him.

Luckily the man shakes his head, “No don’t- get some sleep okay mate? And you can charge your phone there,” He points at a tangle of cables in the corner, “We have both lighting and USB-C there for you, take your pick.”

III stares at him for a moment, not fully comprehending before nodding slowly. “Thank you,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

The man smiles at him, his eyes crinkling in the corner, and he heads to the door, “Get some sleep. Do you want the lights on or off?” The man asks and III freezes, staring at him with wild panicked eyes as he waits for an answer.

He looks so gentle and kind but III can’t function as the panic grips him, and he waits for next Terrible Thing that might happen.

“I’ll leave them on for now! There’s a bathroom down the hall, make yourself at home.” He flashes him a warm smile and clicks the door shut.

Instantly the tears are back and III has to bite the back of his arm to muffle them, sobbing into it.

Weakly he tries to scrub the tears away, but they just keep coming until he feels completely drained of even that. It’s not easy to get onto the couch, and it takes several aborted attempts before he eventually just crashes down onto it, trying to keep himself straight.

The pain is brief but worth it, and as he nuzzles into the old stained fabric, he’s so grateful he could cry.

Groaning he realizes that he forgot about his phone, and he stretches out with a grimace to reach the chargers to plug it in. This causes the sock against his ass ride up and it feels awful, but the thought of undoing his pants and touching himself anywhere near there makes him sick…. So he does his best to ignore it, to pretend the dried blood isn’t pulling at his delicate skin, and he distracts himself by watching as his phone restarts.

0 missed calls, 0 new messages.

Tomorrow he’ll call again, tomorrow he’ll try to convince Rick to take him back. He was just scared, he just didn’t want to lose him… tomorrow would be better, he could explain...

He feels his eyes grow heavy, his body too exhausted to function, and he falls into a fitful sleep.

His panicked mind screams at him, his body aches and bleeds— There’s no escape, no peace as he relives his terror, but this time he can see it all.

He looks down on himself from above as he’s ripped open, sobbing and choking for each pained breath as he spits up blood and bile. Their faces turn monstrous like demons, and he loses sight of himself in their dark, inky mass.

He can only feel the way their cocks tear into him endlessly, taking from him again and again. Each time is worse than the last as his body is pulled apart at the seams until he starts to thrash around to get them off. He just needs them off!

“Fuck.” A voice grunts as he makes contact with something warm, the painful crack against his knuckles making him startle awake.

“Did he just hit you?”

Slowly his eyes open and it takes a moment to see the nice man being held up by others, cradling his nose that’s dripping blood down his face.

“It’s okay!” He tries to say when he sees III’s wild eyes, his voice muffled by his hand. “I-I—“ III stammers, for once noticing there’s others with him. Why are there others? What did he do? his mind is a jumble and he needs to get away.

“I just scared him, it’s my fault,” the man tries to explain.

III’s not used to others taking the blame for him, but he’s also not used to three men staring him down.

It reminds him too much of the alley, he feels cornered. Trapped. He needs to get away.

He shuffles back on the sofa, not really aware of what he’s doing so caught up in his panic but one of the men stop him, it’s not the kind one from before, but instead a shorter man.

His arm reaches out to grab III before stopping, hovering slightly near his ankle, “You’re okay, shhhh,” he murmurs like speaking to a spooked animal.

It would be insulting if it weren’t helpful, that’s how III genuinely feels. He still wants to bolt but his heart isn’t pounding quite as hard anymore and his eyes flit between them all, taking in their appearances.

Theres the kind man of course, and then two others, a shorter one and one who is almost his own height.

The taller one… there’s something in his eyes that gives III pause. He can’t place it exactly but it’s almost single-handedly what stops him from fleeing.

“I’m sorry,” he pushes out, he’s still terrified but he wants to apologise, half to get out of any punishment they may give him but half because he genuinely feels bad.

This man has treated him with nothing but kindness and he punched him in the face. No wonder Rick gets frustrated at III’s cries when he hits him, no wonder he gets pissed when III says he’s upset about it. III’s exactly the same as him.

The kind man grins through the blood though, “You’re fine, we just came to check on you because we could hear you outside. It didn’t sound like you were having the nicest dream…”

He trails off and III’s cheeks blush bright red, that’s the understatement of the year. He wants to purge that dream from his mind but he can’t remove the reality it was based in, the awful flashbacks he knows he’s going to have for the rest of his life.

It wasn’t even a good fuck. They ruined his life for something messy and painful and he doesn’t understand why. He can’t let himself spiral though, not in front of the others, so he apologises again, the words feel thick on his tongue but he pushes them out.

-

He hates the walk out of the club almost more than anything that happened that night.

He hates how the lights are now so bright that he can see every bit of garbage on the floor.

He hates how the staff can now stare openly at him, no longer just another faceless patron.

He hates that he can see the handprint bruise starting to form on his wrist, and the small pebbles embedded into the palm of his hand.

He hates that he can feel their eyes on him as they walk behind him as he tries not to limp across the sticky floor.

It's a relief when he pushes open the doors and pulls his denim jacket tightly around himself, a shield against the cool, crisp air and their searching eyes.

The other three are keeping a respectful distance, letting him have his space, but they very much seem to expect something and he’s afraid of what it might be.

Rick always tells him how awful he is at blowjobs, but they seem nice and maybe they’d let him do that if they—

A hand reaches out to him and III jolts back in fear, his heart in his throat before he realises that the nice man is holding out his phone. “Put your number in here.” He says, politely ignoring III’s reaction.

III’s shaky hand reaches out and grabs it, and holding it tightly so that he won’t drop it he enters his contact information. As he hands it back, the man smiles and III feels his phone ding in his pocket.

“There, now you have mine. I’m IV by the way, and this is II and Vessel.” III’s eyes dart up quickly to each of their faces before he’s shuffling in place again uncomfortably.

“Thanks.” He says. “And I’m sorry about...”

“Makes him look tough like us on stage.” The smaller man II pipes up, and III almost laughs— II looks even less tough than IV.

“Oh, you’re all in a band?” He says instead.

“Maybe you can come watch us tomorrow, we’ll be there again!”

“I used to play bass… before…” his mind wanders back to when he was in secondary, and how much fun he had. Why had he stopped?

“You should try out sometime, we’re in the market for a new bass player.” Vessel finally speaks, and III wilts under the weight of his stare.

“I don’t have… I can try to find another one.” He replies lamely as his hands twist anxiously in his jacket pockets.

Rick had made him get rid of it, it took up too much time.

“Do you need a ride home, or?” The question is well-meaning but it makes III’s face burn up in shame. They wouldn’t be talking to him if they knew.

“I’m fine, I’m just down the block.” He lies, picturing his garbage bag of clothes stashed beside the club.

As they wave and part ways, he sighs as he comes up to his bag of clothes, exactly where he left it.

He almost wants to laugh at his earlier fear of  someone taking it, evidently his bloody sweats were not worth stealing. The £5 in his pocket could afford him a few hours in a warm coffee shop, or he could ignore his growling stomach and hold onto it for the chance to see them again.

He feels stupid when he imagines himself playing alongside them, but the thought gives him a bit of hope that helps carry him through the cold few hours until daybreak.

-

The rest of the day passes slowly, he can’t just lie down outside and he definitely can’t sit anywhere. It’s… not ideal.

At least his phone has some charge.

He tries to make the same calls, but of course none go through. He knows he needs to be careful with his phone but he needs something right now and music will have to do.

He walks into as many shops as he can, but he gains more than a few dirty looks for his appearance and when security start to approach him he flees and gives up.

God, he wishes he’d gotten the name of the band the guys are in. He could listen to them now, as it is he’s stuck with a random mix Spotify has thrown to him.

His own music taste has too many memories attached and he just needs to drown the memories out.

Eventually, 9pm rolls around. His stomach feels cavernous from hunger but at least he knows he can get some water at the bar. He’s grateful too for the fact it’s a place with live music, even if it is a bit dodgy.

Most clubs don’t open till 11 but for that reason the doors are much earlier. He stuffs his bag in the same place- he really need to work out a way to wash the clothes- and he limps towards the door.

The bouncer glares at him, but luckily doesn’t stop to say anything. III can only imagine how he must look, the bruises setting in, the clothes he was wearing yesterday… He wouldn’t be surprised if the others ignore him tonight.

Handing over his last bit of money is hard, and part of him thinks it might be the most stupid thing he could do with it, he hasn’t even eaten. But he wants to see them again.

The idle fantasy of playing bass with them rears in his head and he knows it’s ridiculous but he’s never wanted anything so badly. He makes his way over to the bar, trying to hide his limp as much as possible.

He gets there and asks for his water, a small part of him is embarrassed but he’s so thirsty he can’t bring himself to care, and when they give it to him he gulps it down so fast he almost chokes. Without needing to ask they hand him another, and he goes to do the same when a firm hand clasps his shoulder and he startles, spilling the cup all over himself.

It’s ridiculous but it makes him want to cry. The only wearable clothes he has are soaked and he’s just wasted his water. He’s so caught up in his upset that he almost forgets that it happened because someone came up to him. It’s not until they start speaking that III zeroes in on them, IV.

“Shit I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that. Come on, come back stage, I have a spare shirt you can wear whilst that dries.”

III looks sadly at his empty cup before putting it on the side, “It’s uh- it’s fine. It was an accident. My fault for spooking. Don’t worry about it.”

IV just shakes his head, “No, I messed up. Let me help alright.” And without another word he heads to the same door as last night. III flounders for a second before running after him. He doesn’t want to be left behind.

III stands in the dingy bathroom behind stage, and as he stares into the grimy mirror he hopes desperately that the poor lightning is to blame for how bad he looks.

He’s always had dark circles under his eyes but he’s never seen them this dark, and after a moment he has to look away from himself.

His eyes look wrong. Everything is the right shape, and colour— but they’re vacant, haunted, like he’s not even there, not in his own body anymore, like he’s missing.

“Did you hear me?” IV asks through the door, and III stammers out an apology as IV asks him the same question again, waiting for an answer.

”Yeah, uh in secondary mostly.” He replies, only able to half-pay attention to the man chattering through the door to him, just grateful for the distraction.

It was nice listening to someone speak to him, even if it was just small talk. It was shocking how quickly he’d started to feel sub-human from his brief time spent on the streets.

The water doesn’t seem to go any warmer than frigid, but it feels soothing on his skin as he washes up, scrubbing his face and cut up hands until the water in the basin is dyed pink with his blood.

Finally he works up the nerve to pull the old sock out of his pants, and gingerly tries to clean himself off.

”Did I get any water on your pants? I have some spare sweats here as well if you want them.” IV calls through the door. “They’d be a bit short on you, but…”

III has to bite his tongue to fight back the urge to immediately beg for them. ”No thank you, I’m fine.” He calls back with tremendous self control.

At this point the jeans feel painted on, so tighty indented into his skin that it’s red and aching where they dig into him— they feel like a part of him now, but the stress that would come with taking IV’s pants is too much.

What if he wanted them back? What if he bled on them? Where would he hide his old pants, he couldn't walk around with them, they were covered in blood and cum, and—

”Okay, I have to go on-stage now, but take your time, feel free to sleep, you can find us later!” IV shouts through the door, interrupting his thoughts.

”No, wait!” III panics, his heart in his throat as he tries to wipe clean the sink. Throwing on the new T-shirt he balls the other one up into his fist, squeezing it tightly as he throws open the door. Don’t leave me alone

IV has stopped in his tracks and III feels a little guilty at the look of panic on his face, but he just throws on his best grin.

“Sorry just… I was excited to see you guys perform.” He shrugs, it’s true after all. He does want to see them live. He just omits the fear that comes from being alone at the moment. He would like to sleep but…

A whole body shiver floods through him and he shakes his head, no. He wants to go with me IV. Luckily, IV doesn’t protest or try to tell III not to and he nods, leading the way to the door for III

“Alright, just wait near the stage and we’ll be on soon.”

More terror shoots through III, being around so many people… But it’s still early, and they’ll be on stage soon and it’ll be fine.

He’s not sure when he started to trust this seedy club more than anywhere else but so far it’s all he’s got and it’s protected him so far.

He gets lost in thought, leaning awkwardly against the wall. There’s plenty of seats still for him but that’s the last thing he wants to do right now, but he’s so tired that the idea of standing without leaning feels impossible.

He dazes out for a moment, only coming too when the band starts playing- truthfully he thinks he missed a little of the start but he comes to and watches them with eager eyes.

They’re incredible, they work perfectly together, the way the lead singers voice blends with the drums and guitar. They’re perfect.

Almost.

III can see what Vessel meant about being in the market for a bass player, they need that final sound to truly tie it all together. Still, they’re incredible. He watches them with awe and laughs at how Vessel bounces around stage.

Eventually they finish, and he’s waiting for them eagerly after, not wanting to rush them but desperate to talk to them.

“You guys were so good!” He feels like an overeager child but they were incredible!

Both II and Vessel blush at the praise but IV gives him a cocky grin, “I told you we were good.”

III chuckles, it’s a nice kind of cocky. IV’s clearly proud of his band and he has every right to be so. III’s fingers itch and he can only imagine playing alongside them. Now that he’s heard them he’s not sure how likely it’d be but… god they were incredible.

“Well if you still want a new bass player, I’d love to try,” he blurts out, not thinking of the logistics for this without an actual bass, he just knows he needs to at least try. He’s had so much horror inflicted upon him in the last day, finally it feels like maybe something good could bloom from all that.

Vessel stares at him for a moment before nodding, a small grin cracking across his face, “Yeah, I recon we could make that work.”

III tries to swallow down the nerves and panic, he’ll work out how to get hold of his bass somehow, for now he just wants to languish in this feeling. For the first time he actually feels wanted.

“Should I come try out tomorrow night, I can try to borrow a bass, or— oh, I also don’t have any more cash for the cover, but maybe—“ This is the most that he’s spoken since he’s met them, but he just can’t help himself— he can’t remember the last time he was this excited!

He’s so eager that it takes him just a moment too long to register that the others can’t meet his eye, and he trails off. “This was our last show for a bit.”

All III can do is swallow around the massive lump that’s sprung up in his throat, nodding along with a plastered-on smile as he tries not to burst into tears.

“Vess is off to visit family, and II has an important exam— but we’re going to be back soon!” IV finishes quickly at the sight of his crestfallen face.

“Yeah, I have some things I need to do too.“ III says lamely, shuffling his feet on the sticky floor.

The house lights choose that moment to come on, and once again he feels like the other as they all stand together, watching him.

It isn’t like he had a bass anyways, he needs time to get some money together a reasonable voice pipes up, trying to take the sting out of his disappointment. He knew it was unrealistic, but it had been a glimmer of hope, and to have it taken away so quickly— he just wishes he could’ve enjoyed the feeling for a little longer.

“Oh, I guess you want your shirt back.”

“We’ll be seeing you soon, keep it til then.” IV smiles, and it actually makes him feel marginally better, physical proof that they’ll be back for him.

“And you have our number, feel free to text us.” Vessel adds, watching him carefully.

III nods, no longer trusting himself to say anything further without his voice shaking, and with a polite wave he backs away before the tears begin to fall.

This time when he exits the club the night air feels bitter and cold and he pulls his jacket even tighter around him, his fingers searching the pockets for the thousandth time, hoping this time there might be more money.

Where will he go now? What will he do? Helpless to the slim chance that this time it just might work, he pulls out his phone, smiling at there now being three entries instead of two. His thumb hovers over the top two contacts and he quickly dials them both in succession.

He’s almost used to the disappointment he feels when they both go answered, but he’s always surprised by just how much it still hurts.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he trudges back towards the alley where he’s stashed his only belongings.

Chapter Text

III’s in his own head, he needs to sort something out- especially now he knows it’s going to be a few weeks at least until he sees them again.

If he ever does. 

He knows he has IV’s number but it’s hard to shake off the feeling that they don’t actually want him. That it’s just an excuse. 

It isn’t fair to assume that he knows, but it’s difficult to remove the belief from his head. 

He’s so caught up that he doesn’t notice the figures nearby, doesn’t realise he isn’t alone until he’s being pressed up against the brick wall. 

His heart clenches. 

This can’t be happening again- It can’t. He strains his head to see who’s got him and his stomach sinks, it’s the same men as before. 

“No.. No,” he mutters, not even conscious he’s saying it, just needing them to leave him alone. 

They laugh instead, “What’s a pretty boy like you still doing out here? It’s almost like you want us.”

III shakes his head as best he can, no… He can’t let this happen again. He thinks of IV and the others, of their kindness and his longing to be part of them. He won’t let them do this without a struggle.

He does his best to fight back, he doesn’t want this to be how things go. He thinks of the pity in IV’s eyes and he doesn’t want to give it a reason to grow. 

Unfortunately he’s weak and tired and his struggles don’t do anything.

He feels fingers reaching for the button on his trousers and he screams. 

He won’t let it happen so easily this time at least. 

And then there’s footsteps- for a second his heart sinks in embarrassment before he remembers this is what he wants. He screams again but it’s barely a fraction of a second before he has a sweaty hand covering his mouth. 

Somehow, it’s enough. 

Footsteps get closer and closer until the stranger is with them. For a second both shame and fear flood III, what if they don’t… what if they don’t help. What if they want to join in?

What if III’s gotten them hurt as well?

He’s busy trying not to spiral over this when the person speaks. 

“Leave him alone,” the voice is quiet but firm and III’s heart does… something. 

He knows that voice. 

Rick?

The men’s hands fall from his body and take a step back, he’s not quite sure why they give up so easy, there’s two of them and surely they could overpower him and Rick easy enough?

III turns around and that’s when he sees the knife in Rick’s hand. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Rick says, malice lacing his words, and automatically III cowers from them, before realising that for once the anger isn’t directed at him, it’s for him. 

The men glare at them both but scurry off, not wanting to create a scene and more than a little scared of the knife in Rick’s hand. 

“T-Thank you,” III pushes out once they’re alone, his body trembling from the trauma of what almost happened again, and Rick just grunts in response, leaning down to pick up III’s belongings, a slight sneer on his face. 

He passes them to III who clasps them tightly, “C-Can we go h-home now?” III all but begs, his teeth clattering together as his whole body starts to shake. He’s so cold and tired and the trauma of everything is wearing on him. 

Rick just scoffs, “Home? Jesus III, I wasn’t going to let you get raped but we don’t share a home, not after what you did.”

III feels dizzy, he’d thought- Rick had saved him hadn’t he? And why was he here if not to look for III? It has to be- He can’t- No. 

“Please- R-Rick please I- You can’t, I have nowhere. I’m s-s-so s-sorry, I don’t want to leave you. Please. Please-”

III’s words become a jumbled mess as he begs and pleads Rick not to leave him, he can’t do another night out here- and now the men are going to be angry and if Rick isn’t here to save him-

He’s hyperventilating so hard he can’t breathe, tears and snot stream down his face and he’s lost complete control of himself.

“I’ll do anything Rick, please,”

Rick tries to hide the smile snaking across his face as he watches III crumple to the ground in front of him. He was crying almost as hard as the last time he’d fucked him, and his dick gives a twitch at the memory of it. 

Truthfully it was the only thing he’d been able to think of, how tight he’d been around his cock, the streaks of red as he thrust into him, his anguish as he’d taken whatever he’d wanted from him. 

Most of all he’d enjoyed the look of genuine shock on his face when he coudln’t fuck his way out of his mistake for once, that he’d have to face actual concequences for his actions. 

He’d almost been too weak to make him leave, he just wanted to slip his aching cock back inside of him again and again until he knew where he belonged— but he needed to break him completely to mould him into his vision, and looking down to see III’s face he realises that he’s not quite there. 

He revels in the power he feels as III stares up at him desperately, his red-rimmed eyes swollen from crying as bruises developed across his pretty skin. He’s desperate to get him home to undress him, to see what’s been done to him, to make him tell him everything but first…

He reaches a hand down to III’s hair and digs his fingers in deeply, pretending not to notice how III winces at the touch.

”How can I even trust you again.” He said sadly, watching III scramble. 

“I wouldn’t ever leave you Rick, I couldn't, you know I couldn't! I need you, please I—” He became incomprehensible as he sobs and his tear streaked face tries to jam into Rick’s legs, but Rick only tightens his grip in his hair, pulling his head back. He wants to see him like this, he can’t let him hide.

”You’ve broken my trust, I don’t know if it can be rebuilt any more.” He keeps his voice cold.

“Just for tonight Rick, please, just one night, I just need… I need—“ III starts to collapse again, and with irritation, Rick yanks him roughly up so his blubbering mouth is right by his cock, straining in his jeans. 

“How are you going to rebuilt that trust?” He asks slowly, watching as the gears slowly turn in III’s head as he tries to fight his panic. 

“J-just take me h-home— to your home, I mean.” III quickly corrects as the hand in his hair grows tighter. “I-I’ll show you.”

”You haven’t earned being in my home.”

”Y-your car, I can—“

”You haven’t earned my car.” 

There’s a long silence as III drags his miserable eyes up to him, trying to see if he really means what he thinks he means.

Ricks eyes are cold and III feels another little part of his heart shatter. He knows this is what he deserves, of course it is.

He tried to leave Rick, why would he get any luxuries like a house or a car? If he’s really sorry he’s going to have to prove it out here. 

His stomach sinks at the thought, the men have gone for now but who knows if they’ll come back- and Rick found him from his scream, what if he’s too loud, what if someone else finds them. 

But it’s the only way to work towards forgiveness. 

His hands tremble as he goes to unbutton Rick’s trousers, they tremble harder when Rick drops the knife and his now free hand slaps III’s hands away.

“I thought you wanted to work on earning my trust back?”

III’s stomach flips but he drops his hands obediently. Rick gives him just enough slack to move his head to his jeans and then III tries his best. 

It’s hard, the fabric dries his mouth out so quickly and he can’t quite get the button, especially not with the grip in his hair. His teeth clink against it and by the time he finally manages he’s panting. 

The zipper is easier to do physically but is far worse, the metallic taste sticks in his mouth and he’s almost grateful to be about to suck Rick off, glad that he won’t have to taste this anymore. 

Once the zipper is finally down III is met with his next challenge. Rick’s underwear.

It’s clear that Rick’s hard, but that makes III’s job more difficult. He manages to grip the fabric between his teeth, but moving it down so that it doesn’t get caught on Rick’s erection is tough. 

It doesn’t help how hard he’s shaking, terrified to lose his grip and have the waistband snap against him. 

The last thing he wants is to cause him more pain. 

But he manages, and with some shuffling from Rick too, his cock is finally free and in III’s face. 

It’s… It’s clear Rick hasn’t showered recently, and III cringes a bit at this.

It’s nothing he’s not used to, but it’s not the most enjoyable, and after so long without eating or drinking anything properly… it’s not how he wants to be doing this. 

But then, he doesn’t want to be on the streets. He doesn’t want to be cowering in fear of those two men, of any strangers who may also want a turn. 

He wants Rick. 

So he steels himself and swallows down his cock. 

He’s deep throated him before but he’s tired and weak and his gag reflex is screaming at him to stop, so he only makes it halfway down Rick’s cock. 

He bobs his head and sucks, using his tongue as best he can but he can feel Rick’s impatience build up. 

Unfortunately, he cannot bring himself to swallow entirely, and Rick’s temper snaps, he pushes III to the root of his cock and holds him there. 

He starts gagging almost instantly. His throat spasming around the cock and tears stream from his eyes. There’s snot and drool mixing together and he’s never felt less attractive. 

Rick is finally moaning though, so it must mean something. 

His nose is buried in Rick’s pubic hair and the scent makes him dizzy, it’s rank and strong and he’s terrified that his stomachs going to give up on him. 

Luckily, Rick doesn’t seem to want to face fuck him, instead when he starts to thrust they’re slow and languid. 

It’s a kindness, III thinks. He knows how Rick prefers this and he must be doing this for III’s benefit. 

He hums in appreciation, trying to make this as good as possible for his b- for Rick. 

It makes the man speed up slightly, but nothing III can’t cope with, so he continues what he’s doing. Now he’s centred a bit it’s easier to help out, he uses as much suction as he can and traces his tongue in the ways he knows Rick likes. 

If he shuts his eyes he can almost ignore the harsh gravel under his knees and pretend they’re at home, that none of this ever happened. 

Rick doesn’t like when he does that though, so instead III leaves them open, staring up at Rick with big doe eyes, the night sky black behind him, a constant reminder of where they are.

Eventually though, Rick cums. He burrows himself so deep in III’s throat he can’t taste it. So deep his vision spots and his body subconsciously starts to thrash. 

And then he pulls out like it’s nothing, his hand leaves III’s hair and he’s suddenly hunched over, heaving and panting, trying to get as much air in as he can, all the while Rick is just stood over him, watching.

“Was I good?” III tries to choke out the words but his raw, aching throat seizes up again. His hands slam onto the concrete and he hunches over to heave, feeling like he’ll be sick. By the time he’s managed to catch his breath to look up again, it’s to see Rick’s back as he’s walking away from him. 

Scrambling to his feet with a panicked shout he races after him, catching up just as he arrives at his car.

Silently III stands by the passenger side door and waits to see what he’ll do. His hands twist nervously in his pockets as he watches Rick who still hasn’t said a word yet, and III’s terrified to ask again.

He’s forced into action when Rick’s driver's door slams shut, and his hand shoots out to pull the passenger side door handle, a cold panic surging through him when he realises it’s locked. 

He can see Rick watching him from the inside of the car and he does his best to wait patiently, trying to look apologetic. He’s just barely holding it together until he finally hears the thunk of the car door unlocking, nearly sobbing in relief. 

Instantly before Rick can change his mind III slides into the car, his poor body protesting each movement as he sits down quickly in the seat. 

“Oh, my things!” He realises he’s forgotten them just a moment too late, and as the car pulls off he watches sadly as they drive past the alley where his bag of possession had been stashed.

“Couldn’t even do that right.” Rick grumbles as he speeds up, and III sinks further into his seat feeling like an absolute failure all over again. Those things shouldn’t matter, he knows they weren’t much, but they were all he had, and to just leave them…

The rest of the ride home is spent in silence as III tries not to say anything else to upset him, and as they park on the residential street he follows Rick to his small apartment, feeling dead on his feet,

Feeling very much like a guest he hangs back at the front entrance awkwardly, and waits for Rick to properly invite him in.

“You look disgusting.” Rick grunts as he looks back at him, filling III with shame.

“Can I have a shower?” He asks quietly, his skin itching to get clean. “Please,” he adds, and Rick gives a curt nod. 

As he shuffles past him to the washroom, a rough hand stops him. “Where did you get that from?” Rick’s voice pulls his focus back, and he freezes as he feels his hand tearing at the bottom of his shirt. “This isn’t yours, who gave it to you?” 

It’s clearly too short and baggy to be his and he freezes in horror, unsure of what to do.

“I asked you a question.” Rick snaps

“Someone spilled a drink on me, and…” 

He can’t even finish that line before the shirt is ripped over his head, making him yelp in pain as his sore body is roughly jostled. Rick’s rough fingers are tearing at his jeans until the button rips off, and with some effort he tugs them down his thin legs.

It just takes a split second glance in the mirror for III to realise his mistake, and he’s honestly not sure how he’s managed to be this stupid— whether it’s his sleep-deprived mind or just being so desperate to forget that it had ever happened, he’s fucked up.

“Is this how you made do after I dropped you off?” 

Rick’s voice is dangerous, and III’s shoulders hunch in on themselves as he hugs himself tightly, trying to hide himself from view. It’s too little too late, and he can’t tear his horrified eyes away from the massive handprints bruised across his hips and ass.

“How much did they pay you?” 

“N-nothing.” III’s teeth chatter, terrified.

A dry finger shoves into his torn ass and he nearly blacks out from the pain, his knees going weak as he sinks into Rick’s grip. 

“What did they pay for this?” He asks again, his finger forcing farther in, and this time III feels like he really might pass out.

“Nothing, I promise Rick, I didn’t- I didn’t want that. The shirt was someone else, it was nothing-“

He realises his mistake as he says it but it’s too late to stop the words from falling out his mouth. 

Rick growls at him, “Someone else?! You weren’t satisfied with one person?” He slams another finger in and III wails, it hurts so badly he can hardly think. 

“I p-promise I d-didn’t, you s-saved me from them you know I didn’t- I didn’t want it.” III sobs, Rick has to know he didn’t. 

Unfortunately, Rick seems unconvinced, “Fucking slut like you, I bet that’s why you wanted to leave isn’t it? One cock isn’t enough to satisfy you, you needed more.”

III just cries, it hurts to hear that Rick could possibly think those things of him. He shakes his head but Rick just scoffs, clearly not believing him. 

“You know, I was going to be nice to you but clearly you don’t deserve that,” He uses his free hand to get his own cock out and spits down on it.

III balks, suddenly Rick’s fingers are being torn from him and III’s being redirected so he’s over the sink. 

He almost screams in pain, he can feel blood start to run down and he starts. Then there’s a blunt head being pressed to his entrance and he has to bite down on his arm to muffle his sounds. 

It takes a long time for Rick to be fully inside, not from lack of trying, III is just so tight from lack of prep, the spit has barely done anything and there’s more and more tearing. 

III’s whole body feels fuzzy, it’s more pain than he’s ever been in before and he’s barely holding it together. The blood helps a little but it’s not enough. 

He can hear Rick cursing above him, vague tangents about how he’s shocked a whore like III could possible be this tight. About how he’s going to ruin him for anyone else. 

III believes it. 

The pain is ever increasing and III is struggling to hang on, his arms give out first resulting in his head being smushed against the cool ceramic of the sink. 

He’s so tired he thinks, so tired that even the pain doesn’t feel real. 

He tries his best to hang on, not wanting to make Rick angrier, but there’s spots in III’s eyes and then there’s nothing at all.

He wakes up some unknown time later lying discarded on the cold tile floor, his thighs sticky with blood. 

Distantly he can hear the shower running and manages to lift his aching head in time to see Rick’s feet step closer. He looks down and watches nervously as Rick grumbles at the smear of blood, and uses his foot to slide IVs shirt over it to wipe it clean.

III hides his weak protest with a groan, and he resolves sadly to replace it before he sees him again.

“Come outside when you’re done.” He grumbles as III brings himself slowly to his feet. 

His shaky legs struggle to shuffle to the shower, but the intense desire to be clean of them overpowers everything else. 

The water takes a moment to warm up, and he waits eagerly until it’s hot enough to make his skin burn pink before he scrubs each inch of his skin. 

He does it slowly and methodically as he leans against the wall for support until the water runs clean down the drain. 

He feels a bit better as he steps out of the shower, reaching for a gross, crusty towel that he gingerly dabs all over himself before he looks around helplessly. 

The bloodstained jeans and bloody shirt don’t look appealing to wear, and he stands there wracking his brain for what he’s supposed to do. 

Finally he decides he’ll just have to ask Rick and hope he won’t me too mad, and he steps out naked into the bedroom. 

Rick is in his usual spot at the computer desk— he’s there so often that there's a permanent dent in his chair, and III waits for his attention before speaking. From experience, he knows that interrupting Rick on his computer is a dangerous thing to do.

Hugging his arms around himself, still sopping wet, and he waits until he hears a familiar sound. 

Yes, daddy he hears his own voice over the tinny computer speakers and cringes, his whole body flinching at the sound of him gasping as Rick fucks him.

“You picked a good one.” Rick calls over his shoulder, patting his lap.

III creeps forward, too scared to disobey, and when he’s close enough Rick wraps an arm around him, dragging him on his lap. His arms hold him there tightly as III tries to adjust himself on Rick’s lap, the rough jeans chafing his sensitive skin.

“Why are you watching this.” His chin is tucked down and he can’t bear to look at it, trying to pull free as Rick’s hand wraps tightly around his jaw, forcing his head up.

“Don’t be so shy.” Rick’s voice is so close in his ear and he cringes away from it, feeling trapped in his lap, the grip around him suddenly too tight.

Finally he does what Rick wants, and wanting it to be over faster he drags his head up to see the video, so that Rick will maybe  let him be. 

He tears his eyes away when the sound instantly transports him back to a few days ago of his mom sobbing in his ear. His panicked eyes focus on some quickly scrolling comments along the side of the screen, desperate for something to take his mind away.

Maybe Rick’s gaming friends? he wonders idly before his eyes begin to catch, realising that they were commenting on the video, his video, as it played. 

Endless usernames scroll by so quickly that he can hardly see them, only catching the occasional daddy flashing by, and he watches in horror as they comment in live time. 

He knew what was coming, he knew what would be soon, and he tried to shrink away, but Rick forces him to watch.

He saw it happen in slow motion— the moment he couldn’t hold it anymore, the moment he pissed himself.

Watching it happen is like he can feel the phantom sensations, he can feel how tight his bladder was, he can feel the shame as he pisses all over himself in the video.

It’s not helped by the fact that he can see so many people commenting on it. 

Calling him a whore, saying how disgusting he is, asking for more. 

“What is this?” His voice is hushed and shocked, he can’t believe this is real, why has Rick done this?

His partner stares at him in confusion, “You picked this one baby, I just did what you wanted.”

And that’s… that’s not right. It wasn’t meant for this, it’s already ruined his life once he can’t.. “No, you can’t do this Rick, I-I don’t want this.”

Rick turns angry at that statement and III knows he messed up but he can’t help it, he’s still watching in horror as the pixels on the screen whine and beg, watches how Rick fucked him into the puddle he made. 

His heart feels frozen and he stares at the video in shock, “Why?” It’s barely a word, let alone a question, but it plagues him. He can’t work out why Rick’s doing this. 

“You think you can come back here and expect things to be fine?” Ricky snarls, spit practically flying from his mouth onto III, and he finds himself shoved on the floor, letting out a large yelp as he falls on his ass, the pain from the brutal treatment too much for him. 

“You think you can waltz in? That your apology was enough! I already caught you whoring yourself out and now you’re going to act like you don’t want this?!”

III’s face is pale and shaky, “But… But I don’t…” It sounds more like a statement than a question and Rick sneers in response. 

“If you’re not going to earn your keep then you can leave. I barely earn for me, let alone a second person. It’s time to grow the fuck up III and stop relying on hand outs.”

The words sting, “C-Can’t I get a proper job?” 

Rick shrugs, “I guess, but honestly who would want to hire you? And you can’t just laze around until you get one. I’ll be expecting this from now on.”

III stares at him in horror, hesitation in his eyes, he can’t…

He’s about to protest when Rick speaks up again, a cruel smirk curling in the corner of his mouth, “Or you can leave, see how you fare back on the streets. It’s your choice really.”

III wants to laugh hysterically, this isn’t a choice at all. But his body aches and he’s seen how many videos Rick has of him, maybe if he stays… Some control is better than none right?

So he nods slowly, anything to keep him warm.

III watches from where he’s left discarded and shivering on the floor as Rick goes back to the computer, his nose practically pressed into the screen. Even when the video ends Rick stays glued to his computer as the comments scroll by, almost too quickly to read. 

In an instant Rick’s whole demeanour changes, his face twisting up in anger as a comment pops up, and he pounds his reply into the keyboard. Without thought and entirely from habit, III reaches a hand out slowly to stroke Rick’s leg, trying to ground him with his touch, to try to stop his all too familiar temper from getting worse.

“Can you imagine.” III scoffs, the insecurity clear on his face. “ He says you're not… he says I couldn’t—“

III watches warily as Rick goes back to his screen angrily, and he slowly starts to slide slowly. He’s getting angrier, and he wants to be as far away as possible from him when he explodes.   

“He says you wouldn’t fuck a guy like me.” Rick looks down with wild eyes, and III’s worried for a moment that Rick can hear how loudly his heart is beating.

“Come here.” The hand around III’s neck is there so quickly that he can’t back away, and it tightens on him with a choking grip, making him scramble onto his lap.  
 
Consciously aware of his nudity he cowers in Rick’s lap, latching onto him tightly as the man angrily clacks at his keyboard. 

The scowl on Rick’s face is not encouraging and III tries to hide into Rick’s chest as he slams his fist onto the desk in irritation. 

 “He still doesn’t… “ Rick spits out, before a cruel smile starts to spread across his face. “Your adoring fans want to meet you.”

“No, please Rick, please, I don’t want to…”

Even as he says it he feels Rick’s tight grip around his waist, drawing him closer with a bruising grip. 

“You're just so pretty baby, people just don’t believe… they want to see you’re real.” Rick says, his hands on his body, touching him everywhere. 

As III looks on in horror, Rick clicks a button and his face appears instantly on screen as the chat explodes in activity, a monetary figure climbing steadily on the lower right hand corner. 

“Say hi to your admirers.” Rick says, and his arms wrap even more tightly around him as if he’s in danger of just disappearing.

He tries not to read the comments, but he can’t stop them from crowding into his vision:

slut

did he piss himself?

whore

I want him to cry

I want you to wreck him

If I pay can I rape him?

break him 

how much?

They flash across the screen almost too quickly for him to register. and III whimpers as he tries to bury his face against Rick’s shoulder, desperate seeking out any comfort.

It’s a short-lived escape as a finger shoves into his mouth and fish-hooks him back to face the camera. 

“Say thank you to your fans.” Rick says with pride, wrenching III’s face back to the screen.

“Th-thank you.” III gasps fearfully around the fingers shoving onto his mouth, drool down his chin as he stares at the camera, his eyes wild.

He sees more and more comments rolling on the screen, sees them saying how pretty his voice is, how they want to hear what it’s like when his mouth is properly full. 

III’s never been more scared. 

He wants to run- maybe, maybe being on the streets is better than this? But they’ve already seen them, he’s talked to them. 

He knows how many more videos Rick has. 

And besides, his ass still hurts from the men (from Rick) and he’s so tired, it’s bone deep. 

Maybe once he gets some sleep this won’t be so scary, it’s not fair to expect Rick to entirely pay for him after all…

It doesn’t stop him from watching the comments scroll on screen. From seeing people call him a whore and a slut. 

And then he feels Rick’s other hand snake down to the front of his trousers, he feels Rick palm his cock and III blanches. 

It’s rare Rick cares about getting III off in the first place, III can’t work out why he’d want to do this now. 

But Rick grins, “Let’s show your fans how happy you are to meet them, yeah?”

III shudders. He doesn’t want to meet them, to know them. He doesn’t want any part of this, not that that matters, Rick’s already unbuttoning his trousers. 

III’s cock is soft and limp and he knows that won’t do. Ricks grip is firm and not quite enough to get him there and III has to beg his body to respond. 

It takes some time but eventually he starts to harden and before long he’s leaking in Rick’s grasp. 

Rick’s movements are cruel and too tight, there’s very little actually for III’s pleasure but III knows this won’t end until he does, so he does his best to imagine this is something he wants, to forget the dozens of people watching him. 

When III finally cums, it feels like he loses a part of himself.

The words in the screen roll and roll, and III can’t stop reading them. 

He’s so pretty

I wonder how many times he can cum?

Slut didn’t deserve that

He should have to earn it

There’s so many different messages, so many conflicting ones that III doesn’t know what to think. He’s just ashamed. 

Rick at least seems satisfied, and leans forward to end the stream, his finger hovering over the mouse before he pauses, “Say goodbye then.”

III doesn’t want to but he’s far too scared to disobey, instead he musters up the best smile he can and goes along with it, “Goodbye.”

The words taste like ash in his mouth but the recording has finally ended and a part of III relaxes. 

Rick gets a tissue and wipes the cum off them before he turns to III with a scowl, “I should have known you’d like that, being on show for so many people. It’s fucking disgusting.”

III cringes from the vitriol, he’d done what Rick had asked and he’s glad for it, knowing how much worse it would have been if he hadn’t, but now he has to deal with Rick’s insecurities. 

Every path feels like a land trap, but luckily Rick just pushes him off and nods to his bed, “Sleep. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

III could almost cry tears of joy at the words and hurries to the bed, he’d prefer some pyjamas in the colder room but he’s not going to say anything and risk pissing Rick off, instead he huddles under the thing duvet and lets the darkness wash over him.

Chapter Text

III can’t find the energy to care about Rick's unwashed bedding, or the saggy bare mattress, and by the time he’s nuzzled his face into the lumpy pillow he’s dead to the world.

His sleep is so deep that he doesn’t stir until sometime midday, his mouth tacky and dry as he tries to pry open his exhausted eyes. Something’s making it hard to breathe and he tries to roll away, confused when he can’t. 

“Mmmh—“ He can feel a slimy cock prod at his half-open mouth and he tries to turn, still half-asleep, but a vicious slap across his cheek makes his eyes shoot open in surprise.

“I’ve been up all night making you money while you laze around in bed, this is the least you can do.” Rick warns, and III nods in confusion as Rick straddles his chest, his heavy weight pressing him into the lumpy mattress and making him gasp.

“They really loved your video last night.” Rick says idly as he pushes his cock against III’s lips, his thighs bracketing his head in place. 

He knows he’s supposed to look up at Rick always, to keep eye contact, but from this suffocating angle he can just see the underside of his stained shirt and Rick’s pasty stomach pressing into his nose.

III tries to take him into his mouth but Rick’s in a mood, and he instead slaps his heavy cock onto III’s face, smearing slimy pre across his cheek as he lets it fall again and again until he’s straining to capture it into his mouth. 

“Learn any new tricks out there?” Rick teases when he finally begins to feed it to him. 

The taste always takes some getting used to and III swallows him down as quickly as he can to stop it from lingering on his tongue.

The cock’s already thick and heavy in his mouth and he wonders if he’s made a mistake when he's met with the strong, unwashed smell of him as his nose is squished into his pubic bone.

This angle is awful and he feels like he’s being suffocated as he does his best to take slow shallow breaths as Rick grinds his pelvis into his face. It works until Rick’s cock shoves deeper and III is forced to suck in a big desperate breath at his next opportunity, choking on the smell.

Rick starts to fuck him in earnest and III starts to thrash and panic, his arms trying to break free from where they’re pinned uselessly under Rick’s knees. It all feels like too much with the weight of him on his upper chest crushing the breath out of him, not helped by the fact that he can’t see his face, can’t tell if he’s angry— he can’t tell anything at all.

All he can do is lay there and take it as Rick fucks his mouth, sucking in great gasping breaths of his musky scent whenever he can as the cock shoves itself down his gagging throat again and again— There’s no threats, no commentary at all, and III feels like a thing as he’s used with no care or concern for anything but Rick's pleasure.

Just as he’s starting to wonder if he’ll ever catch a full breath again, he feels the cock shoved down his throat give a twitch and a kick before it’s pulsing in his throat. III swallows the cum down eagerly, just ready for this to be done. 

He’s eager for a full breath, biding his time until he’s no longer choking around Rick’s cock when it gives a kick again, and he tries to pull away in panic. He can’t go twice, this isn’t possible, he can’t—

A small spurt of something foul and warm hits the back of his throat, and he gags just as both Rick’s hands fist tightly into his hair, keeping him still. III lets out a muffled sound of distress as he tries to move away but his head is locked tightly in place by the thighs pressing against it, keeping him still.

The next spurt doesn’t stop like the first, and with horror III realises that Rick is pissing down his throat. Choking and gasping for breath, III kicks into survival mode as he desperately tries to keep up, swallowing it as quickly as he can as it fills his throat with nowhere else to go.

He’s forced to take great heaving breaths through the wiry pubes grinding into him, listening to Rick moaning in satisfaction until the heavy stream slows down to a dribble as Rick’s bladder empties, until he’s pulling out of III’s mouth with a groan. 

A light slap on III’s cheek has his hazy eyes trying to focus on him as he gasps for air, staring up at Rick’s grinning face as he gets off him. 

“Fuck, you’re so disgusting.” Rick chuckles, the bed squeaking as he gets off.

III has never felt so mortified in his life, they’d never spoken about this before. Shouldn’t… shouldn’t Rick have asked him if this is something he wanted to do?

Everything about this scenario is screaming at him to leave, that he’s not safe here, but he has nowhere where he is safe. 

At least Rick loves him. 

The taste in his mouth is foul so he reluctantly gets up from the bed to go brush his teeth, anything to get the taste out when Rick stops him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I’m, uh, the bathroom?” III says, more of a question than a response. 

“No you’re not. All you’ve done is laze about half the day, you haven’t done anything to earn using that.”

III’s stomach twinges, what does Rick mean? 

“B-But Rick, I need to brush my teeth, you just-“ he stops halfway through, unable to continue, too filled with shame. 

Rick just shrugs in response, “That’s not my problem. I decide when you’ve been good enough to get to use my flat's equipment, and so far, I don’t think you have.”

III wants to cry but at least he’s had a full night's sleep so it’s easier- mostly- to hold back the tears. 

Instead he just nods defeated, “Can I have some gum at least…?”

Rick doesn’t reply, he just rolls his eyes and turns back to his computer.

III is grateful to see it’s a video game, League by the looks of it, and not anything to do with him.

He hopes Rick does well though, he’s too… when he loses…

III’s ass gives a twinge of pain and III prays Rick won’t want to fuck today- waking up to giving him a blowjob was a good sign, the man doesn’t have a great refractory period so it’ll be a while yet before he does anything else to III. 

In the meantime III just has to sit and… wait? 

He debates getting some more sleep but he’s not quite as bone deep tired as he was last night, and whilst he was lucky to avoid any nightmares due to that, he’s not sure he’ll be as lucky a second time. 

He fishes his phone out from the pile of things on the floor, it’s dying but he should be able to charge it right? He wants to ask Rick for permission but… 

Would it be worse to interrupt him or just take something of his?

In the end he opts to take it, the consequences for that will be lesser than if Rick loses because of him. 

It’s useful as a distraction but not enough to fully take away from his nudity, from the taste in his mouth.

Maybe if he had clothes? But the only shirt he has now is IV’s and that seems too risky. 

He thinks of IV and his heart gets tighter, he was so nice to him and he didn’t even know him. 

Without thinking III pulls up the contact details and sends off a one word message.

- Hi

It’s risky but he needs to remember there’s good people out there right now. Needs to know he’s not alone.

He stares at the screen, willing for a response, desperate for anything that might take his mind off of the roiling mess in his stomach. 

Even thinking about it makes him sick, and desperately he tries to ignore it by staring at his message, desperate to see the three little dots below signalling a reply. 

”Fuck!” Rick shouts, and III jumps as he hears something heavy shove off of the desk, crashing to the floor. 

Pulling the covers overtop of himself he tries to make himself look smaller so he’s not be the first thing Rick sees.

He watches warily as he leans back in his chair, tearing at his own hair in irritation. “These fucking…the cheating is out of control, they can’t fucking keep it in check, makes good players like me lose rank, and what—“

Long ago he’d learned that it was best not to reply, that it would only ever direct that anger on him, so III stays perfectly still and keeps one eye on him warily. 

Finally the screen flashes and III lets out the breath he’s been holding as Rick turns his focus back on the next round, the mouse clicking furiously.

There are so many of Rick’s clothes scattered around the floor nearby, clothes that hadn’t moved from before he’d left, and he’s tempted to reach down and put something on— he feels so vulnerable and exposed lying naked in his bed, and even though it wouldn’t do much, it still feels like it would be an added protection, something to keep his bruised skin off of the crusty mattress.

Rick hates when he touches his stuff, but he wonders if he could just tidy up a bit, maybe that would help earn his keep. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to…

The indecision of whether to ask him first or just start doing it paralyses him, and he’s frozen in fear as his mind tries to play each scenario through in his head, possible outcomes, possible risks, and he’s so exhausted by it all that he just curls up tighter into a ball.

Ding

With a terrified jolt he jams the phone under the blankets, hoping Rick didn't hear it. Stupid he admonishes himself, his heart racing as he turns off notifications. Once he’s sure that Rick isn’t coming over he ducks under the blankets, the soft light of the phone illuminating his face.

—Look!

He stares at it puzzled until a picture comes through, showing III a massive plate of food at a restaurant with a blurry hand caught sneaking in to try to grab some.

III’s mouth waters as he’s reminded of how hungry he is, his stomach feeling so tight inside as if it might start to eat itself. From experience he knows his only hope is when Rick will eventually call over his shoulder to say that he’s hungry, then III can venture to the fridge to try to make them something.

—Looks incredible. He replies, wishing he could be there right now.

—What’re you up to?

—Just lying in bed.

—It’s nearly afternoon, you weren’t up late with another band were you? We called dibs first!

A massive smile lights up III’s face as he reads that, a warm feeling spreading inside of him, making everything feel like it might be okay. If he can find a way to make some money, maybe he can—

”What are you smiling about?” Rick’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and startles when he realises that Rick's staring at him suspiciously.

“N-Nothing, just saw something funny..” III says, quickly switching his phone over to Twitter, where luckily there’s some dumb tweet on the screen and he flashes that at Rick. 

Rick glares at him but nods, clearly not believing III could be talking to anyone which-

It hurts. Almost. That he’s so certain people want his body but that no one would want him. 

At least IV does. Maybe II and Vessel too, even though he doesn’t know them as much. He feels safe when he thinks about them. 

He doesn’t want to sort through what he feels with Rick. 

Instead, III flashes a small smile at Rick, “I thought I’d go out, look for a job, like you said.”

It’s not quite what Rick said of course but if III plays it off as his idea, then Rick can’t refuse too much. 

Clearly, Rick has realised this as well, and he scowls but nods, agreeing to it. 

“I’ll- I’ll need some clothes, can I borrow some of yours- I’ll wash them when I get back!” 

Rick grunts but nods, “Just don't dirty them up. I don’t have the money for endless washes if I have to support us both.”

It’s a little ironic, III thinks, considering most of Rick’s clothes are dirty. But he thanks him and starts digging through the pile on the floor for the cleanest ones he can finds and shrugs a pair of jeans and a shirt on, no boxers but that’s okay, he’s just happy to be dressed. 

Quickly he shoots IV a message Coffee? Even if he says no, which he well might, III needs to get out and clear his head.

He hopes IV agrees though. 

Although.. that means money. He grimaces but knows what he needs to do. 

“Could I borrow a fiver for the bus? I’ll…” He pauses, knowing what he says will mean but he needs this, so he steels himself, “I’ll make it up to you. “

Maybe he can find the money somehow? It doesn’t feel likely though and when Rick hands him the money over it’s like he’s sealed his fate. 

“Thanks baby,” he says, trying to keep his voice as sweet as possible before leaning down to kiss Rick’s forehead, “could I take the keys?”

“Why?” Rick questions, voice blunt and clearly at the end of his patience and III knows he needs to smooth things over. 

“Well if you’re in a game, the last thing I want is to disturb you to let me in baby, this way you don’t have to worry about me.”

It’s not the truth of course, in reality III is sick to his stomach with fear that Rick just won’t let him in again. At least if he has the keys it’s some reassurance. 

Rick buys it too, and with a grunt he hands III the keys before turning his attention fully on his computer. 

III heads to the bathroom so he can piss and wash his mouth but Rick’s voice calls out to him, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Just to- to clean up. I need to look my best..” III’s voice trails off, it’s clear Rick isn’t sold. 

“I told you earlier no. I’ll tell you when you’ve earned it and you definitely haven’t now. Get the fuck out so I don’t have to see you.”

III flushes, terrified at how quick Rick’s demeanour has changed and nods. He’d rather die than meet IV with this taste in his mouth but it doesn’t seem like he has a choice. 

He heads to the front door and slips his shoes on, checking his phone as he does so.

-Sounds great, I’m out now actually, meet you in Costa?

-I’ll be there in 20

He pockets his phone away and starts the trek into town, it’s not the shortest walk- especially not with his injuries, but he should make it without having to waste his bus fare.

And it’ll be good, he can mask the scent and taste with a coffee and he can speak to a friend for once, he can get away from everything. 

III steps outside, feeling for the first time like he might make it through this.

III spends the walk rehearsing his excuse to IV for not returning his shirt, which was still covered in blood and lying discarded on Rick’s bathroom floor— but as he opens the door to Costa and the smell of pastries and tasty treats hit him, every other thought vanishes completely from his mind.

It feels like torture, his stomach feeling like it was going to eat itself, cramping up in hunger.

IV was already at a table and in his excitement he jumps up to greet him, and they stand a few uneasy feet apart, smiling awkwardly at each other in greeting. 

The £5 in III’s hand feels like lead as he goes up to order, his panic rising when he scans the prices. He could get an espresso for cheap, but a latte would be more filling— or he could get a pastry, but would that be weird? It smells so good though, and— 

“What would you like?” The barista asks, and III internally panics, choosing the first thing his eyes land on, a mocha. The handful of change he gets back makes him feel sick but it’s too late now, and he shoves it into the pocket of his too-baggy jeans.

He tries so hard to be normal as he sits and chats with IV, but his mocha tastes so sweet on his tongue that he gulps it down in minutes and is left to watch hungrily as IV slowly drinks his latte and picks at his pastry.

“Have some, I’m still full from lunch.” IV says with an easy smile, sliding it across the table. 

III is so happy he could kiss him, and he quickly devours the sweet pastry. With a full stomach and a new friend, the impending sense of fear and dread begins to melt away. He sits up straighter, his eyes get less hunted, and his laugh surprises even him.

IV’s distracted by the buzz of his phone and soon II comes by to join, his big blue eyes staring up at him happily as they continue to chat the day away. IV’s charming but in an unintimidating way, while II’s just sweet, making the conversation brighter.

But as the sun begins to set, that same feeling of dread begins to creep up on him again and slowly III begins to shut back down.

He’s dreading the walk home to Rick’s almost as much as he’s dreading arriving, and the longer he puts it off the worse it gets. Even IV’s ease at carrying conversation begins to falter, and not even II’s wide-eyed eagerness can save it anymore. 

When III’s phone buzzes he knows that his time is up.

—I’m hungry, can you bring back something to eat?

Everything at the table falls away as III tries to remember in a panic if he’d missed something— Rick knows he has no money… and that money was for the bus, right? £5 couldn't buy take-away…

“Do you have to go now?” IV asks for the second time, and III nods dully as he tries to summon a smile. It fails miserably, but if they notice it they’re too polite to bring it up. He says his distracted goodbyes and then sinks against the cold brick wall of the cafe to reply.

—I don’t have enough, but I can make you something at home. 

Rick doesn’t answer, and with nothing else to be done about it he begins the long trek back to his place, grateful that he was smart enough to get his keys. 

When he opens the door Ricks is exactly where he left him, but the game is shut off and he scowls at III as he enters. 

“Really, no food?” Rick asks as III hangs back.

“I can make you something.” III volunteers, trying to keep his voice light.

“Where’s the change?”

III stuffs his hand into his pocket, baulking as he hands the change over to Rick. It’s not much, but Rick makes a show of slowly counting the few coins.

“Let me guess, you didn’t get a job.” 

“No.” III says quietly.

“How are you supposed to pay me back then?” 

The question hangs in the air as III’s mind races, trying to avoid this minefield in front of him.

“I-I’ll look again tomorrow, I promise I’ll—“

“If you’re staying here, you need to earn your keep. I’ve had enough of you taking advantage of my kindness.”

“I can clean, I can cook—“ The fear rising in III’s chest again is making it hard to breathe, but Rick remains unmoved as he watches III start to crumble. 

“I think we’ll have to work out a nightly fee to stay here.” Rick says slowly. “If you can’t make it, you’re back on the streets.”

“B-but… how much.” III asks quietly.

“We can work it out tomorrow, but for now how will you pay me back the £5?” 

III gulps and instantly falls to his knees between Rick’s legs, the same action he’s been practically trained to do since they started dating. Rick only scoffs at him, hauling him back up by the loose collar of his shirt.

“Such a fucking slut, you were made for this.” He chuckles, dragging III into his lap. “Just sit here and look pretty for me.” With the click of his mouse III sees his bewildered face appear on screen, and instantly tries to scramble away when people start to flood the chat with messages.

“This whore owes me £5.” Rick announces, a rough hand in III’s hair yanking his head back. “Put down your offers, and we’ll let him pick who pays me back. He was going to suck me off, so I guess that’s his going rate for that.” Rick chuckles as III’s face turns beet red.

Instantly the chat explodes with offers, and III’s face turns beet red as he watches a myriad of requests scroll by, varying from degrading to relatively tame. 

“Well, go ahead and pick… unless you want to try your luck with strangers downtown.” Rick whispers in his ear.

III panics, he knows he needs to pay attention to what they’re saying in order to pick, not wanting a repeat of last time when he didn’t pay enough attention. 

There’s so many messages it makes III’s stomach turn, how are there this many people already..? Surely it takes time to build up an audience like this?

He keeps thinking about the amount of videos Rick had on him but refuses to address it. That’s not, no… this is new. It has to be new. 

He pulls his attention back to the chat, terrified by the amount of people that seem to want him to be raped, he’s not sure how he’s going to leave the house, what if he runs into one of these people..? 

Their comments are vile, there’s more than one asking him to piss himself- which, with Rick’s refusal to let him use the bathroom, wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d like, but the humiliation is too strong and he skims past those requests. 

His eyes settle on one, it’s violent and awful but III thinks he could manage. 

I’ll pay you 50 if you get the whore to puke on your cock.

It’s somehow better than the other options, this way III doesn’t have to be fucked, his ass still so painful and tender, and it should give Rick a release for his rage without damaging III too much. 

Sure, it’s disgusting and filthy but… Well it’s better than some of the other options. And it’s a decent chunk of money, many of these were only offering the fiver Rick had mentioned, at least this way he’ll have been able to help out a bit. 

He points to it, “T-That one.”

Rick reads it and looks at III in surprise, “Really?” The disbelief clear in his tone and III cringes from it but nods. 

“I always knew you were filthy,” Rick scoffs before shrugging and pushing him to the floor, leaning over III’s head slightly to reposition the camera.

III shakes, he doesn’t want to do this but he has no choice, he keeps thinking about the £50. He’s not sure if he’ll get to keep any of it or if it’ll be his ‘rent’ for the night, but either way at least that’s one thing he doesn’t have to worry so much about. 

Rick unbuttons his trousers and pops his cock out, fisting a tight hand in III’s hair, “Open wide then,” he sneers before shoving his cock in. 

There’s nothing gentle about it at all, although III supposes that’s the point. 

The head of Rick’s cock batters the back of III’s throat and it’s all III can do to cover his teeth, terrified that Rick’s hastiness will result in him grazing himself on them. Terrified about what that would mean for III. 

Tears and snot stream down his face, drool too and III has never felt more pathetic. He can only imagine how he looks, his face blotchy and red, blood shot eyes and swollen lips. 

He’s never felt more unattractive and never been more keenly aware of the camera tracking him. 

He feels like he might die, his stomach churns and he’s desperately fighting his gag reflex when he remembers he doesn’t have to do that right now- shouldn’t do that right now. 

It’s horrifying to go against, he’s so used to having to keep it down, but he leans into it instead. 

He just keeps reminding himself, the sooner he throws up the sooner this is over. 

He shakes and sobs and finally the rough abuse is too much and he feels himself bringing up his stomach contents all over Rick’s cock. 

It hurts, Rick still has one hand tightly fisted in III’s hair, and his throat is still being abused, bringing up more and more sick.

It feels a little like he’s drowning, and he panics, thrashing and trying to pull away and Rick doesn’t care at all, just making his grip tighter so that III can’t get away. 

His stomach is heaving and he finds himself managing to bring up a couple chunks, they push past Rick’s cock and III hysterically prays Rick will shower tonight, he can’t imagine what sucking his cock will taste like tomorrow if he doesn’t.

He’s almost grateful for the pastry. At least he doesn’t to only bring up bile, as difficult as it is to do so the bile burns and hurts so much more.

Finally, once Rick’s drained III of all he has, he pulls out, yanking III’s head back roughly so his full face is on display. His chin is a mess and there’s vomit tracked down his chin and shirt, and there’s no where to hide from so many prying eyes. 

Rick just grins and starts fisting his cock hard, it doesn’t take long luckily and then III’s face is being painted with Rick’s cum. 

It feels awful and it feels fitting, he’s never been a bigger mess than he currently is and he itches to clean his face but he’s terrified of doing so without Rick’s permission. 

Instead, when Rick finally lets him go he just collapses, doing his best to keep his face off the ground- less to keep the ground clean and more because he doesn’t want any dirt from the floor sticking to him.

His stomach turns and for a second he thinks he might throw up again but luckily the sensation passes and he’s left to get his breath.

Rick doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead he snaps the camera off without a word to the viewers and turns to III, he’s still panting and sobbing, desperately trying to compose himself but unable to, and then Rick speaks and sheer terror strikes through III. 

“You and I both know you shouldn’t have eaten in the last few days. Want to tell me what that was?”

Chapter Text

This had felt like a good choice in his panic, something passive that required minimal work, awful but quick. 

But as he chokes down the taste of bile and cowers under the weight of Rick’s glare, he’s not so sure anymore.

His stomach cramps and he clutches it, surrounded by the smell of his own sick, miserable as the silence drags on, Rick’s question lingering in the air.

“Well?” Rick demands.

”I… I uh—“

The backhand is somehow completely unexpected, and he crumples instantly, his face smashing into the sticky floor.

”You said you couldn’t afford to bring home food but you’re out there stuffing your face while I starve?” Rick shouts at him, and III can only cower as Rick towers over him. 

A foot smashes into the back of his head shoving him further down, and he grimaces at the floor as it presses into his cheek, unsure if it’s ever been washed.

“It— It was—“ III tries to speak. “It was… I’m sorry!!” He wails instead, changing direction. “I’m sorry, I was just so hungry and I didn’t think—“ He’s unintelligible through his hiccupping sobs. The smell and taste cloying in his mouth as he tries to stay down, the snot, cum and vomit mixing together, making him feel ill.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry R-Rick, I just didn’t think—“

“Whose clothes are you wearing?”

“Yours.” III whimpers into the floor.

”Whose money did you spend? Whose bed did you sleep in? Whose shower did you get your filth all over?”

“Yours.” III wailed. 

“And what do you provide me with? A filthy unsatisfying fuck? Laying there like a dead fish?” Each question was punctuated by his foot shoving his face into the floor, and when he finally lifts it up III stays put, bawling, all of his fight gone.

”Unbelievable.” Rick mutters. “Your tears won’t save you now. Clean up that fucking mess.” 

III sniffles as he feels Rick’s chair back up, lifting up his eyes apprehensively from where he cowers.

Rick has been rough with him before, he’s gripped him a little too tightly sometimes, lost his patience, but he’s never hit him like that.

His cheek throbs as he lifts his head up warily, wondering if he’ll be allowed to scurry away and clean himself. He’s desperate for Rick to get distracted by League, anything to take his cruel attention off of him. 

“Fucking mess, look at yourself.” Rick grumbles, looking down at his cock in disgust. 

III nods with a miserable whimper, and tries to get up before another blow has him crashing back to the ground.

”You’re not ruining any more of my things just to clean up your mess. You’ve got a tongue, use it.” His heavy foot once again on the back of his head, forcing his face into the ground. 

III stares up at him in disbelief, and then horror, almost not believing him, but the near stomp on his head has him screwing his eyes up and shakily letting the tip of his tongue poke out. 

His face crumples in disgust as the foul taste of his own sick mixes with an unidentified substance on the floor, sticky on his tongue. Thankfully there wasn’t much, his stomach had been relatively empty after all, but he still struggles to get down the bigger parts, the memory of how happy he was at finally getting some food slowly being replaced by this horror with each lick. 

Finally there’s a clean spot, it stands out as an entirely different colour than the rest of the floor. Rick scowls as he looks it over carefully before there’s a knock at the door.

With a grumble he shuffles to the door to answer it, grabbing a bag from an unidentified person with a muttered thanks. 

III watches as he returns to him at the computer desk, looking as Rick begins to unload a large takeaway bag, filling up his desk with delicious fried foods. The smell complete torture. 

“Well?” Rick grunts as he spares III an unimpressed look. 

“Please Rick, I—“

Rick pulls his cock out again and gestures to it. “Clean it off too.” 

III stares up at him, his stomach grumbling, watching as he takes a bite of fried chicken. 

“Wait.” Rick says, looking down at him with a frown. He grabs III’s chin and holds it tight, taking a moment to inspect him before he spits in his face.

III feels it run into all the other mess on his face, dripping over his lips before Rick roughly wipes his chin clean with a napkin. “That’s better, now clean me up.”

So, so slowly III sets to work, his tongue is sore both from the abuse Rick put him through and the rough carpet on the ground and even these gentle kitten licks hurt. 

He doesn’t have another option though. 

He dutifully licks Rick’s cock clean, his stomach churning and the scent of the food assaults him. 

It’s probably good Rick’s not given him any of the food, he feels like he’s going to be sick just smelling it. The grease would not have settled well in his stomach. 

It doesn’t really help the hunger though. It’s clawing inside of him and the cold bile is hardly a substantial meal. 

Finally he finishes and Rick tucks himself away, he doesn’t say anything to the taller man, instead just getting on with eating and III feels paralysed. 

He wants a shower so badly but he knows that’s a bad idea, he wants food and water but that’s even worse. 

Instead, he hastily scrubs his face as hard as he can with the sleeve of his shirt and tries not to look too much at the filth left on it. 

He hears his phone buzz but he leaves it, clambering onto the bed. It’s probably IV and as happy as that makes III, he doesn’t have it in him to pretend everything’s okay right now, he’ll respond to the other man tomorrow. 

III settles into bed, he’s filthy but hopefully he wont stain Rick’s sheets too bad, they’re already dirty anyway so any mess he does leave shouldn’t show too vividly. 

Exhaustion courses through him, in a way that probably doesn’t mix great with the pain in his head, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that as before he knows it he’s passed out.

———

Rick watches III curl into his bed, grumbling at the mess he’s probably making in his sheets. Next time he’ll make him have to ask first, why shouldn’t his bed be a privilege as well?

He’s certainly looked better, the stress of the last few days is showing clear on his face and Rick idly wonders how his subscribers might prefer him; this way, or better cared for? He was still testing out the viewership, but if their requests were anything to go by, they wanted him wrecked. 

The channel had made hardly any money on the old videos, and even Rick is surprised by the money some stranger had paid to see… that.

He had made £50 with only five minutes hard work if you could call it that, and Rick’s dick twitched at the memory. It wasn’t exactly his flavour of fun, but there was something about the way that III had hated it, the way he’d fought until the resignation was clear on his face, the way he forced himself to obey.

He had a sick thrill about proving people wrong and showing the world that a person like him could fuck someone like III, could make him puke on his cock, could make him humiliate himself. 

He reads through the old comments idly, getting a better feel for the viewers as he eats the wings. They’re just like him, and now they want to be him. It’s no wonder they want to pay to see him destroyed.

Wiping his greasy fingers on his trousers Rick clicks through his images, and selects one of III when they first met. 

He has that haunted look in his big blue eyes, courtesy of his parents, but he’s still fresh-faced and optimistic. Cropping himself out, Rick makes it the profile picture and begins to fill out the information, mulling on a bio.

My parents kicked me out, please keep me off the streets. He types first then deletes it, frowning. Good Christian boy wants to be bad? Too cliché.

He goes back to the profile picture and studies it again, this time uncropping his face, putting him back it. Normally he would hide himself away— he knows he looks awful with his stringy unwashed hair, yellowed teeth and stained shirt, especially next to this pretty, fresh-faced boy. With a growing smile he posts it instead. 

Rick’s Victim. He types up instead. Help me show this pretty boy what gross creeps like us want to do to him.

It doesn’t take long for his channel to get more subscribers, truthfully it’s shocking how little time it takes.

It makes Rick grin, good. That means there’s others like him, that know where boys like III belong. 

Anger bubbles in his stomach as he thinks about it, no one ever gives guys like him a chance, they turn their nose up at them and speak behind their backs. They laugh at how gross they are without caring once about their feelings. 

No, the world just caters to pretty people, it only cares about who’s most attractive. 

It’s fucking disgusting. 

If he hadn’t gotten III when he did, III would be the same, he wouldn’t even look at Rick twice. He’d turn his nose up like everyone else. 

He’s already starting to! He tried to leave Rick. 

Fucking no good whore, Rick will make sure he regrets that. Make sure III knows his place. 

He grins, fingers tapping away at the screen, eager to start using III properly. He’d never have thought to make III do that but fuck if it wasn’t good, he can’t wait to see what other ideas people have for him. 

———

III wakes up to an incessant need in his lower stomach. 

He also wakes up under Rick’s arm.

He’s bleary and exhausted, his entire body aches and he needs to piss badly. It makes sense, Rick hadn’t let him go at all yesterday and despite how little he drank, eventually his body needs to let go. 

But Rick has him pinned. It should be comforting, waking up in the arms of his boyfriend, but instead it just sparks fear down III’s spine. 

Moving is dangerous but pissing himself even worse, he tries his best to hold it and go back to sleep but now he’s awake and aware the need becomes more and more urgent.

As carefully as he can he slips from Rick’s grasp. It’s not the easiest thing in the world but it works and he makes his way to the bathroom. 

Longingly he stares at his toothbrush- it’s the only one in the room as Rick doesn’t bother with brushing his teeth, and he wants so desperately to clean his mouth from the filth yesterday. 

Even going to piss is dangerous enough, the pain in his bladder is immense but as he stands in front of the toilet he finds himself shaking uncontrollably.

He’s not going to risk Rick’s anger from something he can control, he can’t, so he ignores it instead, stuffing his cock away and does his best to leave as fast as he can. Rick will wake up soon and he can go then, it’ll be fine  

He walks back in the room, Rick’s still passed out luckily, unaware of III’s movements- and for a split second III thinks of fleeing. 

And then he remembers what happened to him when he spent one night on the streets, remembers how unsafe it is out there. 

Rick may be… difficult, but at least III’s warm and has a place to sleep. That has to count for something. 

Somehow III slips back into bed, he doesn’t want to give Rick any idea that he moved and he wants to get more sleep even if his bladder is aching, he can’t remember when he was last fully rested. 

It’s hard, his body is on high alert, he desperately needs to piss, and every twitch from Rick has him shaking. If anything he thinks, III’s going to wake him up by not being still enough. 

He tries to will his body to listen and calm down but the more he thinks about it the more worked up he becomes and his tremors increase to an alarming degree.

He’s distressed by the shaking, trying to hug himself tightly to not wake Rick. What if he wakes him up, what if he’s upset, what if—

The heavy arm slung over him clamps tighter around him, pulling him close, and III tries to still himself. They’re full body chills like he’s freezing, and he has to bite down tightly to stop his teeth from chattering.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rick grumbles in his ear, and III feels a tear track down his face.  

“Can I use the bathroom?” III chatters, the shaking not helping the strain on his bladder at all. “Please?”

”I don’t know, have you earned it?”

III’s not sure how he’s meant to earn it at this point, and looking over at him helplessly he watches the mean smile across Rick’s sleepy face.

”I’m not running a charity house. Last night you nearly made enough, but I’m going to need you to start contributing. I think £60 a night is fair— better rate than you’ll find anywhere else!” He adds loudly as III tries to interject.

”How am I—“

”I think you demonstrated that very easily last night.”

”Please let me use the bathroom.” III whimpered, unable to focus on even this.

“What’s in it for me?”

”If y-you let me go, I’ll s-suck you off.” III chatters, the smug look on Rick’s face making him feel sick. He could see Rick was in a mood, and could feel the current of danger just below. His face still warm from the hit, and he’s scared of what might come if he disobeys again. He just needs a few more days. Maybe he can get ahold of his parents, maybe he can ask IV if he knows anyone, maybe…

“You’re lucky you even got to sleep in the bed last night.” Rick grumbles, his hand slowly reaching down III’s thin chest, resting against his full bladder. 

As he lightly pushes into it, III’s thought process is completely interrupted, replaced with his intense need to piss. Whimpering, his hands scrabble at Rick’s arm, trying to lift the pressure.

”It can’t be that bad.” Rick grumbles, giving it another poke that had III curling up in desperation. “Suck me off before, then we’ll see.”

He doesn’t think he can last that long, but he also doesn’t think he’ll be able to jump up and make it before Rick stops him, besides he already had his chance and proved he was too much of a coward to do anything. So instead he looks up at Rick desperately, hoping for mercy.

”You think that works on me? I know how manipulative you are.” Rick snaps, a fist in his hair yanking him roughly towards his cock.

It’s limp and looks dirty, and III just wants to curl back up into a ball in bed wishing he’d never woken up.

“Might take some work.” Rick chuckles. 

Seeing now there’s no way out, III takes a deep breath and starts to gently take him into his mouth. He knows Rick’s two rules, eye contact and no hands, and he does his best to abide by them both, staring up at him as he feels the limp cock give a small kick in his mouth. 

It’s slow going, and he swears he can still taste the vomit from last night, but finally Rick’s fully hard. He does his best to take him down but he’s tired and distracted by his full bladder, squirming between Rick’s open legs to alleviate the pressure.

This angers Rick and he tries his best, desperate to not make him say he’s not earned it, but his throat is so bruised and aching from the brutal throat fucking last night that he winces in pain each time the cock taps at the back of his throat.

Rick’s frustrated huff is the only warning he gets before he feels his thick legs wrap around his head, forcing him down deep, with no way to get back. Desperately he tries to shove himself free, but the thighs around his head only tighten, and he stares up at Rick with panic and betrayal as he chokes on his cock, barely able to pull a breath.

The thighs tighten even more and he suddenly can’t breathe, and desperately trapped and trying to pull away, black spots dot his vision as Rick’s cock completely fills his throat up until it feels like it’s all that exists inside of him.

Even as he begins to feel faint he knows he can’t scrape so much as a tooth on his cock, and so he can only stare up at him with panic as it starts to get blurry. His throat spasms and Rick throws his head back with a groan as III unwittingly massages his cock, gagging on it again until he's sure if he had anything left in his stomach it would be a repeat of last night.

His hands ball into fists and he has to hold onto the sheets to stop himself from doing something like hitting Rick. 

This isn’t right. 

It’s not… it’s not fair. He doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve this. All he wanted is to piss. 

Everything suddenly feels like it’s crashing down on him, he’s suffocating in Rick’s unwashed pubic hair and under the weight of his thoughts. 

Why was Rick filming him from the start? Why don’t his parents love him enough to save him? Why did he get raped the second he left the house?

It all feels like too much, things like this don’t happen, not like this. 

But it is happening. His vision is fading and he’s struggling to keep conscious, for a brief moment he wonders if he’ll die here. 

The thought fades quickly, he doesn’t think Rick could give this up. He’s always been more… intense than others, but now he’s having no reason to hold back and III can feel how much he likes that. 

His life is safe, but not much else. 

Rick keeps him there for far too long and eventually his limbs fall slack, the last thing he feels is a wetness trickling down his legs and something that would be panic and humiliation if his emotions weren’t so far away.

Coming back to consciousness with heaving gasps, III’s body desperately tries to suck in a breath, instead inhaling the cum that’s painted his throat. He’s so busy gasping and choking for air that it takes him a moment to realise that the bed is warm and wet where he lays curled up. Something is pooling on the sheets around him and he realises with horror what he’s done. He looks up, terrified, to see Rick towering over him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rick roars in his ear and III’s shaking again, his whole body trembling so hard that it makes his muscles ache. 

“I-I’m sorry Rick, I’m sorry, I’ll clean—“ He can hardly get it out before he has to stop to cough out cum, his throat on fire as he attempts to crawl away from his mess. 

A strong hand grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves his face into the puddle of piss, grinding him into it as he splutters. Shutting his eyes tightly he tries to suck in a breath, gagging again as some gets in his mouth. 

“You’re so fucking disgusting!” Rick shouts, before a heavy fist to the back of the head has him reeling. “Go get this washed!”

“I-I don’t—“ III sobs, too scared to get up even as Rick’s grip lifts as he stomps away.

He sobs in the sheets, equal parts humiliated and horrified before Rick starts to dump change on him.

“If you want a place to sleep tonight the laundromat is two streets away. Bring it back clean.”

III sniffs as he gingerly lifts his head, watching Rick carefully to make sure it’s okay, ready to cower again. With trembling hands he begins to pick the change out of the sopping sheets hoping it’s enough.

“C-can I just go w-wash off first?” He asks through his tears, trying to wipe the snot and piss off his face with the back of his sleeve. 

“We’ll see how good a job you do.” Rick grumbles as he sits at his desk, and III gives a shaky nod. 

Pocketing the filthy change he gathers all the sheets in his arms, grimacing as they seep into the front of his shirt. 

His phone shows it's actually four streets away, and he shuffles there red-faced, hoping no one he knows sees him. 

Finally he arrives and he can’t get the sheets into the machine quickly enough, looking down at his clothes miserably. He’d been tempted to ask to grab IV’s shirt out of the washroom but didn't want to push his luck.

He was almost desperate enough to hide somewhere naked while his clothes washed, but in the end he didn’t have the guts, and all he could manage to do was tear off Rick’s oversized tee off and throw it in, hugging his bare bony chest as he curled up on the cold plastic chair, shivering.

—Are you free for coffee today?

He’d finally checked his messages, and the excitement is swelling in his chest just as he looks down at himself, realising. 

He can’t go out like this, he’s disgusting.

He realises this just as he’s about to message yes and is filled with such a despair as the fleeting excitement he felt is torn away from him. 

He doesn’t want to do those things on camera, doesn’t want any of this— but if he can earn money like he did on camera last night… Rick was already fucking him for free, at least he could be paid for it. 

Even just for a few nights to pay for some clothes, food, and his upcoming phone bill. Just enough to get out.

III feels a bit calmer with that plan in place, it’s not the best situation but he thinks he can make it through. 

-Sorry I’m busy today, tomorrow?

Rick’s going to want to fuck anyway, he’ll earn some money tonight and tell Rick he’s job hunting tomorrow. 

-Sounds good :)

His heart warms at that, even as he sits shivering from the cold. 

It’s so stupid, a throw away emoji, but he can’t remember the last time anyone was pleased to see him. 

-:) 

He’s going to be fucked if Rick ever finds his phone, but, he giggles to himself, he is anyway. 

At least this way getting through the day is a bit easier.

III spends the afternoon scrubbing the piss out of the mattress, scrubbing it clean until his arms are sore and aching. By the end he just wants to curl up and cry, and he’s so grateful that he’s taken his clean shirt off to do this, because he’s back to smelling like piss.

Finally it’s scrubbed to his satisfaction, and after he lays several towels down to dry it off he stands off to the side to watch Rick finish his game. The leftovers were out again, only half-eaten on the desk, and his stomach aches watching as Rick absentmindedly reaches over to grab a bite. 

“It’s not nice when others don’t share, is it?” Rick says gleefully over his shoulder, his mouth full of food. 

III has never felt so empty before, his only substance for the day being the cum he had half inhaled, and he weighs the options in his mind of what he can get away with asking— knowing Rick it’s only one thing. 

He needed to get clean, but was growing frightened by how desperate he was to eat, not trusting how far he’d sink tomorrow… but if he earned some money, at least he could buy something with IV and be more careful. 

“I want to work.” III says quietly, his fingers twisting together.

“Yeah?” Rick mutters as he turns his chair around to look at him properly. “I knew you were a whore.” 

III instantly crumbles, the doubts crashing quickly through his mind. Was that a test? Has he failed? “D-didn’t… isn’t that what…”

“It’s what you were made for.” Rick shrugs, patting his knee. 

III has to force himself forward until he gingerly takes a place on his knee, and lets a meaty arm wrap tightly across his chest. It holds him tightly to Rick’s sweaty chest as the chair turns back to the computer.

The food was so close that III could reach out to touch it, and he fights the urge to lick the scattered crumbs. He’s so busy eying it up that he misses when the webcam turns on, hearing Rick typing furiously on his keyboard.  

”Tell them why you’re in trouble.” Rick smirks, reaching across him to grab more chicken.

“No, Rick, I don’t—“ His face turns pink as he ducks his chin. This is too much, maybe he should just leave, he- 

“You can have a chicken if you do.” Rick taunts, the leg waving so closely in his face that III’s nodding before he can even think it through.

“I uh..” III pales, struggling to even say it. 

“Look up into the camera and tell them what you did.”

III’s mouth waters as he eyes the chicken again, but when he looks up into the camera, he’s shocked into silence by his appearance. His blue eyes are huge and bright against the circles under his eyes, and he can see the light red mark still visible across his cheek, touching it softly, bewildered. His blond hair sticks up every which way and he tries to flatten it down without success. 

A pinch on his side makes him jump and he tries to not look at this pathetic version of himself on screen.

“I… Rick was—“ 

“Don’t blame me for your mistake.”

“I had an accident, I couldn’t— I peed on the bed.” III says it quickly, his face so red that it burns. 

Instantly a bunch of emojis and rude comments fill the chat, but III only has eyes for the chicken.

“Tell them you’re disgusting.” Rick says, holding it just out of reach.

“I’m disgusting.” III whispers.

“Yes you are.” Rick cackles before spitting onto the chicken leg and handing it to III. “Eat up.”

III watches with disgust as the spit slides down the skin, knowing already that he’ll eat it.

“How much?”

Rick pauses, a scowl on his face, but III’s got him- if he wants III to play along he’s going to need to actually give him a chance to earn this money. 

Whatever. He’ll get him for this later. 

“Five.”

III stares at him for a second and it’s clear he’s debating haggling this but in the end his hunger and desperation wins out at he takes the slimy chicken leg and starts gnawing on it. 

It’s… disgusting. Rick’s stomach turns watching III eat like that, he’s tearing the skin from the bone with a ferocity that makes Rick feel sick. 

He can’t help but look down on III a bit. How has he let himself go this far? And he still thinks he’s better than Rick. 

Pitiful. 

He wonders what else he could make III eat, maybe he should piss on his food at some point, or cum on it. Why should III get to eat anything that’s not been utterly marked by him?

He grins, yes, III may need to eventually eat, but Rick can use it as a lesson to remind III who he belongs to. 

Speaking of, III has finished his food and is looking longingly at the chicken on the table, hand clenched around the chicken bone. 

“What, do you want more? How greedy are you III…”

III flinches but nods, and Rick scoffs, “Fine. Let’s see what they think you should do for it hm?”

He’s thinking of his previous ideas, almost hoping someone will say that, when his eyes catch one comment. 

Make him eat it like a dog - £20

Yes. Clearly III needs a reminder that he’s lesser than Rick. 

Smirking, Rick leans forward and tips the food onto the filthy floor. The whine of horror III lets out is like music to Rick’s ears and he laughs, clearly the idiot thinks Rick’s not letting him eat. 

Instead, Rick pushes him onto the floor. “Go on, if you’re that desperate for food you can eat it like a dog.”

III stares at him in horror and god Rick loves that look, he’s addicted to it. 

“W… What do you mean?”

“If you want to eat so badly you’ll have it from the floor.”

III cringes and Rick sees a shaky hand reach down to pick one up, which Rick quickly kicks away. 

“I said like a dog, III, don’t act stupid now.”

It takes a moment for the words to register and even longer for III to put it into action, but slowly his head lowers and he starts biting at the food.

Rick is hasty to make sure the camera is on him and grins when III becomes fully in focus. 

It looks… painful. The meat is still attached to the bones and prying it off without the use of his hands is hard. He keeps struggling with it which is only pushing more and more of the chicken into the filthy ground, and lint and grime are sticking more and more to the meat. 

The food has never looked worse and it’s all that III deserves, how dare he think his meals should be as good as Rick’s?

God he’s so grateful for his chat, he’d never have thought to make III eat like this without that comment and to never see this would be a crime. His dick twitches hard in his boxers and he smirks, moving to behind III and roughly shoving his trousers down. 

III lets out a pitiful squeak and Rick laughs at him before taking his own cock out. 

He spits on III’s hole and then shoves himself in, not bothering to give him more prep than that. 

This isn’t for III after all, this is for Rick, and Rick doesn’t mind the rough burn on his cock too much, the knowledge of what he’s doing making up for the pain. 

III’s stopped eating to cry and Rick tsks at him, “You only have till I’m done to be finished with your food so I hope you’re full.”

The threat spurs III on and he leans down to eat more. Truly he’s eaten a pitiful amount and Rick wants to laugh at him. He’s hopeless, how he could hope to have survived without Rick, Rick doesn’t know. 

He chases after his own pleasure, it doesn’t take long for III to start bleeding and that helps it feel better for him. However it doesn’t take too long for Rick to cum which he’s annoyed by. 

He’s even more annoyed when he sees somehow III made a decent dent in his food even whilst being fucked. 

He looks miserable of course, tears and snot and spit and grease mark his face, and the food that’s left looks so awful III should really be thanking Rick for stopping him from eating more.  

He pulls out, a string of pink cum dribbles down and Rick smirks, grabbing the bone that III’s been holding in his fist all this time. 

III flinches in shock, clearly he hadn’t realised he’d never let it go but allows Rick to take it easily enough. 

He’ll probably regret that, Rick muses, before moving behind III and plunging the bone into his hole. 

III’s sob is visceral and Rick smirks, he doesn’t bother to clean up the food, he knows exactly how much is left and if III gives in and eats more, he’ll know. 

He almost hopes he does. 

He knows this has all been recording anyway but he snags his phone and takes a photo for his own collection, he won’t let III forget this in a hurry. 

He goes back to his computer, leaving III there with a simple “Stay,” as if the man really is a dog and smiles. 

III kneels there pitifully,  the chicken bone doesn’t do anything to keep the cum in so it’s leaking out onto his carpet, but III’s pathetic sobs make it all worth it.

Chapter Text

It takes III a while to stop sobbing long enough to look up, painfully aware of the camera catching every moment as he kneels pathetically on the filthy floor, the bone jabbing into his ass.

Something about it breaks him. It wasn’t the first time Rick’s been cruel to him, that isn’t unusual, but he had felt so in control at first, how had it escalated that quickly?

“Feeling a bit better now, princess?” Rick coos, and III looks up at him in fear.

He can’t make his mind comprehend how it got like this, and with his hunger pangs finally sated he’s filled with a deep shame over what he’d done for just a few bites of chicken.

“I don’t think he liked that.” Rick cackled as he turned back to the computer, eagerly reading the replies. 

III’s grateful that his eyes are too blurred by tears to even attempt to read them, and he instead stares at the desperate bites out of the chicken that’s scattered around him on the filthy floor.

He hates that if he hadn’t been forced to stop, he would still be eating more.

He tries to shift but the bone digs in further and with a whimper he stills himself again. Rick reaches down and grabs it, and III hopes this means he might pull it out.

Of course, Rick could never be that kind, and III wails instead when Rick instead starts to slowly fuck him with it.

Hunching down so that his forehead touches the filthy carpet, he tries to find a position that doesn’t hurt quite as badly, but it feels impossible, and he lets out a thin whine when it pulls at his torn skin. 

“What’s your next task?” Rick asks, and it takes III’s frazzled brain several moments to catch up.

Rick had fucked him, he’d done the thing, what else—

”You’re at £25, but if you want to spend the night you‘ll need £35 more.”

That’s not even close to enough for coffee, to buy IV a new shirt, that’s not even…

The bone fucks into him more roughly and he buckles a bit, trying to crawl forward to ease the discomfort until Rick places a heavy hand on his neck pulls him back, holding him in place.

”Stop, I— stop-“ III wails, trying to find the awful words, “What’s this worth?”

“This is just for fun,” Rick laughs, “I’m just bored.”

”Stop, I want to do more!” III begs, “I’m ready.”

With a put-out huff Rick yanks the bone out, and III stands slowly on shaky legs. He hates how second nature it is for Rick to adjust the camera on him, and tries to wipe his face of all his tears so he can read the screen easier. 

He doesn't fight it when Rick pulls him onto his lap, hooking his long shaky legs around his knees and pulling them wide apart.

There must be an easier task he can do, maybe he can jerk off-

He feels the bone starts to shove in again, and III tries to yank Rick’s arm away.

”No, I just—“

“We need to give them a show until you pick your next task.” Rick smiles.

Squirming in his lap III tries desperately to shift away, but the bone shoves easily back into his sore hole, and he whimpers as Rick drives it deeper into him. His legs are forced far apart and he can’t help but try to close them, hating how he can see on the monitor the pink tinged cum that seeps out of him with each thrust. 

The replies go by quickly and he tries to scan them, desperate to ignore the pain between his legs before one catches his eyes.

-£20 if you fuck him like that with something bigger.

“I need more!” III wails desperately, after reading it out, “It’s not enough money!” 

The chat’s in a cruel mood and the other replies are too much for him to even register, so he watches desperately for the same username to pop up.

-£10 more if you can make him cum only from fucking him with it, and III’s nodding before he even realises what he’s doing.

This can be over soon, just one more, even some extra for coffee, even some—

Rick opens the top drawer of the desk and III looks over to see a dildo pulled out. It’s not one they’ve ever used before, way bigger than his other one, and he looks at it in horror. 

“One of your fans sent it over.” Rick says happily. “Say thank you.”

”Thank you.” III says dully, trying to wrap his head around the thought of things being sent to him, things that he was expected to use.

-£10 more if you don’t use lube! Another user adds, and III nods to that, tears spilling down his cheeks as he considers that Rick wouldn't have used close to enough lube anyhow. 

Before he can reconsider, the bone is yanked out and he nearly retches in disgust when Rick tries to shove it into his mouth like a gag.

”If you keep this in the entire time I’ll let you shower after.” Rick says quietly in his ear, and III’s urge to get clean is so desperate that he nods immediately, allowing it to be forced past his teeth.

As he bites down on the middle, he catches himself in the video and wilts, humiliated by how it pulls his mouth back.

He grips Rick’s forearms tightly as he feels the toy line up with his swollen hole, his head tilted back against Rick’s shoulder as he feels it start to try to push in, letting out a loud wail from around the bone.

He tries to ignore the taste of Rick’s cum mixed with his blood as it dribbles down his chin, groaning in pain as the dildo starts to push in. 

He can’t do this, he can’t do this, it’s too much—

He panics, his legs desperately trying to close from where they’re trapped on either side of Rick’s legs.

”No, stop, please, stop!” He wails as the hard plastic head pushes past, stretching his torn hole. 

Ignoring him, Rick keeps going, and III swears he can feel every inch, openly sobbing as it carves out a place inside of him. 

“You’re going to be here a while if you don’t start trying to enjoy this.”

It hurts so fucking bad III can’t breathe. He regrets agreeing to no lube, anything would be better than this. 

It feels like he’s been split in half, all his old wounds are reopened and new ones are being added. 

He’s never going to be able to walk again. 

III screams, doing his best to keep his mouth clenched down on the bone as he does, to not let it drop, the only thing he can think of is the shower and-

And if he doesn’t cum this will never finish. 

His cock has never been limper, hanging there utterly lifeless and dead. 

Tears pour down his face and Rick pushes it further still, it’s not even fully in yet. 

Each push is agonising and III wants to run away except there’s nowhere for him to go. Instead he shuts his eyes and tries to imagine he wants this. 

He can like pain, sometimes, and it’s so big it’s pushing against his prostate without Rick even trying. 

Somewhere, deep in his brain, part of this could be considered pleasurable, if he ignores everything else. 

So he focuses on that. He forces himself to focus only on the small pleasurable feeling and slowly he starts to feel his cock twitch. 

It takes so so long for him to get hard, long enough he’s scared Rick will give up, but eventually his cock is hard and dripping pre and he’s never been so ashamed. 

The bone is still in his mouth and he refuses to drop it, he needs to shower after this, he needs to be clean. He is scared that he’ll bite down too hard on it though, and has to be so careful not to clench his jaw whenever Rick is particularly rough. 

And then, maybe in an act of kindness, Rick moves the dildo so it’s pressing directly into his prostate, and it’s slightly easier to find the pleasure now. 

It still takes a while, but III is so tired and upset, his body so on edge, that he manages to push himself over the edge. 

It’s weak and unsatisfying but he does it, his cock lets out tiny spurts of cum as somehow he manages to make himself finish on that monstrosity. 

The knowledge that has has makes him burn with humiliation.

“See, he likes it!” Rick chuckles as he mercilessly drives the plastic cock into III’s overstimulated prostate just a few more times until III’s sure he’ll pass out. 

He can’t stop his head from lolling back on Rick’s shoulder, and his only thought is to grip the bone in his mouth for all he’s worth, not willing to give up his prize. 

Finally Rick tires of it and III feels him start to pull out. Bracing for what’s coming, his hands dig so tightly into Rick’s arms as it’s pulled out slowly, little pained whimpers escaping from him until it finally pops out and he’s empty. 

He pants, his whole body shaking as he tries to get his bearings, his vision spotting with black as he tries to disappear into himself. 

The bone being ripped out of his mouth brings him back to focus as Rick’s strong hand grabs his chin, wrenching his face towards the screen. 

“Say thank you to your patrons.” He said sternly.

III tried to get his lips to work enough to stammer out a “T-thank you,” as the screen  turns blurry from his tears. 

Rick’s legs finally shut, and III is relieved that the painful stretch is gone, his inner thighs shaking as he sits nervously on his lap, waiting for a dismissal. 

“See you tomorrow.” Rick smiles as he turns off the camera while III sniffles.

As much as it hurt to keep his legs stretched so wide, closing them was nearly as bad, the pain between his legs keeping them open. 

“C-can I?” III asks timidly, and Rick stands up, sending III careening off-balance, who only just catches himself on the desk. 

“Only use the shower.” Rick says gruffly, watching him to see that he understood. 

III nods and limps slowly to the washroom, trying to take small steps as he feels something dripping down his leg. 

As he reaches the door he tries to pull it shut behind him, jumping as Rick hollers, “leave it open!”

Nodding he stumbles to the shower and turns it on. Standing in the cold spray as he waits for it to warm up, he wonders how his life has been reduced to this.

He watches the blood turn the water pink as it swirls down the drain with dull eyes before he starts to soap up, not willing to test how long Rick would let him have even this. 

The only thing keeping him going is his day with IV tomorrow, and he scrubs himself extra hard to remove any evidence of this so that he’ll never know.

The shower is turned so hot it burns his skin and yet it still doesn’t feel hot enough, no matter how much III scrubs there is dirt and grime imbedded so deep in him he will never be clean again. 

His teeth ache too, a fuzzy awful feeling, but Rick said he could only use the shower and he can’t bear to go against him, not right now. 

The idea of him finding out…

But his mouth is so foul. It’s… he needs to clean it. 

Without thinking, almost in a delirious haze, he puts a tiny bit of soap on his finger and shoves it in his mouth. 

Immediately he’s gagging on it and wants to spit it out, but he doubts he’ll be allowed to brush his teeth and this way there’s no minty smell to give him away. 

It might not be good for him but he’ll be able to clean, at least a little. 

He scrubs it in as best he can, terrified of Rick seeing but luckily he’s facing his computer. 

Or… or not luckily. III wants to think he’s gaming but he isn’t sure anymore, he doesn’t know. 

The thought mixed with the taste of soap is too much and he instantly hunches over, doing his best not to throw up everywhere. The only thing stopping him is knowing everything that just happened would be a waste, his stomach would be empty again. 

He has no idea when he’ll next be allowed to eat. What he’ll have to do for it. 

But… he earned some extra money, he can get a coffee tomorrow, he can start to save it. 

That thought keeps him going and as he continues to scrub himself raw, the showers long gone cold by the time he turns it off and he’s just glad that Rick didn’t pull him out before. 

The only towel is grimy and old and III’s tempted to not use it, but if he gets Rick’s things wet…

Anything could set them man off- and might. So he hastily dries himself with the cleanest part he can find. Once he’s done he gives one longing look at the toilet, he wants to piss again but it’s not urgent, he won’t… he won’t have another accident.

It’s more the fact that he doesn’t know when he’ll next be allowed that gets him. He should have tried in the shower but he was so scared of Rick seeing. 

He shakes his head trying to clear his thoughts and steels himself, heading back to Rick’s room.

Rick watches as III limps slowly to the bed, smiling sharply when he notices him freeze in place as he reaches it, paralysed by fear. 

He can see how badly III wants to curl up into it, and Rick is endlessly pleased with himself that he’s too scared to even do that. Instead, III looks over at Rick nervously, jumping when he notices Rick’s eyes reflected in the monitor, watching him carefully.

“Tired?” Rick asks, smiling at what he’d been through tonight. Sure he had been crueller than necessary, but he needed to stamp out that ugly arrogant attitude when III’s asked how much. 

He wasn’t the one who was in charge here, and Rick would remind him of that as often as it took. 

“Yes.” III shuffled  in place, his skin red from the hot shower. 

“It’s early.” 

“I’ve got to get up first thing to job hunt.” III replies softly, and Rick can see how his nails are digging into the soft skin of his arm as he tries to hide the way his hand shakes. 

“Hm.” Rick replies, watching III frozen in indecision. He so clearly wants to get in the bed and Rick’s dick twitches that after everything he’s done to earn it, he’s still waiting for his permission. He’s so pathetic it makes Rick sick.

“Goodnight.” He decides to put III out of his misery. He’s not in the mood to fuck, and he’s got some interesting proposals from patrons he wants to look over. 

He had just turned back to read them over when III’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Why is he still bothering him, did he learn nothing?

“Could I grab my money before bed, I just don’t want to wake you early, and I need it for the bus.“

This request annoys Rick to no end, and he turns around on his chair to face him. “What money.”

“I-I made £65 this time, I should have five…” III trails off.

“What about the £5 you borrowed last time you went job hunting?” Rick already knows he’s going to give it to him, it was just fun to see III’s eyes light up for such a small share of what he’s earned— He’s just still in a bad mood and wants III to sweat a bit.

It’s working, and he sees how III’s expressive face instantly falls, trying to work up the courage to argue. Instead Rick flashes him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and with an exaggerated huff he leans over to pull his wallet out of his pocket.

“You did good tonight, I’ll let this pass.” He mumbles, carefully pulling a five out a stack of cash. 

It’s more than he’s ever earned in recent memory, and he wonders if III will ever figure out how much extra he’s getting just from subscriptions, let alone the rest.

Acting put-out, he waves the money in the air, watching as III painfully shuffles closer. 

Just as he reaches out to grab for it Rick pulls it away, and he’s delighted to see the tears streaming instantly down his face.

“Ohh, don’t cry, just give us a kiss first.”

Every part of III’s body language screams no as he leans closer, his eyes only on the bill that flaps just out of reach. Finally his lips meet Rick’s and he gives him a quick peck before he’s pulling away. 

“Kiss me like you mean it!” Rick scolds.

III again leans closer, terrified, and Rick does nothing, resting his hands on the armrests of his chair and letting him do all the work.

He sits there letting him take the lead, watching how III’s face scrunches up in disgust as he kisses him, pushing his tongue past Rick’s lips. He knows III hates this, and revels in the way III’s disgusted by it. 

The fiver is thrust into III’s face and he grabs it, swiftly hiding it behind his back. He looks dead on his feet like he’ll collapse any moment, but still he knows not to leave until he’s allowed. 

“Why does it have to hurt?” III’s lip trembles as he says it, and he chokes back a sob as Rick’s smile only gets bigger. 

The question surprises Rick, but he’s happy to let III know his place as many times as he needs to hear it. “It’s what you deserve.” 

“I—“

“And if you don’t think so, I can send you out on the streets so you can remember how others treat you.” 

III shrinks away, the panic of that night still fresh on his face. 

“Do you want that?”

“No.” III replies quietly, his head down.

“Good, because maybe next time I won’t let you come back.” Rick smirks.

It’s not true, he’ll always belong to Rick, he’ll never let him go, but he enjoys the look of fear on his face all the same. 

He watches as III fiddles nervously with the fiver in his hand until finally with a nod he’s dismissed. As he shuffles painfully to the bed, Rick turns back to the channel to read more requests, reaching out to some of the more interesting suggestions.

III falls asleep fast, blissfully unaware of the comments Rick is reading, and the new ideas that he’s getting. 

Chapter Text

By the time III wakes up Rick is fast asleep, he’s slept most of the day and all night but clearly his body needed it. He does his best to slip out from under Rick, it’s a little early for his meeting with IV but the longer he can spend out the house the better.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t account for the maintenance of pain he’s in, and the moment he tries to stand he tumbles to his knees.

He lands with a loud crash and it’s only the fear of waking Rick that prevents him from shouting in pain. Luckily, Rick can be a deep sleeper and he doesn’t stir from the sound.

He stumbles to his feet and gingerly dresses, there’s fresh blood on his ass but it’s too risky to clean up now. He’ll try wash in a public bathroom, at least Rick let him shower last night so his appearance shouldn’t be too suspicious.

He checks his phone as he puts his shoes on and walks out the door, nothing new of course but he’s itching to see his friend again so shoots IV a message

-Plans got cancelled, I’m around all day now so just let me know when works

It doesn’t take long for a response, he’s barely down the street when his phone buzzes.

-Want to spend the day with me?

The message makes III giddy with excitement, he’d hoped for this but to know IV actually wants to spend the day with him, it’s the nicest thing he’s felt in god knows how long.

Their meeting point is the same cafe as before, and III continues his walk with a spring in his step, invigorated by the warm sun shining down on him.

Unfortunately, the good mood and happy walk can only last so long, he makes it about five steps before he’s limping noticeably, goosebumps pricking up his spine as he feels a wet drip down his thigh.

Going back is not an option so he keeps walking, wincing at the sharp pain. He focuses on one step at a time even as it feels like he’s broken something irreparably, that something deep inside him has been ripped open since the alley. His mind refuses to touch further on the subject, just vague impressions of the horror flitting through his head. They're too awful to focus on, and aside from brief flashes of agony, they’re thankfully gone.

The half hour walk takes an extra fifteen with his slow pace, but finally he hears the bell jingle on the door as he pushes in, his stomach doing flips as the smell of the baked goods assault his nose.

“You alright?” IV asks, his eyes narrowing in concern as III comes up to awkwardly to stand by his table. III had opted for a tea and a big fluffy croissant, and he grips the plate tightly in his hands.

He wants to sit down so badly, his body is exhausted, but he’s afraid the pain will show on his face. IV’s staring, but he’s frozen again in indecision—  he’s too sore to stand, but too sore to sit, what if he bleeds on the chair?

“I’ve got to use the bathroom.” His smile is tight but IV seems unaware, flashing him an easy smile in return as III places his croissant and tea at the table.

“Looks good!” IV says, eyeing it up.

“Help yourself.” It hurts III to say it, but he already owes him so much…

He didn’t mean to pee, but it was an almost automatic response as he stepped up to the toilet. Rick only meant his toilet, not all toilets… right? He wondered in a panic. He’d tried to stop but it was too late, so instead his mind agonises until the last trickle has left him. It’s not like he’ll know, right?

Bolstered by the wad of toilet paper he had shoved down his pants, he returns to the table and bravely sits down, his face falling when he sees a corner of his croissant ripped off. A trail of crumbs lead to the culprit, happily chewing.

“That’s good, I might grab one.” IV says as he wipes the crumbs off the table, and III has to stop himself from throwing himself on the floor to lick them up, mortified by the fact he’d do that.

He disguises this by taking a sip of his tea, the warmth filling him instantly. He forgot how good this was and grimaces over the box of tea he could’ve bought at the shops for the same price.

“Are you alright?“

III is pulled out of his thoughts and tries to scramble for an answer. This wasn’t the first time he’s met IV with a wad of toilet paper shoved down his pants for the bleeding, but does he already seem that much worse?

“Late night.” He smiles apologetically, staring down at his croissant.

His mouth waters as he looks at it, and with his hand shaking he reaches down to grab it.

Pulling it up to his lips he pauses, once again frozen in fear. Haunted by the memories of what happened last time, it’s a struggle to bring it to his open his mouth, but once his tongue brushes against it he’s lost all reason, scarfing it down instantly.

IV watches him with an unreadable expression as III presses his finger to the plate, pushing each and every crumb onto it and sticking it into his mouth.

“I missed breakfast.” He says quietly when he notices how IV is watching him.

The moment drags on for a beat too long, and III’s hating that he’s already managed to fuck this up.

“So did I.” IV’s smiles, and III watches as he gets up and makes his way to the cashier, returning shortly with assorted pastries on a plate.

Something in III’s mind is broken enough to scan around to see if Rick is watching before he grabs an eclair and eats it. A grumble in his stomach warns him that he needs to be careful, and he regrettably waves off the donut that IV offers him next.

IV stares at III for a second before he lets it drop and III breathes a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding, terrified that IV was going to say something to him, he wouldn’t have it in him to protest if IV offered again.

As it is, he just watched IV eat, he wants so desperately to make conversation but his mind won’t cooperate, despite being out the house and away for now all he can think about is everything Rick has done to him, everything he’s let him do.

The agony in his ass and the hunger in his stomach doesn’t do much to distract him from it either and despite the fact it should be okay, knowing he just pissed without Rick’s permission is making him break out in a cold sweat.

And he hates himself because this is his freedom. He shouldn’t have to be thinking about this right now.

Luckily, IV doesn’t seem to mind, instead he looks almost comfortable with the silence, although when he notices III staring at him he grins.

“After we’re done here I wanted to look around some shops, you good with that?”

III’s startled by IV’s voice but nods eagerly, “Yeah, that’ll be good.”

It’s not like he can buy anything but it’ll be nice to look, to pretend things are normal.

It doesn’t take long for IV to finish and they both get ready to leave, as III stands up though he realises his error, there’s no way he can walk around for a full day.

He also doesn’t have a choice. He can’t flake now, and if he says he’s in pain, IV will ask why.

He’s fucked.

Gritting his teeth he does his best to shuffle and limp to the store, which raises a new problem. There’s so many people walking around, bumping into him, he feels on edge.

How many of them know what Rick’s done? How many of them have watched him? Logically it should be none but then… but then no one should have seen those videos.

He doesn’t want IV to see him in this state but he’s too scared to leave his side. He was raped just a couple streets away, no where is safe. At least IV will protect him.

Unfortunately he’s in too deep a spiral to mask his emotions when IV looks at him concerningly and it takes a second before IV speaks “I can’t see what I want,” IV shrugs, “I’m gonna head back I think.”

III’s heart shatters, it’s clear IV is leaving early because of him but there’s nothing he can do to stop this. Tears well in his eyes but he nods, “I’ll just…” he gestures in the opposite direction.

IV frowns, “I thought we were spending the day together? C’mon mate, the others won’t mind.”

III takes pause but smiles slowly, “I-If you’re sure.”

IV’s laugh is genuine and he bumps his shoulder against III’s, “Course I am, come on.” And he starts leading the way to his car.

III's anxiety builds steadily the further they drive in the opposite direction from Rick’s house, until he's well past the point of walking home. He hopes he can get a ride back, even if it takes some kind of favour. Rick only needed a blowjob, and IV seems way nicer than that.

He knows his body has reached its limit, and even the shorter walk home would be nearly out of the question, especially with more work to do tonight.

The thought of him having more work has him gripping his phone so tightly that he can feel his own pulse beating through his hand, and he desperately tries to put that out of his mind, to ignore it until it comes to that.

What if he just didn’t go home?

Panic grips him instantly at the thought, and his heart seizes as if somehow Rick will know.

IV seems unaware of his inner turmoil and turns up a generic rock song that III feels like he should recognize. He gives him a weak smile as IV starts to sing along, trying to get him to join along on the chorus and smiles so wide that his mouth hurts as IV warbles out a terrible high note.

“Don’t tell Vessel, he might think I’m after his job.” IV winks as the car slows down and they pull into the driveway of an older house.

He’s ushered inside like a skittish dog and waits patiently as IV removes his coat. He hadn’t even realised he was cold until he stepped inside the warm house, and he tries not to think about why his body is no longer alerting him to things like that.

IV is too polite to mention III’s lack of weather appropriate clothes, instead leading him past the foyer. It feels palatial compared to the cramped studio he lives in with Rick, and he sticks by IV’s side like glue as he’s led into the living room.

A smaller man is curled up on the couch under a blanket with a warm drink, and he looks up at them both with impossibly big blue eyes.

”You remember II of course?”

”Yes.” III says happily as II flashes him a warm smile.

“It’s nice seeing you again.” II says happily, making room for them both.

The TV is on in the background and III is happy for the distraction as his tired body melts into the couch, weary in a way that once again his body hadn’t clued him into.

Sitting on the couch watching a movie feels so nostalgic that it hurts and he can’t stop the tear that falls down his face, trying to wipe it away quickly.

“Are you okay?” A deeper voice makes him jump and he looks up to see Vessel staring down at him with concern. He hadn’t heard him come in and he scrubs his face quickly, embarrassed.

“Yeah, sorry.” He mutters as Vessel sits on the couch across from them, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Is everything okay?” He prods.

III can feel all their eyes on him and instantly withdraws into himself until a warm hand on his thigh brings him back. IV’s gentle face is in his line of sight and he relaxes slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, it’s fine. I just—” III scrubs his face again. They must think I’m a freak . “My parents kicked me out recently when they found out… when they found out about my boyfriend.” He stammers.

“Do you have a place to stay?” IV asks instantly.

“Yeah. M-my boyfriend, Ricks.” III replies.

“I’m glad he’s taking care of you.” Vessel leans forward to pat his knee, and III smiles up at him.

“Thanks it’s been…” he trails off before shrugging, desperate to get out of this conversation, “Your place is nice!”

Vessel gives him an easy smile back “Yeah, I got this place a while ago. It took some work to fix it all but it’s home.”

III almost wants to cry at how easy it was for Vessel to drop the questioning, if Rick had something he wanted to know there’s no way III would be able to drop it that easy, and he imagines the type of punishment he’d get for trying.

But Vessel, he just let it go. III feels something close to safe here and with the conversation dying out, he turns his attention back to the film.

It doesn’t take long for his eyes to get heavy, the weight of everything crashing on him and the sofa is so comfortable. He’s so comfortable here he doesn’t even notice when he falls asleep.

III’s filled with panic as he races down the alley, his bag of clothes clutched tightly to his chest. Vessel, IV and II are running with him keeping pace, but soon they hit a dead end, whirling around.

“They’re just our fans.” Vessel says with a gentle touch on III’s arm that makes him jump.

III feels guilty, turning to face the crowd who hold out papers to sign, and the others move closer, signing them happily.

“£5 to suck me off.” Someone shouts out and III wilts, hanging back out of sight.

“You heard the man!” IV smiles back at him.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“Why do you think we hired you?” Vessel chuckles.

III stares at them all in horror as the crowd surges forward, hands tearing at his clothes. They’re ripped and torn as he begs for them to stop, pleading with the others.. He can’t fight, he can’t scream, and his body seizes up in a panic as hands are everywhere.

“Get off, get off!” He whimpers, flailing uselessly as his clothes are pulled off and he’s back on the cold concrete alley, pebbles digging into his soft skin.

With a start he wakes up, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, panting in distress. He can feel their eyes on him and watch in dismay as Vessel, IV and II stare at him with clear concern.

He does his best not to flinch when IV reaches a hand out to squeeze his shoulder, but sinks into the couch to try to hide the way his whole body flinches away.

“Bad dream?” II’s big eyes are watching him sadly.

“Yeah.” III tries to chuckle, rubbing his head.

The images are still fresh in his mind and he realises his whole body is shaking despite his best effort to hide it.

III almost cries when Vessel reaches towards him, he must not have seen how he reacted to IV but unfortunately III is too worked up to pretend and this time he fails in hiding his flinch.

Vessel’s hand hovers for a moment before dropping, and he looks at III with such pity.

Suddenly, everything is too stifling and he needs to get out, he doesn’t want to associate this group with that, this is his one safe space and he refuses to let it be ruined by his own trauma.

“Sorry I uh- I’m fine. I think I need to head off though.”

“We can’t let you leave like this,” It’s Vessel who interrupts, almost surprising III, having expected IV to be the one to protest.

“I need to it’s- it’s getting late.” He grimaces realising it’s true, how long did he waste sleeping? And he’s not even rested after that dream.

Vessel frowns, clearly unhappy, “You’re not leaving till you have some food and water at least.”

No- no they can’t want him to do that. III starts hyperventilating at the mere thought, remembering the chicken on the ground, how Rick forced him to eat it if he wanted anything. There’s so many of them, they could do anything to him.

He’s so lost in his spiral he doesn’t notice the others standing until they’re helping him up and pulling him along.

Each step makes him feel more and more like a condemned man, and he’s trembling like a leaf by the time he gets there.

They open the door and there’s- there’s a table with four places.

III stares at the set table like he doesn’t quite know what to do and luckily IV jumps in, “You can sit opposite II, next to me.”

IV’s grin is light and easy and III sighs in relief- of course they don’t want, of course it’s not…

He sits down and Vessel comes in with plates, he puts a steaming bowl of pasta in front of III and his stomach growls embarrassingly loudly, he desperately wants to devour it all but…

But last time he went out with IV and ate Rick’s reaction… he’s already pushed so much…

And then there’s a buzz in his pocket, there’s only one person that could be and his hands start shaking even more. He’s terrified to read it but even more scared to ignore it.

-Where are you?

It’s a simple message but his heart sinks, job hunting will only take him so far as an excuse and when Rick finds out…

It takes everything in III not to burst into tears as he stares at his phone.

”Is everything alright?” It’s Vessel who brings him out of his panicked spiral, watching him intently from across the table as he stares down at his phone.

”It’s just my boyfriend, he’s wondering where I am.” III swallows, his throat tight.

”Do you need me to take you home?”

III looks up into IV’s concerned eyes with a shaky smile. ”I don't want to put you out.” He tries to sound casual, even as he can feel his nails digging into his arm.

“I can do it.” Vessel announces. “I have to head out anyhow, I’m visiting family.”

Relief courses through III’s veins at the offer and he sinks back into his chair, not realising how tense he’d been. It was bad enough that he lied and spent all day away, but he’d be done for if he had to ask Rick to come get him.

He watches the heaping pasta on Vessel’s plate disappear quickly, and he can feel everyone's eyes on him as he pushes his rigatoni around the plate, but he’s paralyzed by indecision. He can’t tell what’s worse, disappointing Rick by disobeying him, or disappointing his new friends by not eating.

In the end he does something much worse and disappoints everyone. He eats enough that Rick would be furious, but not close to enough to wipe the concerned looks off of their faces.

Finally Vessel finishes his food and stands up from the table, with III jumping up just as quickly. It’s only been 10 minutes but his stomach has steadily twisted itself up for each minute that went by, and now his insides feel like a massive knot.

Trying to redeem himself he grabs their plates and brings them to the kitchen, his ears turning pink when he hears IV and II talking in hushed whispers. Why didn’t he just say he was sick?

Coming out with a plastered on smile, he lets them guide him to the door where Vessel waits, and before he can stop him IV is trying to hand him a coat.

“It’s cold out, just take it! I was going to donate it.” IV insists.

“It’s okay, I run hot.”

”You’re covered in goosebumps.”

With the coat jammed into his arms he says his polite goodbyes, and wonders if he’s ever going to see them again as he climbs into Vessel’s car.

Vessel turns down the blaring radio and pulls out his phone, staring at III expectantly. ”What’s your address?”

Staring at Vessel in a panic, III realises suddenly his predicament— They can’t know where he lives, and Rick cannot see him get out of Vessel’s car.

“Are you okay?” A strong hand grounds him as it grabs his arm, and III tries not to wince at the bruise it aggravates.

“I’ll just direct you.” He says finally, and luckily Vessel doesn't press it.

Hugging IV’s jacket tightly to him he takes in the smell of him, wishing he could keep it but he knows he can’t. As Vessel pulls up to an apartment a couple of streets away, he takes one last deep breath of the cheap cologne and stealthily stashes it under his seat.

“Thanks for the ride.” He’s managed to bring some semblance of cheerfulness to his face, but Vessel stops him.

”Take the jacket.”

Fuck, he saw.

”I can’t.” III scrambles.

“What will he do to you if he sees it?”

Vessel’s eyes are searing into him, and III almost chokes, his stomach twisting into knots as he internally panics.

”Nothing, he’s just a bit jealous.” III tries to laugh it off, but Vessel’s stare is unchanged, eyes raking up and down his shivering body.

”Text me any time, for anything at all.” Vessel says finally, their eyes locking together, and all III can do is nod before he’s shutting the passenger door and Vessel is driving away.

He waits in the cold, hugging himself and shivering until the taillights disappear around the corner. After he’s sure he’s gone, he shuffles down the extra streets to where Rick is no doubt waiting for him.

Chapter Text

Every step feels worse and worse but all III can focus on is the warmth in the bed. The bed is worn down and grubby but he doesn’t care anymore. 

He just has to remind himself how grateful he is to have a bed to sleep in, and at least he knows Rick, he knows now these new rules. 

It’s fine. It’s better than the streets. 

With that determination in his mind he forces himself home, “Hey!” He shouts, shrugging off his coat and toeing his shoes off. The more normal he acts then, hopefully, the more normal Rick will be. 

Rick doesn’t reply to him and III flinches but still walks into the room with a smile, hopefully he’s just playing a game.

Surprisingly, he’s not. III frowns and looks around before realising someone’s in the kitchen. 

He doesn’t know what to do, he’s too much of a coward to walk closer to Rick but the idea of sitting with the pain he’s in…

He kind of slumps instead, he wants to be on the bed, desperate for the soft comfort of the mattress, even if it is old, but the fear makes him shake so he stays on the floor, clearing away a pile of clothes and resting next to the bed.

-

It takes a while, III’s started to doze off by the time Rick walks in but he startled awake when Rick shoves a plate of food in his hands, and III is shocked he’s allowed to hold it, let alone eat it. 

He stares at Rick for a moment, only looking down when he sees the cruel smirk on Rick’s face.

The plate is full of pasta, with what looks like a nice creamy sauce and III is almost happy, at least until he sees the substance on top. 

It… Surely not? But the look on Rick’s face confirms it. Cum. His food is coated in cum. 

He doesn’t know whether to be horrified or just happy that he doesn’t have to eat from off the floor.

He notices he wasn’t given any cutlery, “Should I get us a knife and fork…?”

Rick shrugs, “I only had one set clean.”

It’s clear he’s using that for himself and whilst III wants to offer to wash more, the implication is obvious, III’s not allowed to use any.

Luckily, when he goes to pick it up with his hands, Rick doesn’t stop him. He has to question for a moment how he’s gotten to a stage where he’s thankful for this.

And then he takes a bite and he has to do his best not to gag. The cum is cold and slightly coagulated in the sauce and III wants to cry, it’s vile and he’s already full from earlier, that mixed with the nerves reeking havoc on his stomach has him not willing to eat anything.

Rick glances at him, “Full?”

III pales, he can’t risk Rick thinking that and he can’t get out of this so he shakes his head and picks up another piece, the sauce getting all over his hands and he feels so grubby, doesn’t even want to think about what he’s consuming. 

“I’d keep eating if I were you, might need the energy for later. I had some interesting ideas from your patrons.”

III pales but nods, doing his best to clear the plate, when Rick hums, “Maybe there should be an additional penalty for food wastage, it’s not cheap you know.”

III wants to cry, he can’t do more and he gets such little food as it is, he can’t risk Rick taking it from him.

So he keeps going, the plate is cold and pathetic but by the time he’s done there’s nothing left on it. The nausea is intense but he’s not going to risk throwing up in front of Rick, so he does his best to ignore it. 

And he does, easily distracted when he sees Rick turn the video on, before staring at III threateningly-

“Hello,” III squeaks out and Rick nods approvingly. 

“So we’re going to do something different today, someone already sent their idea.” He takes out a sachet from his drawer and… a condom?

He tears the condom open and then opens the sachet before pouring it inside. 

“Get undressed,” he states, not even looking at III as he says it, and III wants to hide from the camera but he knows he can’t, so slowly he strips off. 

It doesn’t take long and by the time he’s done so is Rick, who walks closer to him, smiling. 

He sits down, rolling the condom on III and III just stares at him with utter confusion before the sensation starts. 

It itches.

The feeling grows and grows until he can’t ignore it anymore, he goes to tear it off but Rick tsks and grabs his arms, tying them behind his back with his belt so III can’t move his hands. 

He stares at Rick, tears starting to prick in his eyes as his entire body gets reduced to just the itching on his cock.

“T-take it off, pleeease!” III wails as the itching sensation builds and builds until he can’t stand it.

It becomes unbearable and he tries to hunch over in distress, but Rick fists his hand in III’s hair and sharply wrenches his head back to face the camera again.

He can’t see much through his tears other than the faint outline of his red and splotchy face, and he thrashes weakly in Rick’s grip. 

“Please, I’m s-sorry, Rick!” He wails in pure panic as he tries to double over again, his thighs shaking from how hard they’re squeezing together. 

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Rick hisses in his ear, and III can’t tell if this is a punishment because he knows, or if he’s just made a terrible mistake by saying that.

The leather belt digs into him painfully as it cuts into the delicate skin of his wrists, but he can hardly feel it as he tries to wrench them free— his only desperate thought is to tear the itching condom off. His cock hangs limply inside but the bit of lube on the interior keeps it plastered in place, and he wails as he feels the sensation start to spread. 

Trying to twist again his shoulders wrench painfully, but the belt holds firm until all he can do is go completely limp. His dead weight surprises Rick and makes him unsteady for a moment before he manages to readjust, dragging the struggling III to the bed and chucking him roughly onto it.

With a broken sob III starts to frantically hump the mattress, groaning in distress as the slight pressure helps alleviate the itch. He gets away with it for only a second before a sharp slap on his ass has him howling and he’s flipped over, his arms trapped painfully beneath the small of his back and the bed. 

“Stay fucking still.” Rick warns as he gets off of the bed and lumbers to the camera. 

As Rick tests to be sure the angle is correct, III humps the air pathetically, chasing that brief relief from before. Of course, he gets nothing, and unable to take it anymore he rolls back over, desperately rutting against the bed again as Rick stalks back, furious.

Shoving him onto his back Rick slaps III’s inner thighs as he screams, thrashing and wailing, the pain momentarily overtaking the itch. 

After too many to count III lets his thighs fall open, trembling and red as the tears stream down his face. He’s gasping like a fish out of water, and he desperately needs this all to be over with. 

A finger begins to prod at his aching hole, and he wails as it worms its way inside, the burn inside of him reigniting. This time Rick uses lube and he’s grateful for it, and his cock shoving inside is nothing compared to the terrible burning itch igniting him. 

“Might have to give your hole a break, you’re getting all stretched out.” Rick grumbles as he gives an experimental thrust, and the groan III lets out is miserable as he throws his head back. 

Vaguely he’s aware of the camera catching it all but he doesn’t care anymore— he just wants this to be over with, so he lets Rick fuck him without a struggle.

He can’t tell if the powder has stopped working or if he’s just numb to it by now, but he’s nearly able to ignore it.  Almost as if he can read his mind, Rick's hand clamps around his soft cock, giving the condom a stroke. Instantly it reignites the powder again, making III’s whole body clench and thrash. The pressure from each stroke almost relieves the itch, but leaves behind a path of even worse burning.

“There you go, now you’re tighter.” Rick grunts, stroking him roughly as he fucks into him. 

It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming inside of him and he pulls out with a triumphant grin, leaving III gasping on the bed. He knows better than to try to roll over, and he watches warily as Rick gets up to grab the camera, bringing it over to him. 

Thoroughly he catalogues his snotty, tear-streaked face before slowly peeling off the condom to show the damage.

The itching powder seems to have run its course, but the damage is still done. His hard cock is red, inflamed with a rash, with the slit at the top nearly swollen shut from the irritation. 

Rick finger fucks the cum back into his swollen and puffy hole until he tires of that and scoops some out, tinged with pink, and brings it to III’s lips.

III thinks about resisting, but with the camera shoved in his face he knows Rick would never allow it, so he lets the fingers force inside his mouth, gagging as Rick shoves them too far down. 

“It’s better fresh, isn’t it?” He cooes, making III lick his fingers completely clean. “You were late for dinner so it sat for a little while.”

III nods as his eyes dart to the side in shame, just wanting the camera to go away. 

“It also came from a long ways away, so I’m sure that didn’t help.” Rick’s smile is sharp as III realises what he’s saying, his face twisting up in horror. 

“So we’d like to thank our patron for shipping it over— He saved up quite a batch from watching your videos!” Rick’s grin was enormous as III feels his stomach churn.

The congealed cum pasta sits even heavier inside of him and he tries to struggle in his bonds as he desperately tries to keep it all down. He barely manages, but he just about holds it down and with clear disappointment Rick tires of watching him, clicking the camera off and chucking it to the side.

It should be over but it doesn’t feel over, and III squirms as Rick pulls his head back, his beady eyes watching him suspiciously. “What were you saying sorry for?” He asks, his showman attitude completely replaced by a suspicious scowl.

Before III can reply he’s interrupted by the familiar ringing of his phone from where he’s left it by the door. Instantly he begins to struggle as it continues to ring, but his hands are still tied uselessly behind him. 

How could he be so stupid? He took it off silent in case Rick called earlier, but now…

Rick holds the phone up to show IV’s name flashing on the screen, and even the thought of Rick knowing his name makes III want to throw up after all.

“Do you want to answer it, or should I?”

III freezes, “It’s… I found a gig. Maybe. A band said they might want me to play for them.”

Rick frowns but nods, “Go on then.”

“III!” IV’s voice starts over the speaker, but III jumps in before he can continue. 

“IV! Hey, did I get the gig?”

“…The gig?”

III forces out a chuckle, “Yeah! I know you said I’d hear from you soon. Just wondering if there’s been any updates? I’m eager to get started.”

IV paused for a second, “Yeah… Yeah you got the job mate, just calling to confirm you’re good to start rehearsals day after next?”

III freezes and looks at Rick who begrudgingly nods, “Yeah that sounds great, thanks mate.”

“Perfect, I’ll catch you then.”

The phone hangs up and the silence is deafening before Rick finally turns to III, “You don’t have a guitar anymore.”

Fuck. He doesn’t. It’s still at his parents, but if he doesn’t have a solution then Rick will know it’s a lie and god knows what he’ll do to III. 

“I’m… going to get it”

“Yeah? Your parents happy to see you again? After they watched you piss yourself for me?”

III blanches at the reminder, “I’m going to sneak in it’ll.. it’ll be fine.”

Rick laughs but lets it go, “You never answered my last question anyway, what were you apologising for?

III’s trying to play this right but the adrenaline from the phone call is peaking through him, putting his whole body on edge. It makes it hard for him to think straight and all he can do is stare into Rick’s suspicious glare.  

“I just— I was late.” He says. “The bus was late… it took longer than I expected.” 

“I don’t mind if you’re late, it only means I get to pick which of your patrons pay you.” Rick chuckles. “A little incentive for you.”

III tries to ignore the strain in his shoulders as his arms twist against the belt, shifting himself to attempt to look small.

Without a word Rick roughly flips him over onto his stomach and his breath catches in his throat, paralyzed  by fear at what might be coming. To his relief he feels the belt begin to untwist and his arms are finally freed. 

He stays face down until he hears Rick step away, pulling his arms underneath of him and trying to rub away the pins and needles. 

He hates being tied up, he hates that his stomach is queasy from what he ate, and he hates that every part of him feels used. 

More than anything he hates that he’s grateful to Rick when he throws him a damp dish towel.

It’s not enough water, and the fabric feels coarse on his inflamed cock, but he’s so relieved to wipe the remaining powder off, tacky from the lube. His poor dick looks swollen and inflamed, and he hisses as he tries to clean out the slit, almost purple and swollen shut. 

“Oh they loved it.” Rick calls back to him from the computer, typing something back with a chuckle. 

III hates himself for asking this, but he has to know. “How much?” He forces out. 

“£60.” Rick shrugs. 

III doesn’t believe him but without being there to see he knows he knows that he can’t say a thing, so he’s forced to bite his tongue as Rick’s beady eyes watch him in the reflection of the monitor.

He has at least £100 stashed in an old piggy bank at his parents house, and the idea of getting that is so appealing that he’s tempted to do it right now. 

But his body is at its limit, only capable of grabbing a corner of the blanket and pulling it over himself. Arduously he shifts his aching body to his side of the bed where exhaustion soon overtakes him. 

—

His whole body feels stiff as he teeters out of bed, with pains he didn’t know were possible making themselves known as he pulls on his clothes.

He had woken up at sunrise— first from the pain, and then from the guilt pooling in his gut as he picked up his phone to apologise. He had put IV in a very awkward position and needed to set it all straight. 

To his surprised he saw a Welcome to the band! text, and his mind couldn’t stop from running away at that, buzzing with the hope that it could be true. Well not really, he’s clearly just playing along a cynical voice in the back of his head replied.

He needs his guitar. He needs them to know he’s serious, he needs to prove that they need him.

Carefully he slips on his shoes, pausing to watch Rick snore away before he nudges open the door, leaving quietly. 

He tries not to think of the many times he’s travelled this same path to his parent’s house after sneaking out at night. Following it by heart he arrives finally at the early morning light.

His stomach feels like it’s being eaten by acid as he stares at the house he grew up in, with  so many memories bubbling to the surface.

He knows his parent’s schedule, knows they should both be asleep right now so it’s fine, it’s safe. He’s snuck into his house enough times. 

Usually at least one of them is in the house during the day, so going when they’re asleep is far better. They’re both deep sleepers. It’s fine. 

He takes a couple of calming breaths before he walks forward, swiping the spare key from under the rock and tiptoeing in. 

It’s… difficult. The house is old and creaky, but he knows it well. It stings seeing the items he’d had littered around gone, it hurts to see that there are no photos of him up anymore.

He’d never gotten on great with them, he’d been desperate to leave, but god, seeing the proof of how little he means to them, how easy he is to disregard. 

He clenches his fist and keeps walking forward. He can’t think about this right now, it’s too much and he can’t afford to cry. 

Instead he makes his way to his room, almost relieved that everything is exactly where it was. At least they haven’t started to clear it out yet. 

Hastily, he walks to his room and sighs a breath of relief to see his money is still there, maybe he can get out, get a room and… and sort something. Or fuck he can just pay Rick, he won’t have to film anymore. He can be okay. 

-

As quickly as he can he gets the rest of his stuff, seeming as he’s here he might as well pick up some clothes, instead of relying on Rick’s old ones. 

He shoves them into an old backpack of his and grabs a couple other bits, it’s not much but it’s more than he had before, and he can’t risk too much. 

Finally, he goes for his bass, one last thing and then he’s free. 

It’s going smoothly, so smoothly, he has everything he could need and now he just has to leave and he’ll be free, things are even starting to feel positive. 

And then he turns around and his heart drops to his stomach. His dad stands in the doorway, his presence looming and threatening and III feels himself start to cry on instinct. 

He’d been so caught up in his own world he didn’t hear the man come to check what the noise was, he’d thought it was going so well, thought he’d actually make it out of here in one piece. 

It’s not. It wasn’t. He was a fool to ever think that. The look in his father’s eyes is pure hatred and loathing and III’s legs shake so hard they can barely hold him up.

Chapter Text

“Dad, I’m s-sorry, da—“ III tries to shout out, but a heavy blow catches him in the side of his head, and his mouth fills with blood as he bites down his tongue in reflex.

Even after all of his time with Rick, he’s surprised by how hard the punch is—  At least the shrill ringing in his ear blocks out what his dad is screaming at him as he hits him again. 

The hateful words are not unfamiliar coming out of his dad’s mouth, but they’ve never been so furiously and pointedly directed at him before. He decides then that something deep inside of him must be broken, that on some level he deserves this as he raggedly stands frozen in place, feeling the blows rain down on him. 

He doesn’t act until a wild punch hits the strings of his bass, and the discordant noise spurs him into action, trying to hunch over and protect it. 

Another shrill scream can be heard even above the ringing in his ear, and they both turn to see his mum at the door, shrieking at them both.

“Mum—“ He tries to take a step towards her, stopping as his dad grabs him, tearing his shirt.

Being in his childhood home was like a spike into his heart, and he can only stand there like a deer in headlights, eyes searching her face that’s twisted up in anger. He’s desperate to catch even a sliver of his mum in there, the same woman who would read him stories when he was sick, or wrap him up into a hug when he was upset. 

He’s never been more desperate for that hug than he is now, never needed one more— but he gets a slap instead, his face whipping to the side. He finally falls to his knees, watching dully as the money and bag slip out of his hand onto the floor.

“Get out!” She shrieks at him, spit flying in his face. “Get out, I'm calling the police!”

He watches her stalk off out of the room, feeling a strange detachment from his own body and doesn’t move until he feels his dad try to yank away his bass, which is still gripped in his hand like a vice. 

“That’s mine.” III says, looking up in a detached confusion. 

“I’ve sold it, someone’s coming to get it tomorrow.” His dad grunts as he tries to wrench it back from him. 

III holds firm, staring at his own hand in confusion as it refuses to let go. “But it’s mine.” He says again.

“Nothing here is yours, we’ve provided it all and look at the thanks we get!” His dads face was getting red again, but III can’t seem to grasp the danger anymore, his mind is fuzzy and unwilling to focus.

“Give me that, then!” His dad snatches at the money on the floor, and for a moment III is filled with panic, desperate to stop him. That’s a night off from Rick, that’s a new shirt for IV, that’s food, that’s— but he can’t bear to be without his bass. 

He drops the other bills stuck to his hand, and grabbing his bag of clothes he stands up on unsteady feet, nearly falling over before he stumbles to the front door. 

“Don’t ever come back, we don’t have a son!” Is what’s shrieked after him as he stumbles into the drive like a zombie, a couple neighbours who were walking by stopping and staring but not coming close as his mum races after him, screaming abuse.

His whole body aches but he just keeps walking, focussing on putting one foot in front of the other until in a sort of daze he finds himself back outside of Rick’s door.

It takes him a few moments to realise that the shrill voice of his mum screaming at him for the entire walk back was just her voice echoing inside his mind.

He opens the door without thinking but it’s only once he’s inside he realises what he’s walked back into. His whole plan of getting a break is gone and the realisation he’s going to have to ‘work’ tonight hits him like a truck. 

He doesn’t mean to have a panic attack in the entrance, but he can’t fight it off. His whole body hurts and he can still hear his mum screaming at him, he can still feel his dad’s fists hurting him, he can feel the aches in his body from everything Rick has done to him. 

He can’t breathe. 

His chest is tight and knotted and no matter how hard he tries he can’t get a deep enough breath, tears are streaming down his face and he knows he’s going to disturb Rick any moment now but he can’t stop himself, if anything it just makes him more terrified. 

Why did he give his dad all the money? He could have ran, he didn’t need the bass, he could have borrowed one, why did he do that?

He sinks to the floor in despair, holding onto the instrument and bag of clothes wheezing.

He wants to run. He wants to go far away but he can’t end up on the streets again, he just needs to stick this out. He’s in the band now, hopefully? He thinks he is at least, even if it’s awkward about why. He can save up, he can stop this. He’ll live.

Despite the attempts to reassure himself he can’t calm down, and he entirely misses the sound of typing coming to a stop in the next room and the footsteps coming towards him. 

III doesn’t know how long it takes for him to realise Rick is standing over him, staring at him in disgust but he feels his stomach drop when he notices, more heaving sobs work their way out and he can do nothing but clutch his bass as he cries.

—

Rick takes a step closer, watching with a sick fascination as III falls to pieces in front of him. His long delicate limbs are folded in on themselves, clutching his guitar case so tightly that his arms are shaking. 

He has a begrudging respect for III’s parents when he sees how completely they’ve destroyed him in such a short amount of time. One day he’ll have III so ensnared and intertwined like that, he’ll able to have him like this with only a sharp look, or harsh word. 

His dick twitches when III finally notices him, his snotty, tear streaked face tipping up to look at Rick, so vulnerable and pathetic. The bruising on his face is already starting to develop, a light purpling around his cheek that he knows will get a lot worse before it gets better. 

Fuck, he’ll have to keep his face off screen for a bit, he’s riding a fine line as it is.

Seeing Rick seems to absolutely break III, and his face twists up in anguish, his body crumpling in on itself. 

“How did it go?” Rick keeps his voice cold and calm even as his dick strains against his jeans, desperate to tear him apart right here.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t tonight, please, I can’t.” 

He’s already been reduced to pathetic babbling without Rick having to do anything, and he crouches down to see him better. “Oh, not well? What happened?” He asks, watching III’s mind try to process the question, filled with a thousand racing thoughts. 

“Did they hurt you?” He reaches a hand out to cup III’s face, a thumb digging a little too hard into a developing bruise, watching III’s body jerk reflexively. 

III’s only capable of a jerky nod. 

“Not as bad as the people in the alley though, right? They hurt you really badly, didn’t they?”

He’s trying to push the thought into III’s frenzied mind, trying to get it to stick before he gets completely lost. 

III’s eyes are glazing over as Rick leans in even closer, crowding him against the door as he tries to flinch away. 

“I can’t, I can’t, please— I can’t.” 

“Can’t do what?” Rick hasn’t even touched him yet, but he’s fascinated, needs to know what particular thing is making III spiral the most. 

“P-please, Rick, I can’t—“ 

Rick reaches forward and tugs away the guitar. It’s an uncomfortable angle with III curled into a ball by the door, but he pulls him close into a hug.

Even as III flinches and tries to pull away, his arms have a mind of their own, and without the guitar to hug for comfort they’re scrabbling to grip Rick, holding him so tightly.

“Then what can you do?” Rick asks him quietly, his hand sliding down to tug at the waistband of III’s baggy trousers. “This is really all you’re good for.”  

This has the desired effect, and III’s panicked mind finally careens over the edge, his breathing strained as he begins to hyperventilate. Rick watches III struggle, watches how he’s torn between shoving him away and trying to hug him tighter, still desperate for comfort as his chest gasps and heaves for air.

Rick instead tugs III’s trousers down even further, his thick finger trying to worm their way inside of him, finding a sick satisfaction on how III’s arms clutch him tighter, instinctively seeking comfort from the same person that’s going to tear him apart.

Finally he manages to shove his finger inside his hole and feels the spasm throughout III’s entire body, tensing up around it. 

“No, please, I can’t, I can’t—“

“You can’t what?!” Rick snaps. He feels suddenly suffocated by III clinging all over him, and shoves him back onto the cold tile floor.

This time III doesn’t react, his panicked gasps are too fast and too shallow to get a proper breath. 

Not able to wait any longer, Rick tugs off his pants as III hugs himself tightly, curled up on the cold tile entrance amongst their shoes. 

“N-no, n-no…” III is babbling to himself as Rick pulls his skinny thighs apart, gripping the soft trembling skin tightly. 

III doesn’t even seem to know where he is anymore, his unseeing eyes darting around the room in a panic as he hyperventilates and Rick spits onto his hand to quickly stroke himself, lining himself up. 

He almost cums when he shoves the head of his cock inside of III, feeling just how tight he is as he hyperventilates. He wants this feeling to last forever but knows he won’t get that luxury, so he thrusts into him cruelly, desperate to get his cock entirely inside before he can’t hold off any longer. 

Finally, he achieves his goal, III’s ass tearing to make way for him and the slick blood making it easier. He pauses to watch III for a moment as he tries to curl up,  still trying to hug him even now, desperately trying to get some shred of comfort. 

Rick slaps him hard across the face in anger and pins his hands down by the wrists, fucking him brutally until he’s cumming deep inside of him, gasping as III’s body clenches desperately around him with each panicked breath. 

When he’s all finished he pulls out to return to his computer, leaving III on the floor to recover, curled up and hugging himself, his panicked cries drowned out as Rick turns up the volume of his game.

—

III shakes and sobs, his brain not comprehending what’s happening, what’s happened to him. 

How could Rick have… How could any of this happened?

Rick was supposed to love him, his father was supposed to love him, his mother was. How have they all turned on him so quickly?

There must be something rotten inside III. Maybe his parents are right? But then why is Rick doing this, Rick is the same as him, it doesn't- none of it makes sense.

He clings his arms around himself as tight as he can as he tries to calm himself down, he doesn’t have the energy to pull his own trousers up and he’s still lying by the door. The floor is hard and unyielding and it just makes III cry harder. 

He can hear Rick’s game being turned up in annoyance and he knows he needs to get control of himself, but he can’t. He’s never felt so broken.

His stomach turns as he thinks how Rick felt exactly how broken he is, how that encouraged him. 

Maybe the streets would be safer than this, maybe… Fuck, III doesn’t know. At least he knows the enemy here, what happens when he leaves?

What happens if… if one of his fans finds him. 

Somehow Rick is his safest bet and that thought makes him want to tear his skin off. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulls himself together. His hands tremble and shake but he manages to pull his joggers back up. 

Moving is… moving is excruciating and when he tries to straighten up he’s quickly reminded of what an awful idea that is. Pain stabs through his entire body and if his throat weren’t so hoarse he’d have let out an awful scream. As it is, it's just a pathetic whimper. 

But he can’t stay on the floor like this, so agonisingly slowly he begins to crawl to the bed. 

He’s too exhausted to be ashamed when Rick’s eyes turn to track him, all he can focus on is the soft mattress. He used to hate it, springs and lumps in uncomfortable places, but now it feels like the highest of luxuries. 

By the time he makes it there he’s panting and his arms are threatening to give out on him. But he’s there, and with the last bit of strength he has he pulls himself up. 

Rick laughs at him, it’s cruel and biting but III is numb to it at this stage. Instead, he just watches with glazed eyes as Rick tosses bills at him, they flutter down in front of him and III watches, unable to move. 

“Your earnings for today.”

III could cry, if he had any energy he left he would. In a twisted way this is the kindest Rick has been to him and he’s grateful for it. 

He reaches his hand out, his fingers grazing the cash but not quite able to clutch it, yet he still grins softly to himself. He did it.

He has no idea what time it is and his stomach rumbles with hunger but he doesn’t care. Being awake is far too difficult at the moment and he finds himself sinking into unconsciousness.

—

III stands on the corner a street away from Rick’s, waiting nervously for IV to pick him up. He’s more than grateful for the ride, but it took quite the effort to get here.

He’d almost canceled several times as he struggled to get dressed, his whole body aching and swollen. At least he’s finally wearing some of his own clothes, though he’s concerned to see how loosely they hang off of him.  

He shifts his guitar case to his other hand and reaches into his pocket to feel the money again, letting his fingers run along the £60 tucked inside. He’s almost sick over it.

Was he supposed to give it back? Was it meant to pay Rick for last night? Can he use it for tonight?

It feels like a trap.

Before he can agonise over it even longer, he catches sight of IV’s beat up red car as it turns the corner, slowing down to a crawl in front of him. 

Yanking his hood even further down his face, III chucks his guitar case into the back seat. He knows his injuries are impossible to hide, but he hopes to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. 

“Morning!” IV says cheerfully. “I grabbed you a tea.” He adds as he pulls back into traffic. 

III stares at the large to-go cup in disbelief before drinking it greedily. It’s just on the side of too hot but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Thanks,” He barely manages to get out. 

“There’s half a bagel too.” IV gestures to a paper bag by the gear shift, and III tries his best to pick it up casually, the smell alone making him crazy.  

He’s taken only three glorious bites when the car swerves, and he feels the full weight of IV’s eyes on him. “Christ, who did that to your face?!”

III ducks his head and tries to ignore the way IV is gaping at him. 

“Just…”

“Seriously, who the fuck did that to you?”

His hands look like they’re gripping the wheel so tightly that III’s surprised there’s not an indent, panicking as his rehearsed explanation slips out of his mind. 

“I had to go back to… to my parents, to get my things.“ He says, hoping that’s enough. 

“Fucking hell, they did that to you?! It’s lucky you can stay at your boyfriend’s then.” IV said in disbelief as they stopped at a red light. 

In a panic III shoves the rest of the bagel into his mouth and chews it quickly before he loses his chance. He’s nearly done when his mind conjures up a vision of it being covered in congealed cum, making him heave violently.

“Sorry!” He apologises quickly. 

He can feel IV watch him carefully, his soft blue eyes unusually sharp as they catalogue his various injuries. 

“Listen, I know we‘ve just met, but if you ever… if you ever need a place, no questions asked, our house is always open, alright?”

III stares down at his lap, his fingers tugging at a loose thread. 

For a moment  he wants to tell him everything, to ask for his help, to leave Rick behind. 

For a moment he lets himself believe he might have a way out.

Chapter Text

III smiles at IV softly, “Thanks IV.” He can’t commit yet, his mind is screaming at him to but…

Something in him is telling him no, telling him he doesn’t deserve this.

What if they find out? What if they realise this is all he’s good for.

His stomach turns and the bagel sits heavy in his stomach. He misses the sad look IV gives him and turns his head out the window instead, trying to escape his eyes.

The guilt about being here is bad enough already and he’s terrified IV’s going to ask him what that call was about, luckily the man drops it with a sigh and turns the radio up instead.

It’s some shitty pop song that III barely knows but he’s grateful for the break. He wants to be more of a person but his mind is cracking from the trauma and holding a conversation suddenly feels like the hardest thing in the world.

The car ride goes too fast and soon they’re pulling up at the house, “Thanks for the lift,” III mutters as he gets out, trying his best to swallow the wince from the pain.

He goes to grab his bass but IV stops him, “Let’s just get in first, I’ll come back for it in a bit.”

III is grateful but it stings a little. He’s certain IV only stopped him because of the state he’s in, and whilst he can’t deny he’s right, it still makes him feel like a burden.

He needs to pull it together. Especially now he’s wormed his way in, neither of them have addressed it but he’s scared when he sees the others. He’s scared when he tries to play, how can his weakened body support the instrument?

But he’d had no other option. It was this or tell Rick that he’d made a friend, that there were people who weren’t just Rick in his life.

His heart skips a beat just thinking about it.

IV starts walking in and III follows hastily behind, they’re walking slow enough that III cringes knowing it’s for him, but it’s still too fast for his body to be comfortable with the pace.

They make it in the door where III almost physically bumps into Vessel.

He cowers for a moment, waiting for a hit, for anything. He’s not sure what’s going to happen exactly but his heart is pounding and he knows he just fucked up, knows he should have been more careful.

Nothing happens and slowly III raises his head to look at Vessel.

Vessel just stares at him in response, eyes tracking him and III squirms away, they’re too intense and it’s like they can see every mark on his body and he desperately wants to hide.

After an agonising time Vessel’s gaze softens and he smiles at III, “Come on, let’s get a tea before we start anything today.”

III sighs in relief, glad the man doesn’t seem to want to push it right now, and follows him into the kitchen, doing his best to hide his limp.

III gratefully swallows down the two painkillers handed to him by IV as they head to the living room, a warm mug of tea in his hand. Instantly he regrets swallowing both, wondering if he should’ve saved one for tonight instead.

Maybe he can budget for a pack.

Even as the thought pops into his head, he knows he won’t. A secret stash of food will be his first priority, then replacing IV’s shirt.

Settling into the couches they fall into an awkward silence and III pulls a fuzzy blanket over himself, desperate to hide away.

Vessel sits across from him with II in his lap, and III’s unable to even meet his eyes, looking down as he feels them on him, practically taking him apart.

“So, let’s see what you’ve got.” IV says, interrupting his thoughts by hefting III’s guitar case onto the couch next to him.

III’s fingers shake as he undoes the clasps, grateful for something to fill the silence. Hiding his grimace he pulls it onto his lap, already terrified that he’s forgotten everything. It’s old and takes a bit of tuning but it still works fine, and as his fingers play a few notes he realises just how much he’s missed this.

As he gets reacquainted with his guitar he plays a few of the ideas he’d had after listening to them play, noticing with some satisfaction when Vessel’s eyes perk up with interest.

They sit and chat for a while, the conversation flowing much easier, and III’s not sure if it’s the painkillers or the music, but he’s feeling better than he has in ages.

At some point Vessel and II leave to get dinner started, and with some dismay III notices that once again the time had slipped away from him. IV instantly seems to notices his face fall and reaches out to gently touch his knee, catching his eye. “I meant what I said, you can stay here any time, for any reason.”

“I—“ What if he did just… stay. He only has an old backpack at Rick’s, what if he takes IV up on his offer. He can get a job and just… never go back?

It feels so simple, and for once he almost believes that it could be.

It’s not a surprise to him when it isn’t. Almost one cue he hears a light honk, and staring out the front window his stomach sinks when he recognizes Rick’s beat up old car idling in front of the driveway.

“Is that—?”

“I’m sorry.” III says quickly, feeling the cold creep of dread fill inside of him.

How does he know where he is, how does he know where they live?

In a panic he shoves his guitar back into the case as the horn honks again, his hands shaking so hard that he can’t even close it. His spiralling is stopped when IV reaches out to grab him, grounding him.

“You can stay.” He says urgently. His eyes are so gentle and kind, but he’s so naive. He could've stayed, but not anymore, not if he knows where they live.

“Leave your guitar here at least, we’ll keep it safe.” IV urges quickly as III stands up and tries to lug it off the couch. “It’s easier for practice.”

III chews on his lip. He’s only just gotten it back, and to part with it so soon hurts… but what if Rick does something to it?”  

With a grateful nod, III leaves it there and walks towards the front door as if he’s headed to his execution.

He can feel IV at his back as he opens the door, turning to thank him for everything when another loud honk makes him jump.

By now II and Vessel have appeared to see what all the commotion is, and III races out, distressed to see that they’ve followed.

“My ride's here, thank you for everything.” His smile is wide and fake, intentionally angled towards Rick who he knows is watching him carefully.

III notices that Vessel’s eyes are locked fiercely onto Rick. He has a protective arm around II, and for a moment III fantasizes that he could be the one safe in his arms.

“Make him stay” IV pleads to Vessel, who stares down at III’s swollen and bruised face as if cataloguing each injury.

Instead, the horn honks again, and III pulls away from them. He owes it to them to keep them far away from Rick, and even knowing that he’s seen them makes his skin crawl.

“I’ll see you guys at next practice!” He says with a mock cheerfulness, waving at them happily.

He might not get away tonight but maybe in a few days, maybe with a little planning he can pull it off. Maybe Rick will even be happy he’s out of his hair.

A final long obnoxious honk has III scrambling away, his heart thudding as he slides into the front seat.

The car is eerily silent as Rick drives away and III knows he should leave it, let Rick approach things first, but his mind is spinning and he doesn’t understand.

“How?” He pushes through cracked lips.

Rick hms for a second and III can practically see him deciding if he’s going to play dumb and drag this out for longer and own up.

In the end he admits to it, the smugness in his voice showing he’s too proud to not, “You have a tracker in your phone III, I thought you might want a lift back is all.”

III hisses in pain as Rick drives over a particularly nasty pothole, “Why do you have a tracker on my phone?”

“You remember what happened last time you were out and about don’t you? I’m just looking after you, unless you want to get raped by some stranger again.”

Rick states it so bluntly that III sucks in a breath of air, for a moment all his can feel is their hands on him, in him, and he shakes his head fast.

“So how was rehearsal?”

“It was good, nice to be playing again,” III can’t stop the small grin on his face, not noticing the scowl on Rick’s face.

“So how were IV and Vessel?”

“They’re go- How do you know Vessel’s name?” III turns to stare at Rick in shock and Rick just smiles at him. IV was the one who rang him so it makes sense Rick would remember that, but he definitely never mentioned Vessel.

“You must have told me.”

“N-No, I didn’t, it didn’t come up.”

“Oh,” Rick shrugs, eyes on the road “Anyone would think you’re hiding them from me the way you’re acting.”

III shakes his head, nausea threatening him, “No i-it just never came up, how do you know?!”

Desperation is leaking into his words, Rick wasn’t supposed to know this, they were supposed to be safe from him.

Rick just laughs, “Calm down, I found them on instagram. Couldn’t find the small ones though,” his eyebrows furrow in annoyance at that before shaking it off “They seem nice, I might give them a follow.”

“W-Why” III forces out, trying not to hyperventilate.

Rick hums again, pulling the car over outside his flat and turning it off before looking at III, “They seem nice. Might help me keep an eye on you, make sure everything is okay.”

The words could be considered caring from anyone else, but from Rick they just ring like a threat.

“Besides, I might have some videos they’re interested in.”

III blanches, no not again.

Please not again.

He’s shaking so hard that Rick laughs loudly before opening his car door, III’s still trying to think of how to say no when Rick practically drags him out, leading him to their apparent.

His legs are shaking so bad he has to cling to Rick for support and once the door is unlocked Rick pushes him, he stumbles and trips over himself.

There’s a wicked smile on Rick’s face, “I hope you got plenty of rest.” III hears the clanging of bottles as Rick shoves past him, only now noticing the grocery bag in his hand.

Still he’s only able to give Rick half of his attention as his mind races. His phone feels tainted now, like it’s betrayed him— it was one of the only things he’d had that was his, his only tie to the world outside of these four walls.

“Fix your attitude.” Rick snaps with a sharp look over his shoulder. ”What’s the point of letting you sleep early and meet your friends if you’re just going to sulk?”

III tries to school his expression into something more neutral, warily watching as Rick hoists the bag up onto the counter and begins unloading it.

A part of him is thinking it might be food and his stomach churns. Instead he’s surprised to see that it’s several bottles of alcohol, lined up carefully on the counter. Occasionally Rick will drink hard stuff, but with their money situation it wasn’t usually something they could afford.

”What’s—”

”That reminds me, I still need that money from last night, you haven’t paid me yet.”

The £60 in his pocket feels like it’s burning into his skin.

“Y-you gave it to me.”

”I paid you for your services!” Rick corrects, his voice loud. “You still need to pay me for spending the night.”

Of course it had been a trap. Of course he wouldn’t just give him money like that.

III feels a sense of pride that he hasn’t fallen for it, but just as he’s about to reach in and pull out the £60, something stops him. When’s the next time he’ll get actual money like this? This is freedom, an ability to buy things un-traced, a safety net.

“What if I spent it?” He says the words slowly, carefully watching Rick’s reaction.

“Then you’d have to pay me back.” Rick says with a predatory grin as he pours a healthy glug of vodka into a filthy cup.

He was too cheerful, and there's something III’s tired brain hasn’t quite caught on to.

“What did you spend it on?” Rick looks back at him  as he opens the fridge door, and III’s mind stalls when he sees it’s now fully stocked with all kinds of tasty treats and takeaway.

”They needed… something to help with the band.” He scrambles.

Rick scoffs as he pours a splash of juice into the cup. “You wouldn’t last five days out in the real world,” he cackles as he starts to pick his way through the filthy room. “I hope they appreciate what you’ll be doing for them tonight.”

III’s face burns as he stares down at the vodka in his cup, an anemic splash of red juice giving it a tinge of pink. Even though it wasn’t true, Rick’s mocking tone still stings, and his face flushes in shame.

“You might want to drink up.” Rick’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

This is uncharted territory, and III stares back up at Rick with confusion, the glass shaking in his hand. He doesn’t really drink, and certainly not this… why was Rick giving it to him?

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to need all the help you can get to earn £120 tonight.” He sneers at him, clinking glasses. “And if you don’t, I get to send them the video of you puking on my cock.“

III’s sorely tempted to tug the money out and hand it to him right then and there, but something in Rick's eyes make him realise this was always what was going to happen whether he had the money or not.

Sniffing his cup he gags, the strong vodka scent making him feel like he’s in a hospital. Holding his breath he brings the cup to his mouth and takes a tiny sip.

“There’s a good boy.” Rick cooes, his hand knocking the bottom of the cup and sending more of the burning liquid into his mouth.

Gagging, III swallows it down, the burn travelling all the way down his throat.

He’s coughing as Rick leads him to the computer desk, feeling as it hits his empty stomach. The cup’s still mostly full and he stares at it warily as Rick pries it out of his hand and pulls him up onto his lap.

Without wasting a moment Rick clicks the button to go live and III sees his face appear on screen, never getting used to the flurry of disgusting comments it instantly brings.

The cup is brought to his lips and he tries to pull away, but Rick’s grip is firm and he allows a bit more of the awful drink into his mouth, swallowing it down quickly to avoid the taste.

Already he feels a warmth start to rise in his chest, the lack of food making him feel it more quickly. Maybe Rick’s right, maybe things won’t be quite so bad if he doesn’t remember— maybe having a drink will make this much easier.

This time when the cup is brought to his lips again he hears Rick laugh heartily as he takes a big gulp, desperate for it to help everything go numb.

They sit like that for a little bit, Rick pressing drinks to his mouth and III desperately drinking it down.

All the alcohol takes effect fast. Everything feels fuzzy at an almost alarming rate but III realises how good this is.

Distantly he can feel Rick’s hands on him, can feel their cloying touch and can see his own blotchy face in the live stream, but none of it matters. None of it feels real.

He goes to have more but finds there’s no cup there and whines in confusion. There’s a cutting laugh and he thinks he hears someone say “Pathetic” but he’s not sure at this stage, it could be his own mind saying that.

“Come on, pay attention,” he hears behind him and struggles to comply, staring at Rick with a dazed face.

He doesn’t want to do any of what he knows will be coming next but at least he’s numb to it, none of it feels real and he can use this to his advantage.

The rest of the night goes in drips and drabs. He’s barely lucid for most of it but every now and then it’s like he returns to himself, he can feel the pain as something brutal tears into him. He feels something wet splash against his face. He feels something sharp and unyielding press into his skin.

And then, finally, the alcohol takes him far away.

——

When III wakes up, he’s naked on the floor, damp and sore.

He stretches out, going to stand up and at least wipe some of the filth off him when a shooting pain causes him to buckle.

Somehow, he hadn’t noticed there was something still inside of him, he grimaces and reaches a hand behind him to pull it out- hesitating for a second because he hasn’t gotten permission to and instantly hating himself. It hurts and he was never told not to. It’ll be fine.

He dislodges it and grimaces to see a bottle. Desperately he wracks his mind trying to remember what happened but he can’t.

He studies himself and pales when he notices the writing on his body, he’s not sure how he missed it before but his head is throbbing from the hangover and everything is hurting.

All over his body are littered words, “Whore" and “Slut” repeated over and over along with so much more, he barely has the strength to decipher it all.  

It’s only when he’s looking down that he notice small traces of blood around his crotch, he can’t quite see why though but as he shifts slightly a shooting pain causes lights through him and it takes everything in him not to scream.

What the fuck?!

Tenderly he looks down, it takes a moment to isolate the pain and with a pale face he moves his penis slightly to look at his balls.

His mind feels like static. On the left side cut in is an ‘R’.

It’s not too deep thankfully but it stings awfully and III truly has no idea if this will scar or not. He hopes it won’t but he doubts Rick will let him look after it properly either and knowing what Rick’s like… the likelihood of it healing without a trace seems low.

Blankly he looks around, almost in shock, trying to work out what to do, when he notices Rick’s computer unlocked and his files on display.

He doesn’t want to see these but his memory is blank and he needs to know what happened, what was done to him.

He knows Rick wants him to too, he never leaves his computer open like that. It’s practically an invitation.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, III hobbles over to the computer and pulls up the file.

Chapter Text

III has never needed those painkillers more than now as he tries to get his head to stop spinning, throbbing with a pain he's never really felt before— so far his experience with alcohol has been the few beers old friends from school had managed to sneak from their parents, only ever enough to make him tipsy. This is a whole new feeling, like someone’s taken a rake to the inside of his brain.

The moment he sees himself vacantly staring at the camera he clicks it closed again, hugging himself tightly as his stomach heaves.

”Do you think you earned enough?” Rick’s tired voice comes from somewhere behind him, and III curls in on himself as he hears him approach.

He’s up way too early, this is when III is supposed to be free from him. ”I-I don’t—“

”What happens if you didn’t?”

III cranes his head up to see Rick leaning over the gaming chair. He’s looking tired but no worse for wear, and III wants to scream.

“Did I?” Is all he can manage, hugging his knees even tighter to his chest.  

“I’m not your accountant. I think you’ll have to watch to find out.”

“Please don’t make me, please—“

“No one’s making you.” Rick shrugs. “I can just send them a video instead.”

It’s almost tempting— it’s the only leverage Rick has over him, and he feels stupid for not catching that earlier. If he’d just been more careful to hide his new friends, or not gotten attached in the first place.

But he did.

Without a reply III clicks play again, wincing as he sees himself in the footage. He rarely sees himself anymore, the few times he’s near a mirror his eyes automatically dart down— so to watch what he’s become is jarring.

Automatically his hand reaches up to feel his face, just as hollow feeling as it looks on screen. He watches his dead eyes become glassy and over-bright as he swallows more alcohol down, struggling to focus as he tries to read the chat.

He sees himself unable to support himself, unaware of Rick’s hands that are all over him as his own wobbly finger reaches out to point at something on the chat. He looks confused as Rick cackles, his limbs limp as his shirt is stripped off, staring wide-eyed at the camera.

He makes it halfway through the video and he wants to be sick, shakily tallying up £80 on a ledger next to him. It had been tame enough considering, but he knows what must be coming next.

“Please just let me stop. I can’t do this anymore.” His cheeks are wet with tears, and he’s never felt more miserable.

“But you did so good.” Rick’s slimy voice is just above him. He’s luckily not tried to touch him yet, content to just watch him from above.

“I just—“

“You’ve already done it, why let it be for nothing?”

With a deep breath III clicks play again, fast forwarding as Rick scribbles awful words over his body, making him sound out each one. That was only £5.

He can see Rick offer to cut an R into him and he can tell he’s already blacked out, just a confused look at Rick before he gives him a shaky nod.

III can’t watch, covering his eyes as he hears his own confused voice struggling to understand what’s happening. He feels the pain of the sharp implement as it slices into him, hears his slurred pleas begging for Rick to stop.

Finally it’s over and he’s curled up on the floor crying. III knows the bottle is next, knows what’s coming, but he’s only praying he gets paid for it.

He watches Rick shake him with his foot, sees his red rimmed eyes peering up. He’s so defenceless, and III feels sick with himself for letting himself get like that— Things could’ve been so much worse.

The bottle starts to force its way inside and still he hasn’t gotten a price. He can’t have done this for free, he can’t—

“How much?” He hears his own tired voice through the tears, and on screen, Rick stops.

“£20 if you keep it in all night.”

III shuts the video off, staring blankly into the computer's cold glow.

“Just £5 off” he hears from behind him and III’s head whips around.

What? No… He’d counted it all it wasn’t- “No?”

His voice is shaky and Rick smirks at him, “I’m afraid so, you’re free to count it all up again of course, if you think I’m wrong.

III hesitates, “W-What do I have to do to earn it?”

“Oh nothing much. You offered to suck me off that time when you spent my fiver before, we’ll stick to your rates.”

Rick’s smile is sickly and dripping with malice but III doesn’t have it in him to fight, it’s just a blowjob. Just one blowjob and he’ll have made up for it, until tonight, a voice in his head whispers, but he shuts it down fast.

“Okay,” he mutters, humiliated and defeated, he needs this to be over.

Rick grins and palms himself, gesturing III to come over, and III does. It’s agonising and slow but he makes his way over, he has to crawl because his legs won’t support him and his head pounds in agony but he makes it.

Rick’s cock is right in front of him and the scent of it almost makes III throw up, god when did he last wash?

He can’t think about that now though, even as his stomach turns he steels himself and moves forward.

Rick didn’t ask for anything fancy and this is only worth £5 so III isn’t pulling out all the stops, he takes Rick straight into his mouth and sets to work.

He knows what the man likes and he bobs his head, trying to keep the pressure consistent and get him off.

It works, for the most part. It’s still early and Rick doesn’t have much energy himself. He grips III’s hair which worsens his already awful headache, but he doesn’t bother to face fuck him.

III’s grateful for that, his stomach feels fragile and he knows if Rick’s too rough he won’t be able to control himself. The idea of throwing up is too terrifying to comprehend so he ignores it, focusing on ending this as soon as possible.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long. Soon Rick’s grip is tightening in III’s hair and his cock is twitching in his mouth.

Cum hits his tongue, it’s cloying and foul and he desperately wants to spit it out. He knows what Rick will make him do if he does so he swallows it down, trying not to heave as he does.

Rick puts himself away and III sits limply at his feet, it’s hardly the worst blowjob he’s given but the hangover has him feeling 10 times more fragile than normal and he has to do his best to not dissolve into tears.

Eventually the feeling fades and III manages to pull himself together, Rick’s curled back into bed during this time but luckily he doesn’t seem to be asleep yet, “Can I… Can I have a shower?” III asks, terrified Rick will say no but needing to wash this grime off him.

Rick just rolls his eyes “You’re a grown man, do what you want. I’m going back to sleep, don’t disturb me.”

III almost freezes, do what he wants? But Rick… This whole time Rick hasn’t been letting him, he hasn’t made that up, if he does stuff without Rick’s permission…

Logically he knows this is Rick getting into his head, but it’s tearing him apart, he feels insane.

Do what you want, like he’s been able to do that, like Rick isn’t controlling his every move.

A bubble of anger rises up in him at how unjust this all is, at how fucking unfair everything that’s happening is.

How dare Rick treat him like this?! How dare he make III act this way, strip him of everything and make him beg for scraps, beg for worse than scraps.

But just as fast as the anger rose, it dies out, the doors not locked and III could leave any time he wants. He’s agreeing to this treatment, he’s staying here and letting Rick treat him like this because he’s too cowardly to face the streets. Because he’s too ashamed of others opinion on him.

Because he doesn’t want to be alone.

It’s pathetic and it’s his fault. He can’t blame Rick for this.

Slowly he limps to the bathroom and turns the water on as hot as his skin can take it. He needs to clean, to wash away the words that litter his skin, to try and get the filth that’s imbedded in his skin out. 

He’ll never truly be clean again, but at least he can try.

—

Somehow it all becomes bearable, somehow he survives.

Some nights he can’t understand how he keeps going. Lying in the filthy bed he tries to ignore the way his body aches in new ways, struggling to find the point of it all. It’s the routine that saves him.

Everything feels bleak until the early morning sun will start to peek through Rick’s thick blackout curtains. Exhausted he’ll creep out to meet IV, whose easy smile will fill him up with such a warmth as he clambours into his passenger seat.

At the house II will already have breakfast going, the comforting smells of fried meat and eggs luring him into the kitchen. Once he's sat at their dinner table he’ll inhale the food, pretending not to notice as they sneak more food onto his plate.

After he helps clean up they all sit on the couch together where they avoid asking about his various new bruises. This is his favourite part, and he lives for the moment when IV’s thigh will press against him as he leans into him. Together they’ll waste the day playing video games, or excitedly imagining what it might be like to go on tour.

He’s safe with them until he inevitably has to go back home, where he’ll do awful things to earn that brief moment of happiness. He knows he’s playing right into Rick’s hand every time he falls a little more in love with them… he knows he’s eagerly ensnaring himself, but he’s too tired to care.

When he’s with them he can forget about Rick, forget about the cameras, forget about the people who pay to watch him get hurt. He shoves it all into some deep, dark recess of his mind where it’s unable to hurt him.

Each day with them strengthens his resolve that they can never find out, that he'll do whatever it takes not to lose them, that they’re the only bright parts of his life.

Sometimes when he comes home and he’s hit with the smell of BO and rotten food, he's filled with so much anger— he’ll struggle to hide the challenging flash in his eye that Rick always notices, his beady eyes reflected in the monitor.

Those nights are the worst,  Rick makes sure they are. He hurts and humiliates him in ways that he never could imagine until his eyes are dead and empty again.

—

After several months of meeting for ‘practice’ he finds them all nervously crushed together on the same couch that IV had let him sleep on, waiting for their cue to go on. He’d barely swung it with Rick, this was digging into his time.

His phone vibrates and he doesn’t want to check it but he knows he has to, ignoring Vessel’s silent stare as he sneaks a peek.

—Think of how much more I can charge once you’re a rock star.

His stomach twists in knots and he shoves his phone back, flashing a weak smile to Vessel who instantly looks away. He’s been much more observant lately, his dark eyes following him everywhere he goes, tracking every bruise and limp.

Twisting the white mask in his hand he wishes that it was more opaque. What if someone recognises him, what if they know what he’s done?

Maybe he can petition for black ones later, something to hide his features better.

“5 minutes.” II says kindly, a squeeze on his knee as he gets up. Next to him IV does the same, hopping from one foot to the other to hype himself up.

It’s Vessel who reaches out a hand and pulls him to his feet, “You missed a spot,” he says, his thumb reaching out to sweep softly against a bruise on III’s neck. III shudders, his own hand swiftly reaching up to cover it.

Rick had been a bit too heavy handed a few nights ago, and the heavy black paint had hardly blocked out the handprint bruised into his delicate skin. It was too late to add more and he could only race after them, ducking around the workers as they line up backstage.

Too soon he can hear the manager of the club announcing them onstage, can hear the cheers, and watches with a growing panic as the others file on-stage.

The show goes far too quickly, it’s incredible and everything III dreamt of. His worries about being recognised vanish once he’s on stage and can get lost in the music.

Nothing feels real. He’s not the man being tormented nightly, he’s not a walking bundle of trauma, instead he’s III, he’s a bass player and a good one at that.

It’s freeing to play in front of all these people and it helps that the people he plays with are incredible. Seeing Vessel pour out his soul, seeing II and IV’s skills. III’s truly never been happier.

He’s sad when it ends and they have to leave the stage but he’s riding such a high he doesn’t really care, he can’t remember ever feeling like this before and it’s addictive.

Vessel laughs at him a little as they go back to their dressing room but III can’t help how fucking happy he is.

He pops out to the bathroom to change in private and by the time he’s back the others are all wiped down and as clean as they can get in the venue. “Come on, let’s get a drink!” IV says eagerly, equally as excited as III, and loops an arm around III’s shoulder and drags him out the room.

For a second it feels like III’s world stops, all he can think of is the last time he drank, how cruel Rick was, how III doesn’t remember the night, just the awful video the day before.

But it’s fine. He’s with his band mates and  Rick doesn’t know the exact time the set ends, he can have one drink then slip away. He won’t be drunk and it might help a bit with whatever Rick has planned for tonight.

He puts a grin into his face and leans into IV’s arm, he refuses to let Rick spoil this for him, “Let’s go.”

-

Vessel and II trail behind them, a happy buzz emanating from the whole group as they walk to the bar.

Vessel flags down the barman once they arrive “Four Morreti’s and four shots of absolut.”

“No! I don’t need any vodka, it’s fine!” III blurts out, drinking is one thing but vodka? All he can remember is the awful taste when Rick forced him to drink- when he voluntarily drank. It’s too much.

Unfortunately, Vessel thinks he’s just being polite and grins at him, “Nonsense, it’s on me!” And places his order.

As much as III wants to turn the shot down he doesn’t have a good excuse and doesn’t want to seem like a spoilsport, after all, Vessel brought this for him and he’s been trained far too well at this stage to turn down anything that’s been brought for him.

So he knocks it back with the others, gagging and grimacing as it goes down and washing it out with a swig of beer as the others laugh at him for reacting so violently.

He does his best to laugh along, they have no way of knowing of course and it’s not cruel, just gentle ribbing between friends. He doesn’t want to come across as so damaged they can’t even do that with him.

So he takes it and soon the conversation changes anyway and they all start chatting away as they nurse their pints.

They’re all excited from the show and eager for the next ones and spend most of their time discussing the performances, their favourite bits and anything they’ll do differently.

It’s nice, a gentle camaraderie between them and III basks in it until he eventually finishes his beer.

IV’s about to get another round in but unfortunately III can’t risk that.

“I need to go,” III trails off, not wanting to leave the cozy atmosphere but knowing he’s pushing it already.

“Oh-“ II starts, a little dejected, “Can’t you stay for just one more?”

The others look at him and it crushes III to have to leave them after their first show, but he knows he has to, “Sorry mate, maybe next time yeah?”

He tries to smile but it stings because he knows he won’t next time either, knows he’s never going to get to celebrate with them properly.

Not unless he sacrifices something big.

Which, to be fair, he’d do it. But he doesn’t know what Rick would demand and he’s barely hanging on as is…

A sad look passes each of their eyes, like they know it won’t happen and III’s just about to wander off when a hand snakes around his waist, “What’s all this then?”

III freezes. The voice drips like acid, melting away all of his defences. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be around them.

He wants to say something but his throat has closed up, he can’t pull himself together and Rick just grins, kissing the side of his face possessively, “Aren’t we going to celebrate?”

“Hi,” Vessel steps in, hand out reached with a look in his eye that makes III nervous, “I’m Vessel, I didn’t catch your name?”

Rick takes his hand with a predatory grin and III cringes away, having them meet is awful, having them speaking makes him want to tear his hair out but seeing them touch?

“I’m Rick.”

Chapter Text

III knows he must look insane right now, but he can’t seem to wipe the forced smile off of his face as he watches his two worlds collide.

Rick’s clearly made an… effort. His greasy hair is slicked back and combed, and he’s even wearing the collared shirt that III has seen at the foot of his bed for ages. The dark navy colour partially hides the pit stains, but even the dim lighting of the bar can’t help with the wrinkles.

How long has he been here for?

Did he watch them perform?

“And you two are..?”

Something about Rick witnessing the happiest moment of III’s life makes the alcohol curdle in his stomach, and the idea of those disgusting patrons getting even a glimpse of his friends is almost too much to bear.

“I took some footage earlier if any of you want it. It was good.”  Rick’s smile is sharp as he flashes his phone. It’s far nicer than the one he used to have, how did he afford a new one?

III’s thoughts come crashing back to reality when he sees Rick’s eyes raking over IV and II as they both stand up, their hands reaching over the table to shake his own.

They lack the commanding presence of Vessel, and both of them seem to shrink back as he takes each of their hands in turn, shaking them for just a beat too long.

“I was going to go grab another round.” IV says a bit nervously as Rick’s tight grip lingers, pulling his hand free to wipe his palm discreetly on his jeans.

“Why don’t you help your friend carry them?” Rick gives a light push to III’s back, sending him in IV’s direction.

Silently he follows, squeezing past the patrons milling around the bar and before III can stop him, IV's ordered more of the same, turning around to face him as the bartender makes their drinks.

III’s grateful that it’s too loud to be heard properly and he pretends not to hear IV’s question, Rick's name is barely audible over the chatter of the other patrons. Thankfully the drinks are ready quickly and he leans over the sticky bar to grab the beers, while IV opts for a tray, piling on the shots.

This is a terrible idea, he has to get out of here.

The table’s much quieter when they return, and III sees that Rick is now seated just a little too close to II who brightens noticeably at their arrival. His loud discussion about his League of Legends score is interrupted when they arrive and II jumps up to help them.

III’s surprised that Vessel even let Rick get that close. He's sitting exactly where they'd left him, tearing off bits of label off of his beer bottle, the little strips of paper scattered across the table.

III can see the way Rick glowers when II sits down next to Vessel instead, and he quickly slides into the booth next to him to distract him.

A strong arm grips him tightly around the shoulders and pulls him too close, Rick's rank breath wafting over him as he hisses in his ear. “Your friend is very rude.”

III laughs nervously, shrinking back as the next shot is pushed in front of him by Vessel, the others holding theirs up already for a cheers.

“Oh, you know him well, vodka’s his favourite.” Rick grins, watching III’s clear discomfort as he squirms in place.

He’s desperate for a way out but Rick’s hand on his thigh gives a warning squeeze, so he picks up the shot with a shaky hand.

The smell brings him right back to that moment on camera, making him sick. In a moment of inspiration he fumbles the slippery shot glass, watching in relief as it spills down his shirt. III regrets it instantly as the smell of vodka soaks into him, now inescapable.

Before he can even apologize, Rick slides his own shot over to him, his beady eyes watching him eagerly.

“Oh no, I—“

“No shots for me, I’m the driver.”

With nothing else to do he drinks it down, hacking even more as the taste and smell seem to surround him. III hopes they can finally make a hasty retreat after this round, and does his best to drink his beer quickly.

“It’s been fun.” He says as he smiles at them all gratefully, but a rough hand on his arm pulls him back down.

“Don’t be rude, it’s our turn.” Rick scolds, and III shrinks back into his seat as Rick gets up and makes his way to the bar.

III’s head is already swimming as he slumps back into his seat, feeling their eyes on him.

“We’ll go soon, don’t worry.” He says quietly.

“It’s fine.” Vessel’s voice is clipped, and III looks up to catch his eye. His expression is unreadable, but again he feels his eyes tracing the finger marks that are bruised into the soft skin of his neck.

“Do you need—“ IV’s eyes are a bit glassy as he leans forward, and something about that makes III’s anxiety spike. He needs them to be safe, he needs them to be alert.

“It’s fine!” He knows his smile is crazy again, but he can’t help but feel he’s on a runaway train and the fuzzier things get, the more his panic grows.

Rick returns too quickly, again with shots, and the others are starting to attempt to wave them off.

“This is the top shelf stuff, none of that cheap shit.” He brags, placing two close to III.

“How about a little gratitude?” Rick elbows III, who picks one up with a shaky hand.

“Thanks Rick.”

The others follow behind III, doing their own shots, but there’s an uneasy air now and II ends up choking and spluttering on his. 

Vessel is quick soothe him, a large hand on his back stroking him through it, and III inwardly feels a stab of upset, desperately craving that comfort.

He knows he’ll never get it, knows he doesn’t deserve it, not after what he’s done, but he wants it, wants so fucking badly to be soothed like that.

Tears prick in his eyes and he desperately blinks them away, leaning into Rick. He knows it’s wrong and that Rick’s the cause of all this, but he’s the only one who can hold him, can be near him.

The booze helps too, it eases the disgust in III’s stomach and helps him work through the upset, allows him to take comfort in his… partner? Tormentor?

Fuck it’s all the same.

He takes another swig of beer and settles into Rick’s chest, trying not to flinch from the arm slung around his shoulder.

It’s not so bad he tells himself, if he tries hard enough he can pretend it’s the comfort he’s so desperately seeking.

He zones out from there, nodding and laughing at the conversation but not really paying attention. He doesn’t want to talk to the others when he’s like this, doesn’t want them to know how fucked up he is.

He’s brought back to reality by a twinge in his bladder and he goes to stand, not thinking anything about it.

Unfortunately, there’s a firm arm wrapped around him and the pressure that he’d almost convinced himself was comforting is now pinning him down.

He does his best to shrug it off of course, but Rick practically growls at him and the conversation dies off awkwardly making III’s face flame.

“Lemme out Rick,” he practically begs, feeling how desperate he suddenly is.

“It’s not our turn.” Rick says, a finality in his words.

III frowns at him, the alcohol slowing his mind and he doesn’t quite catch on, “But I’m not… I just need to-“

“Later.”

The words are harsh and III knows it’s best not to protest but fuck, now he’s aware of it his bladder twinges but it’s impossible to go, not without disobeying Rick.

The idea causes his whole body to start shaking, he can’t disobey Rick. Not any more. He’s utterly broken down by him and the thought fills him with such horror.

So he smiles at the others, “Sorry,” he shrugs, playing into Rick’s excuse of buying another round. Vessel’s eyes are glinting but thankfully he doesn’t say anything and lets it slide.

III sighs in relief even as his hands tense and do their best to stop himself from having an accident like a child, he shoots the others a wobbly smile and does his best to relax next to Rick again, trying not to think about the pressure building up.

The night feels like it should be over, but out of a sense of obligation  II brings the final round, a bit wobbly as he passes off the beers, thankfully foregoing any more shots.

They drink in what could be mistaken as a companionable silence to outsiders, but on the inside III is dying.

He’s spent the last twenty minutes with his thighs pressed so tightly together that they ache, but still Rick is an immovable force, his arm still slung around III’s shoulder. In his hazy, tipsy state the touch is somehow both comforting and claustrophobic.

“Drink up, don’t be rude.” Rick chides him, and with a weak smile III lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a sip.

His bladder already feels like it was ready to burst, but still he did what was expected of him, drinking it back in the off chance he could leave soon.

II was a lightweight, already curled up against Vessel’s broad chest, and III watched as they were caught up in a whispered conversation. He looked so safe and secure in his arms, and once again III wishes it could be him, that someone like Vessel could protect him like that.

He knew from experience that Vessel smelled like fresh soap and something woodsy, while Rick’s B.O. was getting harder and harder to ignore the more time he spent away from him.

I’ll bet he buys him flowers and takes him on dates, and they curl up and watch movies together. He thought to himself bitterly.

I’ll bet he doesn’t rape him.

The unfiltered thought startles him. He’s been so good at blocking any acknowledgement of that out, but the alcohol was making his thoughts unguarded and unpredictable. 

Again his bladder twinged, and he put his half empty drink down on the table, squirming in place.

“The sooner you drink it, the sooner we can go.”

His whispered voice leaves no doubt that he knows exactly ever he’s doing, his sweaty fingers reaching down around III’s hips. They’re relentless, digging into the soft skin of his hips, a thumb lightly swiping his distended abdomen.

With a shudder III brings his beer back to his mouth even as his body screams that it can’t fit any more.

“Drink it faster.” Rick whispers, and III’s hands shake as he takes another gulp, nearly spitting it all out as Rick’s thumb digs sharply into his bladder.

He slowly sips the rest, his bladder straining, but he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened. Finally, against all odds and feeling like he might burst he manages to gulp down the final dregs, letting the bottle clunk back on the table.

By now it’s torture, and he tries to sit still as IV and Vessel’s chatter over II’s sleepy head, their voices a touch too loud from the alcohol.

III can’t even keep track of the conversation, all he can focus on is the now-painful sensation in his jeans, the waistband too-tight as it digs into his distended stomach.

He realises too late that IV’s asked him a question, and is staring patiently as he waits for an answer

“Sorry, I missed that.” III scrambles, clenching his thighs together tightly as he feels like he’s ready to burst.

“I said, any plans for tomorrow?”

“Oh, no.” He chuckles, his voice strained. “How about you?”

IV begins to chatter away, his face flushed with alcohol, unaware that III is currently about to piss his pants, holding on for all that is dear.

Even still it’s close. He’s rapidly reaching the point where pissing his pants is almost preferable to the pain of holding it anymore.

Rick isn’t even squeezing him anymore, he doesn’t need to, and in horror III feels a trickle of piss dribble out. It takes all of his effort to clench his bladder shut again, the strain unimaginable, his bladder straining for release.

He waits for IV to be distracted before he cranes his head back to plead a desperate please in Rick’s ear, feeling his long finger begin to press into his bladder again.

III’s choked sound of panic is muffled by shoving his own face into Rick’s shoulder, taking a deep and panicked breath as he feels a few more drops dribble out.

“Please, please, please.” He’s beyond desperate at this point, curling into Rick with his fingers tightly gripping his shirt.

He can’t piss his pants in front of his friends, he can’t.

“Please.”

On the exterior he looks like a devoted boyfriend curling into his partner, but up close his face is wet with tears as he begs quietly to him.

He could just go, nothing is really stopping him from getting up and walking to the bathroom, but he’s somehow, someway lost his ability to do that.

How did he let it get like this?

Rick doesn’t react, his finger still digging in and for a second III can’t control it, an awfully long stream starts and III almost breaks down, if it weren’t for the others being around him he knows he would have.

As it is, they’re chatting away and he tries to focus on that, to take him away from the torment Rick is putting him through and stop himself from fully losing control of his bladder.

It both helps and hurts. It grounds him to reality and stops him losing himself entirely, but it also ruins him, they were never supposed to be part of this, they were meant to be kept separate.

He’d done so well at keeping them separate.

He grimaces and trying to distract himself he looks down, only to see a fucking wet patch on his jeans.

It’s not too obvious thankfully, the material is dark and the lights are low so unless someone’s actively looking they probably won’t notice, but III has noticed, and the humiliation and shame is almost as sharp and painful as the pain in his bladder.

Finally, fucking finally Rick eases up and starts getting ready to go, pushing III out the booth.

“Well it was lovely to meet you all, but we need to head back now.” The words seem far away but III nods at them, a tight smile on his face as he also says his goodbyes, doing his best to cover the wet spot on his crotch.

He doesn’t really have time to think about the others though, he’s desperate to run to the bathroom but he’s in too much pain and he honestly thinks he might just wet himself entirely if he does.

Instead, he hobbles forward, clutching Rick for support. He must look drunk and to be fair that’s not far off, everything is floaty and dizzy and he’s barely hanging on. He’s just so grateful that Rick seems to actually be taking him to the bathroom, there was a part of III that feared he wouldn’t.

Slowly, they make it to the bathroom and III trembles, doing his best to unzip his jeans when Rick shoots a hand out, grabbing III by his wrist and dragging him into a stall.

III’s so tipsy he doesn’t fully realise what’s happening and just follows him in, confused and just thinking about how he needs to get his cock out so he can piss.

Rick doesn’t care, instead he uses a cruel hand to shove III to the floor and III whimpers in shock, his knees hitting the floor with an awful sound and the whole world spins for a second as he tries to get his bearings.

Rick scoffs at him, undoing his own trousers and then his cock is in III’s face. No matter how familiar III is with it the smell is rancid and it makes III gag.

Was it always this bad? III doesn’t remember it being quite so foul when they were first dating, Rick had never been the cleanest but now… it’s like he delights in it, like he knows how much III hates it and purposely makes himself dirtier on purpose.

Honestly, after everything else he’s done, it wouldn’t really be a stretch to believe.

He sobs though, he needs to piss he can’t suck Rick off right now, “Please, later I promise I just cant, I need to piss Rick please,” he begs.

It’s pathetic and humiliating to beg for something so simple, to have someone else so entirely in control of him.

And Rick just smirks, he brings out his phone with one hand and positions it just right, III barely notices the camera, so used to being filmed at this stage, but there’s a small part of him that clocks it and breaks just a little bit further.

Seeing Rick isn’t about to budge on this, III shuts his eyes and opens his mouth in defeat, maybe if he’s fast…

It’s a losing battle honestly, but at least he has a chance.

Except… except his mouth stays empty. He blinks his eyes open just in time to see Rick angle his cock down, and can do nothing but watch in complete mortification and terror as Rick begins to piss.

The stream hits his crotch with a terrifying accuracy and III fucking jolts. Unfortunately this makes his own bladder cramp and finds he’s once again unable to hold back.

After a moment he gains control, but Rick isn’t stopping. Instead, the stream keeps pounding at the tight fabric and III feels as it starts to seep in, he feels the warmth and wetness marking his skin and he stares up, horrified. Not quite sure how else to react.

Rick moves his cock for a second, angling it up so it hits III’s lower stomach and- fuck.

It gets his bladder and it’s suddenly too much, the warmth and wetness on his cock and the sudden sharp pain on his bladder has him losing control.

There’s no stopping himself this time, and he kneels on the grubby club bathroom, pissing his fucking trousers.

He’s mortified.

He’s also so fucking relieved.

The pain and pressure starts to ease up as he empties himself, and for a second he forgets about anything else, just basking in the lack of pain.

Unfortunately, awareness follows soon after. His stream still hasn’t stopped and neither has Rick’s and a cold sobriety settles in III’s mind.

What the fuck is he doing?!

Kneeling on the bathroom floor letting his partner piss on him, pissing all over himself. His jeans are soaked and he has no idea how he’s going to get out of here. The smell alone… anyone he passes is going to instantly know what happened to him, what he’s done.

There’s a puddle around his legs and he starts to cry in earnest, he’s still drunk and the horror of what he’s done hits him, the others are probably still here, they might walk in any moment, what if Rick forces III to go back to them?

It’s too much and he breaks into large heaving sobs as Rick finally finishes off, grinning down at him in a way that makes III’s stomach turn.

He’s relieved to find he’s also stopped, but it doesn’t really matter at this point. His trousers are drenched and he’s certain he’s never going to get this out. He has no idea how he’ll ever wear these again, if he even can.

Rick doesn’t exactly let him do the laundry often and III wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t let him now.

It’s too much and III just continues to cry, he knows Rick is still recording, but everything he does these days is recorded. He barely has it in him to care about that anymore.

All he can think about is the hard floor digging into his knees and the awful way the piss is cooling on his skin.

He doesn’t know what to do.

There’s a growing chill deep inside of him, and it’s chasing away the warm comfort of the alcohol. As it melts away everything seems to pop into sharp, inescapable focus.

The stench of piss that surrounds him, the cold wet jeans that are sticking to his skin, the camera that’s still in his face as he sobs.

He doesn’t know what to do! Why can’t he figure out how to stop this?

He needs to get these clothes off but he can’t, he needs to get away but he can’t, he needs a moment where he’s not being terrorized by Rick, but it’s all feeling impossible.

“Disgusting.” Rick sneers, and he’s crouching down now with the camera in his face, trying to get a better angle as III tries to scrub away the snot and tears.

He knows he needs to stop crying, but he can’t.

Finally he stares up at Rick, his face blotchy and red, and he’s not sure what he’s searching for, what he needs, but he’s never felt so alone.

The memory of Vessel hugging II came back into his mind, and seeing him so safe in his arms while Rick tormented him filled him with a deep resentment.

The hard slap catches him off-guard, echoing through the tiled bathroom and he crashes to the floor, scrambling up quickly as the piss seeps into his sleeve.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Rick shouts, his arm raised again. “You should be thanking me, would you rather I did it in front of your friends?”

“No.” III whispers.

“Do you have any idea what they would’ve paid me if I did?”

III doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to think about the fridge full of snacks that he can’t eat, or Rick’s new phone, or how he was able to afford such expensive alcohol for the table.

He stares at a cracked tile on the floor and tries to pretend that he’s anywhere else as Rick continues to rant, until a strong hand wraps around his upper arm and tugs him roughly to his feet.

“Like a pig wallowing in filth.” Rick cackles, and III can feel his face go beet red.

He lets himself be dragged to one of the filthy mirrors and he catches just a glimpse of himself before his eyes shoot to the floor, fresh tears falling down his face as Rick’s forces his head back up.

III tries to fight it but he’s so tired, and with a resigned shame he lets himself see what he’s become.

His cheeks had filled out a bit from II’s filing breakfasts, but right now they are splotchy and red, with fresh tears catching in the dingy bar light.

He catalogues himself with a detached mind.  His eyes are red rimmed from crying, with black paint still staining the creases. He has a red welt on his blotchy cheek from the slap, still stinging and warm on his sore cheek.

His shirt has piss along the bottom with splatter marks nearly up to the collar, and the crotch of his jeans are soaked.

There’s no disguising it, it looks exactly like he’s pissed himself.

“Please.”  He whispers.

“Please what?”

“I want to go home.”  III says it as quietly as possible, his eyes darting to the door in the reflection, desperately hoping that no one will come in.

Rick takes a moment to answer, watching him squirm, before he turns and starts to leave.

“Wait!” III shouts out, his sudden departure breaking him out of his stupor.

Racing through the bathroom door he freezes as he’s suddenly surrounded by people, scanning the crowd wildly for Rick.

The moment that people’s noses started wrinkle and they began to look around he raced off, darting towards the entrance.

The bouncer's look of disgust is the last thing he sees before he slams through the wooden front doors, the cool night air like an icy blast on his wet jeans.

He feels worse than being in the club, so much more exposed. A dark alley waits just beyond, and he curls into the front wall of the pub, his eyes darting around nervously.

He was tempted to go back inside, but one glance at the bouncer peeking out at him made him realise he has no chance, so instead he fumbles in his pocket to call Rick.

He was instantly met with the sound of him driving, music being turned down to hear what he was trying to say.

“You think I’d let you in my car like that?”

III froze, his eyes darting around yet again as he watches strangers pass by, hurrying their steps when they see him.

“It’s so far, and it’s late, and it’s—“ III’s eyes again dart to the alley he’d have to pass by.

“You think anyone’s going to touch you like that?” Rick scoffs, and III can hear the music blare again just as the call disconnects.

He has one moment of temptation, one brief hover of his thumb over IV’s contact before he puts his face in his hands and groans.

“You need me to call someone?” A deep voice makes him jump. The bouncer has taken a step closer, and III shrinks back with shame, realizing that he’ll never be able to come back here again.

“I-I’m fine!!” He stammers out, hunching over as he turns away, eyes darting wildly around him as he began to walk home.

Chapter Text

The walk is slow and painful, III finds himself limping most of the way. Honestly he’d have probably collapsed if it weren’t for the alcohol numbing his body.

Or maybe that’s the cold. The nights air is frigid and the wetness of his clothes is sticking to his body. It’s deeply unpleasant, and stops him from the comfort of retreating to his mind.  

It doesn’t help that it’s a long walk either, easily an hour, especially at the pace he’s going.

He passes a couple people and the looks he gets make him want to curl away, it’s awful. All of this is fucking awful.

By the time he makes it home he’s exhausted, being on stage had already been a lot him and this walk has his body shaking from the strain. Once, he could have done that walk easily, but after the abuse and neglect he’s been through lately it’s pushed his battered body over the edge.

It takes five tries for him to get the keys in. His hands shaking so badly that they keep missing the slot, and he wants to sob, the temptation for him to knock on the door and ask Rick to open it is strong, but the fear of disturbing him is stronger, and he opts to struggle instead.

He finally makes it inside and toes his wet shoes off straight away before pausing. He needs a shower.

Rick doesn’t let him do anything without earning it.

His stomach turns, he can’t do anything else tonight, he won’t survive it, he doesn’t know how he’s survived all this so far but he’s nearing his breaking point and the idea of having to do anything else makes his hands shake.

He manages to pull himself together, only just, and walks in the room to see Rick already lying in bed. For a second his breathing stops, he can’t wake Rick up that’s… no.

But then he notices the soft glow from his phone where he’s facing away and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Um, R-Rick,” He feels like a child, standing in the dark room with sodden trousers, begging for attention, but he has no choice, “C-Can I have a shower?”

His teeth chatter from the cold but he does his best to seem as meek as possible. Rick likes it when he’s subdued, when he can see how broken he’s made him.

Slowly, Rick turns around, eyes tracking III’s body, it takes everything in III not to cringe away.

Finally, Rick breaks the silence, “You didn’t quite earn enough tonight. If you want anything you’ll have to make up the difference.”

III’s heart drops, it’s exactly what he was scared of and tremors wrack through him, “W-What do I h-h-have to do?”

Rick grins at him, rolling off the bed and showing something off in his palm that he’d clearly been hiding under the pillow, “Seeming as you’ve proven you can’t control yourself, I want you to wear this.”

The item in his hand is a metal object, and it takes III a second to work out exactly what it is in the dim light, and then the horror grows on him.

It’s a fucking cage.

The ‘No’ is on the tip of his tongue, he’s never been so close to denying, to fucking running. Anger and resentment swirl in him and he’s about to tell Rick to fuck off, but then he remembers the videos Rick has of him. He remembers that Rick has the others contact information, remembers everything he could do to III and the denial dies as quickly as it rose.

He nods instead. Tear prick in his eyes but he gives his consent to let Rick lock him up.

Rick grins, walking forward, “Good, now unbutton your trousers, I don’t want to touch your filth.”

III wants to stick up for himself, wants to protest that Rick pissed on him too, that it’s equally his filth.

He doesn’t. Instead, his shaking hands manage to undo his trousers and he peels them down, pausing for a moment before taking them and his boxers off entirely. Rick wrinkles his nose but doesn’t stop III and then III’s standing there, half naked, doing his best not to cry like a child.

Rick reaches a hand out, grabbing III’s cock a bit too tightly and III jumps at it, jumps again when the cold metal hits his skin and his cock gets pushed in.

It’s too small, that’s his first thought. His flesh bulges around the metal bars and it hurts. The next is how clunky it is, it’s far too big and noticeable, III’s never going to be able to stop feeling this, not whilst it’s on, and he has no idea how long Rick plans on leaving it for.

And fuck, what if he never lets him out? He’s spiralling hard when he feels something else prodding at him, he looks down and jumps.

Ricks trying to put a, a fucking rod in the tip of III’s cock. What the fuck?!

He knows about sounding but it’s not something he’s ever experimented with before, and the idea makes him nauseous. It doesn’t help that Rick has added no lubricant to the sound and is just forcing it inside of III.

It hurts, and it takes everything in III, not to slap Rick’s hand away. There feels like there’s no space for it, especially with how tight the cage is but Rick doesn’t care, continuing to force it inside.

He manages to hold it together somehow, and finally the thing is fully settled in III.

“Why?”

Rick rolls his eyes, “I already told you. I can’t trust you to keep control of yourself. How many times have you pissed yourself now? Maybe this will teach you not to act like an animal.”

III cringes from the harsh words but lets it drop. He wants to protest, wants to tell Rick that he only did that because Rick forced him, that he hasn’t been in control any of those time.

He doesn’t though, it’s not worth it. Instead he bites his tongue and nods defeated.

Rick finishes locking it all up, making III cringe when he sees the size of the padlocks, fuck what if someone does see? Before he tosses the key onto his desk.

III watches in horror, there’s so much clutter on there, the key could get lost so easily. The solid metal bars dig into his tender flesh and he practically wants to beg Rick to keep the key on him, to keep it safe.

He wont, he’s too terrified of Rick to even try. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Can I shower now?” III asks softly, Rick just scowls at him.

“This was only enough to pay for your lodgings tonight, if you want a shower you’ll have to earn it, but I’m tired so you’ll have to choose something good.”

III pales at that, he knows what Rick thinks of as good and what he thinks of as good isn’t necessarily one and the same and he doesn’t think he has that in him tonight.

“It’s- It’s fine, I’ll just sleep now.”

Rick grunts in approval but when III tries to get on the bed Rick puts a hand out and stops him, “You aren’t making my bed filthy III, what the fuck?! After all I do for you, you want to ruin my things?! How fucking selfish are you?”

He’s practically spitting on III out of anger at the end and III cowers from it, tears flooding down his face “S-Sorry! Rick I’m sorry, I just wanted to sleep! I’m sorry!”

Rick slaps him hard, “Sleep on the fucking floor if you have to, you’re not messing my bed up.”

III nods, timidly, he wants to ask for a blanket at least to help with the cold but he doesn’t dare after that. Fuck. He has a pair of joggers he could throw on but he doesn’t know when Rick will next let him do laundry and he doesn’t want to dirty them up more than he has.

He’s already shivering but at least he has his shirt, it’s wet and thin but it’s not as terrible as his trousers were, it’s something at least.

He goes to settle when Rick interrupts him, “Get yourself a glass of water, I don’t want to hear you bitching about having a hangover in the morning.”

It’s one of the kindest things Rick has said to III even if it was for his own gain, and III heads straight to the kitchen, his hands shaking as he fills up a glass of water, the relief at finally being able to have a fucking drink so intense and he downs it.

The water is perfect, nice and cold against his raw throat and he downs the glass, hastily refilling it.

Rick won’t know, it’s fine. He needs this, he desperately needs it, and as he drinks down more things start to feel slightly better. He hates that he’s at a stage where even water is considered a luxury, but it is. It’s rare he gets anything for free anymore and to not have to earn this is everything to III.

He’s tempted by another glass but he’s worried Rick would be able to tell, and as his mind starts clearing he remembers the sound in him. He doesn’t want to drink so much he has to wake Rick up in the night to take it off, it’ll be better if he leaves it and maybe Rick will let him have some more in the morning.

With that thought III turns around. He’s cold and damp and he wants the shower still but he’s willing to wait, he can spend one night cold on the floor if it means he doesn’t have to do any extra work today. At least he gets to sleep.

He’s always has a hard time sleeping after one too many drinks, but with the heavy weight of the cage around his cock it becomes nearly impossible. He wants it out, he needs it out, and it stings deep inside of him from where it was forced in.

Each toss and turn on the scratchy carpet jostles the unfamiliar weight, and having no blanket or pants the chill is made worse by the cold metal around him, inside of him.

Whimpering, he gently cups it in his hand, almost too scared to touch it as he tries to roll over again.

The best position seems to be flat on his back, but even as he drifts asleep, it’s broken and interrupted.

Finally he catches the faint light of the sun as it starts to peek through the curtains, and he reaches for his phone, trying to distract himself from the wrongness against his skin.

Rick is snoring somewhere above him as he scrolls his socials when he gets a text from IV, the early notification surprises him.  

They should all be sleeping it off right now, what was IV doing up at the ass-crack of dawn?

— Can you come by today?

The massive smile on III’s face falls only after he’s replied yes, and his mind starts to race in a panic wondering why they want to see him first thing?

The dread is made worse by the anxiety that goes hand in hand with hangovers, and as it stabs through him each explanation seems worse than the last.

They want you out of the band.

You weren’t good enough.

Rick was too creepy, he made them uncomfortable.

A thousand terrible thoughts whirl through his mind, and they’re almost enough to make him forget about the uncomfortable weight around his cock.

They saw you after you pissed your pants.

— I can come get you in 20, is that fine?

It’s so soon, they must really want him out of the band now.

He’s tempted just to make him tell him over text, just to avoid the pity on their faces, but the thought of getting one last day away from Rick is too tempting to pass up.

He sits up quietly, again distressed to feel as the weight of the cage pulls at his cock, the awful metal sound feeling so wrong inside of him.

Was Rick supposed to take it off now? How long is it supposed to be on for? He’s scared to wake him up to ask, but even more scared to hear the answer.

He peers over his still-sleeping figure to see the key still tossed on the side table, and imagines a world where he’s brave enough to just take it  and leave.

Pulling his backpack closer to him, he rifles through to pull out his joggers. They’re his favourite comfy pants, but as he pulls them on he stares sadly at the slight lump that’s visible when they lay flat.

He feels tears of shame and frustration prick at his eyes again, the water from last night already heavy in his bladder.

IV should be here in 10 minutes, and he stands up, hissing at the sensation. It’s so much worse when he moves! He knows now that he needs it off right now. He can’t bear the thought of it on for even a moment longer.

“Rick.” He whispers it quietly, watching with a growing dread as Rick continues to snore.

“Rick!” He says it a bit louder, but there’s still no reply.

He's almost too scared to continue, but he knows he can’t wear this any longer, and he’s desperate enough to wake him up and beg for him to take it off.

Just as his shaky hand reaches out to tap him on his shoulder, Rick’s hand snaps up to grab his wrist. He tries to tumble back in shock, but fails to pull out of his grip as Rick’s other hand shoots down his joggers to roughly grab the cage.

With a tortured wail III stops struggling, surging forward into the bed as Rick roughly tugs him closer by it.

“St-stop!” III says in a panic as he’s pulled nearly on top of him, tears streaming down his cheeks as Rick fiddles with it, carefully inspecting it.

“Please just—“ He can hardly speak through his pained gasps as Rick twists it this way and that.

He watches in distress as Rick tugs the padlock, a mean grin on his face as he gives it a shake. He can’t help it and his hands tear and pull at Rick’s arm, desperate to get him to stop.

“How did it feel last night?”

“Rick, please, I want—“

Rick tugs at the cage again and III yelps, collapsing on top of him.

“How did it feel last night?”

“Bad!” III answers quickly with a choked sob. 

“But you had no accidents, right?”

III’s face flushes again, the anger and shame from what happened in the bar rushing through him. He’s been trying to not let himself think about that.

“Please, I need to go to practice, I’ll do…” III stops himself just before he says anything, by now knowing Rick was not to be tested with something like that. 

He knows IV will be there soon to pick him up, but he can’t stop himself, digging down into the blankets to find Rick’s cock, tugging at it desperately.

“Please.”

Rick says nothing and only gives him a knowing smirk, so III ducks down to take him into his mouth, fighting past the revulsion. He starts to think that sucking him off might be the only time Rick’s dick gets cleaned, and his stomach lurches in revulsion at the thought.

The hangover and exhaustion make it hard enough, but Rick’s fixated on the cage, tugging and twisting at it as III sucks him off, until III swallows him down deeper, desperate for him to stop.

He can feel his phone buzzing against his thigh and knows IV is probably waiting for him outside but he needs to do this, he needs to get this thing off.

His relief at Rick dropping the cage is short lived when Rick begins fucking his gagging throat. He’s too tired and hungover to do this but he tries to keep his throat lax, desperate for him to finish.

Finally, with a few quick jerks of his hips Rick pulls out, and stroking himself quickly he cums on III’s face.The phone buzzes again in III’s pocket but he ignores it. He knows he can’t wipe the cum off yet, and he’s desperate to get this cage off so he stays there in silence, feeling as it drips off of his eyelash and cheek.  

“Can you…”

“You wouldn’t want to have an accident at their place, would you?” Rick smirks at him from over his shoulder.

Backing away, III’s eyes dart again to the key on the bedside table, and Rick cackles as he meets his gaze, almost daring him to try.  

III‘s phone interrupts their stalemate when it starts to ring and still III stares at Rick, trying to work out a magic word or action that might convince him. He can feel his panic rising as he realises he might not get it off anytime soon, and bile creeps up his throat at the thought.

“Please, let me just… I need to take a piss. At least take that part out, I just—“

“Your friends are waiting for you.” Rick’s tone of voice is beginning to grow dangerous, and III knows he’s lost any chance.

He pulls out his phone and answers it to hear IV’s worried voice.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right out.”

“Good, I was getting worried, you stopped answering, and—“

“Sorry, I just… I’ll be right out.”

Again he fiddles with the cage, hoping it's not as obvious as it feels before he gulps down his dread and heads outside.

He waits until the door is shut to scrub the cum off his face with his sleeve before slowly shuffling down the street to where IV parks, praying he won’t be able to notice.

Chapter Text

He spots IV’s car easily enough and slides in the door.

It hits him what a fucking mistake this was. Maybe he should have just accepted he’s being kicked out the band and stayed behind. Rick just came on his face, he’s dry now but he hasn’t showered since last night.

He needs to piss.

God, what if IV smells him? There’s a slight wrinkle of his nose that suggests he might and III utterly pales, debating leaving.

Instead he smiles, still too much of a coward to walk back to Rick just yet even if he knows his heart is about to be broken and shrugs, “Long night, sorry for the state of me didn’t have much chance to get ready.”

He’s acting like he’s just a little grubby not… not as filthy as he really is but luckily IV just laughs, “No problem mate, none of us are at our best today. Sorry to get you up so early but we really needed you around for this.”

III frowns, he doesn’t want to ask but something about the way IV phrased that… “What is it?”

There’s a grin on IV’s face as he sets off, “I’ll wait for Vessel to tell you all about it.”

III’s about to respond but then they hit a pothole and there’s an awful pain shooting in his bladder, fuck. The cage suddenly hangs heavy and he knows he’s going to have to get whatever this is over fast so he can get back to Rick.

He’s always been able to count on IV for idle chatter, but now it’s just quiet, and III dies a little more each second that passes. His mind races for something to talk about, anything to fill the silence as his hand twists nervously in the fabric of his pants.

He’s mindful to keep the cloth bunched up where the cage is, but each bump and jolt of the car shakes it, the heavy weight a constant weight and reminder of what he’s been through, how little control he has.

”Did you have fun last night?”  III finally says frantically after the silence goes on for too long. Instantly he kicks himself, why would you bring up last night!

“Yeah, it was fun.”  IV still seems distracted, but with a new, tight smile across his face. There’s a tense pause as if he’s debating saying more as III sinks into his seat, practically hearing him thinking until Rick arrived.

“I didn’t know he would… I wouldn’t have–”

IV’s hand reaches out to rest on his knee. It’s meant to be comforting, but instead III’s hand jolts up to cover his dick, the hard metal resting beneath his hand. Instantly IV’s hand withdraws, and III wants to cry. Did you think he was going to grab your dick? Get a hold of yourself!

“Sorry, I–”

“No, I’m sorry, I just…”

The rest of the drive is spent in a deep, awkward silence and when IV finally pulls up into the driveway, III practically falls out of the car in his haste to get out.

For once when he enters there isn’t the smell of a warm meal cooking, and while it makes sense on account of everyone’s hangover, he’s surprised by the deep disappointment that he has to swallow down. Those meals kept him going, and the idea of having to work extra to afford food from Rick is something he can’t think of right now.

He hides his disappointment as he sits on the couch as II comes up to him, pressing a large mug of tea into his hand. Internally III panics at the thought of drinking more, but II is staring down at him with such bright, kind eyes that he instantly takes a sip. “This’ll help the hangover.”

III’s mouth is so dry that he can’t stop himself from taking another big gulp, his bladder feeling tight as he politely sips it.

He wants to tell him how grateful he is to him for everything, but the moment passes as II walks away to settle on the couch across from him. He’s surprised to see how bad Vessel looks as he stumbles into the room, his robe pulled tightly around him as he slumps onto the couch next to II. Even for as tired as he looks, his eyes are still sharp, and they slowly run over III’s body like they’re searching for something.

III feels almost naked and curls up a bit tighter, but feels comforted by someone checking on him, making sure he’s okay.

“So, we have some news.” IV says, and just like that III’s heart sinks. No time for idle chit chat, this is it, rip off the bandaid.

“Yeah?” He’s trying to be stoic about this, but he can already feel the tears prickle at his eyes.

“This has been in the works for a little while, but… we got a call this morning that it’s actually been finalised!”

“What–”

“We’re going on tour!” IV says excitedly.

“Oh, that’s great.” III tries to be relieved, but somehow this stings even more. “You’re going to have so much fun.”

His voice is dead, and he hates himself for not being able to sound more excited for his new friends. Somehow this hurts even more than being kicked out– at least if he were kicked out they could still see each other… maybe. On tour he won’t be able to see them for weeks, maybe even months.

“You’re… can you not come?” IV asks quickly. His hand is back on his shoulder, the warm comforting weight of it not pulling away even as III flinches.

“Oh, I’m allow–  I can come too?” He stammers, looking to IV, who’s staring at him like he’s an idiot.

“Of course!”

III’s never been so excited in his life.  “I really… that’s so exciting!” He knows he’s gushing, but all he can think about is that he’ll get to spend so much time with them and away from Rick. He could be gone for weeks!

“So you can go?” Vessel interrupts his racing thoughts, his face unreadable.

“Yeah!” III says excitedly before his face falls when the full weight of it hits him– He’d do anything to go, but would Rick let him.

Already the weight of the metal around his cock feels so heavy and large that he’s surprised that everyone hasn’t seen it by now, and as if to help him remember his place, his bladder picks that moment to strain against the waistband of his pants.

His face completely drains and his fingers tighten on his mug. He… How will he convince Rick to let him go? How will Rick ever allow him to go for weeks.

He tries to force a smile back on his face but it almost hurts to keep it there, and everything hurts. Suddenly, he’s keenly aware of his much his body aches from a night on the floor, he’s aware of how sticky and disgusting he is from not being allowed a shower and how fucking tight the metal digging into him is.

He needs to leave.

“I can’t wait,” He repeats, trying to ease the look on Vessel’s face, “When do we leave?”

It’s II who responds to him, his voice gentle “It’ll be a couple weeks. We need to finish the gigs we have now but we’re opening for this band so everything’s already in place for us to go straight after.”

A couple weeks. That’s…

It’s both the best and worst news III has ever gotten. He can’t run and hide from telling Rick this, he has no choice. He’ll have to be honest and his stomach churns at the thought, but… Only a couple weeks till freedom.

His emotions are warring in his chest and between that and the desperate ache in his bladder, he goes to excuse himself, “Thank you for telling me, this sounds… I can’t wait,” He says earnestly, “I’ll head off now. I have a few things I need to get ready apparently.”

It’s Vessel that stop him, III didn’t realise how close he was but suddenly there’s a firm hand on his shoulder, and III’s sinking into its comfort before he even realises, “Stay. II hasn’t even made us breakfast yet.”

III’s stomach lets out an embarrassing rumble at the thought, “Oh! But I really need to-“

“Stay, I’ll drive you home after.”

It’s not a question and III can’t do anything but nod, he doesn’t want to go back to Rick, not really. But the pressure in his bladder is so intense.

He’s almost tempted to call him and tell him to bring the key here, to let him out. But he can’t. He can’t let the others be around him, he can’t risk whatever would happen for that.

He just has to fucking pray that by the time he gets home Rick will take it off. Or at least, that he won’t be such a coward that he won’t go for the key.

So he stays curled up on the sofa, he squirms and shifts and tries not to make it too obvious but every time he moves, it draws Vessel’s attention.

His face flushes, and then Vessel moves and III wants to cry. He forgets for a second it’s Vessel, he just sees a bulky man walking up to him, one that must be annoyed from his actions, from how much III’s been disturbing him, and does his best not to bolt.

Luckily, his entire body is frozen in fear and he just waits for whatever’s about to happen, whatever punishment is going to be given to him.

And then the man just sits, and pulls III in close to his shoulder and III’s mind clears. Of course nothing was going to happen, it’s Vessel, he wouldn’t, he’d never-

The guilt rises in III almost as fast as the panic did, he hates that he thought something so awful of a man that’s done nothing but be there for him. He wants to apologise but it wouldn’t make sense, not without a lot of explanation, so instead he just slumps against Vessel’s shoulder, greedily taking in his comfort.

The position digs into his bladder, but there’s no way he can say that, and if he pulls away then he’s scared Vessel will think he doesn’t want this, won’t offer it to him again. So he sits through it.

It’s agony almost, having to stay still in this position, so close to everything he could possibly want but the constant physical reminder of why he can’t, so present.

His eyes fill with tears but he refuses to let them fall, he has no excuse to the others about why he’s so miserable around such great news and the movements from crying will do nothing but aggravate his straining bladder more.

Eventually, II finishes breakfast and calls them in. III is reluctant to move away from Vessel, but he’s starving and the sooner he can eat the sooner he can leave.

Which- he hates being excited about leaving, but he has no other option really. He needs to be back, at least he knows he can return here, that things will be different then and he can properly enjoy his time.

He basically inhales his food, the hangover makes him feel sick but he knows well enough by now not to let food go to waste, and luckily II’s made a very greasy breakfast with lots of orange juice. Perfect for hangovers.

The others are also wolfing down their food so III doesn’t feel so out the ordinary for how he’s acting, but unfortunately Vessel is being a little slower than the others, which means when III finishes, he has to sit and wait for Vessel.

He wouldn’t mind normally, but he’s terrified he’s going to have an accident. He doesn’t know how that’s possible with the rod in him, but he’s so desperate at this point he doesn’t know how it’s possibly staying in.

It’s… he needs to go home. Waiting is agony, he just needs to face whatever Rick has planned and get this off.

Eventually, Vessel finishes, and trying not to sound too eager III says they need to go now.

Vessel’s eyebrows furrow but he nods, getting his keys and heading to the door.

III is so grateful he barely has the thought to say goodbye to the others, just so desperate to get back. He shouts out to the others as he desperately gets his shoes back on and then rushes out the house, waiting for Vessel at the car.

As Vessel gets into the driver's seat, III can feel his eyes on him, and he tries to hide how his body is straining to hide the pain and discomfort that was probably clear across his face.

“Is everything alright?” Vessel finally asks.

His bladder gives an angry twinge, and he struggles to find the words to not have this conversation now. He knows that the longer he spends with them the more likely they’ll start to outright ask him more about Rick, but there couldn’t be a worse time than now.

“I’m just tired from last night.” He replies with a nervous laugh.

“We’re excited for you to join us on the tour.” Vessel’s still staring at him with that look, and III tries to keep his eyes from welling up too obviously with tears.

“I’m very excited too.” III’s reply takes no pretending, and he’s rewarded with Vessel’s bright smile as the car finally starts up.

The vibrations from the engine make III squirm, but he tries to keep his face passive as Vessel still watches him.

“Do you maybe... do you have some other clothes you can wear on stage? For tour, I mean.”

III’s ears burn when he sees Vessel eyeing his baggy and dirty clothes, and thinks back to the outfit he wore on stage earlier with shame.

“We can lend you some money, or… only two to three outfits should do the job.”

“No! No, it’s fine.” III says quickly, wanting to hurry this along.

He’s grateful when Vessel gives a quick nod, finally putting the car into gear, but he stops again.

“Hold on.” Vessel frowns.

As Vessel looks down into III’s lap, he covers himself quickly with his shaking hands, and feels like he’s about to curl up and die when he sees his gaze land on the slight bulge in his joggers.

“I–”

“Seat belt.”

III’s relief is quickly overshadowed by the effort it takes for him to reach to the side and pull it over him, and he’s unable to hide the slight hiss of discomfort as it rests tight across his bladder. The full meal he’s just eaten, coupled with the rough, bumpy road has him almost writhing in his seat by the time they finally arrive.

The need to piss is so strong that he can‘t even pull himself out of Vessel’s car without a small groan of pain. He gives a hurried wave, and without even waiting for a response he’s halfway to Rick's front door by the time he hears Vessel call out a goodbye as the car pulls away.

Thudding in relief against the wooden door, his hand desperately scrabbles at the knob to turn it, the tears in his eyes falling freely now as he shoves into the dark apartment.

“Back already?” Rick’s beady eyes are on him in an instant, and he’s stuck for a moment in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dingy, foul apartment.

Finally, he stumbles inside, hunched over as he tries to find the best combination of words to make Rick help him.

“Please.” Is all he can manage, and Rick huffs in irritation as he sits up in bed.

“It’s for your own good— can you imagine what your friends would think if they knew you kept pissing yourself?”

“I wouldn’t, I–”

“At this point I think you must like it.”

“No, I—“

“No?” Rick reaches out to him.

That smile would normally have him backing away, but he fights every impulse to slowly shuffle closer until Rick’s rough hand shoves down his pants and tugs.

With a yowl III stumbles into him as Rick roughly yanks the cage, pulling it over his joggers to see it better in the dim light. Up close he can see the key is in his hand, and his relief overpowers the pain as the padlock is twisted around to face him. The key slides easily into place, and as the lock clicks undone he feels such an overwhelming sense of relief.

Before he can even get his bearings the metal sound is yanked out, and III collapses fully onto Rick, panting from the pain as the only thing keeping himself from pissing himself is swiftly removed.

He fights himself to hold it all in, but groans as he feels a stinging pain as a few drops of piss dribble out of his cock to run down his thigh.

He’s so preoccupied with the effort of stopping more from following that he misses as the cage snaps shut again, the padlock snapping into place.

“Wha, no, I… please, I just need–”

His whole body feels clammy, simultaneously too hot and too cold, and he’s unsure of what he wants most. He’s never needed this many things from Rick at once, and it’s terrifying. He needs to piss so badly it feels like he’ll explode, he needs the cage off, he needs to go on tour, and he needs new clothes-– his body starts to shake with a deep panic, trembling against Rick as he hunches over in misery.

“If you can control yourself, you won’t need the sound.” Rick says gruffly as his hands run down III’s sides, stopping at his thin hips to let his thumbs press into either side of his bladder.

The desperate whine III lets out is pathetic, and he can’t stop himself from gripping Rick’s wrists so tightly, his nails digging into the skin in a desperate bid to stop.

“If you stop pissing yourself you won’t need it anymore.”

III nods desperately, taking in a shaky breath as the thumbs ghost over his abdomen, gently pressing in to listen to the various gasps and groans each push makes.

He can do this, he can do this.

III carries on like this for some time, standing firm against even the firmest pushes, feeling strong even as he sniffles and cries through it all.

The punch catches him off-guard. It’s not even that hard, only enough to wind him, but it catches him directly on the bladder, and with a pained groan he crumples to the floor.

The relief he feels of his bladder emptying is overshadowed by his inability to catch his breath, and he wheezes in a heap on the carpet, trying to gasp for breath as the warm piss runs down his thighs.

It’s hard to catch a breath through his sobs and tears, and he wishes he could just lay curled up and left alone forever, but too soon a pair of rough hands are shoving him to his back. This time he tries to fight, but with a knee shoved onto his bruised abdomen the awful piece  of metal is back, and he screams in pain as it tears back into him.

As Rick backs away, he wipes his eyes and stares down at the blood tinged piss that’s soaking his last pair of clean pants, and he cries.

“I told you, if you can’t control yourself then I’m here. I’m helping you III.” Rick’s face twists into a smile and III can’t help but cringe from it.

Help… This isn’t… Rick can’t think he’s stupid enough to believe that, surely?

There’s something in Rick’s voice that makes III think Rick wants him to believe it. It’s not though, he knows that now. Help is Vessel giving him a shoulder to lean on, it’s II cooking meals for him and IV giving him the shirt off his back.

It’s something Rick couldn’t give in a million years.

And yet, it’s not their floor that III’s curled up on, it’s not their carpet he’s soaked with his own piss- again. It’s Rick’s. So maybe he doesn’t deserve that help, maybe whatever this is is what he deserves.

He’s been trying not to spiral like this but it’s hard not to, not when he’s so on display and exposed. Not when Rick has locked away the most sensitive part of him. Not when he can hardly breathe through the rough treatment.

And still, he knows Rick expects and answer. “Thank you..”

His voice is small and meek and Rick grins at it, “Now clean this up, you might have the bladder of a child but you’re old enough to clean up your own mess”

Something in III wants to fight, but he knows it’s not worth it. Instead, he heads to the kitchen to grab some rags when Rick stops him, “Your toothbrush should work well enough.”

“W-What?” Surely he misheard, Rick barely lets him brush his teeth anymore but still he can’t be expected to surely?

They aren’t that expensive, he could replace one. But Rick controls his money and his time. How on earth will he get one back?

Tears start to form but Rick just rolls his eyes, heading to his computer leaving III to his own devices. And III, III has no choice. He limps awkwardly to the bathroom and with trembling hands he picks the tooth brush up, getting some products on the way back before he returns to the floor.

He’s not actually sure how long he spends scrubbing it, his whole body aches by the time he’s done though and his toothbrush is covered in so much lint, grime and hair it makes his stomach turn. He can never use it again.

Already his mouth feels cloying, the urge to get clean even deeper as he feels the cold traces of his accident still against his leg.

But he did what Rick asked, and he slumps in relief.

He’s only there a moment before a tight hand is in his hair and his head is thrust backwards. “Now, why did you have to leave so early?”

III shakes. He doesn’t want to explain, not right now. He’d wanted to wait for Rick to be in a better mood, but if he lies it’ll only be worse.

“I- They- The bands going on tour, they wanted to tell me in person!” III pushes out, trying to get the sharp ache away from his scalp, trying to get Rick to leave him alone.

It doesn’t work, instead the hand only tightens, “And did they ask you to go with them?”

With no movement to nod III forces himself to reply, “Y-Yeah. It’s in two weeks they want me to join.”

Rick practically snarls at this, “For how long?!”

III takes a moment to think about it, “Three and a bit weeks?” It’s more a question than anything, he hadn’t paid full attention to the details and he’s regretting that now.

From the anger in Rick’s eyes, III really hopes he’s right and it’s not longer.

“And why should I let you go? You make more money for me here than you ever could with them.”

“Rick please! They’re- they’re going to be big one day, let me do this, I can make money like this I swear, please.”

Rick hms, he’s silent for a minute before he speaks- “It’ll cost you.”

“I promise, anything, please, I need to go.” III begs, not thinking about what he’s agreeing to, about the dangers of blanket permission.

He’s so desperate he misses the sharp grin on Rick’s face, “Get cleaned up then, you’ll have to prove it to me.”

Rick lets his hand loosen in III’s hair and watches amused as III instinctively leans into his gentle touch before catching himself and pulling away.

Ignoring his flinch, Rick continues to card his hand through his hair, amused by the gentle touch being almost as awful to III as his harsh one.

He can see the fear on his face, but it’s mixed with a deep hopelessness that keeps his eyes staring down to the filthy carpet, unable to look up at Rick’s face.

He had planned to fuck him straight away, but the possibilities of this tour race through his mind, completely distracting him.

It would hurt business to not have him not there every night, not earning money, but if he was smart, if he played this well...

If this band gained even just a little bit of fame… well that idea was almost too good to pass up, and already Rick was salivating at what prices he could charge his subscribers if III got even a little recognition on stage.

He didn’t expect he could pull it off for long. At some point III would misstep, or try to leave again, and he’d have to send the videos to his new friends, would have to correct his behaviour again… but after the dust had settled, wouldn’t it be nice to play III back his old concert footage, just to remind him of what he’d lost?  

It might be worth the risk to let him go, and Rick looks down to study III more critically.

He’s naked after his piss stained clothes were shoved into an old grocery bag by the door, and he’s hugging his long legs to his chest, grimacing as the movement jostles the cage.

Rick loves how much he hates it, and he worms his foot between III’s narrow thighs, the front of his yellowed toes pushing down on the cold metal.

“Are you going to get clean for me?”

He watches as the question jolts III out of deep inside his head, staring up at him in confusion before he looks longingly at the direction of the washroom. It never got old how he still gets his hopes up each and every time.

“When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Before III can pull away, Rick’s hand is gripping his jaw tightly, a thumb forcing its way into III’s mouth.

III stares up at him with a wary, betrayed look as Rick peers at his teeth and dramatically twists his face in disgust, ignoring the fact that he can’t even remember the last time he’d brushed his own.

Following Rick’s gaze to the toothbrush still lying on the filthy carpet, III tries to rip his jaw away, the horror and betrayal clear on his face.

“No, Rick, I—“

He still has the nerve to say no, and Rick’s hand stings from the force of the slap before he can say anything else, watching with satisfaction as III’s head whips to the side. Quickly a large, red hand-print develops on his pale, shaking face.

“Brush your teeth.”

He watches with a thrill as III’s shaky hand instantly reaches out, pausing at the filthy toothbrush before with a deep breath he picks it up. It takes only a single threatening arm raise to make III grab it quickly, shoving it into his mouth with a pained expression.

Rick still can’t believe he’s done it, and he watches with a sick disgust as III retches, fighting the urge to tear it out. His smile grows as III’s red-rimmed eyes lift to him, wincing at Rick’s expression.

He’s not sure how long he makes him do it for, fascinated as III’s cheeks swell with the unswallowed spit that’s collected in his mouth, shakily trying to scrub his teeth to Rick’s satisfaction.  

Finally Rick gestures to him to stop, watching his pleading eyes, knowing he’s begging for him not to do this, but it’s too late, he needs to see it through.

“Swallow.” Is all he has to say, and III’s face falls.

He sees a flash of something inside of III that still wants to fight back, still wants him to spit it out, but III fights his instincts, swallowing down the vile spit with a wretched gasp.

He lets him have a few moments to recover, watching in delight as he gags at the lingering taste, before he drags his chin up to meet his gaze again.

“Your customers will miss you. You’ll have to do something big to keep them happy before you go.”

III is so easy to read, and even as he gags and coughs in his iron grip, Rick can see the dread begin to build.

“What do I have to do?”

It looks like a thousand horrible ideas are flashing through his mind, and Rick decides right then that it’s better as a surprise. He’s got a few ideas, but he’ll have to talk to his subscribers, see if anyone can help him out.