Chapter 1
迈尔斯与霍比一起被关进了一个莫名其妙的房间。他们必须想办法在十天内完成任务，或者死亡。
"Do you think this is some kind of joke? Someone played a prank on us, something like this ......"
Miles muttered as he stared at the large letters "Welcome" hovering in the room's mid-air, as well as the small lines of text that appeared below them.
"I can't imagine anyone being bored enough to do that."
Hobie's lazy voice came from behind him as he leaned back in a chair with his legs folded. They were in a white room with nothing but a bed, a chair, and a television. There were no windows or doors, no means of contact with the outside world, and all of their current known information came from the lines of text in mid-air, displaying the physical data of two people labeled A and B respectively.
Miles thought silently as he looked at the tiny letter A above the body projection belonging to Punk, Hobie wouldn't like labels.
No one knew how the two of them had gotten here; Miles' last memory was that they'd traveled to an unfamiliar universe to fix a hole in the webbing, and then when he came to his senses, he and Hobie had appeared in this inexplicable room; Hobie was a little nicer than he'd been, and claimed that they'd been sucked up by a black hole that had appeared out of thin air just in the middle of fixing the webbing.
Perhaps this was just another hole in the multiverse.
"Choose between two tasks:
1.B takes 400ml of blood from A
2.A kisses B for 2min"
"What do you think will happen when the countdown ends?"
Miles stared uneasily at the numbers suspended in the air, 23h 54min 36s, yet without waiting for Hobie to answer, more words popped up next to the countdown explaining the rules for them.
It was like a game, they were independent of the normal timeline, meaning that time was stagnant in this room; they needed to complete tasks within the ten days they had in the outside world, and they would earn ten points for each, and as soon as they reached a hundred at the end they would succeed in returning to normal.
"In case of failure, participants will be randomly eliminated."
ELIMINATE, as that last word slowly faded into the air, a table appeared out of thin air in front of them, with syringes, alcohol & cotton on it; Miles was utterly confused, he had no idea what was going on and had never wanted to take part in this absurd task; but then he remembered the rules of the game once again, and a wave of inexplicable fear struck him.
Random Eliminate, did Eliminate refer to eliminating them from this room or just, eliminating the entire existence of the person?
"Eliminate, huh."
Miles looked back to find Hobie behind him at some point; his guitar had disappeared the moment he'd come into the room, and there was nothing left of them but their respective clothes.
Punk let out a snort and slid his arm around Miles' shoulder without a care in the world; however, Hobie slowly withdrew his hand as if considering something.
He didn't care about being "eliminated", death couldn't threaten him into submission, and neither power nor dictatorship could oppress free will; and Punk considered the fact that while he might not care about his own life, he couldn't ignore Miles's. He looked at the other man thoughtfully.
He looked at the other man thoughtfully, and the boy, who apparently hadn't noticed any other anomalies, looked up at him with hope: "Think we can punch a way through? I mean we can try, the wall seems thin enough--"
"Doesn't look like it." Hobie stretched out his palms quietly: "Our powers are gone. no electricity, no super strength, not even webs."
Miles' head snapped up at Hobie's words, and he had a moment of panic, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time; over a year had gotten him used to the lifestyle of having superpowers, and now when he was stripped of those without warning and turned back into a normal human being, it was like a big cat having its fangs and claws removed, the loss of the powers that he had relied on had made him feel rightfully threatened and insecure.
A little younger Spider-Man quietly stretched out his palms in an effort to focus, and there was nothing. There was no current, not even the static of friction; which could only mean one thing-
"So,"
Miles swallowed hard, his voice as dry as rusty iron: "If this place can take our powers away, that means by eliminating, it actually means..."
"Death, most probably."
The word death fell softly from Hobie's lips like it couldn't have been a simpler thing.
And Miles shuddered softly at the word.
.............................. ..............................
It was all simply ...... Miles closed his eyes and took a deep, incomprehensible breath.
It looked like they had to kiss in exchange for staying alive; Miles twisted his head around was about to say something, a joke, a few wisecracks to get rid of the subtle awkwardness between them-
"Don't be silly child, I'm not kissing you."
"Why?"
Miles looked sharply at the other man; Hobie couldn't be trying to - yeah, right. Punk had skillfully taken the tourniquet and placed it on his upper arm while looking back at Miles:"Come, help me with it. Can't tap myself single handed."
"What--wait Hobie--I'm not...oh my god..right. I'm not helping you hurting yourself, okay? Anyway why would you rather be drawing blood than kissing?"
Hobie looked at him with an incomprehensible expression, which made Miles feel a little uncomfortable:"Coz no one bend our free will. I'm not kissing anyone under such situation. Happy?"
"You can leave your conscience, your guilt that came outta nowhere and your nerve aside, for now Peter Pan. It's just blood, I've been bleeding more than 400ml."Hobie raised the syringe and looked at Miles through the clear plastic tube :"This is kinda like my syringe, except for mine was to Inject something into my body for pleasure, this is the opposite."
Miles gave in to Hobie's language. He let out a long sigh as he began to help the other man tie up the rubber tubing to make the veins stand out even more; it was unnecessary, really, as Hobie's arms, exposed through his sleeveless jacket, were clearly defined, including the veins and slightly bulging muscles on them.
"I don't--I never done this before--"
"You'll be fine."
Hobie's simple reassuring comment was followed by no more words; he sat still and watched Miles quietly, which only made the situation more difficult; Miles' hands were shaking and he had to calm down; the alcohol sterilized needle glistened cold, along with the small patch of dark skin; Miles forced himself to remain steady as the needle pierced there, and he watched as the metal disappeared into the flesh a little at a time, until the red liquid began to fill the container before Miles finally relaxed briefly.
When the blood had just reached the 400 mark, the boy withdrew the syringe almost immediately; he pressed the cotton against the still oozing eye of the needle from the few memories he had of visiting his mother's hospital, the skin under his hands was cold, Hobie's body temperature was now far lower than Miles' due to the loss of blood, and so subconsciously he tried to bring a little warmth to the other man's small arm by covering it with his palm but Hobie was quick to draw his arm back.
Miles tried to ignore the little bit of disappointment within him, and the fact that just after he had learned that Hobie would rather have his blood drawn than kiss him; he even began to wonder if he had done something wrong.
"You did a good job Peter Pan."
Punk's voice interrupted his thoughts, and the youth raised his arm with interest to look at the tiny eye of the needle: "Maybe next time when I'm overdosing, I'll ask you to help me inject."
"Not funny." Miles simply replied sullenly; he could hear the other man's joking intent, and he was not in that mood; he was haunted by another problem for a long time.
Suspended in the air was an additional number "10", which represented their points; thanks to the countdown, at least they knew it was time for a break.
On the only bed available they cautiously occupied each other's space; Hobie lay on his back with his legs stretched out and Miles lay with his back to him; before getting into bed Miles noticed that Hobie's lips were still a little pale, which reminded him of the sensation of feeling Punk's veins and muscles, the blood flowing under his fingers; he clenched his fingers compulsively to try and expel that feeling from his brain, and beside him. Hobie's presence was again too much for him to ignore.
"Why would you rather hurt yourself than kissing me?"
It took Miles a moment to realize with surprise that it was his voice.
"... . did I do something wrong? I-I mean we're friends, aren't we?"
"Friends, colleagues, call whatever you want, I don't care," Hobie's voice sounded relaxed, which made the laugh Miles had just dryly and deliberately squeezed out even more pronounced:"You, didn't do anything wrong. Just like I said Bambi, leave your conscience aside."
"But why--"
"Alright," Hobie interrupted his question. Miles felt the force coming from his shoulders forcing him to twist his body around; it was only when both their superpowers disappeared that Miles got a more visceral sense of just how stark the contrast in strength and size was brought about by the age difference: Hobie shrouded his entire being in shadow, his palm wrapping around Miles's entire shoulder, and now the other hand lifting Miles's chin to bring them face to face with just two fingers:" I did not kiss you, and I won't. I will not do anything against your free will. or, like you said, coz we're friends."
It wasn't until Hobie let go of his chin that Miles slowly came back to his senses; he hadn't been thinking about Hobie's words in the first moments after the punk had touched him, but rather that Hobie's skin wasn't as cold as it had been a moment ago.
..................
"I don't wanna hurt you."
Miles muttered at last, as if announcing it to Hobie and swearing it to himself, at the end of what had been a ridiculous, exhausting and crazy day that was coming to an end.
"You didn't," Hobie's voice remained calm. Like he said, he'd had injuries much worse than this, and had bled well beyond 400 milliliters.
"Next time . . i won't hurt you. Promise." it took Miles a moment to realize that neither of them had thought about what tomorrow's mission would entail, but he had sworn it without any hesitation. Miles believed he could do it, that he would never hurt Hobie.
"You won't."
Hobie yawned and rubbed his calf lightly against the other man as if to comfort Miles, "Easy. Nighty night boy."
"... . good night."
………………………………………………………
DAY 2
“Choose between two tasks:
1. A strokes B's genitals until he ejaculates
2.B leaves a wound no less than 15cm long and 5mm deep on A's abdomen"
Miles stared at the three letters, his face looking like it was about to burst into flames; for the millionth time he complained in his mind about this strange room and why it was them, him and Hobie locked in, why the labels of A and B had been set; if he had been given the choice, or if he had been A, he would not have hesitated to -
A hand landed on his shoulder, causing Miles to give a small shiver; he didn't know about the conditioning of his muscles, the way such a simple gesture could send the wrong signals, like making the other man think he was afraid or resisting.
So Hobie didn't say anything more. Miles watched as an arm reached out from in front of him, aiming for the razor-sharp knife on the table; before Miles had time to react, Punk had made the choice for them.
"Right. The rules are clear, otherwise I'd do it myself but . . anyway. do it quick, do it slow. your choice, Bambi."
Miles watched in awe as Hobie shoved the knife into his hand and then lifted his shirt to reveal a well-defined stomach, and before he could say anything his body responded: the knife fell out of his hand and landed on the floor, soundlessly.
"I'm not hurting you."
Miles took a deep breath and closed his eyes, repeating his reassurance from last night.
"You won't. Scars are like decorations for me. plus you're cutting me to save both of our lives, so--"
"I'm not!"
Miles repeated, twisting stubbornly to the side: "I'm not hurting you--you can't pick for both of us."
"Cool."
Hobie still didn't sound like he was having much of a mood swing, but the air pressure around him lowered:Â "Then I guess we can sit here, wait to die."
………………………………………………
Things were at an impasse. Out of mutual principle, bottom line, Hobie refused to force any non-consensual sexual acts on Miles, and Miles likewise refused to allow Hobie to be harmed; so they sat at opposite ends of the room and waited for the other to give in.
Miles guessed they couldn't wait.
The room kept them from feeling hungry or thirsty, and there was little entertainment, except to laze about the most they could do was talk to each other and rest; and now the long silence was suffocating Miles, and he was becoming irritable.
Why did Hobie prefer to be hurt rather than touch him? Or why did Hobie think he wouldn't agree?
The countdown turned a dangerous shade of red, flashing with every beat of the seconds; nine minutes and forty-five seconds, nine minutes left of their lives.
Dying because they refused to hurt each other, or refused to masturbate for each other, was enough to win the most ridiculous award on the annual list of causes of death.
Miles stared unconsciously at his fingers playing with them; the nail on his index finger had been chipped off a piece in the previous fight, and the semi-exposed pink flesh no longer felt any pain, only a discomfort of exposure; a shadow covered the area in front of him before Miles became aware of the sound of footsteps approaching; when he looked up to see Hobie's relaxed scowl Miles's heart pounded violently and furiously.
No. No, he couldn't do it.
Miles subconsciously shook his head to resist, but his hands had been grabbed and twisted together by Hobie and lifted above his head to hold them down; both of his thighs were clamped tightly together by Hobie's legs and he couldn't move, once again making Miles realize the disparity in power they had over each other after losing his powers.
"Relax, Peter Pan. Don't get all tense about this . . think of it by another way, alright? You'll do the same for me, won't ya?"
Miles opened his mouth to retort, but Hobie was right; if the identity roles were reversed, he'd give himself up without hesitation, and getting hurt, bleeding, was nowhere near as important to him as the lives of the two of them.
So he lost the right to refuse. He would get hurt for Hobie, so he couldn't refuse the other man's choice either.
But it was too difficult for Miles; Hobie was equally aware of how badly Miles' body was shaking, so he decided to help his Bambi through this one; Hobie picked the knife up off the ground and shoved it into Miles' hand, then gently pressed Miles' fingers to it, one by one.
"It's okay."
Miles watched almost numbly as Hobie took his hand in his, and the last plea he could utter as he looked up was, "Please . . don't make me do this. please man . . you don't know how hard it is."
Then Miles felt his hand meet resistance, and he looked down to find that Hobie had taken hold of his wrist and stabbed the knife into his abdomen; the tip of the knife had sunk into the fat and muscle tissue and started to slide, and that was the source of the resistance; blood immediately followed the blade's trajectory and stained Miles's fingers before dripping down the hilt and staining Miles's uniform with a darker color.
The blood was warm, and the taste of rust and salt made Miles dizzy; his mouth opened and closed feebly, and his dry throat felt like it was going to split next.
If Hobie hadn't been holding his wrist, the knife would have fallen to the floor, I'm afraid; but Punk's hand was steady, and even his breathing didn't become disorganized under such intense pain; perhaps to him the physical damage was nothing, even enjoyable, but to Miles the mental anguish was far greater than what Hobie had endured.
"That's it...stop, please--Stop! It's enough!"
Off to the side, in the air, the points quietly jumped to the word 20; Hobie stopped as they did. He let go of Miles' wrist, and the boy almost immediately tried to withdraw his hand, but he immediately realized that the tip of the knife was still lodged in Hobie's body, and that he would have to draw it out slowly and carefully to prevent secondary injuries from the sharp object.
The blood ushered in a greater eruption as the tip of the knife was withdrawn, and Miles tried to cover the wound with his hand, but that was useless; red hot liquid gushed out of his fingers, some of it even staining his face; and before Miles was about to have a nervous breakdown, he finally spotted the bandages and alcohol that were sitting on the table in the room.
.............................. ........................
"Why so sad?"
Hobie lazily leaned back in his chair to let Miles bandage him up, he looked at the boy's trembling hands and tear filled eyes, the look was enough to drive anyone who saw it crazy and cause a desire for destruction. He was no exception. Hobie wouldn't hide it, of course, but he wouldn't volunteer the nasty, almost dark thoughts in his mind all the same, and he loved to see Miles show such a vulnerable expression, especially because of him; a morbid fondness of Hobie's that even allowed him to endure leaving a 15cm gash in his abdomen and losing more than a safe amount of blood.
"I said, you don't need to feel guilty or anything. it's completely consensual, we're doing this to save our bloody lives."
"Coz it's not fair, okay?"
Things finally looked a little better after he wrapped a couple of bandages around Hobie's waist and stomach; but Miles soon realized that was just wishful thinking on his part, as the blood seeped out of the white bandages, gradually expanding throughout the area where the wound had been. He'd scarred Hobie. He'd done it.
When the guilt built up to a point where it couldn't be vented, another emotion called anger began to take over; Miles looked at Hobie accusingly with his eyes that held delayed tears, "It's not fair--if anything, we're supposed to take turns! You can't choose for us!"
Miles took a fresh cut of gauze and began to bandage it; he was damned--why couldn't he just--couldn't he--make the flow of blood stop?
Why couldn't he take control of the situation? Why couldn't he get them both out of this mess? Why did it seem like he'd done nothing but hurt Hobie so far?
His hand was held in Hobie's and he was forced to stop his bandaging; Miles stubbornly refused to look up or create any eye contact with Hobie, so he too missed the flash of dark emotion in Hobie's eyes. He didn't realize that his mental breakdown at the moment was a treat for Hobie, or that Hobie was enjoying his sacrifice even more. He saw it as a rebellion against reality, or an escape.
Miles had no way of knowing. All he could do now was allow himself to wallow in guilt. This feeling of powerlessness, he hadn't experienced in a long time - not after he'd become Spider-Man, not after he'd watched Uncle Aaron die before his eyes. Now the trauma of the past was once again brought up by his powerlessness to control the situation, and a feeling of fear mixed with pain wrapped itself around Miles, making his heart sink a little.
"Have you ever thought about tomorrow? What if next time the mission is going to kill you? Or if it is something that is much more dangerous--"
As they lay in bed that night, Miles was still unwilling to let go of the unfinished conversations they had had during the day. He couldn't sleep, after the past few hours and the trauma it had brought.
"Never." said Hobie as if he was oblivious to his mood swings: "I don't worry about the future."
Miles felt another wave of panic at his words, he wanted to take a big breath to calm himself down and was afraid that his gasp would cause Hobie to worry; but on the other hand he did try to grab Punk's attention, " . . then have you ever thought about me?"
Eventually Miles chose to go with words.
Hobie didn't answer directly.
"Are you crying?"
Punk noticed, of course. From the very beginning his attention never left Miles; if there was one thing Hobie had learned in his year of Spider-Man experience, it was patience. Always be patient in the face of your prey. Like right now.
"Bambi, are you crying for me?"
Hobie turned in an irresistible gesture and took Miles in his arms; his chest pressed against Miles' back, the sound of his heartbeat traveling more efficiently through bone and skin. His arms traveled up Miles' waist all the way to his chest, eventually coming to rest on his left breast; Miles felt his breast flesh wrapped around Hobie's palm, and his breathing slowed rapidly while his heart beat uncontrollably faster: he didn't want the other man to realize that he'd gotten aroused by the action.
Something wet slid against his cheek, and Hobie licked away the tears he thought he was hiding so well, while forcefully making Miles turn around to expose himself to his sight.
"I won't touch you by any means-not even under the extreme case. you wanna know why?"
Miles nodded in confusion; he couldn't discern the emotions contained in Hobie's eyes, but he could feel the body holding him grow hotter and hotter, and the hand on his chest began to tighten while Hobie's other hand pinched his waist:"Coz I can't control myself. If I break the boundary, I won't stop. I will never be satisfied just by a kiss or a hand job, do you understand?"
"I wanna fuck you, make you mine , bite you until there's blood, leaving countless wounds, bite marks, pinch marks, or even worse...Bambi you will never imagine what I want to do. I will fuck you till you can't take anymore, beg me to stop--and I won't. Then I will make you beg for more, that's when I stop."
He wasn't keen on sex, bordering on lukewarm; but he was interested enough in Miles; he wanted to spread the boy's legs and suck on his nipples, he wanted to watch Miles' face, innocent as Bambi's, change in expression because of him, become sluttish with indulgence, and he'd watch as the other man brought Miles to orgasm. More than once.
Miles began to tremble at those words without even noticing it himself; he was exposed to Hobie's sight with no way to escape, and it gave him a sense of shame as if he were naked, but more than that -
"See, you're already scared just by my words."
Miles felt Hobie lower his head to look at him, and the burning gaze made Miles' heart race again; yet just as he looked up to follow Hobie's gaze, Punk had closed his eyes. He desperately wanted to speak, but Hobie unilaterally ended the conversation; he pressed one finger to Miles' lips :)
"No."
He released Miles. Their bodies produced no further contact for the rest of the night.
There was no embrace, no comfort, no sound.
And Miles fell into a deeper state of anxiety and restlessness.
He was disappointed in himself, both for his inability to escape the current situation, his inability to keep from hurting Hobie, and his lack of courage to tell the truth at the end of the conversation he'd just had.
His trembling was not from fear or dread, but from excitement and anticipation.
He wanted Hobie to do to him everything he'd said.
And even more.
—————————TBC————————