Chapter 2
Miles opened his eyes with resistance and realized that Hobie was still in a deep sleep.
There was no alarm clock in this room, other than the countdown on the wall they had lost all concept of time; for Hobie it was nothing, he would fall asleep at any time, morning or afternoon.
Miles quietly got up and walked over to the panel, he noticed the letters in the air begin to change the moment he approached, by the time he got to a distance where he could see them, a new mission had been issued.
DAY 3
"Please choose between two tasks:
1.A receives one blowjob from B until he ejaculates
2.B impales A's palm with a knife
.....................
Miles fell into a stupor as he gazed at the knife that had appeared out of nowhere on the table. Hobie wouldn't - Hobie would never make another choice like the one he'd made two days before. And he wouldn't hurt Hobie again-
Now, then, Miles was faced with only one option. He needed to use his mouth to...channel Hobie's desire for him. He would take Hobie's cock and suck the other man's cock, trying to make him cum any way he could.
...... How was he supposed to do that?
The sixteen-year-old boy had never had a similar experience, he hadn't even seen it on video - hell, he had very little sexual experience even stroking himself.
What was he supposed to do, like, he was supposed to get down on his knees, kneel between Hobie's legs, and unzip the other man's zipper for him and take his cock in; yeah, stop right there. Should he cup his hand and stroke it a few times first, or just take it in?
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that Miles didn't notice first when Hobie walked up to him. Punk's body was a little wobbly, and to keep his balance Hobie pressed the bulk of his body against Miles' shoulder; after losing his powers his healing had become extremely slow as usual, but luckily today the wound had stopped oozing blood.
"Well, things just gettin' better and better." tilted Hobie's head and Miles was the first to snatch up the knife a second before Hobie tried to reach for it.
He broke free of Hobie's arm, but held his hands on Punk's waist for fear of the other man's wounds; Miles avoided Hobie's gaze and spoke in a low voice: "Don't you think about it."
"Think about what?"
Hobie sounded innocent as he approached seemingly casually, but Miles realized the other man's intentions the first time and stepped back alertly: "Stop--stay where you are! Don't--I--I know what you're thinking, okay? And you can't--not today! You are not picking the first option."
"And why?"
"You are--what?"
Miles slowed down a beat because his thoughts hadn't caught up, and it was this that made him miss Hobie's movements; by the time he reacted, Hobie had already pressed his entire body up; he trapped Miles between his body and the wall with both legs, and lowered his head to watch silently as Miles, alert as a fawn, clutched the knife to his chest like it was the drowning man's his only piece of driftwood.
"Why you not wanna me pick?"
"Coz that's not fair--"
"And how do you define fair?"
"It's easy--it's, well..."
Miles' face held its redness; he wanted to say that they should choose the one that caused the least physical harm, but that would be to follow his idea and ignore Hobie; and it was at this moment that Miles suddenly realized that they were in a dead end, that they could never be fair in this experiment with only two people. One side had to compromise, a rule that applied to many ancient occasions, like war, like love.
Like now.
Miles couldn't give a correct answer. That meant he had lost.
Hobie took advantage of his moment of distraction to pull him away by his wrist tightly, the hand with the knife clutched by Hobie, the other pressed against the wall by Hobie's arm; Hobie's hand clasped both Miles' fingers and palm, and was now turning a little to his own left hand.
Miles' eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen, and he resisted as fiercely as he had ever resisted before: "Let me go--please!!!! Hobie you have to let me go--don't! Please..... .don't make me do it.... . please, just stop it."
He put his last hope in Hobie, his pitiful eyes sagging to Hobie: "Can we just talk? Please . . stop, let's talk about it--"
"I didn't cover your mouth, did I?"
Miles closed his eyes in despair at these words. Yet he realized his wrist stopped as the tip of the knife made a shallow cut against his palm; Hobie had finally stopped. Miles opened his eyes and looked at the other man with the full expectation that Hobie had finally changed his mind -
Miles then saw the young man holding him down grin; Hobie lowered his head affectionately and rubbed the tip of his nose, and then without hesitation, stabbed the knife into his palm; the flesh tore with a dull 'plop', and Miles could feel the musculature through the knife, as well as the blood running down the tip of the knife and occasionally splashing a little onto him. the sensation of blood running down the tip of the knife and occasionally splashing onto him.
"I want you to watch."
The breath of tobacco and alcohol from Hobie's mouth sprayed in Miles' face with those words.
The boy began to scream. He kicked at Hobie's calves, trying to get the other man to release his hold on him; Miles struggled and kicked and punched like a madman until finally the knife went through Hobie's palm, and that was the moment Hobie let go of his wrist: he couldn't have cared less about whether or not his actions would cause Hobie any secondary injuries, or about how much blood would gush out with the knife tip pulled out; and Miles crouched cowering in the corner with his arms wrapped around himself with that once familiar sensation of pain and inability to breathe roared over him; he didn't think he'd ever experience the symptoms of PTSD again, but today Hobie had made him experience a panic attack once more; someone came up to him and crouched down in front of him, trying to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, a blood-stained hand. Miles looked up in response and yelled, "Don't--don't touch me!"
His breaths were coming in sharper and sharper, yet the oxygen rushing into his lungs became scarce; a sense of irritability and the urge to lash out came up and quickly faded, replaced by panic; it wasn't until he spoke again that Miles realized he was crying.
"I hate-I-I hate you... why'd you do this to me?"
He huffed and cried like a pushed over three year old; he had no control and wasn't going to.
"Leave m-me alone! Get away from me . . you're like a devil . .are you a devil? Why-why'd you m-make me do this, all this??"
"Relax, Bambi. Breathe."
From Miles' viewpoint, buried to his knees, he could only see Hobie's leather boots, parted on either side of his body to encircle him; and Hobie's voice continued to fall from above, hitting Miles like a knife: "Don't try to hate yourself so hard. If you gotta find someone to lash out your hatred, you can hate me. I'm just a radioactive suicide machine."
"Wh-What does that even mean? "Miles shrank back against it, quickly realizing that hiding in the corner wasn't such a good option because it made it impossible for him to escape Hobie's touch. A hand landed on his shoulder causing Miles to shudder.
"Try to make yourself believe that all this shit you did was forced, try to be convinced that I made you do it. "Hobie's words still refused to leave him alone; Punk crouched his body down and with his intact hand irresistibly lifted Miles' chin to force him to speak to:"I'm the devil, the rebel, the villain--labels don't matter. If anything that makes you feel better, then I'll be your devil. Try to hate me like you said Bambi, try harder."
"...I can't."
Miles couldn't take his eyes off Hobie's bleeding palm, which he'd just held and stabbed with a knife, and the nausea of cutting through flesh with a sharp instrument still lingered, making him want to gag. But Miles still couldn't do it.
"I can't do it." he averted his gaze as the smell of blood grew stronger in the air and an inexplicable force supported the boy as he got up and walked towards the table; which unsurprisingly held bandages and medicines for bandaging.
In what other situation, besides love, would a person be unable to hate?
........................
Miles silently wrapped the bandage around Hobie's palm until the ugly scar was completely hidden; it was self-deception, it was avoidance, but the method worked; at least, not being able to see the wound made Miles want to throw up less.
Hobie's knees parted to allow Miles to sit on his knees between his legs; this position made it easier for Miles to bandage him, and also allowed him to better observe the other man's change of demeanor; just as the last of the bandages were finished, Hobie's other hand suddenly caressed Miles' cheek: "I won't reject a blow job now, you know. Distract me from this--all this."
Miles looked up in bewilderment, like he couldn't process the message in the sentence Hobie had just uttered, so Hobie withdrew his hand, "Never mind, Bambi. I was just kidding."
He withdrew his hand in an awkward gesture. Just as Hobie was about to get up, a pair of hands suddenly pressed down on his knees to stop it; Miles gently leaned forward until his face was pressed against Hobie's crotch, his eyes maintaining a lowered profile, and only his mouth whispering, "I'll do it."
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All the ideas that Miles had had in his head earlier finally came to fruition.
It wasn't as complicated as he thought it would be, his movements might be raw, but he knew what to do; he unbuckled Hobie's belt and zipper, rubbing and jerking his palm over it a few times in spite of the riveting pain in his hand, and then opened his mouth and took Hobie's cock; from here on out it seemed to be a lot more difficult than Miles thought, for example, he couldn't get Hobie to have an erection for a very long time, until his mouth, throat and even between breaths were all full of Hobie's cock; and it was a lot harder than Miles thought. and even between his breaths all tasted of Hobie; his jaw and mouth were sore, and maintaining the same position for so long made him almost think he was going to dislocate; until finally his uncontrollable whimpering out of his mouth as well as the watery sounds of swallowing seemed to make things better, or at least, Hobie finally responded a little.
That little bit of hope made Miles become more diligent; he began to use both hands to touch the exposed part that he couldn't swallow, swirling his tongue along the tiny hole and sucking hard from time to time; and when Hobie cupped the back of his neck to prompt him, Miles raised his eyes for the first time to actively meet Punk's gaze.
At Hobie's gaze, he swallowed the other man's erection deeper, almost causing a dry heaving; the shaft pushed up against his throat, followed by a spray of liquid directly into his body.
Miles choked; as he spat out Hobie's lower body while coughing hard, he heard an unapologetic "SORRY" fall lightly from the other man.
"You don't-- sound like you're sorry." Miles was still coughing, a little white liquid running down the corner of his mouth, which he wiped away with the back of his hand in a lousy manner; he continued to grumble softly, avoiding Hobie's gaze, as if that would make the situation less awkward than it seemed: "You're--irrational you know You're --irrational you know that? I mean why didn't you just lemme pick the first task? It's the same anyway--now you got a scary wound on your hand while leaving me traumatized--"
"It's not the same."
Hobie was still spreading both his legs wide, and Miles' afterimage fell uncontrollably on the bulging muscles of the other man's arms as he braced himself behind him, but immediately afterward he was forced to make eye contact with the other man as Hobie lifted his chin.
"Let me get this straight for you, darling."
"I want it not coz we're forced to do it. this kind of, intimacy, should only, only came out of one's free will."
Hobie's voice was like magic, and no amount of avoidance on Miles' part could stop the other man's words from invading his thoughts a little:
"I want to make sure you're doing this coz you want to, not just for your silly little moral compass. Or think of it this way, I want you enjoy it, enjoy sucking me out, enjoy having my dick in your mouth..."
" I want you do it coz you're attracted, you want to do it for me. Now tell me, do you?"
"Yes...yes I do."
Miles unconsciously moved closer to Hobie like he was under a compulsion, he longed for contact with the other man, in this moment. Hobie's words stopped him from feeling panic, all post-traumatic stress disappeared in the other man's voice; he could think of nothing but to obey, to obey Hobie, to do everything he said. It made Miles feel safe.
"I wanna do it . . let me do it for you."
Miles' expression began to grow misty; as Hobie watched playfully, he leaned down again, bracing his hands on Hobie's knees to perform yet another sexual service for the other man.
It was even more difficult than the last time, and when he finally finished Miles was almost certain his jaw was dislocated.
But he was willing.
It gave him something to do, allowed him to think about nothing but giving himself over to Hobie and emptying his mind.
Or maybe this self-punishment-like pattern allowed Miles to reach some point of mental equilibrium, able to dissolve the inexplicable guilt he felt for hurting Hobie. His mental anguish is finally released in some other way, and this drinking pattern of behavior begins to gradually make Miles an addict.
Hobie, who is an addict, is all too familiar with this pattern.
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"Day 4 Please choose between two tasks:
1. A helps B pierce a nipple ring into one of his nipples
2. B cuts off either of A's palms"
Gradually they noticed a pattern in the room, each day's task was a choice between violence and pornography, and each day was also more excessively dangerous than the day before.
They stood silently in front of the screen watching the small letters floating above them with the countdown to opening; finally, Hobie was once again the first to break the silence:-"You know, I can live with just one arm."
Miles didn't reply. He reached for the prop on the table and turned around, then met Hobie's gaze and without hesitation drove the tip of the blade into his neck; the sharp metal quickly cut through the skin, a small stain of blood remaining on the silvery-white surface, yet no one cared.
"My turn."
Miles said the words in short bursts. He had never been more determined; his eyes were firmly fixed on Hobie as the knife in his hand continued to come closer to his neck; he was threatening the other man with his own life to make him choose the first item.
It was cheating, it was far from fair; and it was the best choice for Miles.
Hobie may have realized Miles' determination, or maybe he just realized that he couldn't keep Miles safe in a situation like this; in any case, this time he compromised.
Punk picked up the remaining props on the table; alcohol, needles & tweezers, and Miles breathed a sigh of relief at the other man's actions, but as his eyes fell on the table, a wave of unknown fear struck him again.
To make matters worse, Hobie didn't look like he was going to comfort him.
"It's gonna hurt," Punk took the implement in his hand and gently touched Miles' chest, even through his clothes the cold metal made him flinch a little subconsciously trying to back away, only to be stopped by Hobie's tight grip on his arm.
"I'll try to make you enjoy the pain."
Those were the last words Miles heard before his sight was taken away.
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In truth, Hobie's concession wasn't really threatened by Miles; he had about a hundred ways to take the knife out of Miles' hands and keep him safe; likewise, Punk didn't care about losing a palm. A palm, a leg, or life.
He'd only just realized that this stupid game existed for the very purpose of breaking people's spirits - one of them, or both of them, didn't matter. He'd seen the end of it, just last night in the middle of the night, when his Bambi had flopped restlessly in his sleep and suddenly started screaming, and it had taken him a moment to quiet the other man by taking Miles into his arms, and it was conceivable that if it continued, perhaps the boy would be the first to go mad before he died; it was one of those disgusting experiments with the ethics of human nature that looked like a fascist take on it, and his controlling and rebellious mind wouldn't allow that to happen to them.
If his Bambi really couldn't stand any of this and was on the verge of another meltdown like yesterday, then at the very least, he should be the one who started it. He was the only one who could control Miles' emotions.
He couldn't be more skilled at a job like piercing, he'd done both of his ear bone studs and lip rings himself, and the nipple rings wouldn't make much of a difference; Hobie calmly picked up the tweezers and looked over at Miles, "Good. Now that you've made your choice, there's no regret. Take off your shirt."
The boy looked hesitant, and considering his inexperience, Hobie patiently continued to explain, "You need to take off your shirt, Bambi. Then you need to relax. Leave everything to me. Trust me, that you can do, right? Trust me, that you can do, right?"
"... .sure."
Miles swallowed hard and grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it off his body. His upper body was soon exposed to the air; the temperature in the room wasn't that low, in the comfort range of the human body, but Miles was soon ashamed to realize that his skin was becoming sensitive to Hobie's undisguised gaze, his nipples slowly standing up.
"Good."
Hobie spoke again, and Miles couldn't tell if it was a compliment or a response.
The answer didn't matter so much when the hand with the cuts and nails painted black touched his chest. Hobie's fingers were still a little cold, the circulation probably hadn't returned yet, which only made it harder for Miles, who let out a strangled moan when the other man's middle finger pressed around his areola and his index finger began to rub his nipple.
He began to feel an inexplicable sense of shame at Hobie's gaze, so the boy spoke as if in his own defense:"It's your fingers...they're cold."
"That's just the starter, Bambi."
Hobie's voice didn't have a trace of emotion in it, it looked like he was just being very serious about helping Miles; he moved closer to the skin, his hot, wet breath spraying on Miles' nipples, the alternating heat and cold making the boy's body shake even harder; Hobie's hand, index finger and thumb cupped one side of his nipple and began to knead it, hard enough to make it hard for him to bear; Miles had never known that his nipples were so sensitive, and Hobie was still explaining to him the The purpose of each step, such as now, he needed to make Miles' nipples engorged and erect to facilitate the next step.
"You can do it yourself, if my fingers are too cold for you."
Miles wasn't sure of Hobie's true intentions, but the other man had let go; and Miles had to stroke up his own breast flesh, taking the erect nipple between his fingers and playing with it; but he couldn't do it as skillfully as Hobie could, in a measured way; at first his movements were too light, even he realized, and so Miles twisted the nipple heavily before Hobie could open his mouth, and the pain didn't sweep in as quickly, but waited for the numbness and that The pain didn't sweep over him so quickly, but waited for the numbness to pass with a wave of electrifying pleasure that kept him moaning out of his mouth; soon Miles decided that wasn't quite right, and came up with an idea: pinch the nipple hard while biting down on his lip, so that even if a moan came out through his nose from time to time, it wouldn't be as noticeable.
This self-torture seemed endless; and just as the pain was finally over, just as Miles was experiencing a little something else, a hint of pleasure, from his pinching and soothing, Hobie suddenly took hold of his wrist to stop him from continuing : "Alright. Let's move on."
".... .s-sure, sure. anything you say..."
Hobie lowered his head at Miles' confused and completely trusting expression and began to carefully coat the apparatus with alcohol; of course he wouldn't tell Miles that the reason he had called a halt was that he seemed to be enjoying himself too much. He was supposed to pay his full attention to Hobie.
The nipple ring was fitted with a hollow needle, and Hobie lifted Miles' nipple with a strange pair of tweezers; again, it was a completely different experience from fingers, and the sharp pain was so intense that Miles could hardly catch his breath; he lifted his moist eyes to beg for something a little lighter, or at least to allow him to breathe, and Hobie explained before he could say anything: "You need to feel the pain. becomes a little numb."
"... .yeah, sure." and so Miles gave in once more. Finally, when the pain had become a little numb, and his nipples were so engorged that they couldn't swell any further, as if the skin would break and bleed at the slightest touch, Hobie threaded the pin through the hole in the tweezers. The metalwork penetrated his flesh, leaving permanent marks on the most sensitive side of his chest. The moment the nipple ring snapped on Miles clenched the corners of his mouth in a death grip that still didn't stop a moan from leaking out.
Blood trickled down the texture of his muscles, and through the tears Miles judged by instinct that Hobie should help him wipe the blood away with a cotton cloth before disinfecting him next.
The alcohol lay quietly on the table. Hobie didn't touch it.
He cupped the other side of Miles' chest, squeezing the intact breast flesh to press Miles backward; they fell to the floor, a numbing dull ache coming from his back that temporarily snapped Miles out of the pain in his chest.
He lowered his head and watched as Hobie buried himself in his chest, taking his freshly pierced nipple ring side in his mouth and sucking on it like a baby sucking on breast milk; the scarlet tip of his tongue licking away the blood little by little, eventually letting the metal turn to the temperature of his mouth.
The wet heat lingered on his chest causing Miles to open his mouth, he tried to make a little noise but had just held back for too long making the moan all but disappear down his throat at the moment.
"It will heal. very soon, sooner than you realize."
He heard Hobie's voice ringing in his ears while he tightened his arms around Punk's shoulders.
"Give me a kiss, will you?"
Miles murmured inquiringly.
—————————TBC———————