February 2025

Jon didn’t know when the doors had locked for good.

Was it when he first arrived? Desperate for answers, and willing to do anything for them? Clawing at anything that could give him just the hint of where to start? When he had finally thought he found a place where he could belong?

Was it when he met Jonah? Who listened to him, showed him where he could find his answers, offered him a place. Jon had spent so much time searching for answers and here was someone who could help. Was it when he started letting Jonah take care of him? Dress him up in finery and whisper such sweet praise in his ear as he worked.

Was it when he went home with him after a long day of searching for answers? Was that the last line?

Was it when he accepted the white nightgown, the cloth soft against his skin. When he let Jonah kiss him and tell him that he was so very good? When Jonah pressed him into the bed, whispering that Jon was so perfect his hands cold on his skin. When he thrust inside, and Jon let him, because Jonah was the only one who had ever given him answers. When he filled him and Jon keened in pleasure, even as he ignored the feeling of being trapped seeping into his bones. When he lay there afterward caged in Jonah’s arms, staring at a reflection that didn’t look much like him anymore,

Jon didn’t want to look back at the doors now, didn’t want to confirm what he already knew. No surely if he wanted to leave, he could, he wasn’t trapped he lied to himself. Jonah’s arms wrapped around him as he fought the urge to glance at the doors, his grip was iron tight his lips ghosting over his ear. “Come now Jon you have so much more to learn here, you aren’t thinking of leaving?”

Jon tried to speak tried to make a sound but it was like a hand had clamped down on his throat, and he knew the trap was sprung. Even if the doors were open wide there was nothing for Jon out there, his answers were here, Jonah was here.

So Jon let himself be led, to whatever horrible fate awaited him in the end, like a lamb to the slaughter. Only that wasn’t really true, he could have turned away, could have left at any point before the lock clicked shut. He was not an innocent lamb, he had seen the predator’s jaws and walked inside knowing what it meant as they clamped shut.

The desk is cold against his bare back, and Jon is staring at the cracked open door.

“You’ll keep quiet, won’t you?” Elias asks, running a hand through his hair. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. The drugs must’ve kicked in by now. He thinks. He feels so fuzzy, every limb feeling so….loose. Weighed down. Like he could put in all his strength and barely move a muscle. It felt like too much effort to even think of. His thoughts are slow, scattered, and Elias’ fingers are so warm.

“I asked you a question, Jon.” He reminds, and he has to strain to remember. The doors open. Someone could hear. With how hazy he is, it takes a moment to remember how bad it’d be. He whines, unsure if it’s confusion or want in his voice. He nods. It takes too much effort. His head slumps loosely against his desk.

“Oh, Jon. I always forget how sweet you look like this. I should record it sometime. You’d barely be able to look anyone in the eye for a week if you knew just how easy you are like this.” His hand slides down to his aching cunt. His eyes can barely follow it. Jon whines softly when he drags a finger along his torturously sensitive folds. Elias looks at him like a predator sizing up a meal, and something about the comparison makes his head spin. Elias chuckles softly.

“Already? I barely even have to do anything.”

His heads foggy enough he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he tries to lean into the touch anyway. It’s too gentle, barely anything even with him being blindingly sensitive under his practiced hands. He wants more. He doesn’t think he’s allowed to ask for it. He has to be quiet.

This is a stupid rule, actually. This is stupid. He leans back against the desk, grumbling softly.

“Goodness, Jon. We’ve barely even started. Are you that impatient?”

“Yes.” He slurs, everything loose and pliant inside him.

“Well, you can wait. You’re here for me, remember? If you want to be mine, then you follow my rules.”

He wants to bite him. He twitches with frustration, but his muscles feel so loose and soft and he slumps back against the desk. He makes a frustrated little whine, because his words are digging themselves somewhere in his chest and he thinks he likes them. They make him feel hot and fuzzy all over, and want to grind on something, but he’s all loose and small.

“Did you not hear me, Jon? I told you to be quiet. Or do you want us to get caught?”

He doesn’t know. He’s wet, and achy, and Elias is hard, and he could be fucking him. Everything’s so hot, and so slow, and he can hardly move, and he’s so empty. He needs- something. He doesn’t know. Elias promised he’d fuck him. He wants something, and his heads so heavy, and he can’t stop making little sounds.

If they got caught, maybe Elias would fuck him. He’d love showing him off to everyone. The thought makes him shiver, even vaguely knowing what a bad idea it’d be. His head is spinning. He doesn’t know anything. He’s so *wet.* Why isn’t he touching him?

“I *am* touching you, Jon. Goodness, are you that much of a lightweight?”

“More.” He whines. “Want more already.”

Elias rolls his eyes fondly. His fingers suddenly go right to his dick, his red, agonizingly sensitive dick, and roughly begins to toy with it, rolling it in his fingers a little too harshly. Rough, calloused skin around buzzing sensitivity. He makes a noise that sounds like he just got punched. “Is this more to your liking then?” He asks. It hurts. It’s going to hurt so bad tomorrow. He tries to nod, but he can hardly move. He doesn’t think Elias misses how it makes him clench. He doesn’t know. Thinking is hard. Thinkings so hard.

“Somehow I always forget you’re a masochist. I’m surprised you aren’t marked more already, honestly.” He sounds fond. He feels dizzy with it. Like he’s just some dumb little *thing*, throwing himself at him without a second thought. He feels like it. “You do love working yourself up, don’t you?”

He wants to bite him. Wants to taste the bitter copper on his tongue, flowing down his throat as he bruises all his most delicate parts. He can’t even lift a finger. Even thinking about it is so much effort he wants to cry. He whines loudly, before remembering he isn’t supposed to speak, dammit, this is *stupid*, Elias likes it when he’s loud-

“You’re the one who wanted to try it. Don’t blame me, Jon. You know I’d love it if they all saw you like this.”

Was he? He can’t remember. It’s so fuzzy. He’s so wet. Elias’ fingers feel so good, and it hurts, and he can’t *think.*

“God, I barely even have to do anything to you. You’re so easy.” His finger slips in, too much, too too much, and he wants to shout no no no but he doesn’t want to stop, he can’t stop, it’s too much but it’d feel so *good*, he needs to be fucked, but it’s all so much, anything that’d be enough normally is *too much*, he can’t-

“You can’t even make that little decision for yourself, can you? I guess that’s why you need me to do all this for you, then. Take it all away. Clearly you can’t do it for yourself. You can’t even get off without me anymore. What a mess.”

He wants to hide his face. He wants to look away from the piercing smugness, because he knows he’s right. Of course he’s right. But he can’t. It’s not his choice. None of it is.

It’s incredible.

“There we go.” Elias smiles. “Now you’re getting it. Good job, Jon. Maybe we’ll get you to behave one of these days.”

He wants to stay like this forever.