Chapter Text
The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the TV. Jack lay on his bed, half-watching some late-night talk show, his laptop open beside him. He’d been editing a new track, but his focus had drifted hours ago. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen, as the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the hallway.
Ryan was home.
Jack didn’t move. He knew the signs—the stumbling footsteps, the muttered curses, the way Ryan’s keys clattered against the counter like he was too drunk to hold onto them. Jack’s stomach twisted. He should’ve locked his door. He never locked his door.
The doorknob turned.
Ryan stood in the doorway, his silhouette unsteady, his hair a mess, his shirt half-untucked. His eyes found Jack in the dim light, and something dark and hungry flickered across his face.
Jack sat up, his pulse spiking. “Ryan, you’re—”
Ryan didn’t let him finish.
He crossed the room in three strides, his hand slamming into Jack’s chest and shoving him back onto the bed. Jack’s breath left him in a gasping rush as Ryan’s weight pinned him down, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Jack’s hips. The scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke clung to him, sharp and sickening.
“You’re drunk,” Jack managed, his voice thinner than he wanted it to be.
Ryan didn’t answer. His hands were already yanking at Jack’s shirt, fingers fumbling with the hem before ripping it over his head. The cool air hit Jack’s bare skin, and he shivered, but not from the cold.
Ryan’s mouth crashed onto his—hard, bruising, his teeth scraping against Jack’s lower lip. Jack tried to turn his head, but Ryan’s hand gripped his jaw, forcing him still. The taste of alcohol flooded Jack’s mouth, bitter and invasive. He made a sound—protest or surrender, he didn’t know which—but Ryan swallowed it, his tongue forcing its way in.
Jack’s hands flew up, pressing against Ryan’s chest. “Ryan, stop—”
Ryan growled, low and feral, and bit down on Jack’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Jack whimpered, his body going stiff with shock. Ryan didn’t let up. His mouth trailed down Jack’s throat, his teeth sinking into the soft skin of his neck. Jack gasped, his fingers curling into the sheets as pain flared, sharp and bright.
“You like that,” Ryan murmured against his skin, his breath hot. His lips moved lower—collarbones, shoulders, the dip between Jack’s pecs—everywhere his mouth landed, it bruised. Jack could already feel the ache spreading, the mark Ryan was leaving on him. His body betrayed him, a traitorous heat pooling low in his stomach.
Ryan’s hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing, claiming. His fingers dug into Jack’s hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of his waist. Jack’s breath came in short, uneven bursts, his mind spinning between fear and something darker, something he hated himself for.
Ryan’s mouth found his nipple, his teeth closing around the sensitive peak. Jack arched off the bed with a choked cry, his hands flying to Ryan’s hair—pushing or pulling, he didn’t know. Ryan laughed, low and dark, before biting down harder.
“Ryan—fuck—”
Ryan pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes glazed but sharp, like a predator savoring its prey. “Shut up,” he slurred, his voice rough. His hand shoved down the waistband of Jack’s sweatpants, gripping him hard through his boxers. Jack gasped, his body jerking against the sudden, rough touch.
Ryan’s lips curled. “See? You want this.”
Jack wanted to deny it. He wanted to fight. But his body was responding, his cock hardening under Ryan’s grip, and the shame of it burned worse than the bruises forming on his skin.
Ryan didn’t wait for an answer. He shoved Jack’s sweatpants and boxers down in one rough motion, freeing his cock. Jack’s face flushed, humiliation washing over him as Ryan’s gaze raked over him, hungry and possessive.
“Open your mouth,” Ryan ordered, his voice a growl.
Jack hesitated. Just for a second.
Ryan’s hand tightened in his hair, yanking his head back. “I said, open.”
Jack’s lips parted.
Ryan didn’t give him time to prepare. He pulled his own jeans down and shoved his cock between Jack’s lips, deep, choking him. Jack gagged, his eyes watering, his hands flying to Ryan’s thighs—pushing, clawing, but Ryan didn’t care. He thrust deeper, his grip on Jack’s hair unrelenting.
“That’s it,” Ryan panted, his voice rough. “Take it. All of it.”
Jack tried to breathe through his nose, his throat burning, tears spilling down his cheeks. Ryan’s other hand gripped his jaw, forcing him to take more, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal thrusts.
“You’re so good at this,” Ryan groaned, his fingers digging into Jack’s skin. “My good boy.”
Jack hated those words. He craved them.
His own cock ached, hard and neglected, trapped between his stomach and the mattress. Ryan’s praises, his touch, the way he looked at him—it was all wrong, but it felt like fire, like addiction.
Ryan’s breath hitched, his body tensing. “Gonna come down that pretty throat,” he growled, his hips stuttering. Jack whimpered, his own body betraying him as a shiver ran through him.
Ryan came with a rough groan, his grip on Jack’s hair tightening as he spilled down his throat. Jack swallowed automatically, his throat sore, his eyes burning.
Ryan pulled out slowly, his cock glistening in the dim light. He smirked, wiping his thumb over Jack’s swollen lips. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, his voice softening—almost tender.
Jack didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His body ached, his mind spinning.
Ryan leaned down, pressing a kiss to Jack’s forehead—gentle, almost loving. Then he stood, adjusting his clothes with shaky hands. He didn’t look back as he stumbled out of the room, leaving Jack alone in the silence.
Jack didn’t move for a long time.
His body throbbed. His throat burned. His skin tingled where Ryan’s mouth had been.
He hated himself.
He wanted more.