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Till twitched on the floor, body slumped helplessly over a seat in a shitty karaoke lounge. He could barely move, save for blinking his heavy eyelids to search for the next threat.
The room was empty and desolate, with magenta lights flashing from the idle karaoke screen. Hours earlier it was full, seigyen each circling the room, passing Till’s drugged frame and using it in whichever way they pleased. The music ended, and now it was quiet, but no one had bothered to tend to Till’s incapacitated body in the corner. He’d been left to suffer, half undressed, hallucinating Mizi before his eyes to comfort him.
His breathing was labored due to the large object placed between his lips. His mouth was gagged, this much he knew. It was cold, metallic, the taste mixing with his spit and trailing down his neck and chin. He’d tried to struggle against it- fighting and kicking, biting at the large hands that grabbed him by the hair and forced him down. It was overpowering, though, and secured to his face with a mechanical strength no amount of fierce rebellion could challenge.
Till wondered if it was a punishment or a blessing Urak had drugged him. After all, he could no longer feel the pain of the beating he’d received- yet he was sedated to a point of no return, which allowed to seigyen to touch him in any way- in any place- that they desired. Then they left him. His exposed skin was cold. The room was desolate. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t will the muscles in his face to do anything.
Till had almost began drifting to sleep before he felt the pressure in his mouth release. He exhaled heavily, mouthbreathing as if to discover if his lungs were still his own. The collar slipped off his face and to the floor, leaving his cheeks sore and pink. In desperation, cyan eyes opened and searched for the source of this relief, yet his vision was far too blurred to make any sense of the tall, dark figure before him. He still couldn’t move, so he’d squished his eyes shut, willing away the touch of the seigyen.
Yet where he expected a beating or a violation, it never came. Instead, two warm, distinctly human hands traced his cheeks and cradled his head gently. Two thumbs wiped at his cheeks, sending away old tears and a thick layer of sweat from his hot skin. A sensation came to Till’s cheeks then- it was almost ticklish as someone’s hair met with Till’s forehead. A face nuzzled into Till’s, which cooled Till’s feverish cheeks. He remained there for some time, before pulling away, taking the cool sensation with it.
Suddenly, the hands that cradled his face disappeared. Till tried to move his head to investigate where his only source of comfort had gone. The answer came when a pair of hands arrived between his thighs. They tugged on Till’s pants, which were left unzipped and pulled down to his thighs.
Instantly Till exploded into a panic. He mustered the small amount of strength he had left, lethargically planting his hands between his thighs to fight it. His hands couldn’t quite clench, so he resorted to slapping away the intruder. He panted frantically, desperately trying to make words out in his pathetic state. Perhaps he’d been sedated into submission, but this time he couldn’t take anymore.
“Ah.. ah.. no… no more…” he panted out, words lacking proper articulation, the drugs robbing him of his usual fervent self defense, “no more… not inside me…”
The stranger accepted Till’s weak hands, gently holding his fingers and rubbing his thumbs over Till’s knuckles. Till froze expectantly, waiting for his punishment from saying no. The room still spun, yet Till could sense the other individual staring at him. Till was the object of forgiving, yet unceasing eye contact of dark eyes with red irises. While Till wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating it, he swore he saw the saddest smile in front of him.
“I know. You’re okay. I know you don’t want to be touched. Just breathe. You can’t lay here like this, Till. We need to put your clothes back on, okay?”
Tears were forming once again, though they mixed with the sweat coating his cheeks.
Till felt the hands grasp at his pants, the waistband becoming taught against his thighs, then gently working them up back to his waist. As the stranger worked, he whispered gentle reassurances to Till, trying his best to keep Till’s fear at bay.
“I know. You’re alright. It’s almost over.”
Soon the sound of Till’s pants zipping up came. His stomach was warm now, the place between his thighs no longer cold and exposed. A sense of safety returned to him, and he slightly rolled his frame in the comfort of being covered once more.
Then the shadowy figure pulled away, waiting in silence. Till took this break from being touched to breathe, stretching his jaw to rid it from the pains of his gag. Suddenly, a new sensation came. A cold piece of fabric was wiping at his face, gently cleansing Till of the sticky sweat that coated him, and the tears that ran over it.
“You’re okay now. It’s over. I’m not going to hurt you. Nothing will hurt you now.”
Till barely relaxed, feeling some sort of sincerity in the words of the stranger. The rag was left on his forehead when hands arrived at his unbuttoned, haphazardly opened shirt.
“I’m going to button up your shirt now.”
“Wha…why…” Till huffed, head rolling to the side. His awareness seemed to wane, and he flickered back and forth between panic and relief at being touched.
“Shhh…” was the only explanation that came, “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. It’s okay.”
When the hands finished, Till used all his strength to look down at himself. It was pathetic, in some way, but he felt joy at seeing his frame dressed again. His heavy arms moved to hold onto his own frame, rubbing over his chest to self-soothe, appreciating how his skin had began to warm up.
“Isn’t that better?” The voice asked, “You shouldn’t be on the floor. I’m going to pick you up now, Till.”
Before Till could protest, arms slinked under his thighs and against his back. The shadowy figure picked him up with a bounce, adjusting Till to rest his unsupported head on the stranger’s shoulder. This time, he had no remarks or fear against the touch. His trust was built up from being dressed, and he was in desperate need of comfort after being abused in such a way. He was airborne for a brief moment, arms limp at his sides, the room spinning around him as he was carried across it, until suddenly the stranger sat on the couch, still clutching onto Till. He didn’t say anything, but instead wrapped his arms around Till’s frame, supporting his neck and holding him tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Till.”
“…ah?” Till huffed, confused at to why the stranger was pitying him.
“I wanted to free you from this…” the voice whispered as it stroked Till’s hair, but it was too quiet for the half conscious Till to make any sense of it.
Suddenly, Till was moved again, his frame being gently shifted to lay on the couch by himself. The voice was right- the couch was far more comfort for his head, which was throbbing in pain, than being slumped against the wall on the floor. Till made no effort to move, sinking into the forgiving comfort of the couch. Yet he didn’t have to move- the stranger adjusted him, placing a pillow under his head.
He looked to the side, noticing that the stranger had sat himself next to the couch, remaining at eye level with Till. The human hands returned to his head, gently stroking his hair with a soft, practiced repetition.
Till could just barely make out red irises staring black at him- red drops in a sea full of black, sinking and empty, filled with some kind of despair and sorrow that couldn’t be tamed. Looking into that sea of black was lonely.
Till whimpered, instinctively scooting away farther into the couch and bringing his hands to his crotch to protect himself.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” The voice whispered, “I’m here now. No one’s going to touch you. You need to properly sleep.”
Till rested again, the voice soothing him. Why was that?
Till wouldn’t remember this in the morning. They both knew that. But the comfort in that moment was enough- for Till, drugged and violated- to be seen, protected, and watched over for once- it was enough.