Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/45559.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Batman_(Movies_-_Nolan)
  Relationship:
      Jonathan_Crane/Original_characters
  Character:
      Jonathan_Crane, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      non-con, Violence, Gangbang
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-06-30 Words: 4970
****** What Fear Smells Like ******
by helens78
Summary
     Jonny's boyfriend stops by the coffeeshop on the last day of
     basketball season. Mistake. Now they're both in trouble.
It's a risk having a boyfriend. But the jocks somehow figured out Jonny was gay
long before he even thought about asking anybody out, so it wasn't like he had
anything to lose.
And Arthur. God. Arthur's gorgeous, blond and lean and he isn't afraid to kiss.
His kisses always taste like mint, that lingering aftertaste from his Tic Tac
addiction, and traces of mint stay on Jonny's body after they've been together.
Jonny loves that. The only thing he's sorry about is they never get to wake up
together. Jonny's dad would never even notice, but Arthur's parents might have
something to say about it.
So instead they spend late nights together. Arthur's parents both work night
shift, his mom as an ER nurse, his dad in the same hospital as a security
guard, and that leaves Jonny and Arthur with plenty of time to fool around.
That's on nights when Jonny isn't working himself, of course. As much as he
hates working in the Narrows, it's a decent job. The tips are good, the place
is warm and comfortable, and if Jonny's turning into a bit of a coffee snob,
well, Arthur says he can live with that. He loves it when Jonny comes to see
him after work smelling like coffee. He doesn't know anything about the nights
Jonny goes home smelling like sweat, blood, and fear.
Jonny can handle nights like that, though, and they're a small blip in an
otherwise good life. Graduation happens in three months. Arthur's talking about
going to Metropolis to study art history, and Jonny's applied for some
scholarships at Met U -- he's going to go into psychology. It could work. It
really could. Just three more months. Twelve more weeks. Not long at all.
In that twelve weeks, though, there are going to be rough patches. Tonight's
going to be one of them; Jonny already knows that. It's the last basketball
game of the season, and he has to work. He knows what that means -- the
basketball team's had a shit year and he knows they're going to come by after
and take it out on him. They hate losing.
And you could've called in sick, swapped shifts with Andy, just fucking stayed
home. But you didn't. You want that guy with the knife to fuck you again...
He shakes the thought off as soon as he thinks it. That wasn't a fuck. That was
a rape, and no, he doesn't want it to happen again. It was just the confusion,
the strange mixed feelings, the fear he felt in the pit of his stomach... I
wonder what it would be like with Arthur holding the knife, he thinks, and
shivers. He's jerked off to thoughts like that. He doesn't know if that's
better or worse than masturbating to memories of getting off on being raped. He
sure as hell isn't going to tell Arthur about either of those things.
His shift's about halfway over when the door opens and Arthur walks in. The
grin that immediately spreads across Jonny's face falters a second later. Shit.
He cannot be here when I get off shift. I have to get him out of here.
He heads over to the table Arthur's picked out. "Hey," he says softly.
"Hey," Arthur says in response. "How's work going?"
"Fine. Can I get you anything?"
"Espresso with--"
"--a shot of hazelnut, no problem," Jonny says. "Listen, I had a couple errands
I wanted to run when I got off work. Can I maybe get you to go home now, let me
meet you?"
"How about I just go with you?" Arthur asks. "I don't mind waiting."
Jonny's nose wrinkles. "Let me get your espresso," he says, and heads back to
the bar.
Get him out of here, Jonny thinks, trying to figure out how to talk him into
going. Arthur can be stubborn. He comes back with the espresso and sets it
down, and Arthur reaches up to tug at Jonny's shirt. Jonny leans down
obligingly, putting his ear at Arthur's lips.
"I want you so bad," Arthur murmurs. "I've been thinking about this all day.
When your shift's over, I want you to take me home and fuck me. Or, hell, maybe
we could just do it in the back of your car. I want your dick in me so fucking
bad, Jonny..."
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Jonny whispers back roughly. Arthur smells so good, mint
and maybe a bit of spice, and Jonny knows there's no way he could say no to
anything Arthur asks when he's asking that way. "Maybe I can get off early. Let
me find out." It's perfect. The jocks won't be here until later. Just a half-
hour early will do it, and the place is dead tonight. His boss will let him go.
Please.
He heads back behind the counter, straight for his boss, who's getting someone
a cappuccino. "Eric?"
"Yeah?"
"I was wondering -- any chance I could head home early tonight? Just a half-
hour. Please..."
Eric looks up, scans the room, and smirks a little when he spots Arthur. Jonny
squelches an urge to roll his eyes; that won't get him the night off.
"Boyfriend needs a ride home, huh?"
"Something like that," Jonny mumbles.
"Or a ride home?"
Jonny doesn't answer that one. Eric's not a bad guy to work for, but he doesn't
go out of his way to be kind, either. And he's heard the noises out in the
gravel parking lot more than once and done absolutely nothing about it. Not
that Jonny blames him; turning a blind eye is a lot better for his business
than becoming an unexpected champion for the underdog. And most of the time he
leaves the crude jokes and the innuendo alone. Jonny's got no doubt that other
men in Eric's position would demand some kind of "service" to go along with the
job, but Eric's never done that. So Jonny can put up with Eric's occasional
remark and his quiet condoning of late-night attacks. This is better than a lot
of guys like Jonny have it.
"Yeah, sure. Go on ahead. Hell, take off now if you want; it's quiet enough
tonight."
"Thanks, Eric." Jonny flashes him a grin.
"Uh-huh. Just be here on time tomorrow."
Jonny gets out of his apron and grabs his backpack out from under the counter,
heading over to Arthur and grinning. "I can go now," he says. "Come on."
"Hell yeah." Arthur grins right back, shoving himself up from the table and
following Jonny out the back door. "We've got hours," he whispers, "can't wait
to get home--"
"I know," Jonny whispers back, "can't wait to get you home, either." He stops
as soon as they're outside the door and pushes Arthur into the wall, kissing
him hard. Arthur sinks both hands into Jonny's hair and moans; Jonny can feel
Arthur's dick pressed up against his thigh, and he moans, too. He can smell
Arthur's shampoo, his aftershave; he can taste the coffee and mint on his
breath, and oh God, he's going to fuck Arthur into next week when they get
home, fuck him until he can smell the sweat on his shoulders, until there's
enough to lick up and taste salt while he comes--
And then the mental images are broken up with the sound of laughter. Jonny's
heart stops, and he pulls away from Arthur, cringing as he turns to see who's
there. The parking lot's almost deserted, but almost isn't good enough: apart
from Eric's car, here next to the door, and Jonny's car in the back of the lot,
there's a Jeep. And it's decorated with basketball players. Five of them. All
of them watching and laughing.
"Fuck," Arthur whispers. "Who's--"
"No, oh fuck," Jonny blurts out, stomach turning over. Jesus. Five. And they're
early. "Get out of here," he whispers. "Get on the rail and go."
"What, leave you here with them? Are you nuts?" Arthur hisses back. "Come on.
Let's just go back in. They won't do anything if we go back in--"
"Yes, they will," Jonny answers tightly. "I can't run from these guys. You can.
Go. I'll be fine."
"I'm not leaving you," Arthur growls. "I am not leaving you with them--"
"What's the debate?" asks one of the jocks, swinging out of the Jeep and
starting the long walk over. Gravel crunches under his feet, and Jonny
recognizes him when he's about halfway there. He can tell by the cigarette
smell, if not by the voice or the vague, dark outline of his body -- the
parking lot isn't lit. Chris. Damn it. Chris always wants to go first, and he
always wants to fuck; a blowjob's never enough. "Should've figured it. The
class homos need to talk about everything like a couple of girls."
"Maybe they're trying to figure out who gets to be the bitch tonight," someone
else says. Jonny recognizes the voice: Sam, an otherwise quiet guy who probably
wouldn't have laid a finger on him if he hadn't been trying to get into this
particular clique. He's gotten crueler over the last few months, though. His
words draw laughter out of the rest of the guys.
"No need to worry about that. You can both get dicks up your asses. How does
that sound?" Chris asks.
"He doesn't mean--" Arthur starts.
"Of course he does," Jonny hisses back. He steps in front of Arthur, shoving at
him. "Go. Get out."
"Look how sweet that is. The fag's protecting his girlfriend." More catcalls
and more laughter. "I'd've sworn he was the girl in that relationship, given
how much he likes getting fucked."
"Jonny -- you let these guys--"
Jonny looks over his shoulder and hits Arthur with a glare that could stop
time. "I don't let them do anything," he hisses. "Get the fuck out of here.
While you can. Please."
But it's too late for that. Chris is right there, and he grabs Jonny by the
shirt, jerking him away from Arthur. "C'mon," he says, shoving Jonny towards
his car. "You two can kiss and gossip about all this shit later."
Arthur tries to jump for Chris, but Chris is stronger than he is. Faster, too.
He backhands Arthur while the rest of the guys run up to them, two of them
grabbing Arthur and the other two wrestling Jonny over to his car. "That's
right," Chris says, "get him over there. His hood's just the right height for
you-know-what." Somewhere in the background, Jonny can hear Arthur shouting out
obscenities, but they stop abruptly with a sickening thud that sounds like fist
into gut. Jonny doesn't even have time to wince on Arthur's behalf before he
gets slammed down, bent over, breath knocked out of him.
"Let him go," Jonny pants, not moving or fighting while Chris jerks his jeans
down around his knees. "Please. Anything you want. Just let him go."
"I like the begging," Chris says. Jonny hears the sound of a zipper going down,
grimaces and braces himself for the first godawful thrusts. Chris is in a mood
to tease tonight, though, and just rubs his dick against Jonny's ass, humming
softly to himself. "You haven't begged for us in a long time, bitch."
"Oh, that ain't true," another jock offers. Aaron, maybe. "He begged for more
the last time, remember?"
You had a knife to my throat, Jonny thinks, but he cringes again and squeezes
his eyes shut. He doesn't say a word, but his resolve runs out when Chris
finally starts shoving in; he ends up jerking underneath him and gritting out a
few tense cries.
"Bitch, don't shut your eyes." Another sound of flesh striking flesh, and
Arthur cries out this time. Jonny can't stop cringing now; the pain isn't
anywhere near as bad as knowing that Arthur's watching, that Arthur's being
forced to watch. It's a whole different kind of humiliation, something Jonny
never dreamed he was going to have to deal with, and as much as he's always
thought he could handle damned near anything the jocks do to him, he's afraid
he's going to break down this time. Jesus, not in front of Arthur. Don't even
fucking think about breaking down in front of him. He needs to know you can get
through this.
"He doesn't want to watch?" Chris asks, pumping in harder now that sweat's got
him slicked up enough to move. "What, he doesn't want to watch the show?"
There's a lot of laughter at that, and Jonny's hands tighten into fists. "He's
gotta know what kind of slut this bitch is. Maybe he's just jealous. Maybe he
just wants a turn."
"Screw that," someone else adds. "He can have Jonny's faggot ass any time he
wants. He can just watch this time. Share the wealth."
More laughter, and Chris speeds up enough to let Jonny know it's almost over.
Thank God. Just a few more thrust and Chris groans, cock jerking hard as he
comes.
The next one on him stinks of sweat. Someone who doesn't shower after games.
Jonny opens his eyes to look behind him; he has to know -- Derek. He closes his
eyes again. The first time Derek came after him Jonny ended up jerking off for
weeks afterwards thinking about it. It was a locker room fuck, a day when
Jonny'd been stuck running twenty extra suicides and ended up being the last
one out of the gym. Derek was a talker, the kind of guy who wanted to know how
it felt. Do you like it? Do you like having my big thick cock jammed up your
ass? Do you?
Please don't ask me that now, Jonny thinks desperately, but he cries out anyway
when Derek starts fucking him, and he knows the sound isn't entirely about pain
and fear. He bites his lower lip hard. Oh, God. Christ, fuck, this is not
something you want. Don't get hard. Don't get off on it. Goddamnit.
Derek's cock is as big as his bragging, and it's the second fuck of the night.
Not so many that all Jonny can feel is the pain; just enough that it isn't the
burning, dragging friction that the first one was. And damn Derek for being
gorgeous. He's built beautifully, all dark skin and lean muscle, and he has a
grin that always looks like something he stole from the Cheshire cat. If that
grin weren't laced with cruelty, Jonny might have found himself with a crush
once. Nowadays it just reminds him of how many times Derek's fucked him, how
often Jonny's had to smell his sweat while he rams his cock in deep, over and
over and over until Jonny's screaming.
He doesn't scream this time, and he's proud of himself for that. When Derek's
done, there's a quick change of places while the two holding onto Arthur trade
off, one of them coming around so he can take a turn with Jonny, too.
This time the guy gets a hand into Jonny's hair and bangs his head against the
hood. "Open up," he says. "Get your eyes open. Don't you want to see what we're
doing to your boyfriend while we're fucking you?"
The voice. That one's -- fuck. It's the guy with the knife from last time.
Jonny found out weeks later that his name was Oliver. He doesn't know whether
that's a first name or a last name. It doesn't matter. The minute he hears that
voice, he's hard as a rock and praying no one notices. Praying Arthur never
finds out. He keeps his eyes shut until Oliver slams his head into the hood
again, and then he gets his eyes open because it's only going to get worse
until he does what he's told.
And he wishes, immediately, that he hadn't. They've got Arthur's jacket off,
his t-shirt jerked down over his arms as makeshift restraints. There's duct
tape over his mouth, and now that Chris is done with Jonny he's started playing
with one of Arthur's nipples, pinching it, tugging at it. Jonny bites his lips
again to keep from begging them to stop. It's not going to help. Nothing's
going to help. You stupid son of a bitch, why couldn't you have run when I told
you to?
"You know what he liked the last time," Oliver says. Aaron laughs and digs into
a pocket for his knife, and he tosses it over. Oliver snaps the blade out and
drags it over the curve of Jonny's ass. "That's it," he whispers. "You remember
how much you wanted this? Did you want me to fuck you with it?"
"Please," Jonny whispers. Oh, God. Stupid, shut up, fuck--
"Please what? Please fuck you with it?" Oliver turns the knife, holds Jonny's
ass open with one hand and uses the other to put the tip of Aaron's knife up
against Jonny's hole. "You want that?"
"Please don't," Jonny says, louder this time.
"Aww, you'd rather have something else. Is that it?" The tip digs in just a
little more, and Jonny whimpers. A little more, and he can feel how sharp it
is, and oh God, don't clench, don't clench, you'll cut yourself open if you
clench...
"God, Ollie, don't play with him, just stick the motherfucker," Aaron says,
shaking his head. He glances over at the way Chris is still pinching and
twisting Arthur's nipple and shakes his head at that, too. "Goddamn, Chris, is
the fag thing catching or what? You're playing with him like he's a bitch or
something..."
"He is a bitch," Chris says, taking his hands off Arthur for a second to smack
the back of Aaron's head. "He's a pretty little bitch who's gonna love sucking
cock. Aren't you, bitch?" Chris reaches between Arthur's legs and squeezes hard
enough to get Arthur screaming behind the gag. "Oh, for Christ's sake, not like
you have anything there worth screaming about."
He squeezes again, and Jonny shuts his eyes, feeling his stomach twist over.
The air feels so thick now, with the scent of two guys' come all over him and a
third getting ready to fuck him, and there's still that shivering feeling up
along his spine that comes from having Oliver running that knife up and down
his crack. Oliver goes back to pressing the tip against Jonny's hole, and Jonny
swears he can smell self-satisfaction all over the way Oliver's playing with
him.
"This bitch really likes me." Oliver chuckles. The tip twists, and Jonny
groans, body wanting to clench up tight. "You want the knife or you want me to
stick you with something else? What is it?"
"Please, Christ, not the knife," Jonny begs. "Please."
"What else do you want, then?"
"Your -- your cock," Jonny stutters, hoping like hell Arthur isn't watching.
Jonny tries to ignore the way his cock's jerking; it doesn't help. Something
ugly in the back of his mind is already begging for this. Please...
"What was that?" The tip of the knife presses deeper, and Jonny swears he can
taste copper in the back of his mouth. "What do you want?"
"Your cock, please," Jonny says, loud and clear this time.
"I don't think you mean it..."
"Please -- please. Please give me your cock, Oliver, please let me have your
cock, please fuck me." He squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees white flashes
behind them. Arthur's going to hate him by the time it's over. He knows he's
starting to sound like he means it.
"Now that's a boy with manners," Oliver says, laughing, and he takes the knife
away, replacing it with his cock and driving in so hard it slams Jonny into the
hood and knocks the breath out of him.
Jonny groans, unable to help himself now, and he's thinking of everything he
can to keep himself from coming from this. Think about Arthur. You can't let
him think you want this. You can't. Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me, how
the hell can I like this, want this, goddamn_all_of_them,_goddamnit...
But it's over in a minute, so fast Jonny's shocked, so fast Jonny's not even
sure Oliver came. He's not going to complain, though, far from it. He tries to
catch his breath and hopes it'll end soon. If they're all fucking him, maybe
they'll leave Arthur alone -- well, mostly leave him alone. Please, please,
God, fuck, please.
Chris, Derek, Oliver. That leaves Aaron and Sam, and they both go next, one
after the other; Jonny's not even sure which one's which. The grunts all sound
the same by now; all the sweat in the air's blending together, and he's so
relieved when the second one finishes with him that he ends up whispering out a
thank you without even thinking about what he's saying.
"Thank you," Chris mocks. "So polite. We oughta give him a treat."
Not over yet. One of them wants another go. Jonny nods, feeling wooden; it
happens sometimes. "Please," he whispers.
"Oh, he wants a treat." Chris laughs. "Beg a little more and maybe you'll get
it. C'mon."
"Please," Jonny says, louder, not able to get any enthusiasm into his voice for
it. "Please, let me have it." Whatever it is. Whoever it is.
"Try a little harder," Chris says. "Promise, man, it's a good treat. It's
something you've been wanting anyway."
Not Oliver again, Jonny thinks, a little desperately this time. If Oliver's
trying to get him off, he might not be able to hold back. "Please," he says,
"please, let me have it, please, want it, you know I want it, please..."
"Good boy," Chris says, and he shoves Arthur down into the gravel. Arthur hits
hard, face and shoulder taking the brunt of it, and then Chris is all over him,
pulling his jeans down, jerking his shirt off so Arthur can support himself on
his forearms. "That's a good slut. Come on. Good boy."
"No!" Jonny tries to stand up, but he's hurting too much; he collapses onto his
elbows, panting. "Please -- anything, just don't hurt him, please don't hurt
him--"
Aaron and Sam are still behind him, and they shove him over towards Chris and
Arthur. "Nobody said we were gonna touch him," Chris says, smirking. Arthur
looks at Chris, face away from Jonny so Jonny can't see the expression, but
whatever it is, it makes Chris laugh. "Oh, like you haven't wanted him to fuck
you all night long," Chris says.
And Jonny's stomach rolls over. "No," he whispers.
"Don't motherfucking tell us no," Chris snaps back, coming to his feet and
giving Arthur a hard kick in the ribs. It knocks Arthur over on his side, and
Jonny jumps at them, trying to reach for Chris, but it's a losing battle. Sam's
got one arm, Aaron's got the other, and they shove Jonny onto his knees at
Arthur's side. "You want me to kick his ribs in, you tell me no one more
fucking time. Go on."
Arthur looks up at Jonny, eyes wide. Jonny looks away.
"Is that a yes?"
"What do you want me to do?" Jonny whispers.
"Well, you haven't gotten any tonight. You've been such a good bitch, you might
as well get to fuck somebody. I bet Arthur's just dying to volunteer, aren't
you?" Chris kicks him again. "Aren't you?"
They wrestle Arthur onto his hands and knees, and push Jonny up behind him.
Jonny stops struggling; it's only going to get both of them hurt more. He's got
a desperate thought in his head that maybe -- maybe he can make this good for
them both, maybe he can make it better somehow--
You fucking moron. You're about to rape your boyfriend on command. How the fuck
does it get good from there?
"Don't just sit there. Fuck him."
Sam and Aaron let Jonny go, and Jonny reaches between his legs, gives his cock
a couple of strokes. It doesn't take much, and the thought of that makes him
cringe, but he can't stop now.
Right. Tell yourself that. Who's holding a knife on you now, asshole?
"Can I," Jonny whispers, "I've got a condom, can I, please--"
"What, you think he's gonna get pregnant?" Derek asks. That draws catcalls from
everyone, and Jonny winces, wishing he hadn't asked.
"Not like we didn't already know who the girl is in this faggot relationship--"
"Do you do the cooking?" Chris asks, grabbing Arthur's hair and jerking his
head up. "Clean for him and nag his ass about staying out too late?"
"Bet he wears the makeup, too, when nobody's looking," Derek adds. The five of
them snicker.
"Fuck it," Jonny snarls, "never fucking mind," and he gets one hand on Arthur's
hip, just to warn him, before he starts working his way in.
And Jesus Christ. They've never done it without a condom. They've sure as hell
never done it without lube. Jonny's never felt anything this tight or this hot
in his life, and he gasps as he rocks back, rocks forward a little more,
forgets for a few seconds where he is and why he's doing what he's doing and
just focuses on getting into Arthur's body, inside that painfully tight heat.
Christ, he could live here, it feels too good to believe--
"Hey, looks like the girlfriend likes it as much as our bitch does."
His eyes snap open, and he looks down at Arthur. Arthur's whole body is tense,
and his shoulders are shaking. Jonny can smell the sweat from his back, just
the way it always is when they're making love, but there's something else in
it. Something beyond the salt and the lingering scent of mint and the fading
smells of everyone else's sweat and come.
He wonders if it's what he smells like when the guys are after him. And -- as
his hips snap forward again and he feels Arthur jerk under him -- he realizes
why they do it. It's a good smell. It's sex and violence and fear, and it's the
most amazing thing he's ever breathed in.
The rest of the world drops away. It's just Arthur's body under his, those
jerking, shaking motions of his shoulders, and a scent he could spend the rest
of his life in. The friction's impossibly good, but he doesn't want to stop. He
doesn't want it to end. He digs his fingers into Arthur's hips and jerks him
back for stroke after stroke after stroke. He's saying something, God, he
doesn't even know what, but it's words like yes and oh, God and feels so good,
oh Christ, yes, and somewhere along the way Arthur bends his head down to the
gravel and goes still. Beautifully, perfectly still, quiet, leaving himself to
Jonny's hands and Jonny's cock and the pounding, blinding thrusts.
He doesn't notice anything else until there's a sliver of cold at his throat,
and then he realizes it's Oliver again, Aaron's knife in his hand. "We don't
have all night," Oliver whispers. "Finish already."
Jonny's fingernails mark crescents in Arthur's skin, and he nods, shoving in
fast and deep now, knife still up against his throat, and he can smell his own
sweat mingling with Arthur's, the fear all over both of them, and oh God oh God
oh God oh God--
Oliver moves the knife away as Jonny collapses onto Arthur's back, panting so
hard he goes light-headed from it.
Nobody says another word. The only thing Jonny hears are footsteps crunching
through gravel and the Jeep pulling away, and for a long time -- he's got no
idea how long -- the only thing he feels is Arthur's body under his, shaking
softly. As soon as he can move, he does, rolling to the side, still panting.
Arthur pushes up onto his knees and rips the duct tape off his mouth. His face
is tear-streaked and red with fury. Jonny doesn't even see the fist coming
until his head's snapping back and he hits the gravel again.
"You son of a bitch," Arthur rages. "You fucking--"
He lands on top of Jonny, both hands reaching for Jonny's throat, shaking him,
shoving him back into the gravel. Jonny can't even apologize. Every tear that's
been dying to break loose comes for him now, and he breaks down, turning his
face to the side, waiting for Arthur to let out the rest of his anger, his
hurt, his betrayal. And it comes, for a while, shoves and punches and blows,
until they're both sobbing and Arthur's collapsed on him, hands still curled
into fists.
"I'm sorry," Jonny whispers.
Arthur pushes up, staggers to his feet. He drags the back of his wrist across
his eyes, gets his clothes into as much order as he can, and stumbles away,
headed to the street. Jonny doesn't try to stop him from going.
He sits up himself a few minutes later, pulling his jeans up again before he
makes it to his car. It hurts sitting down. It hurts breathing. He's going to
have more visible bruises from Arthur than he's ever had from a night with the
jocks.
He braces his arms on the steering wheel and drops his head against them,
letting out more violent, furious tears.
He was right. There's no excuse for what you did. None. Everything that's ever
been done to you and you didn't learn a fucking thing. This is what you do to
the man you love? What the fuck is wrong with you?
He doesn't know. He doesn't know. But he knows he's never going to forget the
way Arthur smelled tonight. And he'll be jerking off to it in the morning, even
if it turns his stomach and leaves him hating himself when he comes.
-end-
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!