Silence
Title: Silence
Author: rpssock
Rating: NC-17
Characters and/or Pairing: Jared/Richard, OMC/Richard
Warnings: Graphic rape
Word Count:3435
Notes/Prompts: for spnkink - Someone watches Jared and Richard interact while sitting in bar, somehow getting the impression that Richard's a prostitute and Jared his pimp. He approaches them, trying to 'buy' Richard for the night. He's refused but definitely won't take no for an answer, waiting until Richard is alone to get what he wants.
"Seems a little - dodgy," Richard says when he greets Jared at his car, "I wasn't sure this was the right place."
Jared grins at him, "Yeah, but they've got the best wings in forty miles, and the house beer isn't bad either. Come on." He swings down out of the car and slings an arm around Richard's shoulders, pushing him gently forward. Well, he's game. He can convince Jared to go to a classier place at some point later, if this thing works out.
It's been a long time since Richard's been in a relationship - if he can dare to call it that yet - with a guy, and by the time they're on their third plate he's realized how much he'd missed it. Most women - the ones who are into him, anyway - just don't have the same sense of camaraderie he gets from Jared, or the boundless energy. He does feel a bit like a cradle robber, honestly, but if Jared doesn't have a problem with it he might as well let it go.
"Dude, are you paying attention?" He'd drifted off for a moment, and meets Jared's eyes when the guy pushes his chin up with one finger and glares at him mockingly.
"Yeah, yeah," Richard says, "is it just me, or has that guy been staring at us for the past hour?"
Jared looks over. "Well, he'd better not be checking you out. Your ass is mine."
It's the first vaguely sexual thing Jared's said to him all evening, and he can't help the little blush that creeps up his neck. How he'd like to get Jared back to his apartment and laid out on his bed tonight - but no. Too fast. They'll leave the bar, part ways, see each other next week.
Jared winks saucily at the guy as he leans over the table to trail his fingers up and down Richard's cheek. Richard gets redder, and looks down at the table, glancing one more time at the guy. He's still looking, but at both their gazes meeting his turns away.
Richard bats Jared's hand down, signals for another round. "Nah, he's just jealous of me. Understandable."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Richard smirks at him. "So, what were you saying?"
Jared sits back down and rolls his eyes. "And then the girl has this thing where she - "
"Hey," comes a gruff voice from beside the table, and both of them look up. It's the same guy who was just staring at them, and he's huge - as big as Jared, probably, seems bigger since they're sitting.
"Yeah?" Jared asks with a raised eyebrow.
The guy jerks a thumb at Richard. "So, uh. You rent out for the night?"
Richard blinks, and Jared voices what they're both thinking. "What?"
He shrugs, "You know, the night." He continues when they don't immediately reply, "Hey, I'll settle for an hour. Half?"
Jared gets it. "Whoa, we're not - wow, okay. We don't do that."
The guy looks surprised, then a little annoyed. "Look, I know I'm a big guy - so are you, you know. I won't rough him up or anything, if that's what you're afraid of. How's double the asking price?" He produces some twenties out of his pocket and waves them at Jared.
Richard feels uncomfortably like a zoo animal when the guy turns to leer at him, and shifts away.
"Dude. No." Jared glares at the guy, "Get out of here."
He scowls, stuffs the money back in his pocket. His features smooth over suddenly, though, and he says, "Hey, sorry. Just, uh, misinterpreted. Didn't mean to bother you."
"Yeah," Jared says. "Sure," and the guy leaves.
"Well. That was weird," Richard quirks an eyebrow at him, "next time I'm choosing where we go." He takes a long swig of beer. "Actually, what the hell?"
"I don't know. He's crazy." Jared watches him until he disappears into a different corner of the bar. "Sorry about that."
"Nah, it's not your fault." They sit there for a moment before Richard shakes his head and looks up. "What does the girl do?"
~~~
Aside from the rather unsettling encounter with the guy, it's been a spectacular night, and Richard makes sure to tell Jared so. Jared laughs at him. "You sure you're okay to drive?" he asks, "little guys like you don't have much tolerance…"
Richard shoves him. "I could drink you under the table any day. Brat." They tussle for a moment, then stop with Jared breathing heavily and grinning down at him. Richard's suddenly aware of how close he is, and tilts his head up just as Jared comes down to brush their lips together. It's chaste, quiet, and he pulls away slowly. Richard wants to pull him back down, have a real, lips and tongue and everything kiss, but - he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. That would just lead to more.
Jared clears his throat. "Yeah, so - I'll see you next week, right?"
"…Right."
He stands there with a sappy smile on his face as Jared gets into the car and drives off, then heads to his own car, fumbling for his keys. It's dark - late, and they were nearly the last to leave. The streetlight nearest the tiny parking lot's burned out, so when the bar shutters up a minute later he has to squint to get the key into the hole.
And he doesn't see the man coming up behind him.
There's a thick, meaty arm around his throat and another around his waist, and the weight of someone much bigger than him is pressing him forcefully against the cold metal of his car. Richard panics and throws an elbow back into his attacker's stomach - the guy gives a grunt and tightens his grip around Richard's throat. He scrabbles at the arm with one hand, tries to turn the key with the other - if he can just get into the car and kick the guy out, once he's got the engine running he can get away - but there are spots in front of his eyes as he struggles to breathe.
Then the arm is gone, and he sucks in the sweet air, relieved, before he realizes that something else is pressing against his neck. The man's still hugging him around the waist, and his breath grows louder as he leans down towards Richard's ear. "You wanna die?" he says, "this is a knife, I'll kill you if you scream. Put your hands on top of the car."
Richard complies. It's a mugging - he's been mugged before. Admittedly he'd had less to steal at the time, but it's better to lose money than his life. When he settles his hands on the roof, the guy steps away slightly, still pressing the knife lightly along the side of Richard's throat. "Good. Now open your car, get the door open, put your head by the gearshift. Got it?"
Richard nods, barely, conscious of the knife, and with one shaking hand unlocks the car. He opens the door, and as he steps away to do so the guy moves with him, always out of his field of vision. His heart's beating loudly in his ears. He inches forward and lays his torso along the driver's seat, head by the gearshift as directed and legs crouched, awkwardly, still out of the car.
"Hands behind your back." The knife's at the back of his neck now. He moves his hands, settles them together on his back, and tries to breathe slowly. The knife moves down towards them, and he hears the sound of tape being quickly unwound. When the knife lifts off his back, it's replaced immediately by the guy's weight as he manhandles Richard's arms closer together and wraps - duct tape? around them several times. Richard bucks up instinctively, and the guy grabs his hair and slams his head down on the gearshift. He sees flashes of light. "Don't move!"
That voice. Where had he heard that voice?
"…Just, just take it, okay, I'm not going to fight you," Richard hears himself say.
"Damn right you won't," the guy snaps, "if you talk again I'll gag you." Richard's mouth snaps shut, and he swallows drily.
He's cutting through Richard's shirt, taking it off in slices, throwing the wads of material into the passenger seat. Why would he - he doesn't need to - no. This is a mugging. A particularly painful, humiliating mugging. Not that. Not -
But then the guy's hands are at the button of his jeans, and he yells and thrashes. He manages to get halfway turned around before the guy's knife is back at his throat, and he sees his attacker's face for the first time.
"You," he breathes out, eyes wide.
"Yeah, me," snarls the guy, "you thought you could say no to me, huh? I'm not even good enough for a common whore like you?" He backhands Richard across the face, and Richard's head snaps to the side. "I'll take what I want."
It's around this time that Richard starts praying desperately for someone to save him - someone has to be around, there's another car in the lot, he's sure. They'll notice. Call the cops. This isn't happening. The guy brings out the duct tape again, forces Richard's jaw open and stuffs pieces of his shirt in, and tapes around his mouth. "Pity I can't get a blowjob," he smirks, "but this is gonna be so much better." Richard moans, a little hurt, scared sound.
The guy keeps the knife against his belly this time as he goes for Richard's fly, and tugs his jeans down in a few sharp jerks, pulls off his shoes and socks. He's fully naked, except for his necklace, but is trembling less from the cold and more from terror. He hears a click - the back doors are unlocked, and he's pulled up and turned around. The guy opens the back door and pushes Richard in until his head is shoved against the opposite door.
He thinks he's crying, and as the mucus starts to collect in his nose he panics again. He can't breathe, not really, lungs compressed by the heavy weight above him and mouth blocked off. He's choking on his own shirt. The guy grabs his left thigh, shoves his knee down off the seat so that his legs are spread. He's exposed, struggling, and the guy swears and grabs his head again, pulls him up. With his airways slightly less compressed he can suck in the mucus and breathe again. He's hyperventilating, though. "I swear if you fight me one more time I'll stick this knife up your ass once my cock's done with you." The guy hits him again, across the nose, and it's hard to breathe once again. There's blood filling up one nostril and it's painful to use the other, and he tries to calm down. The less he struggles the more likely he won't suffocate.
The guy shoves him down once again, and with one hand braced on his neck probes at his asshole with the other. Richard tenses.
Jared, he thinks, please have forgotten something, please come back. I can't - someone. God. Please, anyone. Someone help me.
One thick finger is shoved inside, dry, and it hurts as he stiffens further and whimpers. His head is held down by his neck. He can only see the shadows in the plastic pocket of the door, a glimpse of gray carpet, a nickel dropped under the front passenger seat. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.
One finger's all he gets. The pressure on his neck increases until he thinks it's going to break, then releases, and he feels two hands on his shoulder blades before he's entirely focused on the pain, the intrusion, the sick sensation of his own blood slicking the way. He drifts away. It's not me, he'll think, it's someone else's body, but then a particularly brutal thrust will drag him sharply back into himself. His high keen from the initial entrance has faded away into a series of almost unconscious whimpers.
The man stills inside him, then shifts one hand to push in the middle of his back. The other stabs between him and the seat, searches around before reaching his limp dick. He grabs it tightly, sending another wave of pain through Richard's gut. "Gotta make sure you enjoy it, too, whore," the man mutters, "don't say I'm no gentleman."
He drifts away again. It's easier, when the man pulls him up by the neck, settles him on the rapist's lap with his legs spread obscenely out and head hanging limply back, against his chest. Easier to stare blankly at nothing when the guy starts to bounce him up and down, strokes his dick, makes him hard. Easier to concentrate on the simple act of breathing through one nostril when the thrusts get harder and the hand gets rougher, when the other hand reaches up to grasp his chin and cheek, when the guy grunts and shudders and the hot rush of his come burns its way inside Richard's body. The guy strokes him a few more times, and he comes with barely a sound, only a shiver that highlights the pain in his neck and head and stomach and anus.
They sit there for a long time. It feels like a long time, anyway, until he's pushed off and thrown to lie limply along the backseat. He curls up - he doesn't quite fit, and the man laughs at him and shoves his head and shoulders into the well behind the front passenger seat. He kicks around weakly, but he still ends up with his body weight half on his right shoulder and the side of his neck. The rest of him is still up on the seat, but he has no leverage, not with his hands bound and the scarce amount of oxygen he's getting.
The man sits by his feet. "Half an hour, so - here you go." Half an hour? It was only half an hour? He feels something press against his palm, rough and papery, and his hand clenches at it before he realizes it's money. He lets go immediately.
"What, you don't want your pay? Gotta say, not a lot of participation, but you've got a great ass. Really nice to look at, my dick shoving its way in you, opening up your hole like the little slut you are. Should have had a camera, huh?"
Richard whimpers and tries to block out the sound.
"Anyway, here you go, I wouldn't want to deprive you of your money." He pushes it into Richard's hand again, closes his fingers around it and tapes his hand shut. "Picky whores like you probably don't get enough to really pay your bills, huh? Have to rely on that pimp of yours - oh, I should call him. Guess he'd get annoyed if he didn't know where you were. Let's see."
He hears the beep of buttons being pressed. "What's your password? Oh, right, you can't talk. Hmm. Is it an easy one - yes! No creativity. Probably not very smart, right? Didn't make it in school, had to turn to selling your fine ass to make ends meet. Contacts. What was his name? Jared? Here we go. …Hello? …Oh, you don't remember me? Shame. Richard's a little, heh, tied up right now. Might want to come down here and fetch him. …Hey, if you don't want to get him, I'd be happy to take him into my care. …No? …Where do you think? …Oh, he'll be here. Bye."
The guy tosses the phone down by Richard's face. It buzzes - Jared's trying to call back. "Anyway, thanks for the lay. I'll be sure to recommend you to all my friends." His grating laughter scratches across Richard's ears before he slams the door shut and leaves him alone.
His ears are ringing. He stares at the phone, which has gone dark, and wonders if Jared will come. Maybe not. He should untie himself, but the tape is strong, and he's tired, and it's easier just to stay there with his leg cramping and shoulder aching. His eyes slip shut. He listens to the rasp of his breath, in and out through the one nostril. The blood in the other one is dried, all down along his lip and chin. He shifts a little, and the change moves his throat - he starts to choke on the gag again, and shifts back. There's blood and semen trickling down his thighs - his own semen is drying and tacky on his stomach.
It feels like forever. A night, a day, a week, his naked body trembling on the back seat of his own car, slowly suffocating under his own weight.
Then the door opens with a rush of cold air, and Jared's exclaiming, horrified, reaching down to tug Richard up from his position and into his arms.
"Shit, shit, Richard, holy fuck, oh God, I'm so sorry," he can't reply, just watch as Jared pulls at the duct tape and swears. "I have to - I have to cut it, Richard, just a sec," and Jared leaves him slumped on the seat before he's back with a little pocket knife that Richard shies away from. Jared flinches. "I'm sorry, Rich, just let me get you out of this, okay? I'll take you - get you to the hospital, oh God." The knife slices through the tape, but Richard doesn't really move his arms, just lets them dangle freely. Jared cuts his gag away, and he spits out the material and curls himself into Jared's arms. He thinks he's crying again.
Jared curses again. "The sick bastard - " he's found the money, and tosses it angrily aside. "God, I'm so sorry, Richard, come on, we're going to the hospital, we have to - I don't know - " he swallows and lifts Richard up. Richard thinks dimly that he's glad he found a strong boyfriend, because he can't walk right now, or move, and he doesn't want to stop touching the warmth of Jared's shirt.
Jared brings him to his own car, and sets Richard down with his feet on the pavement as he opens the door. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around Richard's shoulders, says, "Wait, just a sec, I've got a blanket," and Richard waits dumbly until Jared's back with the thick blanket that's not quite large enough to reach Richard's feet. Jared strokes his hair when he's settled in the seat, looks at him with those wide eyes, and tells him, "It'll be okay."
Richard can't seem to say anything. They drive. He gazes out the window at the lights flashing by.
~~~
Everything's blurry. Jared ushers him past the mothers and screaming children with ear infections and the flu, past the quiet ones clutching their chests and trying not to move, past the ones with heavily bleeding wounds, and the nurses take one look and send him to wait in an empty office. They wait. He clings to Jared, who rocks him back and forth and makes little soothing noises, as if he were a child awakened from a nightmare.
They take him to another room, clean the wounds on his face and neck first, ask him questions. He asks for water, and they ask if there was oral penetration, and he says no, and he drinks greedily, four or five of the little cups before he answers anything else. They apologize, and lay him out on the examining table, and he won't let go of Jared's hand so they look askance but don't make Jared leave. They collect samples of the semen, and he explains haltingly that some of it's his, and then they finally clean him off inside and out. They take pictures. They ask him to pee into a cup. They collect blood, inject penicillin, give him a pill. "For STDs," they say.
Finally, finally, finally they let him go home, but his keys are still in his car in the tiny parking lot and he doesn't want to go back there. He knows it might be stolen. He can't care. Jared takes him to his apartment, for the first time, and he can't sleep so they watch stupid comedies for hours until Jared's nodded off on the couch and Richard can only register the light of the screen, dimming further and further into darkness.
Author: rpssock
Rating: NC-17
Characters and/or Pairing: Jared/Richard, OMC/Richard
Warnings: Graphic rape
Word Count:3435
Notes/Prompts: for spnkink - Someone watches Jared and Richard interact while sitting in bar, somehow getting the impression that Richard's a prostitute and Jared his pimp. He approaches them, trying to 'buy' Richard for the night. He's refused but definitely won't take no for an answer, waiting until Richard is alone to get what he wants.
"Seems a little - dodgy," Richard says when he greets Jared at his car, "I wasn't sure this was the right place."
Jared grins at him, "Yeah, but they've got the best wings in forty miles, and the house beer isn't bad either. Come on." He swings down out of the car and slings an arm around Richard's shoulders, pushing him gently forward. Well, he's game. He can convince Jared to go to a classier place at some point later, if this thing works out.
It's been a long time since Richard's been in a relationship - if he can dare to call it that yet - with a guy, and by the time they're on their third plate he's realized how much he'd missed it. Most women - the ones who are into him, anyway - just don't have the same sense of camaraderie he gets from Jared, or the boundless energy. He does feel a bit like a cradle robber, honestly, but if Jared doesn't have a problem with it he might as well let it go.
"Dude, are you paying attention?" He'd drifted off for a moment, and meets Jared's eyes when the guy pushes his chin up with one finger and glares at him mockingly.
"Yeah, yeah," Richard says, "is it just me, or has that guy been staring at us for the past hour?"
Jared looks over. "Well, he'd better not be checking you out. Your ass is mine."
It's the first vaguely sexual thing Jared's said to him all evening, and he can't help the little blush that creeps up his neck. How he'd like to get Jared back to his apartment and laid out on his bed tonight - but no. Too fast. They'll leave the bar, part ways, see each other next week.
Jared winks saucily at the guy as he leans over the table to trail his fingers up and down Richard's cheek. Richard gets redder, and looks down at the table, glancing one more time at the guy. He's still looking, but at both their gazes meeting his turns away.
Richard bats Jared's hand down, signals for another round. "Nah, he's just jealous of me. Understandable."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Richard smirks at him. "So, what were you saying?"
Jared sits back down and rolls his eyes. "And then the girl has this thing where she - "
"Hey," comes a gruff voice from beside the table, and both of them look up. It's the same guy who was just staring at them, and he's huge - as big as Jared, probably, seems bigger since they're sitting.
"Yeah?" Jared asks with a raised eyebrow.
The guy jerks a thumb at Richard. "So, uh. You rent out for the night?"
Richard blinks, and Jared voices what they're both thinking. "What?"
He shrugs, "You know, the night." He continues when they don't immediately reply, "Hey, I'll settle for an hour. Half?"
Jared gets it. "Whoa, we're not - wow, okay. We don't do that."
The guy looks surprised, then a little annoyed. "Look, I know I'm a big guy - so are you, you know. I won't rough him up or anything, if that's what you're afraid of. How's double the asking price?" He produces some twenties out of his pocket and waves them at Jared.
Richard feels uncomfortably like a zoo animal when the guy turns to leer at him, and shifts away.
"Dude. No." Jared glares at the guy, "Get out of here."
He scowls, stuffs the money back in his pocket. His features smooth over suddenly, though, and he says, "Hey, sorry. Just, uh, misinterpreted. Didn't mean to bother you."
"Yeah," Jared says. "Sure," and the guy leaves.
"Well. That was weird," Richard quirks an eyebrow at him, "next time I'm choosing where we go." He takes a long swig of beer. "Actually, what the hell?"
"I don't know. He's crazy." Jared watches him until he disappears into a different corner of the bar. "Sorry about that."
"Nah, it's not your fault." They sit there for a moment before Richard shakes his head and looks up. "What does the girl do?"
~~~
Aside from the rather unsettling encounter with the guy, it's been a spectacular night, and Richard makes sure to tell Jared so. Jared laughs at him. "You sure you're okay to drive?" he asks, "little guys like you don't have much tolerance…"
Richard shoves him. "I could drink you under the table any day. Brat." They tussle for a moment, then stop with Jared breathing heavily and grinning down at him. Richard's suddenly aware of how close he is, and tilts his head up just as Jared comes down to brush their lips together. It's chaste, quiet, and he pulls away slowly. Richard wants to pull him back down, have a real, lips and tongue and everything kiss, but - he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. That would just lead to more.
Jared clears his throat. "Yeah, so - I'll see you next week, right?"
"…Right."
He stands there with a sappy smile on his face as Jared gets into the car and drives off, then heads to his own car, fumbling for his keys. It's dark - late, and they were nearly the last to leave. The streetlight nearest the tiny parking lot's burned out, so when the bar shutters up a minute later he has to squint to get the key into the hole.
And he doesn't see the man coming up behind him.
There's a thick, meaty arm around his throat and another around his waist, and the weight of someone much bigger than him is pressing him forcefully against the cold metal of his car. Richard panics and throws an elbow back into his attacker's stomach - the guy gives a grunt and tightens his grip around Richard's throat. He scrabbles at the arm with one hand, tries to turn the key with the other - if he can just get into the car and kick the guy out, once he's got the engine running he can get away - but there are spots in front of his eyes as he struggles to breathe.
Then the arm is gone, and he sucks in the sweet air, relieved, before he realizes that something else is pressing against his neck. The man's still hugging him around the waist, and his breath grows louder as he leans down towards Richard's ear. "You wanna die?" he says, "this is a knife, I'll kill you if you scream. Put your hands on top of the car."
Richard complies. It's a mugging - he's been mugged before. Admittedly he'd had less to steal at the time, but it's better to lose money than his life. When he settles his hands on the roof, the guy steps away slightly, still pressing the knife lightly along the side of Richard's throat. "Good. Now open your car, get the door open, put your head by the gearshift. Got it?"
Richard nods, barely, conscious of the knife, and with one shaking hand unlocks the car. He opens the door, and as he steps away to do so the guy moves with him, always out of his field of vision. His heart's beating loudly in his ears. He inches forward and lays his torso along the driver's seat, head by the gearshift as directed and legs crouched, awkwardly, still out of the car.
"Hands behind your back." The knife's at the back of his neck now. He moves his hands, settles them together on his back, and tries to breathe slowly. The knife moves down towards them, and he hears the sound of tape being quickly unwound. When the knife lifts off his back, it's replaced immediately by the guy's weight as he manhandles Richard's arms closer together and wraps - duct tape? around them several times. Richard bucks up instinctively, and the guy grabs his hair and slams his head down on the gearshift. He sees flashes of light. "Don't move!"
That voice. Where had he heard that voice?
"…Just, just take it, okay, I'm not going to fight you," Richard hears himself say.
"Damn right you won't," the guy snaps, "if you talk again I'll gag you." Richard's mouth snaps shut, and he swallows drily.
He's cutting through Richard's shirt, taking it off in slices, throwing the wads of material into the passenger seat. Why would he - he doesn't need to - no. This is a mugging. A particularly painful, humiliating mugging. Not that. Not -
But then the guy's hands are at the button of his jeans, and he yells and thrashes. He manages to get halfway turned around before the guy's knife is back at his throat, and he sees his attacker's face for the first time.
"You," he breathes out, eyes wide.
"Yeah, me," snarls the guy, "you thought you could say no to me, huh? I'm not even good enough for a common whore like you?" He backhands Richard across the face, and Richard's head snaps to the side. "I'll take what I want."
It's around this time that Richard starts praying desperately for someone to save him - someone has to be around, there's another car in the lot, he's sure. They'll notice. Call the cops. This isn't happening. The guy brings out the duct tape again, forces Richard's jaw open and stuffs pieces of his shirt in, and tapes around his mouth. "Pity I can't get a blowjob," he smirks, "but this is gonna be so much better." Richard moans, a little hurt, scared sound.
The guy keeps the knife against his belly this time as he goes for Richard's fly, and tugs his jeans down in a few sharp jerks, pulls off his shoes and socks. He's fully naked, except for his necklace, but is trembling less from the cold and more from terror. He hears a click - the back doors are unlocked, and he's pulled up and turned around. The guy opens the back door and pushes Richard in until his head is shoved against the opposite door.
He thinks he's crying, and as the mucus starts to collect in his nose he panics again. He can't breathe, not really, lungs compressed by the heavy weight above him and mouth blocked off. He's choking on his own shirt. The guy grabs his left thigh, shoves his knee down off the seat so that his legs are spread. He's exposed, struggling, and the guy swears and grabs his head again, pulls him up. With his airways slightly less compressed he can suck in the mucus and breathe again. He's hyperventilating, though. "I swear if you fight me one more time I'll stick this knife up your ass once my cock's done with you." The guy hits him again, across the nose, and it's hard to breathe once again. There's blood filling up one nostril and it's painful to use the other, and he tries to calm down. The less he struggles the more likely he won't suffocate.
The guy shoves him down once again, and with one hand braced on his neck probes at his asshole with the other. Richard tenses.
Jared, he thinks, please have forgotten something, please come back. I can't - someone. God. Please, anyone. Someone help me.
One thick finger is shoved inside, dry, and it hurts as he stiffens further and whimpers. His head is held down by his neck. He can only see the shadows in the plastic pocket of the door, a glimpse of gray carpet, a nickel dropped under the front passenger seat. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.
One finger's all he gets. The pressure on his neck increases until he thinks it's going to break, then releases, and he feels two hands on his shoulder blades before he's entirely focused on the pain, the intrusion, the sick sensation of his own blood slicking the way. He drifts away. It's not me, he'll think, it's someone else's body, but then a particularly brutal thrust will drag him sharply back into himself. His high keen from the initial entrance has faded away into a series of almost unconscious whimpers.
The man stills inside him, then shifts one hand to push in the middle of his back. The other stabs between him and the seat, searches around before reaching his limp dick. He grabs it tightly, sending another wave of pain through Richard's gut. "Gotta make sure you enjoy it, too, whore," the man mutters, "don't say I'm no gentleman."
He drifts away again. It's easier, when the man pulls him up by the neck, settles him on the rapist's lap with his legs spread obscenely out and head hanging limply back, against his chest. Easier to stare blankly at nothing when the guy starts to bounce him up and down, strokes his dick, makes him hard. Easier to concentrate on the simple act of breathing through one nostril when the thrusts get harder and the hand gets rougher, when the other hand reaches up to grasp his chin and cheek, when the guy grunts and shudders and the hot rush of his come burns its way inside Richard's body. The guy strokes him a few more times, and he comes with barely a sound, only a shiver that highlights the pain in his neck and head and stomach and anus.
They sit there for a long time. It feels like a long time, anyway, until he's pushed off and thrown to lie limply along the backseat. He curls up - he doesn't quite fit, and the man laughs at him and shoves his head and shoulders into the well behind the front passenger seat. He kicks around weakly, but he still ends up with his body weight half on his right shoulder and the side of his neck. The rest of him is still up on the seat, but he has no leverage, not with his hands bound and the scarce amount of oxygen he's getting.
The man sits by his feet. "Half an hour, so - here you go." Half an hour? It was only half an hour? He feels something press against his palm, rough and papery, and his hand clenches at it before he realizes it's money. He lets go immediately.
"What, you don't want your pay? Gotta say, not a lot of participation, but you've got a great ass. Really nice to look at, my dick shoving its way in you, opening up your hole like the little slut you are. Should have had a camera, huh?"
Richard whimpers and tries to block out the sound.
"Anyway, here you go, I wouldn't want to deprive you of your money." He pushes it into Richard's hand again, closes his fingers around it and tapes his hand shut. "Picky whores like you probably don't get enough to really pay your bills, huh? Have to rely on that pimp of yours - oh, I should call him. Guess he'd get annoyed if he didn't know where you were. Let's see."
He hears the beep of buttons being pressed. "What's your password? Oh, right, you can't talk. Hmm. Is it an easy one - yes! No creativity. Probably not very smart, right? Didn't make it in school, had to turn to selling your fine ass to make ends meet. Contacts. What was his name? Jared? Here we go. …Hello? …Oh, you don't remember me? Shame. Richard's a little, heh, tied up right now. Might want to come down here and fetch him. …Hey, if you don't want to get him, I'd be happy to take him into my care. …No? …Where do you think? …Oh, he'll be here. Bye."
The guy tosses the phone down by Richard's face. It buzzes - Jared's trying to call back. "Anyway, thanks for the lay. I'll be sure to recommend you to all my friends." His grating laughter scratches across Richard's ears before he slams the door shut and leaves him alone.
His ears are ringing. He stares at the phone, which has gone dark, and wonders if Jared will come. Maybe not. He should untie himself, but the tape is strong, and he's tired, and it's easier just to stay there with his leg cramping and shoulder aching. His eyes slip shut. He listens to the rasp of his breath, in and out through the one nostril. The blood in the other one is dried, all down along his lip and chin. He shifts a little, and the change moves his throat - he starts to choke on the gag again, and shifts back. There's blood and semen trickling down his thighs - his own semen is drying and tacky on his stomach.
It feels like forever. A night, a day, a week, his naked body trembling on the back seat of his own car, slowly suffocating under his own weight.
Then the door opens with a rush of cold air, and Jared's exclaiming, horrified, reaching down to tug Richard up from his position and into his arms.
"Shit, shit, Richard, holy fuck, oh God, I'm so sorry," he can't reply, just watch as Jared pulls at the duct tape and swears. "I have to - I have to cut it, Richard, just a sec," and Jared leaves him slumped on the seat before he's back with a little pocket knife that Richard shies away from. Jared flinches. "I'm sorry, Rich, just let me get you out of this, okay? I'll take you - get you to the hospital, oh God." The knife slices through the tape, but Richard doesn't really move his arms, just lets them dangle freely. Jared cuts his gag away, and he spits out the material and curls himself into Jared's arms. He thinks he's crying again.
Jared curses again. "The sick bastard - " he's found the money, and tosses it angrily aside. "God, I'm so sorry, Richard, come on, we're going to the hospital, we have to - I don't know - " he swallows and lifts Richard up. Richard thinks dimly that he's glad he found a strong boyfriend, because he can't walk right now, or move, and he doesn't want to stop touching the warmth of Jared's shirt.
Jared brings him to his own car, and sets Richard down with his feet on the pavement as he opens the door. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around Richard's shoulders, says, "Wait, just a sec, I've got a blanket," and Richard waits dumbly until Jared's back with the thick blanket that's not quite large enough to reach Richard's feet. Jared strokes his hair when he's settled in the seat, looks at him with those wide eyes, and tells him, "It'll be okay."
Richard can't seem to say anything. They drive. He gazes out the window at the lights flashing by.
~~~
Everything's blurry. Jared ushers him past the mothers and screaming children with ear infections and the flu, past the quiet ones clutching their chests and trying not to move, past the ones with heavily bleeding wounds, and the nurses take one look and send him to wait in an empty office. They wait. He clings to Jared, who rocks him back and forth and makes little soothing noises, as if he were a child awakened from a nightmare.
They take him to another room, clean the wounds on his face and neck first, ask him questions. He asks for water, and they ask if there was oral penetration, and he says no, and he drinks greedily, four or five of the little cups before he answers anything else. They apologize, and lay him out on the examining table, and he won't let go of Jared's hand so they look askance but don't make Jared leave. They collect samples of the semen, and he explains haltingly that some of it's his, and then they finally clean him off inside and out. They take pictures. They ask him to pee into a cup. They collect blood, inject penicillin, give him a pill. "For STDs," they say.
Finally, finally, finally they let him go home, but his keys are still in his car in the tiny parking lot and he doesn't want to go back there. He knows it might be stolen. He can't care. Jared takes him to his apartment, for the first time, and he can't sleep so they watch stupid comedies for hours until Jared's nodded off on the couch and Richard can only register the light of the screen, dimming further and further into darkness.