The sky too is folding under you (and it's all over now, baby blue), part 5
***
Dean didn’t see Mr. Lyle again, not for a while. At first, he was too busy with the simulations to notice the change, his mind tired and his body wary, but Lyle’s absence was definitely leaving a hole in Dean’s daily routine. Aside from Jim and Willie, who never talked, never really looked at him, he’d been the only one Dean ever saw before having been introduced to Dr. Grey. And if Dr. Grey didn’t torture him like Lyle used to, the nightmares and fears that came from the simulations were, somehow, as rough on him as the pain from the torture had been.
At least when his body had been able to get some rest, it had hurt a bit less; but his conscience never left him.
Even so, no matter how long it was between two of Mr. Lyle’s visits, he was always there, somewhere, in a corner of his mind. Dean didn’t think about him, or bring up his name, or dream of him. He had too many other things in his mind to worry about. But when Dean’s mind was more open to his subconscious, when he was just drifting to sleep, or just waking up, or when he was coming out of a sim, he’d feel something, like a shape out of the corner of his eye that would disappear if he tried to look there. And without even searching for an answer, he knew whose presence he was feeling, knew what that twist in his guts was telling him.
***
One day, while he was working on a sim, he met Mr. Lyle’s sister, Miss Parker. His cock got instantaneously hard in his soft cotton pants as he traced the contours of her infinitely long legs with his eyes. He’d been pushing these kinds of emotions away for a while now, and he wasn’t sure if the knowledge that this part of him was still alive was something to rejoice at or cry over.
He learned that there was another Pretender out there, Jarod, who’d escaped the Centre years ago, and Miss Parker had been put in charge of getting him back. Having no success, the Centre had decided Dean was more than ready to contribute to the effort, and Miss Parker and an old doctor named Sydney - who was, Dean decided, nothing like Dr. Grey - were to come visit him every day until he either succeeded in finding Jarod for them, or until it was agreed that Dean wasn’t good enough for the task.
Dean felt his pride getting wounded just a little bit at these words, but decided he didn’t really want to succeed anyway. Who’d wish this kind of life on anyone? So he talked a while with Sydney, who told him all he could about Jarod, his life in the Centre and the years after that, and then he talked with Miss Parker.
She was sublime; deadly beautiful, like a succubus attracting you into her claws and stripping you of your everything, leaving you raw and needy. Dean barely listened to her as she told him more about Jarod, and instead let his thoughts wander, thinking about the things he could do to her, wondering how much he could make her come, and if she’d scream his name or just shut her eyes and moan in the bed sheets. He remembered all these girls he’d met on the road, all those delicious nights, and realized he would have never gone for someone like her, so far out of his league; he wouldn’t even have been attracted to the idea of her. Maybe her great body, but not the designer clothes, or the feeling of power and superiority that came from her.
Dean wanted to strip her bare and make her beg. He didn’t know what that meant, the fact that he’d never been attracted by the idea of possessing someone before but was now. He tried not to think about how that was probably something Lyle would want, or anyone else in here. He tried not to think about the idea that maybe this place changed people, and in the end everybody wanted the same thing, to possess and control.
That night, he jerked off, eyes closed, trying to ignore that flashing red light watching him. It was messy and needy, rough and to the point. He didn’t try to make it good, or make it last. He didn’t even try to picture her with him as he drove his hand up and down his cock.
And when, after many laborious attempts, he managed to finally come, Lyle was still there, a blurry figure at the corner of his vision.
***
The day after that, he tried focusing more on the task at hand, and learned as much about Jarod as he could. His cock was still trying to get attention from Miss Parker, apparently, so he tried getting twice as deep in the simulation to ignore it, and soon found out that the reason behind it was that Jarod probably had some attraction to her too. Dean ignored the voice in his head telling him how ridiculous it was to get jealous.
Miss Parker would come in what he assumed to be every morning, smelling of fresh air and expensive perfume, dark lipstick on her full lips, hand perfectly manicured. Her high heels would resound in the room and the sweeper that always followed her, Sam, (Sam!) would shoot him a deadly look, depositing a heavy pile of red notebooks and manila folders on the desk. Dean would push away the primal feelings and get to work.
She barely talked at first, not bothering to notice Dean. Oddly, being treated like a piece of furniture hurt more coming from her than anyone else he’d met in this hellhole - four people, he realized. She wouldn’t even stay that long. Dean knew what his job was and she didn’t feel like losing time down there. But there was only so much Dean could learn from files and paper articles, so one day, as Sam dropped the files on the desk, Dean eyed them, bit his tongue for a minute, and then spoke to her for the first time.
“There’s only so much I can learn from these files, you know,” he blurted out, eyes cast down as she turned back. “Ma’am,” he added, because it was easy to get into trouble and he’d gotten from Sam that he would, if he ever showed her anything other than respect.
“Excuse me?”
She had one eyebrow raised, smug look on her face, arms crossed across her chest as she made a step back toward him.
“Ahem…” Dean mumbled, looking for words that would be proper enough, polite enough. “I’m sorry, I just… I think I would do a better, quicker job if I learned about Jarod from someone who knows him. The articles and reports only tell me cold, neutral facts. I need subjectivity. I need emotions.”
His throat felt dry, now. His eyes were riveted on his hands, Dean could feel the blood pumping in his chest, the sound of her heels becoming louder as she approached him, as she got oh so close. Her perfume was bewitching, sweet and feminine, and Dean closed his eyes, not realizing that he was just breathing it all in, opening up and welcoming her under his skin.
She put her hands down on the table, leaning forward. She was above him, in every sense of the word, leaning down over him, looking down, and even if he didn’t dare look up, he could feel her stare on him. He flushed, deeply embarrassed, and his hands grasped the rough fabric of his pants.
Stay steady. She can’t know. She’ll know. She’ll kill you.
She’ll tell Lyle.
“And what makes you think that I would have any emotion for Jarod, mmh?” she spat at him.
He didn’t dare respond at first, and silence was reigning in the room. He could feel her getting impatient though, and knew he had to speak, quickly, or he’d make her angry.
“Everybody has emotions, Ma’am.”
“I don’t.”
And she left.
***
The day after that, she came back and sat down in front of him. Judging by the angry look she was displaying, it probably had been someone else’s decision, and the only thing Dean could think of was how perfect it was that she wanted nothing less than be here with him. She crossed her legs, crossed her arms, and lay back on the chair.
She didn’t tell him to go ahead, but the raised eyebrow was doing as much, so he started asking questions.
He was unsure at first, hesitant and awkward. He didn’t dare go too far, didn’t know where too far was, and was beating around the bush. Her answers were brief and cold, she was impatient, annoyed and pissed. He could tell: it was oozing out of her. He was about to ask her why Jarod was always leaving clues of his whereabouts behind when she just raised her hand to shut him up.
“How long exactly are you planning on wasting my time for? Why don’t you just go ahead and ask the real questions?” she hissed, but there was something else in her voice.
Challenge?
Dean’s blood rushed to his ears, which suddenly became very hot. He looked for the right words, but nothing came; he knew the more he waited, the worse it’d be, for both of them. He licked his cracked, dry lips, opened his mouth, waiting for the words to come out on their own.
“How does he feel about you?”
He regretted it the moment it came out. It didn’t just come wrong; he should have never asked that question in the first place. But he had to know. He needed to know.
Was it for the job, or for himself?
There was no taking it back. The question was hanging there in the open, for her to take, dismiss, or whatever other reaction she felt like having; he had no doubt she would handle it any way she felt like.
“Exactly how is that relevant to you finding him?”
“I… Jarod keeps in touch with you and Sydney, Ma’am. I know that he’s looking for answers, but it’s not the only reason. I need to know his motivations, what drives him. I think you’re part of it.”
She considered his answers. He could tell she was impressed by the way he understood Jarod, by how fast he was grasping his complex psyche.
“I… Jarod and I met each other here, at the Centre, a long time ago.”
***
In the days after that, Dean came to know a lot more of Jarod through Miss Parker than through anything else. It seemed like she knew everything about him; understood and cared for him. Yet she chased him down, and wanted to lock him up in this hole.
Oddly, Dean understood her motivations too. He knew what she felt. He too felt like he was being taunted by the proverbial carrot, knowing deep inside that even if Jarod returned, he would nevertheless remain here too. Worse, he’d never been offered any kind of freedom like Parker had; he only hoped that his trouble would fade away if he pleased them hard enough.
They talked a lot, he and Miss Parker, and he came to realize she was as deadly as she looked. Dean wasn’t easy to manipulate, and Lyle knew that coercion was a far more effective approach with him, but soon enough Dean found himself thinking that if Jarod had never escaped the Centre, they would have probably never come for him in the first place. How fair was it, for him to be stuck in this hellhole while Jarod was apparently living the life out there?
He wished he could talk to her, tell her that he knew how she felt, that he’d lost a mother too, that he felt stuck too, but Lyle was always there, creeping, like he’d already marked his territory.
Dean pushed all those feelings away, knowing it was easier not to allow himself to feel anything at all. It helped getting into the sims, and it also helped when he had nothing to do.
He soon found that the line between reality and simulation was getting blurrier every day when he was trying to get into Jarod’s mind. Maybe because Jarod himself was a Pretender, or because when he was pretending to be Jarod pretending to be someone else, it felt like looking inside an empty, bottomless well. His only grip on reality was Dr. Grey, whom he knew Jarod had never met, and these scars on his body that Jarod never had.
He looked at them, sometimes; wondering how it would look in a mirror, not having seen his reflection in a while. He didn’t remember which scars had always been there, and which he acquired in the Centre. It didn’t matter all that much, his past life long since pushed to the back of his mind, like everything else he didn’t want to think about.
***
Then, one day, it got worse. Miss Parker and Sydney were busy somewhere else, probably collecting the last remnants of Jarod’s passage, bringing them back for Dean to analyze. They were always getting closer, thanks to him, but apparently Jarod was becoming aware of that and had gone into deeper hiding.
Dean was alone in that big room with Dr. Grey, surrounded by red notebooks filled by Jarod with journal articles. He was focused and deep into Jarod’s psyche, his eyes going from one notebook to the other, his mouth moving rapidly, no sound coming out of it. Dr. Grey was slightly in retreat, calmly guiding Dean with his hypnotic low voice.
The door opened, and Lyle came in. He was wearing a brown suit, orange shirt and tie tucked under the jacket, red glove on his left hand. The warm colors were a stark contrast to the cold tones of everything surrounding Dean, from the grey walls to the faded blue of Grey’s sweater. It struck a match in Dean’s soul, and a rush of emotions that he couldn’t quite identify flooded into his body, rabid and desperate.
Loss and pain, betrayal and hatred quickened his heartbeat, blood rushing out of his fingers and into his legs, and Dean lunged forward, jumping, his hands gripping Lyle’s suit in seconds.
Jim was on him a moment later, soon followed by Willie, and a quick punch to the gut was all it took for him to go down, folded on the floor as they grabbed his arms and pulled them painfully in cuffs behind his back. Willie had his knee pressing against the small of Dean’s back, forcing his torso downwards, and Lyle raised his chin up, stretching his trachea, breathing suddenly becoming more difficult.
He probably would have received a pretty good beating if Dr. Grey hadn’t jumped to the rescue, prompting Dean to snap out of the simulation. It took him a good five minutes to calm down and come back to his senses, the emotions gone, adrenaline making his limbs shake.
“Any idea why Jarod would feel so much hatred toward you, Mr. Lyle?” Dr. Grey prompted, poorly masking his amusement.
“Jarod?”
Grey nodded.
“Dean was deep in his simulation when he saw you. There’s no way the reaction was Dean’s fault.”
“Can’t he tell the difference?” Lyle spat, letting Dean’s chin go.
“He’s getting more and more confused. Pretending to be Jarod isn’t exactly something he’s ever done before; it’s taking its toll on him.”
Dean didn’t even register the fact they were talking about him as if he wasn’t in the room. He was used to it, and it usually meant he was out of trouble for the moment, which was probably a good thing, considering what he had just done.
They gave him two pills, which he welcomed, knowing they’d keep the nightmares at bay, and put him back in his room.
***
Eyelids heavy, throat dry, Dean woke up to the feeling he’d been sleeping wrapped in cotton. He felt more rested than he had in ages, and didn’t want the feeling to go away. He remembered what happened, how he’d attacked Lyle, the pure hatred he’d felt for him. Sure, Dean hated the guy, but the feeling was mild enough that he could control himself. What he’d felt when he’d launched himself at him, however, was a primal emotion, something he’d never felt before and that he didn’t think he could have ever kept in check.
He wondered how Jarod did, knowing he and Lyle had met on several occasions, and yet Lyle was still alive. To have such control over oneself was something Dean admired, and yet he despised Jarod for not having killed Lyle when he had the chance. One more reason for Dean to find him and make sure he got locked up.
Eyes still closed, Dean sensed the presence more than he felt it, resting at the feet of his bed. He was about to ask Angelo to come back later, but then he opened his eyes and stared in confusion: Lyle was watching him, body resting on his bed, against the wall. His jacket was resting on the only chair in the room, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“Still want to strangle me?” Lyle asked, appearing amused by the whole situation. His level of confidence was strange, and made no sense to Dean. He knew he’d lost a lot of muscle, but here in this room, he was alone with Lyle, and even with sweepers just outside, he could probably do a lot of damage if he wanted to, before they ever got to him. Not that Dean was thinking about it; there wouldn’t be any excuses if he tried now.
Lyle approached Dean, sitting near his hips on the bed. “You’re still confused?” Taking Dean’s silence for a yes, he reached under the covers and started stroking Dean’s chest with his right hand.
Still knocked out by the pills, Dean didn’t register the act of intrusion as quickly as he should have, and Lyle’s hand was getting closer to his penis by then. His cold blue eyes were piercing through Dean’s soul, his expression unreadable. Dean averted them for a second, briefly glancing at the security camera. The red light was off.
The hand was cold on Dean’s cock, stroking it slowly at first, bringing it to full attention, playing with the shaft, cupping the balls. Pleasure curled in Dean’s belly, the attention more welcome than that of his own hand somehow. It didn’t take long for Dean’s confused mind to drift back, and soon desire and pleasure were the only thoughts he had. He felt feverish, like the air was too heavy on his lungs, and he had to grasp for the sheets to keep from shaking.
Eyes closed, he felt the gloved hand guiding his to Lyle’s crotch, and he palmed it without giving it a second thought. He didn’t have much control over his own body, and his brain wasn’t functional enough to order him to do anything with it, so Lyle covered Dean’s hand with his own, pressing it firmly on his penis. His arousal was obvious, and he guided Dean’s hand into his open pants, slipping both their hands in the boxers at the same time, his gloved hand covering Dean’s.
Dean’s pupils were already dilated, his heart beating fast, when Lyle took both their hands out of his pants and flipped Dean over. The sensation on Dean’s cock gone, it somehow brought him back to reality, and when he felt Lyle lift the covers and climb above him, Dean tried turning around, the situation dawning in on him.
“Shh,” Lyle soothed when he tried to move away. He reached a hand under Dean’s hips, and cupped his fully erect cock again.
He resumed the stroking, Dean’s moans muffled by the pillow. He could feel Lyle’s own penis pulsing against his naked buttcheeks. His cock was still being stroked, the rhythm somehow erratic and without pattern, as he felt something cold against the entrance of his anus. His immediate response was to clench his ass at the alien touch, his whole body tensing.
“Easy there, boy. I can make it good for you,” Lyle promised, running a finger around the crack of his hole. “It’ll help you relax, clear your mind.” He stroked his cock a bit faster, and soon Dean’s focus was on the pleasure he was getting, trying to breathe in through the pillow, the lack of air making him light-headed and closer to coming.
Lyle lifted Dean’s hips, making his head rest back directly on the mattress, giving his nose and mouth clearer access to the air, and he gently entered a finger inside Dean’s hole.
The penetration wasn’t really painful. The finger was lubricated, and it was too small to hurt, but the feeling was strange and confusing. Dean felt his puckered hole warm up, intense pleasure running through him as the finger pressed against his sphincter. Sweat was forming on the small of his back, pre-come slicking his cock.
A second finger soon joined the first one, and Dean groaned into the mattress. The fingers stretched his hole in a scissoring motion, which still wasn’t painful, but definitely nothing like Dean had ever experienced. Lyle’s other hand left Dean’s penis and went to his hips, holding them still, the message clear. He ran his fingers deeper into Dean’s hole, up and down his anus, and Dean was shivering with need, his cock screaming for attention now that he couldn’t rub it against the mattress sheet anymore.
It started hurting when a third finger came in, and Dean tensed again immediately, but relaxed as soon as his body registered how good it felt. His anus was probably spread open by now, the burn radiating up to his cock, his eyes tight shut. He was gasping for air, trying to get one of his hands on his cock to bring the closure he was so desperate for.
The three fingers left his hole, and Lyle grabbed his hands, lifting them and pinning them above his head on the pillow.
Dean whimpered.
“What is it, Dean?” Lyle, bent over, whispered in his ear. “Come on, all you gotta do is ask, you should know that by now.”
Dean felt the tip of something against his gaping hole, hard and barely pressing against it.
“Please, Mr. Lyle. I need you,” Dean shivered. His arms tensed, but Lyle’s grip was firm on them. “I need you inside me.”
“You want me to fuck you, Dean? Is that it?” Lyle taunted.
“Yessss,” he hissed. “Please, fuck me.”
“Alright, since you asked so nicely.” Lyle laughed.
Lyle freed one of his hands, and gripping Dean’s hips firmly, pushed his way inside without warning. Dean’s moan was louder than he’d intended, and he felt like he didn’t have control over anything. Again, the pain soon became a warm, burning sensation that sent more blood to his cock.
Lyle let out a long growl above him as he just stayed there, buried deep inside. “So tight,” he whispered, “so good.” He slightly withdrew, and then dived back in, and then again, and again. Slow at first, pace increasing, his breathing soon matching Dean’s. He settled at a fast pace, the sweat forming on his own body melting with Dean’s own, his grip almost lost on Dean’s hands, who hadn’t moved them again. Lyle adjusted Dean’s hips, raising his butt just a bit, offering him a better angle, and pushed in with force, hitting Dean’s prostate for the first time.
Dean yelped, the sensation taking him by surprise, and his cock pulsed blood furiously. He braced himself, and soon the feeling came back, as Lyle quickly hit the prostate again. Both were panting, Dean close to coming, cock was ready to explode. He felt his balls tighten, expecting the orgasm, when he felt Lyle’s fist closing tightly at the base of Dean’s penis, trapping it.
He cried out in frustration, and Lyle stopped moving on top of him, tightening his grip on both Dean’s hands and his cock.
“Come on, Dean, the rules haven’t changed. You know how it works.”
Dean tried to catch his breath, searching for the right words in his confused mind.
“Please,” he begged, needy and desperate. “Please, Mr. Lyle. May I come?”
He’d blurted the line as fast as possible, his cock angrily pulsing against Lyle’s fist. Lyle smirked against his ear, quickly resuming his back and forth movement, fist still tight against Dean’s penis. After a few thrusts, he started pulling hard on Dean’s cock: once, twice, three times, and Dean exploded on the mattress. His whole body was shaking, tremors running through his muscle, his asshole clenching in rhythm. He was still jerking white spurts of come when Lyle joined him, the grip on his hands more painful than ever, the sound of Lyle’s yell resounding in the room.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Dean didn’t see Mr. Lyle again, not for a while. At first, he was too busy with the simulations to notice the change, his mind tired and his body wary, but Lyle’s absence was definitely leaving a hole in Dean’s daily routine. Aside from Jim and Willie, who never talked, never really looked at him, he’d been the only one Dean ever saw before having been introduced to Dr. Grey. And if Dr. Grey didn’t torture him like Lyle used to, the nightmares and fears that came from the simulations were, somehow, as rough on him as the pain from the torture had been.
At least when his body had been able to get some rest, it had hurt a bit less; but his conscience never left him.
Even so, no matter how long it was between two of Mr. Lyle’s visits, he was always there, somewhere, in a corner of his mind. Dean didn’t think about him, or bring up his name, or dream of him. He had too many other things in his mind to worry about. But when Dean’s mind was more open to his subconscious, when he was just drifting to sleep, or just waking up, or when he was coming out of a sim, he’d feel something, like a shape out of the corner of his eye that would disappear if he tried to look there. And without even searching for an answer, he knew whose presence he was feeling, knew what that twist in his guts was telling him.
***
One day, while he was working on a sim, he met Mr. Lyle’s sister, Miss Parker. His cock got instantaneously hard in his soft cotton pants as he traced the contours of her infinitely long legs with his eyes. He’d been pushing these kinds of emotions away for a while now, and he wasn’t sure if the knowledge that this part of him was still alive was something to rejoice at or cry over.
He learned that there was another Pretender out there, Jarod, who’d escaped the Centre years ago, and Miss Parker had been put in charge of getting him back. Having no success, the Centre had decided Dean was more than ready to contribute to the effort, and Miss Parker and an old doctor named Sydney - who was, Dean decided, nothing like Dr. Grey - were to come visit him every day until he either succeeded in finding Jarod for them, or until it was agreed that Dean wasn’t good enough for the task.
Dean felt his pride getting wounded just a little bit at these words, but decided he didn’t really want to succeed anyway. Who’d wish this kind of life on anyone? So he talked a while with Sydney, who told him all he could about Jarod, his life in the Centre and the years after that, and then he talked with Miss Parker.
She was sublime; deadly beautiful, like a succubus attracting you into her claws and stripping you of your everything, leaving you raw and needy. Dean barely listened to her as she told him more about Jarod, and instead let his thoughts wander, thinking about the things he could do to her, wondering how much he could make her come, and if she’d scream his name or just shut her eyes and moan in the bed sheets. He remembered all these girls he’d met on the road, all those delicious nights, and realized he would have never gone for someone like her, so far out of his league; he wouldn’t even have been attracted to the idea of her. Maybe her great body, but not the designer clothes, or the feeling of power and superiority that came from her.
Dean wanted to strip her bare and make her beg. He didn’t know what that meant, the fact that he’d never been attracted by the idea of possessing someone before but was now. He tried not to think about how that was probably something Lyle would want, or anyone else in here. He tried not to think about the idea that maybe this place changed people, and in the end everybody wanted the same thing, to possess and control.
That night, he jerked off, eyes closed, trying to ignore that flashing red light watching him. It was messy and needy, rough and to the point. He didn’t try to make it good, or make it last. He didn’t even try to picture her with him as he drove his hand up and down his cock.
And when, after many laborious attempts, he managed to finally come, Lyle was still there, a blurry figure at the corner of his vision.
***
The day after that, he tried focusing more on the task at hand, and learned as much about Jarod as he could. His cock was still trying to get attention from Miss Parker, apparently, so he tried getting twice as deep in the simulation to ignore it, and soon found out that the reason behind it was that Jarod probably had some attraction to her too. Dean ignored the voice in his head telling him how ridiculous it was to get jealous.
Miss Parker would come in what he assumed to be every morning, smelling of fresh air and expensive perfume, dark lipstick on her full lips, hand perfectly manicured. Her high heels would resound in the room and the sweeper that always followed her, Sam, (Sam!) would shoot him a deadly look, depositing a heavy pile of red notebooks and manila folders on the desk. Dean would push away the primal feelings and get to work.
She barely talked at first, not bothering to notice Dean. Oddly, being treated like a piece of furniture hurt more coming from her than anyone else he’d met in this hellhole - four people, he realized. She wouldn’t even stay that long. Dean knew what his job was and she didn’t feel like losing time down there. But there was only so much Dean could learn from files and paper articles, so one day, as Sam dropped the files on the desk, Dean eyed them, bit his tongue for a minute, and then spoke to her for the first time.
“There’s only so much I can learn from these files, you know,” he blurted out, eyes cast down as she turned back. “Ma’am,” he added, because it was easy to get into trouble and he’d gotten from Sam that he would, if he ever showed her anything other than respect.
“Excuse me?”
She had one eyebrow raised, smug look on her face, arms crossed across her chest as she made a step back toward him.
“Ahem…” Dean mumbled, looking for words that would be proper enough, polite enough. “I’m sorry, I just… I think I would do a better, quicker job if I learned about Jarod from someone who knows him. The articles and reports only tell me cold, neutral facts. I need subjectivity. I need emotions.”
His throat felt dry, now. His eyes were riveted on his hands, Dean could feel the blood pumping in his chest, the sound of her heels becoming louder as she approached him, as she got oh so close. Her perfume was bewitching, sweet and feminine, and Dean closed his eyes, not realizing that he was just breathing it all in, opening up and welcoming her under his skin.
She put her hands down on the table, leaning forward. She was above him, in every sense of the word, leaning down over him, looking down, and even if he didn’t dare look up, he could feel her stare on him. He flushed, deeply embarrassed, and his hands grasped the rough fabric of his pants.
Stay steady. She can’t know. She’ll know. She’ll kill you.
She’ll tell Lyle.
“And what makes you think that I would have any emotion for Jarod, mmh?” she spat at him.
He didn’t dare respond at first, and silence was reigning in the room. He could feel her getting impatient though, and knew he had to speak, quickly, or he’d make her angry.
“Everybody has emotions, Ma’am.”
“I don’t.”
And she left.
***
The day after that, she came back and sat down in front of him. Judging by the angry look she was displaying, it probably had been someone else’s decision, and the only thing Dean could think of was how perfect it was that she wanted nothing less than be here with him. She crossed her legs, crossed her arms, and lay back on the chair.
She didn’t tell him to go ahead, but the raised eyebrow was doing as much, so he started asking questions.
He was unsure at first, hesitant and awkward. He didn’t dare go too far, didn’t know where too far was, and was beating around the bush. Her answers were brief and cold, she was impatient, annoyed and pissed. He could tell: it was oozing out of her. He was about to ask her why Jarod was always leaving clues of his whereabouts behind when she just raised her hand to shut him up.
“How long exactly are you planning on wasting my time for? Why don’t you just go ahead and ask the real questions?” she hissed, but there was something else in her voice.
Challenge?
Dean’s blood rushed to his ears, which suddenly became very hot. He looked for the right words, but nothing came; he knew the more he waited, the worse it’d be, for both of them. He licked his cracked, dry lips, opened his mouth, waiting for the words to come out on their own.
“How does he feel about you?”
He regretted it the moment it came out. It didn’t just come wrong; he should have never asked that question in the first place. But he had to know. He needed to know.
Was it for the job, or for himself?
There was no taking it back. The question was hanging there in the open, for her to take, dismiss, or whatever other reaction she felt like having; he had no doubt she would handle it any way she felt like.
“Exactly how is that relevant to you finding him?”
“I… Jarod keeps in touch with you and Sydney, Ma’am. I know that he’s looking for answers, but it’s not the only reason. I need to know his motivations, what drives him. I think you’re part of it.”
She considered his answers. He could tell she was impressed by the way he understood Jarod, by how fast he was grasping his complex psyche.
“I… Jarod and I met each other here, at the Centre, a long time ago.”
***
In the days after that, Dean came to know a lot more of Jarod through Miss Parker than through anything else. It seemed like she knew everything about him; understood and cared for him. Yet she chased him down, and wanted to lock him up in this hole.
Oddly, Dean understood her motivations too. He knew what she felt. He too felt like he was being taunted by the proverbial carrot, knowing deep inside that even if Jarod returned, he would nevertheless remain here too. Worse, he’d never been offered any kind of freedom like Parker had; he only hoped that his trouble would fade away if he pleased them hard enough.
They talked a lot, he and Miss Parker, and he came to realize she was as deadly as she looked. Dean wasn’t easy to manipulate, and Lyle knew that coercion was a far more effective approach with him, but soon enough Dean found himself thinking that if Jarod had never escaped the Centre, they would have probably never come for him in the first place. How fair was it, for him to be stuck in this hellhole while Jarod was apparently living the life out there?
He wished he could talk to her, tell her that he knew how she felt, that he’d lost a mother too, that he felt stuck too, but Lyle was always there, creeping, like he’d already marked his territory.
Dean pushed all those feelings away, knowing it was easier not to allow himself to feel anything at all. It helped getting into the sims, and it also helped when he had nothing to do.
He soon found that the line between reality and simulation was getting blurrier every day when he was trying to get into Jarod’s mind. Maybe because Jarod himself was a Pretender, or because when he was pretending to be Jarod pretending to be someone else, it felt like looking inside an empty, bottomless well. His only grip on reality was Dr. Grey, whom he knew Jarod had never met, and these scars on his body that Jarod never had.
He looked at them, sometimes; wondering how it would look in a mirror, not having seen his reflection in a while. He didn’t remember which scars had always been there, and which he acquired in the Centre. It didn’t matter all that much, his past life long since pushed to the back of his mind, like everything else he didn’t want to think about.
***
Then, one day, it got worse. Miss Parker and Sydney were busy somewhere else, probably collecting the last remnants of Jarod’s passage, bringing them back for Dean to analyze. They were always getting closer, thanks to him, but apparently Jarod was becoming aware of that and had gone into deeper hiding.
Dean was alone in that big room with Dr. Grey, surrounded by red notebooks filled by Jarod with journal articles. He was focused and deep into Jarod’s psyche, his eyes going from one notebook to the other, his mouth moving rapidly, no sound coming out of it. Dr. Grey was slightly in retreat, calmly guiding Dean with his hypnotic low voice.
The door opened, and Lyle came in. He was wearing a brown suit, orange shirt and tie tucked under the jacket, red glove on his left hand. The warm colors were a stark contrast to the cold tones of everything surrounding Dean, from the grey walls to the faded blue of Grey’s sweater. It struck a match in Dean’s soul, and a rush of emotions that he couldn’t quite identify flooded into his body, rabid and desperate.
Loss and pain, betrayal and hatred quickened his heartbeat, blood rushing out of his fingers and into his legs, and Dean lunged forward, jumping, his hands gripping Lyle’s suit in seconds.
Jim was on him a moment later, soon followed by Willie, and a quick punch to the gut was all it took for him to go down, folded on the floor as they grabbed his arms and pulled them painfully in cuffs behind his back. Willie had his knee pressing against the small of Dean’s back, forcing his torso downwards, and Lyle raised his chin up, stretching his trachea, breathing suddenly becoming more difficult.
He probably would have received a pretty good beating if Dr. Grey hadn’t jumped to the rescue, prompting Dean to snap out of the simulation. It took him a good five minutes to calm down and come back to his senses, the emotions gone, adrenaline making his limbs shake.
“Any idea why Jarod would feel so much hatred toward you, Mr. Lyle?” Dr. Grey prompted, poorly masking his amusement.
“Jarod?”
Grey nodded.
“Dean was deep in his simulation when he saw you. There’s no way the reaction was Dean’s fault.”
“Can’t he tell the difference?” Lyle spat, letting Dean’s chin go.
“He’s getting more and more confused. Pretending to be Jarod isn’t exactly something he’s ever done before; it’s taking its toll on him.”
Dean didn’t even register the fact they were talking about him as if he wasn’t in the room. He was used to it, and it usually meant he was out of trouble for the moment, which was probably a good thing, considering what he had just done.
They gave him two pills, which he welcomed, knowing they’d keep the nightmares at bay, and put him back in his room.
***
Eyelids heavy, throat dry, Dean woke up to the feeling he’d been sleeping wrapped in cotton. He felt more rested than he had in ages, and didn’t want the feeling to go away. He remembered what happened, how he’d attacked Lyle, the pure hatred he’d felt for him. Sure, Dean hated the guy, but the feeling was mild enough that he could control himself. What he’d felt when he’d launched himself at him, however, was a primal emotion, something he’d never felt before and that he didn’t think he could have ever kept in check.
He wondered how Jarod did, knowing he and Lyle had met on several occasions, and yet Lyle was still alive. To have such control over oneself was something Dean admired, and yet he despised Jarod for not having killed Lyle when he had the chance. One more reason for Dean to find him and make sure he got locked up.
Eyes still closed, Dean sensed the presence more than he felt it, resting at the feet of his bed. He was about to ask Angelo to come back later, but then he opened his eyes and stared in confusion: Lyle was watching him, body resting on his bed, against the wall. His jacket was resting on the only chair in the room, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“Still want to strangle me?” Lyle asked, appearing amused by the whole situation. His level of confidence was strange, and made no sense to Dean. He knew he’d lost a lot of muscle, but here in this room, he was alone with Lyle, and even with sweepers just outside, he could probably do a lot of damage if he wanted to, before they ever got to him. Not that Dean was thinking about it; there wouldn’t be any excuses if he tried now.
Lyle approached Dean, sitting near his hips on the bed. “You’re still confused?” Taking Dean’s silence for a yes, he reached under the covers and started stroking Dean’s chest with his right hand.
Still knocked out by the pills, Dean didn’t register the act of intrusion as quickly as he should have, and Lyle’s hand was getting closer to his penis by then. His cold blue eyes were piercing through Dean’s soul, his expression unreadable. Dean averted them for a second, briefly glancing at the security camera. The red light was off.
The hand was cold on Dean’s cock, stroking it slowly at first, bringing it to full attention, playing with the shaft, cupping the balls. Pleasure curled in Dean’s belly, the attention more welcome than that of his own hand somehow. It didn’t take long for Dean’s confused mind to drift back, and soon desire and pleasure were the only thoughts he had. He felt feverish, like the air was too heavy on his lungs, and he had to grasp for the sheets to keep from shaking.
Eyes closed, he felt the gloved hand guiding his to Lyle’s crotch, and he palmed it without giving it a second thought. He didn’t have much control over his own body, and his brain wasn’t functional enough to order him to do anything with it, so Lyle covered Dean’s hand with his own, pressing it firmly on his penis. His arousal was obvious, and he guided Dean’s hand into his open pants, slipping both their hands in the boxers at the same time, his gloved hand covering Dean’s.
Dean’s pupils were already dilated, his heart beating fast, when Lyle took both their hands out of his pants and flipped Dean over. The sensation on Dean’s cock gone, it somehow brought him back to reality, and when he felt Lyle lift the covers and climb above him, Dean tried turning around, the situation dawning in on him.
“Shh,” Lyle soothed when he tried to move away. He reached a hand under Dean’s hips, and cupped his fully erect cock again.
He resumed the stroking, Dean’s moans muffled by the pillow. He could feel Lyle’s own penis pulsing against his naked buttcheeks. His cock was still being stroked, the rhythm somehow erratic and without pattern, as he felt something cold against the entrance of his anus. His immediate response was to clench his ass at the alien touch, his whole body tensing.
“Easy there, boy. I can make it good for you,” Lyle promised, running a finger around the crack of his hole. “It’ll help you relax, clear your mind.” He stroked his cock a bit faster, and soon Dean’s focus was on the pleasure he was getting, trying to breathe in through the pillow, the lack of air making him light-headed and closer to coming.
Lyle lifted Dean’s hips, making his head rest back directly on the mattress, giving his nose and mouth clearer access to the air, and he gently entered a finger inside Dean’s hole.
The penetration wasn’t really painful. The finger was lubricated, and it was too small to hurt, but the feeling was strange and confusing. Dean felt his puckered hole warm up, intense pleasure running through him as the finger pressed against his sphincter. Sweat was forming on the small of his back, pre-come slicking his cock.
A second finger soon joined the first one, and Dean groaned into the mattress. The fingers stretched his hole in a scissoring motion, which still wasn’t painful, but definitely nothing like Dean had ever experienced. Lyle’s other hand left Dean’s penis and went to his hips, holding them still, the message clear. He ran his fingers deeper into Dean’s hole, up and down his anus, and Dean was shivering with need, his cock screaming for attention now that he couldn’t rub it against the mattress sheet anymore.
It started hurting when a third finger came in, and Dean tensed again immediately, but relaxed as soon as his body registered how good it felt. His anus was probably spread open by now, the burn radiating up to his cock, his eyes tight shut. He was gasping for air, trying to get one of his hands on his cock to bring the closure he was so desperate for.
The three fingers left his hole, and Lyle grabbed his hands, lifting them and pinning them above his head on the pillow.
Dean whimpered.
“What is it, Dean?” Lyle, bent over, whispered in his ear. “Come on, all you gotta do is ask, you should know that by now.”
Dean felt the tip of something against his gaping hole, hard and barely pressing against it.
“Please, Mr. Lyle. I need you,” Dean shivered. His arms tensed, but Lyle’s grip was firm on them. “I need you inside me.”
“You want me to fuck you, Dean? Is that it?” Lyle taunted.
“Yessss,” he hissed. “Please, fuck me.”
“Alright, since you asked so nicely.” Lyle laughed.
Lyle freed one of his hands, and gripping Dean’s hips firmly, pushed his way inside without warning. Dean’s moan was louder than he’d intended, and he felt like he didn’t have control over anything. Again, the pain soon became a warm, burning sensation that sent more blood to his cock.
Lyle let out a long growl above him as he just stayed there, buried deep inside. “So tight,” he whispered, “so good.” He slightly withdrew, and then dived back in, and then again, and again. Slow at first, pace increasing, his breathing soon matching Dean’s. He settled at a fast pace, the sweat forming on his own body melting with Dean’s own, his grip almost lost on Dean’s hands, who hadn’t moved them again. Lyle adjusted Dean’s hips, raising his butt just a bit, offering him a better angle, and pushed in with force, hitting Dean’s prostate for the first time.
Dean yelped, the sensation taking him by surprise, and his cock pulsed blood furiously. He braced himself, and soon the feeling came back, as Lyle quickly hit the prostate again. Both were panting, Dean close to coming, cock was ready to explode. He felt his balls tighten, expecting the orgasm, when he felt Lyle’s fist closing tightly at the base of Dean’s penis, trapping it.
He cried out in frustration, and Lyle stopped moving on top of him, tightening his grip on both Dean’s hands and his cock.
“Come on, Dean, the rules haven’t changed. You know how it works.”
Dean tried to catch his breath, searching for the right words in his confused mind.
“Please,” he begged, needy and desperate. “Please, Mr. Lyle. May I come?”
He’d blurted the line as fast as possible, his cock angrily pulsing against Lyle’s fist. Lyle smirked against his ear, quickly resuming his back and forth movement, fist still tight against Dean’s penis. After a few thrusts, he started pulling hard on Dean’s cock: once, twice, three times, and Dean exploded on the mattress. His whole body was shaking, tremors running through his muscle, his asshole clenching in rhythm. He was still jerking white spurts of come when Lyle joined him, the grip on his hands more painful than ever, the sound of Lyle’s yell resounding in the room.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10