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He can’t see me like this.
I have to go back and clean the kitchen.
At last, he makes it to the shower. Rian cries while standing beneath the boiling hot streams of water. The glass of the shower screen is covered in steam, obscuring his view of the rest of the bathroom.
The house had been so quiet and dark as Rian slowly made his way to the ensuite bathroom in the master bedroom, certain his husband wasn’t there. Rian allows himself to cry in earnest, taking deep breaths and wailing, completely overwhelmed with how useless and powerless he had been once more. How he hadn’t learned his lesson and gotten into trouble again.
His body needs to expel all those pent-up emotions of despair and helplessness, converting them into tears. It hurt to know, that crying himself to exhaustion in private is some sort of grand luxury he is affording himself only in moments of dire need.
When Harris’s voice reaches him, only a moment later, like a cold grip on his throat, he sucks in a ragged breath, feeling even more vulnerable. He is naked and still in pain from the assault, completely helpless and exposed. If he hasn’t been able to defend himself earlier, he would be downright useless now.
“I didn’t mean to react this way. You … it’s been a long day.” Harris doesn’t sound remorseful. His voice is low and flat. The line he delivers is one of many he regularly uses as an excuse to justify his insane behavior.
Rian says nothing. He’s been looking at the fogged glass, horrified. He’s trapped in the confining space of the shower as the shape of his husband moves closer, approaching the glass door. He holds his breath, bracing for another round of pain.
“Rian? Are you listening to me?” Harris demands impatiently.
After another long moment, with great effort, Rian barely croaks, “Yes.”
“Say you forgive me,” Harris pressures him into answering again. His voice is low, but still very much menacing.
Rian swallows hard, then mutters, “I forgive you.” He almost chokes on another sob. His chest is tight, his heart is breaking. Rian has apologized for his indiscretions many times before, and just as tonight, it had been a lie, yet the words burn on his lips worse than ever. A betrayal not only of himself but of Cyril’s memory.
Rian is so goddamned confined and alone that he wishes Harris had hurt him more. Enough to kill him, so he wouldn’t have to stand there and live through the aftermath of this fucking nightmare his life has turned into.
“Come out,” Harris says to him calmly. Like he’s trying hard not to frighten him.
Rian hesitates for a moment, but soon turns the water off and opens the door. He steps out on the thick plush bathmat. Unsure of what is expected of him next, he stands there naked in front of his husband, who is looking only slightly disheveled and not nearly remorseful. There are small splatters of blood across his white dress shirt. Rian’s blood. Parts of him are staining the perfect façade Harris maintains every day without exception.
That is how Harris has chosen to treat him – like Rian is some sort of lower life form, lesser than the minuscule traces of filth beneath his neatly manicured fingernails.
Harris appraises him shamelessly, his eyes lingering on Rian’s soft cock. He smirks and then croons in a way that feels more unsettling than shouting. “Come, let me hold you. It will make you feel better.”
He reaches for Rian and tucks him closer to his chest, completely ignoring the stiffness of his body. He is well aware his touch is unwanted, but he doesn’t care. If anything, this seems to bring him pleasure as he rubs his stubble on Rian’s cheek positively purring with excitement.
Rian’s stomach lurches, as he trembles uncontrollably, feeling incredibly sick.
Harris slowly ruts against Rian, rapidly hardening.
No participation is required for his excitement to be fired up.
Slowly, Harris walks them into the bedroom, where they stand in the darkness for some time. Rian is dripping wet and shivering, completely horrified by what is to come. Harris holds him loosely with one arm, not quite hugging him, more like keeping him in place.
Finally, Harris orders Rian to do his duty, as he does every night.
“Undress me.” He directs Rian with a sharp edge in his voice. Warning bells ring through Rian’s mind, but even that self-preservation instinct only plunges him into despair as there is nothing he could do to prevent what his husband intends to do to him.
Rian follows his instruction. He obediently begins by first undoing the buttons of his husband’s crisp white shirt with trembling fingers. Then, he removes the garment and lowers himself to undo the belt. Once out of the loops, before Rian has a chance to toss it out of reach, Harris extended his hand and takes it from him, folding it in half, without saying anything.
Rian’s eyes are transfixed on his thick fingers, holding the belt with a firm grip, wrist twitching slightly lower by his hip. Like Harris is nowhere near done with it. Rian can’t bring himself to look him in the eyes. His last breath is lodged in his throat, his heart is racing.
They say one sees what they cherished most in life, at the moment before death claims them. Rian sees his brother, Cyril, reaching for him,“I love you, Rian.”
How fucked up is it, that he must ready himself for death, just so he could harness the strength to survive another day?
Oh, God. Help me. I’m sorry Cyril. I’m so sorry brother.
Rian drops to his knees slowly and begins to remove his husband’s socks when suddenly Harris fists his wet hair roughly. The wound on the back of his scalp throbs with fresh shocks of pain. Everything goes white for a moment, and he can’t even breathe. Harris pulls his face up, so Rian can’t avoid his eyes anymore.
