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I thought there was an earthquake.
I walked inside and the living room was a mess: broken glass, trash everywhere, furniture flipped upside down. Surely, I didn't get robbed? Who would want to rob me? Are my students playing some weird prank on me? How would they have gotten in here?
All my questions cease when I hear the paining sound of sobbing.
“Simon?” I called out. I cautiously stepped over the rubble, turning the corner into the kitchen. I see Simon, curled up in a ball on the floor. My heart dropped when I saw the thick shard of glass in his hand. “Simon? Are you ok?”
He doesn't respond. I repeat myself, “Simon? Are you ok?”
Nothing. I step forward, kneeling down in front of him, “Simon. Can you hear me?”
For a moment, he doesn't speak. Then, in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard from him, “go away.”
“Simon?”
“Go away.” His voice sounded so broken and woeful, “Please… don't look at me.”
“Simon, it's me. It’s Ryland. I'm here to help you. What’s wrong? What happened here?”
Silence. He's not crying anymore, which is a good step. But, he's holding a tight grip on that shard, small beads of blood dripping down his palm. I gently placed my hands on his arm, he flinched. He's never flinched at my touch before. “Si—”
“I can't live like this anymore.”
It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room, “You… what?”
He's shaking like an avalanche, sniffling like a baby, “I'm a monster.”
“Simon, you're not—”
“I'm a monster!” He shouted, his grip on the glass tightening, “I'm a butcher! I am drenched in the blood of so many people, even my brothers. It shouldn't have been them, it should have been me! I should be the one to bleed. I should be the one who died.”
I swallowed. I knew he had his issues, but this is a whole new level. As a teacher, they trained me on deescalating a situation, but this was not a ‘middle school drama’ situation, this was a ‘cult indoctrinated soldier dealing with ptsd and survivor’s guilt’ situation.
“Simon, please. We can talk about this.” I plead with him, “Just let go of the glass, I’ll patch you up, and we can talk this out.”
He shakes his head, “I can't.”
“Simon please.”
“I'm sorry, angel. It's too much. I'm sorry.”
Now I'm crying. I felt so useless. The first human I've seen in years, the first human to make me feel important, wants to die and there’s nothing I can do about it. It's not fair. I just want to take his pain away, convince him that he deserves to live. But how can I do that? How can I make him listen to me?
It’s hopeless. I'm just one man, I'm not an angel. There’s nothing I can do for him.
Unless…
An idea. It came to me, sudden and brutal. It was a terrible idea. A terrible, depraved, immoral idea. If I did this, I could never come back from it. It could go terribly wrong, make things worse. He wouldn't look at me the same again.
But, it could work. At the very least, it could buy me time for a real solution. I had nothing else, no plans, no tricks up my sleeve. I had to try.
Deep breath in, then out.
“You should be sorry.”
He freezed, lifting his head up slightly, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dull and lifeless, it didn't seem like he was really looking at me, “What?”
“You heard me.” I spat with no mercy. As much as I hated this, I had to play the role, “I shelter you, feed you, treat your wounds, I even let you touch me in ways no human has in a long time. And this is the thanks I get as your angel?” He fully lifted his head up. His eyes began to shift, I can see the light coming back in with every word I say. “I give and give and give to you, and now you say you want to kill yourself? All my blessings, and you just want to throw it all away? Did it all just mean nothing to you?”
“No!” He gasped, “It meant everything to me, angel! I will always be grateful, for all of your wonderful blessings, but…” his eyes shifted to the shard in his bleeding hand, “everything I've done, it can't go unpunished. I deserve to be in hell, tortured and beaten by demons and—”
“And who said you could do that?”
“Wha—?”
I grabbed him roughly by his face, turning him to look at me. I stared with hardened, narrow eyes, “Who gave you the right to just leave me?”
“I… I-I…” He stuttered, staring back at me with wide-open shaken eyes.
“You said you would devote yourself to me. You said you'd worship me. You surrendered your mind, body, and soul to me. Not some hellborn demon, me, your angel. So, you do what I say, you follow my commands. Understand?”
And there, I had him. He looked at me like I was God, his pupils were dilated so wide, I couldn't see the brown irises. His mouth hung open, drool dripped down his chin. He whimpered, weak and full of astonishment, “yes, my angel.”
“Good. Now, drop the glass.”
He tossed it aside, his eyes never looking away. I let go of his face and stood. I look down at him, shaking and sweaty. I pretend I didn't feel my cock twitch, “get up.”
He stood on wobbly feet. The second he was up straight, I grabbed him by his shirt collar and shoved him back against the wall. We stood chest to chest, nose to nose. I could feel his staggering breaths on my lips, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from kissing him.
“You think you deserve to be punished?” I growled at him, “Well, let's get one thing straight: if anyone’s going to punish you, it's not going to be some worthless imp. You are mine, Simon. Just as I give you blessings, I give you punishment. Understand?”
“Y-yes,” he whined, his hips twitching against mine, and it's everything I can do not to hump him till he’s drenched, “yes, angel. Please, I want it. I need it.”
“Good, cause I'm really disappointed in you right now.”
He looked like a sad wet puppy as his lips quivered, “I’m so sorry, my angel—”
He yelped as I yanked him into a rough, biting kiss. I bit so hard on his bottom lips, I tasted blood. I pulled back and watched as the smallest bead of blood sprouted from the cut, “How shall I punish you?”
“However you see fit, my angel.”
I clicked my tongue, “How cute, but I’m looking for a real answer. So I'll ask again: how shall I punish you?”
“I…” he shivered, sucking the blood off his lips, “I want to bleed. I deserve to bleed. Please, glorious angel, I want you to bleed me.”
Oh.
That should not have turned me on as much as it did. And yet it did, enough for me to grab him by the shirt and drag him behind me. The little gasp of surprise he let out was so damn cute. “A-angel?”
“You want to bleed? Fine, I’ll bleed you dry.” I carried him to the house’s medbay, thankfully it was in good shape. Armando springs to life, sensing Simon’s bleeding hand, but I disable him and push him out of the way. I grabbed him by the back of his neck and shove him face down over the exam table. “Don't move.”
He did as I said. I throw open drawers of the med supplies. I knew better than to do this while so high on emotions, but the adrenaline wouldn't let me think straight. I grabbed a scalpel and a pair of scissors and headed back to Simon. Grabbing the back of his shirt, I take the scissors and cut it off him and toss it aside. Scars from a time before me decorated his skin. I ran a gentle hand up his smooth back till I reached the top of his spine, making him shiver under my touch.
“Such beautiful skin,” I tell him in a sweet voice, before taking my nails and dragging them hard and fast down to his hips. He shrieked and the lines bloomed a deep red color, “A shame I’ll have to ruin it.”
I take the scalpel and pop off the cap. There’s no coming back from this. I pressed the flat of the blade on the back of his neck, the cold metal making him shiver.
“You do not move a muscle,” I demanded, my voice serious and firm, “you stay absolutely still as stone till I’m done with you. Do you understand?”
At the far, far, far end of my brain, a part of me prayed for him to say no, prayed he’d come to his senses and push me away and tell me I’m crazy and evil.
“Yes,” he whimpered, “I understand, angel.”
I take a deep breath, the deepest breath I could get to fill my lungs. I drag the blade down his spine, his blood instantly springing from the incision. He gasped, his hand gripping the edge of the table. I reach the bottom of his back and pull away the blade. He’s going to need stitches.
“If you could see what I see, Simon,” I hold up the bloody scalpel to Simon, “is this enough blood for you?”
He turned his head just enough to see, “m… more. Please…”
“Speak up, boy.”
“More! Bleed me more, please my angel.”
I should be wearing gloves and a mask, but I didn’t care. I drew another line down his back, and then another, he whimpered and shook, veins popped out of his hand and arm trying to keep still.
“How many people have you bled?” I asked him.
“I… I don’t know.”
“Don’t know? You can’t even remember how many people you hurt?”
He sucked in a breath, “s-s-sixty? Seventy? I… I don’t know. I can’t remember. I’m s-sorry.”
His weeping made me lucid, “Simon, we can stop here—”
“No no no no no,” that somehow made him cry harder, “please, please punish me. I need it, please! I deserve it!”
I swallowed. I’m going to hell.
“Fine. Stay still.”
My next cuts were shorter, about an inch or two long. I counted them off in my head, one by one. His tan skin disappeared under the ocean of bright red. Adding to the list of things I should have grabbed: gauze to soak up the blood. But, I couldn't risk losing track of what cut I was on. His loud grunts and tense muscles began to subside, turning to soft sobs and he melted into the table.
“Heavenly angel, forgive me,” his voice quiet and ragged, “please, wash me from my sins. Please, forgive me.”
“Do you regret what you did?” I asked as I cut a deeper, longer line.
“Y-yes! Yes! I repent my sins, all of them!”
“Do you swear to never take another life again?”
“Yes! I swear, I swear!”
“Good,” I growled, “cause that includes you, Simon.”
“But… I—”
“Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”
He said nothing, and I kept carving. It scared me how easily I fell into the role, even more how easily I started to love it. Call me a monster, but the feeling of power and control over someone felt so biblical. His willing obedience made me feel like god. Regardless, I ignored my pounding heart and throbbing length. This wasn't about me. It can't be, else I develop a god complex. The last 10 were quick nicks, I don't even think they drew blood.
“We’re done,” I tell him, dropping the scalpel and letting it hit the floor with a sharp clang, “you are forgiven.” He shuttered out a sigh. My hands rubbed circles into his twitching hips.
“Good boy. You did such a good job.” He whimpered like a puppy, his hips bucking into the table. I blinked, and before I knew it, my hands slipped into his sweats. “Simon, what is this?”
Simon gasped as I palmed his hardened dick, “ah… Hah! A-angel!”
I chuckled, “even when I cut you open, you still get hard for me? What a cute little masochist I have.” I grabbed the waistband and ripped them halfway down his thighs. His cock was drooling, flushed red and pulsing. I groped his firm ass, my thumb rubbed his entrance. It’s slick and pliable, I slipped in three fingers so easily. The way he immediately started humping back on my fingers had me reeling.
“Still prepared yourself today, I see. Tell me, was this before or after you planned to slit your throat?” My fingers were merciless, three digits thrusting and twisting against the sensitive walls of his ass.
“A-Angel, please. I… I need you.”
“Oh? Now you need me? You were so eager to leave me before. Nothing more than a toy to use and discard when you’re bored, am I?”
“No! Please! Angel, I’m sorry! I was wrong! I won’t do it again! I promise, I’ll stay with you forever! I promise! I promise! I promise!” His hectic babbling in between sobs seemed endless, he clawed at his face and hair.
I should comfort him. I should’ve comforted him. But…
“You know what… fuck it,” I ripped my fingers out of him and quickly undid my jeans, “you want it that bad? Then take it.”
I didn’t let him adjust. The moment I was inside, I was slamming into him. A rough, frantic pace that had him screaming. He tried to sit up but I grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back down, my nails digging into his flesh. “You have a lot of nerve to get off on this.”
“I…mmm…Ah hah ah!” He was babbling nonsense, tears streaming down his face. His ass clasped down on me as he came. I didn't stop. I kept thrusting while he convulsed underneath me. I didn’t care that it was wrong. I was chasing the pleasure, the burning desire, the thrill of feeling powerful. I leaned over him, biting and sucking his neck.
“Still want to leave me now?” I growled in his ear. He whined out an unintelligible response. I grabbed his wrist, hard, “I should cleave off this sinful hand of yours, make sure you could never hurt yourself again. Or better yet, I should tie you down to my bed, come home every day to play with you till the sun goes down.”
His face was turned to the side, and I could see he was gone. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth open and drooling puddles, cheeks flushed and tearstained. He wasn't crying anymore, he wasn't making any noise. If it wasn't for his eyelids fluttering and the feel of his pulse in my grasp, I would've thought he was dead.
My orgasm hit me suddenly and aggressively. I give a few more thrusts, fucking my cum deeper into him before I pulled out. He goes limp like a ragdoll, his 3 limbs boneless as his chest heaving. I squeezed my eyes shut as I came down from my high, and when I opened them, the realization of what I did hit me like a punch in the chest.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped under my breath, before practically shouting, “Armando! Activate!”
Armando jumped to life, immediately setting course on stitching up Simon. I bolted out of the room and rushed to the bathroom. Twisting on the faucet, I scrubbed my hands raw, till I could no longer see the red evidence of my depravity. I thought I was safe, then I looked up. My clean white shirt was drenched in blood, his blood. I ripped it off of me with all the force I could, only to see the blood had seeped through the fabric and stained my chest.
Oh god, I’m gonna puke.
I stripped myself bare and jumped into the shower. The second the water hit me, I burst into tears. What have I done? The first human I see in decades, and I do this? This poor, traumatized man, who trusted me, and I used that for my own pleasure.
He’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive me.
I crumbled to the ground, letting the water wash over me, as if it could wash away the horrors I have committed. But there was no washing it away. The things I did, the things I said, it was too disgusting to brush aside.
And the worst part of it all: I loved it.
I loved every minute of it. The power, the control, the idea that even at my worst, I could make him that aroused, the fact he just laid there and took it without protest. It felt so good, so intoxicating. I loved it, and I hate myself for it.
I sat in the shower till the water turned ice cold. Turning off the faucet and hopping out of the shower, I didn’t even bother to dry myself. I grabbed a robe and tied it on before cautiously heading back to the medbay.
I must have been in the shower for at least an hour. When I walked in, Simon was already sitting upright on the exam table, his entire torso was wrapped in bandages. He looked at me, face lighting up, as if I wasn’t the one who put him in those bandages.
“Hi Simon.” I said, quiet as a mouse.
“Hello, angel.”
I want to gag. How can he still call me that? “May I… come closer?”
He blinked, as if me asking was unnecessary, “of course.”
I stepped closer, slowly, undeservedly, till we were an inch apart. “May I touch you?”
His eyes dilated, like a puppy being offered a treat. How can he still look at me like that? “Always.”
I gently scoop up his hand, his palm and fingertips bandaged from the cuts the glass shard left. I bring it up to my lips and kiss his knuckles, “I’m sorry.”
He actually looked confused, “For what?”
“For this. For what I did to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How could you not understand? I hurt you! You were vulnerable and scared, and I… I used you, I hurt you, I—”
“Angel—”
“Don’t!” I shouted tears filling my eyes, “just… d-don’t… please…” my legs give out, dropping to my knees, “I’m not an angel, I’m not a savior. I never have been. I’m a coward, I’m selfish, I’m a monster. I was lonely, and you were kind. You gave me something no one has given me in so long, and I took advantage of that. I’m sorry, Simon. I’m so so so sorry.” I spot the scalpel lying on the floor, the blade still bloody. I took it and held it up to Simon. “Please, do what you have to, before I could ever hurt you again.”
It’s quiet, unbearably so. The only thing that could be heard was my sniffling gasps. I wait for him to take it. If he didn’t take it, I’d have to do the job myself.
“No.”
His voice sounded like a growl. I looked up, his eyes were narrow, brows furrowed, and teeth gritted into a snarl. I’ve never seen him look so angry before.
“Simo—”
“No.” He repeated, even harder than before, “I swore I’d never take a life again, that includes you. Now, drop it.”
I did what he said, dropping the blade to the floor. My eyes are glued to him.
“Get up.”
I stood. He grabbed me by my collar and pulled me in. His lips just an inch from mine, his warm breath against my face had me shaking, “I. Don’t. Ever. Want to hear you speak like that again. Ever.”
I blinked, “but… but I… I—”
“I don’t care what to think you are. I don’t care what you convinced yourself to believe. You are an angel. You are my angel. You always have been, and always will be, no matter what you do.”
“But I hurt you! I made you cry! It was bad, vulgar, it was… it was—”
“Incredible.”
I gasped, “what?”
“It was incredible.” He repeated, almost sounding giddy, “I loved it. All of it. Your strength, your power, the way you took complete control over me. I never felt anything like that before.”
Loved it? I cut his back open, berated him, fucked him till he cried. And he loved it? “I don't understand.”
“When it was happening, it felt as if… I could escape. Escape my body, escape my mind, escape the past that continues to follow me no matter how far I run. For so long, I had exhausted myself fighting all this grief weighing on me. But with you, I didn’t have to fight anymore, I didn’t have to think, all I had to do was lay there and take it. It was meditative. It was enriching.”
“I…” I stuttered, “I was so cruel to you.”
“Yes. I deserved it.”
“Simon—”
“It’s true! I was foolish, so blind, ungrateful. I wanted to throw away this beautiful paradise and leave you behind.” Tears of what seemed to be both shame and joy poured down his face, “but you saved me. You brought me back to you, to your merciful embrace. I am alive. My angel, my savior. I love you!”
I love you.
I. Love. You.
3 simple words, and I snap like a twig. I grabbed him by his face and smashed my lips into him. He groaned, kissing me back the second my lips were on him. We kissed like we were starving, desperate tongue and teeth, saliva dripping down our chins. I pull back for air and see a wet string connecting our lips.
“Do you really mean that?” I asked.
He nodded, then with a hard look of desire, he pushed me back, hopping off the exam table. “Let me prove it.”
I don't remember us heading to the bedroom. All I remember was his hand on my chest and then him pushing me back onto the bed. I don't remember us undressing either. He was on top of me, his hand and lips leaving no inch of my skin unloved. Every kiss, every caress, every word of worship from head to toe, had me feeling holy, angelic, like my body was molded by God.
“Si—” I can’t finish saying his name. The second the syllable left my mouth, my cock was in his mouth. The envelope of wet heat never failed to send shivers up my body. He sucked me with a gluttonous fervor, moaning as if he was eating the sweetest of desserts. His hand rubbing and groping all he could reach. Every time he sucks me off, it’s better than the last time. I can't tell if he's getting better or if it's everything that's already happened today. My back arched as I came down his throat. He swallowed, not wasting a single drop.
We were at it for hours. My cock in him, his cock in me. Hands, tongues, lips, teeth, the room smelled of salt and sex. It was so hot, it made Rocky’s atmosphere feel like toasting bread on the lowest setting. I was a mess, babbling like a drunken sailor.
“Yes, yes! More, more! Simon, I love you too! I love you too!” I felt his cum pump into me, so warm, so damn good.
It was around the afternoon when we started, it was night time when we settled. At the end of it all, he was snuggled up next to me, hand and lips touching and kissing anywhere it could reach, whispering prayers of gratitude and devotion.
“I can’t lose you, Simon. I just can’t.” I tell him, my voice small and desperate. “I need you, more than you could imagine.”
“Oh, my gentle angel,” He kisses me, and it feels like an apology and a promise all at once. His hand placed over my heart, he looked at me with those pleading, vulnerable eyes, “If I ask… if I beg… would you punish me again? If I ever strayed from your path, would you lead me back to you?”
“What if it hurts?”
“Then so be it.”
It’s wrong, I remind myself. Unethical, vulgar, aggressive. A total abuse of power. It’s—
Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve already passed the point of no return.
I knew what my answer was.