Archive of Our Own

With a throbbing head and narrowed eyes, Till was getting used to waking up disoriented in the middle of barely familiar rooms. The coating of thick fluids, mostly not his own, however, he could do without.

A bitter taste echoed through his mouth, one he wished he couldn’t place, or at least couldn’t remember the cause. He would wretch at the fuzzy memory if he could, but his gag reflex was one of the many naturally human things that Urak had robbed him of.

His Guardian would much rather he kept what he was given unless it was deigned too harmful to him. Unfortunately, Urak’s definition of ‘too harmful’ was different to that of most Guardians.

It was a mercy to be gifted a mouthful of emetic medicine, the opportunity to void himself of those accumulated toxins and poisons. Unpleasant though it may be, it was better than letting it work through his bloodstream, leaving him sweating and writhing for days while he tried to mask his illness in the eyes of the others.

What would they think of him if they knew?

It was little wonder Sua always chased him away from Mizi, shepherding him into the care of Ivan instead. Sua and Ivan were the prim and proper, protecting the pure from the putrid. If things were different, he’d do the same. Anything to protect that bright smile ignorant to the true horrors of their universe.

Ivan annoyed Till the most. While Sua was cold, Till could understand her chill shunning of him and all that he was. Ivan was different. He wore a charade of smiles in public, but when no gaze was upon him his expression would drop to brooding. Something troubled and darkened. What did Ivan have to make that face about?

He shared looks of sympathy and emphatic knowing when Till was beaten and down, but Ivan didn’t know anything at all. He was adopted into opulence, playing the part of a perfect pet and profiting in kindness and comforts.

Ivan was kept clean, dressed in clothes that fit even while he was still growing and could eat as he pleased. It was his choice to skip meals while Till shovelled whatever meagre calories he was allowed in an attempt to make it through the day with enough energy to fight without being rendered dizzy by too quick a movement.

Worst of all was when he’d see Ivan in those dim meeting places full of segyein with particular tastes that Urak was all too eager to indulge. Dressed in enviable pliant fabrics and thick jackets, Ivan would look every bit as put together by the end of the event as he did at the start. It was obvious no clawed hands had rummaged beneath his clothes or even pried open his lips. Till knew their clumsy fingers always left bruises in the corners of a human’s mouth, even when they tried to be gentle.

And when Ivan stared at Till as the event wound down and he tried to redo the cheap buttons of his shirt with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking with those wide, baffled eyes, it was clear that Ivan knew nothing of what really happened during these gatherings. That stare devoid of knowledge showed that Ivan could not fathom why Till would be in any state of undress, newly reddened with fresh wounds and hissing at every movment.

Till should have been glad to see a stare like that. He should be pleased to know that a friend hadn’t gone through the things that he did.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, it plagued Till’s mind. It was unfair. Unfair that only he should suffer in the way that he does. Ivan had often been at his side, attempting to be someone relatable. Another human-pet in the same situation, doomed to entertain, sing, and die. But they weren’t the same. No one was like Till. No one understood.

It was such thoughts and the continued thrum of a headache that had Till in a particularly nasty mood. Most other humans gave him a wide berth as it was, but most humans weren’t Ivan. Foolish, spoiled Ivan.

The smile on the other boy’s face was warm and trained, lacking personality or sincerity. Like everything else about the pet, it was picture perfect. More porcelain than person. It pissed Till off.

For a moment Ivan wore a real expression. Something shocked and almost scared. Something the segyein hadn’t trained into him with their soft hands and metal hooks. Ivan was taller, but Till was used to punching up. Frustratingly, he still looked good with a little blood running down his face. Rugged in a lived way. Like there was something more to him than clean clothes and good grades.

This baffled expression was different from the ones he gave Till at those events. It was hurt and upset and shocked. Ivan didn’t understand why Till would strike him unprovoked and that surprised him most because Ivan thought he knew everything about Till, didn’t he? Without experience, he would never get it. No amount of reading could equate to first-hand torment.

Till knew he would be punished harshly as the tight, metallic grip of staff seized him in response to his violent outburst. He’d hit the face of a pretty pet after all. That wouldn’t go ignored. He didn’t get why it mattered though. If he left a mark, then it would get fixed. Their faces could be beaten in to the point of being unrecognisable and they could still be fixed, their appearances restored. It only had to happen once for Urak to be able to hold the threat over Till for life.

Ivan’s face wasn’t broken. Any remnant of a mark was gone after a week, much to Till’s disappointment. He’ll hit him harder next time. It’d still be a much softer blow than one of Urak’s, so he should think himself lucky, really.

The moment he was healed back to boring perfection, Ivan was off out with his Guardian like he often was. Building rapport and reputation at his master’s beck and call. Since Ivan’s room was the only one neighbouring Till’s end room, it meant Till could happily play his music as loud as he wanted for as long as he wanted tonight. Not that Ivan’s presence ever stopped him, but it was nice to know that no one would even be attempting to sleep in that room for a few more hours.

Till was so caught up in writing a new melody that he almost didn’t hear the clumsy, heavy-handed knocking at his door. Too light for a segyein and too dull for the robotic staff, so his curiosity was piqued. And piqued further when greeted with the sight of a swaying Ivan, pale, clammy and forcing his unsteady way into Till’s room without welcome.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” he slurred and slumped himself down on the corner of Till’s bed, lacking all his usual grace and posture. Something certainly was wrong with Ivan. He seemed like a person with flaws instead of an ever so perfect thing for once.

Till would ask why Ivan had come to him instead of the med-bay if he wasn’t so interested in Ivan’s condition. Admittedly, he had some idea why Ivan might have come to him first. He’d seen Till end many evenings in a similar rocking, disoriented state, so perhaps it was quick thinking that led him to the fellow pet instead of their handlers.

Tilting Ivan’s head up to meet his glassy gaze, Till could make some educated guesses regarding what was wrong with Ivan, making his choice to come here annoyingly correct. A cool sweat prickled at the man’s every pore as he fixed Till with a worried stare, his skin greyer than Till had ever seen him. Did he usually look such a mess in Ivan’s eyes?

“You drank something you were given by someone that wasn’t your Guardian,” Till stated more than asked. “It was in a glass bottle, right? Red?”

After a momentary pause to take in Till’s words, Ivan gave a curt nod. Easy enough. He’d drank poison. The segyein recreationally enjoyed many things that were harmful to a pitiful human constitution. Ivan was still natural and delicate. Till had been changed too much to share that commonality.

If left alone, Ivan would fall unconscious, enter coma and perish without medical intervention. Under the same conditions, Till would feel rough, wish for death, and recover within the day. He was given out too often to segyein that had no idea how to handle a human to retain such fragility.

Though, in reality, Ivan probably wouldn’t fall unconscious if left alone. Or, not for long if he did. That was because of one big difference between them. Ivan would throw up the poison that sat heavy in his gut before it could kill him.

“That’s right, a red bottle,” Ivan chattered after a long minute, confirming as if his nod hadn’t already. “Will I be okay?”

It was funny to be like this. To be standing over a pet in disarray, to be the one sober with someone so intoxicated at his whim. He couldn’t be blamed for wanting to clutch onto a little power after spending a lifetime so entirely dominated.

“You’ll be fine,” Till assured.

He wanted to see Ivan scared, but not because of the drink. He wanted to see genuine emotion light up those pinpricks of red among the immense darkness of his eyes. By the time Till was done with Ivan, Till would have someone closer to him that he’d ever had. Someone who could begin to relate just a little to his brand of suffering.

First off was damage control. Till didn’t have much, so he needed to protect what he did have. Namely, his bed. The one here at Anakt was standard issue, a luxury compared to the way he was kept at Urak’s. There it was a mercy if he was chained lying down at least.

“Alright, come over here,” Till grabbed Ivan’s wrists and pulled him to his feet with more force than needed, excitement shooting through his muscles.

In his unsteadiness, Ivan lost his footing quickly, unable to walk through the spinning of the room. With a grunt, he landed heavily, accepting his seated place on the floor as if he’d intended to fall in such a way. That’d do.

Sinking down into Ivan’s lap to more easily slip the tie from around his neck, Till ignored the burn of Ivan’s shocked stare. He wasn’t undressing Ivan for no reason. Freeing the tie from its place tucked under the collar of his shirt, Till threaded his arms behind Ivan’s back and tied his limp forearms tight together. Ivan didn’t have a lot of struggle in him, but his pathetic attempt to wriggle free barely moved the knot Till had tied.

“What are you doing?” Ivan managed to ask through stiff lips and lax tongue.

“Helping,” Till’s brief response likely went no way to clearing Ivan’s confusion, nor did he want it to.

Ivan did not try to keep his lips pressed closed when Till’s fingers probed their way into his mouth, dropping his jaw open obediently. He’d do as a human wanted just as easily as he’d oblige a segyein it seemed. What a sickeningly passive little life, entirely lacking in extremes.

Although Till wasn’t quite familiar with how inducing vomiting worked, he was pretty sure that if he just stuck his fingers far enough into the back of Ivan’s throat something would happen. It was always when a being pushed something into the back of Till’s throat that they would chitter with fascination at his lack of response after all.  

It startled Till when Ivan’s body lurched, making a deep sound with the clench of his muscles. Nothing came up, but it was definitely something. Keeping his fingers wedged into the opening of Ivan’s throat, he dared to wiggle them when Ivan seemed to almost settle, save for his weak attempt to turn away.

This time it seemed to work. Two of those muscle clenching convulsions rocked through the larger man’s body before the spewing of watery wetness rushed over Till’s hand and into their laps, soaking into their clothes, warm and wretched. Once the floodgates were opened, there was no stopping the following heaves and ensuing spill of further liquid and half-digested cuisine. The reek of alcohol, poisons and rot combined to make a heavy scent, one that rarely hit Till’s nose.

“Sorry,” Ivan slurred out between full-bodied retches. He gasped deeply between them, his noises unpleasant and uncontrolled. They were some of the sweetest sounds Till had heard him make. Genuine and involuntary. Nothing trained or filtered or forced.

Taking Ivan’s face between his damp palms, Till angled their eyes to meet once more. Ivan’s watered with the sting of bile in his throat, embarrassed and disgraced. In this moment, Ivan was more real and pure than anyone. Innocent in his newness to this nauseated suffering, and so naïve to what would come.

Is this what it felt like to be them? To have knowledge beyond their plaything’s understanding, to feel this thrill of seeing them struggle and hurt at his hands, in response to his actions. Ivan was far more human than Till could ever hope to be now. No matter how he acts, whatever mask he dons in front of everyone, he can’t hide his soft, unedited humanity when it really comes down to it. When it really matters.

With Ivan’s wet lips parted to gulp in deep panting breaths of air, Till took the opportunity to pursue a taste of that purity. Having once asked to touch their lips, Ivan was probably thrilled at this sensation to sate his curiosity. Really, their lips only touched out of necessity – a contact that allowed Till to lap at the inside of Ivan’s mouth, to taste his soured saliva and lick the back of his teeth.

The tang of the toxic beverage combined with digestive juices was one Till had experienced lingering on his own tongue before. He could practically pick out the brand of drink that Ivan was given with this taste alone.

The sweeter lumps that hooked into the pits of his molars were unfamiliar, however. Likely some sort of confectionary served at whatever indulgent banquet Ivan had apparently attended tonight. His looks didn’t suit his palette, though that was probably an appeal to some. Everything was an appeal to the right segyein. Everything.

“Is it all out?” Till asked when he finally broke away from his intrusive sampling of Ivan’s second-hand meal. His gagging and heaving had stopped, so it was likely that all the poison he had consumed now sat in the cooling mess of their laps. “Do you feel better?” Till pestered when Ivan gave no response, still dazed and uncertain.

It was unsettling to hear words of care from those that wished to revel in torment. He hated hearing soothing coos accompanied with the wrap of tendrils or the gentle rake of claws across his scalp. He’d rather they just ruined him and be done with it than pretend they cared.

Being on the other side of it was fun though. When Ivan gave a small nod, Till tucked his nose against Ivan’s sweaty neck, a gentle press of something that could be misconstrued for affection. He felt the tension in the other man melt, a physical show of ill-placed trust.

“You shouldn’t stay in these,” Till explained as he worked the buttons and zips of Ivan’s trousers open from his place knelt just above Ivan’s thighs. He shouldn’t have been surprised at Ivan’s pliancy given how he is, but Till was a little surprised by the lack of questions. Mostly, that Ivan had simply accepted that his hands were tied after only asking what Till was doing once.

Maybe it was for the best they didn’t keep running back then. If Ivan was like this in the wild, then he’d be dead before they knew it and Till would be left to survive alone. At least as they were things were bad, but they were both alive. For now.

Shifting from his kneeling place, it was easy to pull Ivan onto his back while yanking his trousers down his legs. His body was as hairless as Till’s, a commonly desirable trait bred into him but surprising to see in the former stray. Perhaps he underwent a cosmetic procedure for this look, to appear less of the mongrel he was.  

His underwear was peeled away just as easily, only slightly damp from the soak of regurgitated liquids, but damp all the same. With some semblance of shame, Ivan opted to squeeze his eyes shut and bend his knees in an attempt to cover himself. He didn’t move fast enough though.

The sickness that had enveloped Ivan, a newcomer to such ails, sapped the strength from his limbs. In the past, Ivan had been the one to best Till in many childhood fights, but things had changed as they aged. Although Ivan had grown larger, he had also grown soft while Till had only sharpened. Perhaps with his full strength, Ivan would have been able to clamp his thighs together against the pull of Till’s hands, but he certainly couldn’t in his current state.

It was as if Ivan’s body mocked him. It teased, being everything the male body should be. Broad, muscular, toned and erect. As humiliated as Ivan’s expression made him out to be, the red of his face paled when compared to the pulse of blood that flowed lower, stiffening him.

Nothing arousing was even happening. He was hard even though it was just the two of them, and Ivan was nauseated. Had close contact with another person really been all he had needed to get it up? Was Ivan truly so physically sensitive that this was all it took?

It was funny in a sardonic, cruel kind of way. This sight was just a show of how entirely untouched Ivan’s body was. How unknowingly lucky Ivan was despite the heavy air that he carried with him.

Curiosity drove Till’s hand to grasp Ivan’s stiff length, feeling the heft and warmth of his growing swell. The startled sound he made at the sudden touch was one Till hoped he could commit to memory. It was enough to force his eyes open, as not to be caught off-guard again.

The penis itself was not what Till found fascinating, but the change it underwent from flaccid to erect. While species varied in how things looked and changed, and Till had seen more than his fair share, he had never seen an erect human penis.

This was just another of the things that Urak and the editing company had removed from him ahead of it becoming an issue in puberty. The hope was to reduce his aggressive behaviour and confine him to a singular role when it came to intercourse. If anything, it just further harmed his attitude towards his Guardian.

Despite being unfamiliar with the human specifics of this anatomy, Till knew the general movements that pretty much all beings seemed to enjoy. Sliding his grip up Ivan, even dry, had him raising his hips in pleasure, chasing that sensation already. How eager. A whine was drawn from Ivan’s throat when he thumbed the tip, rubbing a small circle into the end to observe Ivan’s reactions. Sounds that were made just for him.

But that was enough of that. Ivan’s stare up at him when Till released his cock and stood was as cute as it was pathetic. It was a face that begged for more, that pleaded for release, but this wasn’t about getting Ivan off. This was about giving him an experience. This was about levelling them out enough so that the Ivan who lived curled up and obedient in the lap of luxury offered by his gentle Guardian could relate just slightly to the torture of Till’s life.

Laying almost flat to the floor and plunging his hand beneath his bed, the one luxury of this room, Till’s fingers brushed the silicon he was seeking. A ‘gift’ bestowed upon him by Urak that he refused to even be seen taking to the incinerator. A ‘training toy’, something he had never used and doubted would have even made a difference if he had.

Sliding the ‘toy’ into sight, Till refreshed himself on its shape. The material was far more malleable than reality, and Till had never experienced a taper so forgiving as the one atop this object. It quickly thickened out to bulbous ridges, though the flat end lacked the sharp scales or hardened skin that usually came with segyein groins.

In comparison to a real segyein, this would be bliss. Despite that, Till had refused to even entertain the idea of using it. He would never ‘train’ his body the way Urak advised, even if that meant increased agony when seemingly split open, unprepared and unwilling.

Ivan wasn’t set to be used in the same way Till was. Unsha railed against the way Urak treated pets, rivals in every aspect. ‘Training’ would be the closest Ivan would get to the real thing. It was only fair to share his toys with friends, right?

Spitting onto the soft silicon and rubbing his saliva across the tip of the toy to wet it, Till wasn’t a total monster. He would give Ivan better than he received. He was enjoying their entertainment, but he wasn’t one of them. Vaguely, Ivan’s stare switched between the item in Till’s hand and Till’s face, unfocused regardless of where he looked. He probably had no idea what Till was holding. Lucky bastard.

When Till muscled his way back between Ivan’s legs, it probably dawned on him exactly where this toy was going to go. It wasn’t like there were many options. The way he jerked his hips up and away from Till suggested understanding, at least, though his legs must have been too weak to kick out. Pressing against the firm muscle of Ivan’s ass, Till felt like he was charting unmapped territory. The first to hold something precious and valuable.

Till had never felt valuable. Nor precious, nor fragile. There was no reverence in beholding his first struggles or whimpers. His face had been pushed so hard into the furniture that he didn’t even know which segyein in the room had been his first. Or his second.

Ivan hissed and squeaked in a most unmasculine way when the spit-slicked tip of the toy touched his most intimate of places. The passage that led directly to the core of his body without the defences of teeth or tongue.

“Till?”

The reedy, whiney call of his name grated on Till’s ears as the narrow tip began to slide in. Right now, Ivan would be feeling overwhelmed and unusual, the new sensation a total shock to the system and unlike anything they normally felt day to day. It might burn a little too, he was probably bearing down on the intrusion, trying to reject its pressure.

Instead of asking questions or calling his name, Till wanted Ivan to fight. He wanted him to scream and shout and thrash. He wanted Ivan to call him for everything and yell himself hoarse in defiance. Till wanted to see a glimpse of himself, the version of himself that the segyein saw, from their perspective for once. A struggling human fruitlessly fighting tooth and nail for a dignity long lost.

He would never see himself in Ivan. Till knew this. Ivan wouldn’t fight or scream until he could no longer sing. He would seal his lips and take his punishment, do whatever was asked of him and carry on his subservient life. Urak would do far better with a pet like Ivan than Till. Would Ivan still be so well-behaved if he was raised with a heavy hand?

The toy was far too tame. At least at the start. The slow widening of the shaft was unrealistic, a romanticised imagining of the merciless segyein form. His handling of the toy was equally as unrealistically soft. He’d never known a segyein so patient and slow while in the throes of lust.

With only a couple of inches of the total length pushed into Ivan, Till opted to tease him a little. From this angle Ivan couldn’t see how much of the object was in or out of him, especially with his gaze fixed in any other direction but down, and by now it probably felt like Till had pushed miles of it into him. Making a thrusting motion by slowly pulling the toy backwards a little and pushing it back in had Ivan gasping, his body wriggling with each repetition.

It could feel nice like this. Shallow. Tickling just the right spots. It was so rare to be treated to such a delight. So, so rare. Till could almost feel the motions he was giving Ivan in himself, stretching and searing but rubbing in just the right place. He’d be shameless when fucked so shallow, arching and moaning as if his displays of pleasure would encourage them to keep things as they were. It never lasted. Ivan would learn that too.

Just as Ivan had started moving his hips in rhythm with the toy, trying to angle it the way he wanted, Till saw his opportunity. With ecstasy in sight, the sudden rip and tear of too much all at once stung so severely. Jamming the toy deeper than before, all the way up to the thickening bulges, Ivan let out a cry that resounded from somewhere in his soul.

His body quaked with the shock of the anguish that flooded him, thighs twitching and twisting around Till. With a cough that snapped his head to the side, more vomit was heaved up, thick and acidic. Even tears sprung to Ivan’s eyes and overflowed in an instant, wetting his face in a way that Till hadn’t seen since they were children.

Till hadn’t wet the toy this far up, but he knew that wouldn’t be a problem. At this point when he moved the toy back and forth, it would be lubricated with Ivan’s suffering. The wet squelch that accompanied its motions proved as such. Humans were resourceful and adaptable, Till had once heard Urak explain, they were even self-lubricating under the right conditions.

The right conditions. It was all such shit. The worst was knowing that Urak was fully aware. No one knew humans the way Urak knew humans. No being would dare question Urak when it came to matters of the human body.

Ivan couldn’t even string together a word let alone a sentence. He couldn’t scream or beg for Till to stop. All his sounds were reduced to whimpered gasps and broken whines which each thrust of the toy. Paralytic agony. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Too quiet.

“Come on,” Till growled as he dug the toy deep enough to pull another gag from his chest. “Say something,” he hissed, drawing back the hand he’d held Ivan’s hip with. “Do something,” the command was followed with a sharp strike to Ivan’s thigh, the closest bit of soft flesh within Till’s hitting range. His attack inspired no action from Ivan outside of a startled flinch that ran the length of his body.

Ivan’s arousal was long gone. It was weird that he’d got hard at all, but it was good to know he wasn’t into this at least. He had not been trained to physically enjoy severe pain. Every aspect of his innocence was a relief, a show of mercy from his Guardian. Something for Till to snatch.

When Ivan’s body had practically stilled, the anguish of silicon against freshly torn wounds no longer pulling sounds from his throat, Till slid the toy from Ivan entirely. Slowly. He watched the bend of Ivan’s body, a small rise upwards from the floor as it narrowed and withdrew from him. The toy, now coated in a slimy layer of Ivan’s blood, was quickly tossed aside without care. He should wash it later, though with no intention to use it again, was there really a point?

Till’s care was more pulled towards the sight of Ivan. Sticky with sweat and still reeking of alcohol, poisons and vomit, Till kept Ivan’s thighs apart to observe his gaping body. He had never been on this side of things. How strange the human body was. Wide and twitching, Ivan let out a sharp shout when Till pressed a finger easily into him out of curiosity. The inside of his body remained accommodating and forgiving, warm, soft and wet. Did he feel the same inside to them?

With his legs spread, Ivan didn’t have to feel the humiliating trickle of blood on his thighs, or the dampening of his underwear as he rushed to his room. He didn’t know how many mercies Till was giving him. How lucky he was.

Circling his thumbs around the firm muscles of Ivan’s hips, Till lowered himself between his legs. Ivan’s body contorted like he’d been zapped by electricity when Till’s tongue pushed into him. It was a different reaction to his finger. The softer, warmer lick of his tongue must have been a much more soothing sensation.

The sounds that hit Till’s ears shifted from pained groans to conflicted hisses. He could imagine the growing heat in Ivan’s gut with each unsettling, stinging swirl of Till’s tongue. It was an intense level of intimacy. The mixing of their fluids, the lapping of Ivan’s pain from this most private of places. Each swallow of blood-laden spit was a growing closeness, a merging of their souls.

Till wondered what this felt like to Ivan. It looked enjoyable, an oasis of pleasure after the exhaustion and strain he’d been put through. Till had experienced a number of appendages upon him, tongues included, but never human. There was always an aspect of burning or cooling, stinging or numbing, or something unexpected and unpleasant present in the fluids of the segyein. Or at least, it felt like that to a human.

Urak’s tongue felt like needles jabbing into every pore in its wake, for example. Sharp, horrible and addictive. If his Guardian focused on one spot continuously, the pain would build so much it’d send uncontrollable shivers through Till’s body. He hated and craved it, and Urak knew.

Pulling away from Ivan and wiping his lips clean of Ivan’s torment, Till felt a pulse of satisfaction. Beneath him, Ivan laid a different man than he had entered. Exhausted, body and mind, abuse latticing his insides. A perfect man. Training left far behind, the Ivan laid out on the floor would be something feral and real, if he had the strength to act.

But he was not to be freed. Not just yet. There was a little more to go. A little more writhing to do. Locking the door behind himself, Till would only be gone a short while. He’d come back quick and see the result of leaving Ivan in that state, alone and helpless. It was always the worst. After all of that, to be left alone in the quiet with only his thoughts and the spiralling fears instilled by recent torture. A time to reflect and relive, especially when the body was too weak or intoxicated to move.

The plan really was to only be gone a short time. Till didn’t expect to be called out just after he left his room and dragged off to see his Guardian. He didn’t expect to be out all night for another of those awful functions Urak so loved. It wasn’t the plan to leave Ivan in that state for hours.

On return, Till prepared himself for whatever punishment was going to come his way. By that point his body was numb to it all anyway, so he didn’t really care what they wanted to do. They would have noticed that Ivan was missing by now, and they would have found him in Till’s room, left like he was. Till deserved whatever would even the score, he supposed.

But, when he opened the door, he did not anticipate that he’d be greeted by a similar view he’d had when he left. Ivan had moved to a cleaner part of the floor and sat up, but his arms remained tied, and he’d remained trapped in this locked room.

Till’s heart raced, partially with relief and partially with fear. No one had noticed Ivan was missing? All the freedoms that Ivan had bit him now. He was trusted so much that it was not questioned whenever he vanished. He’d had no fear of consequence that time in their childhood, slipping through the cracks of the garden in the way only children could. It couldn’t all be sunshine.

Till could only manage a couple of steps into his room before his legs finally gave out, having hung on just long enough to get to safety. A sickness rolled up him, but stirred no gagging or heaving, just an awful nausea that made him wish Urak’s emetic medicine lasted longer. He’d been given a dose after ingesting saliva so corrosive it had burned his throat – a dangerous prospect for a singer. The burn was superficial thankfully, the hoarseness of his voice only temporary.

It didn’t last all night though. Sooner than he’d have liked, the ability to throw up whatever was poured into him was gone, an unwilling receptacle once more. Practically crawling to Ivan’s side, not caring about the dampness of the floor around him soaking invisibly into the dark fabric of his trousers, he looked into the tired voids of Ivan’s eyes.

His expression was no longer the genuine, real thing Till had seen before. The mask was back, something less imposing than that of his Guardian, but something that did much the same job. Obscuring what he really felt from Till.

In annoyance, Till pressed his lips to Ivan’s in a quick, sudden movement. Catching Ivan by surprise, he forced his tongue into Ivan’s mouth much like he had done the previous day. His intention was to rub their tongues together, taste against taste. His own flavour was disgusting, musky, sour and bitter in all the worst ways. While Ivan had tasted of grandiose drink and food, Till’s mouth was seasoned with cheap booze and segyein fluids. Secretions and cum and piss. Whatever they wanted to rub into his tongue and pour down his throat.

Reaching behind Ivan’s back as their mouths pressed together, Till decided that Ivan had been held hostage long enough. The moment he untied Ivan’s hands, his back was suddenly against the ground. There were no words, just a harsh shove, a rustling of clothes and the slam of the door. At least Ivan didn’t have far to go to get to his neighbouring room. It wasn’t like he’d be seen by anyone.

Sighing alone, Till supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything else. He’d hurt Ivan, so it made sense that Ivan didn’t want to be anywhere near him now. It stung though. Especially right now, when he could really use someone like the new Ivan he had made. Someone with even the slightest idea of how he felt.

The plain ceiling grew dark and fuzzy before pinching back into focus. Over and over, it blurred and sharpened, darkened and lightened. His bed wasn’t far, but far enough for the journey to seem unmanageable.

With an uncomfortable squirm against the hard ground, a telling trickle tickled and pooled in places obscured by his clothing, restrictive and unpleasant. He already knew he was bleeding, it wasn’t like it had only just started, but he could do without his attention being pulled to the sensation of it drooling out of his body along with whatever cum still rested heavy in his gut as he laid.

What kind of life even was this? Was this really the life of a pet? Compared with the other humans, he felt more like a toy. Something to use rather than something to love. He supposed he was company at times. A companion of sorts.

He’d heard Urak talk highly of his worth before, at times when his Guardian didn’t know he was listening. What gave him worth? The use of his body for such debased pleasures? Till always thought he was meant to matter because of his talent, because of his genius. Did Urak really expect him to go out and win this season of Alien Stage like this? It was no wonder that Urak had never scored a win.

Light suddenly poured into Till’s vision, drowning the ceiling that faded back and forth in brilliance. Had someone come to check on him? A dry laughter built in his throat at the idea of someone coming to check if he was alright sooner than anyone thought to check on Ivan. It must be lonely to be so trusted.

Before any chortle of amusement could spill from his cracked lips, the face of that so loyal pet came into view, intimidating in how high above Till his stare sat. He’d gotten changed and washed, presentable once more. If Till had not seen the state of Ivan with his own eyes, he would never have guessed what a mess he’d been. At least he didn’t mock Till with his trained smile, instead treating him to a bland expression of nothingness.

Prepared for a slew of insults and hate, the silence that hung between them was palpable in its tension. Till had nothing to say. He was not sorry, nor could he explain or justify why he had been so awful to Ivan. The other would simply never understand. How could he? Even with Till’s best efforts, he doubted Ivan had learned anything other than not to be alone with someone as deranged in their ill-treatment as Till.

Yet, here he was. A testament to how little he’d learned. Or maybe he realised how debilitated Till was upon his return. While he’d enjoyed his opportunity to feast on Ivan’s vulnerability, now he was the prey before the hunter. Ivan would have every right to torture Till as he pleased in retaliation, and even that likely wouldn’t be enough to balance the scales. Till had taken from Ivan things that Till hadn’t had for a long time.

No words were spoken before Ivan left to the adjoining room, the sound of running water filling the air. It did Till no good to wonder what Ivan was going to do. The anticipation of what was going to happen was usually worse than the reality. It was better just to await whatever sufferings were to come, exist through them and never look back.

Despite knowing this, it was impossible to keep the mind from wandering. Sensations of choking and desperately gasping as liquid filled his lungs flooded Till’s memory in preparation for whatever Ivan had planned. Was Ivan the sadistic sort? Absolutely. This was the same person that had taken a lifetime of joy in tormenting Till. The first thing Ivan ever did was beat him up. Not that anyone ever believed him when he complained about the things that Ivan did.

When Ivan returned, he hadn’t changed at all. Pristine and blank faced. He crouched down somewhere just above Till’s head, strong hands snaking under his armpits as he was hoisted and practically dragged into the steamed-up bathroom. The points where Ivan’s firm hands dug in hurt, but not in a way that bothered Till. He was more interested in what Ivan was going to do to him now. Interested. Not scared.

“Can you take your clothes off?” Ivan’s voice was soft and faraway when he spoke, not turning to Till but focusing entirely on stopping the flow of water into the filled tub instead.

Till’s attempt to bite back with some sharp remark died in his throat. Any bitterness he wanted to direct at Ivan came out as little more than a groan, growled behind numb lips. Ivan’s dark eyes flicked to him, took him in fully, slumped and pathetic. Surely, he was wondering how he let someone so deteriorated get the better of him.

In lieu of sneering at Till’s whiny sounds, Ivan simply got to work opening the buttons and clasps of Till’s clothes. The ones that were still closed, at least. He’d redressed in a hurry, and it wasn’t like his hands were exactly steady at the time. He should be better at dressing himself quickly at this point really.

He knew his body was a state even without Ivan reacting. He saw the hardening of Ivan’s expression, and that was enough to tell Till that he’d noticed. The bruises were one thing, familiar and expected. The bites and sore welts of sucked skin were another.

He and Ivan had seen each other’s bodies before, both being boys they had changed in the same room when needed for classes or experiments, but that was when they were young. Their bodies weren’t the only things that had changed with age, but the things that were done with those bodies as well. While Ivan’s had been worked on and nurtured into something strong, something to be proud of, Till’s had become something to hide. A canvas of ruination.

With each item of clothing that Ivan worked away from Till’s skin, more evidence of his worth was shown. There was no point trying to stop Ivan’s hands. He didn’t have the strength to fight, nor the resolve. He would claw at a segyein that tried to do the same, but he could allow Ivan. This time.

The reddened blotches of fresh injury were most eye-catching, but the most telling were the older scars that dented his flesh. The places where harm was repeated most. The punctures of claws that pierced the scant fat of his ass over and over, and the dig of too tight grasps on his narrow hips.

Ivan’s expression remained unreadable as he assessed what he saw. Till could only see himself reflected in those obsidian mirrors and nothing more. The blood smeared across the insides of his thighs left him with nothing to hide, the final piece of a most disappointing puzzle. Ivan had been educated. Where at one time he may not have been able to make sense of such bleeding, now he understood exactly the implication left in its wake.

More humiliating than the blood was the ooze of green that accompanied it, streaked in amongst the thicker red. It was the most common colour of segyein bodily fluids, their blood and saliva often the same neon green as their release. It was the colour he most hated being associated with, and as such Urak had assigned the exact shade as his stage colour because there was nothing Urak enjoyed more than getting under Till’s skin. The lights that beat down on him a bitter reminder of what he was forced to endure.

“Can you get in by yourself?” Ivan broke the silence between them, voice low and sweet.

With a grunt, Till attempted the momentous task of getting into the filled bathtub. His body was heavy, his movements clumsy but yes, he could get in the bath by himself. The heat was welcome, although it stung initially as the warm water seeped into all the splits of his skin.

Ivan pulled his top off too, instantly filling Till’s mind with realisations. His eyes snapped shut, not needing to see Ivan strip down. Not wanting to see his expression darken with want. He wasn’t sure his body could take doing that again, but Ivan wasn’t going to give him much choice, was he? It was just as well. Just as well after what Till had done to him.

He flinched when a hand touched his shoulder. Daring to crack apart his eyelids, Ivan had lowered to crouch beside the tub, only his top removed.

“I didn’t want to get my sleeves wet,” he explained gently as if understanding Till’s reaction. Did he understand? Or was it all pretend like everything Ivan ever did?

He couldn’t help but relax into Ivan’s ministrations though, as much as it went against everything he knew to relax in the presence of another being. He blamed it on the warmth of the bath and the exhaustion that tugged on his every fibre. The water swept away his filth and rusted around him, orangey-red like the picture of an Earthen sunset he’d once seen on the cover of a book Ivan had read. The colour could have been beautiful under different circumstances.

Ivan simply pushed the water around, and rubbed gently at the areas where he could see dirt or crusted blood that hadn’t washed away.

Why? Why was Ivan doing this for him when he had done something so terrible to Ivan? Why was he getting treated to such gentle hands and soft gazes when he didn’t deserve them? Not for a second.

If he could part his lips and get out any coherent words, he would ask, but any attempt at speaking came out in utter failure. He just couldn’t coordinate his lips and tongue like he usually could. In reply to his attempts, Ivan held him.

Held him. With his head pressed to Ivan’s chest, he could hear the steady beat of Ivan’s heart. He could feel the warmth radiating out from the other man, so different from the heat of the water enveloping him.

It felt like his own heart tried to beat in rhythm with Ivan’s.

Was this forgiveness? Surely it couldn’t be love. Love was something pure, and there was nothing pure left in him to love.

“I’m sorry,” Ivan whispered through deep breaths that trembled in his chest but levelled out by the time they reached his lips. He’s sorry? Ivan? “I’m sorry that they hurt you like this. I never knew.”

Why?

Why was Ivan treating him to such kindness? Why did he whisper such tender words to Till? Why didn’t Ivan hate him? Why didn’t he shout and hurt him like they all did? Ivan deserved to most of all.

A time of quiet lingered between them, broken only by the soothing beating of Ivan’s chest and the shifting of water around Till’s body. There was something meaningful in this quiet, something more patient than words could allow.

Bit by bit Till could feel himself return to his senses, the numbness of his lips buzzing and fading as the throbbing ache of his injuries ripped him from any moment of peace he could have had. The sting tore up him, soaked into his bones and joints and made him long for another dose of whatever had dulled this pain so magnificently. He could live incoherent if it ended the anguish for a little longer. He would never dream of being totally free of the pain, he knew better than to wish for something he could never have as a pet of Urak.

“You should probably get out before the water gets cold,” Ivan finally spoke, releasing the loose wrap of his arms around Till’s body. He missed the warmth of Ivan’s chest against his ear instantly. Missed listening to that even pulse.

“I can do it,” Till answered before Ivan could ask, slurred but understandable at last.

Ivan shrugged his top back on and gave Till the gift of privacy to rise from the tub and redress into his clean Anakt uniform. Well, as clean as they got. His were more greyed than most, torn and stained from extended use and his usual roughhousing with both his fellow human and anything else he could get his hands on.

Urak was already infamous for the horrible ways he treated his pets, and he had no interest in making anyone think otherwise. There was no reason for him to supply Till with more clothes than he strictly needed, Urak took no pride in his pet’s day-to-day appearance.

Absently, Till realised that the ‘toy’ he’d used on Ivan the night before was no longer where it had been carelessly tossed. It was out of sight entirely. Had Ivan kicked it back under his bed, not wanting to think about what had happened? Till didn’t care enough about it to ask. He’d come across it while cleaning later once it didn’t hurt so much just to stand or move.

“I suppose we should get to class.”

Till wanted to laugh. It was so like Ivan to have his priorities set so wrong. He never did linger on these things. It was exactly what Till needed. No matter how many times he went sulking to Ivan after a beating growing up, there was never any point in lingering on his tears or anger. It was always going to happen again, so it was easier just to move on and forget that it had ever happened.

Was Ivan like this because it was how he dealt with things, or was it purely for Till’s benefit?

Either way, it lifted the heavy weight that threatened to sink his heart. Even after everything, it felt like nothing between them had changed.

But something had changed. Ivan knew things now. He knew about the things that happened to Till, and he knew how some of those things felt. He could relate, even if only a little bit.

“You go, I’m not going to class today,” Till huffed, unable to imagine trying to get through the day in his current state. He needed to rest his body, though he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. He could lay and work on some music though, that would make him feel better.

Ivan nodded slowly, a further understanding sinking into him. Piecing together the reason for Till’s absences from class, no doubt.

Stiffly, Ivan bid his goodbyes, on-edge but pretending not to be. To cover his lateness to class, Ivan would probably head to medical and claim that he’d been unwell in the night, and although the med-bay would show no signs of sickness, he’d be given some vitamins and sent on his way. Unsha would never need to be informed of his pet’s tardiness. The benefits of being so trusted.

Urak, on the other hand, didn’t care about Till’s attendance to classes. He was focused only on results. Besides, it wasn’t like him skipping to recuperate after those nights out was uncommon.

But, as he laid down, body screaming with abuse and his room pungent with dried vomit and cruelty, he couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction.

He was no longer the only human ruined in the way he was. Another had tasted his torment. At last, there was someone who could relate to the awful things he went through.

Finally, Till was no longer so alone.