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Montresor’s laughter came in all shades. A lightning-yellow cackle, an ink-black snicker. Each one burned. Each one sent delicious shivers up Will’s spine, even those at his expense. Maybe especially those. And poor damned fool that he was, he knew Montresor would never stop laughing.
He witnessed the catalysts of this laughter meticulously. A jab about Ada’s lack of brain matter usually got a chuckle. A baffoonish misstep of his own, even more than that. So he’d knock over a glass, trip over his own feet, comment incorrectly on the obvious – and, sure as gospel, was rewarded with a cruel bark of laughter. Will collected those rewards with sentimental care. He admired them later, alone in his room after night had fallen, in the low bloody light that seeped through his window. He twisted himself up in the sheets and buried his face in the pillow and remembered that laughter’s sharpness and heat. He indulged in it for hours, panting out Montresor’s name to no one, stroking himself raw, wanting more and more but left with only echoes.
This torture sprawled on for weeks – stumbling and begging and drooling for crumbs of attention during the day, devouring those crumbs at night. His desperation only mounted. Soon Montresor reacted more often with annoyance to his bootlicking, and Will had less and less to feast on. He was starving. It was obvious. Until, curled one night in bed and wracked with pain only felt by the untouchable, a horrible little idea scuttled into his mind and burrowed deep.
And he started practicing.
Squinting into the floor-length mirror, Will watched his hair grow glossy and long. His lips pouted as if asking for a kiss, and his lashes thickened in a soft black curtain. The angles of his body mellowed into curves, his eyes brightened to a jealous green, and the giggle that escaped from his tight throat positively sparkled. There she was, the object of Montresor’s desire and Will’s deepest hatred, already standing with her hip cocked and skirts aflutter like she fucking owned the place.
With a shudder, Will shrunk back to the familiar shapes and weight and grayness of his own body. It would be difficult to bear for very long, wielding her flouncing gait and her flirtatious smile and her swaying hips and thin ankles. But for the reward, just one mouth-watering scrap of Montresor’s attention, Will could endure any amount of discomfort. In this, and not much else, he was very confident.
At first, Will only tried it with strangers. He pranced through a nearly-empty hallway in her skin successfully. Then he passed Prospero where he read by a bay window and tossed a snide comment over her shoulder, something like, “Don’t you do anything else?” Prospero barely lifted his eyes, and only then to roll them. The following day, Will-Ada skipped up to Annabel, clasped her hands behind her back, bent coquettishly at the waist and sang, “And what is my pretty best friend up to this morning~?”
Without a hint of suspicion, Annabel raised her regal head and offered a dazzling, if somewhat stiff, smile. “Waiting for my tea-partner, love. Why don’t you run along and find Montresor? He came by just now and asked after you.”
Will’s heart hammered in Ada’s chest. He wobbled. “R-really?”
“I think,” Annabel said, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin, “he went off towards the library.”
Before a conscious thought could spring into action and tell him to stop , Will-Ada was out the door, in the corridor, rounding a corner. Everything had been going so well. Everyone had been fooled. This was too soon, wasn’t it? It could all blow up before he got what he wanted, couldn’t it? But he didn’t wait. He felt drunk, drunk and starving and desperate and hopeful. As he neared the library entrance, two hulking double-doors propped open like great wooden wings, a familiar voice stopped him cold.
“Honeyyy~” Ada whined from somewhere between the bookshelves. “Don’t you think we should go to your room, or…?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Montresor’s rough drawl made Will woozy. He stumbled against the corridor wall, trembling in Ada’s body. Her giggle, the real one and not Will’s perfect imitation, was corked by what he could only imagine to be a kiss. The possibility that, had he arrived moments earlier, his giggle could have been stopped with that kiss, planted a seed of jealousy so deep that it actually hurt.
He retreated to his room and hid under the covers like a scared rodent licking its wounds. Next time, he would be more careful. Next time, there would be no roadblocks or crushing disappointment. Next time, he would enjoy the fruits of Montresor’s attention instead. A lingering glance. A ghost of a smile. Even an accidental brush of an elbow or shoulder. When at last Prospero rapped on his door and demanded his attendance at class promptly , the bitter poison had been sweated out. Will donned a compliant smile, so unlike the eager grinning he’d practiced to play Ada, and followed Annabel’s errand boy to the lecture hall.
Another week dripped by, and another. He rehearsed Ada’s masks – cheerful but cloying, disdainful but terrified, sorry but seething – in front of his floor-length mirror. He learned her by rote, twitching one eyelid this way and positioning her graceful fingers that way. She’d cackle at him for stumbling over his words during breakfast, and he’d replicate that cackle over and over and over at one, two, three in the morning. She’d flutter her eyelashes becomingly at Montresor or Annabel, and he’d flutter them at his reflection until his vision blurred. She’d slip an inconspicuous hand into the pocket of Montresor’s slacks, and Will would pretend to do the same with his own empty jacket where it hung over his bedpost. Again and again. And again. And again.
Until at last, opportunity struck with the force of a screaming locomotive.
He learned of Montresor’s proposal the way he learned most things, by being invisible and unthreatening. Class dispersed after a lesson that had left half the students, including Prospero, spending the night in the infirmary. Not wasting a moment, Montresor leaned over to murmur in Ada’s ear, “Come over tonight, we’ll have the run of the place.”
“After curfew? You’re out of your mind,” Ada whispered back.
“Come on, Sugar. Not every night we have a room to ourselves.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I’ll even spoil you, how’s that?”
Ada studied him, crossing her arms and pushing up her cleavage very deliberately. Montresor waited with thinning patience, and Will tried to look busy dropping his schoolbag several times. Finally Ada announced, “Maybe missing me will teach you some manners.”
Montresor made a little sound of frustration – tch. “What manners.”
“Like maybe you’ll open doors for me and pull out my chair at dinner,” Ada smirked, delighted to withhold something Montresor so dearly wanted. She kissed his cheek, jumped from her seat, and sauntered for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling!”
Usually, the following hours would have satiated Will for days. Montresor took him on a long rambling walk through the academy’s overrun rose gardens and hedges, bitching all the while. But now that what waited afterward was so much more decadent, Will struggled to play the part of Monty’s heel. Still, he nodded at the appropriate times (often), joined in on the defamation of Ada’s character (with relish), and sympathized with Monty’s loss (gingerly). It was not so much that Montresor felt entitled to Ada’s spoils. More that he begrudged her fickle nature, and how she brandished it with such contempt.
Will listened, and nodded, and defamed, and sympathized – knowing while he did so that all of Montresor’s grievances would be satisfied. Whatever he wanted, Will wanted. To use him, to hate him, to love him. A bout of rough kisses followed by a slap on the ass as Will was sent away. Barely touching at all, and sharing deeper stories and secrets than Will had been privy to. Or even…even…
Will didn’t dare imagine. It would be difficult to keep his face placating and foolish if he did. It was bad enough, how his hopes already wandered to the way Monty’s shoulder-blades filled out his jacket like amputated wings, or how his voice went low and gravelly when he complained. What might his voice do at other times? On his back and panting perhaps, with Will’s head between his legs? Or laboring to pass the grip of Will’s hand on his throat? Mumbled around Will’s tongue, or weak with pleasure?
Monty’s fingers, snapping before his eyes. Will blinked hard.
“Yer spacin’ out,” mumbled Monty, more disappointed than angry.
For once, Will could hardly say it. “S-s-sorry.”
When he donned Ada’s visage that night, it was with neurotic care. No hair could be out of place, no fingernail too long or short, no mole or dimple too pronounced. He turned before the mirror, leaned forward to squint, turned again. He sharpened an arsenal of expressions – seductive glances under lashes, chin tipped up with a cruel grin, eyes wide and sincere and earnest. For the first time, he obeyed the urge to slip off her clothing. Her nakedness was of little interest to him, but Montresor coveted this smooth skin and the shapes only evident when bare. He took in his nude reflection with a blank face, scowled a little, and squirmed back into her dress and jacket. How this form looked underneath did not matter. What mattered was that Montresor wanted it, and now Will had it. And the potential of that still flipped his stomach with giddiness, with greed.
Indulging in one final deep breath, he slung his school-bag over one shoulder and crept into the hall. Avoiding the Wisps would be no trouble at all. Montresor waited merely five doors away. And as the coast was clear, he made it there in a matter of seconds and briefly paused midway to knocking. His hand hovered in the air. Ada’s hand hovered in the air. Instead, he turned the knob and strolled in with her characteristic verve.
Bathed in Nevermore’s unearthly crimson light, Montresor stood by the window. His fingers twirled a toothpick between his teeth idly. His eyes soaked up the red from the sky, cast out over the academy’s sprawling gardens and the sea beyond. He looked…pensive? Disconcerted? Far away like someone can only get when they’re alone. Will wished he could climb into his skull to uproot this innermost thought, keep it under his bed and take little bites over months until it was devoured.
The door clicked shut and Montresor started. His hip bumped the nightstand, causing the oil lamp upon it to shudder. “Hell, Sugar! What happened to knockin’?”
Will froze. Had he made a mistake so soon? He put on his boldest bravado and laughed her laugh and pointed her teasing finger at him. “Surprised you, didn’t I? Thought you’d be all alone tonight?” He stuck out her bottom lip the way she did when she wanted something. “Well. Lucky for you, I got lonely.”
Montresor rolled his eyes, but with an odd fondness that flushed Will’s face with jealousy. “You do me in, y’know that?”
Montresor flicked his toothpick into a small trashcan at the foot of the bed, like one might a cigarette. He flopped backwards onto the pillow and exhaled what sounded to be the full day’s worries. The fabric of his shirt tightened and loosened almost imperceptibly with the exhale. Not imperceptible to Will, though. Nothing about Montresor was imperceptible to Will.
Will discarded his schoolbag onto the nearby desk and sauntered closer. Monty’s hair was flung carelessly across the pillow, the red light pooling in every angle of his body. He smirked at Will and muttered, “What’re you doin’ all the way up there?”
Will’s heart jumped, and he played Ada’s part. Giggled through her fingers, crept with feline poise onto the bed, cuddled into him with her head tucked under his prickly chin. Will had imagined what this might feel like countless times, curled up alone and holding tight to a pillow instead. Monty smelled of leather and hay and earth and the kind of sweat that only came from adrenaline. Ada’s nostrils prickled with it and breathed deeper, and Will drowned and drowned.
Monty twirled the baby hair at the nape of her neck around his fingers. “Flashy display earlier. Enjoyed shootin’ me down, didja?” He tugged, sending delicious pain up the back of her skull.
Will smiled through a wince. Her hair was still trapped between Monty’s clenched fingers. “I just like seeing you want me, honey.”
Something glittered in his eyes – Curiosity? Doubt? His hand slackened and came to settle with four fingertips down her neck and his thumb on her collarbone. Will felt something stir under his – her – bra, a shy tingle completely alien to him.
“I’ll show you then.”
His other hand, deftly unbuttoning her jacket. One, two, three buttons and his rough palm ran over the frills of her dress, cupped one breast and gently squeezed. Will’s head swam with drunken euphoria and terror. These sensations – the tickle under Monty’s palm, the pricking of goosebumps down her arms, the twitching between her thighs – belonged to someone else. He’d stolen them, would continue to steal them, but unsure of what to do with them. He suddenly realized, as Monty’s thumb began to patiently circle her nipple through the fabric, that Ada’s body behaved much differently than his own. Perhaps it would have been this way, no matter whose skin he wore. Prospero’s or Annabel’s, Lenore’s or Duke’s. But right then, smaller than he was used to and tucked into the crook of Monty’s arm – right then, painfully aware of his own quickening breath as Monty’s hand snuck under her neckline and bra – right then, Will quivered under the weight of his infatuation and foolishness. If he couldn’t play the part perfectly, the part of Ada in her most intimate moments, moments he had of course never seen, then Monty might find out.
That dread, and the dizzying pleasure of Monty’s calloused fingertips rolling her soft pink nipple between them, summoned from Will the most embarrassing whine he’d ever made. Which was saying something.
Montresor’s eyebrow arched. A smug grin tugged at the left corner of his mouth. “Eager tonight, Sugar?”
Will’s thoughts staggered. He told himself firmly that this was not a dream, did not have the consequences of a mere dream. As haughtily as he could muster, he snickered, “O-oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Sure I would,” Monty mumbled, and god his lips were brushing Will’s neck, he could feel Monty’s hot breath below his ear and the scratch of his stubble against his cheek. Monty let out a little snort of laughter that fluttered Ada’s bangs. “Y’seem nervous, too. Somethin’ you wanna tell me?”
Will did his best, really did his best, to relax his stiff limbs. He twitched under the leisurely, relentless circling of Monty’s thumb. Impossible. Monty was impossible. Beautiful. Perfect. Horrible. Will wanted to melt into his own body again and dig his fingers into Monty’s beautiful flesh, bite into his perfect throat, drink his horrible poisonous blood. Gorge himself. He was so close to that already, with Monty’s hand under his clothes and Monty’s lips on his jaw. But he hungered for more, unwisely, and feared that hunger would be both of their undoing.
“I just thought, y’know, I could. Um. Try something.”
“Try somethin’?” There was confusion in the lilt of his voice, and for one paralyzing instant Will braced for the outrage and betrayal. Instead, Monty’s hand mercifully and tragically retreated from beneath Ada’s bra and he propped himself onto an elbow. His void eyes travelled over Ada with the nonchalant desire that one might have for a home-cooked breakfast, or a new pair of boots. “What kinda somethin’?”
Will committed to the part. He acted through the maddening sensations still plaguing this body, through the lightheadedness and reeling racing shrieking hope that maybe maybe maybe this was about to happen. He rolled Ada onto her stomach, fluttered her ample eyelashes. “You trust me, don’t you, baby?”
Monty screwed up his mouth in a suspicious sort of way. After a long moment, he admitted, “Only a little.”
“You!” Will huffed, and slapped his arm ( actually slapped his arm) playfully . “I brought a surprise for you and everything.”
“Mm?”
Will could tell right away that he had him. That sound, so small and devil-may-care, told him everything. Monty wanted to know.
He said, “What is it?” like he actually expected an answer.
Will rolled his green eyes, flipped his dark hair. “It’s a surprise or nuthin’.”
“Am I gonna like it?”
“Honey,” Will purred, and let his adoration show for the first time, plain as day in the way his eyes smiled along with his mouth. “You’re meant to love it.”
Monty pretended to think about it longer, as Will hopped up from the bed and moseyed over to his discarded schoolbag. Leaving Monty’s side, his warmth and weight and heady smell, felt like leaving the sun to live instead below the cold earth. Still, Will persevered. He rummaged in the bag with his back to the sun, still desperate for its heat but resolute. Finally, Monty said with a shrug in his voice, “Alright, I’ll bite.”
“Close your eyes,” Will said in Ada’s most singsong voice. Monty scoffed. Will waited, not turning around. Monty said, “If you pull a fast one, Sugar, yer not gonna like what happens.”
“Come onnnn,” Will whined, and at last Monty heaved a sigh and muttered, “Fine, fine.” And Will turned around.
First he secured the ropes to the bedposts. They were thin, but strong. He knew how to tie these knots from some of the first memories he’d recovered, packing inventory away in his family’s store and tying down the hay for feed. They’d hold, he was sure of that. Montresor did not peek.
“Lie on your back, honey, and raise your arms over your head,” Will said. He rallied every drop of coyness and sweetness and promise from Ada’s voice for this, and to his credit Monty obeyed. When Will snaked the rope around one of his wrists, his eyes flew open and he held her gaze.
“Just whaddya think yer doin’, Ada?”
One last push. Will met his eyes with a wounded look and sculpted her lips into a pout. “You ruined it.”
“You expect me t–?”
“Didn’t you want me to make it up to you? The hard time I gave you after class?” Will leaned her body over him. Her hair tumbled forward over her shoulder and licked Monty’s face. It smelled of her floral Castile soap. Will had practiced. “I wanted to give you a real good time. To apologize.”
The silence lasted a beat too long. Monty’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Will slowly wound the rope around his wrist. He didn’t resist. Will tightened the knot and moved to the other side. Monty watched but said nothing. And finally, Will dragged a long white cloth from the schoolbag, draped it over Monty’s eyes, and reached around his head to fasten it. Montresor’s body was rigid with pent-up action – to grab Will in a lustful embrace or kill him, he couldn’t say. Right now, it did not matter. Every thought, every animal instinct, every inch of Montresor’s body was intent upon Will. And that was all he wanted, just that, forever.
“What’s yer plan?” Monty asked, and Will could almost detect a note of unease.
“That’s for me to know~”
Will drank him in for a moment, bound and blindfolded and all his. He could hardly believe it. Months of rehearsal and study had gotten him here. It deserved to be savored. He trembled as he reached for Montresor, touched his Adam’s Apple with only a fingertip. He hovered there, right on the edge of a cavernous drop, relishing this ambiguity. And then his hand wandered, over Montresor’s chest and the slope of his stomach unfastening buttons as it went, dancing over his belt and pelvis and thigh, doubling back to grasp hungrily at the hardening shape between his legs.
“Ah–” Montresor’s involuntary grunt of surprise went right to Will’s head, making him dizzy. He wanted all of them, every one of Montresor’s most private sounds, and Will would draw them from him if it took all night. Will steeled himself, ordered his hand to be patient . He only half-succeeded, gripped the shaft through the stiff fabric of Monty’s pants, and pulled from base to end once and almost twice–
“Fuck. Hey.” Monty shifted his hips, dick still trapped in Will’s tight fingers. “Buy me dinner first, christ.”
It was all Will could do, to smother a mechanical sorry . Not now. He couldn’t be Will now.
“I’d rather eat you instead.” Will moved Ada’s hands to his belt buckle. Monty’s breath hitched as it came loose, and then the button of his slacks. Will’s greedy hands roamed over the most intimate piece of him, squeezing him only through his underwear now, feeling the heat in his palm.
Montresor’s chest rose and fell a little faster, to Will’s delight. One of his arms tugged fruitlessly against its restraint, and he muttered, “Use your mouth.”
“I’ll use what I like,” Will managed to say, despite the agonizing urge to obey.
Monty huffed in frustration as Will tugged timidly at the band of his underwear. He growled, “Yer killin’ me.”
Will revelled in each new inch of exposed skin, the fine blond hair that whispered along his lower abdomen and lower still. The decadence and insanity of what he was doing washed over him every few seconds, but he pushed forward in a unique madness. Finally, finally , Montresor was laid bare. From hair to chin to collarbone and chest, from stomach to hips to erect cock. Will’s fingers wrapped reverently around it and started, with tortuous slowness, to pull and pull again. The slickness from it smelled bitterly of salt and human, and his grip glided up and down with no resistance.
Montresor exhaled sharply, jerked against the restraints. Will wanted more than that. He climbed on top of him and sat on his thighs, knees on either side of his hips. He could see much better from here. Montresor’s face hid in the nook of his shoulder as he breathed hard. The muscles in his abdomen twitched. His back began to arch. Will’s grip loosened, and he instead used his thumb to gently push back the foreskin and circle the slippery head. Montresor gasped, gold tooth flashing in the cursed red light. And Will had to bite back a moan so hedonistic as to be vile.
“Yer doing it different,” Montresor groaned, hips rocking as if to ask for more and also to be released.
The smile that broke across Ada’s face was wide and genuine. “Good surprise?”
Montresor tried to answer, probably had something half-scathing half-fond on the tip of his tongue, but Will pitched forward and stopped it with a kiss. At once, he pumped him faster and gripped him harder, and drank in each of Monty’s moans like a wine almost too expensive to appreciate. A violent shudder tore through Monty’s torso and his hips bucked suddenly, ramming between Will’s legs and pushing hard into Ada’s laced underwear. With a very un-Ada-like whimper, Will’s hands abandoned their task and shoved Monty back down by the hips. Monty panted, deprived of both sight and pleasure, and struggled against the rope.
“Let me up,” he snapped. Will imagined it, just for a moment imagined it. Monty seizing him roughly by Ada’s waist, spreading her legs with his large calloused hands, pushing into her, into him. The prospect had him salivating, but in a rare show of stubbornness he left the rope and Montresor where they were. One thing seemed clear, from Monty’s harsh and ravenous breathing, the sheen of sweat on his skin, his dick throbbing inches from Ada’s softest part. It was, at last, at last, at last, time.
“Stay where I put you,” he said in Ada’s voice, and pulled Ada’s dress over Ada’s head, unclipped Ada’s bra from Ada’s back, peeled Ada’s underwear down Ada’s legs. He knelt over Montresor’s sprawled and naked body with his open shirt hanging round his torso. His fingers folded around Montresor’s cock, relishing in how hard he’d already made him. He inhaled the dark and the heat and smell of leather and hay and adrenaline sweat, and melted back into Will.
The bed creaked with the additional weight. Ada’s hand grew in size around where it held him. The very height and shape of the person on top of Montresor changed, and even blindfolded he could tell. Still, he didn’t say a word. If he was shocked or betrayed or angry, he didn’t show it. Just kept his breathing deep, kept his hips angled up and eager to take him.
Voracious, trembling with want, Will guided Monty inside. He was slick and hot and solid, and Will lowered himself with a patience he didn’t know he possessed. Monty panted hard and moved in the only way he could, maybe too forcefully out of rebellion. His hips thrust up and abruptly Will was filled, stretched and hit deep. The noise that escaped him, if nothing else had, exposed his identity and deepest desires at once. It was mortifying, miserable and gasping, almost a sob. Monty groaned and tried to thrust again, but Will was quicker. It was his turn tonight, only his turn. He would wring every desperate noise out of Montresor and keep them until he died.
His hands landed on Montresor’s stomach and he rode him, rolling his hips to grind Monty deeper. Monty’s body stiffened under him. His thighs twitched, pushing against the small of Will’s back, but he kept up his determined rhythm. Again, again, again, Monty hit the deepest part of him. It was all he could do, to focus on the expression unravelling on Monty’s face. Something he was never meant to see. Monty’s mouth was open and panting. He tugged violently against the rope as Will used him harder, fucked himself faster. He could tell Monty was close by the sounds he made, the way his voice broke when he moaned and swore, the way he couldn’t control his face anymore. His painfully hard cock jackhammered into him like it wanted to kill him, Will couldn’t take this, couldn’t hold it off any longer, it was twisting deep in his stomach and starting to expand like a wildfire like an explosion.
He did the unthinkable, the unforgivable. He bowed over Montresor and wrapped all ten fingers around his throat and pressed down with all his weight. Montresor choked and yanked against the rope. His trapped breath pushed fruitlessly against Will’s hands, and Will felt himself grow so hard it hurt. And finally, in fury or dread or hatred or maybe even love, Monty pitched his hips upwards and plunged deep, ferocious and carnal, once twice three four times until Will’s whole body shuddered and clenched around him, until his hands came loose and Monty gasped and coughed and moaned and completely fell apart. Will felt him come hard and hot and wretched inside him, watched his spine curve and the rope shudder in his fists and his muscles spasm, listened to his irregular and helpless gasping gradually mellow into exhausted gulps of air. It was everything. It was his. His. His.
“God,” Monty coughed. Will fought down the urge to seize his neck again, if only because the desperate wheezing sounded so sweet. Tremors raced along Monty’s thighs and stomach, treasured by Will who sat atop them. They were still intimately connected, and Will’s insides burned with his cum. He wanted to squeeze enough of it out of Monty to bathe in. Monty coughed again. “Fuck.”
Gingerly, reluctantly, Will raised himself off of Monty. They disconnected, and Will once again slipped into Ada’s form. It couldn’t last forever, as much as Will longed for it to. If he had it his way, Monty would never leave this bed again.
Once he could be sure his voice would not tremble, a good handful of sobering moments, Will said through Ada’s mouth, “Happy I came?”
Montresor didn’t answer right away. Instead he soothed his breathing, rolled the joints of his wrists against the rope, and leaned back into the pillow. He said, “Y’did, didn’t you?”
“Just for you.” Will spread his hands on Montresor’s bare chest, bent low, and kissed him.
Montresor twitched away. He cleared his sore throat and mumbled, “Get these offa me, Sugar. Can’t concentrate like this.”
Will hesitated. Would Monty round on him, attack him? Surely he was angry. Or perhaps, was it possible? Could he be none the wiser?
“Of course, baby. Thanks for being such a sport about it.”
With a practiced tug, the ropes came loose. Montresor’s hand leapt to the blindfold and tore it away. His eyes were darker than Will had ever seen them. Ice-cold fear and a delectable shiver of anticipation settled into Will’s gut as Montresor’s hands snared him – one clamping hard around Ada’s waist and the other circling her neck.
“Should we see how you like it?” Montresor growled. His fingers tightened just enough to make Will’s breathing audible, a hollow kind of whistle. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You – liked it though, right?” Will ran Ada’s fingers over his stubble.
“Y’coulda killed me,” muttered Montresor. He didn’t slacken his grasp. Will’s neck started to ache and he squirmed on Monty’s naked lap. “Think you can just get away with that?”
Something in his tone was for Will, not Ada. Will’s heart pounded as Montresor’s thumb dug into his windpipe, enough to hurt.
“Baby,” Will whispered. It didn’t sound like Ada’s voice, or his. It sounded like wind through dead grass. “Baby, please, I was only–”
“Try that shit again,” Monty said, and his eyes were large and black as the new moon, “and I’ll snap you like a dry branch.”
Will believed him. Monty spoke through Ada’s visage, past her face and directly to the coward who hid behind it. The pressure around his throat constricted painfully, a warning, and for an awful wonderful moment he could not say a thing, could not even get a breath into his sore lungs. The filthiest slivers of him, hidden away behind apologies and weak smiles, longed for more agony and more punishment and more caustic little rewards from Montresor. Right this moment, even. But sadly, Montresor released him and pushed him somewhat roughly off his lap. He tugged the sheets to cover himself, and waved towards the door.
“Get dressed. On your way,” he told Will, who massaged his throat and sheepishly gathered Ada’s clothes. As he wriggled into her jacket and slung the school-bag over his shoulder, Montresor caught his eyes and said, with heavy finality, “Not a word of this to anyone.”
Will swallowed hard, thoroughly cowed but failing to feel even a trace of regret. He took one last look to save for later, Montresor sprawled on the bed with his hair a mess, body bare and ravaged, dick still limp and worked raw where it hid under the thin sheets. A surge of pride straightened Will’s back.
“On my life, Monty.”
And then he left, the soft click of the door behind him like a swan song. His neck still ached, his insides in shambles, but his dreams would be bright and full of feverish color that night. When had Montresor found out? At the start, or right at the moment Will’s weight increased on top of him? Either way, Monty had known when Will was riding him, and had thrust right back. For whatever reason, in whatever level of denial, caught in passion or in rage, it didn’t matter. He had fucked him, hurt him, loved him right back. And that would keep Will fed for as long as they both were alive.