Chapter Text
He hated it.
Every rough hit or perverse touch from the Grabber— every stolen fuck— Finney hated it all.
But...
But it was better in some ways, better than receiving the same treatment at home, from his dad. Even when the Grabber hurt him worse or made him fear for his life, he still called Finney "handsome" like a young man, not "beautiful" like his mother.
He got to be seen as Finney and wanted— deep and all-consuming— because he was Finney.
It was not a Friday night in the house alone. He was not trying to take the half-empty bottle from his dad before it fell in the floor. All for naught. Despite his caution, that waking hand would still grab his hip through the soft fabric of his pajamas. It pulled him close.
"So beautiful," the man muttered in that inebriated daze. "Look just like your mother."
"Dad, stop."
He never stopped. Either the drink made him do it, or the drink helped him do it. Finney was not sure.
He knew he was tired of being Hope.
"Stop!" he cried, but the Grabber never stopped.
"Oh, Finney," he groaned, dragging out his muffled name behind that mask. "Finney... Finney... Finney..." It was his name punctuating every forceful thrust, unmistakable. The man loved his name. Maybe he loved Finney too, but that was not an emotion to be envied. It was a horrible, disgusting plague. "So good, so tight, so... fucking... perfect for me."
Dad wanted someone long gone, but the Grabber?
"Mine." He pulled Finney's hair so he could look him in the face— his face. "You're all mine, forever."
The Grabber wanted him.