~The Grubs, the streets~
The street lay completely bare. No one ventured out in the cold dead of night, but a sudden whim of the air rushed past the hero, causing him to fall over all at once. His knees hit the hard floor, his body inches from the ground, and he cursed to himself.
"Guh... Fu-h it hurts..." He shook his head, ignoring the burning sensation running down his throat. He found his feet, wobbling like a child, and looked around.
He stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by houses, scanning the area in a frenzy. No lights shone from the houses; no one was here right now. But the hero felt terrified. He was no longer safe by himself—with no powers to defend himself, the people in the Grubs could do whatever they wanted with him.
Well, they already had.
"Mhg..." Oxzy shook his head. He refused to think back to what happened. His whole body ached with each step he took, a reminder enough in itself. His thoughts shouldn't betray him.
Anyone in the Grubs who saw him like this would take the chance in a heartbeat—to kill him, humiliate him, ruin him even more.
It terrified the hero. He stood powerless, his body beaten, wearing nothing but a thin undershirt to cover himself. He had to pull the end of the shirt down to cover his lower half. It was large enough to conceal his ruined private parts, but he still had to hold it together since it wouldn't button back up. The men had torn the buttons off, leaving him with an open, dirty shirt.
The hero's feet stumbled on the cold pavement; he felt the soles begin to bruise against the rough surface. He kept walking forward, looking around for something.
What was he looking for?
He had nowhere to go. His home lay destroyed, and he stood in the Grubs, where everyone wanted him dead. The man faced this mess completely alone.
He had no idea what to do. His steps stopped in an instant, his head dropping in despair. He didn't know what to do now. Should he go back?
What? What am I thinking?
The hero shook his head, refusing to turn back. Even without any idea where to go, he would not return. Reliving that hell was the last thing he wanted; he would rather go to Pierce if anything.
Pierce lived here. The villain made his home in the Grubs, somewhere nearby. The hero looked around, swaying with his foggy vision, and recognized a familiar street. Without noticing, his legs quickened.
He limped forward, his sore body carrying him until he reached the house. Before he could move further, he realized what he was doing—where he was.
~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
He shook his head, taking a small step back. Why would I go to him? Him, of all people, when I'm like this? The hero hissed in pain, his body buckling forward.
"Erghh..." His head pounded with frustration. He didn't know what to do—should he take shelter with the villain? Why would he do such a thing? The villain wanted to kill him too; no place offered safety.
Would the villain do the same thing to him? Would he...
The hero remembered how the man had treated him, how cruel and dirty he'd been when they fought. But the villain had changed—only a little, but the hero noticed it immediately. His words, his way of speaking, his treatment of others—all different now.
It made the hero feel more uneasy. The villain could be cool, say strange things for a moment, then turn cruel, grabbing at him with angry force.
But where else could Oxzy go?
A few noises sounded from behind him. The hero turned around, quickly scanning to see if someone had followed him. No one but the dark night remained. He was imagining things; the men wouldn't come after him.
Even so, fear gripped him still. Making up his mind, the hero began to limp forward. He climbed the steps and stopped in front of the wooden door.
Am I really doing this? It felt like a stupid mistake. But no other choice remained.
He hesitantly knocked on the door, wincing as pain shot up his arm with even that gentle, slow movement. It still hurt; the hero buckled forward, feeling ready to collapse.
He waited. His eyes began to droop as the cold ran through him, biting at his bare, exposed skin. This felt so stupid. Why did he stand at the villain's doorstep, desperately knocking for him to come out and see him like this?
Why did he hope the evil man would answer?
His legs were about to give out when the door opened. It swung open lightly, revealing an annoyed-looking villain on the other side. His face wore a scowl, shirtless with nothing but black sweats on, and he looked around before facing the hero.
His scowl disappeared, replaced by shock and realization that made the hero feel weak all over again. He watched the villain take in his state, eyes wide, body growing completely tense.
Pierce moved his hand from the door, hesitating before reaching forward. The hero did nothing as Pierce ran a hand through his hair. The movement stung against his black hair, and the hero whimpered lightly.
Pierce pulled his hand back from the man's hair, noting how a few strands fell out from even that light touch. He stepped forward, studying the hero's reactions. The man who was always on guard, who flinched at the villain's touches and mere glances, now stood motionless.
His legs swayed beneath him, his face full of pain. The villain noticed immediately that the man had been assaulted. The long black shirt with its broken buttons barely covered his battered body. Blood ran down his chest and followed his steps, leaking from beneath him.
The villain didn't know what to do, how to react.
Oxzy watched the man in front of him shake his head, looking confused, shocked. No disgust showed on his face. But something like worry seemed to linger there.
The hero felt all his energy leave him at once. His legs buckled, and he fell forward. The villain opened his arms, letting the hero crash into him. The man went completely limp in his hold, his face full of discomfort as it rested against the villain's exposed chest.
The villain didn't move. He felt the hero's slow breaths rise against his own quick ones. He looked down at the shorter male leaning on him, then closed his arms around him, pulling the unconscious hero up with him.
Pierce lifted the hero in his arms; the man felt weightless against his strength. Holding him bridal style, Pierce heard shouts from the side of his house—a group from Felix's gang, calling out for someone as they walked around.
He rolled his eyes, pulling the man inside and shutting the door behind him.
He held the man close, feeling his ice-cold skin. He made his way up the stairs, pulling him close so he wouldn't strike anything. Reaching his room, he gently set him down on the bed.
What was he supposed to do now?
Oxzy was in his room, lying lifeless on his bed with a ruined body.
The villain took this time to look over his body. He lifted the black shirt up, peering at his chest, and felt himself squirm at the sight of the red, irritated bites and large purple bruises that covered the man's beautiful pale skin.
The villain traced his eyes downward. He didn't want to look, but he already knew what he'd find. He looked away, pulling the black shirt back down to cover the hero again.
Oxzy's body was horrible—completely ruined, covered in every kind of mark someone could leave.
Who?
Who would do this? Go so far as to completely claim his body with their own mouth, leaving bites and bruises, tearing him up inside until nothing but blood came out of him? The villain felt his skin boil. He was outraged, furious at some invisible someone.
Someone needed to pay.
Pierce had no right to be angry. Hadn't he wanted to mess with and humiliate the hero in exactly this way? He had—but he hadn't wanted anyone else to have the pleasure of doing it to Oxzy. Only he deserved that.
The hero let out a wheezing breath, turning his head in a dazed sleep. The villain moved without hesitation, gently sweeping the sweat from his brow. His hand paused just above the hero's head. It felt hot—unnervingly hot.
Oxzy's face was bright red, his eyes teary with pain. The villain realized he was running a fever. He ran his hand over the man's head; it burned compared to the rest of his body, which was ice cold.
Pierce had dealt with fevers before—never his own, but Mercy had suffered a few.
Before standing up, the villain couldn't help worrying about the state of Oxzy's body. It wasn't healing. The marks looked fairly new, but by now they should have started to fade. And now the fever—what had happened to him?
Had he been drugged? How had he lost his powers? The hero had lost his ability to heal, his ability to sense danger from miles away, even the strength to fight back. That would explain the state of his body. It would also explain the fever.
The villain started toward the door, then turned back to look at Oxzy. If the man moved, he'd be completely exposed—the shirt was too small to cover much. Pierce could still see the marks along his legs.
Oxzy would need a shower to clean himself, but water came first; it was more urgent and would help bring down the fever.
Pierce fetched a cup of lukewarm water and carried it back upstairs to the hero. Oxzy hadn't moved; he was still knocked out, which made things easier. Pierce slid his knee beneath the hero's head, tilted it forward, and let the water run into his mouth.
Some dribbled out from his open lips, but most of it made its way down his dry throat. Pierce closed the man's mouth, forcing him to swallow. Oxzy coughed, gagging lightly as the fluid slid down his sore throat.
His eyes opened a little. He tried to push away the water pooling back into his mouth, his hand weakly shoving at Pierce, who kept forcing him to drink. The villain paid no mind to his desperate resistance.
"Drink, Ox," Pierce said, prying his mouth open with his fingers to pour in more water.
"Gah—argh...!" Oxzy squeezed his eyes shut.
Water dripped from his lips, his eyes stinging with hot tears. It hurt going down his bruised throat, but he had no choice—he was forced to take it, then forced to close his mouth and swallow.
Once the glass was empty, Pierce pulled it away. Oxzy turned his head aside as Pierce released his chin, his face sinking into the soft pillow beneath him.
"Hahk! Kahk!" The hero gagged, some of the water spilling onto the bed beneath him. He pushed weakly at the hand pulling him back. "Stoh—!"
"You're dirtying my bed, Ox." Pierce smiled as the hero turned to face him.
Oxzy's head rested against the villain's knee, still tucked beneath him. His hand still clung to the one that had held the cup, even though he knew Pierce could easily overpower him.
Instead, Pierce let the hero hold on.
Oxzy pulled away, shaking his head as the villain's eyes met his. "I'm dirty—why let me on your damn bed...?" He coughed; even speaking made his throat burn.
"Well, I'm not letting you sleep on the ground like this." Pierce shook his head, his smile faint as he studied Oxzy's reactions. The hero tried to steer away from his gaze, too weak to do anything but avoid his eyes.
His face was drenched in sweat, his eyes red and streaked with tears. The water must have hurt going down—taking in so much at once must have been agonizing. The villain felt a pang of guilt, wondering what had happened to leave the man's throat so raw.
"Can you stand?" Pierce moved back, sitting at the end of the bed, one hand resting on Oxzy's shoulder.
The hero looked at him, words caught in his throat. He shook his head hesitantly, unsure how else to respond. Pierce smiled faintly, then slid his arm beneath Oxzy's hips and shoulders, lifting him up.
"Mgh!" The hero winced as the movement made his skin rub together, sparking fresh pain. He felt himself carried out of the room, held close and effortlessly.
Oxzy reached up, wrapping an arm around Pierce's shoulders, hoping it might ease the pain of being moved. It didn't—but he didn't let go. Instead, he held tighter, biting his lip to muffle his whimpers as his fingers dug into the villain's shoulder.
The villain didn't mind. With Oxzy so weak, there was no real pain in the hero's grip—only a strange sensation at having him so helpless, so unable to fight back. Pierce was used to resistance; he enjoyed it. Now there was none.
He felt both pity and anger—the anger buried deep, not aimed at the hero, but at whoever had done this to him.
He hoped a warm bath might help him heal. Maybe a few minutes of comfort would be enough to start the process. He hoped that was all it would take—but if Oxzy had truly been drugged with something strong enough to break down his immune system, it might be a while before he recovered.
The villain carried him into the bathroom. Oxzy noticed how clean it was—spotless, almost untouched, as if Pierce never used it at all. Maybe he didn't. Or maybe he was simply a neat freak. His bedroom had been clean too, though not quite to this standard.
The hero was lowered gently into the tub. Gentle as Pierce was, Oxzy still cried out in pain.
"Fagh! Mgh..." He clutched at his chest, a burning sensation spreading from below, raw from skin rubbing against skin.
"Sorry," Pierce said, smiling as he settled beside the tub.
"Fuh... you..." Oxzy managed, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Yeah, yeah, fuck me," Pierce said, shaking his head and echoing the hero's words. He waited for Oxzy to settle, knowing the pain centered lower on his body. He didn't want to look—he could already guess how bad it was, given the state of the rest of him.
Oxzy's face slowly relaxed, his tense shoulders easing down as a small breath escaped his lips.
When Pierce felt it was alright, he moved forward, grabbing the hero's black shirt and began to take it off him. Oxzy turned his head in surprise. He couldn't fight back; Pierce gently tore the shirt off his thin frame.
Now Oxzy was completely exposed in the bathtub. The hero moved his hand down to cover his lower half, turning his head in a different direction. He didn't want to see Pierce's peering eyes. He could feel the man's gaze trail along his body, taking in all of Oxzy's bruises and bite marks.
"Go..." Oxzy looked down, his knees pulled up to cover his chest. He hissed, grabbing at his lower half to cover himself.
Pierce said nothing. He looked over every part of the hero's body. Oxzy was completely ruined. Every inch of his skin bore a mark: dried blood, dirt, bites, purple bruises, or fingerprints. They littered his body, leaving only a few patches of porcelain skin untouched.
The hero wanted him gone. He could feel Pierce's eyes watching him, and it made him uncomfortable. He tried to hide himself as best he could, but every movement only caused more pain. He felt as though he were the reason Pierce behaved this way.
Pierce reached behind the man, turning on the faucet and letting the water run between his fingers. He waited until it turned warm before pulling back. The hero flinched away, watching Pierce's hand retreat without even brushing his skin.
The villain growled under his breath. The hero refused to look back at him, keeping his head low as the bath began to fill with water.
Pierce felt an urge to look at him, but the hero kept refusing to meet his eyes. Was he scared that Pierce would attack him? The thought angered him—he wasn't going to do that. He wouldn't stoop so low as to take advantage of someone powerless to defend himself.
What fun would that be?
The villain's hand moved on its own. He traced his fingers under Oxzy's chin, sliding them along his cheekbone and down to his neck, slowly and gently wiping away the blood staining his skin.
The hero jolted, bending his head backward as Pierce continued to trace his bones with his fingers. Pierce stopped when he reached a bite mark, the blood still covering the flesh. The wound was deep, almost to the bone.
"Must have hurt..." Pierce whispered. His voice made Oxzy turn his head toward him.
Damp black curls covered half his face as he looked at the villain. It did hurt, Oxzy wanted to say, but he couldn't find his voice. He was lost in the touch, his body slowly succumbing to the villain's gentle movements.
The villain moved his hand to the hero's face again, landing under his chin and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. The hero closed his eyes, lips sealed shut. Pierce smirked, then pushed his thumb forward, breaking through the hero's closed lips.
"Gh!" Oxzy's eyes shot open, his body sliding sideways against the wall beside him.
Pierce rubbed his thumb over the hero's tongue, collecting the saliva pooling from his open mouth. His eyes studied Oxzy's every expression—it was unsettling. The villain saw sickness rising in them, provoked by the intrusion of his finger.
The hero lacked the strength to push Pierce's hand away. Pressed against the wall, his body quivered with fear.
Without a word, Pierce shoved his finger down the hero's throat.
Everything came up at once. Oxzy hunched forward, vomiting the water he'd just swallowed all over himself. Pierce ran his hand through Oxzy's hair as he heaved.
The hero remained hunched over, one hand braced on the tub's edge. His stomach kept emptying, each heave followed by a cough. Still, he felt sick, trying to purge everything inside him.
His body tensed as he hunched over, and the villain gently rubbed his head. Pierce noticed blood mixed in with the vomit, along with some familiar blue fragments. He moved behind Oxzy, cupped water in his hands, then came back around to his front.
The villain washed away the bloody vomit. The hero wiped his face, shaking slightly as the warm water touched his skin.
"Aghh...!" His body stung where the water ran over his wounds. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting for Pierce to move away.
Pierce did, once all the vomit had been washed away. He closed the drain to let the bathtub fill. When he finished, he didn't leave right away—he wanted to help Oxzy wash the blood from his weakened body.
But the hero made it clear he wanted to be left alone. He tried to pull away from Pierce, refusing even to glance at him. The villain understood; he'd forced the man to throw up all the water he'd made him swallow. Even after that, Oxzy still had to drink more.
Pierce kept his hand in the hero's hair, watching him breathe in shallow gasps. He couldn't look away. The man was entirely in his hold—he could do so much more...
Pierce looked away, removed his hand from Oxzy, and stood.
The hero didn't turn to watch him. Pierce walked to the door. "Take as long as you want. I'll bring you some clothes to change into."
With that, he left the bathroom.
Oxzy was left alone in the villain's bathroom, the hot burn of vomit still lingering in his throat. It felt horrible. The water rose steadily around his body, and when it touched his bruised skin, he hissed at the sensation.
He wanted to stand and escape it, but his legs felt limp, so he stayed curled in the tub. The water pooled higher, covering his bruised legs as it rose around his stomach.
"Mgh..." The hero opened his eyes; the pain was slowly dulling, a mixture of discomfort and warmth, like a blanket.
The water turned a tint of red as blood mixed in from his wounds. More blood and dirt darkened it to a dull brown. It looked disgusting, making the hero want to throw up again.
Even if he'd wanted to, there was nothing left to throw up.
With every movement, he cried out in pain. Lifting his hands from the water, he washed away the dirt. When the water ran over the bite marks, searing pain shot through his bones. A swollen purple mark looked irritated and red. The hero flinched at the sight—if the men had wanted to, they could have torn the flesh from his bones.
The bite was that deep. Washing it was agonizing, but Oxzy pushed through with teary eyes. Once finished, he turned to shut off the water, crying out as he moved.
"Agh!" His body froze, pain radiating from between his legs. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears, but they fell anyway, mixing with the murky brown water below.
After a few hesitant seconds, Oxzy opened his legs and, still crying, began washing away the blood and white fluid inside him.
He cried over and over, memories of what he'd endured flooding back each time he touched that part of himself. His mind betrayed him—why was he thinking about that? It only made things worse.
With his eyes shut tight, Oxzy pushed through and wiped everything away. The water turned a deeper red as he wept quietly, leaning against the damp wall beside him in pain.
It wasn't just the physical pain. It was the memories.
They haunted him. How would he ever heal from this? Every time he looked down there, he would see their faces again. He didn't want to live like that...
The door opened, and Oxzy looked up. Pierce entered, setting down a pile of clothing before facing him. Tears streaked down Oxzy's face, hot breaths escaping his trembling lips.
Pierce sucked in a breath, turned around without a word, and closed the door behind him.
The hero watched the door. The villain's face had reddened, his eyes straining to look away from Oxzy's.
An idea crept into Oxzy's mind. His breath caught—the idea was horrible. Never before had he imagined himself and the villain in such a way.
Would he really go so far as to have sex with Pierce?
Would the villain even agree? Would he do it out of pity, once he understood why Oxzy wanted it? Would he do it simply because he wanted to, or would he turn out just as aggressive as the other men?
There were too many "woulds."
The hero knew it was foolish. His body was already battered and bruised; sex would only cause more harm. But he didn't want to keep thinking about what they'd done to him. It gnawed at his mind, his heart breaking a little more with every passing thought.
Still, the hero wanted to do it. It was a bad idea—it wouldn't heal his wounds, and he would remember that moment for the rest of his life. But maybe it would make the pain more bearable.
Would Pierce even make him feel that way?
Oxzy had already made up his mind. But deep down, he knew it was a mistake.
Outside the door, the villain stood still, his body hot, his mind clouded with disturbing thoughts. Seeing the hero like that had aroused him. He was a horrible person—even this felt like a step too far.
The hero had been crying out in pain, his face flushed and wet with tears. Yet the villain felt a twisted satisfaction in witnessing it.
He supposed he wasn't any better than the men who'd put Oxzy in that state. That much was obvious; Pierce was, in general, a terrible person. But imagining Oxzy that way filled him with self-directed anger.
He wasn't going to act on it. Oxzy needed to heal. Pierce would restrain himself, letting the man rest for as long as he needed without laying a hand on him.
He could control himself. He could be different from those who had hurt Oxzy, who had violated him without consent and left his body broken.
Pierce walked to his bed and sat down, head in his hands. Trying to block out his thoughts, he reached for his phone. It was dead—even plugged into the charger, it refused to turn on.
"Fuckkkk..." The villain collapsed onto the bed in frustration, left alone with his thoughts and the sound of Oxzy crying in the bathroom across the hall.