[R18] Back In the Cage

Hades clenched his jaw so tightly that if anyone had been standing nearby at that moment, they would have heard his teeth grinding. An expression appeared on his face that he rarely allowed himself even in the most private of situations: skewed with a mixture of restrained rage, anger, and something else, darker. He didn't understand where this avalanche was rising in him, but every time Rava opened his mouth, especially with that tone, that look, everything inside erupted. 

He stood silent, though his body was almost shaking with the urge to strike again. Not to educate, not because of a flash of anger, but to feel the skin and bone crunch under his palm again, to leave another visible and indelible mark on Rava. So that tomorrow he wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror and not remember who he belonged to, who could put him in his place without words.

The silence between them was more eloquent than any shouting. It was thick, sticky, like hot wax, and in that wax it was as if Rava stood barefoot, unmoving, defiantly calm, which infuriated Hades even more.

He couldn't understand why this stubborn boy with his thin, slender wrists and steady breathing gave him such a foul, uncomfortable urge. He wanted to grab Rava by the hair, muss that flawless bundle, smear whatever was still intact on his face, and then... then fuck him right there on this floor, in front of everyone, so that no one else, not a single person in this room, would dare to think that Rava was someone independent, special, or unattainable.

He wanted him to stink of Hades. To have all that skin, so white and clean, covered in bruises and the marks of his teeth. So that no one could touch him without remembering who had first ripped his clothes off, who had first brought him to his knees, who had made his voice hoarse with pleading and sobbing.

And the nastiest, most unbearable thing about it was that he couldn't explain to himself why he was angry. Why his heart pounded in his temples when Rava looked somewhere past him. Why he felt like not just punishing, but erasing everything that wasn't him. All the looks. All the memories. Everyone who might have been before him and, God forbid, anyone who comes after.

When Rava bowed his head slightly and his lips trembled, Haydes saw something distant, alien, warm in the gesture. It was as if someone else was occupying his thoughts at that moment. He didn't know who. Didn't know what exactly Rava represented. But it didn't matter.

Because the fact that he could be thinking about something - someone - other than him right now was causing an inexplicable, primal hatred in Haydes.

And when he noticed that Rava was smiling slightly, not because of him, not for him, everything inside him shattered.

"Why are you smiling?" He hissed, low, as if from the ground.

It wasn't just annoyance. It was a threat. He felt like he was about to snap. That if Rava didn't answer properly, he would do something he might regret. But not right away. He would enjoy it first.

Rava only looked at him with the same even coldness he always did. Calmly. Without fear. And there was more defiance in that calmness than in any slap.

"I am so disgusted by every moment with you that I would gladly choose a thousand other men in a night than spend one with you."

The words were spoken without trembling. Without hysteria. Coldly, almost lazily. And that was what was unbearable.

Hades had a vivid, brief fantasy. If Rava's hair hadn't been neatly combed, he would have grabbed it with both hands, toppled him onto the nearest table, ripped it all off, and, in front of this elite audience, started doing to him all the things he'd never dared to say out loud.

He wouldn't ask. Wouldn't ask if he wanted to. He'd make him. And he'd make him beg. He would have tied his legs together, opened them, pressed them against the cold wood of the stage, and let everyone take a look - here, look, here's my thing. My toy. My trophy. Fragile, trembling, covered in cum and tears. No matter who goes in first, it will always be him last.

Or is it? 

Yes, the other was better. He would also strip him naked, throw him on stage, and maybe even say into the microphone "The queue is open." He would allow anyone who wished to, to take what he felt didn't belong to him.

And when Rava began to choke with pain and shame, with screams and sobs - then he would come himself. Spread his legs. And hold them till the last moment. Would have held them until the other man's cum was already flowing out of Rava's mouth, and he would not have stopped crying, but would already be enjoying the oblivious pleasure.

And, of course, he would be the last.

Those thoughts swirled in Hades's head, dark, sticky with pleasure.

But that damn, perfectly assembled bundle... It was like he was laughing at him. It thwarted fantasies and made them too distant. And then Hades clucked his tongue, irritably, almost contemptuously, as if he was tired of his own thoughts.

Rava's voice still echoed in his ears-it was worse than a blow. Worse than a knife.

"A thousand men. Instead of one night with you."

Those words didn't just hurt-they dug deep, like a rusty nail stuck between his ribs. Hades couldn't throw them away. They rang in his head, turning every thought into a poisoned vapour.

He wasn't going to argue, he wasn't going to play. He didn't care who was watching, who was eavesdropping. He didn't want to procrastinate anymore. All he wanted to do was break Rava at his own will.

In one sharp motion, he grabbed Rava's wrist, twisting his arm so that Rava yelped in pain. The grip was steely, icy, and instantly left marks. He didn't give a second or an opportunity to free himself. The fingers crashed into his skin like pincers.

"Come", the voice was cold, almost calm, but that only made it scarier. It wasn't a threat. It was a decision.

Rava tried to pull back, but it was enough for Hades to squeeze his arm even tighter, causing a painful spasm in his elbow.

"Let's move. Or I'll drag you by the hair. You want a show? I'll put on a show."

He led him across the hall, not letting go or hiding exactly how he was holding him. People stepped aside, and if they didn't, Hades ignored them as if they didn't exist.

Rava was pale, his lips trembling, but he walked. Not because he wanted to, but because he knew that resistance now might cost too much. And he already knew what Hades was capable of.

They approached Mr Moule and Miss Scarlett. They were standing, still talking to someone, but when Hades and his companion returned, their conversation stopped. The man immediately grinned predatorily, and the woman ran her tongue over her lips, looking at Rava.

Hades stopped right in front of them, and without changing his facial expression, said.

"He is free. Take it now if you want it."

The words sounded soft, almost casual. But they hit like a cold shot. Without a drop of emotion. As if he wasn't handing over a person - but an object that had long since become part of his mundane collection. Something to touch, break, and throw away.

"I think we'll find a... 'cosy place'", Moule said, and his voice was slippery, almost wet with anticipation. The fat and ungroomed man blushed and sweated in a second.

Miss Scarlett squinted her eyes and tilted her head, looking Rava over from top to bottom appraisingly.

"He looks scared," she whispered softly, as if that were a plus. "I like it when they're scared."

Rava found it hard to breathe. It seemed to him that even the air in the room was sticky. A veil was covering his eyes. He could barely feel Hades holding his hand anymore.

The room seemed too warm. The heavy air, padded by soundproof walls, pressed in like a damp blanket that couldn't be shaken off. The lights were dim, golden, almost theatrical - as if someone had deliberately decided to make what was happening look like a play. The bed in the centre of the room was huge, with a velvet bedspread, draped like a cheap whorehouse. Everything in the room was slutty and tacky from the smell to the textures.

The door clicked behind them and Rava realised it was just the four of them. 

He stood in the middle of the room as if illuminated by a soffit in too bright a light. Mr Moule closed the door behind him and turned to him with the very look that made Rava go cold inside. It was not mere interest. It was hungry, dirty, greasy lust.

Scarlett, arching her back like a cat, moved closer to him first. She ran her fingers over his chest - lightly, as if she was going to blow away dust. But there was something deeply predatory in the movement. She smiled, but her eyes remained blank. Moule followed her, his breath already steaming hotly on the back of her neck.

"Relax, handsome," Scarlett whispered, reaching closer, her lips sliding across his cheek, almost weightlessly, but with a sickly, luscious tanginess, like slime clinging to his skin.

Rava was seized with a daze. He wanted to move, but his feet felt as if they were embedded in the carpet. His shoulders stiffened as if his body had decided to betray him on its own. He couldn't say a word. Couldn't even scream.

Hands - alien, clammy, insistent - slid to his waist, and Scarlett laughed softly, as if in anticipation. Moule, breathing heavily, ran his tongue along his neck - slowly, with a wet sound, and Rava's whole body shuddered. It wasn't arousal. It was disgust. One that made him want to vomit right there, on them.

He felt like an object. A doll. A warm toy. A thing bought, inspected and approved.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Worse was the sight of Hades standing against the wall. He didn't move. He didn't interfere. He just watched.

Smiling.

Smiling with the same expression that made Rava's stomach twist. It wasn't joy. It wasn't pride. It was enjoyment. Pure, shameless, filthy pleasure at another man's humiliation. He watched Rava being slowly broken down, being piled on top of him, being licked, his clothes slowly slipping down under other people's fingers.

His eyes said, 'You asked for this. You chose this.'

Scarlett was already crouched in front of him, running her lips over his stomach, leaving wet trails behind her, and Maul was shuffling his fingers along his back like he was kneading meat before butchering it.

This night wasn't going to stop at 'enough.'