rather lose me to have you

Things–Martyn'll be the first to say it. Things have been getting a little out of hand. Grian called him, to his face, a touch strange, off-putting, even. Martyn's inclined to agree. It's been a bit more than that, of course. He feels awful. Someone has gone and broken down the scattered pieces of himself, and he feels so, so awful, and nothing makes that godforsaken dread go away. Them going away's only stirred all those awful feelings to the surface, in truth. Martyn keeps his cool, though. Keeps it together. There's more, of course, there always is. There's this guy, and it kind of feels like it's been said a thousand times before and it'll be said a thousand times again–but there's this guy and Martyn's not sure but, hey, look. It could be love, like how everyone calls it. Could be love, in this guy's–Ren, his name is Ren The Diggity Dog and it's his legal name and it's silly and absurd and Martyn's in love–his public Spotify playlists, that Martyn listens to more than his own, nowadays. Because it makes him feel closer. Because it makes him feel like he's learning every little detail of Ren, like he could slip inside his skin and twist his ribs to the side a little to gain entrance so deep within and be happy and comfortable there. Because–that's love, right? That's what those songs call it. Really, Martyn wouldn't know. His parents put on a façade, kissing and marriage and kids and all that, but they've admitted it to him in private after the divorce–they didn't really love each other. They love, loved, Martyn's accomplishments, college, a stable job, and he thinks that's it. As for Martyn himself–well, he's dated, smiled and said 'love you, too!' and it'd never exactly felt like a lie but it's a little weird, isn't it, that he's even bringing it up in the first place. He's had pets that love him, or at least love being fed. He has friends, he's pretty sure, and every word is barbed and they say that blood's their love language. But it still drags and digs in deep and deeper. And, also, he knows love is useless. It doesn't keep people together. Sometimes, people split because they love each other, don't they? What if Ren gets overwhelmed, asks for that? Therefore: if Ren never knew Martyn existed, that'd be fine. He does, though. He does and it drives Martyn insane. Because he doesn't know–how Martyn is, how he really is. How much of a deficient machine that talks and breathes Martyn is. Obviously. Obviously. He invited Martyn over, months and months ago, back when Martyn was somewhat normal, still, along with some other friends. And they were all–chummy, and teasing Ren, and he smiled and went along with it and when they talked over him he shut up and Martyn kind of wanted to blow up and throttle something and scream but he didn't. He didn't. He's not violent. He doesn't do cruel things, especially in front of Ren, to Ren. Of course, Martyn would like to say he's never done anything strange or creepy or awful either, but, er, that's not the case. On that occasion, he did excuse himself to the bathroom, and then took a 'wrong' turn into Ren's bedroom. Had a drawstring bag with him, and it might've been a bit premeditated, putting it all in plastic bags to seal it, but Martyn took a few–yes, it's disgusting, he's disgusting, but he can't bring himself to care anymore. A few pieces of underwear. Went digging through Ren's personal bathroom cabinet, found old off-brand prescription lorazepam and thiothixene and, the next drawer, his sex toy collection. One dildo almost falling out if Martyn had not caught it, a sizable thing, and–Martyn remembers the smell, god, does he–sweat and lube and ass, deep and earthy; not cleaned, as if Ren didn't have time to before company arrived. He took it, as well. Sickening, it should've been, taking used items that do not belong to him, but it settled Martyn's anger. Having pieces of Ren, extensions of him to take care of. Weeks with those beloved items made their scent go away, the attachment to Ren disintegrate. Using them. Jerking off to the underwear, lapping at the dildo with his tongue. Imagining Ren– Ren. Behind his eyeballs, in the holes of his skull and the twists of his brain matter, gray and white, makes Martyn glad for once in his life he didn't get that lobotomy he needed. Sometimes, in those occasions, manufactured things between Martyn's skull where everything's dark, he'd tell him he loves Martyn despite his obsession. Or because of it. Or maybe he hates Martyn until he makes him see, he makes him see– Martyn had replaced the underwear and the toy in Ren's house the next time he visited, grabbed more things, and Ren was oblivious. His hug when Martyn left, warm and lingering for days afterwards, made him almost guilty. They started to grow close, then. Martyn becoming less and less normal because of Ren, all his fault. Flirting. Physical touch, a lot of it. It's so dizzying, the sensation heady, Martyn's positive he's actually losing his mind; things keep moving around him, disappearing and reappearing and Martyn's so damned horny all the time, isn't he in his thirties? and he has so many photos of Ren. Every day, less and less normal, indeed. He's his lock screen and main page of his phone, pictures of them together. Sometimes Martyn takes ten, sometimes a hundred, whether Ren knows or he doesn't–he needs them. He needs them. He needs to memorize Ren's skin so he can nestle under it better, so they can be closer than close. There's therapy words for what Martyn is, probably, but he doesn't care. There's other types of words–disgusting, sickening, revolting, horrific. Could pull out a thesaurus to do the job. But, yes. He knows. He knows things are only about to get worse. He knows things are only about to get worse and it sets his nerves on fire with need. Ren's over at his house right now, literally right now, Martyn driving them here. Bound to stay for a while, just the two of them. And Martyn's got everything in line. As much as Martyn would love for his world to revolve around Ren, though, currently–shock and awe–it doesn't. And, and, Martyn's world, it went and slipped off its axis when his mother, she–she left this house to him. This thing, in the middle of the woods, out of town, on a beautiful big piece of property with a high fence around it. Martyn's sister wanted to sell it at first, but Martyn saw the potential, and she got the message. It's Ren's first time here, too. "Oh, wow, this place is nice," he says, climbing up the porch stairs. "Your mama was loaded after all, huh?" Martyn's ahead of him. "Yeah. Happened after I moved out. Or–eh, I dunno. I let my siblings take most of the other inheritance, so I could have the house." He opens the door, lets Ren in. "Yeah. I think that was a good call," Ren says as he keeps looking around. "It looks fantastic. I mean, little bit of damage on the porch roof, but I know a guy." He's mindful of Ren's tail as he closes the door. Sometimes, even Martyn can be sweet and gentle, too. If they deserve it. And Ren smiles at him, and he does, he does, he does. "Can I get you anything to drink?" Martyn asks. "Got some water, tea–" "Tea sounds good," Ren agrees. Martyn's heart is rattling when he clicks on the electric kettle, lets it heat up. Because–he's going to do it. He's going to keep Ren. Has the plan, has the everything. He's going to do it. "It'll be ready in a few minutes," Martyn says, walking back in. "Anything else? We'll have dinner afterwhile, of course, but I can fetch some biscuits now, if you'd like the snack." Ren considers it, says, "Oh, no, thanks." That's fine. "Yeah, wasn't feeling it, either." So close. He's so close and he just can't regain control over his heartbeat. Martyn sits in an armchair, and Ren gives him a look, smirks and nods with an arm over the back of the couch, and Martyn climbs into his embrace, instead. He knows all of Ren's friendliness will be forsaken for a very long time after tonight. But Ren's, admittedly, easy to bend. He'll love him again in no time. Better than love. Higher than devotion. More than the sun, more than anything. It's like imagining infinity, and Martyn's awful and he's greedy and he just wants more and more and more. He wants–Ren's skin, to feel it, and his muscles and his blood vessels and his organs and his bones, grasp his glands in his hands and roll his lymph nodes between his fingers and assure Ren, like a prayer, that it's all okay, that this is worship. Ren's bicep curls Martyn close, his hand hitches Martyn's thigh atop his, and Martyn's so, so grateful that the blood inside his veins still beats, still gives him the energy to make each move. Kind of distracting to think about, in truth. What's underneath the layers of skin. How it propels them forward. How they build Ren up; even his hand, the veiny, hairy thing, how it contracts and relaxes in such minute manners, the flex and seeming dissolution of his tendons working underneath. "Baby, you feelin' okay?" Ren asks, so tender. He's been so tender, since Martyn's mother. So sweet. And Martyn'll make him like this but it won't be quite the same again, he knows, but this right now is fleeting and Martyn needs to keep Ren until he dies and not a moment sooner. Ren's nose is buried in Martyn's hair. "'M good," Martyn says. Hesitancy to Ren's voice. "Was this, er... your childhood home?" Actually, "No. Mom bought this, uh, after I moved out. I think she wanted something that'd be a good inheritance for us. Or an asset to sell. I dunno. It's a nice home, though, huh?" Ren's thumb on his thigh traces circles. He's so cuddly, and, he said it before, Martyn's his favorite to hold. He's his favorite. The word hasn't stopped rattling around Martyn's empty skull yet. "Mm-hm. Good family home, I imagine." Woah, woah, hey, that's, that's interesting. "Yeah, maybe someday," Martyn sighs, deflecting the intent behind Ren's words. "I think the water's about ready. I'll make, uh, earl grey, maybe?" "Sure." Ren, slow, reluctant, lets him go. Ren really is his favorite, too, as Martyn adds sugar to their mugs. Nothing else, no, not yet. But Ren's his favorite, too. "Here you go," Martyn says, passes Ren's mug to him. "Thank ya," he says, drinks a sip, gets Martyn back in to snuggle with his free arm. "Mm, it's good, you did well." The praise elicits pleasure in Martyn's brain like the city's lights flickering on at night. He hums his appreciation. A few moments. "So, what will I be helping you with, exactly?" Ren asks. The pretense is, "Just fixing up some rooms, getting them back in order. The garage, mostly, I think. Upstairs, too. When Mom got sick–uh, it happened so fast. Nobody was thinking about the state of her house." And Ren took time, a lot of time, off work to be here. Over a week. He says it's because it's a big house, that Martyn'll need both the help and the distraction, but Martyn likes pretending that it's because Ren wants to spend as much time with him as possible, instead. "Yeah, that's understandable. We're just gonna take a peek upstairs for the night, right? Get started tomorrow, bright 'n early?" "Yeah." Martyn will do it all himself. He wishes he could have 'normal' days with Ren, but tonight's just the best night. What if Ren spends too much time with him, realizes he's this awful, twisted, sick freak, leaves before Martyn gets the chance? It's best to just do it tonight. Eliminate any possibility of difference to the plan. They finish their tea, and Martyn puts their mugs by the sink. Shows Ren around the upstairs, a few spare bedrooms, mostly, and some storage to go through. The garage, with a lot more boxes, stuff to go through. Best to just say it, Martyn supposes, when they get here. The elephant in the room. "Before everyone realized how bad it was, uh, Mom went through these phases? Like, she bought a lot of junk off of different websites. Spent a lot of money. Hopefully, I'll be able to resell it, make some of that back... none of my siblings wanted to deal with that. I don't blame them." Ren nods. "Ah, I see. Yeah, I can help with that, too. It's no problem." Oh, that's so nice of him to offer, but Martyn has to make it better. Sweeten the deal, keep Ren here. To be quite frank, Martyn'll say just about anything. "I'll let you in on, what, fifty-fifty–" Something almost offended in Ren's tone as he turns, grabs Martyn by the shoulder. "No, it's fine! I don't need anything, Martyn. It's worth it to help you out. Especially after–you know. Everything. It's hard. I wanna do whatever I can for you." He's so kind. He's so kind, and Martyn's going to ruin him forever and he should feel bad about that, shouldn't he? But he'll also be keeping Ren. And it kind of doesn't even matter how he does it, as long as he can do it. "God, Ren, I, I appreciate it, but–" That grip on his shoulder turns to a pull, to Ren gathering Martyn in his arms. His tone is that wonderful mix of chiding and caring. "No, hey, hey. You mean so much to me, you know that, no matter what I'll do whatever I can. It's no problem. I don't need money." He hugs back, and Ren's embrace is so, so warm. Martyn imagines it, what it'll be like in twelve hours; him squeezing Ren tight, and Ren's tied up, and his eyes are hateful and he wouldn't return the affection even if he could. So he enjoys the feeling now. Doesn't let go for a long, long time. "Hey, you wanna sit back down?" Ren asks, eventually, voice soft and leading. Easy to go along with him, and, soon, they're back on the couch, Ren still maintaining all this contact. Shifts Martyn to sit half in his lap, brushing skin everywhere; they're so, so close to kissing, but they just aren't there yet. Martyn stares at his lips when Ren's not paying attention, thinking about them, pink and slack in sleep, where Martyn can do whatever he wants to them. A soft sigh, and Ren breaks the silence. "I'm not... I'd never think less of you if you need to cry or anything, okay?" That's what Ren thinks Martyn's strangeness is about? "It's not that. Honestly–Mom and I weren't that close. It's weird, sure, but it's really not that bad." Ren hums. "Even if you aren't close, it'll still affect you. That kind of stuff–it's a lot. It can be a lot. Makes you feel a lotta strange ways, do a lotta strange things, but that's fine. People grieve in weird ways." But Martyn's definitely left all that behind at the funeral. He's done grieving. He's just picking up the pieces, now, from where she went and burned him down years and years ago. Still is. "Thank you, Ren," Martyn says. "I'm feeling fine right now, but–thank you." He really is too nice. No wonder Martyn couldn't stop himself from falling in love; this broken, deficient love. No wonder. Yeah, whatever. Martyn ends up pulling out his phone to scroll through Instagram. "Oh, I'm on your lockscreen?" Ren asks, sounds surprised, when Martyn turns on his phone screen. "It's a good photo–of, of us!" His tone comes out far too defensive. A hint of a smile, amusement, in Ren's voice. And then, when Martyn unlocks his phone, "...Your background, too?" Martyn's cheeks are flushing. "Shut up. It's a nice picture, too." A warm little chuckle. "Aw, it's nothing to be embarrassed about... I think it's super cute, man!" The praise makes Martyn's insides squirm. "You're super cute," Ren continues, intent, like he's feeling it too, is just as addicted as Martyn is. "Normally, I'd feel bad, but you're just so adorable when you get embarrassed, I kinda wanna–it's a bit mean of me, but I wanna keep you all flustered, baby. I'm so awful. I'm the worst!" The final two sentences bring Martyn out of their little back-and-forth. Ren's joking, but–Martyn really, he really is. "...What's wrong?" Ren asks. "I–it's nothing." Ren's voice comes back to that gentleness. "I can hear your heartbeat, Martyn, you know that. I can smell your sweat. I won't make you talk, but... I'm picking up the signs that you aren't doing too hot, my dude." Martyn's phone screen turns off from inactivity, and he just stares at his own reflection in it. Isn't he supposed to–when he claims someone. Abducting them forever. Isn't he supposed to not feel bad about it? Why's he such a failure at this? He normally doesn't care about anything, anyone else. Well, that's not true, either. He loves his other friends. Maybe–maybe he'll be able to reintroduce Ren, eventually, when he's sure beyond doubt Ren won't try to run away, when they're obsessed with each other beyond any normal reason. But it doesn't make him any less of a failure right now. "Hey, you mentioned dinner, yeah?" Ren asks. "Watcha got planned?" Oh. Something he can't fail at. "I, um, I wanted to fry burgers, get used to the kitchen, you know," he says, makes to stand up. Ren doesn't let him up, though, holds tight. "Hey, you know I love to grill, let me," Ren offers. "N-no, it's fine–" "Let me take care of you," and his voice is so insistent this time. This doesn't impede any of his plans, doesn't get in the way in the slightest, and Ren looks so serious. "Okay..." Martyn agrees. In the kitchen, going through cabinets. "Ooh, these look good," Ren remarks, analyzes some cast-iron pans. "Look at that. Very well seasoned." "My siblings got into a fight over them, actually," Martyn says, leans at the counter, ready to jump in to help. "Over how to clean them?" "Yeah. I'm glad you ended up with them." Ren grins, plunks one on the surface unit. "Gas stove, too... Yeah, I've been meaning to get a set for a while. Just, y'know, expensive. Lotta work to set up, too, season, all that." Martyn doesn't know why he says stuff like, "You can take them home. I don't really know what to do to wash them up. Seems complicated. I'll just stick with the nonstick." As he speaks, he finds a few glass bowls, because he knows what Ren's on about; one for spice mixing, one for preparing the beef. Indeed. Rummaging through the spice cabinet. Saying, "No, no. You keep them, and I'll cook with them. Gives me another reason to come over." Runs back six or seven containers, starts making his blend. "It's a, it's a big house," Martyn says. "I don't mind someone else to help fill the space. I really, really don't." He thinks he'll die without it. "I'll always do my best to be here when you need it," Ren tells him. He's done with his spices, starts manhandling the burger meat, getting that ready. "Uh, I'm feeling a thicker patty this time, sound good?" "Yeah." Ren continues, turns on the pan and melts butter and works the spices into the patties and tosses them in the pan. Martyn pretends to eye the mahogany cabinetry, the lighthouse-themed decor. It's dull-looking. He really has never been too fond of his mother or her tastes, he must admit, within the safety of his own skull. "I am glad this wasn't, like, my childhood home," Martyn says, keeps looking around. "Memories?" Ren asks. Martyn breathes out his nose, long, slow. "Yeah. Like I said, Mom and I weren't particularly close. I'm kinda surprised I got anything out of her at all." A low, comforting noise from Ren. "Ah, I see." "It'll be pretty easy to get rid of all of this stuff..." Martyn murmurs. "How old was she?" "Under sixty–uhh, fifty-seven, I think? It was–pretty unexpected. But, according to my sister, she was mentally on the way out for a while. So, I dunno. I didn't see it coming. She had a cat or two, but they got taken by my sister, which, uh, I don't really care." The patties get flipped and make this searing noise. Martyn clicks on the kettle again, prepares them another cup of tea each. "Wow, that is something," Ren says. "Can I ask what happened?" Martyn has to stare up at the ceiling to collect himself. "It just kind of hits again, sometimes. I dunno. I dunno. Thinking about it–but anyway. But, um, she had–liver failure. Used to be a bit–you know. Hit the coolers a 'lil hard. I guess I just didn't realize it was that bad." He's lying with that last part, and both of them know it, and Ren lets him get away with it. "Thank you for telling me," Ren says. "I-it's the first time I've said it at all," Martyn says, voice so, so shaky. "Oh, the burgers are smelling really good, wow." Ren chuckles at him, at the worst attempt to change topic ever. And then he's close, so close, Martyn's heart is pounding and–a moment passes between them where Martyn's positive that Ren's going to kiss him, and then he doesn't. More proof that Martyn can't be normal. More proof that he needs to keep to the plan, to keep Ren. "Go ahead and put the buns in the toaster." Good to be given a task. Martyn obeys, and he looks away and composes himself and, by the time they're side-by-side making up their burgers Martyn's just fine again. "Hopin' these turned out well!" Ren chirps, trots his plate and mug to the breakfast nook around the corner from the kitchen. Martyn follows. "Some good pre-cleanage burgerification." "...Yeah, sounds really good," Martyn says, voice a little quiet. And then, louder, "Smells so good, too." They settle down, and it feels so close to a date. So close. Ren's shining blue eyes staring at him, waiting, devouring his face. Martyn bites into his burger, and–god, Ren is good at this. Tender and juicy, and Martyn moans into the burger before he can help himself, moans again, louder, fake, to throw off suspicion. Or something. Honestly, he gets a little brainless around him sometimes. "It's so good," Martyn says. "Thank you." There's the biggest beam on Ren's face. "You're welcome, baby, anytime." Silence kind of falls after that, them eating. Martyn does his best not to catch Ren's eye too many times. Avoid eye contact. Even with that–the time's drawing nearer and nearer. "Uh, I also have dessert," Martyn says. "I wanted some cake, so I picked it up. Devil’s food cake." "Ooh, sounds good," Ren chirps. "Be right back, I'll take our plates." Martyn does, slips away. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. He's about to–drug his, his friend. He's about to keep him, though. He's about to keep him. Two slices in plastic containers. One has a little notch on it. The one that has the pills crushed up in it, allegedly odorless, tasteless, enough to make even part-dog Ren sleep very, very deep. As a backup, Martyn has an injection sedative, but he'd just prefer this to work. Both ended up being a major hassle to get ahold of; Martyn had to wiggle into some shady online spaces, eventually meet the right people, to get ahold of them all. Felt so, so disgusting through the entire thing, but he had to, he just had to. Just had to, because he'd do anything for Ren, and this is going to work, and Ren will be his and nobody's at all but his. He trots the slices back, is very, very mindful of who gets which plate. "Got these from a bakery, hope it's decent!" Martyn says. "Looks good." Ren doesn't hesitate, digs into his slice. "Mm! I'm so glad I can eat chocolate sometimes." "Oh, the dog thing, huh?" Martyn asks. "Yeah. Lot of people assume I can't, which is funny." Ren keeps eating, so, so enthusiastic. He doesn't smell it, apparently, doesn't taste it, either. Thank god. Martyn eats all of his cake, and Ren does, too. "Wow, been a long day," Ren says. "It's, what, eight, and I'm so sleepy... H-hey, um. Weird request." "Shoot." His smile is a little shy, utterly adorable. "I–it's the dogbrain in me, y'know how it is. But. Could you, would you mind, if we... slept in the same bed? Just, heh, pretend there was only one bed, yeah." Ren could not be making this any easier for Martyn. His chest flutters with the excitement. "Yeah, it's no problem, I get it. No worries." Afterwards, Martyn leaves Ren to get settled in, takes care of their plates, and–he doesn't know what to do with the cast-iron, how to clean it or anything. He'll ask Ren tomorrow if he doesn't hate him enough to withhold the answer, just leaves it alone tonight. When he checks up on him, he discovers that Ren had wound up not even showering, just collapsing on the bed. It's exciting. Having him–prone, helpless. Stirs something primal, deep, in Martyn, even just sitting on the bed next to him. Because he's really, really, really about to be all Martyn's. Martyn waits a bit, looking, staring, planning out everything in his head, and then grabs Ren, hauls him into a fireman's carry down the stairs, into the basement. Where–he's been setting this up for weeks, months. His lifetime. To be complete. He's got Ren a nice, huge cage, one that locks; plenty of hooks and eyelets along the walls for bondage, of course. Thick, comfortable padding on the floor, blankets, an attached en suite bathroom with a jacuzzi because Ren loves those. Really, the cage is kind of like a gated wall, more than anything else, but Ren likes being put in cages, and, also, Martyn wants to be able to see him when he comes in to calculate his next move better. Can't exactly do that through a door. Of course, Ren will definitely try to escape first thing, so Martyn slips on paw mitts on Ren–there'd been so many late nights where Ren and Martyn were on various, er, adult websites together, and Ren would tell him what he likes, doesn't like, and Martyn's made a full list of them–and secures them to an eyelet with some give in the lead. He's got a collar, too, more gear to make Ren his, all his favorites, but he wants Ren to be awake for it. This is for safety. Not letting Ren go. Truth be told, er, Martyn's rather sleepy, too. And the ground's not even that bad, to be honest. Very comfortable, because he wants Ren to be, always. Padded, although the dogbed's supposed to be in soon. So, maybe he gets comfortable in Ren's arms, because he won't be awake for a very long time. Maybe he does. Maybe he even falls asleep, throwing a blanket over them both, though Ren's so warm it'll probably tossed to the side. Something nudging Martyn wakes him up. "Hey, uh, Martyn?" Martyn blinks awake, feels all askew. "Huh?" Ren's voice. "Hi. Yes. Um. Where am I?" "'M basement. Go back to sleep." "Why's there these mitts on my paws?" "So you can't leave me. Go back to sleep." "Why–" "Want you, love you, need you. Need you to let me go back to sleep." Martyn nuzzles in closer. Ren's heart is racing under his ear, but it should calm down soon. "Haven't really slept much in days. I–I don't typically feel like it." Ren clutches him closer. Feels nice. "You haven't been sleeping good, huh?" "No..." "You think you've been, uh, going through a... high-energy type-thing? Thingamajiggy? Like what that one person in the restaurant called Joel that time?" "Just you." "...I'll let ya sleep, then. Can I get these things off me so I can scroll my Insta, please?" Martyn sighs. "No. Don't want you escaping." A little chuckle, almost embarrassed. "Hey, you know, there's an etiquette to these types of things, but I am very flattered." This is actually waking Martyn up. Kind of sucks, to be honest. "Ren. This isn't a scene. I actually abducted you. I'm keeping you in my basement forever. All that." His arms around him. Ren chuckles. "You aren't keeping me, baby. You can't." Martyn sits up. "Of course I can–" He gets shoved down by Ren, where–uh, oh, he realizes, he didn't lock Ren's mitts. He didn't think it'd be necessary, because he was supposed to wake up before him. "I can't believe I really tried to take you slow, Martyn," Ren sighs, starts pulling the belt securing the mitt loose with his teeth. Mutters, "I can't believe–" But Martyn still has that injection sedative behind him, hidden behind a wall panel. But just to get to it, he needs, he needs to– [[He fights back.]] [[He rolls out from under Ren.]]

He fights back. Shoves his hands against Ren's chest; Ren's still towering above him, and he's sure to pin him down if Martyn doesn't catch him off guard. But Ren doesn't move, he doesn't even budge, and dread sinks in Martyn's stomach. No, no–Ren wrenches the belt loose, flings the mitt off, undoes the other one quick with his fingers, and there's nothing Martyn can do. "You're so scared," Ren murmurs, and his voice is quiet. No need for loudness in the basement, the sound-isolated basement. Even the thrum of electricity is barely perceivable through the padding of the walls. "I'm sure you were going to hurt me, but I won't hurt you." Wait, Ren's got this twisted– "I wasn't!" Martyn cries. "Was just going to–to–keep you..." Uh oh. Ren's gathering up the mitts again. "Isn't that convenient, huh?" "What is?" "You're on extended leave from your job," Ren says, this strange tenseness to his jaw, this twitching at the corners of his lips. Martyn notices everything, he notices everything about Ren–but he's never seen this. Anything like this. Before. From him. "Between the two of us–people would notice far later if you were gone." Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Martyn's got to get out of here. Ren's about to, he's about to– He could feint to Ren's left, roll around his right, get to the cage door, lock it behind him. Should be quicker than the sedative, right? Once Ren's secure, Martyn'll figure it out. Ren has to sleep sooner or later, after all. That's what Martyn does, except he doesn't realize–Ren just grabs him, yanks him down by the neck into his chest, snags one wrist, secures it in the mitt. "You know, Martyn... I'm genuinely in love, right?" Even under these circumstances, Ren's embrace is still warm and–and comforting. So strange. "...I did, actually. I did know that." His other wrist is taken, trapped. Martyn is just helpless, now; Ren's so much stronger. "Why didn't you just reciprocate normally?" "I, I just..." The real reason is beyond embarrassing. "I dunno." A soft sigh. "I wanted to woo you, baby," Ren says, takes Martyn's chin. "'N then, when the time was right, I was gonna take you." "Uh, sexually, or in a fight, or–" "Like you did me." Oh. Oh, shit. Martyn's eyes widen. That grin starts to take Ren's face again. Less–fond, how he tend to looks. It's different. Martyn can't parse it. Ren continues speaking, his tone this scraping deadliness. "You're so special to me. Wanted to make you trust me, love me, and then you'd be so happy every day. I'd take such good care of you. All bred for me, full of my lovin'." But, that means–Martyn's not in control. He wouldn't be in control anymore. He wouldn't be in control. "W-wait, I–" A low whisper. "Sh, hey, hey, I know it's not easy. But just–we can make this simple. I know you want me. I don't see why it should make a difference whether who's in charge, here." He's right. Martyn, in the worst, most embarrassing way–he does. "I–I do, god." Ren's eyes flicker down, back up, smirks. "Yeah. I know. You're so aroused. You loved it so much, when I pinned you down that time. I knew exactly what you needed ever since." Tone turns stern. "Sit. I want to get all familiar with what you've got cookin', here. I'll hear if you try to escape the way I did, 'n that'll be no good for you, baby." "Can I–can I make a deal?" Martyn asks. Ren steps out the gate, starts flipping through drawers, pulls out objects. Leather bondage equipment. A paddle, a riding crop, a few floggers–leather and chain, thinner ‘pain sticks’. Butt plugs, dildos, lubricant. It kind of feels like he's saving interesting items for later more than anything else, which is probably a good thing. "Sure," he mumbles, distracted by his inventory-taking task, probably. Thank god, thank god, thank god. "I'll be good," Martyn says immediately. "You can–you can, you know. Keep me. I'll quit my job, I'll stay here, I'll put your name on the lease, you can do whatever with me, I won't run away." Ren stops rustling items, turns to face Martyn. "Alright," he says, considering. There's better ways to barter, but haggling is for people who generally don't have to worry about personal safety. And Martyn’s not far enough gone to completely eschew the notion. "Just–can I have a safeword, please? And you, you just, you stop whatever you're doing to me, you know, all that." Something dark in Ren's tone. "Martyn–do you seriously think..." Martyn backs away until he hits the far wall, heart rattling so bad in his chest. It feels like it's about to burst, feels like it did the final time he saw his–whatever, don’t think about that, holy shit don’t think about that. Right, right–Ren, Ren, Ren–Ren's typically so careful about appearing pathetic, and Martyn–yeah. He's really scary when he doesn't. When he's serious. "No! No, no, no," Ren shouts, starts stepping closer. "I just realized–hey, calm down. Calm down, okay? Nothing's going to happen." There's nowhere for Martyn to go, Ren towering above him in the only entrance. He tries to scuttle backwards again but there's just nowhere to go. He's trapped. Just clenches his eyes shut instead, like–when he was a stupid, defenseless kid who just kept on getting in bad situations. All he's done here is did it again, and he's getting lied to again and, fuck, he keeps doing it. Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed, really, and tears dribble out of the corners of his eyes. Hands on him, and then he's getting held by Ren, where Martyn tries to recoil but he's trapped. "Sorry, oh, no, you're fine, I couldn't, I can't," he coos, soft. "I'd never–I'd make it good for you, baby, you know that. If it stopped bein' good, I'd stop. I always will." Martyn's body is shaking, still. The gravity of everything hitting him, he supposes. How stuck he really is. How there's nowhere for him to go. Because, what he's getting is, "We–we're the same type of, of obsessed, aren't we?" Ren's shudder ricochets through Martyn. His voice is that low, serious tone. "Yeah. I think so." "I'd never let you go," Martyn murmurs. "I don't think–" "No, I'll just always be good for you, that's all. 'N I'll make sure you're good for me." A little shaky swallow. Really, Martyn should be way more scared by that, but the words are relieving. The worst thing Ren could do to him is abandon him. Second worse is hurt him, but maybe that'll be fine, too. "Okay." One of Ren's hands shifts from holding to petting. "You're gonna calm down, okay?" Ren says. "Because I know you wanna be mine. My good boy, kept all safe. Lots of toys, lots of attention..." Feels good, here and now, in Ren's arms. Not to plan whatsoever, but–Martyn's still keeping Ren. He's still keeping him, he's still his. Gets to smell his scent, gets to touch him, more and more. As Martyn calms down, actually–he realizes he does want more, now. Convince Ren, further and further, that Martyn's to be kept. He pulls back enough to peck Ren on the lips. "Of course this is our first kiss," Ren laughs against him. "Yeah, whatever. Guess it tracks. But, you know, after this–you're gonna be my pet, yeah? I'm gonna keep you just like one, train you just like one." Martyn shivers, more lust than anything else. The thought–he doesn't get a choice. Feels awfully good to hand that over to Ren. "I like that." A softer chuckle. "Figured you would. But, you know, it's not very good to try and cage up your owner. That's deserving of a punishment." The fact that Martyn has no idea what that means–fear and excitement both prickle. "You were going to make me your dog, weren't you?" Ren asks, tone more musing, gets back up on his feet, leaves Martyn sitting there. "Everybody always wants to do that, and, really... I don't mind it, but I've always wanted to do it to someone else." Right. Being Ren's pet. It's literally the hottest thought; Martyn doesn't even care anymore. He's still going to be able to keep Ren. He wouldn't train him just to abandon him. He'll keep him. Ren starts digging through the pile of gear he brought with him, pulls out this muzzle type of gag. It's this weird thing that laces in and out of the mouth, so the handler can force it open or closed at any point, and the wearer is just helpless to it. Had cost a lot of money to make. Martyn's still rather happy about the discovery of it in the first place, but, yeah, he didn't quite imagine the roles being reversed. "You'll be so good for me in this, won't you? Be able to yank you down on my cock whenever I want, and you're helpless to it." "Yes, yes," Martyn agrees. The thought of Ren’s cock makes his brain short-circuit a little, thoughts skimming over each other, but, god, god– He's so fucked up. He's so fucked up, and Martyn kind of revels in it. In Ren taking advantage of it. He should do it more. "'Kay, hey, want you to–if you're about to be injured, something like that, and I don't know about it, I want you to hit the floor, okay? Over and over until you get my attention. That's the safeword. Otherwise, I do what I want. We're all clear on that?" Martyn nods, hard. Ren’s tone, his tone, it’s so direct, doesn’t leave any room for Martyn to say anything other than, "Yeah. 'N I'll, I'll be good." "I know." Ren snags the collar, the collar Martyn was going to use on him, holds it up. "Oh, this does suit me... You've always said that you don't have much of an eye for aesthetics, but this does look good on me, doesn't it?" "Yeah," Martyn agrees. Feels a little bit pensive, forlorn, as he says, "Almost sucks it's not going on you, but I get it–" And then Ren does. Holds it up to his own neck, dark leather with the gold bits, his eyelashes fluttering with the feeling when he tightens the buckle of it. When Ren swallows, the collar bobs a touch and Martyn’s dick throbs off the image alone. "You chose so well," Ren praises. "Almost couldn't resist putting it on from the moment I saw it. But–hey, I wanna be clear, here. Who put it on me?" "You did," Martyn says. And then, unbidden, "Because you're in charge. Y-you're the owner. I don't get a say." "What a good boy," Ren replies, voice glowing with praise. "I'm not going to be any easier on you, you know." "I know." Doesn’t want him to be, but Martyn doesn’t want his voice to overstay its welcome. The muzzle gets inspected again, Ren lifting up the straps, estimating what goes where. Nods Martyn over, and he goes willing. Hangs his mouth open as Ren puts in each little bit, the padded metal that settles uncomfortable behind his gums. It can be long term, but it's not especially made for a comfortable long term. More made to make a sub suffer and be very easy to manipulate and–Martyn likes that way, way too much. Ren forces his mouth shut, locks the hinges and Martyn's stuck and he just has to live like that. Feels–so, so hard in his boxer-briefs, cock dribbling into the fabric and he knows Ren knows just by scent alone. More rustling. Ren holds up a blindfold, doesn't waste any time in yanking Martyn by the hair, clicks the leather in place, too. It's the nice type that conforms to the face, doesn't let in any light, and Martyn's just, he's just becoming more and more helpless–his hands unable to do anything, can't talk, can't see. He's just becoming easier and easier for Ren to use, manipulate. "That's perfect," Ren says. "Of course, I'll be taking such good care of you, pet. Being brought to heel by a dog hybrid–oh, that's got to be so embarrassing." Martyn shakes his head. Because it's not. It's an honor to have Ren exert any kind of care, effort, on him, doesn't matter what Ren is, it's just–it's just– "I think I know what you'd be saying right now if you could," Ren muses. "But what you've got to say doesn't matter right now. I decide when it does." The words ring heavy, freeing, in Martyn's head. Nothing inside there and it's the best Martyn's ever felt. He could probably live the rest of his miserable life off the high of this moment, really. But there's more. Ren puts more bondage on Martyn–shackles and harnesses. Muses to himself, "I guess the one thing missing here is a cute little pair of ears and tail, huh? Unless you got any anywhere?" Nah, Martyn never–he never thought to, in truth. He was always too caught up in the fantasy of Ren to really get anything that wasn't directly related. A bit weird, he admits. "What am I going to do with you, then," Ren muses. More things shift around. "I do have a nice, big plug for you, though," he says. "Just gimme a moment–" Martyn gets jerked around somehow, doesn't really know where he is or where he ends up until he feels–warmth beneath his bare chest. Ren's thighs. Also bare, far hairier; more than everything Martyn ever could have possibly imagined. A hand gropes his ass, so rough, and Martyn hopes it'll leave scratches, bruises. He pokes the tip of the plug against Martyn's ass. Silicone, feels like. Metal or glass would be too cold. "Clench your thighs around it," and Martyn obeys. The click of a bottle of lube. "I kinda wanna break your ass, baby," Ren coos. "Make it so it can't be tightened again–I'm going to change you, fucking permanently change you. Even if you do get away. You won't ever be the same." But Martyn doesn't want to get away from him, he wants to be kept, wants to be held and forced here forever and ever. He can't say it, though. Just subject to Ren's thoughts–maybe because Martyn's doesn't even matter. Feels like his thoughts just being an extension of Ren's might be the best thing that's ever happened to him. The plug is skin-warm, must be, by the time Ren plucks it back from between his thighs. The lube bottle makes a squeaky sound, Ren probably squeezing some out, and then the plug is pressed up against Martyn's ass. One of his thighs shoved open. And then Ren just begins to force it inside. Inside Martyn's unprepared ass. He wants to whine, wants to beg for more–it hurts! It hurts! It hurts!–more preparation, because the plug's getting wide fast and the burning stretch is not particularly pleasant, but it's what Ren wants and Martyn can't say no. He can't. It only gets worse as Ren presses more in, hurts, hurts, hurts, and over and over Martyn's like, he's like–he can't think, it hurts, but his ass just can't take anymore, it just can't, Ren's pushing him too far–and then something in him relaxes, Ren stroking his palm over Martyn's back or in his hair and Martyn somehow finds it in him, just barely does, to be able to take it just a little bit deeper. Cooing, sickly-sweet praise makes it more manageable, too. Ren telling him that he's so good when he does what Ren commands, that he's such a good boy, a good little pet. That the best thing Martyn can be is easily moldable, that he's so pretty when he suffers for Ren, that Ren knows what he needs. Each thing–yes, yes, Ren's right. He's right. Feels so good, when Ren makes him hurt so bad, the burn in his ass climbing, worse and worse. If Ren didn't love him, he would've just abandoned him, after all–Ren doesn't say it, but Martyn knows it to be true. And then, suddenly, the divot. Martyn wants to sob in relief, but his mouth is still forced shut and it hurts to try to move his gums against it, too. His rim still aches, though. No matter what Ren does to him for the next few days, it's going to hurt. Every time Martyn walks or sits or anything else; especially when Martyn clenches around it. Especially then. "Oh, I didn't think you could take all that, but you did," Ren praises. “That's my good boy. That's my good, good boy." Because Martyn's his. That's why he could. It's like–it's like Martyn could invert his rib cage for him, bend them inside-out, he could move mountains, he could do anything, become anything at all that Ren wants him to. "Ready for your punishment, then?" Ren asks. Martyn's shoulders are quaking, and he nods, even though it factors literally nothing into anything. His opinion doesn't even matter and it's the greatest thing ever, he's realizing. "We have... oh, you got so much before. I kinda wanna treat you like a charcuterie board, baby, take lots of little bites, really taste-test you for everything you got. Let me just." The gag suddenly wrenches Martyn's mouth open, locks it partway. Ren's thumb over his bottom lip for a moment, and then over his tongue, and then back out and Martyn relishes the brief taste of skin. So many times, Martyn’s wanted to take his fingers in his mouth, taste them until they’re all wrinkly, and he still, still, doesn’t quite have the opportunity yet. "Oh, I'll need to be fucking that," Ren says. "Put your mouth wherever I need it... But, I dunno. I just wanna play with my new pet, tonight. Don’t think I’ll be fucking him yet." Just wants to play with Martyn. God, he loves that thought. All of Ren's attention on him, caring about him–Martyn kind of wants to ask if Ren loves him, is very, very glad he can't. It'd be embarrassing. Pathetic, if Ren told him he doesn't and Martyn died on the spot, and also kind of hard for Ren to explain later to authorities. "Let's do... a few hits with my hand first, yeah?" Doesn't actually wait for Martyn's response, which is more than fine. Ren just goes for it, starts smacking Martyn's ass with his palm, and the burn builds up pleasant, but also–Martyn's ass is starting to clench around the plug with each hit, and, fuck, it's burning so bad, his rim, the heavy weight inside him and his ass wants it out, but it can't, he can't. He doesn't know how many he takes when Ren pulls back. Grabs–something wooden, and Martyn knows that because it hurts like it when Ren starts to slam it into his ass as well, into his thighs. And Martyn finally realizes why Ren opened the gag. He can't control his moans, he can't muffle his sounds of pain at all. Can't speak, he can't speak, but every little tremor at the bottom of his throat echoes through, reveals just how much he loves the cruelty, the way he's getting treated. His ass is burning by the time Ren moves on to–Martyn can't tell what it is right off the bat, but it hurts. Makes these awful welts, concentrations of pain, crop up, and Ren is so careful, layering each one right next to each other, and the worst parts are definitely when Ren misses a little bit of skin and he goes back to make sure he gets it and it partially overlaps with the others and it makes Martyn scream and wail and wordlessly beg. Cruel welt after welt, and his ass is pounding with them in no time, the pain inside nothing compared to the state of the outside, and there's a pause, Martyn groaning and panting. He can feel where his tears soaked the blindfold and traveled down. "It's so much without your sight, huh?" Ren asks. He's back to touching Martyn, being gentle while Martyn sobs as much as he can with his mouth open just the touch. "It's so, so painful." Yeah! Yeah! Astute observation! Martyn nods. "Poor thing," Ren coos, like he wasn't the perpetrator. "Just wanted you to feel it real, real good, is all." This is exactly what Ren wanted–fuck. He wanted to be mean to Martyn, to make him hurt. Martyn's wanted by Ren, he's wanted by him, he wants him, he wants him. Touches, sweet and soothing, all over. "You've been doing so well for me!" Ren continues. "You've been such a good boy. Taking all the mean things your new owner makes you go through so well..." But Ren's always been Martyn's owner, always will be, and Martyn can't say it but he thinks it as hard as he can. It's the undeniable truth of his existence. Didn't realize it at first, but–all attention from Ren is good, it's the best, even when he beats his ass, even, even through it all, fuck. God, Martyn's so, so, so fucked up. He's got to be the most fucked up person ever, and he hardly even feels human at all. "Baby? Did the sting hit worse?" Ren sounds so confused. Martyn's sobbing again. Just–he knows he shouldn't be like this. He knows he shouldn't. He knows he should be–fucking–strong, and independent, and he shouldn't need another person to make him feel whole, he shouldn't take anything that's given to him and be grateful for it. He knows why he's like this. Just–getting ignored over and over, yanked out of storage when they needed a whipping boy, someone to despise. It just started becoming him, he supposes. And, plus, when Ren's done hurting him, he tells him that he's good, actually, which is the first time Martyn's ever heard it. "Gimme a yes or no shake," Ren says. "Did it start hurting worse?" No. Martyn shakes his head. It's just because Martyn's just that fucked up. His entire existence is, and it won't ever stop being that fucked up. "Huh. Okay, then... Fuck, I dunno. You–you good to continue?" If it's what Ren wants, yes! Yes! Make Martyn good for him. Whatever Ren wants, whatever Ren needs out of him. Just remake Martyn, really, remake him better, make him hurt to the point of breaking and then shove him past it. Martyn's nodding in a frenzy. Feels dizzy, but it’s so good, too. Likes feeling the delirium in Ren’s palms. "Right. Yeah. Okay." More of those stinging welts that thud deep, and–god, it feels like a pain stick. The bamboo one, maybe, flexible and so, so mean. They layer down his thighs, and Martyn won't be able to sit and he's kind of grateful for it. Ren taking that away from him, too. The thin stick keeps marking its reckon, awful marks, and Martyn can't look at Ren, can't tell–is this him getting off to Martyn's pain? Is this him just doing what he believes he needs to for a punishment, to correct Martyn, deriving no joy beyond that? Either option, Martyn finds, he enjoys–it's like, Ren must care about him down whichever path, yeah? He must care about him. He must. Anything's bearable, like that. Anything Ren could do to him. It'll just have to be, Martyn'll fold his fraying edges into nothingness until he fits in Ren's hand. Still doesn't make his ass hurt any less, the way his rim keeps quivering, clenching, around the plug and the burn there has settled mostly into general soreness. Everything hurts, feels like, and Martyn doesn’t want it to ever end. “Hey, let’s get this out of you, now,” Ren says, handles the plug. “Y’know, at first, I was going to be very mean, start layering my hits on top of each other–and I still could if you wanted, no worries–but I think I’ve got something better. But we need this out of you, first. Just–hey, hey, just relax for me, I’ll make it so, so good.” Martyn swallows, heavy, and then Ren starts wiggling the plug free–plenty of lube, but the problem more lies in how much Martyn’s ass hurts, and it knows that the widest part is going to be so awful– He wails at it. His rim burns, and he’s begging and he doesn’t know what he wants so it’s probably a good thing he can’t articulate it but it still hurts, everything still hurts, and then when the plug starts to taper down a bit, he’s still sobbing, it still hurts, his entire ass inside and out feels so raw but he’s just going to have to manage after all. Pops free with a wet sound. Martyn’s asshole clenches around nothing, and he’s whimpering at the feeling. Kind of misses the previous feeling, to be honest, that sensation of constant agony, because at least he was full. As the ache slowly, slowly, begins to recede, it just starts to feel empty, instead. “This looks so painful, god,” Ren says. Asks, warmly, “Does it hurt when I do this?” He presses on Martyn’s rim with his thumb–Martyn tries to say yes, tries to answer him, and it’s all garbled. An evil little chuckle. “Hehe, you sound so cute like this… poor thing, all sobbing, just a mess for me… I love it, you know.” Straight rush of dopamine, lust, whatever, to Martyn’s head. He’s good! He’s good for Ren! He’s being so, so good! “Okay, be honest for me, now–does it hurt when I do this?” He does–something–Martyn can’t even fathom it initially from the pain, the fiery lick of pain across his already-aching asshole–did, did Ren hit him with the pain stick, too? When the roar of blood in his head washes away enough for the outside world to be audible, Martyn realizes he made the most gruesome noise the entire time, enough to make his throat far more raw than before. One of Ren’s hands rubbing his asscheek, and it hurts but it’s kind of a blessing after what Ren did to him. Hitting his asshole. Martyn thought he could take anything, but he’s starting, he’s starting to doubt that, to be honest. “Oh, sounded like it did,” Ren says. “Okay, spread for me again, I wanna see.” Martyn obeys. He can’t tell if the wetness on his ass is sweat or blood. Can’t ask, either. “Aw, it’s starting to get a little puffy,” Ren comments, rubs over it again with his thumb. Still hurts, fuck, but anything’s better than Ren hitting it. “And you sound so, so delicious under me, oh, you poor thing… Do you think it’d hurt worse if I did it again?” There’s nothing Martyn can do, and the second strike layers on top of the first, and Martyn shrieks, his useless hands scrabbling against the floor, his legs kicking, and Ren gives him a few pelts on the ass until Martyn calms down again. Fuck, fuck, it just, it just keeps getting worse, he can’t–why’s Ren doing this to him? Why, why–what did Martyn do– Right. Abducting him into his basement on the most manipulative pretenses literally ever. Martyn does kind of deserve it, he’ll admit. No warning, this time. Just another strike that sends Martyn reeling, and then Ren wrestles him down into place to slam another one down before Martyn’s recovered from the last, and, and, he just– The pain’s reaching the overwhelming point, after a few more strikes. Definitely will take days to recover as is, and Martyn won’t be able to sit, barely able to walk, he’ll be feeling it–and he’s still fucking hard from it. He’s still so, so fucked up. “Okay, that’s good, I think you’ve had enough, let’s get you sitting up, now,” Ren says. As he hauls him up–making Martyn sit on his aching ass, his thighs twitching from the pain, his stupid sounds dripping out his mouth as constant as the drool from the corners of his lips–Ren continues, “Now, I’m sure you have a supply of dildos ‘n stuff somewhere that isn’t down here, right?” Martyn nods. “Is it in your unpacked stuff?” He shakes his head no. “All unpacked, easily accessible?” Another nod. Hands on his chest, starting to knead it. His nipples. Starting to rub at them, pinch them, gently, and then harder and harder. “In your room?” He nods again. “I’ll be looking for them in a few minutes,” Ren murmurs. God, Martyn wishes he wouldn’t. There’s a lot more than dildos there. Lots of embarrassing stuff–things that made Martyn think of Ren when he was jerking off, personal items Martyn hasn’t given back yet, stolen clothes and toys, even stuff like used cutlery. Because Martyn’s gross. He’s gross and awful, the worst ever, and his ass is only starting to meet its penance. But, right now, Ren keeps fondling him, tugging on his nipples, pinching them hard enough to start to make them bruise, too. Quiet, other than that. It’s embarrassing, but Martyn starts whimpering, making more and more pathetic sounds to just get Ren to talk, to just get him to say something, anything at all, and he’s not. He’s staying completely silent, just pulling on Martyn’s nipples, turning the warm tingle of arousal into something headier, edging on pain here, too. Pulls back. Chuckles when Martyn follows his touch with his chest. Martyn really, really wishes he hadn’t, hadn’t stuck out his tits when Ren, so quick, smacks both of his nipples with the pain stick, laving new welts into his skin. It just–takes him completely by surprise, and Martyn folds in two, bends over and pants. “Get back up,” and Ren hauls him back upright, tugging on his hair, hard. “That’s it. There we go.” Another strike, on top of the previous welts, and Martyn can’t even tug away to protect himself this time with the grip Ren has on his hair, the roots burning. “I do feel kind of bad, but–oh, Martyn. Next time I punish you, I’ll have to record it so you can watch yourself. See how pretty you sound when you take this kind of pain. I bet it doesn’t even feel good anymore, does it?” More hits. Hurts, hurts worse. Martyn still trapped, he still can’t get away, and the tears just don’t stop dribbling down his face, his chest, and the wetness, the salt in the liquid, gets on his nipples and makes the final hit burn. But it’s the last one, because Ren lets him go, audibly tosses aside the stick. Just says, “Okay, just one more thing.” The clatters of acrylic panels–could be anything really, up until– Around Martyn’s nipples. They start to clamp down. Shit. He got the nipple crushers. Like things couldn’t’ve gotten any worse for Martyn. He can feel Ren tighten them, the feeling of the screws turning traveling through Martyn’s chest, winding dread further and further with every spin of the thread. The ache of them–of them getting crushed–it’s too much, feels like too much, and Martyn’s still just. Helpless. Can’t do anything at all to make it stop. “That’ll keep you being a good boy for me, now,” Ren says. “I’ll be right back, now.” He’s leaving Martyn? He can’t! No, no, he can’t leave, can’t leave Martyn like this, in this state, can’t just–he can’t go–he can’t go–Martyn tries to follow his footsteps but he can’t, Ren had shut the door behind him, and there’s nothing to do against the iceyness clinging to Martyn’s insides and he knows there’s noises coming out of his sore throat, loud things that echo just a little bit of how awful he feels but it’s nothing in comparison– Because he took it! Martyn took everything Ren wanted him to! He was good, wasn’t he? Ren kept calling him good, but what if he was lying, what if Martyn wasn’t? There had to have been something, something to cause this, something to make Ren leave, there had to have been– Right, right. After a certain point, Martyn lost control over his body. It started trying to jerk away from Ren’s blows. That must be it. It must be. Martyn hasn’t done anything else wrong, right? Unless it’s part of his punishment, too? Leaving Martyn alone? But, but–that’s so cruel, Martyn, he can’t deal, what, why– He can feel steps through the floor, must be, must be Ren, he tries to articulate his name over and over and he just can’t, the gag– “Were you freaking out without me?” Ren asks. “Aw, poor thing. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you so worried.” Martyn’s still huffing and whimpering. Can’t do a thing. He can’t help a thing. He’s just–pathetic, and it feels really, really good, to have Ren’s pity, even if it’s making a mockery of him. Feels really good to have anything at all, the pain. “Took me a few minutes to find your toys… I did find some really interesting stuff in there, too. You never told me you had a collar of your own. Did you get this and get off to me putting it on you, maybe?” Nods, really hard. Martyn’s bangs patter gently against the blindfold from the force. “God, I love that… Okay, look up for me?” Obeys. He obeys. He’ll always be quick to obey, in case Ren does, does get sick of him, does leave him–anything to make it not happen. Anything. And then, smooth cloth around him. The buckle. Ren’s fingers brushing against the underside of his jaw, and then leaving, and, and Martyn– Feels palpable, physical. In his body, in his head. Feels like it should be bloody, like his fingers reached through his skull, lacing themselves in the wrinkles of his brain to tear them out, tear them apart, have more space for Ren Ren Ren. “That’s it, so handsome for me like this,” Ren says, and Martyn knows he’s saying that about how much Martyn’s head is cleaving itself apart for him. He loves Martyn like this! Loves him when he’s all broken, loves having an easy canvas to work with. He must. He must. He must. It’s so– “Oh, shit, let’s get these off you.” The crushers come off, and his nipples were just kind of numb for a while, but all the blood coming back in, it aches, it aches, Martyn wails and he’d say ‘thank you thank you thank you for making me feel this way, thank you for deciding it for me, thank you for touching me, thank you for being near me thank you thank you thank you’ but he can’t and he’s happy the gag stops it. And he’s also happy that Ren cares enough about his voice, one way or another, that he put it in Martyn’s mouth in the first place, even. “I wanna see those eyes, I think, actually,” and fingers at the edges of the blindfold, slipping it off. Martyn looks up at him. It doesn’t look like Ren’s changed, but Martyn can feel it. That weird smile–that sadistic grin on his face, the glimmer in his eye–he’s got to be realizing what, exactly, he’s made Martyn become. How far gone he is. And Martyn wants to ask, ask, ‘Do you love me like this, do you love me, do you love me, do you? Do you? Do you love what you’ve made me become? Will you stay, keep loving me? Keep loving me, keep loving me, keep loving me’ but he can’t and he’s so, so happy Ren thought it through, that the gag stops it, all his desperation and neediness, whichever parts don’t service Ren well enough. “Just a little bit longer, now. Just a little bit.” What if Martyn wants to keep Ren’s attention on him, though? What if he never wants this bliss to end, what if he wants to keep Ren loving him? “Got a choice for you, of course, follow me,” and Ren walks out of the gates, where there’s a box, all of Martyn’s personal toys, on a table, next to a chair. Nothing to do except follow him. Martyn doesn’t get up. He’s just, he’s just a stupid pet, he’s just Ren’s stupid pet, right? So he crawls on his hands and knees after him, just grateful he’s allowed to look at Ren at all again. Ren snaps his fingers, points to the chair, and Martyn doesn’t even need a verbal command already, he’s so well-trained. Hops up onto it. “Good boy,” Ren praises. “Spread your legs, now. I got a few more things for you.” He does. His thighs, ass, they ache so bad against the wood of the chair, but Martyn doesn’t deserve anything better, or else Ren would’ve granted it for him, right? Rustling, and then Ren holds up– “Wouldn’t you look at this,” Ren says, holds a cock cage. It’s one of the smaller ones. Tiny, really. Compresses Martyn’s cock, down, down, into almost nothing, and Martyn loves it. “I’m so curious as to why you have this. Tell me, later. For now–” He pinches Martyn’s cockhead, holds his cock like that between two fingers like he’s inspecting an insect, and the raw shame of it makes Martyn even hornier, for some reason– “I need to put your cock away. All I want out of you for the next while will be your ass.” God, Martyn loves it, he loves Ren modifying him. Loves it– “Would you let me take it in to get rid of it?” Ren asks, hooks a finger under the foreskin, tugs so, so hard. Makes Martyn squeal with the pain before he relents. “Make your crotch completely smooth, so you can’t focus on anything except your ass?” He nods. Yes, yes, yes, make him however Ren wants him, do whatever will make Ren the happiest with him, Martyn’ll love it, he would, no worries there– A shrug, and Ren drops his cock like it means nothing at all. “Eh. I kinda like it. Another time, I’ll tie you down exactly how I want you–fuck, I’ve jerked off to this so much,” he groans, “And then I’ll torture your cock, balls. As long as I want, as hard as I want. God.” Martyn nods along to it, his eyes locked on Ren’s face. And then–Ren scrubs it, pinches between his eyes. “You really–fuck. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this, being so mean to you, and you love it so, so much. Look at you! Look at the way you look at me! I just–I can’t–” Is, is that bad? Did Martyn do something wrong? He can’t tell. He can’t ask. Can’t do anything except sit here. “Let’s get this all locked up and put away for now, though,” Ren says. “Got some–here we go…” Ice clanks around in a cup. Martyn eyes it for a moment, and then back to Ren. Fingers around his cock, and then ice against the head–yup. Making Martyn soft. Easy to compress into the little cage and he couldn’t be happier for it. “You’re so good for me,” Ren murmurs, softer. Not being so cruel, and Martyn likes this Ren, too. Likes him a lot. “Love what you let me do to you. Fuck. I bet–you’d be happy with no safeword at all, wouldn’t you?” Martyn nods. “I worry about that, though,” he continues. “So–again. Any kind of injury that isn’t intentional. I want you to hurt, baby, I want it to ache, I want you to keep remembering me, want you to never forget my claim on you, but–I might mess up. I’m worried about that. I love you, yeah?” Yes! Yes! He does, he does, the words make the edges of Martyn’s frayed mind begin to fully unwind, dissolve into nothing, he loves him, he loves him. “So, we’re gonna be careful. You understand?” Of course, of course, Martyn nods, hard. He gets it. He looks down. “All good ‘n soft for me, now, let’s get that cage on you.” The cock ring for this cage is attached to a few straps that run around Martyn’s waist; helps keep it on, no matter what Martyn’s doing. It’s not hard to slip out of one, otherwise. Helps it feel more permanent. “Gotta be careful about what I say, ‘cause I know you’ll get hard again,” Ren says. Slips the metal tube on, and it pushes Martyn’s cock back, back, into his pelvis, and it gets compressed into near nothingness. Padlock, key clinks. And Martyn’s secure. All kept by Ren. All secure. “‘N, I think this is a good spot for it,” Ren murmurs, slips the key into one of the rings of Martyn’s collar. “Because I know you’ll not let yourself out. You’re too good for me to do something like that.” It’s not even a question. Martyn appreciates that. Ren just knows he’ll be a good boy. The cage settles nice against Martyn’s pelvis, and even just Ren running his hands up Martyn’s body has him twitching inside it, against the walls, and he’s so glad he can’t get hard unless Ren lets him, now. Doesn’t stop the little dribbles, but that’s alright. He thinks Ren likes those. “You’re drooling so much, sweetheart,” Ren says, voice sweet, his thumb against Martyn’s slick lower lip. “You look like such a complete mess for me.” Really, Martyn can only imagine how he must look right now. Probably not even a tenth of how he feels. “I love it so much,” he murmurs, quiet, in the basement. A full shiver up Martyn’s body. “You get so excited when I tell you I love you, huh? Your cock just pulses with precum, you get all twitchy… so reactive. God. God. I’m worried, a little, when I’m done with you, that you’ll be all ruined.” So don’t be done with Martyn! Keep loving him, don’t ever leave him, just stay, stay, love him, stay, god, please, Martyn wants to plead, but he can’t and he needs this gag off except Ren put it on for some reason, right? And Ren knows way better than Martyn. That’s why they’ve ended up like this, and Martyn really can’t be happier for it. Another snap, Ren nodding up, and Martyn stands. His sore asshole getting crushed by the fat of his asscheeks–Martyn tilts his head back, hisses at the basement ceiling. Aches, it aches, the pain deeper and deeper. And then, out of the box–oh, fuck. Martyn thinks he’s actually about to die. Ren’s actually about to kill him. Ren’s actually about to kill him. Ren has–one of his own dildos, one that Martyn had picked up from the last time he visited Ren’s place. One with two fat knots. Normally, it’s close to Martyn’s upper limit, but like this, his asshole swolen from hits and being generally underprepared previously? Oh, god. There’s no way. There’s no way. It gets plunked on the chair. Makes a weird, splat-type sound as the suction cup on the base connects to the seat. Ren slicks it up, at least, slicks it up quick, his hand jacking it off, and Martyn’s cock begs for the motion and he knows he’ll not be getting it for a long, long time. And then Ren points at it, Martyn’s stomach plummeting. “Sit.” Martyn just–he has no choice. He has to obey. He has to. No other recourse, no other option, he has to always, always, always be a good boy for Ren. Under him, Ren’s hand holds the toy steady for Martyn to begin to sink down on, and even the tip against his asshole makes Martyn yelp in agony. Stares up at Ren, eyes pleading–for a way out, encouragement to take it, anything. Instead, “You know, I did find some pretty interesting stuff in that box, in your things,” Ren begins, conversationally. “Get down past the head. I know you can, now.” Yes, yes. Martyn huffs at the increased agony–he still doesn’t feel stretched enough, even now, with all the time given to let his ass tighten up again, for it to get all swollen. “Yeah. So, going through your stuff–first off, I liked that one plug! The one with the ridges? Yeah! I was wondering if you took it or not–honestly. Glad to have it back, then, at least. Hey, don’t stop at the first knot, what are you doing? I’m going to force you down if you don’t pick up the pace.” Shit, shit, shit, Martyn’s ass wanted a reprieve, but he needs to obey more. He starts to breech the first knot, and it’s so wide, so wide, his ass is burning and pounding and he’s gasping for air, barely even able to focus on what Ren’s saying. “Second off–god, you’re so… I didn’t realize that you even got enough of my things to make a shrine. That’s–” Martyn’s mind fills in the blanks: disgusting, creepy, filthy, abhorent– “So adorable,” Ren says, and Martyn’s heart explodes in his chest, it has to, his balls ride up like he’s about to cum, he, he can’t, he loves Ren, he loves him, he loves him, every little new thing he learns, fuck. “Impressive, too. The lock of hair, especially; you got a good hank, man! How’d you manage that without me knowing?” Martyn shrugs, groans when he makes it over the widest part of the knot, and his asshole is screaming for relief. But, it should–should be over soon. When Ren wants it to be. And he sounds so happy with Martyn right now, right? So, maybe it’ll be sooner, rather than later, and then he’ll hold Martyn close, give him lots of kisses–like Martyn deserves that. He doesn’t. But he’d sure as hell love it. Blue eyes flicker down. “Keep going.” Right. Martyn–always, he always, even when it’s to his detriment, even when it only hurts– “You really are the most filthy thing,” Ren says, and it’s like an ‘I love you’. Doesn’t wound like how Martyn thought it would. “So obedient, though.” Because Martyn actually did it. He did tear himself apart for Ren. He did. He–he has to be everything Ren wants, at this point, right? The second knot is thicker inside him, hurts him even worse. So, so awful. It’s so awful. “That’s perfect, keep it goin’,” Ren purrs. What a wicked man. Martyn’ll take it, though, he will. “So good.” It’s so good, Martyn keeps telling himself–because that’s what Ren wants him to think, that’s how Ren wants him to be, and Martyn’s–he’s the worst. Worst than all the pain Ren inflicts on him, he’s just, he’s just–useless, and unloveable, and he still begs for it, he’s still pathetic– All the way down. The base doesn’t give his asshole any kind of relief, not really, and taking it out’ll hurt, too, more than the way in. His ass itself, his thighs, ache against the chair, too. It’s so, so miserable. The entire thing is. “Look at you–suffering so bad, and you still take it, you,” Ren sighs, comes in close, leans in to tug Martyn tight to him, hugging him, and he’s so warm, hair and skin over muscles and Martyn wants to worship them, he does, he does, “You’re so incredible, oh, Martyn…” He’s crying again. Martyn’s crying again. At just a few words. Making him feel so, so good– “Oh, I love you so much,” Ren murmurs in his ear, and his voice is so warm, too, full of feeling and Martyn can’t believe how lucky he’s gotten. But, if only he'd gotten out of the way- [[He rolls out from under Ren.]] [[After that, it does take a few months to settle in, fully; Ren and he.]]

He rolls out from under him. Scuttles backwards, rather pathetic, but there's just no way to fight back against Ren; he's too strong. He can figure out what game he's playing once he's knocked out and secure. The sedative's close behind him, and Martyn fumbles behind the paneling, almost pricks his finger on the needle as he snags it. Passes it to his left hand. First thing–Martyn raises his right like he's got something in it as he runs at Ren, and, of course, Ren catches him easily. He's stronger than Martyn, no way around it– But Martyn's got his mind games. He stabs the syringe into Ren's when he's not expecting it, and it's such an underhanded thing to do but Martyn had to, he has to, he has to do whatever he can. Ren's reaction, his eyelids fluttering, is immediate, his fingers loosening around Martyn's hands. Of course, that's a human sedative, and Ren's part dog, so Martyn isn't actually sure if it's going to be all that effective or not. In case this is the most advantage Martyn's going to get, he has to take it, has to tighten the mitts over Ren's hands again, actually lock them in place. Ren's not asleep through it, but he's definitely not fully conscious, either, Martyn latching him back into place. Secure again. He's secure, and Martyn's in control, he's in control of them both. Nearby, in a little neat pile, is all of the leather gear he got for Ren. He can feel Ren's sleepy gaze on him as he picks up gear, this thick collar with plenty of D-rings so Martyn can put him wherever, a harness that won't cut into his circulation so he can sleep in it, kneepads, ankle cuffs–he even has a little bondage harness for Ren's tail, in case he feels the desire to tie that up, too, keep Ren firmly in place where he wants him. But he doesn't right now. His main goal is to get Ren comfortable with him again, show him–Martyn just loves him, that's all, and even though it is, without a doubt, the worst thing ever, well, that's what happened to Ren! Tough luck! "Martyn?" Ren croaks, voice quiet. Martyn turns. "Huh?" His words are a touch slurred; very good thing Martyn moved as fast as he did. "Can I ask why?" Oh, joy, a chance to explain himself. "It's, uh, it's because I love you and I'm sorry about that–maybe you should've made yourself less loveable, Ren, but too late for that now. But I wanna, y'know." Martyn exhales through his nose. "I wanna keep you. I don't want you to get away from me." Ren sighs. "Like I'm a possession." The fantasies makes Martyn's heart hammer; everything, the everything–it makes his reactions so immediate, the consequences through his body so visceral. He's in it. He's in his own body, he's inside it and it feels good for once. "I'd say slightly higher–like a pet, maybe. You're my puppydog, maybe! And I'll get you trained up all nice... I know how much you like serving." "I-I suppose so. God. So... you're, I guess, crazy, huh?" "Apt enough descriptor, I imagine." Martyn finishes gathering up what he wants, trots back over to Ren. He still seems a little out of it; which, understandable, so he's going to wait it out, until Ren's of a more clear mind. "Crazy–" Ren tries to stifle his grin. "Crazy over me." "Oh, most definitely. Wouldn't be like this for anyone else, lemme tell ya that. Lotta effort." But Ren's worth it, but, before he can gather the correct words to tell Ren that– One more second, and then Ren just bursts out laughing, like he can't help it. "No, no way," Ren cackles. "All this–for, for me?" "Yeah!" Martyn exclaims, a little too loud in the sound-isolated haven of the basement. "Sorry. I just–got excited. This is all I've wanted, for months and months, 'n all it took was–" Martyn's mother dying. Ren says what Martyn was thinking out loud. "Awfully convenient timing, huh..." "Hey, look, I can see that, but–I hadn't talked with her in years. I didn't realize she even had this property until my sister drove us out to take a look at it, yeah?" But Ren still looks at him like he's connecting the pieces. "You're crazy enough to do it, though–" He's starting to hate that word. 'Crazy'. 'Insane', too. "I'm of a sound and logical mind, actually," Martyn says. He doesn't get it. Ren should know better. "I'm not–I'm a kidnapper, sure, I'll admit that easily, but I'm not a murderer. There'd be a lot more bodies around you if I were, as a matter of fact." "Like, how so?" Ren asks. "The group–making fun of you," Martyn seethes. Just remembering it makes his body tremble with fury, pent-up over months and months. "And that editor that didn't take your material. That guy who pulled your tail in the supermarket because he thought you were a furry and thought that was an appropriate thing to do–" Ren blinks. "You have a bit of a point, I suppose," he says. "Plus, she would've been dead a long time ago," Martyn mumbles. Realizes. "S-sorry. Inside thought." "Your mother?" Ren asks, and his voice is so level. "How come?" Thing is, Martyn doesn't want to say. Nobody in his current friend group, Ren included, knows about her. They know–just a few things, that he's not the fondest, doesn't know why, and that's the way Martyn likes it. He doesn't want the judgment, the pity, the way his head feels like it's full of hot air and about to explode whenever he even thinks of back then. That night. Later, when he had to swallow his pride and reconcile with her, enough to put them back to normal not-speaking terms, rather than actual estrangement. He never had control through any of it. But, like, she's dead. Best thing he can do with that is compress her memory, compress her into nonexistence– "It's nothing," Martyn says, and it's the biggest lie thus far. "Doesn't sound like it," and Ren's voice is way too gentle to be talking to his captor like how he is, chained up helpless to a wall. Probably a good thing he knows Martyn would never hurt him. Take his anger out on him, anything like that. But they've still got to move on. "Whatever. You've pretty much recovered from the injection, huh?" "Yeah. That kinda stuff doesn't work great on me," Ren chuckles. "During my spine surgery last year– "They had to keep putting you under, yeah, I remember." The nurse mistook Martyn for Ren's significant other, told him all about it, and Martyn was so, so happy with it all. Well, except the part where Ren was having surgical difficulties, of course. And having to go into surgery in general. Of course. "But, yeah. Y-you're gonna be all mine, now." Ren gives a weak little shrug. "Yeah, I suppose. You, uh, really went out on me, huh..." "Of course I did!" Martyn exclaims. The leather's still in his lap. It's dyed dark brown, not quite black, with golden hardware. It fits Ren to the T, in Martyn's opinion, and he's been stewing over all these decisions for so, so long. "You–you deserve it, Ren. You do. You know–I love you, Ren, so much. Want to keep you. Need to, one way or another." "Why not ask me out on a date first?" Ren asks, tone amused. "I wouldn't've turned you down." "Because–that still, you could've still–" The thought gets Martyn so frazzled, he has to take a moment to collect himself again. "You could've broken up with me, though. I can't let that happen. Don't ever, I don't ever wanna be split apart from you. I'll do anything." "Except murder?" Ren asks. Would Martyn? He can't imagine taking Ren's life in hand and snuffing it out, but anybody else– "God, there's something wrong with me," Martyn laughs, more out of shock than anything else. "I've never actually, seriously thought about it before, but–" Those blue eyes on him, tone so serious. "You would?" Saying the truth–it makes Martyn grow a bit, ah, worried, maybe. But. "I think so," Martyn says, voice low. He can't meet Ren's eyes, like the crushing weight of how he is, the awful, horrible, mismatched pieces, are being judged before him. "If I had to. To keep you here. Keep you happy." A shudder runs through Ren; Martyn sees the twitch of his shoulders out of the corner of his eye. "Why do I like that?" he asks, and Martyn's not sure who the question is actually intended for. "I'd do anything," Martyn supplies, because that's–that's what it sounds like. Like Ren's happy with him, happy with his devotion, and, and– "I'll do anything, Ren, just tell me–" Ren raises his hands, cocks his head to the side. "...Except that," Martyn amends. "But I'll never hurt you. If anyone does, if it'd make you happy to see them suffer–" "It wouldn't," Ren says, cutting him off. "That's kinda why I love you." An admittance. The utter truth. Martyn loves Ren, sweet, gentle Ren. He loves him–and he knows he can get a little bloodthirsty, too, but, at the end of the day, Ren only wants what's best for the people around him. And Martyn only wants what's best for Ren. "I..." Ren's voice is shaky in his disbelief. "Let me show you," Martyn says, picks up the collar. "I got this custom-made. Because I thought you'd look so pretty in it. I'll–I'll be real with you, I kinda blew through my entire inheritance on you. But, hey, that's what my dad's for, right?" Ren turns his head to the side like it'll hide his expression, his laugh. "I–Martyn, good lord," he chuckles. "Tilt your head up, I'm putting it on you," Martyn says. A strange little smile, Ren remarking, "Like I don't get a choice," and, yet, Ren complies. The leather, padding on the inside that wicks away sweat–and, oh boy, Martyn'll make Ren sweat, make him feel so much, so good–slides around Ren's throat, secures around him tight. Buckling it is so smooth, too, and it's so, so satisfying, seeing his mark on Ren. It's like this completion, maybe. Having his mark stick on Ren really is like–everything Martyn's ever wanted, almost. Months and months and months for this moment, locking a little padlock into the loop, ensuring the collar can't be removed. "You don't," Martyn finally says, tongue clumsy in his ecstasy, mouth dry from more hunger, more want and need. Needs Ren, he needs him; for some reason, the more Martyn claims, the more he just keeps needing. How'd he ever resist before? How'd he ever resist not grabbing Ren's wrists and not letting him go months ago, or when they first met, or, or, or– "I don't," Ren agrees, eyes and voice warm. He's agreeing! He know what he needs! Martyn's head is buzzing alive with it, with the finality of claiming him. All the hot coils in his head–he can barely think with it, adrenaline and dopamine pounding him like he was the drugged one this entire time. Next, next–right, the ankle cuffs. Martyn attaches a wider lead so that Ren can't extend his legs more than about shoulder width from each other. "Feel good?" Martyn asks. "Yeah... Seriously, though–Martyn. You really could've just asked. I would've let you." "No, I couldn't've–not with what I want," Martyn says. His hands rest on Ren's hairy shins, gently skims his nails over the hairs to feel them. They're a little rough. Definitely Ren. He's definitely under him, in his basement, and Martyn's kind of having to answer to him, in a sense; it's so strange, the fact that it feels nice to. Nice to finally confess to someone. "I'm awful," Martyn says. "I don't believe that." "I literally am! Good people don't do this–they don't drug the guy they're into, rearrange their entire lives around keeping him in their basement! Not even most bad people do that! I'm," Martyn sniffles, and he's so pathetic for it, "I'm the worst, god. God." A soft snort. "...You don't know what I wanted, then, I suppose," Ren says. "Huh?" "I guess you just–got to it. Before I did. Before I could. But, like, Martyn... after a while, did you really think I wouldn't notice how my things always smelled like you, or your soap, your home? Did you really believe that I wouldn't know?" The breath catches in Martyn's lungs. "I-I–" "You always went to the bathroom with your drawstring bag, and I'd always hear it crinkle, but then I didn't hear any menstrual products or anything like that." Fondness, why does Ren sound so warm when he says, "It was just you being a little thief." "Yeah, I don't even have a vagina, man. What made you think that–" "Just, going through all the possibilities," Ren says. "Landing on–you being enamored with me. One way or another. Honestly, for a good bit, I thought it was just purely physical. You were just stealing my frickin' underwear because it was the most accessible, stuff like that." Martyn scrambles to say, "But it's not, it's not purely physical, I, I also really like your personality." Looks down. "But, uh. You're also, like, super hot, so." An amused exhale, and then a nod. "Figured that out after a while. I started to woo you, and it turns out, that wasn't even necessary. You were just–you know, I'd crowd in a little too close, or our gazes would meet, and it'd be like–we're kinda made for each other, y'know? But, I suppose, I felt like I had to earn it a bit more first. You just took it, though, baby." That is kind of what Martyn did, he'll admit. Just taking Ren. Stays quiet, though, since it seems like Ren wants to talk more. And he does. Continues, "I wanted to comfort you all throughout this week. Make sure you were doing okay, get in closer, closer... show you that I'd take good care of you... Kind of bad of me, I suppose. Going in on the kill and seducing a guy right after his mama goes 'n dies. We really are so similar." The words–yeah. Yeah. Ren's right. Wait, which means– "What were you intending to do afterwards?" Martyn asks, voice coming out a touch slow. "Start taking you on more dates, really earn your trust–that's hard, you know. I can see it. You're always slow to believe people. Which–understandable, fine, but, still. Just meant I'd have to try harder." But he's still talking like, "But you had something more planned with me, didn't you?" "Yeah. I would've abducted you, too. I had all these fantasies–fuck, Martyn, you'd go home, and you were so caught up in what you were doing that you didn't even realize I was taking your things, too. Smelling the blankets you used, your underwear... When you jerked off in my bathroom and I, and I could smell your cum afterwards and I just had to stay normal–Martyn. You made it so, so impossible to just be normal about you." "Yeah, it would've been my fault," Martyn says. Shivers at the fantasy–their positions swapped. "That's what you'd do if you could, huh?" Ren nods, his grin hungry. "You'll slip up, sooner or later, and you know–when you do–I'll take the advantage, and then you'll be here in your own basement and I'll be the one in control. And I'll keep you just like this, and I'll do whatever I want to you..." Martyn clenches his thighs together. Ren, Ren wanting him just as much as Martyn does–it's mutual, it's mutual, they're both so much– "But I'm in control right now," Martyn decides. "And you're getting me all horny on purpose, aren't you?" "I mean, dual purpose." But Ren's still smug with it. Above everything else, though, right now–Martyn climbs up over Ren, rests his hands on his thighs, leans in. For a kiss. And Ren meets him, tilt of the head and a twinkle in his eye, deepens the kiss, sucks on Martyn's bottom lip and licks into his mouth and it's all Martyn's ever needed, it feels, it's all Martyn's ever needed for a moment and then he realizes how much more he needs. He draw his arms around Ren's neck, presses him chest-to-chest and he's really starting to need air but he needs Ren more, he needs more and more and more– They do have to part, eventually, to catch their breath; Martyn dizzy, Ren not looking much better. A soft little look from Ren isn't what he's expecting, though, Martyn'll say. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice so caring just in general, let alone for the circumstances. "Yeah, I'm, I'm fine," Martyn says, and then realizes tears are running down his face–shit. He's crying. "Are you sure?" Ren asks. "I'm fine," and then Martyn starts sobbing, grabs Ren tight and sobs into his neck, burying into him like he'll be safe and kept there forever, like–like, after a while, there'll be no real telling who's really the captor and who's the one being held anymore, like they'll just be entwined with each other, like, like when it's love. Like it's love. Like it's love, reciprocated, perfect and magical in all the ways that Martyn's not, that he's deficient in, that he isn't deserving–because he's not, he's not, he was born just completely fucked up and every day's made him worse and worse, and his brain still, still keeps getting hung up on the thought. "Do you love me?" Martyn asks. Like a, like a pathetic nuisance–glad to know some things never change. Smile in his voice. Like he means it. "Yeah, I do," Ren says. "The day we met–always knew it. I always did." Martyn can't stop thinking about it. If they were normal, if they could've had a normal time of it, normal relationship, but Martyn just doesn't want to leave him, he realizes, over and over. He doesn't want to give Ren the ability to leave. Physical chains and all. He has to, has to, he'll splinter and break apart, otherwise, if Ren's not going to be kept by him. "I do, too," Martyn affirms, in case Ren needs the verbal confirmation. "I love you, so much, god–I'm sorry." "Huh?" Ren asks. "I'm so sorry," Martyn says it again. "I'm so, so sorry, I'm so sorry, Ren, I, I–" His arms must suffocate Ren in their grasp, but Martyn, he just, he just–he's so awful. "You're fine," Ren answers. "It's all fine, no need for any of that. It's okay." "I'm sorry-y-y," Martyn sobs, "I'm s-so sorry, I just–I couldn't stop–" "I know, I know." Martyn's jaw is shaking so hard, he can't even get out any more words, he can't do anything. Just a complete failure, leeching comfort off of Ren. He must be–it's only because Martyn's keeping him captive. That's the only reason why he's being so nice, pretending. It's pretending. Has to be. Because Martyn's so awful, he's so guilty, he's so guilty, like it's dripping down his soul and taking pieces of himself with it. "I want you to be, baby," Ren coos, and Martyn shouldn't believe him, he really really shouldn't. "Want you to be all weird and obsessed with me." "No, you, you don't, you don't actually want this. You don't actually–" "I do. Makes me feel–heh. Makes me feel all good and warm inside, too. Y'know that?" There's still no way, there's still just no way. Martyn looks up at him. "Do you?" "Yeah, why don't you–I know you want to, Martyn, I know you do," Ren nods, leans back, and his bare skin on display for Martyn is so tantalizing, growing too much to resist too fast. "I'm asking you right now. Take what you want, baby." His hands wander up shins and knees and thighs, closer, closer–he must've taken off Ren's pants somewhere, he must've stripped him nude or something, or did he go to bed in the buff? What happened?–up to Ren's pelvis. Martyn's finding, fast, that he wants everything, needs it, he can't even quite choose what he wants. "I-I think I'm having decision paralysis, Ren," Martyn mumbles. It's a little embarrassing, to be frank. "Oh? Are you?" "Yeah. I just–I just want everything, I just..." "Start with another kiss, maybe," Ren urges. Martyn does, more desperate than the first; his teeth scrape Ren's bottom lip during it, and Martyn's awful, he is, he sticks his tongue in the split and lavishes in the taste, metal, and one of them groans with it and Martyn's not quite sure who actually did it– His hands find Ren's neck, strong and corded, works his way down, kisses down, too. The bob of Ren's throat as he swallows–it makes Martyn suck on it, stop short of leaving a bruise. Because that's not healthy. That's not good for Ren, and, and Martyn, he needs to take care of him. Clavicles, next, and Martyn wonders for a moment how Ren's feeling about Martyn giving him worship like this, but Ren's eyes are so languid, filled with heat. He loves it, and Martyn never has to doubt it. Does he–he could earn it, yeah, but does he have to? "Ren," Martyn mumbles. "Hm?" "Would you always love me?" Martyn asks, Ren's biceps under his palms, his heartbeat against his face, like Martyn can bury himself into his chest and make sure all of Ren's bits and pieces keep propelling the whole. "Yeah, of course," he answers, voice quiet and low. "I don't–don't have to, you know," doesn't have to keep earning it, keep being just right, maybe he's allowed to make mistakes and he won't get berated and yelled at for it, maybe Ren will just love the effort, love Martyn when he doesn't make any modifications to himself, anything like that. "Have to what?" "Be–it's stupid. It's stupid." Ren sighs, and Martyn can feel it just as much as he can see it, hear it. "You don't have to be anything, I suppose, if that's where you were going," Ren says. "I-I can't stop lovin' you as is, baby." That's exactly what Martyn needed to hear–because Ren's so perfect, he's so perfect for him. "Me neither, I, I love you so much," Martyn professes. "Keep touching me, then, alright? You feel so good." He's even pleasing Ren. He's making him–Martyn's being is oscillating so wildly, but each swing up feels better and better, feels like, like– A soft sigh when Martyn cups Ren's chest, when Martyn kneads it, the strong muscles, and one of his concerns was Ren's body deteriorating in the basement, but Ren loves him, he wouldn't escape–look at how pleased he is, he loves it, he loves Martyn!–so Martyn probably could let him out, after all. Only keep Ren in here because he loves it. Oh. Wait. Martyn starts massaging Ren's nipples, because, one of those late, flirtatious nights, they were looking at sex toys and Ren had been like, 'oh, those vibes look so good–you ever play with your chest? It feels so good, man', and Martyn never stopped jacking off to the thought past that point. To the thought of Ren using his tits to get himself off. And he asks, "Hey, Ren... You, you like me being all weird 'n stuff, right?" "Yeah?" Ren asks, like it's ridiculous Martyn's even asking. "I mean, I'd like to have a little more say about things, but I know a lot of that'l just come with time, I'm sure." Feels good to have the reassurance, for sure, but that's not quite why Marytn was asking. "Uh... why is that, do you think?" Ren's entire body tenses up under him. "I'm stopping this line of questioning here and now," Ren says, voice flat. Okay. Seems like a big deal, then. But, like, Martyn's literally the one in control currently. What does Ren think will happen? "But I wanna know," Martyn says. "God... You probably already know, if you want the truth," Ren says. "Oh?" "It's just–I like the attention, maybe. That's all." Martyn starts petting down Ren's hairy belly, squeezes it to feel the fat and muscle and the feeling makes his cock throb so, so hard. "I think it's more than that," Martyn replies. "God–okay, fine. We leave this here. I like you being all, like, devoted and, and all that because it means–yeah. That. That you actually like me. And you aren't particularly, y'know, rude or whatever about it." "Like how your friends are?" Ren's sigh is all Martyn needs to know. "Thank you for telling me," Martyn says. He gets lower to the floor, eye level with Ren's cock. Half-hard, but that's what Martyn's for. "I wanna–wanna make you feel good," he says. "'N I guess I, I like hearing how good I make you feel. At least a little." Something warm in Ren's voice. "A lot. You've always had a thing for praise. I know. I could tell. Anyone could, if they were paying a bit of attention." Martyn whimpers despite himself. "And that's fine," Ren continues. "...You also have a thing for humiliation, too, and that triggered it, didn't it." "I'm sucking your cock now," Martyn says, leans down to take Ren's cockhead in his mouth. "Oh, that feels–mm, haven't had that in a while," Ren replies. "A, a nice, tight mouth on my–fuck!" And Martyn's had plenty of practice over the past while. He's had plenty of practice, going down on all the dildos Ren would fuck himself on and then leave behind–wait, did he, did he leave those on purpose, for Martyn to take, for him to–shit––but it doesn't matter, Martyn's taken him down to the base before it seems like Ren's even realized it, hums happily because Ren's cock stretches him so wide, just right, he wants his throat to be ruined on it, wants to gulp down Ren's cum or whatever else he wants, he wants to beg to be used by him, but–wait, wait. Martyn's in control, here. He can do whatever he wants to him. A deep, deep groan from Ren; when Martyn looks up, eyes watering from withholding his gag reflex, Ren's own gaze is on him. "You should take these mitts off, baby, so I can fuck your throat like how you need it," he suggests, voice rough, a smidgeion of how Martyn's feels. Martyn draws back off, stringy saliva keeping them connected for moments longer. "No, I'm not going to do that, Ren." "You should. Let me tangle my fingers in your hair, pound your face. Look at you–I can smell how horny you are at it. I can't get out without the key, we both know that. Just trust me a little." "Nah." Martyn's gaze drifts to Ren's balls, hairy, sac hanging a touch on the low side, like Ren's experimented with weights in the past. Or they just get pulled on a lot. Who knows, really. "You like having your balls played with?" A barky laugh. "Uh–maybe. Maybe." Martyn nuzzles up into Ren's pubic hair, kisses the base of his cock. "Yes or no?" "Yeah. Yeah." Ren sighs. "What do you like people to do with them?" "Uh–I, I, I like anything. Just. When you hit them, or squeeze them, or, I've had wax dripped on them–there was a bald spot for a while from that, actually–or like, ball crushers or parachutes or–" "So, anything. You just like it when they hurt, I suppose?" "Yeah. I do prefer, uh, the blunter pain, generally? I did cum when Cleo had a knife up to them, though–" Martyn's fingers are around his balls, kneading them. Gentle, and then rougher, rougher. Pushes one of Ren's testicles in the sac up and down with his thumb, and Ren shivers with the impending threat. "...So, you, you fucked Cleo?" "Yeah. Of course." "Of course?!" Martyn shrieks, his fingers tightening. "You were fucking Cleo and not me?" "Oh, are you jealous?" Ren asks, smirk on his lips. "God–of course I am. Cleo?" "Doc, too." Doc, too–Martyn’s jaw almost clenches, but last time he went to the dentist, they told him he needs to lay off that, and the last thing he needs to do is be separated from Ren due to dentistry, so he refrains. Redirects that intention into Ren’s balls again, instead. “Would it be a bad time to mention Etho?” Okay, actually, “That’s not quite as bad as mentioning Doc, to be honest.” “There’s False, too–have you met False?” “Blond, right?” “Yup!” Martyn seethes. “You’re still my favorite blond, though, I promise–” Ren gets cut off by Martyn’s fingers tightening around his balls again, extra tight. “God–Martyn, Martyn, Martyn–hurts–” Martyn doesn’t let go. Digs his short nails into the testes. Feels that jealousy reckon deep inside him, burning an agonizing, acidic line up through his sternum, lungs. “You–you won’t get this from anyone else,” Martyn says, growls, promises, and it’s so hard to talk between the constrictions of blood and fury through his throat, clogging it up, but he’s still trying his best, god. And, and Ren, he smiles, shakes his head. “No, I know. Don’t want it from anybody, ah, anybody except you, love–” ‘Love’ makes all those horrid emotions cease. “Did–anybody else–” Martyn asks, his fingers suddenly so loose around Ren’s ballsack. “Nah. Just you, baby.” It–Martyn doesn’t want to cry again. But that jealousy got him on the verge, and then Ren, and then Ren, he’s calling him, he’s calling him love, he’s, he’s, he’s in love, he– Makes Martyn’s heart stutter, stop, start back up again. Makes him–Ren’s so good to him. He loves him, even, and Martyn can feel the warmth flourish through him, bright and wonderful. And then, suddenly, Ren’s poor, bruised balls, they’d be so nice, so nice in Martyn’s mouth, and Martyn takes them in, licks over them and hums and smells Ren’s cock, deep and musky, and it’s so perfect. So perfect. He should tie Ren down to his bed, curl up between his thighs, just smell him all night, maybe. It’s so perfect. Ren is, he is, he is. Really, Martyn could stay here, but he also wants to prove to Ren–he’s good. He’ll be perfect for him, too, and all Ren really has to do is take it, right? He’ll make it good for him, make it easy, make Ren really want to stay. Love him back. Lets go of his sac, kisses down his taint, leading down to his asshole. “Oh–are you–I’ve never had someone,” Ren sighs, sounds so happy when Martyn starts licking into his ass. His hairy ass, so fuzzy, Martyn’s fingers tangling into his long ass hair and it feels a little rough and he loves it, loves it, loves it. “Never had someone do this to me, now…” Martyn leans back a touch. “Oh, is it normally just you–” A soft sigh. “Yeah. I always–I dunno. I like this, too, though.” Ren turns his head to the side a little–does he really think he can hide from Martyn? But Martyn doesn’t call him out on it. Nice to let his eyes flutter shut entirely, even, feel the dry pucker of Ren’s asshole slicken up with his saliva, fucking into it with his tongue. Stretching his rim open, bit by bit, and an ache settles into his jaw, the floor of his mouth, and it’s just more evidence that–that he loves Ren, really, yeah? The pain of devotion, because it’s not an easy thing. He wonders how often Ren gets fucked, too; all the noises he eeks out, his gasp when Martyn hooked a finger inside and curled his tongue at the same time. Or, maybe, when he’s playing with his ass, he’s by himself, he’s not used to muting his noises, since he’s always so embarrassed about them. Could be, though–and the thought sends this poignant thrill through Martyn, and he accidentally splays his fingers a little too wide inside Ren, makes his love keen–the fact that it’s Martyn. The fact that it’s not anybody else. Because Ren loves him. He said so. Three fingers, and that’s enough for Martyn to take Ren, take him gentle and pure and easy–confirmed by Ren, his, “Please, hey, I, I need you, love, love,” and Martyn can’t, he has to. Draws up over Ren, slicks up his cock, looks at Ren. Gorgeous Ren, and Martyn’ll know it until the day he dies, he’ll love him in fifty years when the grey’s the only thing left on his head and he loves him right now, the light of the overhead light picking up shimmers nestled in between his dark hair, his stubble and the bags under his eyes and the quiver of his fuzzy ears. An eternity can be spent there, just looking at Ren, but–he said he needs him. He needs Martyn. Martyn can have his fill later, when Ren’s asleep or something. Slides inside, finally, and–he felt it on his fingers, tongue, but Ren’s so hot, so tight. Clenches around his cock and Martyn’s eyelashes flutter, even though he’s trying so hard to keep an eye on Ren, watch him dissolve under him all pretty. “God, you, you feel so good inside me, Martyn,” Ren moans, and hearing his name like that–Martyn has to take a moment to fight down the heat surging–don’t cum, don’t cum, it’ll be so worth it to make Ren cum first–but he does, he does just fine, slides in the rest of the way, to the root. “So tight,” Martyn whines, walks the tone back to sound a little cooler, more capable, like he wasn’t going to shoot off because Ren whimpered his name and it was the greatest thing Martyn’s ever heard. “You feel so nice, god, I, I just, I love you so much.” Ren licks his lips, and Martyn’s feels dry, too. What if he leaned down, kisses him– Starts fucking into him, because Martyn can’t help it anymore, he has to, has to, and Ren groans into the kiss, arches his back like he needs Martyn to feel up his, his tits–yeah, yeah, that’s one of Ren’s favorite things, actually. Flirty late-night calls, and– Another groan when Martyn starts to fondle his chest, kneading at his nipples, pulling at them, getting rougher and rougher with the sensitive skin. “I, I can’t believe I could’ve had you the entire time,” Martyn sighs, pulled back a few inches or so away from Ren. “Can’t believe–” “Sometimes, you gotta be a bit patient,” Ren shrugs, hitches his breath again when Martyn pinches. “I’d, honestly–I’d let you drug me again, was wondering where it’d go, but I think this is the second-best thing that could’ve happened from it.” “What’s the best?” Martyn asks. “I had–so many, so many fantasies–fuck, right there–about what I’d do to you, baby. I know you bruise so easily, would’ve taken a belt or flogger or somethin’ to ya, would’ve left my mark for days. Been so mean to you.” And, and Martyn likes it, too. Likes it now, fucking into Ren, where he can’t get words out without gasping. “Didn’t really take you to be the mean type,” Martyn hums. “Didn’t really think you’d be so damn, I dunno, attentive, either–yeah, yeah, roll them between your fingers, like that, like that–but I love it, too.” “I can be mean if you want.” Martyn clamps his fingers down, turns his thrusts into churns of his hips, all the way inside Ren and still trying to get deeper. Ren tries to move against him, he does, but he’s all helpless against the basement floor, his hands useless when they move against Martyn, trying to push him away. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, all out of breath. He stills, hands resting on Ren’s chest, hips ceasing their movements. “I can do whatever you want me to, no worries–don’t have to force me, I’ll, as long as I get to keep you, I’ll do whatever, I’ll–I’ll be whoever you want me to be, I can do it, I’ll love it–” Something–stressed, in Ren’s face, his eyebrows pinching together. Why doesn’t he like that? “You don’t need to do any of that,” he says, a little slow, like he’s confused or something. What? “You can just be–Martyn, what do you take me for? I don’t mind a bit of roleplay, stuff like that, but–it’s fine. I love you as is.” Without any modifications? But Martyn can always be better. He can always be better, more suited to Ren’s tastes. He’ll be. Absolutely. “I mean, like… If it’s just in the context of bedroom stuff, you know, I like it both equally, gentle or rough–sweetheart, why do you look like that?” The mirror’s on another wall, at an angle where Martyn can’t see himself. He doesn’t know what Ren’s talking about. “I’m fine,” he says, the words coming out without him even evoking them. “If you don’t want me to do anything different, I won’t.” He will. If Ren doesn’t like him being overt, he’ll just be subtle, that’s all. There’s a reservation still there, in Ren’s eyes, his hesitancy to speak. “I don’t–what makes you think that? I’ll tell you if I need something to be changed, but you’re fine, baby, you’re just fine, I love you as you are–” It doesn’t feel right, weirdly. To hear those words. Because Martyn knows he’s still an imperfect being. He isn’t perfect for Ren, yet, but it’s not impossible to be that, modify, redefine himself until he’s there. After a moment, a blink of his eyes, Martyn finds his fingers are over Ren’s mouth, shushing him. They’re bitten–Ren’s lips, he means–but they feel nice under him, at least. Plus, it’s Ren. It’s Ren. Feeling more of him– Even with Ren’s mouth closed, his eyes still linger, though. Concerned. He’s concerned. He’s concerned and Martyn hates it. He draws back, fucks back into Ren, angles his cock just right–he’s learning, he’s learning so fast how to please him, doesn’t Ren see how great that is? How Martyn’ll keep getting better at it? At making Ren feel good? Learning everything about him, memorizing what he likes, doesn’t like, always prying new layers off, making him keep loving him, making him stay, that should be enough, Martyn can’t think of anything more he could possibly do– Ren’s eyes close. He’s choosing to enjoy it, good. What else could Martyn do to prove it to him, really? Or, no, wait, he shouldn’t, he can’t be obvious, he can’t. Because Ren doesn’t like that, for some reason. He’ll find out, sooner or later. So he can keep being better. Back in the rhythm, Ren keeps making his sounds, moaning high in his throat when Martyn drags his cock against his prostate, so Martyn’s hand falls to the collar. He’ll ask him later what he wants on it, nametags or bells or even just, like, ‘cumslut’ or something. If nothing else, though, Martyn wants a ‘if lost, return to Inthelittlewood’, because Ren’s his. He’s his. He always needs to come back to him. Needs to cum for him, too, judging by the heightening blush on his face. “Can you–jerk me off, please,” he asks, voice sweet, he’s so sweet. Of course Martyn can. Grabs his cock, finger drags over the head and then down his shaft, feeling the thick bulge of his knot–he needs that in his mouth later, shit. Starts jerking him off, and Ren’s hips buck, tosses his head and whines and looks so, so beautiful the entire time. His blue eyes on Martyn, and even through all of Martyn’s flaws and strangeness, even through a literal abduction he still, he still smiles, he still loves Martyn, he still loves him, he still loves him– Martyn barely, barely hangs on past Ren’s cock jerking in his grasp, where Martyn catches the cum in his palm, brings it up to taste it raw from the source instead of crusty and old and dried and it’s everything Martyn thought it’d be and more, because it’s Ren, it’s Ren– His orgasm hits so hard, Martyn trying to hide his whimpers behind his hand but Ren knocks it aside and hauls him against him tight, feels–Martyn kind of thinks it goes on forever, the pulses through him into Ren. And then, it’s over. Martyn gasps for air, his lungs forgetting what it’s like to breathe, to be inside his chest, his heart caught in a hard, unsteady pace alongside it. “Fuck, I wanna–take me to your bed, ‘n we’ll go for round two, how’s that?” Ren asks. “My back’s gonna kill me tomorrow as is, ugh.” The words don’t really register for Martyn. Still caught in the right now, in feeling his skin overtop his muscles, every inch buzzing all at once. Every contraction of his muscles, of Ren’s under him. He’s real, fuck, he’s real. “Sorry, what?” Martyn asks. “Let’s go to your bed,” and Ren keeps repeating himself, but the words from the first time have just clicked. Martyn’s still just a little overwhelmed, cock still buried in his ass. “Yeah, just, just give me a moment, please.” Softer, “Oh, no problem. You okay?” His hands wound up on Ren’s hips, resting on either side. They’re his hands. Moves his thumbs up and down to trace little indentations into the skin, and they’re his hands, on top of his Ren. “Hm?” Ren prompts. Oh, he probably wants Martyn to pull out. Oversensitive. He hisses at the drag. “I’m all good,” Martyn affirms, hands tracing up Ren’s body. “I’m–I’m really, really good.” But, what if he'd fought back– [[He fights back.]] [[After that, it does take a few months to settle in, fully, him and Ren.]]

After that, it does take a few months to settle in, fully, Ren and he. Lots of stuff happens: <ul> <li>Martyn gets his mom’s crap shoveled out, through a combination of online auction houses, donating, and, finally, just throwing a lot of it away, unfortunately.</li> <li>Ren’s name gets put on the lease.</li> <li>They get married pretty much as soon as they can (makes no sense not to, tax breaks and what happens if one of them dies and Martyn, obviously, isn’t exactly looking to let anything except death take Ren away from him, and Ren told him he feels the same); Joe Hills, of whom is, for some reason, ordained, acts as their preacher at the courthouse; Cleo, serving as their witness, laughs behind their hand at how clingy they are over each other.</li> <li>They get another, matching collar for Martyn, because, no matter which way it’s sliced, Martyn belongs to Ren as much as Ren belongs to him, and it helps him remember that, steadies him when they’re apart.</li> <li>Martyn finds out that he doesn’t fall in love once. Feels like it happens every day, every time he sees Ren and he smiles at him, brushes his bangs back when he leans in for a kiss, when they eat together and Ren’s so happy with what he’s cooked, watching a show and Martyn’s watching Ren more than anything else, when Martyn’s–sometimes it’s fucking, and, sometimes, it’s making love, and sometimes it’s hardly even sexual at all–but when they’re together and entwined, one way or another, and they pause and look at each other and Martyn can’t help but feel it over again. His heart flipping, slamming, it feels, against his torso, and he gets dizzy, and, and, and, he’s in love all over again.</li> </ul> Their friends, too, take the news kind of like how they reacted when Martyn told them he wasn’t cis or straight. ‘Wait, I thought this was a thing a long time ago, what do you mean it’s a recent development?’ type-deal. Which, like, Martyn gets it. They did look at an awful lot of porn together. And sex toys. The frequent cuddling. The one game of ‘seven minutes in heaven’ where Jimmy laughed and subbed in Martyn to get in the closet with Ren–yeah. Yeah. Not quite all good there, though. Martyn doesn’t mind a few people with Ren and him, but, more than that? Gets a little overwhelming. Which is why he’s been dreading Grian’s birthday party. Which, the guy loves events; Martyn thinks that the biggest present anyone can give him is showing up, and he gets his birthday wish in droves. The objective, therefore, is simple: don’t ruin a man’s birthday party. Martyn’s pretty sure he can manage it. In the car, Ren driving. “So, like, I think there’ll be a lot of people who don’t know, like… us?” Ren begins, a little tentative. “‘Kay,” Martyn says. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be sick of watching Ren. His cock always stirs in his cage with it, somehow. Still. Months and months later. He wonders if he’ll ever be sick of it. “So–you know. Uh. Let’s maybe try to act like a normal couple? I know we’re not, but–” “Okay, sounds good.” Martyn pauses. “How do you do that?” Ren sucks in a breath. “I think we can sit next to each other. I’m pretty sure about that.” “Me, too. That sounds about right.” “I don’t think lapsitting is generally allowed?” Oh, this is going to be hell. But Martyn’ll be good for Ren. “Yeah, okay.” “No making out, either.” Martyn sighs. Shifts in his seat, ass clenching around the plug inside, and then relaxing again. Something else that’s helped him a lot to steady him again, when those demanding thoughts, impulses, try to take hold. Like, he doesn’t need to have Ren put a claim on him, he’s fine. Everything’s already accounted for. “Alright.” “Groping is definitely a no-no.” How could things get any worse? “Got it.” “And, look… I know you’re obsessed with me, very possessive, all that. I like it. Wanna make sure you know that.” Uh oh. “But…” “For goodness sake, man, you can’t be frickin’ hissing at people who hug me! I heard that.” Shit! “Yes, sir.” “Best to not call me that in public, also. Kinda weird. But, seriously… Just, uh. Y’know. Like.” Ren sighs. “Let’s just play it casually.” “Yup. That sounds–yeah.” They reach Grian’s place, go in, get acquainted with what’s going on, all that. Martyn’s fingers keep wanting to tangle in Ren’s, but is he allowed to do that? Sometimes, he kind of thinks, as much as he loves Ren, he’s kind of melted his brain, too. There’s party games Grian has them play, of course there is, but they phase in and out of Martyn’s mind. Strange, but when he’s not paying much attention, just on autopilot, he does do really, really well at them. He thinks–before, before Ren, before this whole obsession started, months and months ago, he would’ve had more fun with it. And part of him likes it, likes the fact that nothing can come close to making him feel as good as Ren makes him feel, but, he grieves the notion a touch, too, before tucking it away. And then presents, food, cake. All that. Evening falls, and Martyn and Ren are curled up together on the couch, Jimmy on their other side, talking to one of his boyfriends or another. Martyn’s got his arm hooked around Ren’s, his cheek pressed against his shoulder, feeling his warmth, the rumble of his voice as he speaks with Doc. Of course it’s Doc, but, he knows, if he acts up, Ren’ll be unhappy, might finally make good on his most threatening promise. Still nice, and Martyn feels like he’s not the best at being obsessed with his husband for this, but it is still nice to be around other people, though? Like, sure, he’d like to be the only one he’s around, all that, but this isn’t so bad, either. He doesn’t even feel that jealous right now, and, and, sometimes, it does feel good to be jealous, admittedly. “Hey, Ren,” False says, stepping closer to them. “Can I borrow you for a second?” “Oh, no problem!” Of course, Martyn makes to get up next, but– “Only Ren,” False clarifies, voice a touch too deliberate to be casual. Oh, shit. This type of jealousy–not so good. Because he’s not there, he can’t intercept, he doesn’t know if Ren will end up liking False more and divorce him and– “No problem,” Martyn says, lets go. They leave into another part of the house. They leave Martyn alone. Ren leaves Martyn alone. There weren’t actually any contingencies for this. What’s Martyn supposed to do? What’s he, what’s he, he’s by himself. What is he? There’s still traces of Ren on him, though. His cock, kept safe in its little cage, because Ren knows that’s what’s best for him. Spins the wedding band on his finger over and over. Swallows, feels his collar bob with his throat. Clenches around his plug. Maybe–distraction, against this wave of anxiety. They did end up getting a wedding photoshoot, because Martyn wants evidence of their love, wants to replace all his mom’s shitty decor, whatever traces of her memory is still left in Martyn’s, in Martyn’s home, with real love. And Martyn’s favorite pictures of the two of them are his lockscreen and homescreen backgrounds, now. Stares at those for a little while, pretends to move his thumbs so it looks like he’s doing something or another on his phone. What if someone notices, though? Maybe Martyn should tap on something else. Thing is, though, he kind of stopped having social media, to be honest. Flips through Reddit because he’s not sure what else to do. Looks at animals. At the beginning, Martyn wasn’t sure if he could handle a pet taking up Ren’s attention, but he’s getting better with that. Since, like, they have to go to work, stuff like that. Maybe it’s a little like exposure therapy, making Martyn more secure again. Because he has all these signs that Ren loves him, that he won’t leave him. Maybe it’d be alright–in a year or two, he means, sure as hell not right away–if there was something else in their home, having Ren’s eyes on it, instead of Martyn. Weird, what it’s like to actually get what he wants in life. He thinks Ren wants him to be more stable, at least. In the beginning, when Ren would leave him to go to work, Martyn felt like Ren carved him out, all of Martyn’s insides, scraped him clean, took it with him, and Martyn would spend all day curled up in bed, shaking, until it came time for Ren to come home, and Martyn would run and meet him at the door and he wouldn’t even care about how pathetic he looked doing that. Like, Ren’s also–he’s also weird and stuff, deeply infatuated with Martyn’s smell and Martyn loves him for it, but, somehow, between the two of them, he’s become the more normal-functioning one. At least, he feels like it. Feels more reliable. (To be honest, Martyn wouldn’t rely on himself for anything except having mental issues.) “Hey, Martyn,” someone–oh, Cleo–greets, knocking him out of his thoughts. Hopefully the spiral. “Haven’t had a chance to catch up in a while.” Through this whole thing, Martyn honestly thought he’d have to pretend a lot more to like people, but he doesn’t. He’s genuinely at least a little bit cheerful when he responds, “Heya. Things goin’ well with ya?” The conversation flows from there, up until– “Mm-hm, yeah–oh, where’s Ren, by the way? I thought you two were, like, connected at the hip.” A punch of anxiety hits him again. He was sufficiently distracted for a moment, but, now, he just can’t stop thinking about the possibilities again, all the awful things that could be happening to Ren. “False took him.” “Oh, I see,” Cleo muses. “Ever since you two got married, I don’t think I’ve seen you guys separated. Little weird, I suppose.” “Little weird,” Martyn echoes. His hands are starting to tremble. This isn’t–this isn’t good. He has to stay composed, fuck. He squirms to feel the plug and that doesn’t help. Wants to wrap his arms around himself, but that’s too obvious of a tell. Something about his demeanor still piques Cleo’s concern. “You okay?” they ask. “Just fine.” Everyone thinks him and Ren are weird, but they don’t know how, codependent or whatever, they are. Codependency’s not actually that bad, but, for some reason, Martyn doesn’t think he could convince them. It just means Martyn loves Ren more than anybody else possibly could. Doesn’t stop his lungs from ceasing function, making Martyn focus on them, only them, to keep breathing for a few minutes. Cleo’s still not convinced, though. “Let’s get you some fresh air real quick.” But that means going away from Ren. Further away. But–social functions. Being normal. But Martyn can’t handle being even further away, where he doesn’t know what’s going on– “No,” Martyn mumbles. “Ren–he told me to stay here.” “He’s not your keeper, is he?” Cleo asks. Meant to be sarcastic, but he kind of is. Keeps Martyn–together. Whole enough. But he can’t say anything. He’s trapped. If he doesn’t act normal enough, Ren told him, that first week– Whatever weird standoff Martyn’s having with them makes Doc turn his head, too. “What’s going on?” “I don’t actually know,” Cleo responds. “What is going on between the two of you, Martyn?” There’s evidence that they’re normal. Martyn’s able to be without Ren for the entirety of a shift of work, plus transit times. Not much more than that, and Martyn doesn’t know what else is normal, and he knows if he brings it up, everything will seem more suspicious. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know– A hand around his arm, tugging him up, and Martyn doesn’t have a choice, even though he’s supposed to stay, that’s always what Ren tells him, too, and Martyn likes staying and being good and then he’s outside. Outside, in the thick August air, humidity clogging up his throat just as much as the tears do. “Martyn, hey,” Cleo asks, voice less insistent, more caring. Or something. “Is he–threatening you or something?” “No. He’s been really good to me.” A soft clearing of the throat; why does Doc have to be here, too? For, what, an intervention? “I know he’s our friend, too, but if you don’t feel safe with him–” “I don’t feel safe without him,” Martyn spills, and then realizes he really, really shouldn’t’ve. Doesn’t know how to recover the situation. He can’t even stop crying, why can’t he ever stop crying? A pause. Doc again. “I know you two are close, but, uh…” “That’s kind of, you know. Concerning,” Cleo adds. He wants to leave. Wants to grab Ren and leave, and he doesn’t even care if Ren makes good on that threat to shove him in a closet and lock the door anymore, he just, he needs Ren, he needs Ren, he needs him– “It’s not that bad,” Martyn tries. That’s what he’ll tell Ren later, because it’s the truth. He tried. He’s choking on the thick air and he’s still trying. Looks up at them, and he must look awful, because their faces soften. Doc seems completely lost, but Cleo goes, “Hey, now, let’s do some deep breaths, okay?” A while back, Ren and him decided on a story. In case Martyn did get–weird. In front of somebody else. “M-my mom died, and, and Ren was there, we just–he’s really there for me, he–” Dead, or otherwise absent, parents are kind of the nuclear option in conversation. “I’m, I’m glad he is,” Cleo says. Got to be thinking to herself, ‘this is what I get for trying to be a good person’ right about now, and Martyn feels guilty. Even though he kind of had to. “Doc–you think we should–” “I’ll grab Ren,” he says, makes to scuttle off. “Don’t wanna ruin Grian’s birthday party,” Martyn says, voice a little too pleading. “Please–” Cleo takes his shaking hands. Rubs her thumbs over his half-numb knuckles, and Martyn does feel just the littlest bit less bad. “You aren’t, don’t worry,” they soothe. “It’s understandable, but you aren’t.” They stand there for another minute, and then Cleo sits them down on the painted porch swing. Keeps by his side, and it’s nice, except the guilt gets even worse. “I’m sorry,” Martyn says. “You’re fine.” “I’m really sorry you got stuck with this,” and it’s familiar to how Martyn apologizes to Ren when he’s asleep, when Martyn’s feeling too awful to wake him up. “I’m really, really sorry–” “It’s alright, you’re good,” they say. “You’re good. Breathe. You’re doing good.” Martyn swallows, hard. Feels the collar again. Ren’s going to hate him for this one. More tears leak out, and Cleo doesn’t comment on them. The screen door opens, and–and suddenly, Ren’s here, he’s here, his arms around Martyn, his hair dangling down, his smell and his skin and the strength under them and his warmth– Doesn’t miss how Cleo hisses at Ren, “We need to have a talk later,” though, and the guilt gets even worse. “We will,” Ren rumbles, his hand brushing through Martyn’s hair. And then, directed at Martyn, “I think everybody else is getting ready to head out. Told Grian we were out the door.” “Okay, good.” He’s kind of dreading the ride back home, though. Reminds him of being a kid, stuck in a little box with people who despised his existence, waiting to get yelled at. Ren helps him in, and he’s so caring, and it’s the worst feeling, this dread–like Ren’s fake, all of a sudden, like he got replaced with someone else when False took him away and then he’s just waiting until he has Martyn sequestered to be cruel. But Martyn still looks to him. Silence, as Ren pulls out, and Martyn doesn’t mind folding in on himself. Compress himself further and further away. He wishes, so bad, he never mentioned his mom, he wishes he never had one, never went back, he doesn’t–he doesn’t– “Baby, you smell terrified,” Ren says. “You look it. Did someone say something?” “They think you hurt me.” Martyn’s fingers make creases in his jeans that stay when he uncurls them, lays them gentle on his thighs, even though he wants to dig his nails in until he can pull his sinews free from the rest of him. “That’s what’s up with Cleo. Doc.” A deep sigh. “I see.” Is he–he might actually. Might hurt Martyn. And he’d deserve it, fuck, he’d deserve it. “I went the nuclear option. Told them that you were very good to me after my mom died, and we got really close. I tried–I tried my best. I, I just–I don’t–I, I, I, I’m so, I’m so sorry,” and then Martyn starts crying again, more broken sobs than tears. “You’re fine. Love. Hey. It’s fine. Sometimes, people get a little insistent. We’ll set them straight.” Ren’s hand squeezes Martyn’s thigh, and Martyn can feel himself decompress. “It’ll be all good.” They’re fine? Ren’s not–he’s fine with him? Martyn’s next sob is one of relief. Feels the tension unwind. Right. Right. Ren’s not going to–he’s fine. So silly, for ever doubting. Stupid. Whatever. Home, soon enough, and Ren’s arm is around his shoulder, guiding him to shower, clean up, bed. [[He tries to close his eyes, regardless, get some rest.]]

After that, it does take a few months to settle in, fully, him and Ren. Lots of stuff happens: <ul> <li>Martyn gets his mom’s crap shoveled out, through a combination of online auction houses, donating, and, finally, just throwing a lot of it away, unfortunately.</li> <li>Ren’s name gets put on the lease.</li> <li>They get married pretty much as soon as they can (makes no sense not to, tax breaks and what happens if one of them dies and Martyn, obviously, isn’t exactly looking to let anything except death take Ren away from him, and Ren told him he feels the same); Joe Hills, of whom is, for some reason, ordained, acts as their preacher at the courthouse; Cleo, serving as their witness, laughing behind their hand at how clingy they are over each other.</li> <li>They get another, matching collar for Martyn, because, no matter which way it’s sliced, Martyn belongs to Ren as much as Ren belongs to him, and it helps him remember that, steadies him when they’re apart.</li> <li>Martyn finds out that he doesn’t fall in love once. Feels like it happens every day, every time he sees Ren and he smiles at him, brushes his bangs back when he leans in for a kiss, when they eat together and Ren’s so happy with what he’s cooked, watching a show and Martyn’s watching Ren more than anything else, when Martyn’s–sometimes it’s fucking, and, sometimes, it’s making love, and sometimes it’s hardly even sexual at all–but when they’re together and entwined, one way or another, and they pause and look at each other and Martyn can’t help but feel it over again. His heart flipping, slamming, it feels, against his torso, and he gets dizzy, and, and, and, he’s in love all over again.</li> </ul> Their friends, too, take the news kind of like how they reacted when Martyn told them he wasn’t cis or straight. ‘Wait, I thought this was a thing a long time ago, what do you mean it’s a recent development?’ type-deal. Which, like, Martyn gets it. They did look at an awful lot of porn together. And sex toys. The frequent cuddling. The one game of ‘seven minutes in heaven’ where Jimmy laughed and subbed in Martyn to get in the closet with Ren–yeah. Yeah. Not quite all good there, though. Martyn doesn’t mind a few people with Ren and him, but, more than that? Gets a little overwhelming. Which is why he’s been dreading Grian’s birthday party. Which, the guy loves events; Martyn thinks that the biggest present anyone can give him is showing up, and he gets his birthday wish in droves. The objective, therefore, is simple: don’t ruin a man’s birthday party. Martyn’s pretty sure he can manage it. In the car, Ren driving because of their ‘driver choosing the music’ rule, and Martyn doesn’t mind Tool and he very much doesn’t mind giving himself a half hour to watch Ren drive, the flex of his free fingers on the wheel. The way his throat swallows before he starts talking. “So, like, I think there’ll be a lot of people who don’t know, like… us?” Ren begins, a little tentative. “‘Kay,” Martyn says. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be sick of watching Ren. “So–you know. Uh. Let’s maybe try to act like a normal couple? I know we’re not, but–” “Okay, sounds good.” Martyn pauses. “How do you do that?” Ren sucks in a breath. “I think we can sit next to each other. I’m pretty sure about that.” “Me, too. That sounds about right.” “I don’t think lapsitting is generally allowed?” Oh, this is going to be hell. But Ren’s got a point; so they don’t appear too weird. “Yeah, okay.” “No making out, either.” Martyn sighs. Shifts in his seat, ass clenching around the plug inside, and then relaxing again. Something else that’s helped him a lot to steady him again, when those demanding thoughts, impulses, try to take hold. Like, he doesn’t need to put another claim on him, he’s fine. Everything’s already accounted for. “Alright.” “Groping is definitely a no-no.” How could things get any worse? “Got it.” “And, look… I know you’re obsessed with me, very possessive, all that. I like it. Wanna make sure you know that.” Uh oh. “But…” “For goodness sake, man, you can’t be frickin’ hissing at people who hug me! I heard that.” Shit! Makes sense Ren would know, he supposes. “Yes.” “But, seriously… Just, uh. Y’know. Like.” Ren sighs. “Let’s just play it casually. ‘N I’ll be extra good for ya tonight, baby, I promise.” The promise makes Martyn shiver, his mind wandering a little. But, first–their friends. “Yup. That sounds–yeah.” They reach Grian’s place, go in, get acquainted with what’s going on, all that. Martyn’s fingers keep wanting to tangle in Ren’s, but is he allowed to do that? Sometimes, he kind of thinks, as much as he loves Ren, he’s kind of melted his brain, too. There’s party games Grian has them play, of course there is, but they phase in and out of Martyn’s mind. Strange, but when he’s not paying much attention, just on autopilot, he does do really, really well at them. He thinks–before, before Ren, before this whole obsession started, months and months ago, he would’ve had more fun with it. And part of him likes it, likes the fact that nothing can come close to making him feel as good as Ren makes him feel, but, he grieves the notion a touch, too, before tucking it away. And then presents, food, cake. All that. Evening falls, and Martyn and Ren are curled up together on the couch, Jimmy on their other side, talking to one of his boyfriends or another. Martyn’s got his arm hooked around Ren’s, his cheek pressed against his shoulder, feeling his warmth, the rumble of his voice as he speaks with Doc. Of course it’s Doc, but Martyn’ll stake his displeasure at home. Still nice, and Martyn feels like he’s not the best at being obsessed with his husband for this, but it is still nice to be around other people, though? Like, sure, he’d like to be the only one he’s around, all that, but this isn’t so bad, either. He doesn’t even feel that jealous right now, and, and, sometimes, it does feel good to be jealous, admittedly. “Hey, Ren,” False says, stepping closer to them. “Can I borrow you for a second?” “Oh, no problem!” Of course, Martyn makes to get up next, but– “Only Ren,” False clarifies, voice a touch too deliberate to be casual. Oh, shit. This type of jealousy–not so good. Because he’s not there, he can’t intercept, he doesn’t know if Ren will end up liking False more and divorce him and– “No problem,” Martyn says, lets go. They leave into another part of the house. They leave Martyn alone. Ren leaves Martyn alone. There weren’t actually any contingencies for this. What’s Martyn supposed to do? What’s he, what’s he, he’s by himself. What is he? There’s still traces of Ren on him, though. Spins the wedding band on his finger over and over. Swallows, feels his collar bob with his throat. Clenches around his plug. Maybe–distraction, against this wave of anxiety. They did end up getting a wedding photoshoot, because Martyn wants evidence of their love, wants to replace all his mom’s shitty decor, whatever traces of her memory is still left in Martyn’s, in Martyn’s home, with real love. And Martyn’s favorite pictures of the two of them are his lockscreen and homescreen backgrounds, now. Stares at those for a little while, pretends to move his thumbs so it looks like he’s doing something or another on his phone. What if someone notices, though? Maybe Martyn should tap on something else. Thing is, though, he kind of stopped having social media, to be honest. Flips through Reddit because he’s not sure what else to do. Looks at animals. At the beginning, Martyn wasn’t sure if he could handle a pet taking up Ren’s attention, but he’s getting better with that. Since, like, they have to go to work, stuff like that. Maybe it’s a little like exposure therapy, making Martyn more secure again. Because he has all these signs that Ren loves him, that he won’t leave him. Maybe it’d be alright–in a year or two, he means, sure as hell not right away–if there was something else in their home, having Ren’s eyes on it, instead of Martyn. Weird, what it’s like to actually get what he wants in life. He thinks Ren wants him to be more stable, at least. Like, Ren’s also–he’s also weird and stuff, deeply infatuated with Martyn’s smell and Martyn loves him for it, but, somehow, between the two of them, he’s become the more normal-functioning one. At least, he feels like it. Feels more reliable. (To be honest, Martyn wouldn’t rely on himself for anything except having mental issues.) “Hey, Martyn,” someone–oh, Cleo–greets, knocking him out of his thoughts. Hopefully the spiral. “Haven’t had a chance to catch up in a while.” Through this whole thing, Martyn honestly thought he’d have to pretend a lot more to like people, but he doesn’t. He’s genuinely at least a little bit cheerful when he responds, “Heya. Things goin’ well with ya?” The conversation flows from there, up until– “Mm-hm, yeah–oh, where’s Ren, by the way? I thought you two were, like, connected at the hip.” A punch of anxiety hits him again. He was sufficiently distracted for a moment, but now, he just can’t stop thinking about the possibilities again, all the awful things that could be happening to Ren. “He got–he got stolen away, haha. False mentioned she wanted a word.” “Oh, I see,” Cleo muses. “Ever since you two got married, I don’t think I’ve seen you guys separated. Little weird, I suppose.” “Little weird,” Martyn echoes. His hands are starting to tremble. This isn’t–this isn’t good. He has to stay composed, fuck. He squirms to feel the plug and that doesn’t help. Wants to wrap his arms around himself, but that’s too obvious of a tell. Something about his demeanor still piques Cleo’s concern. “You okay?” they ask. “Just fine.” Everyone thinks him and Ren are weird, but they don’t know how, codependent or whatever they are. Codependency’s not actually that bad, but, for some reason, Martyn doesn’t think he could convince them. It just means Martyn loves Ren more than anybody else possibly could. Doesn’t stop his lungs from ceasing function, making Martyn focus on them, only them, to keep breathing for a few moments. Cleo’s still not convinced, though. “Let’s get you some fresh air real quick.” But that means going away from Ren. Further away. But–social functions. Being normal. But Martyn can’t handle being even further away, where he doesn’t know what’s going on– He manages to pull himself together enough, though. “Yeah, sounds good,” Martyn mumbles, follows her outside, his legs quaking with every step. Just the two of them outside. The sky’s streaked with indigo, the sun gone, but the cicadas buzz, crickets chirp their symphony, the frogs carry their racket. They’re louder at home, of course, but. Still familiar. “You seemed a bit stressed,” Cleo says. Martyn sits down on Grian’s porch swing, leaves enough room for Cleo. “A bit.” A soft sigh. “You and Ren are kind of similar… hard to get a hold of, when you don’t want to be. But I wanted to ask you, ever since the wedding–before then, but. Anyway. Are you alright?” “A, a bit stressed, yeah,” Martyn says. “Not as bad as it used to be.” Used to be, he’d go to work, and something would happen–someone would say something, a song on the radio, anything along those lines–and Martyn would get freaked out. Like, something else in his head, and the only thing it wants is to make Martyn suffer, and it’s figured out the easiest way is to talk about Ren. Lowest hanging fruit is, of course, ‘Ren found someone better, he doesn’t love you anymore’, stuff like that. “Yeah. I know there were some… things. That happened.” Probably talking about Martyn’s mom. People tend to dance around the subject a lot. They just don’t know how to broach it without upsetting Martyn, which is nice. “Yeah. They did. Um, Ren, he… he helped me a lot. Helps, still. Really, really does.” Nods. “I’m very happy for you,” Cleo says. “Ren’s such a great guy.” She gets it! She does! “Mm-hm. I’m–I’m, like, so, so lucky…” A little bit of silence. “...I’m worried I’m not where he expects me to be,” Martyn says. “He can smell you, I’m sure. He probably knows exactly where you are.” The words come as a surprising relief. Martyn’s not sure how they do it. Another soft sigh. “But, like… Martyn, you know–I’m always here for you. So many people are.” Oh, god. Friendship talk. It winds this coiling feeling of undeservingness, into– Guilt. Martyn’s so, so guilty. Fuck, they want an answer. “I appreciate it,” Martyn says. Unimpressed: “Seriously.” At least Martyn’s not crying, though. Just barely keeping a hold on himself. Not–not ruining anything. She drums her fingers on the painted porch swing, in this garish yellow color that Grian picked out. “You and Ren have, kind of… Sequestered yourselves. It’s also, you know, a bit concerning.” “A little codependency never hurt anyone,” Martyn says. “Why are you so tense, then? I saw the look on your face across the room when False grabbed Ren. That’s not healthy.” Oh, fuck. Martyn shifts forward a touch, anxiety waning in favor of something else. “I don’t see why it matters at all,” he says. “Because you’re my friend, both of you are. If you get stressed when he’s not in the same room as you–that’s not healthy.” Okay, how to circumvent this, or something. Should he pull the dead mom card? It’s kind of, like, the nuclear option, though. “We’re working on it,” Martyn seethes. “It’s just–been hard. That’s all.” They start to push the porch swing back and forth, the creaking gentle. Martyn actually helped set it up, with Joel and Jimmy and Grian. He was, of course, the only one to actually read the instruction manual. He’s positive they would’ve had a fourth of the screws provided left over if he weren’t there. “Right, yeah,” Cleo says. Drops it, thank God. Wait, he got mad, didn’t he? He–Cleo doesn’t deserve that. Damnit. And then the guilt settles back in. “...I’m sorry,” Martyn murmurs. “People grieve in weird ways,” Cleo says, and it sounds like an echo. Not too long after that, Ren comes outside, and he’s got to be so obvious but nobody catches him out on it. Rushes over to Martyn, practically, and he must smell the sweat or the held-back tears or, or any of it, because he bends over, asks in a whisper, “You alright?” “Later.” They have a lot of things to sort out later, still. People being weird about them; the only person allowed to be weird for Ren is Martyn, after all. Ren gets up, then, and Cleo’s, she’s more than a little suspicious, Martyn can feel it, but she’s backing off. “Seems like everyone’s starting to say their goodbyes,” he says. “You wanna, ‘n then we head off?” They do. Grian’s grateful, it seems, clutches Martyn close for a long while; oh, right. First time he’s seen him in months. There’s always give or take in life, Martyn knows that, but it feels like, no matter what he does, who he chooses to see and be around, he’s guilty beyond measure that he didn’t take another option, instead. Taking a different choice, a different route, even though he knows it’s all blue in the end. Same destination. In the car, headed back. Ren’s eyes seem to linger on him more than the road; titillating. Not particularly safe. “They do think we’re a bit, uh, codependent,” Martyn says. “Which isn’t–” “It’s not even that bad!” Martyn sighs, more in relief than anything else. Always wants to make sure Ren’s okay. He always does. Make sure Ren’s okay with everything, okay with him, because–because Martyn doesn’t think he could take it, otherwise. “Exactly!” “Just because, like, I can barely be without you for six hours, tops–” “–Oh, yeah, like, tops–” “Like, you get that way sometimes,” Ren continues. “Everybody does, man!” He nods. “Yeah. They’re kind of, I dunno, projecting a bit, is what I personally think.” “I think it’s more jealousy,” Ren wonders out loud. Interesting. “Over what? Just the relationship, or, like–” “Jealous of me.” He has no idea where Ren is going with this. “Okay…” “Jealous of me, how amazing it is to have a husband like you–” Fuck, Martyn’s kind of easy, the heat hitting his head, making him dizzy, “How devoted you are, your, your fuckin’, thighs, how you look suckin’ my cock, ‘n then you’re so sweet to me afterwards.” Martyn’s coiled in on himself a little from the praise, the way it slams against the inner walls of his skull like a rubber bullet. Wants to grab it and hold it in his hands to secure that warmth against his palms, but he can’t, it’s too overwhelming, his cock twitching from it. A hand on his thigh. “Baby, you’re gettin’ all horny from me saying a few words?” “Yes. Because–you know! You’re the same way!” Because neither of them have really heard that much kindness, genuine kindness. Sends both of them reeling a bit, when it’s a lot, when they weren’t expecting it. Ren laughs. “I’m exhausted after tonight, ‘n I think you are, too… Wanna do something about it tomorrow, though?” “Yeah. Definitely.” The rest of the ride is spent listening to Ren’s music. And then, home, soon enough. Ren’s arm is around his waist; they shower, clean up, bed. It’s certainly been a long day. Ren settles behind him. [[He tries to close his eyes, regardless, get some rest.]]

But, even after Ren falls asleep, snoring behind him, Martyn, he just, he can't rest. Feels worse than a full-body ache, he's, he's– The problem–okay, it's him, it's always him. He's always the problem. But, too, he, he– It's so stupid. That's why he doesn't wake up Ren. That's why he doesn't talk about, sequesters the awful feeling down, down. But he misses his mom. He does. She–she fucked him up, she made him like this, Martyn bailed for a reason and then, even then, he still fucking missed her, and when they de-estranged themselves Martyn still missed her even when she hugged him, and, and, he, he knows the truth, that he never really had one in the first place, but, it still. It still. Those tears spill down his face, and Martyn wonders if Ren would be upset about them. If he'd be upset that Martyn was crying, or if he'd be upset that he didn't wake him up, but Martyn doesn't want to explain this. It's embarrassing, more than anything else. First, he tells him that their relationship wasn't that great, and then he says he still finds himself wanting it anyway? That's–stupid. The whole thing is. Kind of his fault, anyway, the whole thing. Kind of–it doesn't matter. Really, really doesn't. Ends up sitting up, watching Ren sleep in the dim light. His chest rising and falling. His snores fade away into regular, slow breaths. Looks so serene; Martyn can't imagine things in general, and he certainly can't see himself like that, without something tense, something stressed pulling his body taut. This is a bit of a defiance of natural order, believe it or not. Martyn not telling Ren about this. He thinks he's supposed to. Thinks it'd be for the better if he didn't. The comfort, it'd be nice, so nice, Ren's warm arms around him, telling him it's alright, that it's part of grieving, except– Martyn shouldn't still be grieving. Why would he, why, somebody like that– He doesn't deserve it, in truth. It's been months since she. It's been years since Martyn initially went no contact with her. And he's been stuck with her presence inside him for a lifetime. He should really be used to it all by now. Should be over it already. Kind of a failing on his part, that he isn't. Ren shouldn't have to be subjected to all this. But he still. He still. Can't sleep. Keeps staring at Ren, and he loathes, loathes, loathes, how it doesn't fix him like it should.