Chapter 1: Oscar Vessalius - Behind Closed Doors
Oz Vessalius had heard the door creak open, but paid it no mind. He stayed still in his bedside chair, apathetically turning the pages of a book in his hands. It seemed as if he was reading blank words, or if the pages themselves were nothing but pure white.
The smell of booze reached his nose slowly but surely, and his emerald gaze tore itself from hazy concentration—although it could barely be called that, as he wasn’t absorbing any of the words that his eyes passed over. Oz set down the book on the nearby nightstand, the comforting silence of his room being broken by the commotion from the hall as a figure he recognized as his uncle’s stepped inside.
“Oz!” His uncle, Oscar Vessalius, roared with laughter and Oz couldn’t help but wince at his volume. “What’re you doing holed up inside here? Waiting for me to come and find you, huh?” With words slurring and stench overwhelming, it was clear that the booze had stuck to the air around Oscar. It took much just for Oz not to scrunch his nose in discomfort.
“Uncle, you’ve gone and gotten yourself wasted,” the smaller blond noted, keeping his voice steady and calm as he rose from his velvet seat. Carefully, placing his hand on the inside of Oscar’s arm, Oz attempted to pull him along. “You’re bound to get yourself hurt wandering around. I can’t believe I have to take care of you like this.”
The closer he got to Oscar, the more the smell of alcohol flooded into his nostrils. It was such a strong, unpleasant smell that Oz figured he could get himself drunk off that alone.
“Don’t be a killjoy!” The man pried Oz’s hand from his arm, instead holding it tight at the wrist. He paused for a moment to examine his nephew, emitting a low chuckle after his eyes scanned up and down his body once. “You look so much like a girl sometimes, Oz.”
The comment sent a shiver up the boy’s spine; it wasn’t what he had said, but rather how he had said it. Oz has seen Oscar drunk before and he was just as loud and boisterous as normal, but those words did not belong to his uncle. They sounded dark and malicious.
“What? Uncle, please, you need to lie down.” He tugged at the grip Oscar held on his hand, though it was as if his hand was trapped in hardened cement. He wasn’t budging.
Panic set in, painfully so. His uncle had gone almost completely silent now aside from the heaving breaths he took, and his movements were slow as he now grabbed the other wrist that was peeling back his larger fingers from Oz’s pale skin. With the distorted look Oscar had, Oz realized just how much he looked like his father.
Oz felt his stomach churn as a dryness crept through his throat. “U-Uncle?” He could barely even speak now, the single word causing a tickle in his mouth. For a moment, he felt like vomiting.
It passed, though, possibly too quickly.
Oscar said nothing else as he steadied the shaking wrists he held and leaned closer, peering at Oz’s face with an emotion the boy couldn’t place. It wasn’t until he was knocked back onto his own bed that he felt the wetness growing over his eyes; this wasn’t Oscar, he knew that, but the strength difference between the two was the same as ever.
The formerly welcoming and comfortable bed felt like it was swallowing him now. Oz gasped a breath from the impact, using it to scream a broken “Gi—“ before Oscar’s large, calloused hand pressed over his mouth.
His uncle silenced him in a hush and spent a moment gazing at the boy’s fear-ridden features. It was soft, almost inaudible, but Oz caught the “you look so much like her” that tumbled out of Oscar’s mouth.
Now, popping off the buttons to Oz’s dark green blazer, it seemed that Oscar had lost it. The boy could tell that his uncle no longer thought of him as just Oz, his nephew, but now he morphed into something he lost long ago: a reflection of his deceased wife.
Muffled shouts of protest slipped through the gaps of his uncle’s fingers, but Oscar only pressed down harder on his mouth. It hurt. A numbing sort of pain swelled in his jaw from the screaming and pressure against it and soon enough there were streams of glossy tears sliding down his cheeks.
Oz’s twitchy limbs still struggled to fight back against the push of Oscar’s body weighted down onto his own, but his childish strength was nothing to that of a grown man. Even so, with all the pushing and screaming he could barely bring himself to move his arms when his uncle began to undo his undercoat.
And then Oscar pulled the openings over his shoulders. The clothing draped over him lazily, and Oz finally let his arms fall to his sides. He was tired, so tired. Both physical and emotional strength had been sapped from him as his drained gaze watched the man move his hands closer to his heaving chest.
The cold air nipped at his skin first, but Oscar was close behind. His lips were chapped, and Oz could feel the roughish texture against his collarbone first, the strange drag of teeth pulling out a grunt from his throat. A murmur of his uncle’s name followed, small tears still prickling in the corners of his eyes. The flowing had stopped now, but a spike of pleasure to his chest spilled them over once again.
Oscar’s warm hand had slid up along with his head, but focused lower, and began to toy with the newly-aroused buds on Oz’s chest. Tingles of a sensation unknown to the boy surrounded his chest and caught in his throat as a moan hitched on the way out and came as choked. His uncle began trailing soft kisses up his neck, the tickling of movement sending a small shiver down Oz’s spine that dragged another low groan from his lips.
Oscar captured the smaller, parted lips against his own in a rough, desperate kiss. He forced his tongue in on another larger gasp caused by a jarring pinch to Oz’s nipple.
The sharp taste of alcohol flooded into Oz’s mouth, willing his mental escape more than before, and soon through the blurred glaze of tears, Oscar was no longer there in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, the reality of the situation flooding away from his senses, and fully accepted his own replacement.
Slowly, Oz reached his arms around the man that was no longer his uncle and began to kiss back against the intoxicating flavor.
He tangled his fingers in the back of Oscar’s hair—but no, it wasn’t Oscar. Shorter strands of blond locks morphed into longer, silky waves of raven-colored hair that was more familiar to the touch. Chapped lips were not such, but soft and caring like the ones he knew.
The kiss broke for both to catch a breath, and Oz’s eyes flickered open slowly, clouded with newly-found lust at his mind’s trick. The figure on top of him was foggy and hard to see, but through the distorted vision he could make out someone he knew well: Gilbert.
“Gil….” The boy’s voice was tired, the word falling off his lips between heavy, panting breaths.
Oscar’s hand slid from his nephew’s chest, now moving to free the growing arousal in both their lower halves. He removed Oz’s pants first, his own following shortly after.
The arousal was clear in both of their twitching erections, precum dripping slowly from the tips. With his legs rising up slightly to help the indistinct older man, Oz’s moist boy hole a clear indication of how little help he would need from now on.
It was easy for Oscar to slip one finger inside him, and his nephew rewarded him with a moan of someone else’s name. It didn’t bother him much, though, as he was more focused on his growing desire to please himself rather than anything about Oz anymore.
In and out; he moved his finger slowly and then picked up speed as he slid in one finger after another. Soon enough, Oz was swallowing up all four fingers. By then, the room was filled with lewd squelching and squishing sounds and various, equally lewd, noises tumbling out of the back of Oz’s throat. He might’ve thought to calm his voice had he been sober, but the boy was more or less intoxicated by the taste of alcohol mixing with jolts of pleasure when thick fingers prodded at his prostate every now and again; the feeling of his ass being stretched was definitely something new and uncomfortable (having been a virgin, and all) but the gentle waves of pleasure drowned out the discomfort easily.
Oscar’s digits slid out slowly with a small popping sound and at first all his nephew felt was the semi-rough texture of fabric against his newly-gaping bottom, but the elder wasn’t hesitant in deciding that he needed the border removed.
Of course, there was no warning when his erection pushed into the small body. Oz cried out in a cracking voice, butchering the name of a precious servant. A gasp followed, and his legs were trembling; it was only for a moment they didn’t move, the squeezing of Oz coaxing Oscar into taking his first thrust foward. The addictive pleasure washed through Oscar first, seeming to then ripple into Oz at his waist.
Oscar gripped Oz’s hips for leverage, hitting deeper with each thrust. He was barely focusing, instead twisting and tugging at his nephew like some toy. Unbothered, or rather too out of it to care, a string of moans shot from Oz’s lips and his hands fell back to grip at the sheets of the bed behind him.
“I-I love you, I love you…!” He began abruptly, cutting through another gasp. Body shuddering, his abdomen was churning with heat. His head was spinning, the approaching orgasm driving him to dig his fingers further into the bed. “G-Gil, Gil—!”
Crying out for the second time, Oz felt a buzz of static pass over him with the immense pleasure that followed. He dropped his limbs, the grunting of his uncle above fading with the exhaustion that began to set into his muscles.
Finishing with a twitchy push to Oz’s hips, Oscar was more than charitable in the load he filled his nephew with. There he paused, panting and catching his breath from the high, and then simply pulled away without a word.
And it was over.
He pulled out, letting the cum drip naturally from Oz, and slid his clothes back on as if nothing had happened. Perhaps he was sobering up, or maybe he just was still too drunk to bat an eye at the situation.
Either way, Oz remained asleep as the door opened and all the same, closed once more.
Chapter 2: Xerxes Break - Lovesick
This story takes place after the events of the last chapter.
Oz awoke to pain in multiple sections of his body; his eyes made little time to adjust to the darkness of the room when they snapped open.
Sitting up, he found the pain first spike in his head and tailbone, soon ripping outward to his rear and thighs and pushing a groan out of his throat.
To be completely frank, Oz had no idea where he was or what had happened. He shifted his gaze around the room, ultimately coming to the conclusion that he had been left in a sort of nursing room that was similar to a hospital room, but less efficient.
He wasn’t given much longer to make sense of his surroundings, though, when he felt his stomach churn and force up whatever food he had left in there; Oz clamped his hands over his mouth, but to no avail when the putrid liquid spilled through the gaps in his fingers anyway.
He felt like crying.
Hands shaking, he pulled them away from his mouth and let the rest of his throw-up drip down onto his clothes—which now that he realized, weren’t his at all. Just a plain white nightgown, probably had been thrown on him in a hurry without much thought, and he had already soiled it’s pure color into a horrid green-brown mixture.
Now tears had begun to slide down his pale cheeks, and through the soft and stinging sobs, his ears picked up the quiet clack of the door being opened.
Wiping away the wetness from his eyes, Oz turned his gaze upwards towards the unlucky being who had to see him in such a disgusting state.
“Oh my…. Poor little Oz-kun seems to have made a mess of himself!” In the doorway stood Xerxes Break, probably the worst person to have walked in on him like this, grinning smugly as if he had just won some kind of trophy.
Oz grimaced and wiped off the dripping vomit from his lips. He didn’t bother to shoot a snarky remark back, as he was far too embarrassed and discombobulated to even try. “...Is this Pandora Headquarters…?”
There was a pause, and Break’s expression twisted the slightest bit in disappointment. “Yes, it is,” he finally replied after a moment. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself into some trouble, haven’t you, Oz…?”
He sighed, waving a hand before the blond boy even had a chance to get anything out of the mouth he had dropped open in confusion. Sauntering closer, the older man upturned Oz’s face towards his with a finger to his chin. “It’s such a shame that you’ve already soiled your nightgown. Oh well,” he sang, too happily for Oz to understand, “I guess I’ll just have to rough you up a little more!”
Again, Break hadn’t given Oz a moment to process what he had just proposed before the blond had found himself pushed back against the small bed he awoke on, silver-purple bangs dangling closer to his nose than he had ever imagined or hoped they would get. The moment left staring into Break’s singular, unsettlingly-red eye had begun to feel like time had stopped altogether, but at the same time it passed so quickly. The man was smirking once more, devilishly, and his amusement with Oz’s discombobulated state made it all the easier to slide his hand underneath the nightgown.
Oz let out a small grunt—whether it was from disgust at his own vomit’s putridness coming back to bite at his nostrils or from the coldness of Break’s hands was up for debate, but the answer was most likely both. He choked out the man’s name in two pieces, gagging in between syllables.
“Something the matter, Oz? You’re having quite a hard time talking through your garments, aren’t you?” Break chirped his reply like an excited child awaiting a candy bar, and dared his hand further up Oz’s chest to give his nipples a fair share of attention.
The older man got his expected reaction and marveled at the squirming boy below him. If he hadn’t already spiked himself, Break was almost certain that he would’ve forced him to—which brought him to the thought of such. Why shouldn’t he? It would be oh-so delightful to watch Oz wretch all over himself again, so what was the harm?
And so, he let his one hand continue to pleasure the Vessalius as his other snakes upwards and plunged two fingers into his gaping mouth, which grasped at what fresh air it could whilst the stench of vomit was gone for even a second. He didn’t have much time to adjust though, as Break was having much fun sliding the backs of his fingers against what depths he could reach without potentially harming the boy—or worse.
It was only a matter of seconds before once again Oz’s gag reflex triggered a chain-reaction and his stomach churned as what little was left inside flushed outwards through his throat and almost choked him as it reached his mouth. Break removed his hand quickly (but not quick enough) to let Oz turn his head to cough and hack out all the foreign liquid.
The man chuckled at Oz’s poor state once again, his sickly look only fueling Break’s fun, and pulled his hand up to his mouth. “Now, now, Oz, it isn’t nice to dirty other’s like this! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to clean up after you!” Grinning wider than a human ever could, he did possibly the worst thing Oz had ever laid eyes on (which was a lot, given what he’s seen only in the past few months he’s returned from the abyss): Break began to clean the bile-mixed throw-up off of his hand with his own tongue.
It was a miracle that Oz didn’t puke again from the sight, but he didn’t seem to have much left in him anyway. Besides, his body was busy shuddering from the burning in his throat mixed with the cold air of the room and the spikes of pleasure on his chest. “G-gross…!” He spat out, coughing once again.
“Oho, how rude, Oz.” Break finished up working on his hand and then decided to wipe the excess saliva onto the blond boy’s stomach; another shudder. If he didn’t already feel dirty enough, that was the cherry on top. “I never thought you could be so utterly enticing, but here you are...soiled and miserable. I’m going to have lots of fun with you, I promise.” His tone of voice stayed the same, but there was something like malice behind his words. Even bringing his hands up, Oz was too weak to push back; he was sick and shaking so much that even his breathing had begun to change.
Break knew this—after all, he had come to check up on the Vessalius. The state he was in was fragile—quite the perfect time to take advantage of him! He left the foreplay to Oz’s nipples, and strayed his hands down to now tug off his boxers in one swift motion, leaving the Vessalius shamefully open to him. With another chuckle and quiet teasing, Break wrapped his long fingers around the base and began to stroke the boy, watching him begin to squirm once more with every movement. “Now, isn’t this just so fun, Oz?”
Oz grumbled through a groan, his voice still a bit hoarse from the earlier retchings. “S-shut up,” he sputtered out, body tensing up at another quick jerk of Break’s hand on his growing erection. He seemed to be pressing back further against the hard mattress with every passing second, but none of the pain was reaching him—all he could feel was the tingling pleasure in his abdomen.
It was then that Break decided to slide down his own pants, watching Oz’s blurred gaze. He chuckled once more. “Excited?” He teased, squeezing a portion of Oz’s ass in his hand; the action caused the blond to flinch and grunt again. “I’m sure you can’t wait to be messed up more and more, isn’t that right, Oz?”
Oz was about to refute his words, but Break didn’t give him the chance—he seemed to be doing that quite a lot as of late. Instead, he tugged down his underwear enough to let his cock slide out and between Oz’s legs.
“Now, we can’t have fun when I’m like this. You get it, don’t you?” Smiling ever-so-innocently, Break began to grind his hips forward, pressing his dick against Oz’s. Every movement caused more heat to pool around the boy’s lower half, and he wondered (barely) just how long he could hold himself from climaxing right there. He doubted Break would stop if he did, though. The sick bastard looked like he was only getting started.
And he was; Break made sure to rub, stroke, and grind against Oz until they were both throbbing and basically begging to cum together. Still, he wasn’t ready to finish yet. He then pulled up Oz’s leg and shoved his fingers into the boy’s mouth with one simple command: “Lick, naughty boy.”
Doing as he was told, Oz swirled his tongue around the long digits in his mouth and coated them graciously in saliva. It only took a few seconds before the man removed his fingers and promptly pushed one inside Oz’s lower half instead.
The action was greeted with a yelp and moan to follow, but Break didn’t stop. It only made him want to do more—to be rougher on poor, little Oz—and perhaps even ruin him altogether (more than he already was, that is). He twisted and curled around the finger that the blond was squirming around on until he was satisfied, to which Break then added another finger.
Oz found himself shaking and shuddering beneath the man, the sensation in his rear familiar but he couldn’t place how or why. Two fingers, then three. He was stretched beyond his own belief, but Break’s voice reaching his ear seemed to want to go further and test his limits. Finally, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer and released all over their stomachs for the first time.
“Oh my,” Break murmured, laughter starting up again, “you’re having quite the nice time all by yourself it seems! Now, we can’t have that.” Entertained and disappointed simultaneously by Oz’s solo-orgasm, the man dubbed him loose enough for now, and pulled back his hand, exchanging it for the fun of teasing Oz’s entrance with the head of his cock until finally pushing in abruptly. The man was extremely satisfied in earning another one of Oz’s cute yelps, but frankly could go without his muffled swearing.
The first thing Break noted was that he wasn’t as tight as he had expected the boy to be—still, it was tight enough for him to enjoy; looseness doesn’t bode well. Much like old toys, really. He’s had his range tested in the past, so he knew this well. Beginning to roll his hips forward, the man slung Oz’s legs over his shoulders. Perhaps it was out of some form of kindness, if Oz should see it that way, but the reality was that he only needed more leverage to hit deeper when he was able to speed up and thrust harder.
Oz immediately felt the consequences of sex on a bad stomach, again hurling over his palms. Three times really is the charm. His throat began to sting once again, coughing up the liquid over himself and not bothering to turn his head any longer; it started to ache, and moving would just make it worse. He could always shower later, though he already felt sticky enough without adding his vomit to the splatter of cum on himself.
Break’s thrusting was slow at first—he seemed to be gentle enough for now, the bastard—but with each jerk he was picking up speed. Oz could feel his insides churning, sputtering nonsense through his lips with each time his bottom connected to Break’s hips. He could feel his own erection twitching and throbbing, almost mimicking the gurgling of his stomach inside. It was a miracle he wasn’t spewing more with every quickening thrust, but even then it was no secret to his body that he could burst at either end in no time.
It wasn’t much of a surprise when Break began to whisper tauntingly erotic words into his ear, seeming to time them just right to each jolt of his pelvis. It devolved simply from a teasing ‘Oz-sama’ to worse names until he had settled on simply calling him a ‘good little cocksleeve’. And if he was honest, the blond didn’t quite hate it.
“Almost there,” Break murmured, trailing one hand down the small chest in front of him to land a flick of his fingers against Oz’s nipples. He gained a shudder in return, and it seemed that Oz was teetering at the edge of his own limit as well. “Why don’t you be a good boy and cum for me first, hmm? Isn’t that what adorable little cocksleeves do? I’m sure you know, don’t you?”
With a nod, the blond clearly hadn’t even processed the words Break had flowing out of his mouth; he was too focused on simply being allowed to cum that he knew it would be tremendous. He could practically feel the ecstasy pouring over him already!
“Y-yes—!” Oz gasped out, fingers grasping at Break’s shoulders for leverage as he finally reached his climax. Every section of his body was trembling with increasing amounts of pleasure—the older man had been so kind to thrust harder in his rhythm now, prolonging the feeling for Oz. He was so busy drowning himself in the twitching of his limbs and the pulsing of his groin that neither texture nor stench of his own stained body reached him. This was especially true when Break gave a grunt and began to fill his ass to the brim.
His head fell back, tongue hanging out as Oz dragged in heavy breaths down his throat; Break was immensely satisfied in ruining the boy, and pulled out without a warning, causing another small groan from Oz’s end.
“What a good boy!” Break praised, reaching down towards him to brush aside sweaty-blond locks from his squinting eyes. He carefully removed Oz’s legs from his shoulders as well, and helped the boy remove his dirty nightgown from around his neck. “I think I’ve spoiled you enough this evening, haven’t I? You should get some more rest now, my little plaything! This is our secret, alright? We’re going to have lots of fun together!”
Although he wasn’t cold, Oz nuzzled his face against the brim of the blanket Break had draped over him once more, paying no mind to its dirtiness. Break’s words hadn’t reached his ears again, but he nodded along to them anyway and shut his eyes, letting himself drift off into slumber to tame his exhaustion.