The Archives are dark when Tim enters. It’s late, and now that Jon’s gallivanting all over the world in an epic attempt to do more of Elias’s dirty work – wait, sorry, save the world – no one will be here to spot him.
Which suits him fine. The last thing he wants is anyone prying into his business. He’s had more than enough of that, thank you. Martin means well, he knows, but he’s taken to watching him like he’s going to break. He should have just waited for Jon; he might have pulled more out of him than he wanted him to know, but he wouldn’t keep looking at him all dewy eyed and concerned every five seconds – and if he did, Tim would feel a whole hell of a lot less conflicted about punching the look off of his face.
Coming late avoids Martin’s sympathetic stares and Melanie’s irritated growls; it avoids Basira’s unsettling calm and Elias’s watchful eye, and Tim is keen to do it. Easier to do the research he wants when there’s no one to bother him, and it keeps him from getting sick when he doesn’t show up to work. Work, ha. The only work they’re doing is for some sort of evil god that Tim wants nothing to do with, and if there's any chance he can thwart it in the smallest way he’ll take it. And he gets to be alone, which is really all he wants. He supposes he’ll never stop feeling like he’s being watched anymore, never be free of the sensation of eyes following his every move, but at least at night he has less chance of coming across anyone unexpectedly.
Except, apparently, tonight.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Elias says, and Tim sets the stack of statements he’d been poking through back down on the desk and turns to greet him with a sardonic lift of his brow.
“And here I am. Well done, you.”
Elias doesn’t rise to the bait, the bastard. “I seem to recall telling you that I didn’t want you involving yourself with this,” he says, and Tim laughs.
“And I told you what you’d have to do to make that happen. So is that why you’re here? Come to kill another employee who won’t dance to your tune?” He makes a show of looking around. “Go on, then. It’s quiet. Empty. No one to see when you stash my body in the tunnels.”
Elias’s mouth twitches. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he says. “Like me to fulfill your death wish. Do you really think that it would help you atone for what you let happen to your brother? Or do you just want to be free of the guilt?”
Tim grits his teeth and gives Elias a hard grin. “Reached deep for that one, did you? Peered into my very soul to pull out the horrible truth?”
“Hardly. Anyone who looks at you can see it written all over you. But then no one does bother to look, do they?” Tim flinches in spite of himself, and Elias gives him a thin smile. “No one looks, no one cares. Oh, Martin tries, but Jon is the only one who really matters to him, and Sasha…well, Sasha cared once, didn’t she? But it wasn’t so surprising when she stopped, was it? Not that you noticed.”
“Doesn’t matter. She wasn’t who you wanted to pay attention, was she? No. Of course not. But neither was he. Do you want to know the real reason you’ve always been so keen on Martin, Tim? I could tell you.”
“I’m not keen on-“
“It’s not the way he looks, or not really,” as he speaks, Elias’s voice changes slightly, taking on a familiar tone and cadence. “Sometimes when he smiles, he-but no. No. It’s the trust. He talks to me, more than the others. Trusts that I’ll keep his secrets, though why he does I’ll never know. But I will. I like it, him trusting me. It reminds me of Danny, you know, back when –“
“Stop it,” Tim says, voice shaking. He’s shaking, body trembling in sudden fear. He knows what’s coming next, what Elias is going to drag out of him into the open air, and he can’t hear it, he can’t. “Just stop-“
“-when I first realized how beautiful he was. How much I wanted his attention always. Danny never wanted for admirers and I was no exception. Sometimes I wonder if he figured it out, somehow. Knew. If that’s why he was so – why he was always doing things that kept him away. Always gallivanting where the only communication we had was over the phone. But then he’d come home and ask to stay with me, and I-“
“Please,” Tim says, voice breaking. He feels sick, lightheaded, terrified of the things Elias is saying. “Stop it. I didn’t, I-“
“But you did,” Elias says, and he’s closer, now, when did he move so close? Tim tries to back away, but his legs are locked, they won’t move, and then Elias reaches out, cups his chin in his hand and forces him to look at him and Tim forgets all about trying to get away.
“You used to torture yourself with it, wanting him. Used to imagine what it would be like if he felt the same,” Elias says, voice low and almost intimate. His face is close like a lover’s, his voice low like a lover’s, and Tim feels sudden, unexpected heat curl through him and curses his own body. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched him at all, and he hates Elias, hates him, but his body yearns toward the heat of him anyway, wanting more. His face burns where Elias is touching him and he knows he’s gone red, knows Elias can see exactly what he is doing to him and is reveling in it.
“Of course, he couldn’t feel the same, could he? Not really, no matter what you thought you saw sometimes. But the guilt made it better, didn’t it? Made the whole thing feel dirty in just the right way.” He leans even farther into Tim’s space, close enough that their chest brush when Tim tries to draw in air to tell him to get away. He shudders instead, hands curling into fists. Elias’s breath is hot in his ear.
“Do you want to know what he thought about, curled in your spare room, listening to you as you took yourself in hand and thought of him?”
No, Tim thinks. He hadn’t seen the aftermath of what Elias had done to Melanie but Martin had told him about it. He’d been pale and shaken and Melanie hadn’t returned to work for a couple of days, and when Tim had next seen her there’d been shadows under her eyes and a tightness to her mouth that hadn’t been there before. There’s no way that Elias will show him anything he wants to see – the fact that he’s offering is answer enough. But if he says that, Elias wins, and Tim will be damned if he lets him have that victory.
“Sure,” he says, gritting his teeth so that they don’t chatter. “Do your worst.”
Elias laughs. “Oh, Tim,” he says, “you don’t have any idea what my worst actually is.”
Tim opens his mouth to retort, but then his mind is full of Danny. Danny doing exactly as Elias said, lying in his guest bedroom and listening through the wall as Tim – oh god he’d never known the walls were so thin, Danny had never said. He’s not being loud, not really, but there’s absolutely no doubt what he is doing on the other side of that too-thin wall, and Danny is –
Danny is aching.
His body is rigid, his hands curled into the duvet in a desperate attempt to keep from touching himself and still he writhes, trying to catch some friction, any friction, something to relieve the near painful ache in his dick. With each bitten off moan he hears, each muffled gasp as Tim works himself up, Danny’s dick jerks, desperate. He hates this, hates coming here because Tim always – but he could easily afford a hotel and never even offers. Never tries to demure when Tim insists he stay with him.
Tim bites back another moan and that’s it, he can’t help it. His hand practically flies into his boxers and he nearly comes with the first touch, thinking about Tim’s mouth, wondering what it would look like wrapped around his dick. He pumps himself to the sounds of Tim getting himself off, imagines gripping Tim’s cheeks to feel his dick moving in his mouth, and it’s good, it’s always so good, and in the morning he will bury his sticky boxers in his bag and face Tim with a smile and pretend that this never happened. Until the next time it does. His body goes stiff and tight and his back arches, so close –
-and the memory (image? Illusion?) ends. Tim comes out of it with a gasp, blinking in a disoriented way and fighting desperately to get his bearings. He’s on his knees in front of Elias, rock hard and rutting against his own hand. “Wh-that wasn’t-“
“I assure you it was,” Elias says, and while he sounds calm and unruffled there’s a certain glitter to his eyes and flush to his cheeks that makes Tim wonder. On impulse, Tim leans forward, mouth opening over the slight bulge in Elias’s trousers. Elias jerks, hissing, and Tim smiles against him.
“Show me more?” he says, and reaches up to undo the zip.
A hand fists in his hair and jerks his bead back. It hurts, but Tim only smiles wider. It feels good to know that he’s wrecked some measure of Elias’s smug composure.
Elias looks down at him with hot eyes. “No,” Elias says calmly, smirking when that makes Tim struggle to get away. He drags his head back farther, forcing him to arch back, and finishes undoing his trousers, drawing himself out and stroking once, twice. “You’re going to do this with nothing to hide behind. And if you’re good, maybe I’ll show you more of your brother. If you aren’t, perhaps you will get to see how bad it was for him at the end.”
Tim swallows hard, tears gathering in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. “D-don’t,” he says. “I don’t want –“
“Then be very, very good,” Elias purrs, and Tim glares his hate up at him while he obediently opens his mouth, letting Elias use his grip on his hair to guide him forward.
He fully intends to just open up and take it, but his body has other ideas. He doesn't want Elias but he’s already turned on, still rock hard in spite of everything else, and it’s hard not to remember the images that had just been in his head. Hard not to do it just the way that Danny would have liked, a pitiful attempt to please them both when it’s far too late to matter. Hard also not to give into Elias’s rough treatment, to let his mind empty of thought while he opens his throat and does his best not to gag. He’s always liked the weight of a dick in his mouth, and as Elias grabs his face and presses his fingers deep into his cheeks so that he can feel his dick sliding in and out of his mouth, Tim finds that he’s moaning, rocking with Elias’s thrusts even as his eyes leak from the pain and humiliation. His hand slides between his legs and begins to rub, hips twitching up in time with the movement of Elias’s hips and hands.
“That’s it, that’s good,” Elias says, and Tim feels something warm curl in him at the praise. He works his mouth harder, bobbing his head. He can feel spit dribbling down his chin and he knows his throat and jaw are going to ache after this, but it’s too easy to lose himself in a mindless rut, and he does, closing his eyes and giving himself over to it until Elias gasps, holding his head in place as he comes down his throat. Tim gags and tries to pull away, choking, but Elias doesn’t let go, keeps him there until he’s done, and the bright panic of being unable to breathe sends Tim over the edge as well, vision whiting out as he comes and comes and tries desperately to get some air.
Just when he thinks that he’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen, Elias releases him, sliding out of his mouth. Tim gasps and splutters, bending over. He retches once, twice, and then heaves in a great lungful of air, throat burning.
Through it all, a hand softly pets his hair, and Tim leans into it gratefully. He knows who it is, knows he should pull away, but he needs the comfort. He feels dirty and ashamed and sick to his stomach, but his body is still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, he still wants, and he hates himself for it.
“Good boy,” Elias croons, soft and almost fond, and Tim closes his eyes.