Justin turns off the engine and sits for a moment, taking in the silence of the woods around him. The darkness and the curling mist is soothing. As is his sense of Chris’ closeness. He hasn’t been able to come to him for a few days. He’s not worried. He has water. But Justin still misses him. Everything else in his life seems greyish and bland in comparison to Chris’ vivid colour.
He can just about see the shipping container through low branches of the trees. He’d painted it dark green to blend in, and he drives down the dirt track that leads to their private place without turning on his headlights. He feels the calmness of them being completely and utterly alone.
Justin slips from the car, grabbing his back from the trunk and fumbling his keys as he approaches the door. He can feel his pulse picking up. The palms of his hands are clammy as he feeds his key into the first lock, then the second and third, before he can pull the heavy chain across the door loose.
Justin gets the door open enough to slip his body through and pulls it closed behind with a clang.
Inside it’s complete darkness. There would be some light in the day, from the air holes Justin had been careful to drill, high up, close to the ceiling. There’s no sounds either but that doesn’t surprise Justin. He expects Chris is sleeping. Or unconscious. Justin bends, setting the bag on the floor and feeling for the halogen work light that’s in the corner beside him.
He feels the sting as his pupils contract sharply and straightens as his eyes adjust. Chris is on the pallet at the other end of the container as he’d expected. The only other furniture in the space is a single plastic chair. He’s curled on his side with his back to Justin. Some of the bruises on his back are starting to yellow but some are still a satisfying deep purplish-red, and Justin feels pleased as he approaches.
He sets the toe of his boot between Chris’ ribs and the floor, nudging gently. For now. Chris makes a quiet noise and curls in on himself and Justin smirks. Not unconscious then.
Justin retreats to the chair and sets in the centre of the space and takes a seat. Justin takes a moment to examine him. He’s bled through the dressing on his thigh; Justin can see the dark stain from the other side of the container. He’ll be thirsty if he’s lost that much blood. Justin leans back in the chair, snagging the bag and pulling out one of the water bottles. Then he clicks his tongue at Chris.
‘C’mon,’ he says. It takes a moment but Chris shifts, pushing himself up carefully like he’s sore, which Justin guesses he is. He shuffles around to look at Justin blearily. He’s pale, skin so white he tattoos are practically popping off his skin. There’s shadows under his eyes, so dark it looks like he has a pair of black eyes. Justin doesn’t hit his face. Well, not hard anyway. He doesn’t want to break that pretty nose, or shatter that pretty jawbone. Besides, they never lasted long with a head wound. The blood from Chris’ nose has dried to his skin and cracked where his skin flexes as he swallows.
It looks like he’s having difficulty keeping his head up, and it keeps dipping slightly as he rests unfocused eyes on Justin. He shifts his arms slightly, apparently forgetting the cable ties. Justin can see fresh, red blood drip down his forearm where they’re digging in. He makes a soft encouraging noise, like you might to a frightened animal and he holds a hand out gesturing for Chris.
Chris stares at him for a moment but then shifts on his knees, not trying to stand. Justin is fairly certain he can’t. Then Chris gives up on sitting up at all and makes his way slowly to Justin on his elbows and knees in an awkward half shuffle, half crawl. It takes what feels like an eternity until Chris reaches Justin’s feet.
When he does Justin bends catching him under the upper arm and pulling him up to rest his head in his lap. He cuts the ties with his hunting knife and peels them from the sticky wounds. He’ll have to dress these as well before he leaves. Chris has started to cry quietly and Justin smudges the wet off his cheeks curious.
‘Please—’ he mumbles, voice cracked with disuse.
‘It’s okay,’ Justin says, smoothing his matted hair back, soothing, ‘c’mon, have this.’ He cracks the lid off the water and cups the back of Chris’ head to keep it up while he holds the bottle to his lips. He drinks greedily in quick, uncontrolled swallows, water dripping down his chin to his chest. Justin can see where the rivulets are washing the dirt and blood from his skin. Justin can feel heat unfurling beneath his skin at the sight of Chris’ desperation. He withdraws the bottle and lets Chris sit back. He’s panting, apparently not having taken a breath the whole time he’d been drinking.
His colour is a light better for the water, though his eyes are still unfocused and his head still seems to be hanging heavily on his neck. Justin strokes his head again.
‘Now you have to do something for me,’ Justin says, feeling Chris tense under his hand. He shifts his foot where it’s resting against Chris’ bare thigh. ‘—they get so messy coming out here to see you. Clean them for me.’
Chris looks up at him, eyes wet. Pleading. Justin looks back. Drinking it in. He could look into those desperate eyes for hours. But his dick is insistent.
‘C’mon, slut—’ he grunts. ‘I already know what you can do with that mouth.’ Chris bites his lip, the white of his teeth looking luminous against the dried blood on his cracked lips.
‘Please, I can’t—’ he says, swallowing like he’s trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
‘Sure you can,’ Justin says, taking a fistful of his hair and pushing. Chris goes down without resistance, though Justin isn't sure he’d have enough strength to fight him anyway. Justin pushes until Chris’ face is barely an inch from the toe of his boot.
‘Now, clean them,’ he says, voice even and firm. Chris extends his tongue. Justin can see his shoulders shaking as he starts to lick. Light tentative strokes, trying to avoid the mud. Justin twitches his foot and he flinches. Justin chuckles.
‘Don’t forget between the laces,’ he murmurs, bending to fist his hand in the hair at the nape of Chris’ neck. He pulls his head to where he wants it, pressing until his lips are mashed against the scuffed leather. Justin holds him while Chris gets to work. He seems to have decided to get it over with and starts to lick properly, tonguing between the laces, stretching his neck to reach. Justin hums, pleased. He lets him go and sits back a little, hooking a thumb in his belt.
‘Stop,’ he says and sees Chris’ eyelashes flicker. ‘Come here.’ Chris’ eyes dart to him then away. They’ve been through this before and he knows Chris knows better than to argue. Jaw tightening, he moves closer. Justin can see he’s crying again, tears running down his cheeks and mingling with the dirt on his skin and dripping off the point of his chin. Justin brushes his knuckles against his cheek, making him cringe back.
‘Stop fucking crying, slut,’ he says, catching the back of his neck. His anger flaring the second Chris tries to move away from him. He takes a breath and softens his grip. ‘—c’mon, you know what to do.’ He sits back, watching as Chris raises his shaking hands to his belt. His fingers are clumsy too and he seems to be having difficulty controlling them. But at last he gets Justin’s belt open and carefully opens his zip on the second try.
‘Enough,’ Justin grunts, catching his wrist and digging his fingers into the sticky wound making Chris whine with pain. Justin lets him go, pushing his back shoulder. Chris fumbles to keep himself upright, dropping onto his elbows, eyes skittering. Justin snorts at him.
He reaches down and gets his cock out of his underwear, stroking it. He’s hard; the sight of Chris' eager mouth as he practically inhaled the water flickering across the surface of his mind. Justin licks his palm, tastes the salt of Chris’ blood and starts to stroke himself, eyes on Chris. He’s got himself up again but doesn’t seem to want to come any closer now Justin’s cock is out.
Justin gestures for him with his other hand and, after another moment’s hesitation, Chris moves closer. Justin touches his lips, they’re wet and the inside of his mouth is burning when Justin slides his fingers in. Chris makes a soft distressed noise. Justin shushes him, taking his hand away and moving forward in the chair again. He puts a hand on the back of Chris’ head, fingers digging into his hair to stop him flopping forward.
‘Open,’ he says and Chris parts his lips slightly. Justin snorts softly, using his other hand to pull his mouth wider so he can push his cock past Chris’ lips into it. He doesn’t squirm or try to scream like he had at first but there’s still some resistance as Justin pushes deeper. His mouth is hot and Justin can feel his jaw going slack as he yields to what’s happening. Justin glances down to check he hasn’t passed out again. But he can see his dark eyes, wet and unfocused but open.
‘That’s right,’ Justin says quietly, ‘that’s a good boy.’ Chris makes a muffled noise and Justin strokes his cheek with his thumb as he pulls back on his hair, getting Chris in a good position so he can lift his hips up from the chair to fuck into his mouth. Chris makes another muffled noise, hands fumbling ineffectively at Justin’s knees.
‘No, no,’ Justin says, slapping his hands away. Chris whimpers, retching, trying to pull back and Justin grunts, irritated. ‘—this is what sluts are for. We’ve been through this— don’t make me show you again,’ he says and Chris stills, stopping his struggling. His eyes flicking up to Justin. When Justin feels Chris’ body soften and starts to thrust into his mouth again. Chris moans and Justin feels his mouth curve, his gut twisting up. His obedience is almost as arousing as the wet mouth around Justin’s cock.
Justin cups his head with both hands, rolls his hips up as he pulls Chris’ head down. Chris gives a wet grunt but he’s not struggling. Justin glances down at him and realises his nose has started bleeding again, probably from where it’s been mushed against Justin’s hipbone. Justin bites his lip, feeling his gut burn at the sight of the blood smearing over Chris’ lips and chin and onto Justin’s skin, blood and snort matting in the hair below his navel.
'Keep going,' Justin says softly, hand knotting in his hair again. Justin can feel his nails scratch into the skin of his scalp. Chris’ hands are on his knees again, digging in but not trying to push him away. Justin guesses he’s hanging on by a thread. He can feel Chris shuddering hard and he fights his gag reflex. Justin can see his hollow stomach twitching inwards with each spasm.
Justin shushes him, biting his lip as he feels a flush sprawling down his thighs. He’s close. He can feel Chris' throat contracting, fighting him, and it’s that thought that drags him over the edge. He grunts, back arching as he pushes as deep into Chris’ throat as he can, coming in hot, overwhelming waves. Justin feels himself go rigid, the orgasm sloshing through him leaving his limbs tingling and numb.
He lets Chris go and he drops back. Justin exhales heavily, pushing his hair back from his face, feeling content as he watches Chris curled around his knees shaking with hard, hacking coughs. He retches a couple of times but doesn’t follow through, no doubt wanting to keep the water in his stomach.
Justin waits for him to recover a little then gestures for him again and gives him more water. Chris drinks, while Justin strokes his cheek. He lets Chris rest his head on his thigh while he leans to grab an energy bar from the bag, breaking pieces off to feed them to Chris. He eats slower than he drinks, and Justin wonders if his stomach is feeling tender.
Justin nudges him back, standing. Chris let’s him, putting his bare back against the metal side of the container. Justin strokes his hair gently, pleased when Chris lifts his head to press against his palm. Justin smooths his hair back once more before stepping back to fix his clothes. He moves over to the bag to grab bandages and rubbing alcohol to dress Chris’ wounds.
As he turns back to him, Justin hears the distinct sound of an engine cutting out in the silent woods outside the container.