Skylar hates his life. He's used, abused, and taken advantage of all the time, but he deals with it the best he can with alcohol and drugs. Now, to make matters worse, he's been kidnapped. But little does his kidnapper know, Skylar's life with this man may be better than it was before… Or is it?
Warnings: Non-con & Dub-con, Graphic sexual content , Homosexuality (m/m), Underage sex, smoking, drinking, & drugs, Mild torture, Harshlanguage, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, and lots and lots of angst!
All of the characters in this story are fictitious, as are their actions, ideas, and viewpoints. All of the places and occurrences in this story are fictitious as well.
This story WILL have a happy ending! There will just be lots of angst on the journey there.
I press the cigarette to my chapped lips with shaking hands and take a slow steady drag, filling my lungs with burning smoke and my bloodstream with soothing nicotine. It's not what I want to be smoking right now, but it'll have to do. The smoke escapes my mouth in wisps, heavy and thick in the early winter air, disappearing into the night like I so desperately want to. I lift the vodka filled water bottle to my mouth and take another gulp, enjoying the warm burn as it plunges into my empty stomach. It's late, too late to be out on a school night getting drunk and waiting to watch a fight, but I don't care; and it's not like I have anyone at home worried about my well being anyways.
The clamor of the other boys around me is calming only because it's such a familiar scene: the tailgates down, the blasting music, the drunken classmates, eager and ready to see what mischief the night will bring. The setting is the usual parking lot, the one that stays deserted behind the old bar that was once busy and fruitful, but now only serves the truckers from the truck stop a few yards away. The tall lights illuminating the thundering eighteen-wheelers belching smoke and steam provides the only source of light in the dark lot we're crowded in.
I never imagined myself to be a part of this crowd. Which I'm not really, I'm only tolerated because of him. It's been this way since I started high school almost four months ago. I'm now somewhat used to the assholes who surround me with their loud talking and disgusting actions. But there's a different atmosphere tonight than usual, such a tense and stressful aura filling the air that I feel as if I could slice it with the blade that sits heavy in the pocket of my worn jeans. At the thought, my freezing hand dips into that pocket and I grip the cold metal of the pocket knife for a sense of comfort and to make sure it's still there; it would be just my luck to lose it and then end up getting caught in the middle of the expected fight. I definitely couldn't hold my own against the boys who will be here soon.
The whole thing is stupid really, just dumb teenager drama over spoken words and haughty attitudes, involving girls and inflated egos; stuff that I could care less about. I look over towards the only reason I'm even here: Blake Holden. The older boy's blonde hair gleams even in the muted light and his dazzling smile lights up his handsome face in a way that charms everyone around him as he laughs at something one of the other guys said. He's going into battle over his girlfriend's reputation tonight, apparently someone called her a slut. All of his beefcake buddies are here to back him up and step in if things get out of hand or if he gets ganged up on. I'm here to watch the show, and only because he asked me to come. I know his request for my presence has ulterior motives, but that doesn't bother me; I'm just happy to be out of my fucking house.
Blake's bright blue eyes suddenly dart over and connects with mine in a clash of turquoise and hazel. I quickly look away, my cheeks flushing pink from more than just the biting cold now. I wish he didn't have that affect on me, it would be so much easier if he didn't. The crunching footsteps now coming towards me where I sit on the open tailgate of Blake's huge truck seem loud above the rest of the noise around me. Soon they stop and the truck suddenly dips heavily from Blake's sturdy weight as he hops onto the cold metal to sit beside me.
"This is fucking bullshit, man. It's already two fucking o'clock. I bet he pussied out," Blake's steady voice resonates in my chest. His football player body is close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating off of it and I take a small comfort in that fact, even though I know it doesn't mean anything.
I take another swig of alcohol and take more comfort in the intoxicating liquid than in his warmth; after all, it's what keeps me sane. Blake reaches over to snag the cigarette from my thin fingers and takes in a lungful of smoke, then blows it out in a rush, needing the nicotine to settle his hyped up nerves. A big hand suddenly snatches my bottle of precious liquid from my hand too and I look up to watch as Blake takes several large gulps.
"What the fuck, Blake..." I grumble, snatching it back before the blond can down the whole bottle.
Blake chuckles and smiles at me, a lighthearted smile that soothes away any tension between us immediately, which I hate; I wish I could stay mad at him just once.
"Sorry, Sky," he says, reaching over and ruffling my jet black tousled hair. I fight the urge to flinch away from the kind gesture, knowing Blake means no harm by it, but the simple touch bothers me in ways the older boy will never understand.
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, passing the smoke back and forth as he watches the group of ten high schoolers a few feet away from us.
"You know you didn't have to come. It could get kind of crazy tonight," Blake says quietly, keeping his eyes on the crowd.
I glance up at the jock and take another swig of alcohol.
"Then why did you ask me to?" I ask, my husky voice tired.
Blake shrugs and looks over at me, both of us knowing the answer to that question, but neither one going to say it aloud. I look away from him to stare back at the ground, my thoughts heavy and burdening as always, the alcohol not working fast enough to cloud my mind and make the pain go away. I can feel Blake's eyes on me still and I can sense the heat in that gaze, knowing what he wants with familiar certainty. I'm willing to give it to him even though I know it's wrong and that he's just using me. It makes me feel needed and wanted, it gives me a purpose. It helps make those painful thoughts fade to the back of my mind for a little while.
Blake shifts beside me, flicking the used up cigarette to the gravel, then clears his throat in a nervous fashion.
"Yo, D-Man!" He suddenly calls out, jumping to the ground and snuffing out the still gleaming tip of the smoke with his shoe.
Another football player the size of the hulk looks over in our direction.
"Sup?" He calls out above the heavy metal blaring from another truck.
"I gotta talk to Skylar about something, come get me when the fuckers get here," Blake says with a jerk of his head to gesture towards me. The other guy nods and turns back to the group he's standing with.
Blake hesitates a moment, watching his friends, but then turns back to me and grabs my wrist. He pulls me off the tailgate to stand and begins dragging me towards the bar. I shove the water bottle into my hoodie pocket and go willingly, the only thing keeping me on my feet being Blake's hand since my head is reeling from the vodka coursing through my veins.
There's an outdoor, single stall bathroom connected to the old building that no one ever uses anymore. Blake pulls me into the filthy room, then shuts and locks the door behind us. It's warmer in here than it is outside, but I'm still so cold I'm shivering. A dim, bare light bulb buzzes to life, assaulting my eyes a moment before I'm shoved up against the graffiti covered wall. Blake's mouth comes down on mine, hard and passionate, and I eagerly open my mouth for the hungry kiss, allowing the older boy to pummel my lips with nips and bites. The jock presses me against the wall with his firm body, gripping my thin arms tight. He pulls away from the heated kiss after a few minutes to stare down at me, breathless and panting from desire.
"Fuck, Sky, this can't keep happening," he murmurs, leaning down to press his sweaty forehead against mine.
"You say that every time," I say softly with small smile, enjoying his warm body pinning me fully to the wall and the feel of his bulging erection against my stomach.
"How do you make me feel so fucking crazy?" He growls, attacking my mouth again with another rough kiss, grinding his teeth against mine, all of his confusion and distress thrust into the meeting of lips.
I don't think the senior understands why he wants me so badly and neither do I. He says he's not gay, he's one of the most popular guys in school, and he's dating Brittany Sterling, the gorgeous head cheerleader on the varsity cheerleading squad. He tells me he couldn't be happier with his life. He's got it made, what more could he want? But apparently the kid in front of him makes his blood boil with lust in a way Brittany never makes him feel. According to Blake I make him feel crazy and out of his mind. I don't know what he sees in me that makes him want me so badly, but I don't object; I sort of like being his secret little whore.
He pulls away from the kiss again and presses me against the wall harder, making me let out a soft gasp of surprise, which makes him groan and kiss me deeper. There's something about me that makes Blake want to be rough with me and use me, which is exactly what he's been doing for the past few months. He spotted me the first day of school in the hallway. He had been with his stupid friends, all of them joking and clowning around. We made eye contact and he had smiled at me, but I had quickly looked away and tried to ignore him. I really didn't want any trouble on my first day of high school. I deal with enough crap at home and I didn't want to attract the attention of someone like Blake; he definitely looks like someone who would bully someone like me.
That didn't deter Blake, though. Before I had a chance to get away, he approached me and cornered me against my locker. He had asked me my name and I had quietly told him it was none of his fucking business, which had just made him laugh softly. I managed to get away from him when the bell for class rang, but he found me again during lunch. He somehow knew my name then, probably by asking one of my classmates. I couldn't really bring myself to worry about what he wanted from me because by that point in the day I was so drunk I could barely stay awake. Blake attempted to make small conversation with me, but after a few one word answers from me he finally asked me if I was hungry.
I was starving, I hadn't eaten in two days thanks to my bastard father, and I had no money for lunch. So when he offered to buy me something to eat off campus I had shrugged and went with him. I was sort of nervous, but I didn't really care about something happening to me if I had a chance to get food. But nothing did. Blake bought me lunch and talked to me through the entire lunch period, then brought me back to school. He didn't want me to pay him back and he didn't expect anything from me. He just asked if we could hang out again soon, which was weird, but I shrugged and said "okay". We've been hanging out ever since that day.
I don't know what it is about me that got Blake's attention, but somehow I made him want to get to know me. So the jock had befriended the loner kid, confusing his fellow upperclassmen. He made a stupid excuse about me being a long lost cousin and not seeing each other for years or something like that. A lie he expected me to play along with, and I did because he told me to and I didn't want my ass kicked by a big jock like him.
In reality the senior knows nothing of my world beyond the baggy jacket and blank stare I always hide behind, both covering well hidden scars, healing bruises, and wounds I never want anyone else to see. I'm an enigma to my fellow classmates and I have no problem keeping it that way. When Blake Holden had cornered me that first day of my high school career, it hadn't bothered me. I was so used to the bullying and torture, another abuser wouldn't have surprised me. But Blake had created an even bigger problem than being a threat to my physical safety: he became a threat to my head.
I don't want friends. I don't need friends. Friends cause problems I'm not willing to deal with. Friends ask questions and want to share secrets, questions I don't want to answer and secrets I want to keep to myself. Luckily Blake didn't want to be that kind of friend; he just wanted the "benefits".
At first, his seemingly sincere attitude made me put up my well made shields to protect myself from future heart ache that I knew would come, but the older boy broke down those shields with sweet words and kind gestures. Like buying me the thick hoodie I now wear that keeps me warmer and more comfortable than the old tattered one I had before; it's the most expensive piece of clothing I have ever owned and I treasure it. I wasn't completely fooled by his schmoozing, I'm well aware that people only do nice things for others for their own selfish pleasures in the long run. So it came as no surprise to me when Blake asked for a blow job in the school bathroom two weeks after our first meeting.
I'm sure Blake had felt nervous and idiotic for asking another boy to suck his dick. I'm sure he had honestly expected me to rebuke his request with disgust, probably prepared to have to threaten me to secrecy unless I wanted the rest of my freshman year to be a living hell. But much to Blake's surprise, and delight, I had simply dropped to my knees and proceeded to give him the "best head he had ever had". He didn't understand why I was so willing to let him use me like he did and he never will, and I've continued to let it happen with no resistance.
I'm happy to give him what he wants, as long as I get what I need: his control and domination. Which I get easily because it's just his nature to be controlling and dominating. Blake doesn't even know what I want from him because I've never said it out loud, I guess he just thinks I'm a naive brat who is giving and caring. But I'm not. I'm selfish and needy in my own ways.
The blow jobs gradually increased from once a week, to once a day, and before either of us really even knew what was happening he had me bent over a table in a dark, empty classroom, fucking me. He says sex with me is like nothing he has ever experienced, I do nothing but give and give, and expect nothing in return, which I guess in a way is my nature.
I know Blake is using me, I'm not stupid, but it doesn't matter. I need to be used, to be reminded of my place and kept there by a strong hand. A hand other than the one that holds me down everyday behind closed doors. I need different hands, a different body, a different mouth. Like the hands shoving me even harder into the cold wall, and the body grinding against mine, and the mouth claiming more hot and heavy kisses right at this moment.
"Can you suck me off?" He murmurs against my lips and I nod immediately; I knew he would ask eventually.
Blake pulls me away from the wall quickly and takes my place to lean against it. Then his hand is gently sliding through my hair and he's urging me to get down on my knees.
"Fuck, Sky, we gotta hurry. They'll be here soon," he pants softly.
I gladly obey, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans to release his bulging cock. I take his impressive girth into my mouth, easily sliding him down my throat, enjoying the familiar taste. He moans above me, his hands now gripped tight in my hair, mumbling something along the lines of "how are you so good".
Blake will never know why I'm "so good" because it's not something I wish to share with him. It's something that should have never happened in the first place, but continues to happen against my will all the fucking time. The reason I'm "so good" is because my alcoholic father took an unhealthy interest in his son about five years ago. He has physically abused me my whole life, but this sudden turn of events happened a couple months after my mother left us. I can't fight him. I'm small for my age, tiny and delicate, easily manhandled by my burly dad. Fighting him has never helped when he's beating me either; I eventually just stopped trying. So now, for sick and twisted reasons, I'm my daddy's little fuck toy.
I hate him with a passion, he is the bane of my existence. But I guess I can't blame him entirely because he's never sober when it happens. When he's sober I get my ass kicked, when he's drunk I get my ass fucked. He's never said it directly, but I know it's because I look so much like my mother. I have her delicate, effeminate features, her soft brown hair, her full lips, her big doe eyes that are an exotic hazel color. He's even said her name before when he was raping me.
I went so far as to dye my hair black to maybe help dad see it wasn't his former wife underneath him in his drunken stupors, but that just ended up pissing him off and I got the shit beat out of me for doing it without permission. I can't be near him without getting hurt in some way, so I avoid the house whenever possible to save myself from the pain. But he's always there in the back of my mind, his cruel words and hateful actions plaguing me at all times.
I started drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes when I was thirteen, giving hand jobs and blow jobs to strangers for the price of a bottle of booze or a pack of smokes, just so I could find some relief from the chaos of my mind. I know it's wrong and unhealthy, but I didn't know what else to do. It helped at first, but not enough, so I started experimenting with drugs. I found the only one I could tolerate was pot, anything else caused hallucinations that always involved my neglectful parents. Every time I put that bottle to my mouth or a cigarette to my lips I know I'm becoming more and more like my dad, but a part of me knows that I can never truly be like him; at least I like to think I never will be. Hopefully I'll end up more like my mother, who, despite her abandoning me with my deranged father, is a kind woman; it's not her fault that I remind her of my dad too much to want to be around me.
Blake pulls me out of my torturous thoughts when he comes in the back of my throat with several thick spurts, choking me slightly before I can swallow it down.
"Fucking hell, Sky," he breathes as his hands slip out of my hair and I pull away from him. "I can't get enough of you. I'm gonna win that fucking fight thanks to you."
I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and try to stand up, only to succeed in losing my balance and falling on my ass. He chuckles softly and shakes his head at me like he thinks I'm being cute, before offering a hand to help me to my feet. I dust the dirt from my pants with one hand and steady myself on the wall with the other as he fixes his own pants. I stare at the floor, trying to get my swimming eyes to focus. I can feel him watching me and I glance up at his steady gaze. It's a familiar, concerned look he gives me a lot, like when I show up to school falling down drunk, or high off my ass, reeking of pot, with bruises all over my face. It's a look I don't want to see right now.
He doesn't really care about me. I know what this relationship is. But it still feels nice to know that someone is at least a little bit concerned about my well being, even if it is just because he feels guilty sometimes about using me. I don't want him to care about me in any way though, because it's just going to make it that much harder when he tosses me to the side, like I know he will soon. We can't keep this charade up, it's too risky for his reputation; he's informed me of this dozens of times. I'm just waiting for the day when he refuses to speak to me and denies that he even knows me. Yeah it'll hurt, but I'm expecting it. I can't let my feelings get in the way and complicate things even more than they already have.
"You okay, Sky?" He asks his normal question, his way of letting me know I've clearly went over my limit again.
I snort at his concern, leaning heavily against the wall, finally feeling the dulling glaze of the vodka smothering my senses.
"Never better, Blake," I respond with a crooked smile that belongs more to my father than it does to me.
He watches me with narrowed eyes and shakes his head again with a sigh, putting aside his worry for the poor piece of trash in front of him.
"Wanna go out to lunch tomorrow? My treat," he says, walking over to the mirror above the sink, clouded with age and decorated in foul language with sharpie marker.
He always insists on getting me things or taking me out to lunch after I do stuff like this for him, his way of paying me I guess, like I'm a prostitute. It doesn't bother me like it probably should.
"Doesn't it make Brittany mad that you take me out to lunch instead of her sometimes?" I ask softly, more joking than serious, but still curious.
He glances back at me with an odd look on his face and shakes his head.
"No. She thinks it's 'sweet'," he says, turning back to his reflection.
I don't really believe that because of the hateful glare she was giving me the last time Blake blew her off when he was taking me to lunch, but I don't say anything. I almost feel sort of bad for the girl, but I kind of like knowing that the perfect prom king and prom queen have a minor flaw in their relationship, that flaw being me.
If I wanted to, I could probably be the downfall of Blake Holden. I could out him and let the whole school know that he'd rather have sex with a little fag than with his bodacious, blonde girlfriend. I don't have any urge to do that though. I keep it in the back of my head to make myself feel better, but I'd never really do it. I blame my weakness on me being too much of a pussy to face the consequences if I actually did out him, but if I'm truthful with myself, I know it's mainly because I actually really care about the boy in front of me, and for that I want to keep his secret safe.
"Buy me another bottle of that shit you got me last time and we'll call it even," I tell him, leaning my head back against the wall and watching his reflection as he fixes his hair and straightens his clothes, making himself look perfect as always.
He sighs and shakes his head as he turns back around to face me.
"Sky, you know that's not what I meant..." he says softly, a regretful look on his face. He watches me for a moment before sighing and shaking his head again. "You're going to fucking kill yourself drinking so much," he mumbles, his worried expression making me look away from his face. "And Brad thinks I'm getting it for myself so he's cut me off. Don't your parents ever notice you're drunk?" He asks quietly.
I hate when he asks me about my parents. His parents are the epitome of a perfect family: handsome dad makes six figures a year; beautiful mom is a homemaker; their good-looking oldest son, Brad, is in a prestigious college one state over with a football scholarship and a 3.8 GPA, on his way to be an engineer like his father; and their youngest son, Blake, is expected to graduate this year with a 3.9 GPA, go to the same university his brother attends with a football scholarship as well, and study to be a doctor. It makes me fucking sick that he lets me touch him; I'm a piece of dirt compared to him.
"No, they're never home," I answer with my usual response, not lying because it's the truth since Mom has nothing to do with me anymore because her new family is more important and Dad's usually boozing it up at a bar with his friends until he runs out of money.
Blake watches me for a moment before sighing and shaking his head again. He walks back over to me and gazes down at me, making my knees feel weak with his sultry gaze; I really wish I wasn't so attracted to him. He brushes my unruly hair down so that it doesn't look like I was just fucked, and he tucks a few strands behind my ear. His big hand cups my cheek in a tender way that makes me shiver and feel like I have butterflies in my stomach. Sometimes I wonder if Brittany feels this way when he does stuff like this to her or if she takes for granted how lucky she really is. I want to kiss him again, but I know not to try. After he gets off he usually doesn't want to pretend we're lovers anymore, I think it bothers him. I don't want to ruin this moment, so I keep my mouth to myself.
"Sky, I don't want you to get hurt tonight, so stay out of the way, okay? I'll feel like shit if you do. Get your ass in my truck if it gets too bad and lock the doors. I can't be worrying about you while I'm dealing with that fucker Jax, alright?" He murmurs, stroking my check bone with his big thumb.
His calm, caring voice soothes me in ways that I can't get from anyone else in my life. I lean into his hand and nod, allowing myself a moment to enjoy the fact that he does actually care about me in his own way, in a way that doesn't involve sex or pleasure, just a friend caring about a friend. That means more to me than he will ever know.
A loud banging on the door interrupts our moment and he quickly pulls away from me, steeling his features and showing no sign that he just had a blow job.
"Hurry the fuck up, Blake. They're here," a deep muffled voice says from the other side of the door.
Blake walks to the door and glances back at me with a small smile and a wink, then unlocks the lock and jerks the door open to go fight his battle; leaving his secret whore feeling drunk, used, and utterly alone.
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