Page 107 of These Monstrous Deeds

“Nathan…” the boy slurs, his head rolling on his neck as he tries to stay coherent. There’s drool sliding down his chin and onto his chest. His eyes are glazed and distant.

Nathan twists his wrist, ringing a startled cry from Carter. “Your safe word is red. Use it if you need to.”

With a weak, pathetic little sob, Carter’s back arches, his breath catching. His wide eyes lock with Nathan’s as his face flushes red. He whispers a breathy, startled, “Oh, sir!” before his cock shoots for the second time, the release hot and sticky. He sucks in a shuddery breath before going lax against the mattress, his eyes fluttering shut. Nathan stares down at him, mesmerized.

God, he’s so in love with this beautiful, perfect boy.

So. Fucking. In. Love.

He’s positively fucked.

One more look at Carter’s blissed out expression and Nathan is finishing too, spilling his hot seed into the boy’s fluttering hole.

“Fuck, Carter,” Nathan gasps, his hips rolling like he might be able to fuck his cum in deeper somehow. Stake a stronger claim by marking the boy inside and out. Apermanentclaim. “Fuck, you have no idea how much I-“ Nathan cuts himself off last minute, dropping his head between his shoulders as he catches his breath. The confession feels hot and heavy on his tongue. It hurts to swallow, hurts to keep in, but he manages.

Nathan carefully pulls out of Carter and tugs his sweatpants up before immediately starting to free his boy. The knots he did were surprisingly well-done with his level of sobriety at the time. They unravel perfectly, the ropes unwinding exactly as they should, no worrying marks left behind on the revealed flesh. Nathan gently rubs the boy’s arms and wrists, then his thighs, legs, and ankles. All Carter does is moan in a sleepy sort of pleasure.

The boy is out, either asleep or flying too high mentally to be present. He looks damn good in the dim lighting. Full of marks that Nathan gave him, still sticky with his release, Nathan’s cum dripping out of his loose hole.

After using the bathroom and gently cleaning Carter up with a warm cloth, he tucks the boy in and returns to his seat on the lounge chair near the bed. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward to clasp his hands together. He’s grossly sober now.

And still very much in love with Carter Beckett.

Maybe even more so than before.

Nathan stays there until morning, just watching the boy. Watching him sleep. Watching him breathe. Watching him lay there, safe from the horrors of the world outside the bedroom door.

And all that time, as he stays there unmoving, holding a silent vigil for the boy’s life that he himself is destroying, the one question Nathan wants so badly to ask him, the one question he had tried to drink away, tried to punch away, tried to fuck away, the one question he’ll never be selfish enough to voice, repeats itself in his mind:

Why the fuck would Carter ever pick him?

---