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Juanito wasn’t into men.
They didn’t provide him with the same satisfaction that women did. Delicate features for some, hardened for others— he didn’t care. He never discriminated when he would force himself inside of them and carefully scatter their bones when he was done.
No one could convince him otherwise. Lust was always going to string him along with them. Yet, when it came to the woman who had stolen his heart, he was willing to make some exceptions. Juanito gave his stalker-kind-of-wife a jerky nod when she pushed him to experiment again. Who was he to say no to Amaia?
He just wished it wasn’t that guy. He couldn't have made a worse choice, but Amaia wanted an entertaining night. Whatever the wife needed, he had to oblige. Still, he had to maintain some boundaries! Juanito wasn't going to stalk someone for days on end, he was too lazy (and too impatient) for that. He had an urge. He fulfilled it, the end of the story.
“Amaia…” he whined, drawing out her name, knowing it annoyed her, “Qué hombre tan ladilla, el se retuecse mucho."
The woman in question rolled her eyes at him.
“You sent countless victims to the grave, and this is when you complain? Ay, pathetic.”
He scoffed at her insult, crossing his arms. She walked to him with a determined stride and hooked her arm with his, giving him a sly smile. Her chest pressed against his, as she stared up at him through her lashes. A grunt left his throat at the sudden contact. She wasn't one to make advances (on him at least), but it was the ideal situation for the both of them. Dried blood with drag marks was painted on the four gray walls that enclosed them. Silence spoke, for they were under the ground, away from anything that could be a witness to their nefarious plot. Amaia twirled her finger inside his unruly curls. She tugged it just enough to hear distressing noises leaving his throat.
"You don’t get to opt out now 'cause I chose a man for you to fuck,“ she scolded him.
“Ah, you're so unfair, mamita.”
Amaia placed her hand on her heart and gave him a pout, feigning pity.
They went down the stairs, leading to the basement of an abandoned house they had found. It was the perfect day in the perfect place. The stale air didn’t bother them. Derelict, the only signs of life other than the intruders was the arbitrary flutter of wings. Insects were making their presence known. They could deal with that. Nothing was going to bother a couple of murderers.
At the end of the staircase, Amaia pushed the door open. A creaking sound left its wake. Mismatching eyes bore into both of their souls. There sat a man. Short, raven hair exposed the scar running down his right eye, along with several fresher ones that had stopped bleeding. Clad in a black hoodie and matching jeans, he wriggled his arms around with no success. The chains lifted them up, courtesy of Juanito. He had his ways. The stranger eyed them up and down, and well, if looks could kill…
“You realize that you both signed your death warrant, right?” He scoffed, a wicked smirk played on his face. Well, he sure wasted no time.
He maintained eye contact with Juanito in particular and continued his rant. “You got the girl involved, some power play shit you trying to get at?” He now locked eyes with Amaia, looking for confirmation. She furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head.
"No... what are you getting at?", she said while approaching him. "The other man is not the mas-“
The captive swung his legs towards her, in an attempt to kick her once she got close enough. While he didn’t land a hit, she stumbled backward, catching herself at the last second. He erupted in laughter, a sound echoing in the room.
“So, that’s the best my captors can d-”
His face stung, her palm leaving a bright red mark against his cheek. His face remained in the opposite direction, and his mouth hung open. Had she just slapped him?
She didn’t give his brain time to process as she gripped his face, forcing him to make eye contact. He would never say it out loud, but being unable to figure out what she was thinking from her eyes alone made him uneasy. He was usually so good at reading people, but she offered nothing for him to latch on.
“Mmm," she wondered out loud, looking back at Juanito. Her gaze never left the stranger’s, though. "Couldn’t you have picked someone else?”
"Give me a break, I’m not the one picking off men in the streets. Besides, if you had let me, I would have grabbed that girl in that hideous house instead.”
The stranger's eyes shot up alarmingly, shifting his gaze from Amaia to Juanito. He stayed quiet though, taking a deep breath that filled his lungs to the brim. He regretted his reaction almost instantly.
It hadn't gone unnoticed. Amaia cocked her head to the side, her eyes searching for something she could use against him. Locking her stare with his, she released a sigh.
“Well." She paused, her thumb rubbing across his cheek. Her lips curled, and horizontal lines formed between her eyebrows. "I hope you remember her address. We could target her next.”
Whatever he was trying to hide was now forced out of him, without him ever saying a word. He tensed up underneath her and clenched his jaw. Amaia's mocking smile wasn’t too subtle.
Burred, splotches of color invaded his vision. For a moment, nothing was real. His head was unable to stop the racing thoughts that governed his mind. Were they messing with him? No, no way- nobody chained another human being just for a prank. Were they actually going after Adeline? He had failed to protect her— what if this crazed organization was pulling this stunt out of nowhere? If so, how the hell did they track him? He thought-- no, he knew that he had erased all the police reports, he left no living witnesses to tell the tale. Any fool who dared to touch her had their limbs torn apart, so... so how were those two able to kidnap him? He, who had risen from the ashes and had become the best hacker that this godforsaken planet had ever known? No trace was left behind, he never, ever made mistakes. He was the predator, not the other way around.
Right. A predator. He was the monster lurking beneath the shadows. He knew he would get out of this mess and save his little mouse. Only he was allowed to touch her, and those two were going to regret the day they even breathed in his direction.
The scene became clearer. The two cowards standing before him were nothing but pigs who deserved to be purged from this world. To do that though, he had to focus and the latest words they mentioned were still scrambled. He could hear them talking but only deciphered what the one wearing a dress said.
“...ways, we should be starting.”
“Sure, doll. But I’m not tying him to a bed again, he’s got spunk.” Wait, what?
“Well, doll,” she mocked, "we’re keeping him here. Don’t worry.” She waved off his concern, “Give me my scalpel.”
Wait-
“Scalpel?! You think this puny thing could-”
The man felt an extra weight on his lap. Amaia had straddled him. It was different, so different from all the times girls would sit on his lap, grinding against his crotch and begging to be stuffed. They would moan his name before he did anything, and he couldn’t blame them- he was the god among the men who walked on this earth. But this one didn’t know his name yet. She had him chained against the wall. She held a scalpel in her hand. The witch gave him an innocent look.
“Name?”
“As if I’m tellin-”
He blinked many times. The bitch had slapped him. And again-
“What’s your name?”
His lips remained sealed this time, his gaze burning into her skull. She raised her hand to strike him again, but he chuckled.
“Slap me as many times as you want. Your hand is nothing but a feather against my face. I could do this all day,” he said, leaning forward. Their noses almost touched.
“Hey, Maia, is he trying to seduce you or something?”
Amaia, still impassive as ever, shrugged.
“Okay then,” She replied, still eyeing him. Her free hand moved up the torso, caressing his shoulder for an instant. Juanito watched in amusement (and maybe in jealousy) as she closed the distance between them, planting a chaste kiss on his lips. He did not reciprocate obviously. He was loyal to his lover. Amaia pulled away, but their faces were still inches apart.
Her hand drifted down to his chest. Then to his stomach. To his pelvis, just above his crotch. He tensed up, his torso twisted, trying to move away from her touch. She didn’t care, she reached into his pants and undid his belt. She shoved her hand in his underwear and palmed his dick. She felt the rumble of his shaky breath throughout his body as she slowly stroked his shaft.
“Wow, he’s huge”, genuine surprise evident in her voice. ”What did your parents feed you?”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?”, whined Juanito behind them.
It was unfair, so unfair. The captive fell to pieces under her touch, while she was talking to him as if she was ordering food. Once again, she inched closer to him. Tension was destroyed once she squeezed his testicles, making sure to pierce them with her fingernails. He could barely swallow back a scream of pain, his body twisting away from her palm, only making the pain worse. He could do nothing, he was chained, he was kicking his legs trying to get her off but she wouldn’t budge.
Sympathy graced Juanito as he winced.
“Am I rubbing off on you? I thought you didn’t sexually assault them?”
She leaned away from him to look at her partner.
“I mean, it’s a guy. Most of you men wouldn’t mind fucking a raw chicken. I don’t think he’ll mind a little bit of pain throughout it.”
Amaia then turned her head towards the male.
“I am trying to be nice, yeah? Now, name?”
At this point, she was no longer crushing his testicles, but her hand was still dangerously close. To spare the pain, he gave a half-hearted answer.
“...Z.”
“Give me your actual name or I’m shoving that scalpel up your ass.”
“Fuck-- it’s Zade,” he spat out, “happy?”
Happy, she was. Her lips curved to a much more tender smile.
“Nice to meet you Zade. You don’t look too bad. Here, actually.”
She plucked a rose from his pocket, putting it on his ear. She had noticed it earlier but didn’t pay mind to it. Though, it was important to him. Men weren’t usually the ones who received flowers after all.
She gently brushed his hair aside, and a drop of blood trickled down his neck, courtesy of the thorn.
“To which lucky girl those roses were going to go?”
“None of your business, you stupid bitch.”
Juanito erupted into a fit of giggles behind her. She rolled her eyes. Señor, dame paciencia, y en el culo resistencia...
“Super mature. Both of you.”
Amaia sighed. “And here I was, trying to make small talk.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Juanito knew his partner’s methods very well. She didn’t usually choose any random person as her victim. No, she played two personas. The bewitching devil, who held out a poisoned apple for them to bite on, and the non-apologetic stalker. Amaia and Juanito promised each other to be more open-minded towards each other's... pragmatics. She pushed him to use a man as a victim and he got her to choose any rando. Juanito was having some fun, unlike Amaia who kept clinging to her traditional way. So, he decided to go along with it.
He shuffled behind her and knelt to Zade’s level, grinning at him.
“Zade. Right?”
He moved his attention from Amaia to him, cheeks burning red in embarrassment at the position he was in. He kept quiet, trying to maintain his dignity. But Juanito knew what to poke at.
“Say, you seemed awfully obsessed with that girl in the mansion." He chuckled, don’t blame ya, that body is to die for." He made groping motions with both of his hands. "Can't help but cop a feel."
Amaia scooted aside, finally letting him go. Juanito approached him. Zade's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. Seeing this, Juanito shook his head, tutting at him.
“You aren’t so subtle. I wonder how she hasn’t shot you yet.” He said, eyeing Amaia for a few seconds.
She didn't spare him a glance.
“When are you gonna make a move, huh, tough guy?”
Silence dominated the room, save for the sound of their breathing. It bothered him. Loud, too loud. Rapid, too shallow. Too… uncontrolled. Once again, it wasn’t him. He didn’t recognize himself. A call for every standing psychological defense was at play, never has he felt so imprisoned. Yet, he remained unflinching under their gaze.
Prey, he never would be.
And yet he was letting them tear at his flesh.
“Nothing smart to say anymore?”
“You don’t know what you’re messing with", he rebuked, “I swear. You’ll be dead. You’re going to fucking die, and a painful fucking one at that.”
“Well, do something. Kill us,” Juanito taunted.
Should’ve kept your mouth shut, Amaia thought as Zade slammed his forehead against Juanito's nose. The former stumbled back and fell on his backside. He grimaced as he raised a hand to his now, a contusion beginning to swell. Before Zade could make another move, Amaia finally put the scalpel to use and stabbed his hand with it. The blade pinned his palm against the wall. Blood gushed out of the wound, the red liquid moved down his arm. Zade growled in pain, but he had been through worse. This was nothing but routine for him. A faint breeze he was going to get by, as he always did.
The wind howled. Faint grunts turned to agonizing cries when she gave the same treatment to his left hand. Resourceful she was, a knife tucked in a thigh sheath. She gave no mind to it as she turned towards Juanito, for what felt like the hundredth time this night. She maintained a distance between herself and Zade.
“No,” Juanito said, spitting on the floor. He rolled his shoulders and sighed. This was also a faint breeze for him. It wasn’t the first time one of his victims landed a hit on him. His glass eye spoke for itself.
“What a brat. He needs to be taught a lesson, don’t you think?”
“Si va! Go for it, then.”
He didn’t need her permission, but they were supposed to be a team. Juanito marched forward, finally stripping the predator from all his physical barriers. He shoved down his pants and boxers at once, just enough to expose his dick. If they weren’t before, alarm bells rang louder in Zade’s ears, as he thrashed around. He had squirmed so many times tonight that he lost count. Amaia, wishing she had chained his legs too, stood up. His head shot back as a cry of agony left his throat when Amaia stomped on his knee. It popped sideways, rendering it useless. He couldn’t stand even if he tried.
If only his hands were free, he would have popped it back into place. Knowing this, he sputtered out curses between his moans of pain.
Amaia was unimpressed.
“Calm down, you’re the luckiest of my victims.”
“Our victim!”
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up and stick it inside.”
An obedient dog, desperate for his master's approval, Juanito fumbled with his belt before unbuckling it. He yanked his pants down letting his dick spring free. Pain was no more for Zade. Instead, desperation gained full control of his brain. Adrenaline pumped throughout his body, and thoughts raced in his mind, this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. His cheeks flushed— like a pretty girl— Juanito noted. The man in front of him swung his working leg in an attempt to keep him at bay. Child’s play for Juanito, this wasn't his first rodeo. He gripped his ankles, before forcing himself between Zade's legs. He let go of his ankles, only to grab a fistful of his hair at the nape. He blessed him with no respite as he shoved his cock inside Zade's mouth.
Here he was, letting a man shove his puny dick down his throat. He kept telling himself— if it was different, if the roles were reversed, if it weren’t for those chains… he’d give him the slowest death he could think of. He wasn’t any average man, he was Zade Meadows.
Yet, he was letting a complete rando fuck his mouth. So much for being a predator.
"Such a good boy," he thought he heard Amaia purr in his ear.
How could this happen to him?
Juanito continued face fucking him, forcing him to take every inch down his throat. Hot tears streamed down Zade's face much to his dismay. Fine, he could cry, but in no way was he ever going to make a sound about it. That newly found mission of his failed as quickly as it began when he couldn’t hold back a gag as Juanito hit the back of his throat.
He grazed his teeth against the skin under them, in a moment of rebellion. He could fight back, he had to, even if it was about pulling cowardly moves. A move that the other didn’t appreciate. Juanito slammed his head against the wall, holding him in place.
"Good girls don't bite. You don't want me to break your jaw do you?"
What else could he do but listen?
He didn’t give him a moment to rest and resumed abusing Zade’s mouth. Eyes now closed, he felt the pleasure pulse throughout his body. Despite this, he could almost hear Amaia’s I told you so in his head. He could argue that gender didn’t matter for most straight guys when it came to getting their dick wet.
Still woozy from the head slam, Zade's mind could barely register the "click" of a camera. The preservation of a memory. After what felt like hours, Juanito’s eyes fluttered open, and he finally pulled out, a string of saliva still connecting them. Who said romance was dead?
Juanito almost looked bored, until he found the sight of a teary-eyed Zade, who was gasping for air.
Dazed, his lips were parted slightly, pink spread across his cheeks. The scar no longer played into his intimidating factor. Like a bitch in heat, Juanito thought. The highlight for him was the tears dribbling down his face. Uptight and tough victims were the best to break, right before the girls who tried to be cooperative out of fear. In the end, they all had the same expression— the one this dark-haired man was wearing right now.
"You're crying already? Oh, sweet."
Zade wished the ground would swallow him whole.
He also wished they were done with him. Adrenaline was wearing off, as he became aware of the throbbing pain from his palms. Dignity left his body when he let out a choked sob as Juanito kneeled down, and ran his index finger on the inside of his thighs. Taunting him. Amaia's mocking stare made his stomach churn.
"I- please," he rasped, "let me go. Please, just- get off."
"No."
He could do nothing but watch as he took hold of his thighs. He had nowhere to hide, with his legs spread open and his body’s ultimate betrayal exposed—a semi-hard-on, more precisely.
"You are getting off on being face fucked?"
To this, Amaia just smiled.
"See? I told you it'd be fun. You should know, you scientist, men have these sorts of reactions too."
He knew it was coming, but that didn’t make him any less annoyed.
“Don't lecture me about shit I already know."
“Blah, blah, blah…”
He ignored her antics and didn’t adhere to the other man’s comfort. Lifting him, he made sure his dick was positioned at his entrance. Zade squirmed, sprouting a loud of curses that fell on deaf ears. Amaia, with a grin still coloring her features, raised one eyebrow at the scene playing in front of her.
"You're not gonna warm him up?"
“I only reverse that to pretty, plump girls. And besides,” he gazed at Zade, looming over him, “his saliva’s still on my dick. Better than any lube.”
She sucked in a breath through her teeth in response. "That's gonna hurt."
Hurt was an understatement.
Zade released a loud gasp as Juanito forced himself inside his asshole, leaving him no time to adjust to the sudden length he was taking. He whined, the pain overwhelming his senses, but it was heaven for the rapist. Juanito maintained a steady rhythm, while Zade tried his best to not groan with every thrust. It was too much for him, a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure was overriding his brain. His mouth could do nothing but scream profanities at him between each push. So unfair, it was so unfair, he was so tight— blood coated the other man’s length, a mixture of saliva and blood now playing the role of lube, easier for penetration. Juanito was so heavy, too heavy, his grip on the man’s hips was sure to leave bruises.
“Fuck, Amaia, he’s made for this. His waist is so small, yours is bigger than his, I swear.”
Was that their form of foreplay? What the fuck.
She scoffed in response, "Should I... take it as an insult?"
“No, you’re perfect too.”
“Mm.”
In a rare moment of affection, she leaned in and initiated a kiss between them. As stubborn as she was, watching two grown men go at it with such force turned her on. This time, she had sat on Zade’s chest, not caring whether the man was suffocating or not. She grabbed both sides of Juanito's face as she kissed him. He took time to process what was happening, he had another task after all. Soon, she pulled away, only for her to lean in once more. It was messy and sloppy, multitasking was hard for him, so he let Amaia take the lead. Her hand wandered to the back of his head. A low moan left his throat when she tugged at his hair, making the masochist side of him thrilled. She took her chance and slipped her tongue into his mouth. Their teeth clinked together, trying to find a rhythm while Juanito kept driving himself inside Zade, at an admittedly slower pace.
The slow thrusts, the bruising grip on his waist, the pain-- he hated it.Them practically ignoring him was the worst out of all, he thought. They didn’t consider him a threat— he was just a toy free of use. He loathed the fact that his dick was now hard, aching to be grabbed. The need for release as strong as how the need for an escape clouded his mind.
One letter that brought shivers down the spine of every wrongdoer. Not those two though. Zade was supposedly the devil roaming the streets. He had amassed skeletons that wouldn’t be missed inside his closet. Girls would drop to their knees for him, guys would envy and fear him. Not those two. Instead, he was the one trembling in fear, covered in tears and snot, being violated by a crazy man who was making out with his girl on top of him. He was practically being used as a seat, fleshlight, and a punching bag-- all at the same time. The worst? He was so turned on-- goddamned masochist he was. He could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, exhaustion finally taking over. He fought against it, not wanting to find out what they would do to him once he fainted. His will wasn’t strong enough though, and he closed his eyes, darkness giving him grace and enveloping him.