Chapter Text
In a distant, cloudy part of his mind, Naim is plotting the best way to kill two lesbians and hide the bodies. In the much more fear-riddled part that takes up most of his consciousness at the moment, he’s focused on gripping Marnie’s arm and never letting go.
“None of it’s real, Naim, come on,” Jessica groans, tugging the other two along behind her.
“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles. “You see all the behind-the-scenes shit. All I see is the blood and the screaming.” Marnie turns and laughs in his face.
“You’re actually convinced by it?” She sounds delighted at his suffering, and the murder-plotting part of his brain trudges to the forefront. “That’s incredible, I didn’t know they could do that!”
“You literally work here as a medic,” Naim says grumpily. “You know people get hurt here.”
“Yeah, little kids scraping their knees and shit,” Marnie giggles. Jessica grins at her girlfriend, adoring. “I can’t believe you’re actually scared of this.”
Jess and Marnie had thought it would be “fun” to drag Naim to the local scare event that ran all throughout October. They’d pitched the idea to him as a “super fun” way to get away from his mother for a bit.
What they conveniently failed to mention was that “fun” was stumbling around a pitch-black corn maze with a 6-foot something man chasing them while revving a chainsaw. Realistically, he knew that the blade on the chainsaw was taken off. A frantic google search told him that after he’d already nearly peed himself in the maze, fingers shaking as he read about how all horror attractions will prioritize safety.
Besides the McKamey Manor, which had popped up more than once in his search. He’d genuinely rather die than go there.
This knowledge, however, did nothing to quell the cooling feeling that rushed over him—a sign he was about two seconds away from a proper panic attack. The last thing he wanted was to die via being ripped to shreds by a chainsaw. He tried to silence his friends’ voices in his head saying “you also wouldn’t want to die a virgin.”
As they approach their final stop of the night—Haunted Hill House, apparently full of ghosts and murderers and various frightening possible encounters—Jess flashes her employee ID badge to the guy at the door, who lets them in ahead of the line. There’s a chorus of groans behind them, and Naim wishes he was standing in the long queue rather than heading through the entryway.
“Special treatment for off-duty actors, sorry, guys,” the man shouts over the complaints, which go quiet at his words. “They get to skip any queue so long as there’s at least an hour before close.”
“See, we’re VIP,” Jess says smugly, and the door swings shut behind them with a finality Naim feels in his bones. He’s going to die tonight.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
All it takes is Naim tripping over one stupid wire in the middle of the fucking hallway, which—safety hazard much?—and Jess and Marnie are gone. Fully gone, disappeared round a corner probably to find a spot to make out or fuck while Naim melts into a puddle on the ground and seeps into the dirt and dies. He walks as quickly as he can, flinching at every flash of light or soft scuff of a shoe from down the hall, heart pounding out of his chest.
He can feel his breath coming in short puffs, another sure sign that he’s about a second away from hyperventilating himself into a humiliating public panic attack. The weed he smoked earlier isn’t relaxing him; in fact, it’s making him even more paranoid and scared than he already would have been, the slight buzz in his skull feeling like someone ringing a gong next to his ear.
He can’t tell if the screams he’s hearing are the other people in various rooms of the house, or the result of a horrifically bad trip that’s causing him to have auditory hallucinations.
He hopes it’s the latter, because at least that means there likely isn’t going to be anything else in this house that decides today is his last day on earth.
Right?
And then, his worst nightmare: a shitty skeleton drops out of a fake panel in the wall, startling him so badly he trips backwards over his own feet and directly into the broad, shirtless chest of a blood-soaked scare actor in a hockey mask. If Naim had the opportunity or the means, he’d probably kill himself right then and there, just to get it over with. The actor reaches up to push the mask back, revealing a handsome face splattered with red, blue eyes piercing.
If Naim’s face wasn’t so flushed from the embarrassment of tripping twice in two minutes, the blood in his body might have been rushing elsewhere. The actor opens his mouth, probably to release a corny line that’ll scare Naim shitless anyway.
“Y’alright, mate?” he says instead. “Usually people who get scared like that don’t come in here alone, is all.”
“My—my friends went somewhere,” he stutters out, trying to catch his breath. “Marnie and Jessica—Jess works here, she’s one of the—”
“Ah, shit, one of the other Jason dupes,” the man grins. “I technically live with her, y’know.”
“What?” Naim says, now too confused to be scared.
“Well, we’ve all got trailers here for when the park is open all night, but my name’s on her and Marnie’s lease.” Naim frowns.
“I’ve never seen you there.”
“I spend a lot of time here,” he says, shrugging. He tugs the mask off of his head, releasing bright blond curls that look soft, and he tucks the crappy plastic into his waistband. Naim tries to keep his eyes off of the man’s V-line, but seriously. It’s right there. Naim wants to lick him, and then wants to kill himself for wanting to lick him.
“Oh,” Naim says dully, looking around briefly and feeling his heart stutter in his chest when he sees a man dragging a bloody axe towards them through the nearest doorway. Involuntarily, he flinches backwards, and the man behind him grips his arm gently.
“S’alright, mate, I’ll get you out of here. I know all the secret entries,” he says, winking roguishly. Had it been any other time, Naim might’ve giggled. As it stands, all he can do is nod wordlessly and wrap his hands around one of the man’s forearms, swallowing hard when he realizes that the other man’s size isn’t just for show, but that the arm in his clutches is solid with muscle. “’Sup, Hunter?”
“Fuck you doin’, mate?” the man with the axe asks, pushing his hood back a little bit.
“Helpin’ a customer out, dickhead, so go find someone else to scare,” the blond man says.
“No need to get snappy, Christ,” Hunter mutters, but continues his trudging walk, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
“Sorry ’bout him,” Ryan says flippantly, leading Naim to a hidden doorway behind a curtain of fake spiderwebs. Naim shakes his silently. “Here, we can just wait outside here for a minute til Jess comes back from wherever she and Marnie snuck off to.”
“Yeah, okay,” Naim says softly, feeling his shoulders slump with relief briefly before a shriek sounds from inside the house and his entire body locks into place again.
“Jesus, man, you’re fuckin’ terrified,” Ryan says, sounding both impressed and astonished.
“Sorry,” Naim whispers.
“Don’t be sorry, just—here, c’mere,” Ryan says, letting Naim continue digging his nails into Ryan’s arms like a mistreated stress toy. As they get further from the noises of the crowd and haunts, Naim’s breath comes in easier, and he lets himself actually think about what he’s doing, which is holding onto a tall, muscular stranger and following him into the dark, empty part of a horror-themed park near midnight. Instead of feeling apprehension, though, Naim feels something else: attraction. Ryan is objectively, undoubtedly handsome, tall and broad and tanned, and he even makes the fake blood, tacky and sweet-smelling, look good. He glances up at Ryan through his eyelashes and finds those blue eyes staring back down at him. Ryan stops walking, eyes locked on Naim. They’re next to a short, squat building, only one of the windows lit.
“Is this—?”
“Just the offices,” Ryan says, leaning against the back wall and lighting a cigarette that he fishes out of his front pocket. “Eli’s probably in there.”
“Who’s Eli?”
“She owns the place,” Ryan explains. “She’s weird, and kinda super homophobic, but the pay’s really good. I think she’s a lesbian, though, so I’m not really too sure about all the, like, repent and pray shit she says.” Naim laughs, shocked. Ryan smirks, the blood on his cheeks making him look dangerous. Naim’s stomach swoops, breathtaken. “She usually makes us all pray before a shift. It’s fucking crazy, because we’re going out, y’know, half-dressed and dripping blood, but it’s important that we acknowledge Jesus and deny our homosexual urges first.”
“Sounds like my mum,” Naim says, plucking the cigarette from Ryan’s proffered hand and digging the near-roach from his pocket to hold it out in exchange. He pulls it back slightly. “Wait, you’re working.”
“Eh, my shift’s almost over anyway,” Ryan says, grabbing the joint and lighting it. The flickering flame from the lighter casts sharp shadows across his face, darkening his eyes and making his freckles prominent. They smoke together for a second, Naim sneaking glances at Ryan, who stares back at Naim unapologetically as if mapping his face. “S’good shit, damn.”
“Marnie’s,” Naim explains. Ryan nods sagely, like that explains everything. (It kinda does; Marnie’s the local dealer for a reason.)
“You feel better, mate?”
“Naim,” Naim says.
“…Ryan,” Ryan says slowly. “Didn’t you hear Hunter back in the house?”
“No, my name,” Naim says. “Naim. Nah-eem. N-A-I-M. Mum’s crazy religious. Used to be less, but enough to name me Naim.”
“Yeah, my parents were religious too. Still are, I bet, only I haven’t talked to them in about three years.” Ryan takes a long drag from his cigarette, casting his eyes upwards to the pitch-black sky.
“Three years?” Naim says, impressed. His eyebrows climb up toward his hairline, his face unable to contain his surprise. “Figured you were closer to my age—eighteen, nineteen.”
“Just turned nineteen,” the guy confirms, crooked smirk tilting his lips into something teasing. “Sorry, Naim.” Heat curls in Naim’s gut at the sound of his name from Ryan’s lips. “You into older guys or somethin’?”
“You’re still older,” Naim breathes, trying to regain control of himself. “By a few months.”
“Oh, piss off, dickhead,” Ryan laughs. “Hardly can count myself as a silver fox.”
“Eh, with that hair…” Naim’s hand, without his mind’s permission, drifts up to tug on a few of his curls. Ryan’s eyelashes flutter softly. Naim jerks his hand back, face flushing. “S-sorry.”
“S’fine,” Ryan says breathlessly, tips of his ears turning the same red as his broad shoulders.
“Nah, not a silver fox, though,” Naim says, pouting as he leaned in a little, snagging the cig from between Ryan’s lips and taking a drag. “Golden retriever, maybe. Somethin’ like that. Where you might be big and a little intimidating, but on the inside you’re just a little puppy.” As he finishes his sentence, three things happen in quick succession: Ryan knocks the cigarette out of Naim’s hand and grinds it into the dirt with the toe of his boot; the flush spreads from his ears to his face, down his neck and onto his chest; and all of a sudden his arms have snaked their way around Naim’s waist, pulling him closer to quite possibly the worst decision Naim could possibly make in his eighteen years of living.
That included the time he got over-excited while smelling a candle he didn’t realize was already lit. This resulted in scalding hot wax pouring down his chin and into his shirt.
“Naim,” Ryan mumbles, ducking his head down to catch Naim’s gaze. “Naim.” His voice is as gentle as his hold is, but Naim feels locked in place nonetheless. Ryan is warm, even though he’s shirtless in the chilled air, and there’s the pink flush creeping down his chest.
His arms feel stuck down by his sides, leaving him awkwardly standing in the boy’s embrace. He tries to look away—embarrassed at his lack of reciprocation—but nearly shrieks after making eye contact with a clown mask with razor sharp teeth slightly to the left of them. Instinctively, his whole body tightens up as his hands fly towards Ryan’s, steadying himself against the boy’s broad chest.
It’s this newfound proximity that leads Naim to an… admittedly interesting discovery. He can’t help but notice that Ryan’s pupils have nearly doubled in size since he first pulled him into this weird, deserted corner of the attraction. Then again, he wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact he can’t take his eyes off of Ryan’s blood-soaked face. His gaze has been fixed on the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his face is perfect even with the asymmetrical splatters of fake blood.
“C’mon,” Ryan says, voice still desperately soft. “Can’t call me that and leave me hanging.”
The rational part of his brain insists that whatever’s about to happen—more like what Naim wants to happen—is a terrible idea. Hell, he doesn’t even know the guy. For all he knows, this boy could be some serial killer who preys on naïve young boys that get dragged to haunted houses by evil lesbians.
But the other half of his brain is busy watching Ryan’s eyes. Every couple of seconds, they dip down to Naim’s lips before drifting back up. This last time, however, the moment his gaze climbs back up to meet Naim’s heady stare, his lips curl into a wide, toothy grin.
Despite all his attempts to remain rational, something in his chest gives way. If Naim wasn’t so turned on by the fake blood that had dripped from Ryan’s nose to his gums, he might’ve made a comment about how his reaction really was akin to that of a puppy’s. Instead, he finds himself at a loss for words. His eyes stay locked on Ryan’s as every perfectly curated, clever remark dissolves from his train of thought.
He watches as Ryan’s head dips down towards him, leaning in slowly as if he’s waiting for Naim to give him permission. He’s so close that Naim could count every fleck of dried blood on his top lip if he wanted to. The arms that had been wound around his waist make their way up towards his face, gently cupping it.
This could be the worst decision he’s ever made, but why not?
Naim tilts his head and rises onto his toes. One of his hands slides up to the chain necklace Ryan has on before giving it a gentle tug. The distance between them melts away, their lips meeting as a small noise of pleasure escapes Naim’s mouth.
Ryan seems to freeze for a moment before kissing him back gently, his lips still curled in a smile. Naim’s fingers stay tangled in the necklace, absentmindedly tugging on it to pull Ryan closer to him. Ryan moans happily into Naim’s mouth before deepening the kiss.
The kiss turns messy almost instantly. Their noses bump against each other, lips separating briefly before crashing back together in an instant. Ryan’s right hand drifts down towards Naim’s neck, pressing his fingers into the sides of his neck. Naim gasps, allowing for Ryan’s tongue to press into the gap between his lips. Naim’s tongue slides against Ryan’s as his hands move to the taller boy’s shoulders, his nails digging into Ryan’s delts. Ryan’s thigh presses roughly between his legs while the hand not around his neck falls to his waist.
A blood-curdling scream echoes out of the house not far from the squat building causing Naim to flinch and push against Ryan’s chest. Their lips part with a loud smack, a thin string of spit keeping them connected.
“Fuck, I can feel your heartbeat from here,” Ryan laughs, as if from here isn’t pressed as close to him as physically possible with Naim’s hands between them. “Like a fuckin’ rabbit, mate.”
“Fuck off,” Naim says, a giggle escaping him against his will as he drops his forehead to Ryan’s chest. Ryan’s fingers, still wrapped loosely around his throat, squeeze gently against his windpipe.
“S’alright, Naim,” Ryan whispers. “I’m right here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” There’s something darker in Ryan’s voice now, and the hand around Naim’s neck tightens, yanking him forward. He jerks forward with a gasp, his eyes widening as he is encouraged to start grinding against the thigh between his legs. The unexpected motion sends the back of his head into the wall behind him with a hard thunk, a dull ache throbbing at the base of his skull.
“Ow—” A laugh bubbles out of him, the sound drawing a look of alarm from Ryan. His blue eyes widened causing some of the dried fake blood to flake off, his hands immediately slipping away from Naim’s neck and waist to cup the back of his head.
“Y’alright?” Ryan asks, wincing as he pulls Naim’s head away from the wall and into his chest. “I was trying to be hot,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss the top of Naim’s head, “that didn’t go exactly as planned, huh?”
It took Naim a moment to collect himself before looking back up at Ryan. “Y’think?”
Ryan scoffs, his cheeks pink in embarrassment. “I was tryin’ to be smooth and damn near gave you a concussion.”
Naim slides his hands from Ryan’s shoulders up to his face, pulling him in to press a sweet kiss against his lips. Pulling away, he whispers, “No harm done, so are you just gonna stop there?” He punctuates the last word with a rough grind against the thigh still shoved between his legs. Naim moans into Ryan’s mouth at the feeling, pulling him back into a filthy kiss. Ryan, eager to please, kisses him into the wall, presses his full body weight against Naim and lets the kiss linger, following Naim’s lead as it devolves into a sloppy makeout.
Ryan sighs, his hands snaking down Naim’s back landing just above his ass. Naim gets on the tips of his toes and moves forward, aligning their cocks so that they would press together on his next grind. He slowly grinds down against Ryan, both of them feeling how hard the other is. He repeats the motion, his vision going blurry and brain fuzzy at the pressure until he notices Ryan’s saying something.
“—what you want me to do,” he’s saying, breathless and guttural. “Tell me what you want me to do, baby.” Naim grins.
“Aw, y’wanna be good for me?” His words are slurring and he has to pause between words to make sure his moans aren’t too loud. “Y’wanna make me come?”
He feels Ryan stiffen and worries that he said something wrong. He pulls back slightly, finds Ryan staring down at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, spit-slick and pink.
“You do,” he says, awed.
“Fuck off,” says Ryan, but it sounds like keep going.
“Hmm,” Naim hums, yanking Ryan’s mouth back down to his.
Naim begins to steadily grind against Ryan again, picking up speed as Ryan’s whimpers get louder. He tucks his head into the crook of Ryan’s neck, gently biting down on the blood-stained skin there.
Ryan takes one of his hands and puts it on top of Naim’s head, gripping the inky strands and pulling his head back. “Please, Naim,” he’s whimpering, the sound both pathetic and arousing. “I’m so close. PleasePleasePlease—” His head tips downward, mouth open as he pants in Naim’s ear. His mouth meets the side of Naim’s exposed neck, already open and sinking his teeth down as soon as his lips touch Naim’s sweaty skin. “I can be—I can be so good for you, Naim, let me—please, let me—”
The constant friction clearly becomes overwhelming for Ryan, words devolving into broken, choked-off noises deep in his throat. Naim’s hips start to stutter as he feels a rush of warmth spreading through his core, but he refuses to come now, not when Ryan is more than teetering on the precipice of his own orgasm.
Naim’s hands clench, digging his blunt nails into Ryan’s arms. He feels breathless, his eyes involuntarily blurring despite his attempts to blink away the fog to see how Ryan looks while he comes. Ryan’s chest is rising in uneven, heavy breaths as his whole body shivers. He’s making pitiful little gasping noises against Naim’s neck, his hands clawing at Naim’s lower back.
“Did you just come?” Naim snickers, a taunting edge to his voice. “Did you really just come in your pants?”
“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Ryan stutters, his face, neck, and shoulders flushing a pretty pink.
“Like a blushing virgin,” Naim says, lips stretching further in a wide grin. “Aw, c’mon Ry, don’t tell me that’s all you have in you.”
“I just—I just wanted to make you feel good,” Ryan says, shame-faced and still bright pink. His blue eyes meet Naim’s hazel, earnest and puppyish. There are tears glistening on his waterline, and Naim feels a tug at his heart that he probably shouldn’t be feeling for a boy who he’d met that night and just made come in his pants. He thinks if he keeps teasing Ryan, the blond might actually start weeping.
“You did,” Naim assures him, smile softening into something nicer. “You did make me feel good, it’s alright.” Naim reaches for him, grabbing one of Ryan’s hands and placing it right on his cock. “Bet you could make me feel even better, huh? Wanna be a good boy for me and make me come?”
If Ryan had a tail, Naim was sure it would be wagging. He nods as he grinds the palm of his hand onto Naim’s dick, his teeth digging into his lower lip. He watches in awe as Naim continues to thrust against the hand on his jeans.
“You’re not—” Naim’s voice breaks off with a moan. “Need you closer.”
Ryan’s hand works quickly to unbutton Naim’s jeans and yank the zipper down. He presses his hand right on top of Naim’s boxers, the warmth from his hand a pleasant addition.
Naim gasps, a dribble of spit making its way down his chin. He stares up at Ryan through his lashes and continues to drag his cock against his rough palm, the flimsy piece of clothing the only barrier between them. Ryan leans down, eyes still locked on Naim’s, and licks the spit off of Naim’s face, dragging his tongue up until he recaptures Naim’s lips in a searing kiss that leaves his knees feeling like jelly. He whimpers into Ryan’s mouth, feeling his immediate reaction as his left hand tightens into a bruising grip on his hip and his right speeds up against Naim’s dick, drawing breathy moans from him as his head falls back with a gentle tap against the wall behind him.
He rolls his hips against Ryan’s hand, lashes fluttering involuntarily as Ryan disconnects their lips and drops his mouth once again to Naim’s neck, biting a nasty bruise into his flushed skin.
“Mine,” Ryan mumbles as he laves over the sting with his tongue, “mine, my pretty boy, mine.” There’s something primal in it that makes Naim feel like a prey animal succumbing to a soft-bellied predator, leaving him open and wanting and vulnerable in the cold air.
With one last thrust of his hips, Naim gasps, his body shaking and spine arching, pressing himself closer to Ryan’s naked chest. After what feels like an eternity but was realistically only five minutes, the cold, sticky feeling in Naim’s boxers starts to bother him. He pushes back from Ryan, the hand in his pants withdrawing, and the arm around him tightening for a second before letting him go.
Naim straightens out, passing his hands down his front to smooth out his rumpled up shirt. He bends down to pick the jacket that had slipped off of him sometime during their rendezvous, the action bringing attention back to the sticky mess between his legs. His face twists into a grimace at the thought of having to find his way back to Jess and Marnie with the evidence of what he just did visible in the wet patch that steadily grew on the front of his pants. He watches Ryan wipe his hand off on his jeans.
Ryan glances down, lips twitching into a smug smile as he takes in Naim’s appearance.
“Well, you look proper fucked,” he says, voice gravelly.
“Says the guy who came in his pants after dry humping like a fifteen-year-old virgin,” Naim snaps, miffed.
“Says the guy who is a virgin,” Ryan laughs.
“Not anymore,” Naim leers, dragging Ryan back down for another kiss.
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Ryan mumbles against his lips, and Naim can’t hold back the whimper when Ryan’s hand brushes the front of his jeans again, uncaring for the wet spot that must be growing tacky in the chilled autumn air.
“If we’re fucking again, it’s not going to be against the side of your boss’s fucking office,” Naim says, managing to pull himself away from Ryan’s hungry mouth. Ryan actually whines in the back of his throat (mission accomplished!), but he lets Naim push him back a few steps.
“My trailer’s that way,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. His chest is still flushed pink. Naim thinks he could die, right now, and be okay with it.
“Well, lead the way,” Naim says, voice coming out much more steadily than he had expected. Ryan grins, mouth wet.
“Yes, sir,” he says, teasing—but there’s an undertone to it, a promising hum.
A little exploration never hurt anyone, Naim reasons to himself as he allows Ryan to drag him further into the dark.