Chapter Text
"I can't care about a bunch of goddamned birds. Back the shit up and get the fuck out of my face."
The bodyguard was a long, tense line of aggression, but that aggression wasn't directed at Nilo. The bodyguard hadn't even noticed Nilo; all his attention was laser-focused on a different man, a man who shouldn't have been here at all. But since he was…
Nilo pushed the back door of the coffee shop open wider, holding it steady with the flat of his hand so the bell didn't jingle. Emilio, his best guy, the guy he actually trusted to have his fucking back, reached out and took it, holding it open for the guy behind him. Three of them would be enough for this job, especially since no one in the coffee shop was paying any attention at all to anything but their own…whatever the fuck that was.
Nilo reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around his Beretta. The metal stuck against his skin, and he released it, taking his hand out of his pocket to swipe his palm against the fabric of his jeans. He wasn't fucking nervous; it was just important that he didn't fuck this up.
"He's not into it," the bodyguard said, shifting so his back was to Nilo. And he might be almost twice Nilo's age, but there wasn't an ounce of softness anywhere on him; he was all long, lean, dangerous muscle.
"Isn't he?" The man who shouldn't be here, Gideon Locke, wasn't looking at Nilo either, even though he was facing the rear doors. Instead, he was smirking at the bodyguard. "You didn't watch the videos I have of him. You didn't watch him react. You don't know what he's into. That sound he just made was not fear. Look, I just need something I can take to Castillo and—"
Nilo flinched.
The target also flinched, looking away from the two men he was with, then straight at Nilo and Nilo's two guys. His mouth dropped open, and right time or not, Nilo had to move. He'd been fucking clocked.
Nilo reached into his pocket again, and this time he drew the Beretta. He aimed past the target, pulling the trigger in a smooth squeeze that felt good. No hesitation like—like last time. Nobody was going to accuse him of—
The target lunged forward, shoving the bodyguard into Gideon, and Nilo saw his bullet tear through the target's sleeve, a spray of blood darkening his shirt.
Fuck. Fuck. His father wasn't going to like—
The bodyguard's voice combined with the gunshot, a sharp, hard command, and the target stumbled down onto his knees, curling into the space beside the counter.
Okay, good. The last thing Nilo wanted was for the target to get himself fucking killed. He swung the Beretta around, aiming at the bodyguard who wasn't trying to protect himself at all. He and Gideon were both standing in front of the target, sheltering him with their bodies, protecting them. Fucking goddamned Gideon—he'd told his fa—
More gunshots, making his ears ring in the small coffee shop, the smell of gunpowder dry in the back of his throat. Nilo took a step forward and slipped, falling hard onto his knees. Had someone spilled their fucking coffee? His left hand slid through the slick, coming up wet and red.
Blood.
He'd shot someone? He'd killed someone?
His stomach spasmed, and then his whole body. His eyes wouldn't—wouldn't focus. He felt someone crouch beside him, felt the press of a gun muzzle into his throat. He couldn't feel the Beretta in his own hand anymore, couldn't even feel his hand, if he were honest. Everything was too loud and too muzzy, and it wasn't just his—his—he couldn't make anything move. It was like he was all bound up in wool.
The man crouching over him grabbed Nilo's jaw, squeezing to force his mouth open. "Swallow this, you little shit. You don't get to fucking die. Not yet."
Nilo didn't taste whatever it was. He floated, the room spinning slowly around him, until he felt a sharp slap on his face. "Up. I'm not fucking sharing you with the police."
He was dragged onto his feet, in a dizzying rush of pain and movement, slung over someone's shoulder, carried out through the cafe door, that—that little bell jangling as it brushed against his ass.
The light outside the coffee shop was too fucking bright, it burned his eyes as he was carried across the street, someone honking—and then rolled off the shoulder and into the dark, tight space of a trunk.
Gideon leaned over him, running his hands roughly and briefly down Nilo's body, over his pockets. "Don't fucking bleed out on me; if I can't borrow Connor, then you'll have to do."
He slammed the trunk closed, and then Nilo was sliding down into darkness.
*****
He woke up in another slow, dizzy slide, not understanding where he was. He was in a bright, white room, on a bright white bed, stripped to his boxers and spreadeagled—and when he tried to pull his arms in against his chest, he couldn't. Slowly, fighting the dizziness, he turned his head and looked up along his right arm.
Manacles. White leather buckled tightly around his wrist, chaining him to a hook in the headboard. He could wiggle his fingers, which was a relief. He wasn't—wasn't paralyzed. Just bound. Captive. His father was going to be pissed.
He let his own anger claw up through his belly and into his chest, fighting back the dizziness, jerking on those damned fucking wrist and ankle manacles that had him spread out and defenseless. Where the fuck was he? There weren't any windows in this room. Nothing but white walls and this white bed and the light above the bed—and—and the cameras. There was a camera above him, but he clocked three more, all of them different angles of the bed.
This room was like a goddamned porn set.
The cameras all had a tiny red blinking light; they were recording him. He didn't know if the room was wired for sound, but just in case… Nilo glared up at the one directly above him, curling his hands into fists. "You like to watch, asshole?"
Nothing.
Maybe the bastard was watching, or maybe he'd stepped away to take a shit. Either way, it made Nilo's skin crawl to be helpless like this, watched, recorded. "Hey. Asshole. I gotta piss. You want me to piss all over these white sheets?"
Still nothing.
He actually did need to piss. He was tempted to just let go, but what if the asshole wasn't actually watching? What if he pissed himself and then was forced to lay in it? Nilo shivered with distaste. No, fuck him.
He noticed, belatedly, that he hurt, and raised his head off the mattress to look down at his mostly naked body. There was a small white bandage taped to the outer side of his right thigh, and yeah—that was where the pain was coming from. Slowly, the rest of his memories filled in: the job, the gunshots, the…
Nilo let his head drop back onto the mattress. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up again. He dug his fingers into the sheets, holding on as the room gave one last slow spin around him, then glared up at the camera, this time refusing to look away from that blinking red dot. "Asshole. Yeah, you. You don't even know the shit you're in."
He let out a stream of obscenities in two languages: English and all the Italian he'd ever overheard, because Italian was a fucking great language for talking shit. He swore until he ran out of words, and then he lay there, panting.
He heard the soft click of the speaker turning on above him. "You really don't like being ignored, huh? Too used to being the center of everyone's attention? Maybe I should do that, then. Walk away and leave you here, alone, for 48 hours."
Nilo couldn't control the prickle of reaction between his shoulder blades, but his back was pressed against the mattress, and he didn't have to let this asshole see it. "I'm going to piss the bed."
"That is one of the things I'm going to make you do. You're going to piss like the goddamned mutt you are whenever I give you an order."
Nilo swore again, spitting out the words until he ran out of breath.
"Yeah," the asshole said. "I'm going to do something about that mouth, too."
The speaker clicked off, and a tendril of genuine fear twisted up through Nilo's spine. Was the asshole actually going to leave him alone for 48 hours? He yanked on the manacles, but they were too tight to pull free, and he couldn't reach the buckles with his fingers. He couldn't—
The white wall cracked open into a door, and the asshole walked in. He closed the door behind him so Nilo couldn't even get a glimpse of what was beyond this white room, couldn't get a hint of where the asshole was keeping him, and then just stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at Nilo's nearly naked body.
"I had to carry you out of that coffee shop, Nilo, and turns out your wound wasn't even anything serious. You're just delicate, is that it? A pretty, delicate boy?" The asshole's voice was contemptuous, and it made Nilo rage. He was going to bite this man's throat out with his teeth if he couldn't use his hands.
He writhed against the manacles, not caring if the strain against his thigh muscles made his wound throb with a sharp, aching pain. "Fucker. Let me go."
The asshole moved, climbing up on the bed until he was kneeling over Nilo. "You need to learn who's in charge here, mutt. You're in my world now, and I'm going to fucking control every inch of your body. I decide if you get to eat, or speak, or get hard. Now open your goddamned fucking mouth."
He held up his hand in front of Nilo's face, and Nilo immediately clamped his mouth closed. The asshole was holding a fucking gag, one with a hard rubber bit shaped like a short, fat cock.
The asshole pressed that bit against Nilo's lips, but Nilo only clenched his jaw tighter. The fuck he was going to wear that shit. Nilo wouldn't open his fucking mouth even if this asshole started breaking bones. He obviously wanted Nilo alive, which meant there was only so much he could fucking do. He couldn't—
The asshole backhanded him across his closed mouth, hard enough that Nilo tasted blood. "Here are your choices; the only fucking choices you have. I know you've been on my fucking livestreams, Killer, and I have all the stats on which streams you joined, and how long you stayed. I know what you like to watch. I know what gets that little dick of yours hard."
He laid the gag down on Nilo's chest and took a small zippered bag out of his back pocket. He laid it down on Nilo's chest beside the gag, removing a hypodermic needle. "This is the drug I use for transport, and I know you've watched some of those streams, I know you understand how a paralytic works. One dose of this, and you'll be unable to twitch a single muscle. That stubborn jaw of yours will relax, and I'll be able to put whatever I want in your mouth, and you won't be able to bite. You might not even be able to gag. Is that the choice you want to make, Nilo? You want to be completely helpless and soft for me like a fucking newborn puppy?"
Nilo couldn't stop the tremor of revulsion that went through his body. He had watched those videos where this asshole had used the paralytic, but they hadn't made him hard. Seeing those young men stretched out, tears leaking out of their eyes, unable to twitch so much as a finger…it was the worst thing he could imagine. Worse than—
Fuck. No. He wasn't going to think about that.
"Last chance, puppy."
Another tremor that Nilo couldn't control. But this one, at least, was equal parts rage. He glared up at the asshole and he…he opened his mouth. Or at least, he stopped clenching his jaw—and when the asshole picked up the gag, he let the hard rubber cock push into his mouth and against the back of his tongue, relieved when it wasn't long or thick enough to make him choke. He wouldn't give the asshole that satisfaction.
The asshole tucked the needle back into the zippered pouch, holding the gag in Nilo's mouth, preventing him from spitting it out. "You have had some training then, mutt? Not enough to give you manners, but maybe enough that I don't have to treat you like a soft little fucking princess?" He chuckled, lifting Nilo's head to buckle the gag in place. "I think everyone's heard those rumors."
A burn of rage and humiliation went through Nilo's body, and he jerked his hips upward, as close to the asshole as the manacles would let him, and pissed, the fabric of his boxers immediately turning wet and dark.
The asshole looked down, but he didn't scramble backward like Nilo fucking wanted. Instead, he reached down to where the fabric was clinging, outlining the head of Nilo's cock, and gripped the head between his fingers. He squeezed hard, pinching Nilo's urethra closed and cutting off the stream. "Did I say pissing was one of your choices? I decide when you fucking get to piss."
Nilo clenched down, managing to force a narrow stream of piss past those fingers, and the asshole pinched harder, cutting it off again...and then abruptly released, shifting his body slightly to the left after a glance up at the camera.
"Fucking mutt. You want to lie in a puddle of piss? Be my fucking guest. Some of my subscribers like a boy who can't control his little cock."
Nilo remembered the cameras. Nilo remembered that there might—probably was—people watching. People who might know him. Another burn of humiliation went through him. He tried to stop, but with his legs spread open and with the pressure he'd been applying, the piss continued streaming out of him, hard and urgent and unstoppable. And his bladder had been full—he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, how long it had been since he'd last pissed. It had—had been a while, judging by the warm liquid gathering underneath him, staining the white sheets, but not seeping into the mattress. The asshole had prepared for this, he realized; the asshole had put a plastic sheet over the mattress. He could hear the sound of it underneath his ass, now that he was paying attention.
The asshole waited for him, looking down at the wet outline of his cock the whole time. When Nilo finished, he reached down and slid his fingers between Nilo's skin and his boxers, pinching the wet fabric. He took a pair of scissors out of the bag, gathered that bunched fabric between the blades, and gave one decisive snip. He moved to the other side, cutting through Nilo's boxers until the only thing covering his genitals was a small square of wet cotton.
The asshole glanced up at the camera again, then slid the sharp metal tip underneath that clinging fabric, scraping Nilo's balls with the point as he flipped the remains of the boxers away, leaving Nilo entirely exposed.
Nilo's body clenched involuntarily at the rush of cool air against his genitals, clenched again when the asshole didn't take the scissors away, just used the point to press deeper underneath his balls, giving them the same humiliating flip as he had the boxers.
"Your father likes castrating his captives, doesn't he? He likes cutting these useless bits off before he kills them." The point of the scissors scraped upward, over his balls to the base of Nilo's cock. "I'm considering sending him a little present, nicely gift-wrapped. I think everything you have here would fit in a little velvet jewelry box."
Nilo flushed, his jaw clenched hard and aching around the gag as the point of the scissors dragged down his shaft, giving another of those flips when it reached his head. "But that's for later. Right now, I actually have a use for this."
The asshole put the scissors aside and took out a sealed packet with a coil of—of silicone tubing inside. "I should be wearing gloves for this," he said, opening the packet. "I should wipe down your cock with antiseptic, but I'm not going to be keeping you long enough to worry about infections."
The asshole reached down and picked up Nilo's cock, tilting it upward toward the camera. He found the end of the silicone tubing and pressed the tip of it against Nilo's cock, against his—his—
Nilo bucked his hips upward, shaking his head, trying to speak around the gag. He choked himself instead, and the asshole waited until he wasn't desperately straining for air before pressing the tip back in place.
It slid in easily, the tube already pre-lubed, but Nilo fucking felt every inch, the—the pressure of it invading him, rubbing along the sensitive interior walls where he'd never felt anything before. It—it hurt a little, there was a stretch, but it wasn't nearly as painful as taking a cock up the ass when he wasn't prepared. And when it reached the bottom of his cock, it brushed against a place that—a place that—
Nilo's eyes rolled back, his hips arching upward again, this time entirely involuntarily. He—he couldn't—
The asshole pulled the tubing back slightly, then pushed it in again, harder, pressing into that spot until it hurt as much as it felt—felt— Nilo's throat clenched, and he made a sound into his gag.
"You like that, you little bastard? Getting fucked up your cock makes you hard? Maybe I'll send a clip of this video to your father along with that velvet jewelry box."
The tube pushed into him again, even harder, and then slid past that—that spot, turning into a different angle. Nilo felt a small bright pain and then—even though he'd just fucking emptied his bladder, he felt the desperate urge to pee.
His hips twitched, and the asshole laughed, his voice raw and mean. "I can tell I'm in the right place."
All of the tubing had disappeared into Nilo's cock except for the very end, which had split into two. The asshole inserted a syringe filled with clear fluid into one of them. "I'm inflating a little balloon to hold this in place. Even if you get your hands free, I wouldn't recommend trying to pull it out. You'll only hurt yourself."
Nilo glared, but the asshole was too focused on his cock to notice. He finished filling the balloon, then withdrew the syringe and set it aside. "Now, since you were such a fucking untrained mutt and pissed the bed, let's fill you back up. You won't get to piss it out again until you beg. Beg nicely, like you're begging your boyfriend for a fuck."
The second syringe was much larger, filled with more of that clear fluid. He slid it into the other end of the catheter and slowly pressed the plunger, pushing the fluid into Nilo's bladder.
Nilo didn't feel anything at first. He didn't feel anything until the asshole refilled the syringe with more saline, the urge to pee gradually growing into a need, and then a demand. But he couldn't do anything about it. Each time the asshole withdrew the syringe to refill it, he pinched off the tubing the way he'd pinched off Nilo's cock, keeping the fluid inside, letting the pressure build inside Nilo until he couldn't keep himself from squirming in his manacles.
"Feeling nice and full, mutt?" The asshole pushed first his fingertips and then his whole hand into Nilo's abdomen, pushing against his bladder until it cramped painfully. "I think you can take one more syringe."
Nilo couldn't, but he was forced to. He lifted his head off the mattress to watch the clear liquid travel down the few inches of protruding tube and into his cock, into his bladder. He was going to fucking burst. He could—he could see the slight bulge of his bladder under the skin and muscle of his abdomen.
The asshole withdrew the empty syringe and tossed it back into the bag, then sealed off the catheter. "Puppies don't piss their bed. They don't piss until they're told to piss."
He gathered up the bag, zipping it closed, then slung it over his shoulder. "I fucking control you. You don't do anything, not even empty your bladder, unless I give you permission. Think about that, mutt, while you lie here and wait for me to come back."
And then he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Nilo heard the deadbolt lock.