ALISTAIR

    I groaned groggily, consciousness reaching me slowly. As I cracked my heavy lids opened, I noticed 3 big things. Number 1: This was not my bed and not my room. Number 2: The aching pain stabbing from my arse. And Number 3: The semi-hard cöck rubbing up against my thigh.

My heart stopped for a moment before I scrambled from the bed, wrapping myself in the ugly green sheet that was sticky from something I really hoped wasn't cūm. My head throbbed angrily, signaling an awful hangover. My hand flew to my head, massaging my forehead.

My eyes widened even further to gaze at the person in the unfamiliar bed. The dark hair covering half of their eyes, toned skin, sharp jawline, and scrawny stature was vaguely familiar. I blinked rapidly before my tired mind connected the face to a name. Joseph Marley? Jonah Moche? No, those weren't it... Jonathan Miller!

My breathing hitched as he started to move, his leg twisting around to reveal the member that was just rubbing up against me. It was rather big, and the knot in my stomach seemed to tighten at the thought of that being inside of me. I couldn't fathom how it would fit, really...

    I gasped as he mumbled incoherently, slowly coming to. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wa-

   I was brought out of my silent chant to myself when Jonathan let out a yelp when his eyes landed on me. I whimpered, backing myself up even further onto the wall.

   "A-A-Alistair King?! Why t-the fučk are y-you in my b-b-bedroom?!" He exclaimed.

    "I don't know, okay?! Stop screaming!" I squealed, sounding like a middle school girl.

     "You are t-the one screaming!" He screeched back, even though both of us were screaming.

    "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Okay?!" I squeaked, pulling at my hair in frustration.

    He became silent, his big blue eyes watching me carefully. My chest rose and fell, and tears blurred my vision. This was possibly the second worst day of my life.

    A sob escaped as my body shook. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. My breathing became ragged as I felt the anxiety attack ebbing up at me. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. I felt so dirty, as if I had just committed the absolute worst crime in history. My hands trembled as I cried shamefully. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.

    I startled as I heard a slow, soothing voice in my ear and a calming hand dragged across my back. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gripped onto Jonathan.

   "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening." I repeated over and over as I cried my heart out.

     "Shhhhhh... Shhhhh... It's okay... It's all good... Come on, it's okay..." Jon whispered into my ear and I melted into him, needing some form of comfort.

    Visions flashed across my eyes, making me want to vomit. I felt violated. Used. Thrown away. I never wanted to feel like that again. I was better now.

    "I-I need to b-be clean. Clean. Clean. Clean." I muttered, my fingers grasping his shirt.

    "It's okay. It's okay. Shhhhh... We'll get you a shower. It's okay," he hugged me and gripped to him with all my might.

    I hiccuped and sniffed as I nodded my head. I wiped away at my puffy red eyes, but they continued spurting tears. I felt dizzy as Jonathan led me to his bathroom.

Jonathan peeled the dark sheets from my body and sat me down in the bottom of the tub. He twisted the nob, adjusting the water to a perfect lukewarm. I stared at my bruised hips and the purplish hickeys that had been placed all over my body as he left. When he returned, a stack of clothes were in his hands. He placed them on the counter and shot me a smile as I spared him a glance. He shut the door quietly, leaving me alone.

    I sighed before quietly begging to wash myself. My heart began to beat normally again. I grabbed an old washcloth, squeezing a fair amount of body wash onto it. I scrubbed myself down, freeing myself from the awful ominous feeling of being caged. I felt the tension in my body leave as I finally felt clean. I laid down in the water, rinsing away the suds and the sin. It was all better now.

    I stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around myself. I patted myself dry, stopping the beads of water to drip onto the floor. I swiped my body clear of the droplets. I stuffed my golden locks into it to, trying to dry them at least a tiny bit. Finished with the plush towel, I hung it up on a rack.

   I examined the stack of clothes as I approached them. It was a pair of sweatpants, an old baggy shirt, and a red pair boxers. Ditching the briefs, I pulled on the sweats. I had to roll them over several times before my feet could be seen. I got dressed in the t-shirt, a coca-cola emblem on the front. It was much too large on me, just like the pants, but they would have to do. I was about to leave the bathroom when my hand hovered over the door handle. My eyes flitted around the small bathroom when I realized I couldn't bring myself to open it.

I backed up, which I seemed to be doing a lot of this morning. I glanced around the room again when my eyes landed on a small window above the toilet. Small, but just big enough for an average sized guy to squeeze out of. Stepping onto the toilet, I opened the window. I turned, whispering a goodbye before scaling down the side of the house.

$$Hey chickadees! First chappie! How was it? Anyway, thanks for all the love and support. And you know, clicking on this... 😂$$