Rating: NC-17 (Violence, Angst, Dubcon, Language)
Summary: “There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery” -Dante Alighieri
Beta: poisonxangel, thank you.
A/Ns: Don't read this and then get pissy at me. In fact, I'll put this warning here: Read at your own risk!!! Some seriously dubious consent is contained in this fic.
Part 2: Eternus Poena
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he muttered to himself as he listened to the incessant and unanswered ringing of Ville’s phone. It was the third time he called, and the third time he got voicemail. It’s Ville. Leave a message.
Ring. It’s Ville. Leave a message.
Ring ring. It’s Ville. Leave a message.
“Fine, I’m leaving you a fucking message. I want to know who she is, Ville. You can’t fucking avoid me forever. I…can’t…I need to know. Call me.”
He shoved his phone back in his pocket, taking a lighter out in its stead, along with a crushed pack of cigarettes. His smoking habit was worsening by the day. Only one stick was left already. He sighed and lit it, content when it warmed between his lips, the tangy flavor flitting across his greedy tongue as he sucked at it.
His phone suddenly started vibrating against his leg and he nearly jumped out of his seat, anticipation rising when he saw Ville’s name and number on the screen.
“Yeah, Bam. Do you ever consider other people sleep at four in the morning? Or do you assume we’re all fucked up assholes like you?”
“Who is she?”
“Where do you get off interrogating me about shit?”
“It’s not right.” Bam looked down at his lap, watching as ashes from his cigarette fell on his jeans. “You can’t do this to me. I came here to see you, and you’re all over some chick.”
“I’m not going to talk about this over the phone.”
“Then I’ll come see you. I want to.”
“I don’t know…It’s late. But, I know if you want to see me, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
“No you don’t.” Bam would have smiled, but there was nothing to smile about.
“Make it quick.”
It was 4:30 when Bam stepped into the elevator at the Four Seasons, the ride to the top floor giving him only a minute or two to gather his thoughts and his words. There was so much he wanted to say, but something in the back of his mind was telling him that Ville didn’t care. That Ville never took their…relationship—if it could be called that—seriously. The telltale sign of indifference was the dull drone of his voice on the phone.
“Ville?” he questioned at the door when his knock wasn’t answered.
“Coming,” was the muffled response.
The door creaked open loudly, echoing down the hall. “Bam.”
“Vil’…” Bam whispered, his breath caught in his throat at the welcome sight of Ville’s face, his green eyes and his tangled curls. He didn’t even realize when he had stepped into the room and the door had shut.
“What?” Ville’s voice was hoarse and harsh. “I’d like to sleep sometime tonight.” The Finn made no movements as he steadily glared at Bam’s uncertain figure.
He took a step forward, then another, moving to wrap his arms around Ville’s shoulders. The reason why he was there escaped him, all he wanted was to be close for a moment, but his arms were stopped by a jerky grasp, Ville’s fingers.
“Don’t, Bam. You came here to accuse me of something, remember? So go ahead. Accuse me of cheating on you.”
“I…” Bam’s lips turned down, deep lines furrowing his brow. “Ville, you were kissing her. What was I supposed to think?”
Ville shook his head, his eyes closing. He looked like the calm before the storm. He didn’t say anything, didn’t open his eyes.
“Here I am, in Los Angeles when I could be doing better things, and I find you at the restaurant we’re supposed to meet at hanging all over some slut?”
“Bam, shut up,” Ville said, his words sounding like a warning.
“I thought I meant more to you than that.”
“You could have at least told me you didn’t wa—Fuck!” Bam yelped as his face suddenly started to throb, his cheek prickling and his lip aching. He didn’t realize what was happening until the second smack of knuckles against his cheek, wetness dribbling down his chin and his knees finding the carpeted floor. There wasn’t any time to respond, to really absorb the fact that Ville had hit him, twice. The pain was there, and without warning, a tirade of angry words to match it.
“Fuck you, Bam! How dare you come here and accuse me of not caring. How dare you make me feel like the asshole? We haven’t fucked in months. You haven’t been around in months. You’re married to that whore, remember? I’m tired of being your fucking whipping boy. Ten years and I'm so, so tired. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Bam’s azure eyes visibly turned from their clear shade to a darker cerulean as he picked himself up off the floor, wiping the metallic taste from his lips, his hand coming back smeared with deep crimson. But his focus was on Ville’s face, green eyes that had turned into sharp bayonets. He would have been afraid if Ville’s words hadn’t sparked the same ire in his chest. “Don’t call Missy a whore.”
“Why? She is one. Don’t pretend like she hasn’t fucked plenty of guys behind your back, Brandon.”
Ville stepped forward, and Bam was ready, ready to grab his wrist and pin him to the door, the frame trembling as Ville bucked against the tight grip. “Did you fuck that girl?”
Ville just smiled, his teeth gleaming in the shadows of the dimly lit room.
“Did you fuck her?!”
“Yeah, I fucked her, and it was good.”
His fist collided with Ville’s cheek before he could stop it, a foreign snarl emitting from his lips. He didn't sound like himself, and he didn’t think he would ever lay hands on Ville, but when he retracted his arm, Ville’s arm darted out, his knuckles grazing Bam’s cheek as he turned away, trying to duck and keep Ville pinned to the door at the same time.
Taking advantage of the moment, Ville caught Bam by his shirt collar, pushing him to the floor with a sharp shove, his back hitting the carpet so hard that he felt the bruise begin to form on his shoulder blade. When Ville hit him again, he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack along with the awful, searing sensation that accompanied his torn lip, the blood dripping into his mouth as he struggled against the weight of Ville’s body, trying desperately to gain some leverage.
“I fucked her right there on that bed, Bammie. How does that make you feel?” Ville’s smile scared Bam, the sinister twist of his lips churning his stomach.
He glanced towards the bed only for a second before he violently jerked in Ville’s grasp, managing to crawl from the weight of his hips and his hands, but only for a second before Ville stood, catching him by the arm and tugging him off the floor with a fervor and strength Bam didn't know he possessed. “Come on, Bam, hit me. That’s what you want to do, right? That’s what I deserve, for cheating on you.”
“Let me go, Ville,” Bam whispered, unsure of his voice, and unsure of his temper. He felt like if he spoke at more than a few decibels, he wouldn’t be able to control what else he did. Ville’s actions and words had his veins pumping blood so fast that he could hear it rushing in and out of his ears. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, loud and jarring against his ribcage. “We don’t have to do this.”
“It’s already done, Bam,” Ville spat, pushing Bam, once, and then again, tauntingly until his knees caught the back of the bed and he fell onto it, his hurt shoulder giving a sharp twinge.
“F-fuck,” he whimpered. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”
“And you’re a bastard,” Ville sneered as he watched from where he was standing, as though he were daring Bam to move, to get up. “All you ever had to say was that you just wanted a good fuck every now and then, and I would have given it to you without question.”
“I love you,” Bam insisted, cradling his shoulder and pleading with his eyes for Ville to understand, to stop.
“Don’t lie. You love my dick.”
Bam couldn’t make out the expression on Ville’s face, but when he felt the bed give as Ville crawled onto it, his stomach tightened, a wave of panic hitting him.
“You love the way I make you feel. You love it when you’re on your knees in front of me; that’s what you love, Bam. Not me.” Ville’s fingers stung when they wrapped around his shoulder, effectively paralyzing him with pain, keeping him from escaping the bed. He groaned, unable to stop Ville from flipping him over, his face pressed ungraciously into the mattress. “Ville…” he implored, his eyes flickering in shock when he felt Ville’s hard- on through both layers of their jeans pressing into his thigh.
"Shut up and let me give you what you really came here for.”
He wanted to yell out ‘no!’ or turn over and shake Ville off of him, but he didn’t say anything, do anything as he heard Ville fumbling with his belt buckle on top of him, the sound of metal ceasing when he had his pants off his hips.
Rough hands reached under him, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down his thighs, the material harsh against his skin. As sick as it was, when he felt Ville’s hands on his hips, he knew he was hard, a gasp trembling from his lips as Ville shoved a finger unapologetically inside of him, sending a sharp thrum of pain through his spine. Another one, and he was even harder, his eyes closing tight and hard against the horrible, exquisite sensation of Ville fucking him with his hand, over and over again, the heat of his body oppressive and threatening at his back.
It felt as though Ville would snap at any time, that things would go awfully wrong if he opened his mouth, if he said anything, did anything but take it.
“Raise your hips,” Ville dictated, his words irrevocable and absolute.
He did as he was told, feeling his arms quivering under him. He didn’t know if it was anticipation or fear. He didn’t know if he even wanted what was about to happen. He didn’t think about it, forced himself not to think about anything as Ville removed his fingers, the thick shaft of his cock taking their place, hot and large between his ass cheeks. The position would have been familiar if it weren’t for how roughly Ville took hold of his hips, his fingers digging hard into skin. It was an ugly, foreign intrusion. There was nothing erotic or lascivious about it. He felt his erection disappear the moment Ville's hips met his backside.
There was nothing recognizable about the way Ville drove into him. His eyes stung with tears, his hands fisting the sheets in them. Ville gave him no time for dignity or enjoyment, it was fast, hard, and quick, the only sounds in the room Ville’s moans and Bam’s quiet sobs.
He felt his muscles spasm in protest every time Ville pressed forward, and he felt like he deserved what he was getting. Ville was right, he was a hypocrite, that was the truth. But he wasn’t a liar. He did love Ville. Showing it was his problem.
He didn’t make a sound as Ville grabbed a hold of his arms, holding them behind his back so he couldn’t even manage to hold himself up. He moaned into the mattress, the sound pitiful and barely audible. “Ville, please,” he begged.
“Please, you’re hurting me,” he never thought he would say that, never thought he would sound so wounded and pathetic as those words forced themselves like sandpaper from his throat.
“I can’t…” he whimpered, trying to get out of Ville’s consummate grip.
But when the first tears welled up in his eyes, his limbs trembling with the force of them, he felt Ville go still, his hands released, the unbearable weight on his back gone. When he managed to sit up, he could feel each and every ache in his muscles. His shoulder, his face, his wrists. It was hard for him to move and find where Ville had went to. Across the room, fumbling in his pockets for his cigarettes, even though Bam knew he had given up smoking.
Just as he was about to say something, he felt his stomach lurch, his throat seize. He darted from the bed despite his protesting limbs, finding the toilet so he could empty his gut’s contents in it until bile stung his esophagus, the smell washing up from the toilet and making him vomit again until he was on his knees, his knuckles red from grasping the seat.
When there was nothing left for him to retch, he slowly got up, ignoring the dizziness and the ghost of nausea.
Ville was sitting at the edge of the bed, cigarette between his lips when he opened the door; the creak interrupting wherever Ville had went to, his eyes finding Bam. The younger man had to look away. He didn’t know how to feel, what to feel in response to what Ville had just done. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t…anything. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so much…nothing.
All he could do was walk towards Ville, his hand finding the other man’s hair, his fingers sliding softly through it. The long locks reminded him of a time when their lives weren’t so complicated. It reminded him of nights lying next to Ville, his nose buried in the sweet scent.
“You can hurt me as much as you want. It doesn’t matter. I’ll always love you,” he whispered, “ and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Nothing.” He let go and left, knowing that the forlorn look on Ville’s face would haunt him.
to be continued