Chapter Text
Tribute to The Golden God
By Lovova
Authors Note: This shit is dark guys. And I only mean for it to get darker as I go along. Seriously, this whole series is basically intended just to be a Charlie!tortureporn. It might develop into a Hurt/Comfort fic one day, but that will only ever be an afterthought, not the point. So if you're into this sort of thing, great! Enjoy the ride and feel free to suggest things in the comment sections.
A note on the characterization: I've basically tried to write Dennis, and by a larger extent the rest of the Gang outside of Charlie, as who they are in the series but without that underlining love for each other that keeps the characters from straight up murdering everyone's asses. This story takes place after season ten, before season eleven. I don't dislike any of the characters, and none of my interpretations are meant to be offensive to any given character.
Some of them will probably be offensive regardless of intention.
The screen fades to black. Music plays.
2:45 AM
On a Tuesday
Philadelphia, PA
One things needs to be perfectly clear, and that is that it wasn't a strike out. The girl, what had been her name, Samantha? Sandra? What did it matter. She had been inadequate, unsightly and horrible, practically disfigured, as too many girls were proving to be these days once Dennis had gone through all the trouble of presenting value and physically interacting, only to be...disgusted, later. When they looked at him with those eyes...those judging, undesirable eyes, telling him No.
Like they had the Right!? Like they even Understood!?
In the past he might have not taken No for an answer, would have pressed on, convinced her of what she would undoubtedly miss out on, what All girls who didn't get a taste of him missed out on. They always succumbed, eventually. But he was off his game. No. No. They were off Their game. He would pick a girl who seemed like a nine, a ten on the charts at the Time, but oh, ooooh, once they got to opening their stupid, scowering, Judging mouths...
That was the problem, though, wasn't it? Girls. They were too uppity these days. It was the medias fault. All these stupid new liberal bullshit movies with strong female protagonists. All these little reminders of woman in history doing so called Important things. Let it go? You Let It Go!
Dennis blinked, and stared at the front door of the bar. His bar. He hadn't meant to come here, had followed his feet here, but he supposed he had wanted a beer. What had he been thinking about? Stupid Disney songs? No, girls. Media ruining woman. Making them feel strong. Didn't they understand making them feel unsafe and in need of his protection was his Fucking Main Move!?
The world was cruel. He unlocked the front door and walked in, blearily looked around as he noticed that the lights were still on. Fucking assholes had left the lights on. No, wait, they hadn't. Had they? Because they had all closed the bar together. He had seen Dee turn off the lights. So that meant....
Dennis let that line of thinking trail off and die. He didn't care. He felt sick. Anger, familiar, constant, oppressive rage danced through his veins and thumped through his heart. He didn't feel alright. He never felt alright these days. When was the last time he had felt Good?
When had it all gone so wrong?
Dennis felt his eyes sting and redden at that thought, one that wasn't new lately. That pang of regret, of self doubt, of humility stinging him with shame and self loathing. He hated those feelings. He had never used to feel like that before, not when mom was around. Mom. Mommy. She would have understood. Maybe. She had been a major bitch, but at least she had understood. She had understood.
He was a God. A Golden God. Why didn't the world Understand?
Let it be clear. Let it be told plainly, in the confines of the medium, obvious to the world and hidden from the man in question. Dennis was losing his mind. Perhaps had already lost it. It's difficult to say why, and much easier to say why not. Too many factors. Too much hurt. If life had been different. If anything had been different, things might have turned out differently.
Different. Not necessarily better. But, honestly, how could it have gone worst? None of them would recover. Five little lives, destroyed, irreparably. They hadn't been worth much to begin with, but they had at least had the comfort of being in their little corner of hell together. Maybe not able to rely on each other, but at least able to relate.
And then, one day, on a Tuesday, Dennis found Charlie asleep behind the bar, and he got a mean little idea, and everything went wrong.
This narrative is too far ahead. And Charlie is asleep behind the bar now. Dennis can explain.
He went behind the bar to grab himself a beer and almost wasn't surprised to find Charlie curled up asleep in the space behind the register, multiple bottles of beer decorating the space around him, telling a pretty little story all by themselves. Of course, the lights. Charlie had used his key to get in, locked up behind himself, turned on the lights, and had drunk from the supply till he had fallen asleep. An easy story. Who knew why he had felt the need to sleep here rather then his shit hole apartment. Sure, there were a million reasons Dennis could think of off the top of his head as to why someone would prefer to sleep here rather then there, but those things had never seemed to stop this shit for brains from sleeping in his home before, so why...
The thought trailed and died. That happened more and more often these days. At least the anger was dulling. A mixture of disgust and amusement at the sight in front of him was oddly calming. But, then, Charlies antics sometimes had that effect on him. Dennis knew he was well above the common man, above pretty much everyone. It was nice to be around someone who showed that off so clearly.
Dennis grabbed a beer and thought idly of leaving Charlie to sleep. The thought hadn't even finished before he had opened the bottle and started pouring the liquid over the slumped figure. “Wakey wakey, you weird little asshole.” Dennis prompted, contempt putting an edge to his words. He wasn't even mad. Not at Charlie. But the acid, that bitter aftertaste of the disastrous date with WHATEVERTHEFUCKHERNAMEWAS-
Dennis blinked and breathed deeply, the rage back, like little electricity dancing and skittering across his soul. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream at Charlie. He wanted to kick the little fuckers teeth in as his friend jerked awake, blinking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, maybe high off of something, maybe having gone to sleep sobbing, who even knew? Dennis suppressed the urge to attack, buried the anger deep. It wasn't Charlies fault. Dennis had to remember that. He had promised himself to stop taking his fury out on his Gang. It wasn't classy. It wasn't Good. It wasn't Merciful.
And he could be merciful. He Could be. A Merciful God.
Dennis blinked. The thought vanished. He really needed to figure out why that kept happening.
Charlie was saying something. Dennis was getting himself another beer and decided to tune in, because why else wake up the idiot? He supposed he wanted the company. He was allowed to feel lonely. It was Allowed.
“-so I tried to sneak back into the apartment, but Frank knew that I was going to try scaling into the window from the neighbors apartment, I guess, because he locked the window, the jerk, which wouldn't have been so bad except the neighbor came home while I was crawling back in and they chased me down the street, and I decided I should probably hide behind a locked door, so I came here and hid behind here and I guess they didn't find me because no one busted in the window-” Dennis decided this was enough information and tuned out again, already on his second beer by the time Charlie had gotten to this point of his ramble. So Frank had locked Charlie out of the apartment. Okay. Mystery solved. And...
That was it. What else was there? What had he come here for? For a few drinks? Why hadn't he gone home? He was so Tired. Tired of Everything. Now here he was stuck with Charlie while the guy got himself more beer and rambled off a mile a minute about something that Dennis didn't care about, and thus No On in the World cared about. Why was Charlie still Talking? Who did he think he was impressing? What made him think he even had the Right?!
Why the FUCK had she rejected him!?
“Charlie, shut up already!” Dennis shouted, slamming his bottle down onto the counter, causing Charlie to jump in his stool. When had he moved? Dennis had lost sight of his environment. That had been happening a bit lately. He had decided this was not an issue a long time ago. “I don't care what you're doing here, okay? You can do whatever the hell you want, you don't have to keep me fucking informed of your latest bout of preposterous bullshit every time I see you! I'm a very busy man, okay, I can't spend all my time listening to every stupid little thought that pops into your head!”
“Wow, geez, alright.” Charlie squirmed in his chair uncomfortably, doing that thing that he and Mac did lately, where they wouldn't look him in the eye when they tried to have an argument with him. It pissed Dennis off endlessly. If they were going to defy him, couldn't they at least have the dignity to do it Bravely? Fuck, even DEE could look him in the Damn eye when she was Bitching At Him!“What the hell man, it wasn't like I was, okay, yeah, maybe you didn't ask, but you don't have to bite my head off, you know you've been kind of doing that a lot lately and I don't...” he paused, looking around as if there might be someone to help him out, the Coward, his hands, filthy, always Filthy, gesturing jerkily towards the empty bar, “and if you're so busy, what are you even doing here, we're not open man! There is literally nothing, absolutely nothing going on right now, okay!?”
“Look, this is my bar, okay, this, see all this!?” Dennis gestured around the empty pub, a grand display of his modest kingdom. “This is mine, and sometimes, I like to come here to catch up on some work, to keep this fucking place running! Work, Charlie, work? Have you ever fucking heard of it!?”
Charlies mouth hung open, looking stunned and pissed, but still unable to properly look him in the eyes as Charlie just glanced up and glanced down again, still gesturing at him as if he was speaking directly to him, rather then mentally hiding like the little Girl he was inside. “Okay, wow, first of all, first of all, this is Franks bar, okay, he has the biggest share and we all know it! Second of all, I work late all the time, and I never see you come here after the bar is closed, okay, so don't you tell me about work when I'm doing all the Charlie work and you're off banging some random girl-”
The rage. The Rage. How dare he bring her up. How Dare He Bring Her Up, when the wound was so FRESH! The rejection from that ugly, man hating, dyke of a bitch, and so many...too many from girls just like her, for the last year. Too many girls. Too many girls who didn't Understand. Who rejected their God! What was wrong with him?
No. Wrong. That was the wrong thought. What was wrong with Her. That had been the thought. The other thought hadn't happened. It Hadn't Happened. He was a Golden God. A gift of Beauty amongst this rotting sea of Ugliness. She hadn't been good enough. No one was good enough. WHO THE FUCK DID CHARLIE THINK HE WAS!?
Dennis hadn't realized he was hearing a ringing sound until his vision cleared, it's deafening tone fading out as Charlie garbled protests started coming in. Why was he talking like that, all stunted and gasping? Dennis blinked. Charlie was beneath him, Dennis's hands around his neck. Dennis felt a dull, thudding pain in his side and had a sudden vague vision of Charlie trying to punch him in his stomach, trying to push him off. When had that happened? A minute ago? It could have been a year ago. The memory felt strange. Like he only knew it had happened by watching a home movie of a childhood whose days had been long forgotten. He was choking Charlie, who was now focusing his weakening hands on trying to pry Dennis off of his neck. That was happening right now. He should probably focus on that.
Dennis seriously thought about letting Charlie go, getting up and maybe making some half-hearted excuse. Charlie would forgive him. The Gang always forgave each other for these Little Moments. It happened. It didn't happen this time. The same dark urge that had walked him to the bar, woken Charlie, and then attacked his friend whispered into his heart, and instead Dennis heard himself say without really consciously deciding to do so, “Why do you do this to me, Charlie? Why do you push me to this? Why don't any of you understand? It's not hard. It's so simple. Give fealty to the Lord, and good things will happen. Speak blasphemy, you will be smite. It's not hard.”
But to Dennis's confusion, he found that wasn't true. It Was hard. Rock solid, actually. Dennis found himself with Charlie beneath him, trying to talk through rare and shallow breaths like an idiot, and himself with an erection that was actually painful in its fullness. He supposed he shouldn't have been that surprised. A good struggle had always been a guilty pleasure of his. But the idea that Charlie, of all people, could inspire that sort of arousal was...was...
Dennis blinked. Lost his train of thought. He watched Charlies eyes start to role back into his head and subconsciously eased the pressure, Charlies relieved, heaving gasps of air sounding almost as good as a pretty young woman's sharp sounds of pleasures and pains, both feelings Dennis hugely got off too. Once Charlie had a few breaths in him, Dennis tightened the hold again. Charlie scratched his nails against Dennis's arms hard enough to draw blood and thrashed beneath him, and Dennis tightened his hold even further when Charlie tried punching his face and, not managing the strength needed for any sort of decent momentum, tried instead helplessly to push at his face as if somehow this might propel him backwards. Helplessly. That was it, though, wasn't it. His arousal wasn't about Charlie. Who could get aroused at something like Charlie? No. It was about the helplessness of this tiny little uppity bitch who thought he was so Fucking Tough. Everyone gets scared when Charlie goes off the handle, everyone gets nervous because no one is sure what Charlie is going to do next, and the violent little idiot always used that element of surprise to his advantage. But look at him now. Now look at who was caught off guard? He was so helpless. He could die right now. Dennis could Kill Him. The choice was In His Hands.
An executioner next to the button of the electric chair. A dictator with the fate of a village at the end of his military guns. A God and his Sacrifice.
Shit, it was hot. It was So Fucking Hot.
He released the pressure again, though before Charlie could finish catching his breath Dennis let go of his neck and caught Charlies flailing wrists, pinning them down above his shoulders as Dennis laid his elbows firmly against the joints between his shoulder blades, his face nuzzling against the press of Charlies ear as he whispered to the dazed man. “Is this what you were looking for, Charlie? Is this what you wanted? Are my hands strong enough, sexy enough? I came onto you in the night even. This is that sick little fantasy of yours played out to the letter, Charlie, are you finally satisfied?” Dennis giggled into Charlies ear, an adrenaline rush dancing through that already prickling electricity of RAGE going through him, mixed with a curious form of Joy. He hadn't felt his good in Such a Long Time. “The Nightman Cometh, Charlie.” Dennis whispered through the giggles, and just because he could, he placed a gentle, sweet little kiss on Charlie's ear.
And then Charlie bit him.
Had Charlie not been hyperventilating at the same time as the bite to Dennis's neck it might have been more damaging, but a flash of fear and a memory of the story of the Mall Santa was enough to shock Dennis backward, to pull his hands away from Charlies wrists as he fingers desperately checked the bite, looking for the blood he was certain would be there. He didn't feel blood, but he was unbalanced enough that Charlie could push him backwards, and Dennis fell with a thump to his head as it connected with the tile. It hurt, and so did the bite and so did his head, but there was a sort of numbness to him. Or maybe it was just the impact of the rage and the joy and the self loathing buried deep, deep down. Maybe too many things were happening in his head right now for the pain to register the way he knew it should. His brain was foggy and sharp and clear at the same time. Charlie was escaping. Charlie was heading towards the door. Dennis almost didn't care.
Charlie would tell the others.
That got him up and moving, and he moved fast, so fucking fast, holy SHIT. He didn't even remember hopping the bar and bolting past Charlie, slamming into the door with enough forced that its edges creaked and might have snapped had Charlie not managed to stop himself mid-momentum as he stared, terrified, at Dennis's face, which was twisted and contorted with rage in his eyes and a wide, crooked smile on his face. “Where you going Charlie?” Dennis asked, “This is what you wanted, right? This is why you lured me in here, liquored me up, seduced me, isn't it!? I thought you loved the Nightman, Charlie? I thought you loved me!”
Charlie backed up rapidly, looking around, his stupid little brain whirring, Dennis could see it, could see those rusty, dusty cogs in his head spinning rapidly, like they did sometimes. “You've lost it, you've lost it,” Charlie kept muttering over and over again, addressing Dennis without talking to him, looking at him but only to keep an eye out, to wait for the attack. Coward. COWARD!
That was okay, though. Dennis liked Charlie like this. He liked the fear. He felt so powerful. He felt so Overwhelming.
It wouldn't last though, not unless Dennis did something quick. Charlie was a survivor, he wasn't so far gone as to forget that now. The bite would only be the start. He couldn't allow Charlie to collect himself enough to grab a weapon. Any of the bottles would give him an edge. A chair would hold him up a bit as well. He could NOT be allowed to run for the basement or the vents, both areas whose inner structures were too alien to Dennis and whose structure was a second home for Charlie, filled with nooks and crannies and potential weapons he couldn't prepare for. He had to keep him here. He had to get him onto his back again. He had to gain back the Control.
Charlie was too quick to tackle down. Too used to danger to freeze up in the face of aggression. Dennis had to do this the old fashioned way. The best way he knew how, really. He had to get into Charlies Head.
His shoulders relaxed, his head dropped, his hands went up in a sort of mock surrender. He laughed. He groaned. “Oh man,” Dennis sighed, sauntering casually to the nearest stool and slumping down into it unceremoniously, “What even is this, man? What are we even doing?”
Charlie looked at him like a deer caught in headlights, thrown off by this sudden drastic change in atmosphere. Dennis took some pleasure in the stuttering of Charlies tone as he replied rapidly, “What are we doing, what, I don't know what we're doing, what the fuck even was that Dennis, have you lost your god damned mind? You were acting like you were going to fucking rape me down there, you psycho! All that fucking talk about the Nightman, where the fuck did that even come from, what the hell just happened!?”
If Charlie was smart he would run now. He'd run far away and tell Frank or Mac or the police, someone who could help him. But Charlie wasn't smart and Dennis was one of his best friends, and he didn't know what to do now that Dennis was sitting down and not even facing him, leaning against the counter like he was exhausted, just chuckling to himself. A very big part of Charlie wanted to wait around and give Dennis a chance to explain this terrible mess away, to make things normal again. Charlie, heart still pounding, gave in to that desire. He didn't want any of this to be a thing that happened. Dennis needed to take it back, to take it all back. It'd all be fine if Dennis took it back.
Dennis sighed and stared off into the distance for a moment before looking Charlie dead in the eye, smiling, shrugging, “I don't know. Tonight was kind of tough for me, Charlie, you know how stressed out I can get sometimes, and I guess I just kind of lost my...lost my temper for a minute. Hey, you know what, I don't say this to too many people, but you know what,” Dennis, still grinning, stood up and opened up his arms, the movement prompting Charlie to take a few precautionary step backs, “I'm a big enough man to realize I owe you an apology. I'm sorry Charlie. Come here, give me an embrace, man, lets bury the hatchet here. “
“What? No, no, I don't want to hug you man, are you crazy, after all that, no way.” Charlie insisted firmly, his arms curling around his stomach in a sort of protective motion, fingers rubbing at his elbows as he eyed Dennis warily, “Like, seriously man, that was absolutely batshit insane what just happened. I can't even really wrap my head around this right now. I should probably leave.”
“No, no, come on, don't leave right now, don't leave while you're angry,” Dennis insisted, sitting back down, “You should never leave the fight angry, that's how a simple fight gets blown out of proportion. Come on, if you're not going to to fight me, sit down, let me get us a couple of beers, and we'll talk about this, okay? Like civilized men.”
“Talk about, what is there to talk about?” Charlie demanded, but even as he said that he took a step forward, though the step was small and uncertain. Dennis smiled encouragingly at him and got up from his stool, heading to the back of the bar to grab the beers. Perhaps gaining some courage by the separation between them thought the solid counter of the bar, Charlie walked over and sat down at the stool, his heart finally calming down from its million mile and hour race, watching as Dennis leaned over to get the beers. Already he was starting to rationalize the last few minutes in his head. Maybe that hadn't been an attempted rape, maybe it had just been a fight. They fought sometimes. Charlie could forgive a fight. Maybe it was just all the talk of the Nightman that had given it all of its rapey undertone. Not that the Nightman was a rapist. But the others never seemed to understand that, they were always accusing his Nightman music of being about rape, so maybe that had put the thought into his head.
Well, that and the erection that Charlie had felt firmly jotted against his stomach through Dennis's jeans. But maybe that had been a misunderstanding too? Mac said that sometimes the adrenaline of wrestling could give you an erection. He had shown him that. So maybe it really was all just a misund-
Charlie saw the bottle coming down on his head, but couldn't think of what to do about it till it had already connected with his skull and he had fallen from his stool, a blaze of pain whitening his vision.
Charlie wasn't knocked out. At least, he was pretty certain he hadn't been. But his brain was such a jumble of pain and randomly sprawling thoughts that by the time he was coherent enough to take in his surroundings, he had been dragged to his feet by Dennis, who kept murmuring to him false platitudes, insisting with a mean little teasing tone to his voice that the bottle had slipped out of his hands, and Charlie was on his back on the counter, and his hands were going somewhere above his head, where was his hands going, where was his ha-
Charlie only realized he needed to start struggling a half a minute too late as his hands were tied to the tap levers. He craned his neck to see what he had been tied with and recognized the sink rags through the rough texture on his skin before his blurred vision could even focus on them properly. He pulled at the knots and found them surprisingly sturdy. Who knew that Dennis could tie a good knot? Where was Dennis? Where the fuck was Dennis?!
Dennis stood back from his work and stared, somewhat astonished. He was waiting for Charlie to break out of the binds. He was waiting for the another member of the Gang to rush in with police behind them. He was waiting for the god that Mac believed in to appear in a blaze of fire and strike him down with lightening.
None of these things happened. It was easy. It was So Easy. How could something be wrong when the universe was practically stepping out of his way to allow him to do this? Maybe it wasn't wrong. This was Dennis's bar. He had built this place with his Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Charlie worked for the bar. Charlie worked for Dennis. He practically Owned Charlie. Charlie did the Charlie Work.
Maybe this was Charlie Work too.
Charlie was saying something, a rush of verbal garbage stuttering out, sometimes shouting, sometimes not. Dennis wasn't sure what Charlie was saying. He wasn't really listening. It might have been a plea, or a threat. So long as Charlie couldn't pull himself from those binds, it didn't really matter what he had to say about...well, about Anything, really. This was barely even about Charlie. Charlie was just a Vessel to a larger picture, a more absolute truth. Charlie was just...
Dennis blinked, the thought vanishing. But in that thoughts place came an image. An image for whats her name. Cindy. Her name was Cindy. Of course it was Cindy. He saw Cindy there, eyes wide and frightened, tiny, thin body tied to the counter, mewling insincerely in protest when he knew, he Knew, that she wanted him. Wanted to serve her Golden God. He stared at Charlie, transfixed, basking in the vision of his minds eye as Cindy took Charlies place. She was beautiful, probably more beautiful then she had been in the real world, where she had been cold and ugly and cruel. Her breasts fuller, her mouth more puckering, her ribcage practically nonexistent. A perfect gift for a Perfect God.
Dennis wasn't quite so far gone that even lost in his imagination, he still couldn't recognize Charlie right in front of him. Couldn't feeling his plump, sickly skin where he imagined taunt, bronzed perfection. Couldn't hear Charlies voice go from panicky to enraged to terrified as Dennis trailed his hands up and down his body until they settled on the top linings of Charlies jeans. He could smell Charlie too, a rancid, spoiled, sewage smell that always seemed to trail the little filth, but Dennis didn't mind that break in illusion. In his mind he still saw Cindy; and, in truth, his erection wasn't dismissing the situation right in front of him either; he found Charlie himself almost intoxicating to study in detail. Cindy was his Sacrifice, but Charlie beneath his hands was where his power was coming from: Oh, it felt So Good.
“It's okay Charlie,” Dennis whispered through Charlies pointless chattering, playing with Charlies waistband, pressing his fingers experimentally into the skin, digging in his fingernails. “The Nightman's here to make you a man again.”
“-oh shit stop it stop it stop-”
Dennis pulled Charlies jeans slightly down, having no real desire to see Charlie fully naked, and noted a very interesting reaction. The second his ass was exposed Charlie went perfectly quiet, completely still, and he stared with an intense sort of fixation at the ceiling, his lips firmly pressed together into thin, furrowing lines. To see if Charlie had fully disconnected with the situation, Dennis dug his fingers into Charlies side, and watched with some satisfaction as Charlies body jerked away from him, a startled, throaty grunt giving way when Dennis might have expected another rush of gibberish. From a psychological viewpoint, it was fascinating...but maybe not unexpected. Though he couldn't remember anyone specifically saying so, Dennis was certain everyone in the Gang knew that Charlie had been molested as a child by his 'Nightman', and perhaps whoever that had been had trained this sort of silent, frozen response in him. He really was a present from the universe. Pre-broken and ready to use.
Dennis was amazed at how calm he felt. This was joy. This was true happiness. He felt so alive and in control. He almost didn't want to do it. A part of him wanted to skip the sex and just live in this moment forever, with Charlie helpless before him and pretty girls, not just Cindy, no, too many girls who had not understood, dancing through his mind, each taking Charlies place for a moment, a second, just long enough to see them down and tied and frightened. But he had to do it. He Had To. Charlie was practically making him. If the idiot figured out that Dennis didn't actually mean to hurt him, then he would stop being afraid. If he stopped being afraid, Dennis would lose his control. If Dennis lost control, the Rage would come back and consume him alive. So Dennis had no choice. He had to hurt Charlie. Charlie was Making Him. Charlie Was Making Him!
Calm. Control. Dennis smiled and pulled a condom out of his back pocket, because who knew what the Dirtgrub could have, and unzipped himself, his own erection pushing effortlessly through the teethed fabric. One hand stroked Charlies stomach while his other hand deftly took off the packaging and applied it; this, after all, was not his first rodeo. He knew his fair share, perhaps even more then his fair share, about how gay sex worked, and wondered if without lube if Charlie would even be wide enough to take him in. He supposed it didn't matter. If it wasn't wide enough, he would just push harder. It would be unpleasant, but Dennis found that he rather hoped it would be. Charlies disconnect was starting to annoy him. Dennis should have been Charlies whole world right now. How dare he ignore him?!
A surge of bravery, a confidence in control, pushed Dennis to lean his whole body over Charlies, practically laying on top of the other man, putting his face close to the others, once more in biting range. Dennis didn't know what he was going to do if Charlie bit him again. If the other man tore his skin open, he would have to go to the hospital. If he went to the hospital, he would probably go to jail shortly after, either for this assault, for the the murder he would commit to try and hide the assault. He wasn't afraid. He was confident in his control. He could see it in the way Charlies eyes searched the ceiling rapidly, but never leaned towards Dennis, averting his gaze as best he could, though Dennis put himself straight in the man's vision. “You seem comfortable,” Dennis mused, one hand keeping himself steady as another traced the reddening welts that were forming where he had choked the man, playing with the droplets of sweat, “I think someone's done this before. Or had it done to him, more likely,” Dennis chuckled, then leaned in real close, fucking DARING the idiot to try and bite him again, “You think this might be your fault? Sure, once is understandable, a crime, really, but multiple times? Only one consistency. Only one common denominator here. Do you know what 'common denominator' means, Charlie? Charlie? Do you?!”
The slap rang like a bell and Dennis focused on Charlies eyes, which rolled in his sockets, and blurred and unfocused they finally turned towards them, though Dennis half suspected Charlie wasn't even aware where he was looking. A rush of murmuring, “No, no. No.”
It took Dennis a minute to realize that Charlie was trying to answer his question, and he calmed, now stroking the reddening spot on Charlies face, his eyes affectionately drinking in every detail of him. “It means if something keeps happening to you, over and over again, you're probably making it happen yourself. Basically. Simplified. Do you understand, Charlie?”
“Yeah, yeah, yes.”
“Do you agree?”
Dennis watched Charlies brow furrow, his face tighten in confusion, struggling to follow the line of thought. His eyes wandered and, not to be ignored again, Dennis firmly grabbed Charlies chin, refocusing him. He could have hit him again. Instead, patiently, he clarified, “Do you, Charlie, agree that what is happening right now is all your fault? Hm?”
“Oh...” Charlie swallowed audibly before shaking his head slowly. “N-!”
Before Charlie could finish that thought one of Dennis's hands was back on Charlies throat, squeezing, the other grabbing one of Charlies legs and hoisting it up as far as he could push it, exposing Charlie to him.
He pushed in.
It was weird. It was like a dry cunt, though he couldn't be certain, as he had never entered a dry cunt before. It took effort to enter, and there was a moment there where Dennis was not entirely certain he even could, though he did manage it through sheer willingness to try. He reconsidered his stance on the lube policy, not entirely comfortable, but Charlies startled, pained gasp changed his mind, a rush of excitement fueling him on, pushing him forward, literally.
The friction hurt, but Dennis was taking too much pleasure in Charlies winces and whimpers. He wished Charlie would beg him to stop, wanted that verbal confirmation that Charlie could not fight him, wanted that acknowledgment of power. Instead Charlie seemed just absolutely determined to study every inch of the ceiling. Dennis was starting to find himself annoyed with his pre-broken toy: what was the fun in this sort of thing if not the struggle? He needed to get Charlie to engage. Maybe...
Dennis focused on his hands, his right one holding up Charlies leg and the other now grasping onto Charlies opposite shoulder, and staring intently at Charlies face, he squeezed both hands as hard as he could, digging in his fingernails. The immediate scrunching of pain in Charlies face sent another wave of excitement through Dennis. Pain. Charlie would react to pain.
Neat.
Dennis looked around for some inspiration and saw the high powered dish-washing hose that hung above the sink that Charlie was currently tied next to, getting a truly awful idea and feeling so fucking proud of that. Thrusting in again, Dennis used his forward momentum to lean over and grab the hanging nozzle, pulling it over to them. The movement, he supposed, was odd enough to pull Charlie out of his ceiling fixation, because Charlies eyes watched the approaching nozzle carefully, staring up at it in wary apprehension while Dennis aimed it at him.
“You're really dry, you know Charlie?” Dennis drawled, taking a break from his thrusting to lay on top of Charlie lazily, swinging the nozzle above Charlies head casually, “It's really making it hard for me to get off right now, you know? And honestly I think by this point we'd both be glad for me just to finish, right Charlie?”
Charlie glanced at Dennis momentarily before gazing back at the nozzle, looking more and more concerned. The next words came out haltingly, but he managed to stammer out, “Dennis, no, man, seriously, the dish-water is hot, dude, crazy hot, if I do the dishes too long I have to wear gloves just to keep my fingers from burning, please do not spray me in the face with that, do not spray me in the face with that, don't, don't-!”
Dennis laughed as Charlie grew increasingly panicked as Dennis teased him with a few short spurts on his neck, and noticed with interest that Charlie wasn't kidding. The few spots on his neck not already reddened by his earlier grip now burned a soft red flush; this water was hot. Dennis came up with the idea seconds before he said it. “Stop freaking out 'little boy',” Dennis reassured, still enjoying the call backs to Charlies now self fulfilling rape musical, “I'm not gonna spray you in the face with this. I'm gonna spray you in the ass. Right in the crack. That will help with the whole 'getting off' thing. And once I'm satisfied, then this will all be done! Won't that be nice?”
Charlie gave Dennis that look he used sometimes when he couldn't understand an idea, but was pretty sure that was because the idea in question was stupid. “Um, man, I don't think the nozzle is gonna reach down there, and also I don't think that's actually going to work even if it did, because water isn't like, ya know...its not that much of a lubricant, I don't think. How about this, how about, you just untie me, and I'll-”
Dennis gave Charlie another small spray, this time on his shirt, Charlie's gasp being from getting startled rather then any sort of burn this time. “Nope, not gonna happen, nice try Dirtgrub. Here is what's gonna happen. I'm gonna push your legs up and you're gonna bend that malnourished core of yours as far as your sickly, no doubt yellowed bones will let you, till your ass is straight in the air and within distance of this hose. If you don't, or can't, bend that far, then I'm not even going to bother to try to finish. Instead, what I'll do is jury-rig the nozzle so that it stays above your face, constantly shooting water at you, and see what you die of first; drowning, or third degree burns. Any way you look at it, it's a great evening for me.”
Charlie looked at Dennis, stunned, and of all things gave a small, nervous laugh as a response to that fucking demented threat. “Dennis, buddy, I don't know whats wrong with you, but wholly shit man, you wouldn't do that to me, that'd be murdering me, Dennis, I'm your friend, I'm one of you're only friends for fucks sake, you wouldn't-”
Charlie shouldn't have questioned it. If he hadn't questioned it, Dennis wouldn't have had a Point to prove. Charlie Made him do it. He Made Him.
Dennis grabbed Charlies hair, forcefully turned Charlies head away from the direction of the nozzle so that the nozzle was now pointing in the general area behind Charlies left ear, and pulled the lever.
“No! No! No! Dennis stop, stop, sto-!” Dennis wasn't listening, and it wasn't long before the water started heating up enough that the spray itself started letting off steam, and Charlies begging turned into anguished, animal shouts. Charlie squirmed and thrashed in his bindings and beneath Dennis, Dennis enjoying the ride of staying on top of him, watching Charlies increasingly reddening skin in the increasingly steaming up bar with a sort of clinically detached amusement. Several times he made the decision to stop, to lighten up on the poor guy, and each time he didn't follow that thought process. It was two minutes before Dennis lost interest and finally let go of the nozzle entirely, the water stopping and the hose swinging back to its usual position over the sink.
Dennis watched as Charlie trembled and shook beneath him, his face now pressed tightly into the crook of his shoulder blade as he started to sob. Experimentally, Dennis pressed his fingers into the spot where the boiling water had blasted, causing Charlie to violently shudder and shout, “No!” followed by many more hushed 'no's', Charlie rocking his shoulders back and forth in some instinctual form of self comfort.
Dennis watched all this and felt extremely self satisfied. This was followed by the realization that he was, in fact, no longer hard. Or at least he was no longer as aroused as he had been. He found he wasn't all that disappointed. Hurting Charlie had soothed him in a way that the rape hadn't been doing so, and Dennis realized that he had never really been all that into the idea of raping Charlie anyway. He had just wanted to hurt the guy badly enough to let the anger out. Dennis almost wanted to continue with the rape only because he knew how terribly confusing it would be to Charlie to not finish by this point, and he almost felt like he owed him the climax. But, then, he supposed he didn't really care. He supposed he could just rape Charlie some other time. For now, this was good enough. He was happy with this afterglow, his soul soothed as he watched his little janitor try to cry the terror away.
How the fuck was he going to explain this to the Gang?
Dennis bit his lip ever so slightly, mildly annoyed that his afterglow was being disrupted by the responsibilities of his current situation. He couldn't leave Charlie like this; it would be bad for business, and the Gang would probably call the police on him immediately. He couldn't just let Charlie go; he'd tell someone or go to the police himself. Charlie wasn't above that sort of thing. Dennis had to remember the McPoyles.
The thought of killing Charlie and hiding the body did seriously occur to Dennis, and the God spent several moments giving it thought. It was honestly the safest option, but Dennis knew he wouldn't be able to do it: he wasn't done yet. He wasn't Done. The rage would come back, no doubt, and what would happen when it did? He'd find a new victim? Some random girl on the street? Mac? Sweet Dee? No. That wouldn't do. There was something Right about taking his anger out on Charlie. Charlie made Sense. Dennis honestly couldn't imagine anyone who screamed Filth more then Charlie did. Well, maybe Cricket...but Cricket had already been basically tortured mad. What would be the fun of doing that again? Cricket wasn't a survivor, he just happened to still be alive.
Charlie, though? He survived. He adapted. He'd survive and adapt to this too, or at the very least give it a better effort then anyone else could. And because of that he would be so, so satisfying to rip into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
Charlie would have to stay. His God willed it so.
That didn't help the current situation though. Dennis really didn't want to go to jail. Nor did he necessarily want the ire of his friends. What to do, what to do, what to do?
Dennis blinked. He lost his trail of thought. In its place came a vision. A sighting of the future. The future he wished for his world. The future he would create. He saw not the ire of his friends. He saw their joy. Their relief. Their Understanding. He saw a church and an altar, and he saw the Troll and the Princess and the Knight gathered around to worship and pay tribute to their Golden God in the sacrifice of the Rat King.
The Daily Sacrifice.
“It's going to be awesome.” Dennis whispered to himself, a bit overwhelmed by the glorious future he could now see so clearly in his head. He looked back down at Charlie, who was babbling quietly to himself about going to the hospital or something equally as unlikely. Dennis smiled.
“Guess who's taking a trip to the basement?” Dennis sing-songed.
Charlie didn't guess. He just opened his mouth and screamed.
-tbc-