Predator Prey - 2. Trapped

He woke to the sound of water running in the shower.

Who? His roommate almost never rose early. He tried vainly to clear his head.

A low note sounded over the hiss of cascading water. Was someone humming? Singing? His brain felt thick, and he had to make a concentrated effort to bring his faculties to bear, trying to figure out where he was. A pounding ache that radiated from deep inside his skull beat any hangover he could remember.

Light. The light was on. It shone dimly in the room.

Bed. He was in his own bed.

Clothed. Well, mostly clothed. His pants and socks were off, but he still had his shirt on, and his boxer briefs still hugged his waist. He was tangled in his bed coverings somehow.

Like someone suddenly unsure of his wallet and keys, he feebly felt about himself, checking, checking.

His head hurt. Badly. But nothing else was sore.

It was morning, he realized. The shade was drawn down, as it usually was, but midmorning sunshine outlined the window's rectangle. The light only dimly contributed to brightening the room.

He heard the water cut off and looked around blearily. Even raising his own head represented an enormous effort.

One time, he might have chuckled, but not this morning.

His roommate was there, in his bed, naked, facedown, arms circled in his pillow. His roommate’s red hair was tousled. He let his eyes wander down the outline of the redhead's form. That boy's perfectly curved ass had always attracted plenty of attention; it had certainly attracted his, once. Occasionally, they'd shared a bed, but not lately. It looked like somebody had gotten lucky last night. He'd been out a lot, recently.

The mystery guest in the shower?

A form loomed in the doorway. Tall. Brown hair. Powerfully muscled. Waist draped in a towel.

Ted.

Involuntarily, he winced. It all came back. The bait had worked. The drinks had been poured, and the game was on. Then what had happened? Clearly, he had gotten the wrong drink. How? Still, the guy must have been a perfect gentleman. He’d been put to bed, not left to snore in a chair. That was one bit of luck.

“So. You’re awake.”

The words were spoken as a statement.

Words formed sluggishly in his brain. “Yeah, sorry. I must have been tired, or something.” His voice croaked, but it worked.

He tried to pull himself up into a sitting position. It felt like he was performing a fantastic feat of physical strength. The effort left him a little dizzy and worn out.

Ted stepped closer, smirking.

“Sure,” he answered, staring down at the groggy blond now sitting on the bed, head in his hands. “Tired or something.”

Ted glowed from the shower he just left. Skin perfect, beautifully defined abs, beguiling treasure trail leading down beneath the towel. The heat he felt was not completely from the steamy bathroom Ted had just left behind.

“Your roommate,” Ted spoke softly, gesturing with his head at the sleeping redhead on the other bed, “he’s a great lay.”

“What?” Ted’s last comment jarred him into greater awareness.

“You heard me. He’s a fantastic lay. Came in after I put you to bed.”

He stared at his guest.

“We got to talking about you, and what with one thing and another, well, he invited me to stay. So I did. He’s an incredible fuck. You don’t know how lucky you are, man. What an ass, and what he did to me with his tongue…”

He made a face, trying to keep out Ted's soft, insistent voice that seemed to draw nearer. He put up a hand.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me. I can tell you all about that.”

“How would you know?” Ted sidled closer, standing right over him now. “You slept right through it all. You were so out of it.”

His wits gathered slowly, so slowly. He tried to rally a little. "Are you the kind who likes an audience?"

"I might not mind," Ted grinned wolfishly, "depends who's underneath."

He tried to camp, instinctively. “I didn’t know you were that kind of guy, Ted.”

“No. I’m not." Ted's voice was flat.

He looked up again at Ted, his eyes narrowing, trying to focus. Ted wasn't smiling anymore. The mood had changed swiftly, too swiftly for his addled brain to follow. He turned his head away, tired with the effort.

“And I’ll tell you something else about me,” Ted hissed, leaning down closer. “I don’t fuck unconscious people.”

His eyes moved sharply back up to Ted’s. He glared.

“What do you mean? I didn’t –“

He didn’t see the backhand coming. It was delivered economically, almost casually, but it snapped his head around and left a sharp sting. He remembered the distinct cracking sound of hard flesh making contact with his face. There would be a mark for sure.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Ted levelly. “I know exactly what you were doing. You do, too. Don’t lie to me.”

He looked slowly back at Ted, eyes wide. He tried to get his mind to work. He'd never been confronted like this. By someone who knew. He gambled, tried to weasel out of it. The usual smooth talk just wouldn’t come to his lips.

“I didn’t lie to you. I just –“

This time the open hand hit him on the other side of the head, spinning him around with stunning authority.

He could hear Ted’s low calm voice speaking as if from a great distance somehow.

“I don’t think you understand. I know what was going to happen. You've done it before. It’s called rape. Do you know what people do to rapists?”

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

He felt this shoulders pushed forward, an arm pinning him facedown on the bed. It was a moment or two before his head cleared enough to attempt a struggle.

By then, added weight made resistance harder; it was useless, really. He was pinned beneath a heavier, quicker and more powerful aggressor. As he feebly struggled, a rough, powerful hand yanked down hard on his boxer briefs; muscled legs forced him to spread open his thinner, more graceful limbs. His legs were strong, but the other overpowered him.

“Very nice,” a low growl of appreciation sounded startlingly in his ear, “and you’re fully awake now, aren’t you?”

He felt the size of the man pinning him under his weight. He squirmed ineffectually. Something like a hard, hot club pressed up remorselessly against his backdoor, wedged between his cheeks. He began to sweat. He feared it would be brutal.

It was.