The inconvenience of Caramel

First Caramel


Clubbing was good.

That's what he had decided just now. It was the exact same thing he concluded with every time he found himself on the full packed dance floor bustling with people. Drunk people, high people, lovers and enemies, horny people, shy people. They were all there, blending in with the crowd, adding in more spice to the cocktail that had grown hotter throughout the night. Right now he loved those people. Their hands were greedy as they grasped him, whirled him around and touched him all over. He let out a laugh that drowned in the pulsing beat of the music that was hammering their eardrums in.

It felt so fucking good to be high!

His feet tangled and caused him to loose his balance, but instead of hitting the floor face first he fell into welcoming arms. The stranger was sweating through his tee shirt, and he could feel the moist heat against his cheek. His nostrils flared for a moment as he breathed in the smell of sweat and alcohol, but he forgot about it the moment those very arms slid around him and hoisted him into a standing position.

Instantly the smug smile tugged at his lips, and the corners of his mouth curled upwards as he was eye to eye with the stranger. Or rather, chin to nose. The other man was shorter than him.

He didn't give a damn.

God, this one was gorgeous. He slid his arms around the man's neck and pressed against him, body flush against body. Heat mixing with heat and sweat. In his mind those lips looked extremely kissable, and the stranger parted his lips without hesitation when he was kissed. The man's hands were on him, all over him like an eight armed octopus that was keeping its prey at bay. Stuck. He slid his hands down the man's body, which he noticed was packed with muscles in all the right places, and placed his hands on the hips. While grinning into the kiss he pulled those hips closer to himself and rubbed up against them. Or down. Whatever. The man almost melted against him and pushed forward on his own accord, mimicking what had been done to him.

His eyes fell shut, and he shuddered as the other man's hard on rubbed against him. The motions were out of synch with the music, he thought bemusedly, but did nothing to change it. It felt like fucking with your clothes on.

Hands tangled themselves in his ponytail and pulled the hair before going elsewhere. Everywhere. His eyes snapped open and he hissed and dug his fingers into the skin where the stranger's tee shirt had ridden up a little.

The man tore away from his lips and bit down on his neck in return.

He moaned in appreciation and leaned his head back. The ceiling above his head was unfocused and fuzzy, just like the edges of his vision but it was the price to pay if he wanted to feel like this. Feel good- no, marvellous. Splendid. Fuck-tas-tic.

Being a little light headed was a small price to pay for getting away from all the crap that real life held. He had already paid it a numerous times, why stop now?

He felt horny, and there was no reason to deny it.

It wasn't like the man grinding against him was hiding his horniness either. The hands on his body were growing bolder, more urgent. He clenched his teeth as fingers slid into his skin tight, black shorts and fondled his ass. Every muscle in his body tensed up, and his fingers were leaving bruises on the man's skin. He pushed his hips back against the hand and spread his legs further. If not for the arm around his waist he would have toppled over and crashed hard against the floor.

A sound of protest came from him as the hand withdrew and left him wanting. He glared fiercely at the man, and the look on his face was that of a small boy that had been denied sweets. The stranger laughed, but the sound vanished in the loud music, and one hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him along as the other began to worm his way through the crowd.

He let himself be dragged through the masses like an idiot. Hands tried to grasp him and pull him close, but he slipped away with a mischievous smile. They would have to find someone else to dance with.

The crowd was left behind, and he almost felt naked to be without it. A crowd meant people. People meant dance partners. He looked the stranger over, taking in the whole of his broad, gorgeous body. This one was definitely worth a fuck.

The hands lead him to the public bathroom of the club, and hardly thirty seconds later the door was closed behind them and he was pushed up against a wall with that firm body flush against his own. Teeth nipped at his neck and the wetness of the tongue that glided over his skin left him shuddering and half panting. Everything felt so much better with drugs in your system; he thought and tried to loosen the grip on his hands. It was forfeit. His wrists were effectively trapped just above his head in one larger hand.

An alarm went off inside his head when the other hand began to unzip his shorts and yanked them down, but it was weak. He could barely hear it- he was too high right now. His breath hitched when fingers curled around his member and pumped him rhythmically. He threw his head back against the wall and moaned loudly. The stranger bit down hard on his neck, hard enough to draw blood. There was no pain. There never was when he was under the influence of Caramel.

Gods, he loved Caramel. It was the best fucking drug in the world.

“I'm gonna fuck you, boy.”

The stranger's voice was thick with lust. He didn't reply, the hand on his member made sure he was too far gone for that. The man stepped away and next thing he knew he was spun around almost violently and had his cheek pressed into the wall of the booth. It felt uncomfortable. The hand let go of him and brought his wrists to the small of his back, pinning them there. He groaned with unease and struggled against the hold. It was no use.

The alarming bells came back, stronger this time, but every coherent thought in his mind died the moment the stranger let his pants fall and pushed into him without any warning. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, like a fish out of water, and his eyes bulged a little from surprise.

Still there was no pain. Somehow he knew he should be grateful for that.

The man wasted no time dilly dallying and began to thrust into him with quick, skilled movements. It felt uncomfortable not to be able to move his hands and arms, and his cheek was squashed against the wall every time the hips behind him drove forward. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of their breathing; ragged and uneven.

Being fucked was making his breath hitch. The man was good; he had to give him credit for that. His eyes fluttered open, and he wished so badly that he could touch himself. He was agonizing here, for Christ's sake! The man pounded harder into him, but he could only feel the out numbing pleasure of the act. His hips moved on their own accord and pushed back against the other and buried him even further. Apparently that was all the encouragement the stranger needed, for he tensed up with a grunt and released his seed.

He was shivering all over when the stranger pulled out of him and stepped away. His wrists were released, and he sagged against the wall and sank to his knees.

“You're a good fuck, boy.”

The man chuckled, and he listened without looking as the man buttoned up his pants and walked out of the booth. Leaving him alone.

He groaned, but couldn't find the strength to stand up. His member was still painfully hard and throbbing, but a familiar feeling was washing over him. The feeling that he might pass out.

“God no, not already!” he protested.

Too late.

Unconsciousness claimed him mere seconds later.

-

He was being rattled. The whole world was moving, and it was without his consent. It made him feel sick. Really sick. His eyes slowly came open.

He screamed as the force equal to a bulldozer slammed into his brain and sent him into convulsions. In the haze of white, hot pain he did not notice that someone was carrying him. Or that he was just leaving the stuffed club room. He began writhing and struggling against the arms that were carrying him while screaming his throat raw.

“Fuck!”

The string of curses that followed went him by unnoticed. He began to claw at his head, desperate to make the voices shut up and stop hurting him. Blood trickled down his temples from where the nails had broken through skin, and he began pulling his hair instead.

Vaguely he became aware of shouting, and something grabbed hold of his hands and forced them away from his hair. The grip was firm, and he didn't have the strength to compete. With a choked cry he arched his back and tried to writhe out of the arms that held him.

Something cool was smothered across the palms of his hands, and he slumped against the body that was carrying him as the drug began to seep into his system quickly. The pressure inside his skull lessened a whole lot and left him boneless and somewhat in control of himself. There was a sigh when he simply laid still and let himself be carried without struggle. His vision was unfocused, but he sought out whoever it was that had removed his pain.

His eyes fell upon a familiar, stoic face, and he smiled up at the brown eyes that reminded him of chocolate. The man nodded in acknowledgement and let go of his wrists.

He frowned.

If Thomas was walking next to him, then who was the one carrying him?

Dread filled him when he leaned his head back and stared up at another familiar face. A face he didn’t want to know in the least. Blue eyes peered down at him, and the man’s mouth was a thin, frustrated line on his handsome face.

It only took him two seconds to start struggling again.

The man sneered as he almost dropped him to the floor, but he didn’t stop.

“Let Thomas have me! Let go, you dick!”

Such irony. The man's real name was in fact Dick. It was a huge joke, and one of his favourite insults towards the older male. He was roughly shoved into the arms of Thomas and Dick scowled at him.

“Bring the brat upstairs. I’m leaving.”

Ha, take that! He thought triumphantly and rested his head against Thomas' warm, firm chest. The drug was keeping his emotions from running rampant, but he could feel them, and the voices just beneath the surface. Waiting to be released.

“Don’t be such a child. You were lucky we got you out of the club before you became conscious again,” Thomas scolded without looking at him. He felt like a little boy, and cringed at the harsh words. Closing his mouth he kept quiet and stared at the walls he recognized as the second floor. The business floor. It was on this exact floor that every deal was made, contracts were sealed and lives were tossed around like balls in a courtyard. He shuddered a little from the very thought of it and hid his face in Thomas’ black suit jacket. It smelled of cologne, and if not for the small amount of Caramel floating through his system the scent would have made him feel sick. He hated perfume.

Perfume reminded him of bad things.

He relaxed a little as they came to the third floor and Thomas entered the code to let them inside the large apartment. The thick metal doors opened to welcome them in. This was home. The voices couldn't reach him here. Or at least not as much as they could every other place in the building. He pushed a hand against the bodyguard's chest to make him put him down, but there was no response.

The apartment was empty.

He drank in the sight of the familiar surroundings, all from the red leather couch to the bar and the huge television that covered one of the walls. This was home. This was safe. But it was empty, save himself and Thomas. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the loneliness surface through the haze. The Caramel that Thomas had given him a little while ago was already wearing off. It made him more vulnerable to emotional outbursts.

Thomas pushed open the door to the bathroom with his broad shoulder and put him down. His legs were wobbly from all the drugs that had coursed through his system throughout the night, and he wasn't far from getting a back clash straight in his face. He had taken too much Caramel earlier. His memory was blank.

“Get cleaned up. The Boss better not come back and find you messed up this way.”

Thomas left without another word.

He stared at the door when it was closed in his face and staggered backwards until his ass hit the counter. Thomas was too blunt. He liked the man, but sometimes he could be a royal jerk. Quickly he stripped off his black leather vest and shorts and turned to face the mirror. It reflected a young man, tall but awkward with his body and height. The ponytail had been ruined, and the long, black hair hung almost freely against his shoulders and back now. Those shoulders were thin, as were the arms and chest that hardly held any muscle at all. If not for the height he might have been mistaken for a fifteen year old boy.

His own bright purple eyes were staring back at him, measuring him. He glared, but the reflection only glared in return. Those eyes, he hated them with a passion. They were proof that he was a freak. Someone different from everyone else. They strayed to the throat, and confusion made him frown when he saw the two bruises on his neck that looked like bite marks.

“I'm gonna fuck you, boy.”

“Fuck.”

His eyes widened as the bits and pieces came back and glued themselves together in his mind.

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

His cry bounced off the bathroom walls and echoed in the silence.

A stranger had fucked him while he was on Caramel. And he had been a good little slut and taken it all without putting up resistance. His insides felt like they were fighting about which got to come up his throat first, and he dropped to his knees before the toilet and retched. Hair came in the way as he emptied his stomach into the toilet, but he could not move. The cramps turned into dry heaves when there was nothing left to come up.

“Fuck. I'm so cheap. I'm so fucking cheap,” he whimpered and reached out a hand to flush the toilet. The evidence of his sickness went down the drain. Every limb felt ten times heavier than it should be. He curled up on his side on the floor in a feral position and clutched his head in his hands. It felt like he needed to be sick again any moment. The heaving became more violent every second, and barely a minute after he was gasping hard and trying to catch his breath.

It wasn't working.

Tears of frustration and shame leaked from the corners of his eyes and blurred his sight.

He felt so dirty that it made his skin tingle.

With a little effort he managed to get onto his knees and slowly crawl his way over to the shower. God, he could still feel the remains of the other man on the inside of his thighs. Not to mention that his ass felt sore.

The tiles inside the shower felt cold to his knees, and he trembled with the cold as he struggled to get the water on. After what seemed like eternity hot water sprayed onto his skin and soaked him to the bone.

Wash the filth away. Wash it all away.

He needed to feel clean again, whatever it took. There was a dosage of Caramel waiting for him in his drawer if he needed it afterwards. He’d do anything, even if the drug was what had caused him to get fucked over in the first place.

There was a mild pressure to his mind, probing and wanting in. The whispers inside his head were faint, as they should be on this floor, but they were still there. And that was all that mattered. They were invading his privacy. He slumped against the shower wall as the sobs took hold of him and wrecked his body bad enough to make him loose his breath.

He’d never feel clean again.

Never.

His mind went black.

-

Note: There are three ways to take Caramel. The quickest and most dangerous way is to inject it into your body. The second way is to eat it, which works slower than to inject it, but lasts just as long. The third way is by use of a cream that contains the drug. This way has a short lasting effect that's not very strong.