Chapter Text
after spending nearly the entire day at the bar idaios was somehow still completely sober. despite everyone constantly handing him drinks he barely seemed affected at all. meanwhile twixxel had gone far beyond his limit. his cheeks were bright red his words were slurred together and he could hardly walk in a straight line without grabbing onto someone or something for support.
at first he was louder than everyone else laughing over the music dragging random people into conversations and acting like he owned the place. every few minutes he would grab idaios by the arm trying to pull him onto the dance floor insisting they stay just a little longer. he kept ordering more drinks even when the bartender suggested he slow down. each glass only made him more reckless than before.
hours passed and the once crowded bar slowly became quieter as people began leaving. twixxel was still determined to keep the party going even though he could barely keep his eyes open. he stumbled into tables nearly knocked over a chair and burst into laughter as if nothing had happened. he leaned against idaios for balance mumbling something completely impossible to understand before trying to stand on his own again.
"youre no funnnnn" he complained with a lazy grin reaching for another drink before idaios quietly slid it away from him.
"i think youve had enough"
"nuh uh one morerrr"
"you said that twenty minutes ago twix."
twixxel frowned dramatically crossing his arms like a child before immediately forgetting why he was upset. a second later he was laughing again pointing at something across the room that wasnt even there.
without warning his legs finally gave out.
he stumbled forward nearly crashing face first into the floor but idaios caught him just in time wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. twixxel blinked a few times trying to focus before letting out a tired sigh.
"im sleepy..."
before idaios could answer twixxel went completely limp. his head rested against idaios shoulder and within seconds he had passed out.
the bartender walked over with a sympathetic look.
"rough night huh"
"you could say that," idaios replied quietly.
after paying the bill and thanking the staff idaios carefully lifted twixxel into his arms. despite all the chaos from earlier he looked strangely peaceful now completely unaware of everything around him. idaios carried him outside into the cool night air where the streets had become almost silent. the city lights reflected across the empty roads as he gently placed twixxel in the passenger seat making sure his seatbelt was fastened before starting the drive home.
the entire ride was quiet except for twixxels soft breathing. every now and then he would mumble a random word in his sleep or shift slightly in his seat but never woke up. idaios couldnt help glancing over every few minutes just to make sure he was alright.
when they finally arrived idaios unlocked the front door while supporting twixxels weight over his shoulder. getting him inside was far from easy. twixxel was completely dead weight making every step slower than the last. after a few minutes idaios finally reached the bedroom.
he carefully lowered twixxel onto the bed making sure he didnt hit his head against the headboard. kneeling beside him idaios took off his shoes loosened the tight collar around his neck and pulled a blanket over him so he wouldnt get cold during the night. he placed a glass of water on the bedside table along with some medicine just in case he woke up with a terrible headache the next morning.
for a while idaios simply stood there in silence.
the loud reckless person who had spent the entire evening laughing yelling and causing trouble was now completely still. his face looked softer in his sleep free from the smug grin he usually wore. a few loose strands of hair had fallen across his face and idaios gently brushed them away without thinking.
"...youre impossible gosh."
there was no annoyance in his voice only quiet exhaustion mixed with something softer.
idaios pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down resting his arms on his knees. he watched twixxel sleep listening only to the faint sound of his breathing. every so often he checked to make sure he was comfortable adjusting the blanket whenever it slipped or moving the pillow so his neck wouldnt hurt.
outside the window the city had gone completely quiet. moonlight spilled through the curtains casting a pale glow across the room. idaios remained there without saying another word refusing to leave.
The room was a tomb of silence, broken only by the ragged, uneven breaths Idaios couldn't seem to control. The streetlight outside cut a pale yellow line across the bed, catching the curve of Twixxel's shoulder, the slack line of his jaw, the way his lips were parted just slightly, stained with the sour remnants of too much beer. Idaios stood at the edge of the mattress, still in his jeans, hands balled into fists at his sides, and he stared down at the man he'd called his best friend for years.
His chest heaved. His throat was tight. And between his legs, his cock was already hard, pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans, betraying every shred of decency he'd ever pretended to have.
"You're such a piece of shit," he whispered to himself, voice cracking on the last word. He reached down and unbuckled his belt with shaking fingers, the clink of metal too loud in the quiet room. "He trusts you. He fucking trusts you, and you're gonna-"
He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't want to hear it out loud.
Idaios kicked off his jeans and boxers in one clumsy motion, his cock springing free, already slick at the tip. He climbed onto the bed, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Twixxel's thighs, and hovered there, looking down at the man sprawled beneath him. Twixxel's chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths. His face was relaxed, peaceful, completely unaware of the predator hovering over him.
"You're a monster," Idaios breathed, his voice barely audible. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking slowly, just to feel something other than the guilt gnawing at his ribs. "Look at him. Look at how fucking trusting he is. And you're gonna—you're gonna ruin it."
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Twixxel's collarbone, and let out a shuddering exhale. His hips rolled forward instinctively, his cock sliding along the warm skin of Twixxel's inner thigh, leaving a wet smear in its wake. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.
"Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry, twixxel-" he whimpered, but he didn't pull away. He dragged his cock back and forth across that smooth expanse of flesh, again and again, each pass growing more frantic, more desperate. The heat of Twixxel's skin was intoxicating, and Idaios could feel himself leaking, pre-cum smearing across the other man's thigh in glistening streaks. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve me."
He lifted his head and looked down at where his cock was pressed against Twixxel's skin, and the sight made his stomach turn even as it made his dick twitch. He hated himself. He hated every cell in his body that wanted this, that needed this, that couldn't stop even as the guilt threatened to swallow him whole.
"Stupid fucking idiot," he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. He shifted his weight, positioning himself lower, and felt the head of his cock nudge against something soft and warm- the cleft between Twixxel's thighs, the entrance to his body, still relaxed and unguarded from sleep and alcohol. "You're actually gonna do it. You're actually gonna fucking-"
He pushed.
The first inch was tight, so tight Idaios thought he might cry. Twixxel's body resisted, unused to the intrusion, and Idaios had to pause, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He gripped Twixxel's hip with one hand, fingers digging into the bone, and pressed forward again, forcing himself deeper.
"Shit - shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted, his voice breaking into a sob as he sank further into that unbearable heat. The sensation was overwhelming—tight, wet, impossibly warm, clenching around him like Twixxel's body was trying to pull him in even as it fought to push him out. Idaios's vision blurred, and he realized there were tears streaming down his face. "You're so—fuck, you feel so good, and I hate that I'm saying that, I hate that I'm doing this, but I can't stop, I can't fucking stop-"
He bottomed out, his hips flush against Twixxel's ass, and he stayed there for a long moment, trembling, his forehead pressed to the curve of Twixxel's neck. He could feel the other man's pulse beneath his lips, slow and steady, completely oblivious to the violation happening inside him.
"Look at you," Idaios whispered, his voice raw and broken. "Look at what I'm doing to you. You trusted me. You called me your best friend. And I'm I'm inside you while you're passed out, because I'm a pathetic, worthless piece of shit who can't control himself."
He started to move.
The first thrust was shallow, almost tentative, but it sent a shockwave of pleasure through him that made his toes curl. He pulled back and pushed in again, harder this time, the sound of his hips meeting Twixxel's skin filling the quiet room. His rhythm was erratic, desperate, driven by months of repressed longing and the bitter taste of self-hatred on his tongue.
"You don't even know how long I've wanted this," he gasped, picking up the pace, his thrusts growing deeper, more frantic. "I'd watch you on stream, listen to your voice, and I'd fucking-I'd touch myself like the pathetic loser I am, imagining this, imagining you."
He drove into Twixxel with a sob, his nails raking across the other man's hip hard enough to leave marks. "And now you're here. You're here, and you don't even know it. You don't know I'm fucking you. You don't know I'm using you like the whore I've always wanted you to be."
The words tasted like poison on his tongue, but he couldn't stop them. He couldn't stop any of it. His hips slammed into Twixxel's body again and again, the wet, obscene sound of it echoing in the dark room. Pre-cum and sweat and the lingering scent of alcohol mixed together, creating a heady perfume that made Idaios's head spin.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he whimpered, his voice climbing higher, more desperate. "You're so fucking perfect, and I'm ruining it. I'm ruining everything. You're gonna wake up and hate me, and I deserve it. I deserve every fucking ounce of hate you throw at me."
He leaned down, pressing his lips against Twixxel's shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a prayer. His thrusts grew sloppier, his control slipping as the pressure built low in his gut. "I'm gonna come. Fuck, I'm gonna come inside you, and I'm gonna hate myself even more for it. I'm gonna-"
His voice broke into a high, keening moan as his orgasm crashed over him, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside Twixxel's body. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, trembling and gasping, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto Twixxel's chest.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, the words barely audible, lost in the darkness. "I'm so fucking sorry."
And then he felt it.
A shift. A faint, groggy movement beneath him.
Twixxel's eyelids fluttered. His head turned slightly, and his gaze- unfocused, glassy, still swimming in the remnants of too much alcohol- drifted down to where their bodies were joined. He blinked slowly, his brow furrowing as if trying to process what he was seeing. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
Idaios froze, his heart slamming against his ribs. He stared down at Twixxel, waiting for the accusation, the anger, the disgust. But Twixxel just looked at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy, and let out a low, drunken hum.
He didn't push him away.
He didn't say a word.
He just watched.
And Idaios, still buried inside him, still trembling with the aftershocks of his release, felt a fresh wave of shame wash over him-because even now, even with Twixxel's eyes on him, he didn't pull out. He couldn't. He just stayed there, frozen in the act, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
baalighy i wrote this part at like 4 to 5 in the morning
The silence stretched like a wound that wouldn't close.
Idaios stayed buried inside Twixxel long after his cock softened, long after the last tremors of his orgasm faded into a hollow, aching stillness. He didn't pull out. He couldn't. His body felt like lead, pinned in place by the weight of what he'd done, and Twixxel's half-lidded eyes were still fixed on him—glassy, unfocused, utterly unreadable. There was no anger in that gaze. No recognition. Just the empty, floating stare of someone who had drowned themselves in alcohol and something else, something darker that Idaios had noticed but chosen to ignore.
He'd seen the pills. Tiny white tablets scattered at the bottom of Twixxel's bag when he'd carried him inside. He'd told himself it was nothing. Told himself it wasn't his business. But now, looking down at the man beneath him—limp, pliant, barely conscious—he knew. He knew, and he hated himself for how much he didn't care.
"You're so fucked up," Idaios whispered, his voice cracking as he finally pulled out, the loss of contact making him shiver. He collapsed onto his side, curling his body around Twixxel's, and wrapped his arms around him from behind. His chest pressed against Twixxel's back, his face buried in the crook of his neck, and he breathed in the scent of sweat and beer and something chemical, something wrong. "And I'm worse. I'm so much fucking worse."
He pulled Twixxel closer, his arms tightening around his waist, and felt the other man's body slump against him like a ragdoll. Twixxel didn't resist. Didn't react. He just lay there, limp and warm, his breath slow and shallow, his heart beating a lazy rhythm against Idaios's palm.
"Look at you," Idaios murmured, his lips brushing against Twixxel's shoulder. "Look at what you let me do. You're supposed to be my best friend. You're supposed to trust me. And I fucking—I took advantage of you. I raped you, Twixxel. That's what I did. I raped you while you were passed out, and I came inside you, and now I'm holding you like I have any right to."
His voice broke, and he pressed his forehead harder against Twixxel's skin, tears leaking from his eyes and soaking into the fabric of the pillow. "I'm a monster. I'm a fucking monster. And the worst part? The absolute worst part is that I liked it. I liked feeling you around me. I liked how you just lay there and took it. I liked that you were helpless and I could do whatever I wanted."
He let out a bitter, broken laugh, his fingers digging into Twixxel's hip hard enough to leave bruises. "God, I'm sick. I'm so fucking sick. I deserve to rot in hell for this. I deserve to never see your face again. I deserve to lose everything—my friends, my career, my fucking mind—because I couldn't keep my hands off you."
Twixxel stirred slightly, a low, slurred sound escaping his lips, and Idaios froze. But Twixxel didn't wake. He just shifted closer, his body instinctively seeking warmth, and Idaios felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces.
"You don't even know what you're doing," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You don't even know you're cuddling the person who just—" He couldn't finish the sentence. He just held Twixxel tighter, his body shaking with silent sobs, and let the guilt consume him.
They stayed like that for a long time. Minutes. Hours. Idaios lost track. The room grew colder, the streetlight outside flickered, and Twixxel's breathing remained slow and steady, a metronome marking the passage of time that Idaios wished would stop.
Eventually, Idaios forced himself to move. He peeled his arms away from Twixxel's body, and the loss of contact felt like tearing off his own skin. He sat up, looking down at the man sprawled across his bed, and felt a fresh wave of self-loathing crash over him.
"You're a mess," he said, his voice flat and hollow. "And it's my fault. All of it."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his knees weak, his body aching. He looked at the bathroom door, then back at Twixxel, and made a decision.
He couldn't undo what he'd done. But he could clean him up. He could pretend, for a few more minutes, that he was taking care of him instead of using him.
Idaios bent down and scooped Twixxel into his arms, cradling him against his chest like something precious. Twixxel's head lolled back, his mouth slack, his eyes half-closed. He was completely limp, completely trusting, and Idaios hated himself for how much he loved it.
"You're like a doll," he muttered as he carried him into the bathroom. "A beautiful, broken doll, and I'm the piece of shit who broke you."
He set Twixxel down on the closed toilet lid, propping him up against the wall, and turned on the shower. The water hissed and steamed, filling the small room with warmth and fog. Idaios tested the temperature with his hand, adjusting it until it was just right, then turned back to Twixxel.
He undressed him slowly, methodically, peeling off the remaining clothes with hands that trembled. Twixxel didn't react. He just sat there, head drooping, eyes unfocused, his body a dead weight that Idaios manipulated however he wanted.
"Look at you," Idaios whispered, his voice thick with disgust—at himself, at the situation, at the way his cock twitched at the sight of Twixxel naked and vulnerable. "You're so fucking helpless. And I love it. I love that I can do whatever I want and you can't stop me. I love that you're mine, even if you don't know it."
He stepped into the shower, pulling Twixxel with him, and let the hot water cascade over both of them. Twixxel slumped against him, his head resting on Idaios's shoulder, and Idaios wrapped his arms around him, holding him upright as the water soaked their hair and ran down their bodies in rivulets.
"I should hate myself more," Idaios said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the shower. "I should feel worse. But I don't. I just feel empty. And tired. And so fucking desperate for you to stay like this forever."
He reached for the soap, lathering his hands, and began to wash Twixxel's body with slow, deliberate strokes. His hands moved over Twixxel's shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his thighs, and each touch sent a jolt of guilt and pleasure through him. He washed away the evidence of what he'd done—the sweat, the cum, the shame—but he knew it would never be enough.
"You're gonna wake up eventually," he murmured, his lips brushing against Twixxel's wet hair. "And you're gonna remember. Or maybe you won't. Maybe the drugs and the alcohol will wipe it all away, and I'll get to pretend this never happened."
He let out a bitter laugh, his hands pausing on Twixxel's hips. "But I'll remember. I'll remember every second of it. I'll remember how you felt around me, how you looked at me with those empty eyes, how you let me hold you even after I—"
His voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead against Twixxel's, their wet skin sliding together. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. But I'm not gonna stop. I can't stop. You're the only thing that makes me feel alive, even if it's wrong, even if it's destroying both of us."
He held Twixxel under the warm water, rinsing the soap from his skin, and then turned off the shower. The silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. He dried Twixxel off with a towel, carried him back to the bed, and laid him down gently, pulling the covers up to his chin.
Idaios stood there, looking down at the man he had violated, the man he loved, the man he would never deserve. And he whispered, to no one in particular:
"I hope you never wake up. Not because I want you dead, but because I can't face you. I can't face what I've done. I can't face the disgust in your eyes when you realize what kind of monster you've been sharing a bed with."
He climbed into bed beside Twixxel, pulling him close, and buried his face in his hair.
"I'm a fucking shit," he breathed, the words a prayer, a confession, a curse. "And I deserve every ounce of despair this brings me."
Also just because i use "—"doesn't mean im a grammar nerd.. ok? i just see too many people use it in their f/o so it is what it is
The shower was over. The water had long since stopped dripping, and the bathroom door hung open, releasing the last tendrils of steam into the cold bedroom. Idaios stood in the middle of the room, towel still wrapped around his waist, his hair plastered to his face in dark, wet strands. He looked at Twixxel, curled up under the covers, his breathing deep and even, his face slack and peaceful. He looked like an angel. He looked like he hadn't just been used like a thing.
Idaios's stomach turned.
He didn't get back into bed. He couldn't. The thought of touching Twixxel again, of feeling that warm, trusting skin beneath his fingers, made him want to claw his own face off. Instead, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants, walked over to the chair in the corner of the room, and sat down heavily, the wood creaking beneath his weight.
For a long moment, he just stared at Twixxel. Watched the rise and fall of his chest. Listened to the soft, occasional murmur of a dream he couldn't hear. And then his gaze drifted to the floor, where Twixxel's bag lay discarded, its contents spilling out like secrets.
He shouldn't.
He knew he shouldn't.
But his hand was already reaching down, fingers closing around the worn canvas strap, pulling it into his lap. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, guilty rhythm that made his palms sweat. He glanced at Twixxel—still asleep, still oblivious—and then he opened the bag.
The first thing he saw was a crumpled receipt from a pharmacy. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the list of items, and his blood ran cold. Antihistamines. Sleep aids. And something else, something with a name he didn't recognize, but he knew what it was. He knew because he'd seen the pills earlier, tiny and white, scattered like teeth.
"Fuck," he whispered, his voice hollow. "Fuck, Twixxel. What are you doing to yourself?"
He set the receipt aside and dug deeper. His fingers brushed against a worn leather wallet, a half-empty pack of gum, a charger cord tangled around a pair of earbuds. And then his hand closed around something cold and smooth—Twixxel's phone.
Idaios's breath caught in his throat.
He pulled it out, the screen lighting up at his touch, and stared at the lock screen. It was a picture of the two of them, taken months ago at a convention, their arms slung around each other's shoulders, grinning like idiots. Idaios remembered that day. Remembered how happy he'd been, how normal. How blind.
His thumb hovered over the screen. He knew Twixxel's passcode—had watched him type it in a hundred times during streams, during late-night calls, during lazy afternoons spent gaming together. It was the same four numbers, always the same, because Twixxel was too trusting, too careless, too fucking vulnerable.
Idaios typed them in.
The phone unlocked.
He didn't know what he was looking for. Evidence. Secrets. Proof that Twixxel was as broken as he was, something to justify what he'd done. He opened the messages first, scrolling through conversations with friends, with fans, with people Idaios didn't recognize. Nothing incriminating. Nothing that made him feel better.
Then he opened the photos.
His stomach dropped.
There were dozens of them. Selfies, mostly, but not the kind you'd post online. Twixxel in various states of undress, his eyes glassy, his pupils pinpricks. Twixxel with a bottle of pills in his hand, a lazy, crooked smile on his face. Twixxel lying in a bed that wasn't his own, sheets tangled around his legs, his arm thrown over his face like he was trying to block out the world.
Idaios scrolled faster, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. And then he stopped.
There was a video.
He pressed play.
Twixxel's face appeared on the screen, lit by the harsh glare of a bathroom light. He looked tired. Hollow. His eyes were red-rimmed, his voice hoarse as he spoke directly into the camera.
"I don't know why I'm recording this," he said, his accent thicker than usual, slurred and raw. "Maybe because I want someone to find it. Maybe because I want someone to know."
He paused, licking his lips, and Idaios watched as a single tear traced a path down his cheek.
"I'm not okay," Twixxel whispered. "I haven't been okay for a long time. And I don't know how to ask for help. I don't know how to stop."
The video ended.
Idaios sat there, the phone trembling in his hands, his vision blurring with tears he didn't realize he was crying. He looked at Twixxel—asleep, peaceful, broken in ways Idaios had never bothered to see—and he felt something inside him shatter.
"You're hurting," he breathed, his voice cracking. "You've been hurting this whole time, and I didn't—I didn't see it. I was too busy wanting you, too busy taking from you, to notice that you were falling apart."
He set the phone down, his hands covering his face, and let out a sob that was muffled by his palms. "And I made it worse. I made everything worse. I took advantage of you when you were at your lowest, and I called it love."
He sat there for a long time, the weight of what he'd discovered pressing down on him like a physical force. The room was silent except for Twixxel's steady breathing and the occasional sniffle from Idaios.
Eventually, he stood up, walked over to the bed, and sat down on the edge. He didn't touch Twixxel. He just looked at him, memorizing the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the way his eyelashes fanned out against his cheeks.
"I'm gonna help you," Idaios whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't know how. I don't know if I deserve to. But I'm gonna try."
He reached out, hesitated, and then gently brushed a strand of hair away from Twixxel's forehead.
"Because you deserve better than me. You deserve better than this. And I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you get it."
Idaios sat there for a long time, the phone heavy in his hands, the weight of what he'd seen pressing down on his chest like a cinder block. He scrolled through Twixxel's DMs—Twitter, Instagram, Discord—and each message felt like a knife twisting deeper into his gut. There were messages from fans, from friends, from people who clearly cared about Twixxel. And there were messages Twixxel had never answered. Pleas for him to check in. Questions about how he was doing. Invitations to hang out that had been left on read for weeks.
Idaios saw his own name in some of them. Twixxel had screenshotted their conversations, sent them to someone Idaios didn't recognize, with a caption that read: "He's the only one who gets it."
The only one who gets it.
And Idaios had repaid that trust by violating him while he was unconscious.
He let out a shaky breath, his thumb hovering over the screen one last time before he locked the phone and set it down. He gathered Twixxel's belongings carefully, methodically, placing each item back into the bag exactly as he'd found it. The receipt. The wallet. The charger cord. The pills.
He paused when he picked up the small plastic baggie, the white tablets rattling softly inside. His jaw tightened. He knew what he was doing before he even fully decided to do it.
He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed a half-empty water bottle from the counter. He twisted off the cap, tipped a few of the pills into his palm, and dropped them into the water. They fizzed briefly before dissolving, leaving no trace behind. He screwed the cap back on, shook the bottle gently, and placed it on the nightstand next to Twixxel's bed.
Evidence. Insurance. A way to make sure Twixxel stayed groggy, stayed pliant, stayed unaware of what had happened until Idaios could figure out what the fuck he was going to do next.
He hated himself for it. He hated himself so much it made his stomach churn, made his hands shake, made his vision blur with tears he refused to let fall. But he did it anyway.
Because he was a coward. Because he was a monster. Because he couldn't face the look in Twixxel's eyes when he realized what had been done to him.
Idaios grabbed a spare blanket from the closet, tossed it onto the floor next to the bed, and lay down. The hardwood was cold and unforgiving beneath him, the blanket thin and scratchy, but he didn't care. He deserved the discomfort. He deserved worse.
He stared up at the ceiling, listening to Twixxel's slow, steady breathing, and let the darkness swallow him whole.
Morning came like a blade.
Idaios woke to the sound of movement above him, the creak of the mattress, a soft, groggy groan. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at the underside of the bed frame, his body stiff and aching from a night spent on the floor.
He didn't move. He barely breathed.
Twixxel shifted above him, a low, pained sound escaping his lips. "Fuck... my head..."
Idaios heard the rustle of sheets, the thump of a hand fumbling for the nightstand, and then the sound of liquid being drunk—gulped, really, desperate and thirsty. The water bottle. The one with the dissolved pills.
Idaios's heart hammered against his ribs, but he stayed perfectly still, his eyes fixed on a crack in the ceiling, waiting.
"Idaios?" Twixxel's voice was hoarse, confused, thick with sleep and the lingering fog of whatever cocktail he'd taken the night before. "You there?"
Idaios forced himself to sit up, his muscles screaming in protest. He looked at the bed, at Twixxel propped up on one elbow, his hair a mess, his eyes still heavy-lidded and unfocused. He looked vulnerable. He looked beautiful. He looked like he had no idea what had happened to him.
"Hey," Idaios said, his voice rough from lack of use. "You're awake."
Twixxel blinked slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. "I... how did I get here? Did you pick me up?"
"Yeah," Idaios said, the word scraping against his throat. "You were at some bar. Bartender called me. You were... out."
Twixxel let out a weak laugh, rubbing his temples. "Shit. Sorry, man. I don't remember much. Thanks for... thanks for getting me."
Idaios's chest tightened. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fall at Twixxel's feet and confess everything, beg for forgiveness he didn't deserve. But instead, he just nodded, his face carefully blank.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "That's what friends are for, right?"
Friends.
The word tasted like ash in his mouth.
Twixxel smiled—a small, tired, trusting smile—and Idaios felt something inside him die.
"Yeah," Twixxel murmured, already sinking back into the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed as the fresh dose of dissolved pills pulled him back under. "Friends."
Idaios watched him drift back to sleep, the guilt pressing down on him so heavily he thought he might suffocate. He sat there on the cold floor, wrapped in a thin blanket, and let the silence swallow him whole.
He had gotten away with it.
And he had never hated himself more.
Idaios moved through the kitchen like a ghost, his movements mechanical, his mind blank. He pulled out a mixing bowl, flour, eggs, milk. The familiar rhythm of cooking was the only thing keeping him from spiraling, from collapsing onto the floor and screaming until his throat gave out. He cracked eggs into the bowl, the shells breaking cleanly, the yolks bleeding into the white. He whisked them with more force than necessary, the metal clinking against ceramic, a sharp, steady sound that filled the silence.
The smell of butter melting in the pan. The sizzle of batter hitting the hot surface. The way the edges turned golden, then brown, then perfect. Idaios flipped the pancakes with practiced ease, stacking them on a plate, one after another, until there was a small tower of them, steaming and soft.
He didn't know why he was making breakfast. Maybe because it was normal. Maybe because he wanted to pretend, for just a few more minutes, that he was a good person. Maybe because he knew Twixxel would wake up hungry, and he wanted to give him something, anything, to make up for what he'd taken.
The sound of footsteps made him freeze.
He turned, spatula still in hand, and saw Twixxel shuffling into the kitchen. He was shirtless, his skin pale in the morning light, his hair a tangled mess. He wore only a pair of loose shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp V of his pelvis, the soft curve of his stomach. He looked exhausted. He looked beautiful. He looked like he was in pain.
And he was holding the water bottle.
Idaios's blood turned to ice.
Twixxel's eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep and whatever remnants of the drugs were still swimming through his system. He moved slowly, carefully, as if every step sent a jolt of discomfort through his body. He reached the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily, the water bottle clutched in his hand like a lifeline.
"Morning," Twixxel mumbled, his voice rough and raw. He set the bottle down on the table, his fingers still wrapped around it, and winced as he shifted in his seat. "Fuck, man. My lower body hurts like hell. Like... I don't know. Like I got hit by a car or something."
Idaios's throat closed up. He turned back to the stove, his hands trembling as he flipped another pancake, the motion automatic, hollow.
"Probably just slept wrong," he said, his voice flat, careful. "You were pretty out of it last night. Tossed around a lot."
Twixxel let out a weak laugh, rubbing his lower back with his free hand. "Yeah, maybe. Feels weird, though. Like... inside. You know?"
Idaios didn't answer. He couldn't. He just kept his back to Twixxel, his eyes fixed on the pan, the pancakes burning slightly because he'd forgotten to turn down the heat.
Twixxel picked up the water bottle, uncapped it, and took a long drink. Idaios heard the gulp, the swallow, the sound of the bottle being set back down on the wooden table.
"These pancakes smell good," Twixxel said, his voice softer now, almost drowsy. "Thanks, man. For everything. For picking me up. For letting me crash here. For... you know. Being a friend."
The word hit Idaios like a punch to the gut.
He turned around, plate in hand, and set it down in front of Twixxel. The pancakes were golden, steaming, drizzled with syrup that glistened in the light. Twixxel looked up at him, a small, tired smile on his lips, his eyes still glassy and unfocused.
Idaios wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Twixxel by the shoulders and shake him, tell him what had happened, make him see the monster sitting across from him. But he didn't. He just stood there, his hands hanging limp at his sides, and watched as Twixxel picked up his fork and took a bite.
"Good," Twixxel murmured, chewing slowly, his eyelids drooping. "Really good."
Idaios sat down across from him, his own plate untouched, and watched the man he had violated eat breakfast like nothing was wrong.
And he hated himself more than he had ever hated anything in his entire life.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft clink of Twixxel's fork against the plate. He chewed slowly, his movements sluggish, the drugs still pulling at the edges of his consciousness. But there was something else in his eyes now—a flicker of awareness, of presence, that hadn't been there before.
The words hit Idaios like a freight train, but he didn't flinch. He kept his face neutral, his hands steady as he reached for the half-empty bottle of syrup on the table. Inside, his stomach was a knot of wire and glass, cutting him open from the inside out.
He didn't answer. He just nodded once, pushed back his chair, and walked to the bedroom.
Twixxel's bag was still on the floor where he'd left it. Idaios knelt down, unzipped it, and pretended to search. He already knew what was inside. He'd already taken what he needed. The pills he'd dissolved in the water bottle were the last of the ones Twixxel had brought. There was nothing left.
But Idaios had planned for this.
He stood up, walked to his own jacket hanging by the door, and pulled out his phone. His fingers moved quickly, typing in a name he'd saved months ago, a contact he'd never thought he'd use. A dealer. The kind who sold things that didn't just make you sleep—they made you forget. They made you pliant. They made you want.
He placed the order. Express delivery. Thirty minutes.
Then he walked back to the kitchen, sat down across from Twixxel, and forced a smile.
"Didn't find anything," he said, his voice smooth, practiced. "But I ordered some. Should be here soon."
Twixxel blinked slowly, his fork hovering mid-air. "Ordered?"
"Yeah. Thought you might need something stronger. For the pain."
The lie tasted like copper on his tongue. But Twixxel just nodded, too foggy to question it, and went back to eating his pancakes.
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Idaios answered it, signed for the small, unmarked package, and slipped it into his pocket. He walked to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and pulled out a pint of ice cream—chocolate, Twixxel's favorite. He scooped a generous amount into a bowl, let it soften slightly, and then crushed two of the pills into a fine powder.
He mixed it in carefully, stirring until the white dust disappeared into the brown swirl.
Then he carried the bowl to the living room, where Twixxel had curled up on the couch, his eyes half-closed, his body limp and trusting.
"Here," Idaios said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Dessert."
Twixxel looked up at him, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "You're spoiling me."
"You deserve it."
The words were a lie. But Twixxel didn't know that. He took the bowl, scooped up a spoonful, and let it melt on his tongue (hey twixxel kiss me twixxel).
Idaios watched.
He watched as Twixxel ate the ice cream, spoonful after spoonful, his eyelids growing heavier, his movements slower. He watched as the drug took hold, softening his muscles, loosening his limbs, painting his cheeks with a faint flush of submission.
By the time the bowl was empty, Twixxel was barely conscious. His head lolled back against the couch cushion, his lips parted, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He looked up at Idaios with a gaze that was no longer his own distant, hazy, utterly pliant.
"Idaios..." he murmured, his voice slurred, almost a whimper. "I feel... weird..."
Idaios knelt in front of him, his hands trembling as he reached out and cupped Twixxel's face. His skin was warm, soft, completely surrendered.
"I know," Idaios whispered, his voice cracking. "I know you do."
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Twixxel's forehead gentle, reverent, broken.
"I'm sorry."
Then he stood up, took Twixxel's hand, and guided him to the bedroom.
Twixxel moved like a puppet with cut strings, his steps unsteady, his body swaying. Idaios laid him down on the bed, and Twixxel went without resistance, his arms falling limply to his sides, his legs parting just slightly, as if his body already knew what was expected of him.
Idaios stood over him, tears streaming down his face, his cock already hard and aching in his pants.
"Look at you," he breathed, his voice raw. "Look at what I've done to you. You're not even here anymore, are you? You're gone. And I'm going to use you again."
He undressed himself slowly, his hands shaking, his sobs muffled by his own palm. He climbed onto the bed, positioned himself over Twixxel, and guided his cock to Twixxel's lips.
"Open," he whispered.
And Twixxel did.
His mouth fell open, slack and obedient, and Idaios pushed inside. The heat, the wetness, the utter lack of resistance—it broke him. He thrust shallowly, his tears dripping onto Twixxel's cheeks, his voice a broken litany of apologies and confessions.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you. I hate myself. I can't stop. I can't stop, im such a fucking shit-t... i should be in hell.. rotting.. fuck.. im so sorry twixxel.. i love you i cant-."
Twixxel's eyes were open, but they saw nothing. His body responded, but his mind was gone, floating somewhere far away, where the pain couldn't reach him.
And Idaios took and took and took, until there was nothing left to take.
Afterward, he lay beside Twixxel, holding him, crying into his hair, whispering promises he knew he'd never keep.
"I'll get you help. I'll fix this. I'll make it right."
But even as he said the words, he knew they were lies.
He was already reaching for the next pill, Hes cock still hard.
The room was a tomb. The only light came from the cracked bathroom door,(BOIIII DID U GET THE REFERENCE JAJAJAJ) a thin yellow blade that cut across the bed, illuminating the pale, still form of Twixxel beneath the tangled sheets. Idaios sat on the edge of the mattress, his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. The empty blister pack of pills lay crumpled on the nightstand next to a half-empty glass of water. He'd given Twixxel another dose. And another. And another. He'd lost count.
Twixxel had taken them all without question. His eyes had gone glassy, his limbs heavy, his voice reduced to a slurred, distant murmur that faded into nothing. Now he lay there, limp as a ragdoll, his chest rising and falling in shallow, even breaths. His lips were parted, his face slack, his body completely surrendered to the chemical fog Idaios had fed him.
Idaios reached out and touched Twixxel's cheek. The skin was warm, soft, utterly unresponsive. He let his hand trail down, over the curve of Twixxel's jaw, down the column of his throat, across his collarbone. Twixxel didn't flinch. Didn't stir. He just lay there, a beautiful, broken doll, waiting to be posed.
"You're so pretty like this,my love.." Idaios whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. "So quiet. So still. No jokes. No laughter. No... no trust in your eyes. Just... nothing."
He laughed, a bitter, broken sound that echoed in the empty room. "I preferred it when you trusted me. It made me feel less like a monster. But this... this is easier, isn't it? This way, you can't look at me with those big, fucking doe eyes and make me feel guilty for wanting you."
He stood up, his knees popping, and walked around the bed. He grabbed Twixxel by the ankles and pulled him down until his head was resting on the pillow, his body aligned with the center of the mattress. Then he climbed on top of him, straddling his chest, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Twixxel's ribcage.
He was already hard. He'd been hard for hours, a constant, aching reminder of his own depravity. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking slowly, his eyes fixed on Twixxel's face.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with self-loathing. "Look at what I've done to you. You're not even a person anymore. You're just... a thing. A warm, wet thing for me to use. And I'm going to use you. I'm going to use you until I can't anymore, and then I'm going to cry about it, and then I'm going to do it again."
He leaned forward, positioning himself over Twixxel's face. His cock hovered inches from those slack, parted lips, and he let out a shuddering breath.
"Open please," he commanded, his voice cracking.
Twixxel's mouth fell open, obedient and empty. Idaios pushed inside.
The heat was immediate, overwhelming. Twixxel's mouth was wet and slack, offering no resistance, no participation. Idaios thrust shallowly, his hips rocking forward in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his eyes screwed shut as tears leaked from the corners.
"You're so fucking perfect," he sobbed, his voice breaking. "You're so perfect, and I'm ruining you. I'm destroying everything good about you, and I can't stop. I can't fucking stop."
He thrust deeper, his cock hitting the back of Twixxel's throat, and Twixxel didn't gag. Didn't react. He just lay there, taking it, his body a vessel for Idaios's sickness.
"I'm a monster," Idaios whimpered, his pace quickening. "I'm a fucking monster. I drugged you. I raped you. I turned you into a fucking doll so I could do whatever I wanted. And the worst part? The worst part is that I'm enjoying it. I'm enjoying every second of this, and I hate myself for it."
He pulled out, a string of saliva connecting his cock to Twixxel's lips, and let out a ragged breath. He repositioned himself, sliding down until he was sitting on Twixxel's stomach, his cock pressing against the soft, warm skin of his belly.
"Now I'm going to ride you," he said, his voice flat, hollow. "I'm going to ride you like the pathetic piece of shit I am, and you're going to lie there and take it, because that's all you can do anymore."
He reached down and grabbed Twixxel's limp hand, wrapping it around his own throat. He pressed down, feeling the pressure of those slack fingers against his windpipe, and began to move. His hips rocked forward and back, grinding against Twixxel's stomach, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through his overstimulated body.
"You see this?" he gasped, his voice strained. "You see what you've reduced me to? I'm fucking your corpse, Twixxel. I'm fucking your warm, breathing corpse, and I can't stop. I can't fucking stop."
He thrust harder, faster, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The pressure in his gut was building, coiling tight, threatening to snap. He grabbed Twixxel's hair with his free hand, yanking his head back, and let out a guttural moan.
"I'm gonna come," he cried, his voice breaking. "I'm gonna come all over you, and then I'm gonna clean you up, and I'm gonna dress you up, and I'm gonna do it all over again. Because I'm sick. I'm so fucking sick, and I can't stop."
His orgasm hit him like a freight train, his body convulsing as he spilled across Twixxel's stomach, his chest, his chin. He collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against Twixxel's collarbone, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.
He stayed there for a long moment, trembling, crying, hating himself. Then he pushed himself up, looked down at the mess he'd made, and let out a hollow, broken laugh.
"Time to clean you up," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
He carried Twixxel to the bathroom(loop..?) , washed him gently, dried him carefully. Then he laid him out on the bed like a mannequin, his limbs arranged just so, his head resting on the pillow.
And then he opened the drawer where he'd hidden the things he'd bought earlier that day.
Lace. Silk. Ribbons. Stockings.
He pulled out a pair of high-thigh stockings(imagine if it miku's high thights LOL), sheer and black, with delicate lace trim at the top. He slipped them onto Twixxel's legs, one at a time, smoothing the fabric over his skin, adjusting the lace so it sat perfectly on his thighs. He stepped back to admire his work, a small, twisted smile playing on his lips.
"Beautiful," he whispered.
Next came the panties. Black lace, high-cut, with a tiny bow at the front. He slid them up Twixxel's legs, over his hips, adjusting the waistband so it sat just right. The fabric hugged his curves, accentuating the soft swell of his ass(GYATTTTTTTTTTT), the gentle dip of his waist.
Then the bra. Matching black lace, delicate and feminine. Idaios slipped it over Twixxel's shoulders, fastened the clasp behind his back, and adjusted the cups so they sat perfectly against his chest.
He stepped back again, his breath catching in his throat.
Twixxel looked like a doll. A beautiful, fragile, feminine doll, laid out on the bed like a gift. The stockings gleamed in the dim light. The lace clung to his skin. His face was slack and peaceful, his lips slightly parted, his eyelashes fanned out against his cheeks.
Idaios felt a grin spread across his face. It started small, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and then grew, wider and wider, until it was a full-blown, manic grin that stretched his lips and bared his teeth.
He laughed.
It started as a low chuckle, then grew into a cackle, then into a full-throated, hysterical laugh that echoed off the walls. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears streaming down his face as he laughed and laughed and laughed.
"Look at you!" he cried, his voice high and unhinged. "Look at you! You're so pretty! You're so fucking pretty! I made you pretty! I made you mine!"
He stumbled over to the bed, grabbed Twixxel's face in his hands, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then he pulled back, still laughing, his eyes wild and bright.
"You're never leaving," he said, his voice dripping with manic glee. "You're never leaving this room. You're never leaving me. I'm going to keep you here, in your pretty little stockings and your pretty little panties, and I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to use you. I'm going to love you. And you're never, ever going to leave."
He laughed again, the sound bouncing off the walls, filling the room with its madness.
"Welcome home, Twixxel," he said, his grin splitting his face. "Welcome to your forever."
He climbed onto the bed, curled his body around Twixxel's limp form, and pulled the covers over them both. His arms wrapped around Twixxel's waist, his face buried in his hair, and he whispered, over and over, like a prayer:
"Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine."
The laughter faded into silence, but the grin never left his face.
The night stretched on, endless and dark, and Idaios held his doll close, dreaming of all the ways he would keep him.
(Pls if u find the "hes cock" PLEASE JUST MENTION IT AS HIS IM TOO LAZY TO FIX IT AND I ALREADY FIXXED TOO MANY MISSPELLS)