Baby Face

By Melis Senkaya and M.S Melly

Lancelot Cadwallader is psychotic, and deep down he knows his lust and craving to hurt him, the boy he's seen so often at the bar; Casimir Darius;  in love with his soft attitude, and the smell of mojitos on his breath. Once keeping his fucked up thoughts to himself, their soft and steamy, romantic relationship crashes to Lancelot's demise. For Lancelot, he's taken it a step too far to kidnapping Casimir to keep him from leaving no matter the cost. Lancelot then fully realizes what he truly is capable of with a sick mind and refuses to let the love of his life go, regardless of the continuous police search. Locking his lover down in the basement and inflicting numerous acts upon Casimir; drugs, alcohol, and sex, torture, humiliation, and more, he uses Casimir's loves and fears against him to claim the boy until he's robbed Casimir of everything and thrown onto death row. That is, until Casimir's Stockholm Syndrome acts up after months of affliction, he promises something to Lancelot that could break any lock. A lustful, broken, BDSM relationship takes a wrong turn when faced with heartbreak, separation and bound in chains.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.S Melly
• Release date: Nov 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393704577

Book preview

I never knew how much he loved me. I wanted to love him the way I desired to be loved, but in the end  my heart filled with nothing but pain and hate.

­

–Casimir Darius, Baby Face.

For a broken romance that was not meant to be from the beginning; spinning and spiraling to terror of the heart not meant to be seen by the eyes but become something self-destructing and deadly.

Baby Face is a highly graphic novel intended for mature, adult audiences only. Extremely detailed depictions of sexual nature, rape, violence, drug and alcohol abuse as well as severe emotional and physical abuse and Stockholm syndrome are mentioned in this novel. None of these conditions or actions are condoned nor glorified. This is an explicit, adult read.

CHAPTER 1 - HONNE.

Detroit City, Michigan, U.S.A.

November 6th, 2018.

Lancelot is sick.  He’s mentally fucked in the head regardless of how his brother, Brad, tries to explain to him that what he was just seeing in his dreams were plain old nightmares or strange visions-–sparing the fucked up details–and that he was simply stressed.

Both of them knew deep down that Lancelot needed to desperately see a psychiatrist, not just any kind of therapist. He needed medication and he knew this regardless of how badly he pushed it off of his mind. He needs someone to talk to—someone to explain the vile scenes and thoughts in his head.

However, Lancelot is the master of concealing his own feelings and thoughts, no matter what he thought of himself or imagined.

He went through high school and college with his twin brother being some of the most popular kids around. From that, he learned that there was either people who loved you, feared you, or envied you; nothing in between.

Those social interactions taught him a lot about who he should act like. He didn’t want to appear vulnerable to society or those who looked up or down at him, so he truly hid how he felt.

He pretended, he played along with everyone else and made himself look the stereotypical jock at school with a classic sense of humor and a love for sports even though his heart was truly never into it.

Nothing is different. Nothing changes. Lancelot is lonely. He hurts. He has nobody but his brother, as his parents passed away years ago in a nasty car crash on their way home from their 17th anniversary dinner.

The boys grew up with their grandmother until she too, had passed away, and at that point they were well off from the family fortune and their new jobs, fresh out of college. Brad considers Lancelot and he are very fortunate and lucky to have easily become so successful.

He’s ultimately happy with who he has become and how far his brother had got as well and mourns over the past when the time comes.

Lancelot can’t remember the last time he was loved by anybody else. He’s never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. His grandmother’s death hit him hard, and even though he claimed to himself that he was over it, he really wasn’t.

He graduated with a business degree but didn’t let it define him as positively as anyone else would want it to. He made no difference to turn his life around because of how strong his emotions were holding him back. Brad could truly never say the same.

That’s the problem with Lancelot; he doesn’t know when to let go.

He has too much emotion, and it’s so bad that it gets in the way of his everyday life. He can’t react to things like a normal human being sometimes, and he hates himself for it.

His own feelings and emotions have made him sick to the core, down to his perverted thoughts and imaginations. Lancelot is jealous. He always wished he was more like his brother.

He thinks Brad has always been the jack-of-all-trades in everything. Talented, smart, athletic, funny. Of course, Lancelot could be all of these things too, but Brad wasn’t emotional like him. Brad was in the middle of the spectrum.

Lancelot could barely remember the last time Brad got angry with anyone or anything. Another thing he despised about his brother; it took a lot to get filthy emotions like anger or fear out of him where as Lancelot could get irritated so easily.

Ah, but fear is something Lancelot claims he doesn’t have. He only felt such an emotion when watching horror or thriller movies with his brother. He enjoyed the occasional jump-scare that caught him off guard, adding more entertainment to the movies. He says he doesn’t have any normal fears. He doesn’t squeal like his cousins do when they spot spiders. He’s not afraid of the dark, and those haunted house tours on Halloween don’t even get him to flinch. He always tells Brad that he’s seen scarier things, and that the modern-day scare has just gotten cheesy.

Brad believes Lancelot because Lancelot is a good liar. He wasn’t even afraid of being caught by the police, or anything that would send a person into a state of shock. He was responsible, or he liked to think he was.

He had lied enough to protect himself and his feelings that he was confident about the words coming out of his mouth. If Lancelot wanted, he could make anyone believe what he was saying.

He became such a skilled liar that even he realized the risks of white lies or big lies made of him. He only lied when it came to defending himself, protecting his personality and feelings; and he only lied when he needed to save his own hide.

I’m human. He’d tell himself, and that was enough for the day. Even he didn’t like it when people pushed him around. The same went for his sexual interests. He never dated anybody, but he was sure other people might have liked him at some point. Perhaps someone was admiring him right now, but he wouldn’t know. Nobody told him so. He had felt the occasional teenage crush on some girls in his class throughout high school and college, but he had been far too shy to ever approach them or get beyond a friendship. This was fine. It doesn’t bother Lancelot in the least bit.

He was more attracted to guys than he was to girls, and even Brad knew. Brad thought it was cute, and he supported his brother thick and thin. This is what Lancelot truly appreciated about his brother; how supportive and accepting he was. He had a happy family, even if it was just with his only sibling and no lover to cling onto his arm.

Oh, how Lancelot had always wished for a lover of his own. He’d often daydream about it too.

Finding the guy of his dreams-–his own prince charming-–one that he could cuddle up to when he felt lonely or upset. One he could tell his horrible puns and jokes too, go on dates with, and make love with. Lancelot had always told himself to be patient with these things.

Love doesn’t just come out of nowhere. He convinced himself that if was patient, he would find exactly who he was looking for, or they would find him. He didn’t mind the order. But that caused Lancelot to visit gay bars quite often.

He wanted to get more comfortable with his sexual and romantic side, and he liked getting a drink every now and then from the bar. He wasn’t big on alcohol, but a shot or two didn’t hurt. He’d sit there and smile at the conversations strangers around him were having. Some complained about work, and others told funny stories. Lancelot always minded his business, but he thought they were interesting too.

He paid to see male strippers every now and then, sitting back and watching one of the best pole dancers give him a strip tease and a dirty dance. The gay bar was Lancelot’s favorite place to be, and he had already met and made so many more friends than he had during his school years.

That was the thing, Lancelot enjoyed his life. He told himself to stop thinking so hard; he was only human after all. He liked the serenity of life, he went with the flow of things. He visited his doctor every month for a checkup and was almost always healthy except for the occasional flu that would come around mid-winter.

He constantly forgot to ask his doctor to refer him to a psychiatrist. It would not come up in his mind while he was talking to his doctor. 

Was he making himself forget on purpose? 

Lancelot believed he didn’t need any special help. He thinks he can help himself, and he hasn’t hurt anybody but himself. He’s a strong believer that time heals all.

Lancelot was a jaw dropper. He and his brother had now only inherited the family fortune and mansion, but he also had the best of genes. He and his brother weren’t identical twins, of course, but they did share some similarities.

Brad had dirty blonde hair, mostly mixed in with bits of darker, brunette hair, and he had always shaved the sides down to a medium length, so his swoop of his hair could hang off like a faux hawk and be brushed to the side of his forehead. Brad had a bit of a light beard coming on, but once he shaved it you couldn’t even tell if he had facial hair. Brad, just like Lancelot, had a hard time growing facial hair, but neither of the boys cared. They both had the same facial structure and light, grey-blue eyes, but Lancelot was the darker haired one.

He had dark, chestnut brown hair and that he kept at a short-medium length, enough for him to side sweep it to messy bangs or shape it up with some gel.

Lancelot was very well aware that pairs of eyes were always on him at the gay bar. He never claimed himself to be hot, but he assumed he must have been attractive to others. He didn’t mind the attention. People can’t help themselves.

Lancelot did use his appearance to an advantage when it came to making friends, even without him aware of it. It just happened, but still, nothing had changed, until recently.

Lancelot had spotted him, this boy who had pulled his attention greatly. They seemed about the same height, maybe an inch of a difference, but it was hard to tell most of the time because this boy was always sitting across from the strippers where Lancelot had always sat.

The boy had sat on the plush, velvet couches, watching the strippers but appearing distracted most of the time. He would always hold a martini or some sort of cocktail in one hand, and smoke with the other, but he was almost always seen with a mojito.

His hair was a platinum blonde with little, darker golden highlights throughout. It was always brushed or slicked back, even put in a small pony tail with the occasional strands hanging by his face, and Lancelot couldn’t deny how attractive this stranger was.

One thing he could deny was that this stranger hadn’t shown any liking or attention to Lancelot at all. Maybe they were too far away, or the lights were simply too dim for the boy to make out Lancelot’s appearance.

Lancelot had spent far too much time sitting on the chair, gazing at the boy and thinking about him constantly. All of these were dirty thoughts. When he occasionally looked up at the stripper dancing before him, he imagined the him in the man’s spot instead.

He thought of how teasing he could be if he slowly took off his denim jacket and stripped down in front of Lancelot.

Lancelot imagined talking to him, buying him drinks and snacks at the bar. He pictured the two laughing and talking, having a good time.  This boy couldn’t be any younger or older than Lancelot. Lancelot was twenty-four, and the bar was only for those of and over the age of twenty-one.

Lancelot heard the boy’s name being called by the bartender. It was an interesting name, Casimir. Lancelot daydreamed that he would take the boy home and they’d smoke a joint together, maybe snort some coke off the dinner table and get high for the shits and giggles.

Maybe Lancelot wasn’t big on binge drinking, but that was an entirely different story when it came to drugs. Lancelot could introduce the boy to Brad as his new boyfriend, and they’d both be happy with each other.

Then behind closed doors, Lancelot imagined how he would hurt him. Lancelot wanted to both please and hurt him, explore new boundaries and be kinky in bed. He would use toys, the dildos and vibrators, anal beads he had bought recently. He would use leather handcuffs and tie his boyfriend up to the bed and tease him slowly by kissing him all over. He would ask if his boyfriend was ready, and then he would leave hickies all over his neck. He would graze his teeth lightly to add to the pleasure, and grind on his lover slowly.

Casimir was beautiful to Lancelot’s eyes; such a handsome guy with a soft face that was shy and innocent-like.

Lancelot would feel hard at the sound of his boyfriend moaning and being pleasured. He would strip down naked and fuck him senseless. He’d kiss his soft skin all over and thrust into him from behind, making sweet love and then fucking him hard. He thought his boyfriend would probably be a submissive since Lancelot was a dominant after all, and this wouldn’t change for him.

He would bite, whip, and spank his lover too, just like the dirty thoughts in his head Brad told him he needed help with. Lancelot thought it was kinky. He liked it even though it was wrong, and he shouldn’t have.

If his lover lost interest for him or had eyes for somebody else, Lancelot decided he wouldn’t let him go. He would beat him bloody if he tried to leave, and he’d bound both his wrists and ankles.

Lancelot was a sick fuck, and he decided he was going to kidnap Casimir.

CHAPTER 2 - AEIPATHY.

November 8th, 2018.

Lancelot’s Point of View.

Skin on skin with our bodies against each other... Soft moaning, touching, kisses trailing down his chest. It’s an erotic picture that dances in the back of my mind; an image I can’t seem to erase.

A shiver runs down my spine thinking of the pleasures there could be—the pleasures that weren’t there before. A feeling that was almost electric to me–a sight and a thought that wouldn’t compare to the dancers before me.

I find myself fixated on him immediately. I can’t seem to peel my eyes off of him as I lean against the plush, velvet loveseat, holding a Bloody Mary in my one hand while crossing my leg over the other and resting my chin on my fist.

I want to appear occupied at least, like I always do, ordering my cocktail and enjoying the show in front of me with other thoughts trailing in the back of my mind.

Thoughts...ones about this boy in specific. The one named Casimir... It’s almost like he’s indiscreetly teasing me by avoiding my eyes, having not noticed me as of yet.

I watch one of the many skilled, exotic dancers put on their show with the colorful flicker of the lights flashing, and the poles on the stage.

Surrounding the small stage with a variety of similar, velvet couches rotated around for easier view, and the boy only sits directly across from me, surrounded by strangers who were fixated on the dancers or on their cellphones.

The air of the bar smelt of fresh fruit and faint alcohol; cigarette smoke trailing from the back doors and the sounds of chatter, laughter, and soft club music playing to accompany the guests and dancers.

Glancing to the back of the club were many VIP lounges and private booths, yet this was the first time I’ve come here to see someone like him–stirring the ice inside his Mojito with interest—almost as if he was trying too hard to blend in.

No matter how much I gaze at him or give a complete stare he doesn’t seem to look up from his cocktail but continue swirling the chunks of ice inside the glass. Forcing my eyes to peel away from the sight in front of me, I gaze down at my half empty cocktail and finish the rest of it, pursing my lips at the delicious, yet interesting taste. 

Don’t stare. Don’t look. Don’t make it obvious, yes? I want him to come here, or to notice me at least in some form. I rise and glance at him again; the music far too loud for him to have heard or noticed anything. He doesn’t raise his head as I turn around, making my way back to the bartender for another drink. 

Hands running through his soft, blonde hair teasingly... Heavy breathing on each other’s necks, heated and flustered in the moment...

I sit down on a stool and lean over the table, putting my empty glass down and glancing at the empty stools surrounding me, only filled with groups of friends and people at the second bar on the other side of the room.

Only a man a few stools away from me remains, sulking over the table with several shot glasses and a stench of strong vodka coming from him, leaving me alone where I sit with my thoughts.

The tattooed bartender gives me a simple look, taking my empty glass and whisking it away as he comes back with a small glass filled with Jack Daniel’s whiskey. I give him a nod as a way of thanking him and grasp the cup in my hand, still feeling the blush flaring on my cheeks.

My hand almost quivers around the glass as I swallow hard, attempting to calm myself down. I can only imagine how flustered I must look right now. Wait until Brad hears about this one.  I

rest my head onto my hands on the table, taking a small sip of the whiskey and swallowing it down. I focus on the various bottles of alcohol the bartender easily mixes and grabs off the wall, trying to remember alcohol content. 

Wet lips crashing over each other roughly, kissing hungrily as we battle for dominance... Holding him up against me, hearing him moan my name. That’s it now...

Funny seeing you around here now, you must come more often these days. I hear the bartender say, confusing me for a moment as my daydream is interrupted.

I furrow my brows and glance over at him, assuming that he was speaking to me, as I see his eyes looking to my side instead. Looking over in pure curiosity, I feel my heart sink as Casimir approaches the bar with a smile on his face, directed towards the bartender.

He sits down on the stool directly next to mine, leaning over and grinning wickedly at the bartender. He’s here, so close, next to me. Fuck, I..I want him.

My muscles clench in deep attraction as I swallow hard, taking another sip of my whiskey and blinking.

Being twenty-one pays off. Casimir speaks, his eyes don’t even acknowledge mine as the bartender takes his empty glass, throwing out the leftover blocks of ice. I don’t really have anywhere better to be.

Oh yeah? The bartender fills up the mojito again, adding mint leaves. How about college or something of the sort?

I’m working on it. Casimir chuckles, taking his drink.  So, he’s around my age range after all. I knew it.

I listen to their conversation as the bartender wipes off the counter with a small smile formed on his lips. Both of you seem to come a lot more often these days. He suddenly gestures to me, catching me off guard.

My mouth is half open as Casimir gazes at me and I feel the familiar blush return to my cheeks at the idea the bartender may have noticed my gaze over Casimir. Casimir gives me a warm smile, raising his glass and taking a sip before swallowing his drink down, and what makes you say that?

Young wanna-bees. The bartender chuckles, adding more whiskey to my cup. We don’t get a lot of regular customers or visitors here. It’s all very different and crowded each day.

I bet. I finally find the courage to speak, staring at Casimir’s hands wrapped around the cold drink as he nods in agreement. I’m a regular, here to find something to entertain me with. I painfully force my eyes off of Casimir’s lips.

You’ve come to the right place. The bartender winks at me, same for you, eh Casimir? He returns his attention to the blonde boy.

It’s a stressful summer, I’ll tell you that. Mm, his voice is soft yet sounds like velvet to me, soothing in a way that brings my attention to him. I like it. I can easily imagine him screaming my name, bound to the posts of the bed.  I notice the Mojito in his hand is the exact same one he was drinking just moments before. The same kind, the same mixed drinks, and the same alcohol content–very low compared to the other heavier drinks here.

He leaves his glass half empty before pushing it away, causing the bartender to raise his eyebrow as he pushes it back towards him. Come on kiddo, you and I both know you need this.

Casimir chuckles shyly, watching as the bartender refilled his drink before him, let it all out here at least.

You like your drinks soft? I find myself asking him, watching the alcohol mix with his drink.

My limit is one, usually. He looks over at me before laughing softly. I can’t take drinks down too well, but these days, it’s getting to be the opposite.

I chuckle, shaking my head before finishing my whiskey and placing the cup onto the table again. That’s nothing to be embarrassed for.

Now that’s something I can deal with... I like a man who can take his drinks down. One drink­—Mojito’s are his favorite.

I like the way he chews on the mint leaves before stuffing them in the glass. He likes his drinks cold to the touch, filled with ice, but never lets them melt. I like the way his pink lips touch the tip of the straw. Alcohol isn’t his dirty habit.

Do I fit in? He jokes, taking a napkin and wiping his mouth. I’m fairly new here, you know. Once I heard about the shows, the people...the... He pauses for a moment before grinning again, the exotic dancers, I knew I had to check this place out. I like it, it’s serene. It’s entertaining.

Oh, how I agree with my adrenaline acting up within my veins; my heart racing as I find myself suddenly exciting at the fact he sits next to me, intrigued in starting a conversation with a complete stranger, or one that wouldn’t be a stranger for very long.

He gives me a sense of determination I’m addicted to.

Lancelot has been here since the place opened up almost four years ago. The bartender leans his arms on the table, facing us.

Not a lot of bars like ours here in Detroit, at least not as big of a gay bar. I knew exactly what he was talking about, fully agreeing with it.

I wouldn’t catch myself in a regular bar with that immense pressure and feeling of not belonging in with everyone else and seeing the mess of the other bars around here.

Sure, there were many other gay bars here, but this one was my go-to. This one... Is even more special now.

I can see a lot of people being regulars here. Casimir exchanges looks with me. You’ve tried all the drinks here? He’s joking, teasing me this time. I notice how awfully sweet and interactive he is, not only towards me, but in general as he continues sipping his Mojito faster this time.

He’s refusing to let the conversation die, and I can’t resist or deny my own indulgences of lust towards this boy at all.

For almost four years, yes. I add on as he gives a childish grin, pushing his glass away, letting the bartender hand him a medium sized glass filled with straight tequila.

My eyes widen, knowing even I have a difficult time taking down pure tequila in a glass like that, but Casimir doesn’t even flinch as he takes a large sip like it was nothing but water.

Interesting... I have a feeling he’s got other things hiding up his sleeve that don’t show as quick. It’s attractive in a way, seeing the way his muscles clench, his Adam’s apple bulging in the flickering, disco lights of the bar.

How do you wanna pay for that? The bartender empties Casimir’s old Mojito glass, eyeing us both. Casimir pauses for a moment as he swallows hard, halfway through the glass.

He hiccups, coughing a little as my first instinct is to quickly clasp a hand on his back, patting gently as he exhales shakily, looking at both of us with foggy eyes as if he was dreaming.

He’s drunk. I point out, reaching to my pocket and pulling out my wallet, taking and sliding a $20 bill across the bar table. I’ve got it.

H-hey... Casimir coughs, covering his mouth before glancing over at me in worry. It’s okay! I can pay, you know–

Honestly. I shove my wallet back into the back pocket of my jeans. I can afford it, it’s my treat for you as a regular here. 

Casimir looks shocked at first before his lips pull up to a grin and he nods, finishing the rest of his drink and hiccupping again. 

Oh man... He runs his slim, pale hand through his blonde locks, ruffling them. Thank you... I appreciate it.

I down my whiskey quickly, clearing my throat before hopping off my seat. Don’t worry about it. Can I walk you out?

Yeah. He lazily fixes the collar of his varsity jacket, rising slowly from his stool and pulling out a cigarette pack out of his pocket. My eyes widen slightly as I watch him take one shakily, placing it between his lips before he hands the pack over to me. Would you...like one?

It’s all good, I don’t smoke. I refuse, giving him a small smile as he nods to himself dazed, putting it back in his pocket and fumbling again to grab out his lighter.

He drops it, pouting slightly as I quickly lean over, looking up at him from below momentarily and grabbing his lighter.  This is hotter than it should be. My fingers grind over the lighter as a flame flickers on and Casimir leans in, lighting his cigarette. I click the lighter off and hand it back to him, who smiles gratefully with the cigarette on the left side of his mouth.

Does this count as my bad habit?

Depends on when it begun. I tell him as I slowly make my way to the back of the bar with him, careful to watch his movements so he doesn’t trip or stumble.

I like...the herbal stuff, you know? He lets out a loud hiccup as I chuckle. His hand immediately moves to my shoulder as he clutches onto me, his breath getting heavier. A-ah fuck, this...

Hey, I’ve got you... I murmur, feeling my heart pound within my chest as I hold onto him, leading him out of the bar. Do you have a ride home?

I do... He nods weakly, blinking several times as I push open the back door and step out. My friends are...gonna pick me up...at...

At? I raise my brows as he struggles to find the words, remaining quiet and staring directly at me.

I admire his facial features with my failed attempt to keep eye contact, noticing how beautiful his cheekbones and jawline are, adjusting to the soft, innocent features of his face. His skin is ridiculously smooth and soft looking in its appearance, not a single facial hair, blemish, or pimple over it.

Someone takes awfully good care of themselves when it comes to hygiene, eh? His jawline is sharp and sleek, complimenting his looks perfectly with those baby blue eyes. He’s stunning to my eyes as I admire him and the pout of his pink lips as he looks back at me. I suddenly feel embarrassed with his eyes over mine, knowing I can’t compare as well.

At... one thirty... He whispers softly, and I can see the tequila taking its effect harder on him.

I peek down at my watch and purse my lips, they’ll be here in five minutes if that’s the case, Casimir. I like the way my tongue rolls against his name... Both of our names are uncommon but there’s something I like about his... Something sexy about finding it in my mouth.

He shakily takes the cigarette between his two fingers and nods lazily, exhaling a gust of smoke to his side as he raises the cigarette back to his mouth. It...smells like herbs.

What are you talking about? I chuckle as he leans against the wall, clutching onto the bricks.

I don’t think I have any...any...habits...to...fulfill... He trails off, staring down at me in confusion. S-sorry...this...is such a bad first...i-impression... Goddamn it, that alcohol hit least when I expected it, ugh...

Bad habits eh? What a conflict between mine I can definitely grow quickly to admire. One drink, one cigarette. Opposed to snorting cocaine off tables, smoking a joke, or getting shitfaced on nights that feel too lonely. Innocent he is, pure, but with those looks I can’t get myself away from him.

You don’t have to worry. I smile warmly at him. We may have more in common than you think.

I’m gay... He blushes, looking down at his hands shyly.

I am too. I chuckle quietly, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. I glance around us quickly, not noticing any cars around or pulling near before leaning in, we can get you home, it’s alright. I suggest laying off the–

Kiss me. He breathes, saying it almost as if he was pleading as the cigarette falls from his mouth and hits the ground. 

My eyes widen in utter surprise, noticing how both of our breaths are laced with heavy scents of alcohol. My muscles immediately clench in reaction as I step over the cigarette harshly, crushing it underneath my shoe. 

Fuck. Me. I quickly cup Casimir’s cheeks, leaning in as our lips crash against each other’s hungrily. We kiss sloppily and harshly, pressed up next to each other as our tongues battle for dominance. I taste the tequila and cigarette over his lips as he moans softly, stirring up something inside of me as we break away from the hot kiss, breathing heavily.

I only gaze at the flustered boy momentarily before a car honks, causing me to turn around see a girl no younger than Casimir wave out the window. Casimir’s eyes widen as he stumbles up with my help towards the car, continuously glancing over at the both of us as he gets in the backseat.

T-thank you... You’re... He looks me in the eye as he digs his nails into the leather seats of the car. Good...

Take care. I whisper, patting the roof of the car and nodding at the driver before pulling away and letting the car drive off.

Watching them leave until they’re no longer in my sight, I find myself panting almost from the bothered heat of the moment. My lips are still wet from his kiss, and my cheeks are burning red with embarrassment, blush, and adrenalin all at once. I’ve never experienced attraction like this before. Never had a boyfriend.  Never done any of the things inside my head.

I shake my head, raking a shaky hand through my hair and leaning against the brick wall where Casimir was pushed up against me just moments ago. I calm myself down, feeling my heart slow from how hard it was beating, almost as if it was going to burst out of my ribcage in that moment. Thinking of the kiss, my gut twisted up in a knot of emotions, anxiety, and butterflies.

I want this boy, I want him. No...no...it’s not a matter of want, it’s need. I need him. I desire him... I... I...

I don’t have his number.

I bite down harshly on my lip, thinking of what the bartender said before grunting and clutching onto my hair, sliding down against the wall and breathing heavily between gritted teeth.

How, and when can I ever see him again if he doesn’t show up?! I need him, goddamn it!

I need him, I do... I do... Not just like this, but in every way. I need his soft lips against mine, his tongue in my mouth...

Yes, I want my hand tugging on his blonde hair, pulling on his body to grind against mine. Fucking hell.

The very thoughts getting me going so fast that I can’t hide the bulge pulsating in my jeans. I’ve gotten this through my head now, this boy is what turns on me and what I truly want.

No hiding it, no denial. It’s a must be. I have to see him again, I have to. I’ll do what it takes but...but... I can’t lose one like him. Not this one. This one is special...

I can picture him bound on the posts of my bed, eagle spread with my eyes admiring his body and his ass. His skin, soft to the touch when I took his cheeks in my hands to kiss him. I imagine trailing a riding crop down his back slowly and teasing him with it as I make him suck the corner of it, leaving a small path of his own saliva down his back.

I’ll slap the riding crop against his ass until it’s pink, until he’s begging for more, until he moans and cries out in pleasure. His ankles and wrists bound up in rope or chains, oh, it’s his choice and its mine to what we want to pick.

A ball gag in his mouth as those pretty, blue eyes follow me, drooling all over it. Lips puckered and swollen from passionate kissing, love marks over his beautiful, pale body, submissive to me. His hands clenching the bedsheets as I thrust into him from behind, stretching his hole and making him mine all over again every night.

I cock my head against the brick wall, breathing quietly as I squeeze my eyes shut, lost in the thoughts, lost in my daydreams once more. I place my fingers over onto my lips, feeling where his were, kissing and sucking gently over on my lips, so hungry and passionate for me.

Mm... My eyes flicker open as I gaze up at the half moon above me, only able to think...just thinking...just knowing I’ll have him belong to me... He tastes like every dark thought I’ve ever had.

CHAPTER 3 - APODYOPSIS.

November 8th, 2018.

Lancelot’s Point of View.

With the stench of Jack Daniel’s whiskey and Casimir’s faint cigarette trail wrapped around my jacket, I can barely pull myself together to drive home.

Clutching harshly onto the steering wheel, my knuckles go white at the grip–forcing my eyes to stay on the road–free from distraction. As I breathe heavily but quietly under my breath, I stare at the cars pass by me on the streets, my mind still occupied.

With an erection almost bursting in my jeans, I feel my breathing and heart rate increase in excitement; a sign that I haven’t been truly aroused for quite some time.

The feeling is almost ecstatic to me as he swallows the lump in my throat down, pulling up in the driveway of my home and glancing at both the lights in the house, and my brother’s 1999 Honda Civic parked next to my car; my younger brother Brad was already home. 

What a shitty fucking car, I think to myself out of pure frustration.

I peel myself out of my car, pulling my jacket off of my shoulders and holding it in a way so that it covers my pulsing erection before I approach the front door, fumbling with my keys and unlocking it, walking in to see Brad glancing towards his direction, sipping a tall glass of orange juice.

Looking preoccupied at first, Brad’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before he gives me a small smile. Well, well, look who decided to come home tonight.

Of course, I have never missed my brother’s humour, even if it mocks me at times. My twin who is majoring in biology and minoring in chemistry with a bachelor’s degree of science–-Brad is an opposite of me in some sorts. I can think well in jealousy that my younger brother is in his last year of college, ready to make something of himself.

Brad is clueless to the fact that I’m able to help pay the mortgage and bills graciously, especially for someone who doesn’t have a job, or in my case, a legitimate job.

Cocaine isn’t a job, especially selling it. For one thing, I don’t want to see Brad’s reaction to being a private drug dealer at venues, bars, or to special clients, and I’m not going to let Brad know either.

While our looks were what truly brought the brothers together, Brad had a faux hawk with his dirty blonde hair and had a bit of scruff on his chin.

His teeth gleamed white when he beamed, and his hobbies were filled with fitness, fucking, and spending time with whatever girl he was interested in as of now-–all of the things I didn’t do, or cared for.

Instead, I’m the one with medium length, brunette hair, and strands of my swept bangs hang on his forehead when I ruffle through my hair.

Sharp jawline and features, it was my icy blue eyes that struck out at first; a more intensely vivid color than Brad’s.

Unlike Brad, all I did wasn’t news. Crying in anger, anxiety, or pity–masturbating. With a hand wrapped around myself, all I can do was hope to beg pleasure out of my cock, gagging myself because I like the feeling.

I have nobody, not even myself, because my sexual habits are undesirable.

Funny, funny. I comment, taking the chance of Brad momentarily looking away so I could finally remove my jacket from where it hung to my groin, hanging it up. I haven’t seen you around all day either.

Maybe I should join you at the bar. Brad gives a hearty laugh as I walk into the living room.

A slight look of concern crosses my face before I smile sardonically at Brad, maybe that’s not such a good idea.

It most definitely isn’t and won’t be ever again. I know deep down that the bar isn’t going to just be known as a gay bar where you can get various cocktails, strippers, hookers, and dancing from, but it’s linked directly to private corporations and illegal businesses who make a hefty pay off of everything.

Without sly links to powerful people in powerful places, the bar would barely have enough funds to pay off half of its rent, and that is a sad reality I can’t help but remember each time he enters it. 

Could you destroy a place like that? Especially now? I think to myself before making my way down the hallway and towards the bathroom.

Oh, you’re going already?! I hear Brad whine from the back. You just got here!

All I need is a shower! I call back, opening the bathroom door. Besides, I have something I wanna tell you.

"It better be gooooood!" Brad calls back before I close the door, grabbing a fresh pair of clean towels and locking the door.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, realizing the entire time I’ve been sweating, looking like I’m in a panic of some sort. I run my hands through my hair before stripping down, biting my lip as I pull off my boxers and slide them down my waist.

My erection grows long and hard enough for it to become almost pleasurably painful, and my mind begs me to put it at peace. I take a soft breath, turning the shower on so it’s lukewarm before stepping in, letting the warm water run over me and soak through every inch of my body.

I gaze down at my dick before taking it in my hands, closing my eyes as I slowly begin to stroke myself. 

That’s it... Yeah...just like that...

I finally relax, hidden behind the curtains as I pump myself gently, my mind heading back to the events that only took place 15 minutes ago. It’s as if I can still feel his warm, gentle lips against mine, kissing hungrily and beckoning for more.

Part of me can hardly believe it happened, while the other tells me it’s an act of interest. Interest laced with lust. Something I can get used to. Something I desperately want.

I imagine Casimir and I are alone in one of the booths of the gay bar, in a heated moment between our bodies. I picture his hand over my member instead of mine, rubbing and stroking me teasingly as soft moans escape my mouth. Just the thought of his small, soft hands is enough to get me going at this point.

I stroke faster and harshly, jerking myself off continuously as I grit my teeth in pleasure, leaning against the wet wall of the shower, feeling my breath hitch at the waves of pleasure hitting me over and over again, increasing my adrenaline.

I picture being able to strip Casimir down naked myself, hooking my fingers into his jeans playfully to reveal the tent in his boxers. I imagine stripping him naked and rubbing down his back until my hands cup over his ass. 

Mm... It’s all so perfect.

I want to bend him over the table and spread his ass, filling his hole up with my firm cock; I want to make him cum, make him beg for more, and make him say my name. I grunt, holding my member firmly as cum escapes the tip, squirting out and trailing to the bottom of the tub. Breathing heavily, I watch as the last bits wash off, and grab the shampoo before cleaning myself off.

After my shower, I hop out of the bathtub almost in sheer excitement to tell Brad, to make him finally think I won’t be alone for much longer like he teased me for.

I wrap a bath towel around my waist before discarding of my clothing into the laundry bin, ruffling my hair quickly in a smaller towel to towel dry it.

I peek in the mirror and run a comb through my hair before stepping out into the cool hallway, fetching a clean pair of clothes in my bedroom.

Pulling on some boxer briefs, sweatpants, and an undershirt, I step into the living room where I find Brad indulged in a thick textbook.

He gazes up at me and smiles, slowly lowering his read. So?

So. I smile shyly, feeling the same burst of excitement run through me as I did when Casimir approached me.

Oh geez. Brad burst out laughing, shaking his head. Honestly, what is it? You’re never this happy, and to be honest, it’s kind of freaking me out.

It’s something you probably should freak out over. I chuckle, running a hand through the wet strands of my hair. 

No. Literally. Maybe you should.

I feel my smile fade off my face immediately after the thought.

Did you spend the night with a hooker? He jokes, holding the textbook on his lap.

Even better, I say, I met someone. I met someone new.

Brad’s eyes widen slightly at the news as if he seems delighted yet surprised at the same time. His shocked expression slowly turns to a sly smile as he looks me in the eye, is he gay?

My face flushes crimson, well of course he’s gay! What did you expect?

I dunno. He laughs harder, setting the textbook aside. I knew it! What’s he like? What his name?

Feeling the same rush of adrenaline bolt through my veins, my breath hitches in excitement as I continue, his name is Casimir. 

And he’s perfect.

Casimir. Brad repeats, nodding in amusement. I guess the people with the most uncommon names find each other faster?

You think Lancelot is uncommon? I grin mischievously. I like his name, personally.

Sir Lancelot, Brad snaps his fingers, pointing at me. I’ve never been so happy towards thee, is this your knight in shining armour?

I’m this close to slapping you. I roll my eyes but can’t help to smile at his teasing.

Sorry, sorry! I think it’s hilarious. Brad sighs in relief from laughter, what’s he like, anyways? What’s he look like?

I guess you’ll be able to see when I bring him over. I find myself blurt, unaware that I had even thought of bringing Casimir over to meet my brother that soon.

Oh? Brad raises both his brows, one night and it’s that serious?

Well... I mumble, I guess I want it to be.

Then talk to him, interact more, I don’t know! Brad throws his hands in the air, buy him a drink, go somewhere else besides the damn gay bar.

Going somewhere besides the damn gay bar is called a date, buddy. I plop on the couch next to him, sulking. And...and... Fuck! I just remembered. I don’t have his number. I. Don’t. Have. His. Number!

"Aaaaand?" Brad peeks in curiosity at me.

I don’t have his number. I guiltily admit. I don’t have any way of contacting him.

Brad purses his lips in disappointment. So, you’re not even sure if you’ll see him again?

Maybe. I cross my arms, staring down at my lap.

It’s like a one-night stand without the sex, huh? Brad leans against the plush pillows.

We kissed. I add, glancing over at him. We were both a little drunk and we kissed.

WOW. Brad grins devilishly, clapping his hand once. Now that’s getting steamy.

Why do you have to be so overdramatic? I flush red in embarrassment. It can’t be much.

Hmm, yeah, you’re right. Didn’t I just finish saying it was a one-night stand without the sex? His grin fades as he shrugs. And besides, doesn’t that stuff happen so often at the bar to everyone that it practically just originated there?

Would be the first time for me. I mutter quietly.

Who’s to say you can’t do it again? Brad suggests.

Me. I speak up, my eyes meeting his. I say so, because something like that barely had a chance of happening anyways. I don’t want to meet someone new and have another sloppy, drunk kiss with them. Not if it’s someone besides Casimir.

One-night stand with love. Brad agrees. And speaking of being drunk... I feel his eyes on me, gazing at me in suspicion. You said you kissed him when you two were both drunk?

Yeah? I raise a brow. What of it?

Okay, but how long ago was this? When you first came into the bar or what? He questions.

It happened literally fifteen minutes before I came home. I point out, slightly annoyed at his mini interrogation.

Brad’s expression falls dark as he looks at me plainly. Maybe he didn’t give you his number because he was drunk. Did you think of that?

I did say he was drunk, yeah. That may have been why. I tell him.

How...drunk? Because...

Because?

Lancelot, you weren’t drunk. Brad shakes his head. You never drink till you’re shit faced or drunk; slurring and attempting to walk a straight line. You did that out of pure free will.

I had a Bloody Mary and a medium sized glass of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey. I point out. I don’t know if you think that’s being intoxicated.

And you were driving? His eyes practically bulge out as he rubs his temple, sighing deeply in annoyance. Were you doing any of the things I said? He continues to ask.

No. I was fine, quite fine actually. I swear, I didn’t even feel drunk. I can drive just fine, Brad. I fumble at the ties of my sweatpants.

What about him? Did he drive?

No. He was opposite of me. I tie a small knot. He got someone to pick him up, maybe he knew he was going to get drunk.

How old did he look?

He mentioned he was twenty-one. I give a small nod.

You’re three years older than him. He speaks in a low tone and says nothing more until I unlace the knot from my sweatpants and gaze up at him. His face expresses levels of disappointment and disgust.  Lancelot, you’re telling me you took advantage of a drunk boy?

What? The tip of my ears and the back of my head burn red with humiliation. No! It wasn’t like that, holy shit, Brad. He told me to kiss him, so I did!

He was drunk! Brad cries out. He was almost wasted, and you did it anyways? You do know you can’t consent properly for literally anything when drunk?

Oh. My. God. I scoff loudly, standing. You take everything so fucking literally, Brad. Honestly, get your head out of your ass. From your perspective sure, it looks like that, but from mine, we had drinks and spoke together before he tried to continue the conversation. I led him to the back so we could talk in private and bam! It just happened, okay?! It was so sudden and hot; we both didn’t know what was happening.

Brad shoots me