Anonymous Red

Jimmy realizes too late that there is something in his drink.

It was just supposed to be a night in with some friends. A few bottles of gas station vodka. Cozy.

And Jimmy was definitely overstaying his welcome at Grian's place. Joel and Lizzie went home 30 minutes ago, and since then it's just been Jim, Grian, and Scar. But being a bad guest really isn't grounds for drugging a man's drink. That's just ridiculous.

"this is salty." Jimmy murmurs after his last sip.

Grian finishes the last of his own drink. The only one he's had all night. Jimmy is. Definitely not that sober. And slowly putting together that there is something in his drink.

There is something in his drink.

Who-

Dread settles over him as Scar appears behind him, "aren't you finishing your drink?" He asked cheerfully. He shifts his weight off his mobility aid to lean against the table with a smirk.

Jimmy glances down into his cup. "I think I'm actually going home, sorry." He tries, but it comes out more slurred than intended.

Jimmy has never been particularly scared of Scar. But at the moment he is distinctly aware of how sober Scar is compared to whatever the fuck Jimmy just swallowed. He's almost. Vulnerable.

"home already?" Scar laughs. Oh it's one of his salesman laughs. That's. Not good. "You don't look the best, Jim. Why don't you come sit on the couch for a bit?"

Jimmy blinks once, taking a stupid amount of time to process the offer. Where did Grian go? Yeah. He should lay down.

He shifts off the stool he had been seated on, stumbling to the couch nearby. The shade of olive green makes his stomach churn. Scar follows behind him with little difficulty, hovering just beside him as he leans back into the cushions.

He closes his eyes. He feels dizzy. Not drunk dizzy, this is different. But the alcohol certainly is not helping him here.

When Jimmy opens his eyes again, Grian is seated next to him

"hey Tim." Grian says coyly, "are you feeling alright?"

Jimmy is sure they are aware of his spiked drink. No one else was even in the house. It had to have been one of them. Or. Or both.

"I actually feel sick." Jimmy admits, "I should really go-"

A glass of ice water is shoved into his hands. "Too much to drink." Scar says, "water should help, yeah?"

Jim stares into the glass hesitantly. It's definitely cloudy. He shouldn't.

Grian nudges the glass up to Jimmy's mouth, "go on, you'll feel better."

"I wanna go home." Jimmy tries again, but then the cup is at his lips, and Grian is tilting it up into his mouth, and Jim either has to swallow or let it spill onto the couch.

It definitely doesn't taste like water, but the ice masks the flavor a little. Dread fully sits in Jim's stomach as the feeling hits him.

"aww it does work fast." Grian is saying.

And Scar, "I told you I know people."

Someone is pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Stop. Jimmy blinks at the lights, vision swimming.

"what are you-" he slurs.

Grian cups his face, "ooh, it's okay, we're gonna make you all pretty. You'll love it, whore."

Jimmy feels someone boop his nose. He squirms. "I don't want- huhhh? No, stop. Stop that-" he pushes at Scar, who was playing with the bottom seam of his shirt, he mostly misses but it still throws Scar off balance.

Scar shuffles backwards, awkwardly catching himself on his mobility aids. Then, to Jimmy's extreme discomfort, Scar discards them all together to settle right next to Jimmy on the couch, shoulder to shoulder.

"it's okay, bud." Scar says, his hand resuming where it was teasing up Jimmy's shirt.

Jim is too distracted by his own foggy brain to try to push off Scar's hands. And Grian is slipping his hand around Jimmy's back, unclasping the buttons that keep his shirt closed around his wings. Oh fuck they're actually-

Grian nods at Scar, and then his shirt is being tugged over his head.

"no no, guys-" Jimmy protests, "seriously I'm not joking, I wanna go home."

Scar tosses the shirt to the floor. Jimmy feels disjointed. At some point Scar started feeling up his front, thumb brushing against his nipples. He blinks a few times, overwhelmed with sensitivity. That's not normal?

"what pretty tits she has, Gri." Scar murmurs.

Jimmy flinches. Did he hear that right? Oh. No no, he's not getting hard. Fuck.

"whore." Grian snarks, which makes Scar giggle. "Here's her bra, help her get dressed."

Jim swallows, eyeing Scar as he fumbles with Jimmy's hands to slip them in the straps. Jimmy's hands feel numb. He can't really move them anymore.

Scar works his arms in the straps and then reaches around his back to fasten the clasp. The fabric brushes up against his chest uncomfortably. His nerves feel wrong. It's too sensitive. It's totally numb. Whatever. He hates it.

"oh how pretty!" Jimmy hears Grian chime.

He can hear a belt being undone. Is that his? Oh fuck, oh fuck, they're really doing this- they're gonna- no no nononono-

He twists, pushing away from them in all directions. He needs out. He wants to go home. He doesn't want-

Someone pushes him back into the couch firmly, one hand remaining heavy on his chest, "oh, be a good girl for us."

His mushy brain rotates the words in his head. Good girl. Good girl. Fuck, he's definitely hard. He shouldn't be. Nothing about this is arousing.

He's limp, unable to push away as his jeans are yanked to his ankles. And then completely pulled off.

"aw look, she likes it" someone says. "Good girl."

"guys, I'm not a-"

Jimmy lets out a strangled noise when a warm pressure cups him around his boxers and palms gently. His eyes roll back, his wings twitch. Fuck fuck fuck-

"ease up." Someone whispers, "gotta get him fully dressed before the main event."

"right, right." And then the stimulation is gone.

Jimmy gasps for air. Looks between the two. They're blurry. It hurts to try and focus his eyes.

Scar moves to tease at the band of his boxers.

Jim chokes. "Please don't-" he manages. "Don't hurt me."

"aw we would never hurt you, Jim." Someone responds. Jimmy can't really tell who's talking anymore.

"I bet she would like it though" one of them says, "I mean we all know how much of a slut she is, getting off on how we insult her."

Jimmy shakes his head, but they don't seem to notice.

When did his boxers get on the floor?

"oh she's so red." They say. "Desperate."

Jimmy groans. "I'm not a girl." He finally manages.

"Sure. Sure." And a pat on the head like he's just a pet. A stupid pup.

"come on Jim, be a good girl for us." Someone is saying. They're not really talking to him. Just trying to work on another article of clothing. It's thin. He glances down. Pink. Fuck.

He doesn't bother kicking them away. He could. But his head is too fuzzy to bother. He just stays limp and lets them pull up embarrassingly pink panties. Grian lifts his hips to get it all the way on. Scar tucks his stiffness into the cloth where it strains, wet.

Jimmy is leaking. Oh fuck he's that turned on? Fuck his stupid praise kink. Fuck his stupid degradation kink. Fuck him.

Wait no-

They're laying him across the couch. He blinks up at Scar, head in his lap. His wings flop uselessly on either side of him.

They're gonna fuck him, aren't they? Grian's going to push aside that fabric and sink inside him. And that's what this is. Isn't it? They're here to rape him. He's here for them to rape. Did Joel and Lizzie know this when they left early? Is that why?

"fuck, Gri, he looks so turned on." One of them says in awe, "you think we can get him to cum just like this?"

A scoff, "that's the point."

Someone is fondling his tits, sensitive nipples pushing against uncomfortable fabric. A gentle hand around his throat. A rough one between his legs, forcing his knees apart. Jimmy won't admit to the desperate noise he made.

"oh good girl." They say, "our pretty little girl. So good for us."

Jim chokes at how the words seem to go straight to his dick, oversensitive as the fabric shifts over his length. He's gonna- he's gonna-

"gonna cum for us? Gonna cum untouched like a good girl?"

Jimmy can't discern who it is that says it, but it still pushes him over the edge.

It's not much more than a pathetic dribble in already wet panties. But he doesn't have the brainpower to be embarrassed about it, because he is floating in some hazy space between pleasure and passing out.

Someone runs hands through his hair.

"you did so good for us." They say. "So good. Our pretty girl."