#deadheadverse

Arthur knew something was wrong, and it wasn't just the smoke lingering in the stale air of the basement. He'd been here before, couch locked so to speak, but this was different. Dutch sat down in the old wingback chair after flipping the record over. Who's Next.  The bong on the table looked appealing, but Arthur's head was lulling back onto the sofa and his eyes were rolling back into his head. He let out a soft moan of effort, but he didn't move, and Dutch's head turned from the TV to gaze at Arthur as if he knew exactly how he felt.

Dutch was likely behind this feeling, after all.

"You alright, Arthur?" Dutch asked, though his voice lacked concern. Arthur struggled to  find his breath, he felt small and heavy. Like a ball of lead. He tried to take a breath, but it caught in his throat as Dutch switched seats seamlessly, sliding in next to him on the sofa. He never even stood up.

The prickly heat from Dutch's body seemed to sting Arthur's skin. He wanted to pull away from his mentor, but the air weighed a thousand pounds. Like he was covered in a soggy woolen blanket.

Dutch's hand reached out to touch him, crossing his body to slide up against Arthur's bicep, easily maneuvering Arthur's lithe form so he was facing Dutch. Dizzingly, his head flopped sideways against the back of the sofa and his soft green eyes found their focus on Dutch.

"What'd you give me?" Arthur managed to choke out, not unused to being Dutch's guinea pig when it came to drugs, though this didn't feel like the usual acid trip. Usually Dutch's drugs were psychedelic in nature, but Arthur felt all of this in his body.  Still, the basement breathed all the same. It never stopped doing that after Arthur tripped for the first time down here.

"Nothing too strong." Dutch soothed, rubbing circles into Arthur's bicep with his thumb. At the time, Dutch's  fingers could easily fit half way around Arthur's arm, but it wouldn't always be that way. Arthur tried to turn his head back toward the television, but he felt like his skull was full of wet sand.

"You're gonna try something again, ain't chu?" Arthur whined, squeezing his eyes shut, speaking without thinking. "What'd you slip into my beer, Dutch?" He asked again, but he knew he'd said too much. Dutch especially didn't like when Arthur tried to criticize his course of action.

Dutch's irritation simmered beneath the surface and he simply clicked his tongue. "Don't worry about it." His voice was more firm this time, as well as his touch. Arthur opened his eyes when Dutch pulled Arthur's body easily toward his.

Arthur managed to break free from whatever drug was restricting his movement and pushed his arm out across Dutch's chest, trying to resist the maneuver. He huffed. "Don't wanna do this tonight," His face was in Dutch's shoulder now and he could smell his cologne. Intoxicating. Against Arthur's better judgment, he pressed his nose against Dutch's neck and felt the vibration of his mentor's satisfied hum.

"That's it," Dutch approved, hand moving from Arthur's arm to his thigh and drawing his body even closer. Arthur hooked his arm around the other side of Dutch's neck trying to find purchase, but he was weak, and the effort used was all he had. Dutch's hand slid up Arthur's thigh and squeezed his ass through his jeans. Arthur whined in protest and tried to move his hips back, but the friction in his tight Levi's was enough to cause his cock to twitch.

"Dutch, I don't wanna. Please." Arthur cried, voice soft and weak and cracking under duress. Against his own wishes, Arthur ground his hips up. He couldn't be sure that it was under the guidance of Dutch's hand on his ass, or his body betraying him.

Dutch's hand moved from Arthur's ass to take his hand, drawing it from where it was hooked behind his neck and placing it between his legs. For a moment, Arthur relished in the warmth of their hands together.  He began nuzzling Dutch's neck, feeling the smooth black curls dance against his nose. Arthur was lost in the romance of it all until he fully realized what Dutch was doing and his body tensed again.

"Stop, please, I ain't in the mood..." Arthur protested, trying to pull his hand away, but Dutch held it there like the warmth of Arthur's palm was something he needed to live. Dutch's cock twitched in his jeans under the pressure of their hands. Arthur felt Dutch's nose pressed against his hair, and a kiss so sweet it felt like morphine, sweet enough to make Arthur's stomach turn. Arthur could tell the resistance was making Dutch harder, and complied as his mentor started to manipulate Arthur's grip on his growing bulge.

"You ought to know by now, I'm not going to stop, no matter how much you beg me." Dutch whispered into Arthur's hair and began to undo his own jeans, his other arm slinking around Arthur's limp, adolescent form draped over his chest to hold him in place, palm flat against his lower back, fingers threatening to slip below his waistband.

Arthur knew this was true and tried to find his breath, but mixed with Dutch's cologne, his natural scent, and the tickle of his curls on Arthur's nose, it was nearly impossible. "I know, but I 'on't want..." He trailed off, hand limp against Dutch's thigh, but Dutch already had his cock out and occupied Arthur's hand once more, wrapping his narrow fingers around Dutch's shaft. Arthur hissed at the warmth and bucked his  hips up again. He didn't have much to compare Dutch to at the time, much less the desire to consider it any more than he had to.

"Hush, darlin'." Dutch soothed, shushing him and pumping himself with Arthur's hand. Arthur knew it was best to keep his mouth shut, to just play along, but he tried to tug his hand back and whined against Dutch's neck.

"Let me... just... get you out of those jeans." Dutch slid his other hand down Arthur's back and into his pants to grip his ass, pulling a moan from Arthur's mouth. Dutch's chuckle added to the fire growing between them. He hadn't realized that Dutch had undone his jeans, Arthur never did, and shimmied out of them per his mentor's request. "Good boy," He complimented, pushing Arthur off of him and back onto the sofa with very little effort.

Arthur held back a gasp and rolled back onto the sofa, reeling from the sudden lack of heat.  He took the brief moment to catch his breath, but it didn't last long, because Dutch's hands were on him again. Dutch's hand pressed against Arthur's chest, restricting his movement. Arthur tried to get his wherewithal, but before he knew it  his right leg was up over his head. His left shoe was still on, but his right one was removed, and his jeans were still dangling from his left ankle. He whined in protest, looking up at Dutch with half lidded eyes.

"Difficult to deny it now, huh?" Dutch asked, free hand sliding under Arthur's rear, his middle finger pressing against Arthur's hole. He was too far gone to notice, but Dutch had been careful enough to keep lube on hand.

Arthur knew he made a stupid face because of how Dutch smiled at him, the older man's eyes boring holes into Arthur like two black hole suns. "You're so pretty when you finally give in, son." He quipped, running his thumb over Arthur's ankle and chortling when the younger man kicked reflexively.

He couldn't help but moan when Dutch pressed his finger past his threshold. The familiar pressure caused his chest swelled with something he knew he shouldn't describe as love, but what else could Arthur take it for? He gasped, leaning forward against Dutch's chest. "Please, Dutch." Arthur balled his fist in Dutch's shirt.

"Please, what?" Dutch asked, slowly, teasingly pulling his finger out of Arthur's ass, driving a whine from the boy's lips, now half pressed against his own. Arthur could taste Dutch's breath on his, smokey and full bodied. He'd been drinking whiskey and the two were chain-smoking cigarettes on the back porch earlier. He hated when Dutch did this. All of this, but especially when he tried to kiss Arthur.

"I don't want to do this, Dutch... It's *weird*." But the connection seemed to be lost between Arthur's brain and his mouth, because none of his words came out right, and Dutch just responded with an 'Is that so?' and slid his finger back inside Arthur, pumping in and out a couple times then pulled back just so he could see his ward's reaction. The younger man didn't have to look at Dutch to know how he was being watched. Two years of running with someone didn't sound all that long, but it was enough. He could manage the drugs and the fucking and whatever else they did, but when Dutch started kissing him, that's when it all became too intimate, too real.

An incoherent whine escaped Arthur's mouth, and Dutch took it as a form of consent. He added another finger and Arthur accidentally slammed his forehead against Dutch's in surprise rather than pain or pleasure. Arthur was desperate for some kind of purchase, the fist balled in Dutch's button down shirt wasn't enough support, and his grip was loosening as Dutch worked him open. He reached up to hook his arm around Dutch's neck. Dutch's laugh stoked that fire between them again. Arthur's ears burned hot and his fingers pulled at the fabric of Dutch's shirt. He'd lost track of how long he'd been like this when Dutch pulled his fingers from Arthur and stepped away.  Arthur's hands unknit from Dutch's shirt and he plopped back down onto the cushions.

The fire died down and Arthur felt blood rush back into his calf as his foot touched the cool laminate floor of the basement. He rested his hands on his thighs, looking down to count his fingers. He hadn't realized the record stopped until he heard Dutch flip it over. The music started back up.  He took a moment to appreciate the feeling of peace before Dutch's voice came from not far off. "Hey," Arthur looked up, eyes half lidded, "watch out." Dutch's voice was firm, not malicious.  

Immediately, almost instinctive, Arthur raised his ass from the sofa with a huff. "Sorry," He choked out, wondering where the energy he needed to do this came from before Dutch slid a towel under him and grabbed his ankle once more. Dutch pulled Arthur's weight out from under him, sliding one of his hands under Arthur's thigh and wrapping his leg around his hip.

"No need to be sorry. I've got you." Dutch's voice was sweet like syrup, too sweet, it made Arthur's skin crawl, but he knew he didn't have the time to reckon with why. That swelling, fiery sensation found its way into Arthur's chest when he felt Dutch's cock against his hole, and his hand splayed out over his lower back. Arthur wasn't sure what to do with his hands, but one of them found its way to Dutch's back and Arthur held himself up so Dutch didn't have to expend so much effort— Not that Arthur weighed all that much.

Arthur's hands found their way back to Dutch's shirt, fists balling up in the fabric. Dutch reached up to carefully pry each of Arthur's fingers from their grip.

"Son, what's got you so spooked?" Dutch cooed at him, but Arthur knew he wasn't looking for an honest answer, so he didn't bother to give one, just shaking his head. "We've done this before, you don't have a thing to worry about."  He assured, supporting Arthur with one hand. "I could carry you around like this," Dutch joked, an unusual, candid playfulness in his voice. Most likely, he didn't think Arthur could hear him or was paying attention. Arthur never knew he'd grow  up to miss being this small, certainly not in this moment.

Dutch lowered Arthur down onto the sofa, making sure his cock was lined up with the younger man's asshole and pushed past his threshold with very little warning.  Arthur whined and let his hand rest on Dutch's shoulder while the other one remained hooked around his neck. His head was swimming from whatever Dutch had given him. The dull ache that came with Dutch stretching him was mostly obscured by the intoxication—Something Arthur was sure he didn't like. It would still hurt the same in the morning.

The living basement walls added to his sense of claustrophobia. Whenever the room would exhale, the walls would close in on the two of them and when they expanded, it felt like too far to run. The back of the sofa felt too warm, and Dutch felt like he was on fire.

Arthur shouldn't have come home tonight.

Dutch took care not to hurt Arthur, starting out slow and steady, but it didn't make much of a difference because Arthur's survival instinct along with the drugs Dutch gave him, were suggesting he check out. He pulled his face toward Dutch's shoulder, dipping his nose back into his dark curls and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the stale smoke that the basement held forever in its lungs.

"You're being so good for me, son." Dutch whispered against Arthur's ear, peppering kisses down his neck, nuzzling into his sandy blonde hair. "Quieter than I'd prefer, but lovely all the same."

Arthur whined in response, pulling himself closer and shifting his hips on Dutch's cock to please his mentor. Arthur's cock jumped when Dutch hummed in satisfaction. Dutch moved his hand between them to tend to Arthur's growing erection and he jerked a bit at the touch, his mind miles away, unaware of how his body was reacting to what happened around them— just going through the motions.

"I thought you didn't want this, baby boy?" Dutch asked, slowly pumping Arthur as he fucked him, his movements becoming more restless as they went along.

Arthur shook his head in response, face still buried in Dutch's hair. "I 'on't know," He muttered into Dutch's neck, he knew his voice sounded hollow, lost, childish. He felt stupid and wrong.

The next fifteen minutes lasted far too long, but by the time Dutch finished, so had the record, and Arthur was left laying limp on the sofa again, arms useless beside him. Dutch was tucking himself back into his pants and pulling the wrinkles out of his shirt that Arthur left.  

"You can't stay down here like that. 'S late. Mom's upstairs." He chided before he grabbed their beers off the coffee table and went over to the kitchen to dump Arthur's and throw away his own empty can. The walls expanded and even though Dutch felt miles off in the kitchen, Arthur could tell that his mentor thought him wasteful for not finishing his beer.