#mothcow

He fixes his gaze on the wall and tries not to pay too close attention. Of course he’s listening for any sound of distress from TK, but it also means he hears every muffled whimper, cry and scream. Eventually that fades. He’s left with the harsh sound of TK panting as he finishes whatever he’s doing. It can’t take more than fifteen minutes, but the whole process feels like it’s been hours. The entire time, Carlos tries not to picture what’s happening for fear it’ll bring him back to desert sands and wounded friends. 

“I’m done,” TK finally says, sounding bored. 

Carlos chances a look at him, finding him wiping his blade clean on one of the few unstained parts of his now ruined jeans. Blood coats his hands, stains his shirt, and splatters across his face in a contrast which would be envied by a photographer. He has to force himself not to look away from TK for fear of being perceived as weak and subjected to the knife next. 

“I need a shower,” TK adds, beginning back toward the main house. Carlos trails behind him, a respectful three steps behind but still within reaching distance. “Interested in helping me?”

“I’m sure you’re capable of bathing yourself.”

This earns him a raised eyebrow. “Nothing phases you, does it Carlos?”

“Not anymore.”

“We’ll fix that.”

While the words were delivered in a blasé tone, the threat behind them is clear. Carlos swallows and follows TK up the stairs and in the opposite direction of Strand’s office. This side of the floor seems to be more personal. The walls are peppered with photos of TK and who Carlos can only guess are his father and the previous generations throughout their lives. One in particular garners his attention. In that photo, TK- likely in his late teens, he guesses- is dressed in a tailored navy shirt and grey skinny jeans. But what gets his attention are the shoes. They’re platforms that look to be five or six inches tall, causing him to be well taller than his father and the sports car they’re leaning against. As he starts to take note of how long TK’s legs appear in the photo, he flushes and averts his eyes. That’s unprofessional, for one. More than that, it’s a really bad idea to get involved. It would wind up with an execution. 

He stands outside the bathroom while TK showers, and pointedly ignores his lewd moaning as he touches himself. It’s a weird response to having killed someone, but then again, TK seems to take pleasure from cruelty. Carlos is pretty sure the exaggerated noises TK makes are for his benefit, but he doesn’t dare bring it up, even when TK comes out of the room wrapped in a towel with red cheeks and winks at him. 

After that, TK seems determined to try and get Carlos to react to him in the way he refused to in the basement or outside the bathroom. It starts small. He drags Carlos around the city on his various shopping sprees and brunches with friends, flaunting every irritating aspect of his personality. He flirts with the waiter at a meal, and openly talks to his friends about Carlos being hot but squeamish as if he isn’t sitting at his right hand, and threatens to kill a saleswoman at a boutique for not carrying a pair of pants he wants in his size. Throughout all this, he keeps looking over at Carlos, as if waiting for him to say or do something besides stand there impassively and wait for his tantrum to pass. 

That’s when things go up a notch. TK starts getting into fights. Carlos can’t for the life of him figure out what the point is; all he knows is that TK will pick an argument with anyone who passes by him on the street, egging them on until they try to take a swing at him, which leads to Carlos pulling TK back and placing himself between the two- usually winding up punched in the face for his troubles. 

By the end of his second week on the job, he’s a little fed up with TK. He’s not going to quit- not when his mother cried on the phone with him when she realized how much the paycheck he sent her was. This isn’t the worst job he’s ever held. TK is far from the worst person he’s ever dealt with. All of this is just a matter of keeping his head on straight so he can remember what’s important.

“What do you do for fun, Carlos?” TK asks, flicking through some raunchy magazine as he lays in bed. “Like, what is your life like outside of work?”

“Boring.”

He refuses to let TK crawl into his head and taint the good things he purposefully separates from his job. His late nights, his one day a week off, belong to his family and his friends, and he gets the feeling that if TK felt they were threats to Carlos’ attention to him, he’d make them disappear. Granted, if he really wanted that information, his father would be able to find it, but at least this way Carlos isn’t directly responsible for it.

“I don’t understand you.”

Carlos tilts his head to the side and straightens his blazer. It’s one of the suits TK had made for him; this one is a dark maroon just verging on violet, with brassy buttons. The damn thing fits him like a glove, and even Carlos can admit he looks good in it.

“What about me don’t you understand, sir?”

 TK tosses aside his magazine in favor of walking up to Carlos. To his credit, he doesn’t step back, just holds his ground and watches. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the course of these last two weeks, it’s that giving in and reacting is exactly what TK wants, and it only reinforces the behavior. Carlos inhales through his nose. 

Eyes flicking between Carlos’ eyes and his lips, TK curls a hand around his jaw and forces him to look at him, The rest of the room seems dull in comparison. With nowhere to look but TK, he’s forced to analyze the color of his eyes behind dark lashes, and eye the soft cupid’s bow of his upper lip. In another world, maybe Carlos would have hit on him. Maybe he would have even taken him home. Here, however, TK is his boss and a sadist at that, so he would be digging his own grave if he dared to follow that path.

“Nothing bothers you. I can say or do whatever I want, and you don’t even flinch.”

 “I’d be a shitty bodyguard if your antics phased me.”

Slowly, TK nods, mulling this information over in his mind the same way he had when Carlos stopped him outside the tailor and dared to argue with him. There’s a moment where Carlos can see the gears turning, and then TK shoves him. Hard. Carlos stumbles back, having not expected that, but before he can fully recover, TK shoves him again. 

“”This doesn’t phase you, Carlos?”

He takes a deep breath. This is hazing, no different than boot camp had been. At least there’s no taser here to send him sprawling and twitching to the carpeted floor. Carlos catches his balance and adjusts his posture to be steadier before TK shoves him a third time. When this doesn’t cause any visible reaction, TK’s brows draw together and he tries again.

“What, this doesn’t bother you?”

“Not much,” Carlos responds. “I’ve dealt with guys much bigger than you, and besides that- I know the second I lay a hand on you your father will have me killed- if you don’t first, that is. So you’re not going to get whatever reaction you’re looking for.”

Those prove to have been the wrong words. TK pauses in his attack, but it’s not because he’s given up; he smirks and looks up at Carlos through his lashes. “You think about ‘laying a hand on me’ often, Carlos?”

“No, sir.”

TK hums thoughtfully, but a moment later, he’s shoving Carlos again. Still, Carlos refuses to react. Frustrated, TK decides to go further, walking behind him and swiftly kicking him in the back of the knee, sending him sprawling to the floor. TK is on him in a heartbeat, helping him turn onto his back and draping himself on top of Carlos. He doesn’t pin down his arms, but Carlos feels restrained nonetheless. He can’t fight back against him without risking his job and his life.

“You like men, don’t you?”

Carlos looks anywhere but TK’s face. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“I know you do. It was in your file that you were engaged until about three months ago. Nice guy. Shame about his death.”

A white rage ignites in Carlos’ chest. “Don’t talk about him.” Of course, TK just gives him the same self-satisfied smirk that he always does when he thinks he’s getting under Carlos’ skin. 

“That was all I was going to say. I’m possessive of my th- of my people, Carlos, you should know that.”

The faltering correction doesn’t escape Carlos’ notice, and he appreciates the smallest of signs that TK does listen to him, and perhaps even respects him the slightest amount. However, it won’t be enough for Carlos to trust him, or to engage in whatever TK is planning with Carlos pinned beneath him and their faces mere inches apart. He considers flipping them over so he can get off, but there’s too great a risk of TK either getting hurt or crying wolf.

“You don’t have to be so professional all the time, I don’t mind.”

At that moment, Carlos puts together his behavior and his intentions. This realization flits across his mind at the same time as TK kisses him. His lips are maddeningly soft and he tastes like the vodka he was taking shots of less than ten minutes before. For a second, Carlos kisses him back, one hand curling around the back of TK’s neck and the other resting between his shoulder blades. It’s nice. 

Then he remembers where he is and who he’s with, and he turns his face to the side to break the kiss. TK studies him when he does this, as if considering whether it’s worth it to push. Whatever his thought process is, he does get off of Carlos and even extends a hand to help him back to his feet. Carlos straightens his clothes and tries to will away the flush on his cheeks. 

TK just blinks at him, as if this is a non sequitur statement. There’s no defiance or anger on his face- just blank confusion. People don’t say no to him, or if they do express discontent, they still do what he wants without hesitation anyways. Carlos knows he’s been walking a thin line from day one, but it’s never been more apparent than this moment where TK stares at him as if his opinions are no more relevant than the day of the week. 

“I’m serious. I want nothing to do with any of this.”

“You signed up for this, Carlos.”

“I didn’t-”

Before he can finish his sentence, TK is on him, holding his face and looking up at him through his lashes as if he can persuade him by sheer sex appeal alone. Carlos tries to avert his gaze, but TK makes a disapproving sound and tightens his grip on Carlos’ cheeks. He stays like that, pinning him with nothing more than the weight of his stare until the man they abducted groans and shifts in the chair. 

“Ropes, now.”

He swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Carlos gathers up the ropes and makes quick work of cutting the duct tape and securing their captive to the chair, completely ensuring that he will not have a fighting chance against whatever TK wants to do to him. His bleary eyes blink a few times before they fully open, but he seems to recognize where he is pretty immediately.

“I- I didn’t do anything to Mr. Strand, I swear it.”

It clicks. TK was looking for this man specifically, not just a random target to take his frustrations out. He’s smarter than anyone, even Carlos, recognizes at any given moment. He has to wonder if TK was asked to do this or took the initiative upon himself to do something for the business. This is the wrong family to fuck with. Everyone knows that. 

“You did, though,” TK corrects. “Do you remember me, Jacob?”

He shakes his head, no recognition in his eyes. It is personal, then? Carlos feels as if he’s watching the game show with the highest stakes known to man. It also washes over him that if he had been a little better at his job, he might have recognized the real emotion in TK’s face when they were in the alley. Had that been the case, Carlos would have shot Jacob in the head then and there himself. Mercy, of course. The image paints itself across his vision. He can almost feel the blood- warm, so warm. 

“I’m sorry, your face doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It should.”

TK pulls his phone from his pocket and spends a thoughtful minute scrolling through his camera roll. 

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

Carlos steps closer to see the picture. The lighting is poor and colorful, leading Carlos to believe it may have been taken in some kind of club. The face in the middle is definitely TK, and the one on the right is their hostage. He doesn’t recognize the third man. He studies it a moment longer and sees the subtle softness around TK’s face that suggests he might have been more than a few years younger when it was taken, which explains why Carlos wouldn’t recognize this man.

“Because you know, Button, you never really liked me enough to ask me my real name, did you? You or your friends.”

By the time the last word leaves his mouth, it’s a scathing spit of a thing, harsh on Carlos’ ears and sharp enough to have Jacob flinching. Carlos feels like the last one in on the secret. But he also feels like he gets it at the very least, why TK is so angry at this man in particular. Maybe he has changed. Maybe just enough. 

Jacob catches onto TK’s insinuation of his identity and, although he hadn’t recognized him before, he definitely does now. He knows it’s over. 

“Make it quick,” Carlos pleads. 

TK glances at him. “No. He never made it quick with me.”

Then he steps back and studies their captive the way one might a work of art in a museum. His eyes don’t see a person, but in a different way than he hadn’t seen Carlos as one. Compared to the way he just never considered that Carlos might be a real human, this is a deliberate dehumanization until all he sees is an empty canvas. 

“Carlos, get the scalpel off that tray.”

He picks it up and makes to hand it to TK, but TK refuses to take it into his hand, even when Carlos is milliseconds from cutting his hand on the sharp blade so he can extend it handle first to TK. When it actually does dig into the rough flesh of his palms, he switches to hold it properly, even though it’s now slick with his blood. Within the silence, Carlos knows what he’s supposed to do. It’s a reenactment. TK wants- needs- to be saved, and he alone is entrusted with carrying out such a task. Owen Strand would probably love to see it happen, and that thought alone has him shaking his head. 

“I can’t, sir. I’m not- that’s not the man I am.”

“It is, though, isn’t it? You killed someone for me before. I watched you do it.”

And for that crime, Carlos was nearly executed. “That was different, it was-”

“Murder without a moment of hesitation, because you want to hurt people who hurt me.”

“It’s my job to defend you-”

“But not to care.” TK won’t look at him now. “But it’s not your job to care, even though you do.”

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that. There isn’t anything to say. TK cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss that tastes like bitter smoke and sharp vodka. It’s unpleasant. Just like him. He doesn’t turn away, though, and by the time TK is through with him, there’s no questioning what comes next. 

He fits himself behind Carlos and wraps one arm around his waist, using the other to steady his wrist for him. Carlos is still standing, still very much in control, but nearly powerless to do a thing against TK’s gentle guiding forward. Jacob looks up at him with another apology on his lips, voice beginning to break, and TK tenses.

“Cut out his tongue.”

“I can’t-”

TK lets go of his waist to grab the man’s tongue and pull it forward out of his mouth, evading the teeth by a moment. “It’s easy,” he says. He moves Carlos’ hand with the scalpel forward until it meets the resistance of the pink muscle and a thin line of blood appears. “Like you’re slicing bread.”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve ever cut your own bread, sir.”

“It takes some work, but you can cut all the way through. Watch my fingers.”

“TK-”

“Do it, or I will and yours will be next.”

He shuts his eyes at first, but opens them when he realizes he has to be careful not to cut TK at all. It’s more like slicing a raw steak than a soft loaf of bread, but he has the good sense not to let those words come out of his mouth. He finally breaks through the other side and looks at the tongue in TK’s hand, the blood coursing down to the floor. 

He closes his eyes once more.

The next time he opens them, he’s sitting in the bathtub with TK, both of them naked. He’s staring down at his knees, watching the way the murky red water laps at his skin. It all feels like some nightmare he’s now awoken from, but he knows better than to believe such a fantasy. He’s a monster, like TK, except now he’s not so sure of the claim. If he lived a life like this one, maybe he’d behave the same.

Seeming to recognize that Carlos is more aware, TK opens the drain and stands up, maroon sluicing off his body in mesmerizing rivulets. He wraps a dark towel around himself and offers a second to Carlos. Something has shifted between them, in which direction he’s unsure. At the very least, he’s still here, which means TK wants him here, 

Clothes are laid out for them on TK’s bed, and it all hits Carlos as he’s adjusting his boxers on his hips. He helped kidnap someone. He mutilated that man. He was so covered in his blood that the bath was dark with it. He realizes that if he could go back in time and do it over, he’d never even apply for this job. 

“You hated that,” TK says softly. 

“Of course I did.”

“That never occurred to me.”

TK brings a joint to his mouth that Carlos didn’t know he had, and lights it with shaking hands. He offers Carlos a hit, but he shakes his head. He couldn’t. Even the thought of tasting alcohol again makes him feel sick. 

“I’m sorry.”

He should be, Carlos thinks, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he tries not to let the musky scent of TK’s joint into his nose and tries to think of happier, safer times with people he loved. It’s then that he realizes he never really has felt all that safe. Growing up, he was always afraid of bullies and cops and his own sexuality. He was overseas where every moment was a blink from death. Even working retail, he lived his life terrified that the next second, the whole world might come crashing down on him. He’s always been afraid. Being here is still another life spent in fear. The only difference is that he’s now an active participant in violence for violence’s sake, and no amount of trying to convince himself otherwise will change that. 

TK finishes his joint in record time before snubbing it in the ashtray on his nightstand. He spreads himself out on the bed, then, taking up most of the space with the drape of his long, pale limbs that Carlos wishes he didn’t have the urge to cover in his hands. He knows TK would let him. But that is somehow worse than what they just did in the basement. It would be telling TK he liked it. All of it. 

“I want to quit,” he blurts out.

“Do you?” TK laughs a little. “Good luck with that. You’d be dead before you got the words out of your mouth.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to tell my dad you’re out, or do you want me to do it myself? I’ll… I’ll make it quick, for you.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to, but I also- I don’t know what else I’d do, even if I could leave. I’d never be able to stop thinking about you.”

“Lay down with me.”

He obeys, and finds himself being pulled closer until his head is resting on TK’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath his cheek. It’s slow. Calm. Not a single thing about their day has him excited enough to even raise his heart rate, while Carlos’ is going so fast that he fears his heart may beat out of his chest and go running down the hall. 

The vision of TK with his heart plays across his mind. The pink muscle, soaked in dark and clotting red, seeping blood down TK’s wrist as he clutches it tight in his hand. He can almost see TK taking a bite out of it. He’d eat Carlos’ heart, keep some part of him inside, and make sure that he will always belong to him in every way that matters. The important parts of the fantasy are true. Carlos’ life now revolves around TK, and it always will until the day his traitorous heart finally gives out on him.