When they'd finished cleaning, Sir gathered his things and left without a word. Case waited quietly, tensely, for Sir to come back down the stairs and make everything dirty again. But when his dinner arrived later that evening and there was still no sign of Sir, Case knew he was spending the rest of his night alone. The realization left him unsettled, as if he couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed. Case sat on his semi-fresh mattress, the odors he'd gotten used to now neutralized by the powdery scent of baking soda. He toyed with his food, unable to keep his mind from looping.

"Do you like me?"

A lump of dry chicken stuck in his throat as if he were swallowing a stone. Of all the things he could have asked Sir, why the hell did he ask that? Asking a cute girl if she liked you was scary enough, putting yourself at risk of rejection and ridicule. But asking a serial killer-slash-rapist if they liked you? That was like finding Pandora's Box, knowing its secrets and promised misery, and ripping open the lid anyway.

"Stupid," Case sighed to himself. He cut his food into tiny, mangled pieces, losing his appetite. "Stupid, stupid . . ."

"Yes, I like you," Sir's voice haunted him, trailing down his spine like a ghostly finger. "Do you like me, too?"

Case didn't like Sir—at least, he was pretty sure he didn't. He still daydreamed about finding ways to escape the basement, usually ways that ended in Sir getting brutally injured or caught by police. And fantasizing about leaving wasn't something you did when you liked someone. Hell, near the end of their relationship, he hadn't really liked Hannah. (So, why did he stay?).

Okay, Case may have been confused over some of his feelings. But there was one thing he was certain of: the possibility that Sir liked him was tantalizing. In his time alone, Case often ended up wondering: did Sir think about him? Was Sir conflicted over how to feel about Case? Did Case creep into Sir's dreams at night, haunting him like an incubus, the way Sir crept into his? Case knew that to want for any of these things, to recklessly cross this boundary, was flirting with disaster. And yet, the knowledge he could yield some sexual power over Sir gave him a rush of adrenaline. A rush indistinguishable between excitement or fear.

An idea came to him. An experiment, just so he could know for sure. After a long lapse of contemplation, of no, that's too weird, that's too gay, Case sighed to himself, fuck it and lay back, eyes scrunched tight and, like summoning a demon in the dark, he conjured a mental image of Sir. And he touched himself. He tried to think of Sir as attractive, but no matter how objective or lustful his thoughts were he remained soft in his own hand. It should have been easy. He'd been aroused by Sir before. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, moaning with effort as he remembered that afternoon, the moment he'd seen Sir's tongue through his wolfish grin and how it had affected him like a bolt of lightning to his core, charging his circulatory system with electricity. Why wasn't it happening now? Why did it always happen at random, against his will?

Because I don't like him.

Case stopped pumping his fist. Let himself flop in defeat. He shuddered, his nerves so rattled his teeth chattered. "I don't like Sir," he whispered, his tone soft without conviction. "I don't."

The voice chuckled in the dark recess of his mind. Are you sure?

The next night, the basement was humid and stuffy. Heat from Case and Sir's bodies hung in the air. Sweat trickled from the inside of Case's knees and down his thighs. Case lay nonresponsive, Sir grunting and moving on top of him. It hurt, and Case tried to mentally detach like normal. Staring over Sir's shoulder, Case focused on a discolored patch in the ceiling, determined not to be here.  But the soft squelch of lube and the thwack of flesh-on-flesh filled the silence, anchoring him to the carnalness of the moment.

Something dripped from Sir's forehead, landing with a tiny, cold splash on Case's collarbone. His own sweat continued to drip down his temples, down his thighs. Their bodies were slick, but the lube had dried between Case's legs. The hair from Sir's torso brushing against him irritated his clammy skin. Hot, it was so hot, so hard to breathe, the basement felt like the inside of a giant mouth. Sir's breath wafted against Case's neck, and he wished for a cool breeze or an air-con or a pedestal fan, anything to disturb this stagnant heat.

And then, his body reacted in a way he didn't want. Case got hard.

He didn't mean it, but Sir kept hitting him hard and deep, the in-out-in-out stimulation creating ripples then throbs of arousal. Stop, he told himself. Stop, because he couldn't enjoy this. Reason told him to suppress this rising feeling, to distract himself with math equations or skateboarding techniques. But intuition and the voice told him to surrender, to indulge. Sir's hands—big, scary grown-up man hands—ran up Case's body, and he arched into the touch. Case whimpered, electricity sparking in his lower-region like a live-wire No . . . no, don't, he thought while the voice urged yes, harder, faster.

Case craned his neck, wanting to see where Sir's body disappeared inside of his, and his own penis stared back at him, erect and purple-headed. The unnatural color shocked him for a moment. The next moment, he keened through grit teeth as precum slipped out of him like thread unspooling from a knot.

"Fuck," he gasped, fighting to hold himself back but knowing it was a losing battle. The blood rush left him dizzy. Heat bloomed across his chest, and every muscle beneath his skin tensed. Pressure coiled low inside him. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Sir faltered on top of him, his thrusts losing momentum (and Case groaned lowly, wanting to say don't stop). He lifted his head, his cheeks flushed and forehead shiny with sweat. "Wh . . . what?"

Their eyes locked. The invasively intimate sense of opia gripped Case, choking out a small gasp. Sir's eyes seemed black with lust, a fine ring of stormy blue encircled dilated pupils. Case felt himself being sucked into the orbit of a planet overruling death and destruction. And then, fractals of white light like shooting stars filled his vision, and he came. Hard. Case gripped Sir's shoulders, and screamed through the most body-mind-soul shattering orgasm of his life.

Sir went still on top of him. A stunned, quiet pause as Case continued to writhe and cry beneath him. "Oh, God." Case scrunched his eyes. Bursts of starlight, behind his eyes, low in his cock. Gone to ecstasy, he cried out, "Sir."

And then, Sir came tumbling over the edge after Case. His entire body shuddered and he gasped, as if surprised or frightened. Case's fingers tightened around the soft flesh of Sir's arms, pulling their bodies closer as they climaxed together.

"Sir . . . fuck me . . . fuck me . . . Sir . . ."

And then it was over. The stars in Case's vision faded, the blood returning to his head as a throb to his temples. The basement fell silent, save for Case and Sir's haggard, out of sync breathing. The feeling of Sir inside him turned from pleasurable to painful, and he winced as Sir pulled out. Sir collapsed beside Case, rolling onto his back, spent and breathless. His own jizz, spattered across his midriff, was now cold and dripping down his hip, pooling into a wet patch underneath his upper thigh. Instantly, Case realized what he'd done, what he'd said. Already, the bliss and shine from his orgasm was beginning to dull with post-nut clarity.

"That's never happened before," Sir said, his chest heaving.

"What," Case replied flatly, "you've never let someone finish before?"

A beat. Then Sir got up. Case was jostled as the mattress springs bounced under the shift of Sir's weight. He remained inert, distantly aware of Sir fumbling his way out of the basement, making it up a few stairs before having to turn around and come back to pick up his forgotten pile of clothes.

Slowly, Case regained his senses, became aware that his teeth were chattering even though he wasn't cold. He was still somewhat dazed but growing uncomfortably aware of his pubes sticking together with drying jizz. Ickiness crawled over his body and twisted in his gut, and he craved the shower. When he sat up, the compression of his abdomen forced something to ooze out of him. It trickled down his butt cheeks, collecting in the wet patch beneath him. Semen. His, Sir's, theirs.

The self-disgust festered. His stomach roiled.

Case grabbed a discarded shirt from the floor, doing his best to blot out the mess before it dried, then got in the shower. He lathered himself with lavender body wash, scrubbing himself red, scrubbing the stains from his skin. Heat was still trapped in the air, and the thick steam created a discomforting mugginess. Even under the running water, Case knew he was sweating.

He continued to scrub, struggling to breathe against the humidity. His mind involuntarily dragged up memories of the time he jerked off to hardcore anti-feminist porn; newly singly and hurting, he'd succumbed to some depraved, monkey-brained level of horniness, and found footage of a girl attached to a dog collar and leash, forced to give multiple men blow and rimjobs; she'd gagged, deepthroating so far that ribbons of saliva dangled from her mouth before she was forced to tongue someone's asshole, used and degraded for theirs and his pleasure. When he'd finished, and his mind had cleared, he'd realized what he'd jerked off to and felt sick and embarrassed with himself. That was the last time he'd felt comfortable enough with himself to watch porn. And now, his mind bungeeing back to him and Sir, Case doubled over in the shower, retching.

Put it this way, he told himself, inhaling deeply to soothe his stomach. If it feels this wrong, I guess that's my subconscious telling me I'm not gay. Or bi. He sighed, standing. "Right. Okay."

Let's rationalize this, the voice agreed.

He'd ejaculated from bodily stimulation. A biological response to a biological need. That was all. Case had heard of things like fear-boners, and while he'd never experienced one it seemed reasonable that, after months of withholding, eventually this would have happened. Logically, he understood there was no point attaching reason to this, just like there was no deeper meaning to Sir's birthday being similar to his.

Maybe this was a good thing, he told himself. If he'd had trouble convincing himself before, then now his mind wasn't muddled with hormones, Case finally had the clarity to see and believe he didn't like Sir. Wasn't attracted to Sir. Wasn't falling in love with Sir.

The shower ran cold. Case shivered, suddenly registering his hands were still doing the circular motion of cleaning himself, though the soap suds had washed away. To be sure, Case thought of Sir, the expression when their eyes had met, the vulnerability hidden inside him that had been exposed.

Nothing, not even a stirring of interest or desire. Case was right: he didn't have feelings for Sir.

He didn't feel anything at all.

*

The car bounced over uneven terrain. Case gripped the steering wheel as his body was thrown side-to-side, the seatbelt holding firm across his chest, keeping him secure. Outside the car, Case recognized the heart of the forest as one of the hiking trails he'd loved back home. Spindly gray beech trunks were scattered sparsely throughout the forest, like gray veins running across an expanse of thick greenery. Though the sky wasn't visible, sunlight filtered through the canopy of shamrock leaves. On the driver's side, the narrow and gravelly road dropped off, plunging into the wild ravine. The trail he was driving along continued to incline, and the car began to lose momentum. Case pressed harder on the accelerator, the engine revving, wheels spinning in the dirt and kicking up a cloud of dust. He was losing traction, slipping backwards down the mountain.

A hand reached out from the passenger seat, taking the wheel to guide his steering. A strange feeling settled over him—peace, safety, trust?—and Case relinquished control to the mystery passenger. He took his hands off the wheel, knowing he was okay, and turned to fully appreciate the scenery. The thicket of leaves tinged the sunlight, turning it cool and fresh. An earthy incense crept through the air vents damp soil, leaves and twigs composting on the forest floor. A heavy blanket of fog hung low in the valley. Case peered down into the ravine, expecting to see a dark and untamed trench; instead, the depth was opaque white, reflecting the brightness of the dawn light. Case squinted at the glaring fog, and time shifted forward. They'd reached the top of the mountain, breaking out from the boscage and overlooking the vastness of nature. He was on the hood of the car now, admiring the view and appreciating the calm that not only surrounded him but had settled inside him too, when the mystery passenger materialized into clear presence by his side: Miles.

"You're not happy," Miles told him, leaning into his peripheral vision; Case continued to stare ahead. "You deserve better."

Case stared into the sky, cloudless and perfect blue.

"He doesn't love you, Casey."

Sunlight glared across the evergreens.

"Don't let her trap you like this."

Eagles soared up high, high in the sky—

Case woke to someone grabbing him by the arms, yanking him from his dream and forcing him to roll over. The pillow he'd used to block out the light fell away. A figure hovered over him. Black silhouette, backlit by the yellow basement light, like the glaring sunrise from his dream, disorientating him.

Case slurred, half-conscious, Wha—? The single syllable meaning what's happening and where am I? The answer to both slowly grew clearer as the figure leaned closer, it's features coming into focus: a large face, weathered with fine lines and deep creases; a pensive brow, dark but graying at the ends; heavy lidded sea-storm eyes. In his sleep-adled mind, Case made sense of Sir's face, the seriousness of his expression, and the intimacy of their closeness. And a realization came to him with terrifying clarity: He's going to kiss me.

Case snapped awake with petrifying alarm. Sir was close enough now that his terse lips were disappearing from Case's line of sight. This was it. Adrenaline surged through his system like a flash of electricity, frying his synapses. It was happening. Sir was about to kiss him.

Case turned away. Sir's mouth grazed his cheek; his open palm struck the side of Sir's head.

Oh, shit. Case was truly awake now. The hand he'd unintentionally used to slap Sir clamped itself over his own mouth, smothering a gasp. "I'm sorry—"

A dark blur, a flash of up-close movement. THWACK. The sound of impact echoed inside his jaw.

Case yelped, recoiling, knowing he'd been hit but the shock and adrenaline numbing the pain.

The mattress shifted under Sir's weight. Knees at Case's side, leverage, balance. Instinctively, Case shielded himself; pinned in place, he curled into a ball like a preserved insect.

THUD. Sir's voice. He was ranting. Angry, seething, senseless. Interrupted and punctuated with more blows. THUD. THUD.

"Fuck." Case's arms tightened over his head. "I said sorry!" he shouted over the blows. He couldn't feel the hits, could only decipher random snippets of Sir's tirade:

"Filthy, fucking whore."

"Slut. Slut. Cunt."

"Frigid fucking tease."

A harsh and breathy sound, followed by the splat of something lukewarm and frothy against Case's skin: spit. A final slap across the top of his head, and it was over. Sir left and the basement door screeched and slammed with his leave.

Jackhammer heartbeat. The strange absence of pain. His blood felt heat-spiked with adrenaline. Eventually, Case allowed himself to unfurl from his protective ball.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. He shakily exhaled, sitting up to process what happened. Maybe make sense of the senselessness.

It was quiet in his head. Not calm, but placid. Like a lake on a winter's dawn: shrouded by fog and tricky to navigate back to secure land. Maybe Sir had knocked the voice out cold?

Case sighed, forcing himself to regain his senses. One thing was becoming clear. One key piece of knowledge to latch onto. He may not have known how he felt about Sir. But he did know he had gotten under Sir's skin—made Sir question his own feelings, made him vulnerable and unsettled. And that meant Case had regained a small piece of power.