The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

Mat’s fucking fault for insisting he be allowed to see Dougie when Dougie clearly wasn’t in a position to cope with it?
    Mat had to get out of this fucking chair. Had to be sure for himself. Had to be the big brother. He rocked forward, the soles of his feet hitting the floor, then pushed himself back with every ounce of strength he could muster.
    Let himself fall.

    Dougie heard the crash even over the running water. He froze, listening. Held his breath. There it was again, accompanied by a muffled shout. Mat. What was he fucking doing out there?
    Dougie should go check. Not because he was worried or anything. Just . . . in case.
    He heard another crash as he shut the water off, another muffled yell. And something else this time, a sound like . . . cracking wood?
    Oh no, tell me you didn’t, you damn idiot, tell me you’re not breaking the chair. Nikolai would kill him. Kill them both. He couldn’t be a good boy and do what Nikolai wanted if Mat was wandering free.
    He darted from the shower, snagged a towel along the way and swiped at himself with it as he ran into the bedroom. Found Mat lying dazed on the floor on top of a pile of splintered wood, arms and legs still bound to broken bits of chair, groaning in pain.
    “You idiot!” Dougie shouted, and then he saw the blood on Mat’s arms and wrists and hands. “Oh God, Mat, what have you done? You’re bleeding!” He rushed to his brother’s side and fell to his knees, quickly untangling the wood and rope from Mat’s raw skin. Nikolai would probably consider that to be helping, but they were already in shit anyway, right? “God, what have you done?” He took his wet towel and dabbed gently at the wounds, his hands shaking so badly he could barely manage. Not that Mat seemed to care; he pulled his arms away, and for a second Dougie thought he was just that disgusted by Dougie’s touch, but then he saw Mat’s fingers curling around the straps of the gag—two on each side, strong and thick, one buckled tight at the base of his skull and the other higher up on the back of his head, connected to each other by smaller straps that prevented Mat from slipping the top one off. Mat yanked and twisted and clawed, but Dougie hadn’t missed the two little padlocks holding the buckles shut, and not even his big strong brother could break out of those straps. He couldn’t even fit one fingertip beneath them for leverage.
    “Stop it, Mat. They’re locked. You can’t open them, Nikolai probably has the key. You’re just going to hurt yourself and make Nikolai even angrier than he’s already going to be. Please, just stop.” He realized he was crying again, fresh tears, except this time they didn’t feel desperate, they felt strangely cleansing. “Oh Mat, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. This could have been over and done by now if I—if I—”
    He couldn’t even say it.
    Mat grasped either side of Dougie’s face and pulled him down so that their foreheads touched. He didn’t speak, not that he could. Didn’t even grunt around his gag. Just closed his eyes and breathed slowly, slowly, slowly, until Dougie felt himself breathing along. He wanted to pull away, wanted to say, Too late. You threw me away. You can’t have this anymore just because you’re desperate. You’re not my brother anymore , and then pin Mat down and ride him, just like Nikolai wanted.
    But he couldn’t, because even though Mat couldn’t speak, Dougie heard his words loud and clear: I love you. I love you. Breathing, in, out. I’m sorry. Please. In. Out. I love you.
    And Mat was crying again. Those big, stupid, silent tears.
    “You idiot,” Dougie cried back, softly. “You stupid, fucking idiot. Why— I was finally— And then you—”
    God, I love you too, Mat. I love you so much, even though I wish I didn’t. Even though you don’t deserve me. Even though you don’t really want me, not forever like Nikolai does.
    Despite his endless list of even thoughs , Mat must’ve seen something, some change in Dougie’s eyes, because he took his hands from Dougie’s face and threw them around Dougie’s shoulders instead, pulled him down tight, chest to chest, and locked his arms behind him, crying into his shoulder and bleeding all over his back and he was so warm—God, feverish—so hungry and alive with need, desperation, joy, relief, a thousand conflicting emotions Dougie felt welling in his own chest, too.
    And no matter how much Dougie didn’t want to feel all