Yeah, the name fit now. Big fuckin’ Bad, Officer Campion, who knew what Red wanted, knew what he didn’t want, and somehow magically knew just how fucking far to push him.
He could still taste it. His finger. His fucking finger, which had been in Bobby’s ass and his own. Not like it went that deep. Not like it was covered in shit. But that didn’t really matter.
In the many (hundreds of) times he’d re-run the whole fucking night, he thought he’d figured it out. It wasn’t the ass, though yeah, that wasn’t really how he wanted to get his first taste. (He’d thought maybe rimming could be kinda sexy and romantic, in the right context.) It wasn’t Campion ordering him to suck his own ass-flavored finger. It was the frame of it.
Big Bad, standing over him, saying “Open your mouth” like he knew, he just fucking knew, that Red would do it.
Well, fuck Bad, and fuck ever seeing him again. Because that was bullshit. Red didn’t have to do a damn thing. Not for him or anyone else.
The problem with that logic—as the constant dreams reminded him—was that no one else had been able to do this to Red. No one else had been able to make him feel so fucking wrong and so fucking good at the same time.
Polly was right about guys breaking his heart, but wrong about him falling in love. He’d never fallen in love. He’d wanted to fall in love, but there was a difference, and it was a fucking doozy. Red used to think that falling in love was a thing you could attract to yourself, if you were open to it and you wanted it badly enough.
Now he knew better. Falling in love was a curse. It was the gods cursing you, and even if you tried fucking hard not to let it happen, even if you tried everything, like kissing your ex at a hall party (yeah, that was a dumb idea, but at least Steve had just laughed and shoved him away), or blowing the upstairs residence adviser (who called the next day and said he had a leaky pipe, and did Red think maybe he could come over and screw it just right?), none of it helped. Because the second you closed your eyes, you’d dream about some fucking asshole who did things you wanted him to do to you, but shouldn’t let him.
In a moment of weakness, he swore Polly to secrecy and told her almost everything.
“Wait, Bobby who works at the bookstore?”
“Jesus, Pol, I don’t fucking know, it’s not like we exchanged resumes.”
She held up her hands. “Sorry, I know, it’s not important. It’s just, there’s like four other Asians at the entire school, so I’m curious. Anyway. What’re you gonna do?”
“What am I gonna do?” He glared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me he’s using me, and he’s gonna drop me like a bad habit, and don’t come crying to you when I want to kill myself?”
“Well. I don’t know. Do you feel like he’s using you? I mean, aside from the obvious.”
“You mean other than the whole ‘my way or the highway, pussy’ thing he keeps pulling?”
“C’mon, Red, you like that part.”
“Yeah, but you’re supposed to think it’s abusive so I can defend him.”
She tossed her pizza crust back into the box sitting on the floor between them and shook her head. “So you can yell at me and storm off again? Yeah, no, I’m not really in the mood to be the nagging wife right now, but thanks a lot for casting me in the role.”
“Hell, Red, the thing in Room 111 sounds kind of…romantic.”
“It was romantic when he rubbed jizz all over me and made me roll around on the conference table?”
Polly’s nose wrinkled. “No. That was gross. But I don’t know. You guys are both playing out this ‘me Tarzan, you Blaine’ scenario, which is whatever it is, but sometimes you look like you’re a little bit, you know, more invested than that.”
“That’s the whole fucking problem! That’s what I’ve been saying!”
“I know, I know. But you think he’s totally detached?”
“He’s thirty-four. I’m just some kid he’s fucking, Pol.” He lay back on the rug and put his arm over his eyes. “I did it again. I totally fucked myself again. You were right. I always find the guy who’d least want to be with me, and make him into—” The man of my dreams. Literally.
“I’m just saying, I’ve been in Room 111, and I wouldn’t take someone there if I was just fucking them, Red. He’s got keys to shit, right? He could have taken you anywhere on campus, and Room 111 isn’t even all that convenient.”
“It was out of the way. That was the point.”
“Oh my god, Pol, what?” He peeked under his arm, but she had a funny look on her face, like she was doing algebra in her head or something.
“You’ve got a Frozen ringtone, and don’t think I haven’t seen the complete first three seasons of Glee in the back of your bookcase, Red. You have every even slightly sexy John Barrowman scene ever filmed saved as a clip on your computer like it’s porn, and I’m pretty sure you’ve actually written Twilight slash fanfiction.”
“I’m just saying. This guy is, what, some big manly man, with his truck and his stupid nickname? Marking his fucking territory one jizz-covered college boy at a time?”
“Ew, okay, you can stop now.”
“Whatever, Red. Just, I don’t know, he decides he’s gonna go all scary on you with the spanking and shit, and oh, you shouldn’t break the rules, but he brings you to the nicest room on campus to do it. Soft carpeting, everything wood.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s not using you completely. That’s all I’m saying.”
God, that made it so much worse.
He groaned and threw the closest pillow at her head. “Great. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”
“You know, I don’t mean to be all dykey about this, Red, but you might try talking to the guy.”
“Have you not heard anything I said? I don’t talk to Bad. He fucking talks to me. And I do whatever he says, without question.”
“Yeah, that sounds like it’d get old pretty fast. You eating more pizza?”
“You eat it. I’m going to lie here feeling like an idiot some more.”
“Oh, good. I’m totally taking your pieces, then.”
The worst part was that when she said Maybe he’s not using you completely, some part of Red’s mind really wanted to interpret that as Maybe he feels the same way. Except that was ridiculous, because a guy like Bad Officer Campion didn’t get the floaty fool feeling about stupid boys like Red just because they knelt down for him. Or bent over.
Or stuck a Sharpie in their butt on closed circuit camera. He’d edited that part out, too, because it’d be way too easy for Polly to figure out who it was.
Red rolled over and banged his head into his nightstand a few times.
“Aw, honey, don’t hurt yourself. You wanna watch one of those embarrassing movies on Netflix you like so much? You know, the coming of age movies where the hero risks everything and it all comes out all right in the end?”
“Shut up, Pol.”
“Suit yourself. But if I’m choosing, we’re watching D.E.B.S. again, so—”
That would not be tolerated. Red sat up. “Give me the remote.”
They watched the new Star Trek again, instead. At least he could ogle Benedict Cumberbatch a little and pretend he wasn’t thinking about Bad.
* * *
Avoidance. Avoidance was the key. Red kept his hood up at work, as if he’d reveal too much by showing his face. He stayed in groups when he went out, and didn’t go near Spark Plug. It wasn’t like he’d have to worry about seeing Bad at class, or meals, or in the bathroom coming out of the shower, and damn, Bad probably looked fucking good coming out of the shower, he was probably bear-hairy under his shirts, and his thighs were probably fucking strong enough to bend metal. Or college boys.
It was a lot easier to avoid Bad in real life than it was in his thoughts.
A week passed since the night he knelt in an alley and let Bad wipe his own finger on his tongue. The worst part was that now it didn’t seem like such a big deal, even though at the time it had seemed like a huge fucking disaster. It hadn’t even tasted that bad. A little musky, sure, like when you leave wet towels too long in the bottom of your gym bag, but not, like, swear-off-anal-sex-forever catastrophic failure bad.
So what did that mean? He could probably find another excuse to go up to the Campus Safety office, except he’d gotten a pretty fucking harsh spanking for saying Hey, can we very slightly alter our meet-up location; what would he get for pretending Campion didn’t exist for seven days?
Not that Bad was texting all the time or anything. Or at all. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed that Red wasn’t looking at the cameras.
He spent all day Thursday thinking about that, obsessing over it, slowly coming to the conclusion that Bad simply not noticing he was gone was the absolute worst possible outcome. And the most likely.
He got pretty drunk. When Damon ragged him about it, Polly defended his right to get drunk over a guy. So Damon backed off, because being cool about your gay roommate was one thing, but hearing details was TMI.
Friday dragged, forever, hot in the mail room, Tony all panting over some girl he was looking forward to banging. (Even that was ruined for him now. He’d been getting along fine with Tony, despite him being a blithering idiot, but now that he was paying attention, he thought maybe Bad was right, maybe Tony did check him out, and that was just freaky-weird. Especially when he thought Bad might be sitting up at his desk, watching Tony check him out. The meta was just too fucking much to handle.)
Finally, finally, his shift was over, and classes were over, and even though the hangover had just worn off, it was time to get fucking pissed again. Past time. And maybe high, too, if Damon and his friends were smoking.
Red opened the door to the mail room while Tony blabbed on and on about this girl, whoever she was, and almost slammed it right into Bad.
Bad, in his Campus Safety whites. Standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.
“—Fuckin’ gonna be a good one, Red, you should think about crawling out of your hole and partying one of these days.” Tony, belatedly realizing that Red hadn’t moved, shoved him. “Move your butt, cocksucker.”
Bad caught him and held him up, neatly completing his utter mortification.
“Sorry,” Red said quickly, bouncing back.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Whoa, Red, what’d you do? Steal a text book?”
Oh my god. Make something up. Fuck! “It’s about the room for rent, right? Sorry I didn’t, um, get back to you—see ya next week, Tony!” He started walking, more out of nervousness than anything.
Bad was beside him immediately and grunted, “This way.”
Down the street. Okay. He could walk down the street in broad daylight with the only man he’d ever let spank his ass. Sure. That was allowed. Kind-of-not-really.
Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck were they doing? Red’s heart was pounding and he was sweating everywhere.
“Here,” Bad said, and herded him into the parking lot behind Commons, which was mostly used by the adult ed classes in the business department. Instead of walking through the lot, though, Bad steered him past the loading bays and around a semi.
“Shut up, Red.”
Red stopped walking. “Fuck you, Bad. Where’re we going?”
“Where I’m taking you.” Bad reached out and grabbed his bicep. “You gonna fight with me standing here where anyone can see us, or do you want to go somewhere maybe I won’t get fired first?”
Christ, right, okay. Stop being a big whiny crybaby. “Fine.”
Bad just grunted again and tugged him forward.
“Somewhere I won’t get fired” ended up being the fenced-off recycling area for all of food services. Smelled like hell, but okay, it was definitely private. Red was still breathing shallowly with his mouth open, trying not to gag, when Bad shoved him into the wall and pinned him there with one huge hand on his chest.
“We got a problem?”
He’d never looked directly into Bad’s eyes like this, and now that he was, he realized he liked them. Green shot through with brown, long lashes, serious but not frightening. The rest of his face looked angry, but his eyes were something else.
“Do. We. Have. A. Problem.”
“I don’t know.” Red swallowed and focused on Campion’s eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
“Didn’t take you for a virgin, Red. You know your word, and you know how to stand up and walk. So what the fuck happened the other night?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I—” Dream about you kissing me. He cleared his throat, which only made the pressure of Bad’s hand more acute. “It freaked me out.”
“But you liked it. I thought you were gonna cream your pants, you liked it so much.” For a second, Bad looked almost uncertain. Then he thumped his hand on Red’s chest and said, “Do you want to keep playing or not, Red?”
“I—yes, I do, but—”
“There is no fucking but. You want to play by my rules, or you don’t want to play.”
“So you’re saying—you’re saying I don’t get to—I mean, what if I’d said ‘stop,’ then what? That’s it, it’s over, because I don’t want shitty fingers in my mouth?”
Bad blinked. “If you’d said ‘stop,’ I would have stopped. Is that what you wish had happened?”
Fuck no. “I didn’t say that. I’m trying to understand what you mean when you talk about the rules.” The semi engine started up and Bad leaned closer to hear him. “You make the rules, fine, but does that mean I have to do every single thing you want or we stop doing this?”
“Jesus, Red. No. Stop just means stop, like I told you the first time.”
“But you keep talking about the rules like they’re, you know, not negotiable.”
Red’s hands fisted and released at his side. “But you said I could say stop—”
“Well, I’m not gonna fucking force you, Red. Jesus Christ. The rules are just—I take the lead. I decide what we do. But if you don’t want something, we don’t fucking—god, Red, who the hell have you been with who didn’t let you say no?”
“No one, that isn’t—I haven’t ever been with anyone like you.”
“Yeah.” Bad’s hand thumped once on his chest, and maybe Red was crazy, but it felt like a caress. “Listen, if you want to stop doing this, say so. I’m not gonna tell anyone, and I’m not gonna do anything to screw things up for you. And if you’re calling in sick because of some shit I pulled, Red, you should’ve fucking stopped me.”
Crap. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—not because of you—”
Oh, god, Bad’s eyes. He knew he was staring, but he wanted to memorize them. “I didn’t want everything to stop, but that was too fast.”
“Fine, I’ll slow it down. What I want’s always too much eventually. I’m used to it.”
“It’s not,” Red said, a little bit frantic now. “It’s not too much. It isn’t.”
Bad shook his head. “It will be. It always is. But what we did the other night’s small potatoes, Red, and I’m saying I wouldn’t ever screw things up for you.”
“Yeah, I know that.” At least, he did now.
“And you still want to play these games? Because you sure as shit didn’t seem to want to play at all this week.”
So he had noticed. “I want to keep playing. I just—I felt stupid for acting like a baby.”
“There’s a fetish I don’t have. No fucking diapers, Red.” The hand moved up to his throat, and Bad’s face came at him until he could smell onions on his breath. “But you’re gonna require correction now, Red. You know that, don’t you?”
Time passed, the semi’s engine rumbled, a cart rolled past the fence, maybe eight feet from where they were standing. Red could feel his pulse beating against the hand at his throat.
“Yes, sir,” he said, dropping his eyes.
“You know what you did wrong?”
Where do I start? He was pretty sure whatever Bad was thinking, it wasn’t what he was thinking. Still, he may as well tell the truth.
“I tried to ignore you all week. Sorry, sir.”
“Uh huh. You know what else you did wrong?”
Red shook his head.
“Lift up your shirt.”
What, right here? He lifted his shirt, all the way up to his neck.
Bad’s left hand found his nipples, rolling them roughly until Red was panting and writhing against the wall. Then he took hold of one and pinched really fucking hard.
Bad clamped down on his mouth, gagging him. “Good little boys take their punishment without whining, Red. That’s one.” He pinched again and Red closed his eyes, sending all of his awareness to his abused nipple. “That’s two.”
Oh fucking god, how many more?
Another pinch, and Bad held this one longer, twisting it at the end while Red cried into his hand.
“That’s three for ignoring me, Red. It’s not nice to ignore people.”
Red swallowed and mumbled “Yes, sir,” but it was garbled behind Bad’s palm.
Then Bad’s hand moved to the other nipple and he only had time to think oh no oh no oh no before the whole fucking thing repeated itself.
This time he had tears in his eyes when Bad said, “That’s three. Three for not saying ‘thank you’ to me for finding you that nice fat boy you liked so much.”
Red said “Yes, sir,” and, after a moment, “Thank you, sir” into Bad’s palm again.
Bad leaned in real close before saying, “Pull down your panties and bend over, little Red.”
Jesus. Did that mean—was Bad gonna pinch his balls like that? Because he might die right here in the recycling pit.
So why the hell was he bending over, bare ass in the air right now?
“Brace on the wall, Red.”
Another spanking? God, that would be good right now. That was punishment, right? Though it seemed a little risky to do out in the open—
The pinch came on his right butt cheek, and it burned straight through to his dick.
“Count,” Bad said, right in his ear.
“One.” It wasn’t loud, probably not loud enough, but Bad pinched him again right away. “Two.” The third one was the worst, the hardest, the longest. His entire ass was tense, trying to evict the pinching fingers without pulling away. “Three,” Red mumbled, eyes buried in his arm.
But instead of stopping, Bad switched to the other side and gave him three fucking more, and the third one ended in a twist that made him want to scream.
Campion bent all the way over him, hard dick pressed nice and firmly against Red’s bare skin. “That’s for not thanking me for coming down your throat, Red. That was a very, very offensive sign of ingratitude.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” And he was. Not just because his ass was now throbbing in six places, but because he should have thanked the man. Would have thanked the man. He’d wanted to suck Bad off like that since the first fucking time. “Thank you, sir, for coming down my throat.” He wished he could look him the eye while he said it.
“I know you’re not really an ungrateful piece of shit, Red.”
“But do you know what the worst thing you did was?”
Jesus, there was more?
“I—I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.”
Bad reached around to his half-hard dick and took only the head of it in his fat sandpaper fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Red whispered again, beginning to shake. He bit down on his tongue to keep from blubbering, but oh god, no, please don’t hurt me, please don’t—
“You didn’t say goodnight to me, Red. And it was a good night, wasn’t it?”
“But you just walked away, left me sitting there, wondering what the fuck happened. That wasn’t very nice, Red.”
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I know you’re sorry, and we’ve worked it out, but we have to make things right, don’t we, Red?”
“Yes, sir.” Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Bad’s fingers started to rub his glans, little circles of pleasure-pain that made him shake harder.
“Ask me, Red. Ask me to make things right.”
“I—I—” He took a deep breath, pushing his eyes so hard into his arm that sparklers went off behind his lids. “Please make it right, sir.”
“How should I do that, Red?” Bad’s breath was hot on his ear, and now Bad’s other arm came around him, almost crushing him. “How should I make it right?”
Rub, rub, rub. He couldn’t move, because Bad had his dick, and the rest of him, and none of him could move.
“How do I make it right, little Red? How do I feel better about your rudeness? How do I feel like you and me are okay again?” The intensity of the rubbing increased and Red cried into his arm. This was unlike anything else. He couldn’t escape it and it just kept drilling into his dick deeper, like Bad was rubbing off the skin all the way to the quick.
“I—I—please make it right,” he said, trying to keep his voice down, trying not to sob so loudly he couldn’t speak.
“Tell me how, honey.”
Honey. Oh, god, that hurt even more than Bad’s fingers.
“Please pinch my dick, Bad, please—”
Red’s whole body twisted and spiraled into the pain of Bad pinching the very fucking tip of his dick, like he was pulling his urethra out of his body. At the same time, Bad’s hand plugged his mouth again so his scream was absorbed by skin and muscle and bone.
Then it was over, pulsing and burning and throbbing, but the pinch itself was a memory.
“Good boy, Red. Good boy. I know that didn’t feel good, boy. And you asked so damn sweetly.”
Words didn’t exist. Red cried into Bad’s hand for a full fucking minute, just trying to get his shit together, thinking this was it, this was the end of his life, right here, crying himself to death with his pants around his ankles in the recycling pit.
It wasn’t the pain. It was how badly he needed this, and how much he needed Bad to give it to him.
Red slid to his knees and shuffled himself around, then leaned forward to kiss both of Bad’s hands. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“I know you are. I am, too. Come on, get up, boy.”
He got up, pulled on his clothes, scrubbed at his face until he might look a little less like he’d been crying while someone pinched his ass.
Christ. Red swallowed and looked up.
“Don’t ever let me do something you don’t want again.”
“I—didn’t. That wasn’t the problem.”
Bad stared him down. “What was the problem, then?”
Maybe it was because he felt hollowed out. Or because he had no control. Whatever it was, Red said the only thing he could say.
“I wanted it too much. Including how much I didn’t want it.” He shook his head. “Sorry.”
He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t Bad shaking his head, too.
“What a fucking twisted pair of assholes we are. Go on, get out of here. Go do your homework, Red. I’ll leave in a few minutes so it looks less like we were having sex.”
I fucking wish.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, and held up a hand, a half-hearted wave that Bad didn’t return.
I am so fucked right now. Red went back to Stout, took a shower, beat off (the soreness in his dick only made it hotter), and raided Damon’s side of the room for pot.
Half an hour later, he felt a hell of a lot better.