Warning: this story contains heavy non-con, as in non-consensual sexual violence. Also tentacles.

When It's Dark


Oscar Robert's shoes tapped on the pavement. It was late—the small adult education annex he taught at had just closed for the night. Although there were only a few blocks in between it and his apartment, Oscar still rushed. Always. He always felt like someone was following him. The smell of wet concrete, a light drizzle falling down, and only a tepid flicker from the street lamps were his companions, however in the shadows…

Oscar shivered.

"Mr. Roberts?"

Oscar gripped his briefcase and stopped his frantic scuttle, a chill running down his spine. The voice which had called his name was deep and confident, and although the words had presented as a question, they were clearly saying: I know it's you, Mr. Roberts.

So Oscar turned. Behind him, in the flickering light of the mostly dark street, was a man towering quite above Oscar's diminutive stature. He had his hands shoved in his jeans, and his head was cocked to the side, but his face was hidden in shadows. "It's been awhile, Mr. Roberts," the man said. With that, he stepped forward under the meager lamplight, and Oscar recognized that face immediately. Ajax Tanner. A former student, and one Oscar had so desperately wanted to forget.

"You…" he breathed, his eyes wide. He barely even felt his nails digging into his palm.

Ajax's grin was slow. "What are you doing here, Mr. Roberts? Isn't safe."

"I live here now," Oscar replied breathlessly. And then he grimaced. Had he really changed so little that he couldn't be more cautious around this boy?

"Oh, yeah?" Ajax reached forward—brushed his knuckles down Oscar's cheek.

Oscar went stiff.

And that was that. Well, that was why, whenever he had seen Ajax coming down the hall of St. Ignatius Prep, Oscar would spin on his heel and take off in the opposite direction. But of course, Ajax could sense how timid towards confrontation Oscar was, and had pounced on his weak disposition and mocked him endlessly throughout the first few months of that school year. He would touch Oscar inappropriately, would drive Oscar to the brink of paranoia. What if someone saw this?

But that was in the past.

Oscar stepped back, knocking Ajax's hand away. "Good bye," he said, barely able to get the words out.

A hand caught his wrist. "Hold on, Mr. Roberts."

Oscar wanted to squirm and scratch like trapped cat, but he went still like a cornered mouse instead, hating himself for his cowardice. With a sense of deep resolve, he met Ajax's eyes, and saw the humor glinting in them. "What is it, Tanner? Have you been following me?"

"Following you?" There was a certain edge to Ajax's amicable smile. "Why would I follow you?"

He knows—No. "I'm just curious as to how we ran into each other?" Oscar said, his voice only shaking slightly.

"Well, I live here too." Ajax had spoken so easily, so quickly in response. "Just down a few blocks." The lie was evident. He stepped forward and slid an arm around Oscar's back, cupping his shoulder. "Let me walk you home, Mr. Roberts. Wouldn't want good ol' Teach to get hurt, right?" His hot breath prickled at Oscar's ear, and somehow Oscar just knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Well, ok," Oscar said softly, taking a step back from Ajax, who eyes seemed to glow with triumph. Ignoring that, Oscar shoved past him and continued down the block, with Ajax only a step behind. "So, Teach," he said, "How's St. Ignatius been since I—left, haha."

That chuckle seemed so innocuous. But… he knows. He knows. He's messing with you!

Oscar shook his head. "I wouldn't know, Tanner. I was let go."

Silence reigned for a moment, and then Ajax let out a low whistle. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." Oscar kept his frown hidden by staring at the ground. Why was Ajax walking behind him instead of next to him? To make him nervous?

"So I guess we were both kicked out, huh?"

Oscar immediately tensed, biting his lip. He hastened down the sidewalk. "I was not kicked out," he said primly. "They simply needed to cut down on staff."

"I see." Ajax sounded ponderous for once. "Then I guess we're not the same." There was a cold, yet amused tenor to his voice.

He knows!

Oscar stumbled backwards one step, keeping his hand up as if to ward off Ajax's presence. "This is far enough, Tanner. I can make it back on my own."

There was a knowing glint in Ajax's eyes. But instead of saying anything, he just shrugged languidly, and brushed his hair back. "If that's how you feel, Mr. Roberts."

"It is," Oscar replied.

Smirking, Ajax gave a theatrical bow, waving his arm out in gesture towards the sidewalk. "Then by all means, Mr. Roberts. On you go."

Oscar didn't need to be told twice. He rushed right past Ajax and practically loped down the sidewalk, the back of his neck tingling the entire time. Images of years before, when he was a teacher at St. Ignatius, passed through his mind as he sprinted. Images of Ajax. Images of their time together. Although, Oscar did not look back at that fondly.


Ajax Tanner was a handsome boy at seventeen.

Oscar had taken note of that on the first day of class.

Sitting in the back, far right corner by the window, Ajax would lean back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, and smoke a cigarette as Oscar tried to teach Civics. He would cock his head sometimes and grin, which would make Oscar flush red, stuttering his words as the class giggled at his sudden, inexplicable drop in composure.

But he knew it wasn't a mystery to Ajax.

Ajax knew.

Which was why he cornered Oscar in an empty hall one day, languidly placing one arm above Oscar's head, trapping him in between the wall and this hulking student with broad shoulders and the ever-present scent of boy sweat. He was smirking. "Mr. Robert's," he said, "you never pay attention to me in class—"

"If you need help," Oscar had replied, keeping his eyes glued to Ajax's chest in front of him, "My office hours are—"

He was stopped with a kiss.

Not just a kiss.

Hand at the back of his head, lips smashed against his own and tongue pushing in, commanding obedience. Oscar was blind-sided, mouth opening, acquiescing to what Ajax demanded of him. It didn't matter that they were at school, it didn't matter that Ajax was seventeen.

In fact, Oscar couldn't have said no if he wanted to.

He was shoved back against the wall, Ajax's teeth falling on his neck, biting hard. Oscar cried out, weakly pushing at Ajax's chest. But there was no give, and finally he gave in, going slack and allowing Ajax to kiss and nip his way up Oscar's neck, until he found lips and went back to kissing with such a rough force that Oscar hadn't dared to fight back.

The scrape of Ajax's nails against the back of his neck. Hard, lean body pressed up against his own. Cock underneath those schoolboy clothes grinding forward.

Oscar wasn't paralyzed. But he was cornered.

Play dead or fight back?

It had seemed like such an easy answer. Oscar didn't want to feel the explosion of a fist against his jaw, so he took the kisses instead. He didn't want to feel boots slamming into his ribcage, so he took the fingers rubbing at his nipples, pinching them.

Finally the bell rang, its chime infusing Oscar with enough courage to shove Ajax away. "Go to class!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, eyes scrunched closed.

When he opened them, Ajax was gone.


Oscar trudged into his dark one bedroom apartment, not bothering to search blindly for the light switch. Having lived there long enough to know the layout relatively well, he simply pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and groped his way to the bedroom, where he dropped his briefcase on the floor, and shucked his shoes off one by one. Surely, that whole confrontation… must have been a coincidence, he thought.

He hadn't seen Ajax since the boy was in school, and that was seven years ago, putting him at twenty-four years old. He was as intimidating as ever, and seemed to have outgrown that cheeky look that said he knew exactly how much trouble he was causing by touching his homeroom teacher in an empty hallway.

Well. Oscar wasn't his teacher anymore, so there was no taboo there.

Maybe Ajax had to find a new danger. Stalking. Harassing. Ill Intent.

Oscar would find those intentions more relieving, than if… Ajax had figured out the truth. Oscar stood in his dark room, contemplating simply collapsing on his bed without removing even his tie. His run-in with Ajax had been exhausting. But at least he was free of the boy now.

He had always lived with some fear; some small, residual parasite clutching to the back of his brain, that said Ajax would come back for him.

After all, Ajax had never been one to let things rest.


"He wants to fuck you."

Oscar clenched his jaw, ducking his head to glance up and down the row of teacher's desks, but no one was in the room besides him.

And Ajax. Who was sitting on Oscar's desk, looming over him.

"Please—" Oscar said weakly, fingers curling around his pencil, "—that's absurd."

For a moment, Ajax was silent. And then he leaned down and whispered in Oscar's ear: "I know what wanting to fuck you looks like. I see it in the mirror every day."

Oscar nearly choked. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten, and then let out a shaky exhale. "Mr. Harden is a nice man. He's polite."

"Polite?" Oscar could practically see the sneer on Ajax's handsome face. "Not like me, huh." The last word was punctuated with a painful jab to Oscar's shoulder.

Oscar grimaced, covering the abused spot with his palm. How had he ended up in this mess? Well. Why was he even asking himself that? He was responsible, he knew how it happened. He had let Ajax force him to an empty, rarely used classroom under the pretense that he was too terrified to fight back, but really… there had been an opening. He could have run. The only comfort he took was that Ajax really would have ignored his protests! Even if he had truly not wanted it! The boy was a beast—a monster that needed to be put down.

A hand clamped down on Oscar's shoulder. "Are you listening to me?"

Oscar licked his lips, cleared his throat. "I, I—"

"—I, I," Ajax mocked. "You what? You slut? I saw the way you smiled at him."

Hunching in on himself protectively, Oscar fought the urge to cry. "Stop being so cruel," he all but wailed, the words coming out as a pathetic, choked thing.

A brief pause, and then the bruising grip on his shoulder relaxed. And then, a chaste kiss was pressed against Oscar's temple. "I love you, Mr. Roberts."

No. No. No. Oscar wanted to shake his head. This boy! This child!

"And I know you, Mr. Roberts," Ajax continued, his hot breath puffing against Oscar's sensitive skin. "You're a good man, so you can't see the bad in others. I'll have to do that for you."

"What do you mean?" Oscar murmured.

But Ajax simply backed away, his overwhelming presence withdrawing from Oscar's side. "I only expect you to be faithful," he said. "I can handle the rest."

And just as quickly, he was back. His hand gripped Oscar's chin, jerking his face up. Those dark eyes promised violence. "Do you understand?"

In absence of any other plausible response, Oscar just nodded.

He was rewarded with a pat on his head.

The next day, Mr. Harden didn't show up for work.


Oscar's eyes blinked open.

Above him, the ceiling fan whirled slowly.

It had been awhile since he had that particular dream about Ajax, but like every other time there was just that short conversation and then nothing. But Oscar knew what had come after that, when he had found out about Mr. Harden and had instinctively know what Ajax had done. Oscar hadn't felt any personal guilt—no, what he felt was a hardening resolve that to protect himself, Ajax had to go.

But that was still in the past.

With a sigh, Oscar turned onto his side, wondering what had woken him up.

And then he heard a creak.

Sitting up, he squinted around the room, but saw nothing save for the dark outlines of his dresser, and the window drapes billowing softly as the moon glowed behind them, its light casting a sharp edge down the middle of Oscar's room. But all he could see were floorboards. Nothing. It was nothing. Just stress.

Stress he hadn't felt for some time.

The anxiety of prey.

He tried to settle down again, resting his head on his pillow and lying there with his eyes firmly screwed shut. He counted his breathes one two three four—


Shooting up again, he blinked and strained his eyes to determine if he saw anything. But once again there was nothing. Except…

In the air, there was a smoky hint of cigarettes. Oscar's heart thudded against his ribcage as he immediately recognized that scent. Feeling like a fool, he whispered: "Ajax?"

No response. He sat there in his bed, his entire slender body tense and waiting for … something. The air was almost too still, the night almost too silent. He knew, logically, that he should lie back down and try to fall asleep, but there was a buzzing buzzing buzzing in his mind, a shrill reeee of foreboding that told him not to let his guard down. "Ajax," he said again. "Ajax—I'm sorry. But you scared me. You were unstable and violent. I didn't know what to do! I was frightened."

His soft pleading barely echoed in the silent room. But he felt like he was at a juncture in that moment, when he could unburden the feelings that had choked him seven years ago. "You were too forceful, Ajax," Oscar said, gripping the sheets with pale fingers. "You were a student."


Eyes widening, Oscar whipped around. But there was nothing. Why would there be anything? Oscar was the only living soul in the room, he knew that. He knew that. But with this fear soaking his brain, he realized that maybe Ajax didn't need to be there.

"I know what you did," Oscar whispered.

I know what you did, love.

His heart almost stopped. No words had been spoken, and yet in the core of his being, Oscar had heard Ajax speak. "Not your love," Oscar began to stutter, "you never treated me with love."


That cold chuckle, not something that could be labeled as a laugh, struck Oscar to his core. He pulled the sheet up to his chest, curling his knees up like a child. "Please, Ajax," he whimpered.

Something shifted. Like the room was on an axis.

Oscar nearly fainted, blinking rapidly and dropping his head to try and make the rocking stop. He inhaled and exhaled, holding his palm against his chest. Just nightmares he told himself. But then he felt a tingly sensation at his toes and looked up. He saw a fold in the sheet—at the very foot of the bed—ripple. It rolled towards him and he kicked back as far as he could, until his shoulders hit the bed frame. "Ajax!" he screamed.

Prickling cold. That's what it felt like. A slice of numbness, like rope. Rope slid around his ankle. He tried to launch himself off the bed, only to be yanked downwards, the back of his head hitting the wall. His ass slid down until he was flat on his back, blinking at the ceiling. He didn't have time to recover.

Slimy. Cold. Only, there was no residue. It was just a shiver.

Something was gliding up his leg in a feather-light touch. He grimaced and tried to kick it off.

There was a pause. And then all at once that loose grip tightened painfully and Oscar yelled out, scrambling to get off his bed. Only he couldn't move.

There was more cold. Cold around his arms. Cold around his waist. Cold around his neck.


"Urgh—" he choked. Neon spots flared in the darkness, his vision straining.

The scent of cigarettes.

"Ajax…" Oscar wheezed through his crushed throat. He gripped the coldness there. "Ajax, please. You're scaring me." There was no logical explanation for how he knew that Ajax was there in the room, watching him—watching his torment and fear, but Oscar did know.

The cold tightened around Oscar's neck. The sheet fell away as Oscar was lifted suddenly into the air, his neck aching as his head jerked back. What had once felt like just the sleek glide of cold was turning sticky and hot, and Oscar wanted to shy away from it, from the burning ropes tethering him up above his bed. His wrists were circled with a burning heat, and pulled above his head. His ankles were trapped too, held taut until he was spread out in a line.


He had cried that in his mind. Because he knew it then, that he wanted Ajax. But he wanted the Ajax made of human flesh and not this thing that …

"Ajax," Oscar croaked. "I'll do anything you want."

His bindings shuddered.


"Why are you ignoring me?!"

Oscar scurried down the street, carefully pretending the teenager beside him did not exist. But his wrist was caught, and he was jerked around to face Ajax, whose earnest gaze felt ill-matched with his intimidating form. "I know you're mad they expelled me, baby, but I can find a job. I'll take care of you."

Shaking his head, Oscar tried to pull away. "Mr. Tanner, this is vastly inappropriate."

It took all he had not to shake with fear.

Broken ribs. Broken nose. Stab wounds. Mr. Harden has been brutally attacked.

By this boy.

He watched as Ajax's expression twisted into something ugly. "Are you trying to screw me over?"

"No," Oscar gasped, tears forming as Ajax clamped down painfully on his arm. "

"Please," Ajax said, his eyes almost—vacant. "I did it for us, you have to believe me."

Oscar fought tears. "I didn't ask you to do anything for me."



The words had not been spoken aloud. But with them, one of the bindings around Oscar's neck had pulled back, and then brushed against his lips, its demand clear.

Choking back a sob, he opened his mouth.

"Ungh—" The hot sticky thing had shoved in completely, down his throat. His gag reflex didn't even have time to respond. And then the thing eased back, until its tip was on his tongue.

I always wanted you to suck me, but you never did. Fucking cocktease bitch.

The thing slammed in again, and Oscar cried out, trying to use his hands to pull it away only to be reminded that they were bound as well when the vines tightened painfully. As tears formed in the corners of his eyes, he relaxed his throat and allowed the thing to pump in and out, in and out. He sucked, he lathed. He worshiped. His entire being was focused on the length in his mouth.

Please let this be a dream, he thought.

There was a cold laugh in his head. No dream, baby.

And then the thing came—whatever is was, gushing in, filling him. He swallowed and swallowed, and nearly choked, his gut roiling. He was openly crying by then, salty tears that flowed down his face and dripped off his chin. What was happening?

He didn't have time to recover.

Another length slipped under his boxers, and ripped the fabric away. "Ngh!" he cried out as cold air hit his ass.

Eyes wide, he caught a glimpse of himself in the closet mirror just as the moon shone light into the room.

Nothing was holding him aloft. But there he was floating above his bed.

Oscar started sobbing.

There's no reason to cry yet, baby.

Wasn't there? Wasn't there a cold slimy thing slithering up his thigh, inwards, teasing at sensitive skin until it found his cock and wrapped around it? Started jacking over and over, forcing Oscar to get hard even though he was anything but aroused, and—then.

It strangled.

"God!" Oscar gasped, arching his back, eyes going wide.

His cock was released, that slimy length unwinding itself and retreating. The one in his mouth pulled out. Gently, he was lowered back onto his bed, however the bindings twisted him around until he was on his knees, and a rough shove had his cheek pressed firmly against the mattress. He couldn't move at all. There were shackles around his neck, around his arms—keeping them held up against the bed frame—his ankles were tied, and a final length held his ass up in the air.

Are you still scared?

"No…" Oscar whimpered. "This is just a dream."


Something thin slid over his ass.

I do love you, baby. I know you think I don't. There's a sickness keeping you from loving me back, but it's ok, because I'm going to cure you.

Oscar bit his lip, face scrunching as he tried to keep from panting from fear. "Cure me?" he asked, his voice coming out high-pitched.

The only answer was the sudden and vicious slice of a strap against his vulnerable ass.

Yelping, Oscar began struggling in earnest, but all that achieved was raw friction and pain. However, it was nothing compared to the repetitive onslaught of a whip-thin length flogging him over and over as he sobbed and wailed. There was a resounding crack with each hit, until his ears were ringing. "It hurts," he cried, "It hurts! Please, Ajax."

You know how to make it stop.

"I don't—" Another lick, and Oscar nearly bit his tongue. Maddeningly, one of the living ropes was rustling through his hair, as if gentling him—even as the whip kept coming, criss-crossing and leaving streaks of fire.

Do you know what happened to me? I wasn't just expelled, Oscar.

Another lick. And then another.

After you left me, they came. I was arrested, and the cops beat the shit out of me, they killed me. Why weren't you there for me, baby?

Something inside Oscar broke.

"I'm sorry, Ajax!" he screamed, "It was my fault, I told them you attacked him."

I know.

Immediately, the tension changed, all malicious and cruel feeling from the vines abetting, to be replaced with gentle—yet firm—caressing.

Oscar was allowed to sink to his belly as cool, viscous threads traced over his stinging ass. The relief was so potent that he moaned. It was enough to distract him, but only for a second. He registered the grip of hundreds of threads, circling around his body and exploring every inch, teasing and playful. Tips poked at his nipples and then circled them, forcing a grunt out of Oscar.

He was lifted again, supported by thicker, stickier vines that took hold of his limbs. His legs were spread wide, his knees drawn up.

God, he thought, what's happening to me?

Ajax's cocky presence overpowered every one of his senses. You're being forgiven, baby.

With that, a thick vine snaked its way up Oscar's chest, and then detoured around his waist until he quickly realized where it was going. The head nudged between his burning cheeks, and only because it was covered in some slick substance did it easily shove inside Oscar's hole.

"No," Oscar whined, shutting his eyes. He was so vulnerable, spread open like that to this nightmare that he couldn't trust was happening. Perhaps he had gone crazy.

The vine, which kept getting thicker, slowly eased in inch by inch, never drawing out, as though determined to fill Oscar to the brim. I'm here for you now, Ajax's voice called in his head, and I won't ever be cruel to you again. I love you so much.

"Then please stop this," Oscar replied, his voice raspy and weak.

Not yet.

A blunt edge suddenly pressed at his lips, split his clenched jaw and forced itself in and down his throat. Oscar choked, but was so exhausted that he couldn't fight it. He could feel smaller tendrils sneaking into him, squirming past the thickest vine and prickling at his insides.

All at once, they all started fucking him.

Back and forth, he was pounded from both ends until it felt like the two heads were meeting each other in his middle. His vision hazed out, drool seeping from his mouth and was there even anything supporting his body anymore? Or was he just skewered on these unrelenting, punishing lengths that pulsed hotly inside him? His arms and legs fell slack, his eyes rolling back. Something gripped his cock and started jacking again.

Coming was painful and burned him with shame.

He passed out to Ajax's voice in his head: Make sure you've learned your lesson.

The implication was clear: Or it will happen again.

When Oscar woke up, his aching body was the second thing he noticed.

The first was that his head was pillowed on a broad, warm chest. And that an arm was protectively draped over his side. He sat up, the arm sliding, and stared down at Ajax Tanner lying there asleep. But not for long. Eyelids slowly flicked open, and light blue eyes gained focus, directing at Oscar. A smile curved on those gorgeous lips.

"Wha—" Oscar started say. But then Ajax shifted up and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Palming Oscar's cheek, Ajax kissed him again, a soft kiss on the lips. "Hey there, baby."

Shivering, Oscar tried to draw back, and Ajax's warm expression shifted with confusion. He grabbed Oscar's arms. "Hey, hey? What's wrong? I thought we had worked things out."

Worked things out? Oscar shirked Ajax's hand and raised his to slap Ajax right across the face, but his wrist was caught.

"Oscar?" Ajax said hesitatingly, eyebrows drawing together. "You're not going back on what you said, right?"

"What did I say?" Oscar snapped.

Ajax frowned. "You said that you wanted to be with me now that I wasn't a student. You can't take that back."

Oscar started shaking his head. "But what about being arrested—what about the cops…"

"Cops?" Ajax was smiling again, a playful glint in his eye. "What is this? Are you messing with me or something?"

"No…" Oscar was lost. Everything… made no sense.

"Ok, you need coffee," Ajax said, sliding out of bed and standing up. In the morning light, he looked like a Greek god, every angle of his body beautiful as he left the room.

Oscar was dazed. Maybe…

He shifted up, and winced. Pain, his ass burning. His heart thudded as he slid to his belly and reached back to palm his cheeks, only to feel welts and sore skin.


Looking around, Oscar saw Ajax stood there, leaning against the doorframe. He was smiling faintly. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," Oscar replied carefully.

Ajax's smile widened. "Good," he said, "We've got a long day ahead of us, moving my shit into your place and all."

"M-moving?" Oscar sat up, tugging the sheets to his chest. "In with me?"

Ajax cocked his head. "Is that a problem?"

A dull ache, a sense of defeat slowly wormed its way to Oscar's core. He was so tired. Slumping, he bowed his head, the sheet falling from his grip. "There's no problem."

"Perfect," Ajax replied warmly. "You won't regret it."