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***** This story is not an essential part of the Will/Jesse timeline, and involves non-consensual sex between Frost and Jesse. If you don’t enjoy this kind of content, I would advise you not to read it. *****

Special thanks to Holliday1960 for picking up the typos, and giving me feedback on this exceptionally long piece of fiction.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jesse leaned one hand against the wall and rested his forehead against the bricks, waiting to see if he’d throw up. The hot feeling was in his head, the bitterness of bile at the back of his throat.

The alleyway reeked of stale piss after a recent rain squall, which wasn’t helping his nausea. At his feet, thick forests of moss grew in the soil that’d collected in cracks in the concrete, giving off a stink of sewer mud.

A stiff breeze threw the ends of his sweaty hair against his face, stinging his skin. The cool was pleasant after the heat of the club, but as his sweat soured and cooled against his back, he felt the first stirrings of comedown dread.

What the fuck was in the crap he’d taken? Whatever it was, it’d lifted and dumped him in the same hour, filling him with elation one moment, then sending him sliding towards depression a few tracks later with a throbbing headache and full-body exhaustion.

Happy birthday to me.

He gulped in more damp air to tamp down the nausea, then pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it. Nothing. He’d hoped Will would have remembered, or even to have heard from Lucy. Even now, years later, he still missed her keenly. Had hoped to hear from Nate.

Well you won’t hear from him, will you? He’s probably dead.

The thought filled Jesse with black despair, and the puke he’d been wrestling down, surged up his throat and splattered against the concrete between his feet. He winced at the foul taste, and stayed there, his chest heaving. There was nothing much in it, just booze. He ate hardly anything these days, couldn’t stomach the thought of food most of the time.

He staggered away from the stinking splash of liquid, and leaned his back against the wall further down, struggling to stay upright. His knees felt weak, his head hot and empty, as if he was close to passing out.

Byron had been in the club. Jesse rarely went to gay clubs, always felt self conscious about his body. Without Will to chivvy him along, he rarely went to the gym, and hardly ate. He knew he was underweight for his five foot ten, which made him feel weak and inadequate like some gawky teenager, but he couldn’t help eye up other men with Will’s build. Then, when they approached him, he found their physical presence too intimidating and would find a way to disengage and disappear.

But tonight he turned twenty-four, and he wanted to end the self imposed isolation he’d endured now for months. Just for one night, wanted to take someone home, to feel hands on his body, to feel desired. He didn’t care by who. Until he’d seen Byron.

Byron, his light brown eyes glittering as he approached some fresh-faced kid, built much like Jesse, only younger. Jesse’s long hair, only this kid had blue eyes. Wide blue eyes that seemed to have no idea what to make of Byron.

And then Byron, leaning over the kid, handing him a drink, resting his elbow against the wall while he pinned the kid there with his presence; this kid that Jesse knew would soon find himself down at Oscar’s, half a dozen cocks stuffed in his mouth one by one, or in his arse. Fresh meat for the men who hid themselves by calling themselves after dead poets.

Jealousy ripped through Jesse. Not just that Byron was there, was chatting up the new guy while he seemed to have lost Jesse’s number, but jealous that he could never go back to Oscar’s again—not knowing what he did now. That his own best mate, his first gay lover, had taken him there to pay back a debt. Without telling him… without saying a fucking word about it. And Jesse needed what Oscar’s had given him. Missed Will so hard, the need was like a fist landing in his stomach every morning when he woke.

The last time he’d seen Will had been the night after the car accident where Nate had disappeared. They hadn’t spoken in months, and Will had Skyped him on his laptop in the hospital where Jesse was being held for observation, more for his mental state than his physical one.

He hadn’t said much, and wouldn’t give Jesse his new number. Just said he hoped Jesse would be okay, and that he wished he’d done things differently. It was an apology Jesse didn’t want as much as he wanted Will there in the room with him.

After that night, Jesse had fallen into darkness. It was so much worse seeing him like that, distant and polite, than not seeing him at all, and it filled him with despair knowing he had no way to contact him.

His legs were buckling.

He clutched at the wall and tried to brace himself to stay standing, his head hanging low. He took slow breaths, fighting back the urge to throw up again.

A shape appeared at the Ankara escort end of the alleyway.

Jesse looked up, but his vision was blurred, and the alleyway was full of shadows and pools of light that fucked with his ability to tell if it was male or female.

The man—it was a man, Jessed decided as he got closer, strode into the alleyway, one hand to his pants, clearly looking for a place to piss.

Jesse was too weak to move, and turned his face away to give the guy privacy as the drunk positioned himself over Jesse’s pool of puke and undid his pants, letting a stream of hot piss wash it into the mud.

Always got to have something to aim for, Jesse thought wryly.

His eyes cast down, Jesse absently watched a trickle of yellow liquid roll towards his feet, its fat surface tension guiding it around the gouts of moss, gathering froth as it passed across the loose soil.

He took a step sideways as it got too close to his boot, and his traitorous legs finally gave out.

He fell against the wall and slid down it, grazing the heel of his hand against the sharp grout between the bricks, as he tried to stop himself falling.

Now, the concrete was cold and hard under his arse, the piss still inching towards him, and he didn’t have the strength to get out of its way.

He realised the man pissing was getting closer, the hot stream spattering the concrete wall, the odour of it sharp in the wet night air.

Patters of liquid fell against his leather pants and Jesse looked up… and gulped in fear. He knew that face.

His vision blurred, came back, as he put up a hand, trying to guide the man’s hips away from him, from the demeaning stream of piss splashing against his leg.

The man laughed and guided his flaccid cock away from Jesse, finishing up with a couple of practiced shakes. He packed himself away and then looked back at the younger man collapsed on the ground. He crouched beside Jesse and put a hand to his face, running his fingers along the younger man’s jaw.

Jesse felt fear penetrate his stomach like a solid steel rod, as he looked into the eyes of the man who called himself Frost.

The real Robert Frost would no doubt roll in his grave if he saw the way this man conducted himself. In his early fifties, with dark blonde hair slowly going white, and pale eyes, Frost was a sadist who lived to create fear. His trademark down at Oscar’s was a penknife, the blade chilled, and sharp enough to slice open his marks if they moved.

Tonight there was no blade in his hand, but the last time they’d met, down at Oscar’s, Frost had ordered Jesse to take his cum into his mouth and told him to swallow. And Jesse, not in the mood to cooperate after being terrified so close to tears, had spat it all over his shoe.

At the time, he’d thought Frost was going to hit him, but Will had been there, so he hadn’t. But Will was not here now. And Jesse couldn’t move.

“What amuses me,” said the older man, his blue eyes drilling through Jesse’s into his drug-soft brain, “is that you do it to yourself. You actively fuck yourself. I could find you here any weekend, couldn’t I?”

He moved his hand up to stroke over Jesse’s long hair, a caress that ended behind his ear. A loving touch, but no less terrifying for it.

“I don’t know why you’re afraid of me. You’ll die at your own hand before anyone else gets the pleasure.” His voice was deep, a low drawl.

He teased a few strands of Jesse’s hair between his fingers and tugged, tearing them out. Jesse put a hand to the man’s wrist to stop him and Frost slapped him with the back of his hand for defying him. With no strength in his arm, all Jesse could do was hang on to him while he did it.

“Not so cocky now, are we, without our precious minder? And where is Will? I heard you drove him away. The best lay someone like you could ever hope for, and you drove him away by… fucking your own brother?”

Stepbrother, thought Jesse. And he hadn’t known Nate was his stepbrother at the time.

Although that wasn’t why he and Will didn’t talk anymore, he felt shame course through him.

Frost laughed as Jesse’s cheeks reddened, the younger man’s eyes black with the fear and humiliation of being forced by his own weak body to sit there and take Frost’s mocking, unable to move, covered in the man’s piss.

Frost pulled Jesse’s hand from his arm and pushed it flat against the boy’s leg. Against the spatters of piss there.

He tugged Jesse’s head back. “Look at you. What a mess. Is it any wonder he didn’t want… this?”

He put a hand against the younger man’s chest, feeling Jesse shiver under his touch. Feeling how little flesh lay above his ribs. How little strength was left.

“I’m almost too late, aren’t I? You’re nearly gone. Well. Let me be the one to show you out.”

He put his hands under Jesse’s armpits and pulled him to his feet, avoiding contact with his piss-covered leather pants. He pushed Jesse back against the wall and cocked his head.

“How would Ankara escort bayan you like to come home with me?”

Jesse shook his head and Frost grabbed his jaw and used his grip to make Jesse nod instead.

“Course you do.”

Frost put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing white powder. He dipped two fingers in it, then forced Jesse’s mouth open with one hand, using his fingers to rub the powder against the kid’s gums, his tongue, around the inside of his mouth.

Jesse felt his tongue go numb, and then his head drooped so that he could barely hold it up. He started to fall, but Frost caught him, and slung an arm around his neck.

“Best we get you home. What an embarrassment. You smell as if you’ve pissed yourself.”

With his arm slung around Jesse’s neck and a hand supporting his chest, Frost walked Jesse towards the entrance to the alleyway, and helped him into a cab.

Whatever Frost had put in his mouth meant Jesse couldn’t ask for help. He was just another stinking drunk, being taken care of late at night by his very good friend. Such a good friend.

So lucky, the cab driver told him, that someone was looking out for him.

* * * * *

Frost’s apartment was in a largely-untenanted building. It was little more than a bedsit, and Jesse knew it couldn’t be where Frost actually lived. Every man down at Oscar’s was some wealthy toff; although, the way Frost sometimes spoke, maybe he was the exception to the rule. It just seemed unlikely. Unless, instead of being one of the elite, his money came from criminal enterprise.

He hauled Jesse into the room and pushed him down on the floor while he locked the door behind them.

He turned back to Jesse and crouched in front of him.

“This is your new home. Perhaps your last home, since we both know you’ve already given up. But before you go, someone may as well get some use from you.”

His chin forced down against his chest by the angle of his body, Jesse slumped with his back against the bed. He tried to form words, to ask for his freedom, for Frost not to do this. But his tongue was still numb and he couldn’t speak.

He could feel drool at the corner of his mouth, smell the musty carpet and the shut-up smell of the place.

Frost put a hand on Jesse’s leg. “Now, you should know, I am going to hurt you. So you should prepare yourself for that.”

He took Jesse’s cellphone from his pocket and held it up.

“I’m going to keep this with me. Just in case you want to fight me for it.”

Jesse’s eyes followed the phone as Frost pushed it into his pocket.

“Right. Up you come.” Frost put his hands under Jesse’s armpits and pulled him to his feet, then hauled him towards the bathroom.

He propped the boy against the bathroom wall and hovered his hands in front of the kid’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”

Jesse put a hand flat against the tiles behind him, while the fingers of his other hand curled around the towel rail next to him.

He watched in tortured silence as Frost unlaced his boots and pulled them off, tossing them back into the main room along with his socks, then tugged Jesse’s pants down and pulled them clear of his feet, leaving him in his briefs.

Jesse watched him with wide, black eyes that shimmered with fear, as Frost left the bathroom and came back with a pair of scissors.

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, trying again to beg Frost not to bring the scissors near him, but could only make desperate noises.

Frost drank in Jesse’s distress as he slid the scissors in one armpit, cutting the younger man’s singlet horizontally across his chest, armpit to armpit.

Jesse looked down at his chest, at the slit in the black cloth, at the pale slice of flesh visible as the cloth gaped open like a wound.

Frost took a moment to evaluate the boy’s fear level. It was important to him that, initially at least, Jesse thought his life was in danger. Partly because it would make using him so much more delicious, but partly because Frost had a perverse desire to force the boy to value his life more than he clearly did. He still had his youth. How dare he squander it by abusing himself into this state.

He placed the jaws of the scissors at the hem of the boy’s shirt and sliced his way up to the kid’s throat. When he reached the top, he moved the blades slowly upwards against Jesse’s Adam’s apple, the point of the scissors forcing him to raise his chin and meet Frost’s eyes, or be skewered.

Frost smiled at the helpless fear in Jesse’s eyes and moved the scissors back to the boy’s left armpit, slicing the fabric from armpit to hem. Jesse’s singlet peeled away, leaving the left side of his chest exposed. Frost teased the cold blade of the scissors against the boy’s nipple, and Jesse made a terrified sound in the back of his throat.

Frost drank in the boy’s terror as a tear trickled down Jesse’s cheek.

He slid the scissors into the right armpit of the younger man’s Escort Ankara singlet and sliced down, the cold blade of the scissors pressing into Jesse’s skin then releasing, pressing against him further down.

The singlet shed away and fell to the ground.

Jesse broke into an open-mouthed sob of fear, and Frost drank it in. The boy’s terror almost had a fragrance, something sweet, like a rare flower blooming alone in a jungle that smelled of hot, moist soil.

Jesse watched Frost inhale him and felt despair. He was sure he was going to die. He’d accepted that. What terrified him was what Frost was going to do to him first.

Frost’s eyes travelled from Jesse’s face down the length of his body to his briefs.

“And now, the reveal. Let’s find out what we’re working with.”

He set the scissors on the bathroom vanity behind him and hooked his thumbs in either side of Jesse’s briefs, dragging them down at the front.

Shaved clean. Jesse had clearly intended to score tonight. That made Frost smile.

And score you have.

He dragged Jesse’s briefs the rest of the way down and pulled them away from his feet, leaving the boy naked and terrified, pressed back against the bathroom wall.

“Can you speak yet?”

Jesse made a choked noise of agony in reply. His eyes were shut, tears easing their way between his long lashes.

“That’s fine, that’s fine.” Frost touched the boy’s face again, then rested his palm against Jesse’s shoulder, feeling the bone clearly through his skin.

The kid really had let himself waste away. No wonder he couldn’t hold his drugs—there was nothing to him. Death by self neglect. Frost wondered if there would be any sport at all with this boy, or if he was wasting his time. Well. Only one way to find out.

But first, to get the smell of piss and sweat off the boy’s body.

“Right, let’s get you clean.”

He pulled Jesse away from the wall and pushed him into the shower.

Jesse braced himself against the wall and closed his eyes as Frost ran his hands over his body, soaping him thoroughly.

He was gentle, and there was nothing sexual about his touch, but Jesse sobbed again as Frost cleaned his most intimate places, humiliated that all he could do was submit to the invasion.

When he was done, Frost pulled Jesse out onto the bathmat and towelled him dry, while he braced himself against the wall.

He poured out a cap of mouthwash and handed it to Jesse, who swilled it, and then spat it into the sink.

“Can you walk?”

Jesse nodded, and Frost guided him back out to the main room and sat him on the bed.

Jesse pushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and found that if he concentrated, he could speak.

“What… are you going… t-to do… to me?”

Frost smiled at him.


He went into the kitchenette and came back with a plastic bag and threw Jesse’s boots into it, then bundled his clothes on top of them.

“You won’t be needing these.”

He dropped the plastic bag by the door.

“Right. Up on the bed.”

Jesse gave him a dark look that made Frost’s pants tighten. Good. The boy’s spirit was still in there.

“Up. On the bed.”

Jesse looked towards the door, and Frost could see him calculating how long it would take to reach it. Saw his eyes drop to the plastic bag that held his clothes, doing the maths. Could he grab that bag and flee? His eyes moving now to the bathroom, where the scissors, the only weapon he was aware of, lay on the counter.

His gaze returned to Frost.

“By all means try,” said Frost.

He put his hands in his pockets and watched Jesse expectantly.

Would he try for the scissors or the door? If he tried for the door, would he try and take his clothes? Or would he run naked and screaming through the halls of this building, where all he’d hear would be latches being locked, and the silence of a dozen people being glad it wasn’t them out in the concrete hallway.

Given the state of the boy, Frost was certain he could catch him. But he was curious to see what Jesse chose. To fight or flee.

Jesse lurched to his feet and stumbled for the bathroom. Frost was on him in a heartbeat, letting him get as far as reaching for the scissors before he pulled him back, the boy’s fingers dragging uselessly across the counter, the scissors just out of reach.

He wrestled Jesse around, snagging the scissors as he did, then pushed the boy back into the main room and threw him onto the bed.

Jesse turned over to face him, frozen with fear, as Frost walked around the bed with the scissors.

“Stay very still.”

Jesse lay still as instructed, and Frost placed a hand against the boy’s throat, pinning him to the bed. He held the scissors in front of his face.

“Very still.”

Jesse’s composure broke. He put both hands to Frost’s arm, tearing at the fingers pressing against his throat, but he was still weak, still drugged, malnourished.

The more Jesse struggled, the more pressure Frost placed against him, only lessening his grip when the boy’s struggles eased and his eyes started to glaze.

As soon as he felt the pressure ease off, Jesse did his best to pry Frost’s hand away.

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