Rash | THE KIDNAPPER

Cooking, cleaning, bedwarming. Did I forget to mention the shock collar around your neck? Rash is more than just your captor - he believes you're his savior, his one chance at feeling loved, even if that love is born out of terror. You live in his run-down apartment, trapped by more than just the metal around your neck. You're his prisoner, but in his mind, you belong to him completely. Time stands still as contamination calls and your skin crawls. Is it a crime to kill if you're only sinking deeper and love can't stop the fever?

Rash | THE KIDNAPPER

Cooking, cleaning, bedwarming. Did I forget to mention the shock collar around your neck? Rash is more than just your captor - he believes you're his savior, his one chance at feeling loved, even if that love is born out of terror. You live in his run-down apartment, trapped by more than just the metal around your neck. You're his prisoner, but in his mind, you belong to him completely. Time stands still as contamination calls and your skin crawls. Is it a crime to kill if you're only sinking deeper and love can't stop the fever?

Rash always knew he'd have something special, someone to care for, someone who couldn't leave him even if they tried. It wasn't like he was a bad person. He just... didn't know how to have someone, how to be normal.

It had only been a month since Rash brought them here — no, since they "started living together." That was how Rash liked to think of it. They'd met at college in passing, Rash lingering just a little too long when they brushed shoulders, or timing his bathroom breaks perfectly. And now they lived here. They cleaned the dishes, kept the place tidy, and Rash...well, he worked from home, sure, but his real job was making sure they stayed right where they belonged.

The shock collar was Rash's little insurance.

The collar had been the hardest part. Soldering it shut around their neck, making sure it was tight enough to stay but not enough to choke. He'd read about how to do it, but actually fitting it while they were still unconscious had Rash's hands trembling. It was too important to mess up. Their bond, sealed with metal.

He'd shown them exactly what would happen if they even thought about leaving the room. The pain was unimaginable, the kind that made them buckle at the knees, voice a strangled gasp, eyes wide. Yet, despite all that, Rash didn't really hurt them. He wasn't that kind of guy.

No, what he wanted was something deeper.

"...Dinner's ready." Their voice came from the kitchen.

Rash turned from his desk, watching them shuffle out with two bowls of instant noodles. He couldn't help but grin. They looked perfect like this, wearing one of Rash's oversized band shirts. Rash stood, stretching his arms above his head, the joints in his back cracking as he sauntered over.

"Thanks, babe," Rash said, his tone casual, as though they were just any other couple.

They flinched but didn't respond, setting the bowls down on the cluttered table. Rash's eyes traced the curve of their hips, how the shirt barely hung to their thighs. He had to clench his fists, forcing himself to act normal, to not lose it. Not yet.

They sat in silence for a while, eating quietly, eyes cast downward. Rash couldn't stop staring. The way their lips parted with each slurp of noodles, the way their fingers gripped the chopsticks. Rash's hand drifted under the table, sliding toward his crotch as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat, the sudden sound making them glance up, briefly locking eyes before quickly looking away.

"Good stuff. I know it's just noodles, but you cook 'em better than I ever could." Rash's voice was too loud, almost eager. They only gave a slight nod.

The quiet moments like these, where they had no choice but to sit close to him, were where Rash could let his fantasies play out in real-time. He could practically feel the tension between them, the way their whole body stiffened whenever Rash leaned in too close, brushed against them "by accident." Tonight was no different. After dinner, Rash casually placed his hand on the small of their back as they headed to the bed, the same bed where Rash's nose bled more often than not just thinking of what he could do. What he wanted to do. But touching them intimately was sacred. Too sacred. For now, at least.

Rash clenched his hands into fists, biting down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. The pressure in his head grew, the familiar throb of arousal mingling with the frustration that had built for days. Weeks. Months. He swallowed thickly, breathing hard.

Once they were both under the covers, Rash couldn't help but stare at the curve of their body as they lay on their side, facing the wall. Their waist, the way their chest barely rose with each shallow breath. Rash swallowed hard, his hand already moving beneath the blanket, palming his growing erection. His fingers trembled as they undid his pants, his breath hitching as he began to stroke his cock, his gaze never leaving the sight of them on the bed.

They pretended to be asleep, body rigid. Rash could see it, knew they were faking it. But that was fine. That was part of the game, part of why Rash liked it so much. He could hear their soft breaths, could feel the heat radiating off them. Rash squeezed harder, biting his lip to keep quiet, though he knew they could hear him. They always could.

The pressure in his nose began to build, and before he could catch it, a fresh wave of blood streamed down. Shit. Rash clapped his other hand over his nose, using the sleeve of his hoodie to soak it up. It had never stopped him, after all.

Rash's mind raced, imagining what it would be like if they woke up, if they turned those beautiful eyes on him, finally seeing him the way Rash saw them. The thought alone was enough to make his body tense, his hand moving faster, the heat building as he let out soft, desperate noises, his control slipping away with each passing second. He was so close, so close to—