bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter eighteen.

Tempting, but the mattress was already covered in crusty stains (some old, some fresh from the previous night). So, he took himself to the shower instead, and tried to resume where the dream had left off. Hot water hammered against his back as he jerked himself. But his conscious mind couldn't sustain the images of sex, and he soon went soft. The arousal was gone but the discomfort still lingered low in his scrotum. Case groaned again, accepting defeat. Physiology was weird.

"It's for the best," he muttered, lathering his hair with shampoo. He probably wouldn't be able to deal with the self-disgust if he'd nutted to the fantasy of hurting Hannah or plowing Sir. Some kinks were better off repressed.

The bar of soap had worn down to a sliver in his palm. Case continued to scrub himself clean (even though he'd showered before going to sleep). Bubbles foamed across his torso and between his legs, the tropical fragrance diluted with overuse. Under the shower spray, with the hiss from the pipes and the water splashing around him like heavy rain, Case didn't realize Sir had entered the basement until he was halfway across the room.

Oh. Case paused, his hand mid-swirl across his torso, soapsuds dripping from his abdomen down his legs. This was bound to happen eventually—for Sir to walk in while Case was indisposed, on the toilet or naked in the shower. Oh, I guess this is happening.

Sir carried the plastic tub, the contents rattling inside. He came to the shower cubicle, placing the tub on the ground for Case to see inside. New supplies: fresh toothpaste, a few bottles of Listerine; more rolls of toilet paper, another enema he wasn't going to touch; a 3-pack of antiseptic soap bars wrapped in a purple label for lavender fragrance and sensitive skin. New supplies, another month gone by, another tally-mark to scratch into the wall.

That means it's September. Case was meant to be starting senior year now. He was meant to be stressing about college applications, going to cheer rallies with his friends, maybe inviting a cute girl from English Lit class or Theater Club to homecoming.

Jay's still alive, the voice reminded him, the optimism twisting into Case as spite. Jay gets to go to cheer rallies and all that school-spirit shit. You could too, if you'd bothered to escape by now. Instead, you're wasting your time, trapped in here, doing nothing. A waste of a life—

Sir cocked his head to the side as he stared at Case under the shower spray. "Please," he said with a lazy smile, "don't rush on my account."

Case quickly rinsed himself then turned off the faucet. Wet hair curled and dripped in front of his eyes. He blew the water from his lips and wiped a hand over his face, deciding whether he should cup his hands over his privates or show defiance by remaining naked.

But then he saw Sir, really saw him staring, and an image from Case's nightmare flared in his mind: Sir underneath him, rosy skinned and moaning in the throes of pleasure and pain. Embarrassment burned his cheeks. He pushed the thought from his head with the same motion he brushed his wet curls back from his eyes. "Pass me a towel?"

Sir gave a thoughtful pout as he pretended to head-check the basement. A shrug, a Cheshire Cat grin, a nonverbal sorry, can't help you.

Case glowered back. He reached over the corrugated iron half-wall, grabbing the hand towel from the rail on the other side.

Sir propped his arms against the wooden framework of the shower, leaning slightly forward into Case's space. He nodded, gesturing to the supplies tub. "This enough to satisfy your needs?"

Case dried himself with a towel too small to wrap around his waist. "A game would be nice."

"A game?" Sir made a noise, a mix between a scoff and a suppressed laugh. "What, like Monopoly?"