He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 36

The guitarist's eyes rolled back in his head as the bassist pushed the plunger down with his thumb. Brian's body collapsed to the floor like putty—Tim kneeling down with him to ensure that every last drop of the drug entered his friend's bloodstream. When the syringe was empty, he pulled the needle out from the soft skin and tossed it carelessly aside. A sinister grin crawled across his lips.

Just like the others, when Brian came to, he found himself strapped to the examination table, naked and stripped of all his body hair. He was infuriated when he discovered that it was Tim who had done this to him, and similar to everyone before him, he tried to escape. The longing that Tim felt for many of the others was absent with Brian, and so the punishments he exacted were much worse. He tortured the curly-haired student in ways he didn't know were possible—his violent fantasies fueled by pure animosity instead of the typical lust.

The thrill was short-lived, though, with the brunette growing bored of his "project" when the student started to lose his will to survive, allowing him to do whatever he pleased without putting up a fight and hoping it would bring him closer to death. The option to keep Brian around wasn't one Tim wished to explore, though, so he had to find another way to entertain himself, and what better way to draw out the fun than by bringing in the man who started it all?

"Don't do it, Tim," Brian, starved and shivering, begged. The brunette stood in the threshold of the shed he'd secluded the guitarist in, denying him the decency he extended to the others in the form of a warm house, clothes, and food in their stomachs. Tim played with the fraying end of the scarf wrapped around his neck—snow dusting the back of his jacket, his hair, and his shoes that he stared at. "Please. He doesn't deserve it."

"Who's to say what one does or does not deserve?" he grumbled in response, refusing to lift his gaze from his feet.

The curly-haired student's bare, frost-bitten foot shook incessantly, his thin arms wrapped tightly around his emaciated torso—his ribs poking through his near translucent skin. "I know you deserve to go to hell," he muttered under his trembling, visible breath.

"Don't we all?" Tim replied gruffly, finally glancing at Brian who glared at him. The corner of the brunette's lip pricked upward. "We all have our perversions, our secrets. We take them to our grave, thinking all will be forgiven in the end and that the weight will be magically lifted off our shoulders, but it won't be. It can't be."

"Why? How are you so sure of that?" Brian didn't know why he engaged his captor in this conversation, or any conversation for that matter. The bassist had made it very clear that he didn't care for what the guitarist had to say, but it was the only form of human interaction Brian received, and at this point, he'd grown desperate.

"Because I've seen it, Brian; I've lived it," the brunette revealed angrily, stepping into the shed and having the wooden door slam shut behind him. The mix of snow and dead leaves crunched beneath his boots as he approached his captive, bending down so that he was eye-level with him. "There's some people in this world that shouldn't be forgiven; people that shouldn't get away with what they do. You, me, the sick fucks that raised us, we're not getting off easy—" he leaned forward, bringing their faces closer in stark contrast, with Brian's scruff overgrown and Tim's cheeks clean-shaven, "—and neither is Roger."

"I swear to god, Tim," the guitarist growled, too weak to physically retaliate. "If you lay a fucking hand on him—"

"Oh, I'm gonna do so much more than that, Brian," he promised, his blue-tinted lips parting in a sardonic grin. "Things you'd never imagine with that naïve little mind of yours." He flicked his forehead.