He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 55

Tim swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and shifted his attention to the outfits by his side, picking them up and pulling them apart. He heaved a defeated sigh staring at the black sequins sewn into the scratchy fabric.

"I guess she wants us in these," he muttered, tossing one of the two pieces to Roger. The blonde flinched but caught it in his hands. He held it close to his chest as he watched Tim pick himself up and head for the brighter end of the hallway. He stopped at the intersection and peered his head over his shoulder. Catching Roger's anticipating gaze, he asked, "You think you can dress yourself?"

"I think so," the drummer answered, somehow finding it in himself to break into a smirk and tack on, "I mean, I did do it for twenty-one years before coming here."

"Let me know if you need help," Tim deadpanned before rounding the corner, leaving Roger in the dark corner of the basement by himself.

The blonde's face fell with his eyes to his lap, where, in his hands, he played with the piece of clothing that glimmered in the shadows—pulling it, twisting it, flipping it this way and that before holding it out in front of him to see that it was a corset.

Roger shot a forlorn look at intersecting halls, knowing the only way he was going to get into it was the help of someone else, and as much as he didn't want that someone else to be Tim, he couldn't bear the thought of asking any of the other boys for help. Not after last night.

Using the wall as support, he picked himself up with a grunt and stood on shaky legs. His short nails dug into the peeling wallpaper, and his back throbbed in pain. His breaths grew heavy, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead and beneath the soiled bandages dangling loosely now from his healing hands. His knees nearly buckled beneath him, but he managed to take a step forward, followed by another, and another. He clung to the wall as if it were his mother's hand and he was just learning to walk.

The blonde couldn't remember a time he'd ever felt this sore. There had been drum solos that made his hands bleed and his feet blister, and there had been nights with Jo and Brian a few nameless others where the fucking left him bedridden for at least the following morning, if not all day, but none of those experiences compared to this. None of them.

Finally, the blonde had reached the end of the hall, where it crossed into the other. His breathing was labored, and the temptation to let gravity cripple him was strong, but just as he was about to give in, he glanced to his right and saw that the brunette had been waiting for him, leaning against the wall with a smug grin slathered across his face.

The two exchanged no words before the brunette joined the blonde's side, taking the outfit into his possession and slipping a supportive arm around his waist. He helped him to the bathroom where the other three boys were, a single lantern burning in the far corner and giving the room a faint, eerie glow that cast ominous shadows on the walls and on their faces. A tense silence filled the air as their eyes were drawn to the opened door and fell upon Tim and Roger's.

It was like a game of graveyard, and Tim was "it." Brian sat perched on the ledge of the bath, trying to connect the tights he'd pulled over his calves to the matching knickers with the red feathered suspenders left behind for them. John and Neil, on the other hand, stood with the latter's back to the former's front. The younger of the two teenagers had his hands pressed against the wall, and the older was tugging at the corset's lace. Neil's corset was the only red one; the rest were black.

Their captor clenched his jaw and stepped over the threshold, dragging in his most recent captive with him. The blonde looked guiltily at the curly-haired student, but as soon as their eyes met, Brian tipped his head down, stretching the suspender once more in hopes of reaching the bottom edge of the women's underwear he squeezed into. As with his other attempts, he was unsuccessful.

John couldn't resist the smirk that pricked at the corner of his mouth, remarking as he yanked at the strings tying together Neil's corset, "How does it feel, Tim? Being on the receiving end for once?" The sixteen-year-old whimpered and dropped his head.

"It feels great, John," he answered bluntly, giving Roger a slight push towards the center of the room.

The blonde stumbled forward and hugged himself uncomfortably, glancing down at Brian and noticing the gashes in his shoulders and thighs—exposed by the corset that sat just below his nipples and the stockings that reached just above his knees. The sutures stuck out from his pale skin like needles, and Roger wondered what he would tell people if he were to make it out of here alive.

How could any of them explain what happened to them while they were gone? How could Roger explain his battered hands, or Neil his extremely thin frame? How could John explain what he did for all those years he was missing? Who would believe them?

"We're placing bets on who the winner's going to be," the nineteen-year-old blurted out as the brunette sauntered over to him and the other teenager. "My bet's on Neil. That's why I think he's the only one in red."

Tim scoffed, entertaining John's theory for a moment so short-lived, it went unnoticed. The small grin that formed on his lips quickly fell flat with the rest of his facial features, and with a strong hand on the older teenager's shoulder, the brunette pushed him aside and took his place behind the younger teen. "Or maybe—" He grabbed the lace and gave the ribbon one strong, final pull that straightened the teenager's posture with a loud crack. Neil drew in a sharp gasp, pressing his lips together to hold back the scream that wanted to slip past them. Tim, acting as if he hadn't heard the sound that sent shivers down the others' backs or seen the tear that trickled down Neil's cheek, looked at John and coldly picked up the rest of his sentence, suggesting, "—she just ran out of fabric."

"Yeah," he conceded, regretful that he'd brought it up. "Maybe."