Scowling a bit, Desmond dropped his arms to his chest and unzipped his hoodie, allowing it to hang free on either side of him. This was sick and disgusting, and it had to stop. There were still yellow bruises on either one of his wrists, and the lovebite on his shoulder hadn’t yet healed entirely. They should have been reminders of why he shouldn’t be pursuing the very man who’d attacked him, but instead they served as encouragement, and that was probably the worst part.
 He slipped his fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt and dragged them lightly along the skin below his bellybutton. So, this was where his mind was going again. He traced tiny circles across his abdomen, hating himself the whole time, but knowing that he wasn’t going to stop. He knew that this road of simple touching would lead to him fucking himself while thinking about the possibilities of what would happen if and when he ever ran into Alex Mercer again.
 Feeling mostly terrible, Desmond tugged at the button of his jeans and pulled his zipper down before reaching in to grab hold of his cock. He wasn’t hard yet, but it never took much when he was thinking like this. He stroked himself gently, slowly, and only a few times at first just to get himself ready.
 After the initial attack, Desmond hadn’t really been sure what he’d felt. It had been this terrible mixture of being taken advantage of, of being abused, used, and pathetic. He’d felt like Alex had “claimed” him in some fucked up way, and a part of him had always expected to wake up in the middle of the night to see the other man looming over his bed much like Vidic had back at Abstergo, watching him sleep, keeping an eye on his prize. And other times he was afraid (or maybe hopeful) that he’d wake up and find Alex already on the bed with him, kneeling over his unconscious body with his own cock in his hand, beating off with that sadistic look in his eyes.
 …And sometimes, maybe Desmond imagined that after waking up, he’d pretend that he was still asleep so that Alex wouldn’t notice. He would lie there, still and silent and breathing deeply through his nose while Alex continued to watch him and quietly masturbate to the sight of him. Desmond only slept in his boxer-briefs these days, and so Alex would end up coming right onto the bare skin of his back. And then he’d have to clean up after himself so that Desmond was none the wiser in the morning, and so he would lean down and slowly lick his own semen off of him, delighting in the taste of Desmond’s body as he ignorantly slept.