Chapter 20: The Morning After
Pete swam upwards through layers of thick, clinging darkness. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the deep, unnatural sleep that had claimed him after the terror of the nightmare and the startling intimacy of Karn’s naked embrace. Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it an awareness of warmth and softness. Karn’s bed. The expensive sheets felt impossibly smooth against his skin. Dawn light, pale and cool, filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the vast, minimalist room in shades of grey.
He registered Karn first. The heavy arm was still wrapped firmly around his waist, pinning him against Karn’s body. Skin. Hot, bare skin pressed along the entire length of his back. Karn’s chest rose and fell steadily against his spine, a rhythm Pete instinctively matched for a few groggy seconds. Then he became acutely aware of the pressure. A distinct, insistent hardness pressed firmly against his lower back, right above the curve of his ass.
Understanding crashed over him like icy water. Karn’s cock. Hard. Throbbing slightly even in sleep. Pressing against him through the thin, borrowed pajama pants. Pete froze. Heat exploded across his face and neck, a fierce blush that burned despite the cool morning air. His breath hitched. He couldn’t move. Karn’s arm was an iron band, holding him flush against that intimate pressure. Every nerve ending screamed.
Karn stirred behind him. A low, sleepy sound rumbled in his chest, vibrating against Pete’s back. The arm around Pete’s waist tightened, pulling him even closer. Pete gasped, the sound sharp and involuntary in the quiet room. The hard length pressed more insistently against him as Karn shifted his hips minutely. A lazy smirk ghosted across Karn’s lips, felt rather than seen against the nape of Pete’s neck.
“Mornin’, Red Tag,” Karn murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something else, something darkly amused. His breath was warm on Pete’s skin. He deliberately ground his hips forward again, just a fraction, the movement unmistakable, rubbing the rigid length against Pete through the flimsy fabric.
Pete squeezed his eyes shut. His face felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think beyond the visceral shock of the contact, the memory of Karn's nakedness, and the horrifying echo of other hands, other violations, crashing against his fragile composure. Jason’s pitying smirk. Ball’s rough grip on his ass. The flash of Boom’s phone. Shame and panic warred within him, freezing him in place.
Karn chuckled softly, the vibration traveling through Pete’s body. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on the crimson flush spreading down Pete’s neck. Then his eyes, hooded and calculating, flicked downward, taking in the distinct ridge trapped within his own pajama pants, pressed firmly against Pete’s backside. A low whistle escaped him.
“Damn, Pete,” Karn murmured, his tone light but laced with a predatory glee that Pete had never heard directed at him before. He shifted again, deliberately flexing his hips, making the pressure undeniable. “Someone’s wide awake already. My little morning gift.” He laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. “You wanna see this? Bet it’s bigger than anything you’ve had shoved at you from the assholes downstairs.” The crude words landed like blows, twisting the knife of yesterday’s humiliation.
Pete flinched violently. “N-No!” The word burst out, choked and desperate. He tried to shrink away, but Karn’s arm held him fast. “Karn, please… don’t.”
Karn’s smirk deepened. His free hand, which had been resting near Pete’s ribs, began to move. Slowly. Deliberately. Sliding down Pete’s trembling flank, over the loose fabric of the borrowed t-shirt, heading inexorably towards the waistband of the pajama pants. Pete felt sick. The breakfast Karn had forced down last night threatened to come up.
“You said no,” Karn acknowledged, his voice dropping lower, losing any pretense of amusement. It was pure, chilling control. “But rules are rules, Pete. Can’t ignore policy, can we? Especially not the big one.” His fingertips brushed the elastic waistband. “Always Assist As Requested. Isn’t that right?”
His hand didn't stop. It slid under the loose waistband of the pajama pants Pete wore. Rough, warm fingers encountered bare skin, then the thin cotton of the borrowed briefs beneath – the only barrier left. Karn’s palm pressed flat against the undeniable bulge tenting the front of Pete’s underwear. Pete was hard. Trapped. Utterly exposed. The involuntary, humiliating response of his body to Karn’s proximity, to the lingering trauma, to the sheer overload of sensation and fear.
A choked whimper tore from Pete’s throat. He arched, trying to twist away from the violating touch, but Karn’s grip was like steel. Karn chuckled darkly, a rumble that vibrated against Pete’s back as his fingers curled slightly, palming the hard length confined in Pete’s briefs, applying deliberate, knowing pressure.
“See?” Karn breathed, his lips grazing Pete’s ear, his own erection grinding rhythmically against Pete’s ass. “Told you. Always Assist. Even when you think you don’t want it.” His fingers moved again, tracing the outline through the dampening cotton. “Especially then.”
Karn’s fingers squeezed, a deliberate, violating pressure through the cotton. Pete’s choked whimper dissolved into a ragged gasp. The violation was intimate, grotesque, twisting the knife of yesterday’s public degradation. Karn’s hips ground rhythmically against Pete’s ass, his own hardness a relentless counterpoint, the rough friction against the thin pajama fabric adding another layer of unwanted sensation. "Especially then."
Then Karn suddenly withdrew his hand, leaving Pete trembling and exposed. The arm around his waist vanished. Karn sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his naked torso gleaming in the grey dawn light. He looked down at Pete, sprawled and vulnerable, his expression unreadable, a chilling calm replacing the predatory glee. "Shower. Now." The command brooked no argument.
Pete scrambled back, clutching the duvet to his chest in a futile attempt at modesty, his heart hammering against his ribs. Karn was already swinging his legs out of bed, standing tall and unselfconscious in his nudity. He didn’t wait. He grabbed Pete’s wrist, hauling him roughly off the luxurious mattress. The duvet tangled around Pete’s legs and he stumbled, nearly falling.
"Karn, please—" Pete stammered, panic flaring anew.
"Shower," Karn repeated, his voice flat and final. He dragged Pete, stumbling and half-tripping, across the vast, cool expanse of the bedroom floor. The opulence felt like a cruel joke. Pete’s bare feet slipped slightly on the polished concrete as Karn shoved open the heavy bathroom door and propelled him inside, releasing him only when they stood under the harsh downlights near the massive shower enclosure.
Karn didn’t hesitate. He reached for the waistband of the borrowed pajama pants Pete still wore. Pete instinctively grabbed Karn’s wrists, a desperate, reflexive pushback. "No! Don't—"
Karn’s eyes snapped to his, cold and sharp. "You think this is a negotiation, Red Tag?" His voice was a low, dangerous rasp. He easily broke Pete’s weak hold. With brutal efficiency, Karn yanked the pajama pants and the thin briefs beneath down Pete’s legs in one sharp motion. Pete stood frozen, utterly naked, exposed under the unforgiving lights, the chill air raising goosebumps on his skin. Humiliation burned hotter than Karn’s earlier touch.
Karn stepped back standing naked before Pete, his body powerful and unashamed. Pete couldn’t help but look, his gaze flickering nervously, catching the defined muscles, the trail of dark hair leading down to his flaccid cock before snapping away, face flaming. Karn watched him, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips. He turned, twisted the shower dials. Hot water roared down instantly, steam quickly billowing.
He stepped under the powerful jets first, turning to face Pete, letting the water sluice over him. "Get in." Pete hesitated, trembling. "Now, Pete. Or I put you in." The threat was clear, devoid of the dark amusement from the bed, replaced by cold authority. Pete shuffled forward on numb feet, flinching as the hot spray hit his chilled skin.
Karn grabbed the expensive sandalwood bodywash, squeezing a generous amount into his palm. He began methodically soaping himself: arms, chest, stomach, the white lather foaming against his skin. Pete stood rigidly under the water, eyes fixed on the tiled wall, trying to become invisible. He flinched violently when Karn suddenly stepped close, pressing his soap-slicked chest against Pete’s back. Karn’s arms came around him, slick and slippery.
"Hold still," Karn murmured, his breath hot against Pete’s wet ear. He began moving, rubbing his soap-covered body against Pete’s back, his shoulders, his arms. It was a grotesque parody of intimacy, Karn using himself as a living washcloth. Pete squeezed his eyes shut, the slide of Karn’s slick skin against his own both alien and deeply violating. Karn’s hands slid down Pete’s flanks, pulling him closer, grinding their bodies together, the lather spreading, bubbles clinging to Pete’s skin where Karn moved against him.
Karn’s hands moved lower still, slick palms sliding over Pete’s ass cheeks, pulling him tighter. Pete gasped, his own traitorous body reacting to the overwhelming stimuli – the heat, the water, the relentless friction. He felt the unmistakable hardness pressing against the small of his back, Karn’s erection growing as he moved. Karn chuckled darkly, a low rumble Pete felt through his bones. One soapy hand snaked around Pete’s hip.
Karn’s fingers closed around Pete’s half-hard cock. Pete cried out, trying to jerk away, but Karn held him fast with his other arm. "Look at that," Karn breathed against his ear, his voice thick with a predatory satisfaction that had been absent in the shower the night before. "Getting all worked up, aren't you?" He gave a slow, deliberate stroke. Pete whimpered, shame warring with unwanted physical response. "Don't be shy. I saw it many time already."
He released Pete’s cock only to grab Pete’s wrist firmly. Karn pulled Pete’s hand away from where it had instinctively moved to cover himself. Karn guided Pete’s soap-slick hand down, pressing it firmly against his own rigid erection. Pete’s fingers instinctively curled around the hard, hot shaft. "There," Karn whispered, his voice rough. "See? Fair’s fair. You see mine, I see yours. Purple Tag transparency." He forced Pete’s hand to slide along his length, a groan escaping Karn’s lips.
Pete’s breath hitched in ragged gasps. The feeling of Karn’s cock in his hand, hard and insistent, combined with Karn’s body sliding against his back, was overwhelming. His own trapped erection throbbed. "Karn... please... stop..." he choked out, the plea barely audible over the drumming water.
Karn’s other hand tightened on Pete’s hip, grinding himself against Pete’s ass. "Stop?" Karn murmured into his ear, his tone laced with dark amusement. "Can't do that, Red Tag. You heard the rule. Always Assist As Requested. You don't have the option to decline an order, remember? Especially not from me. Not today." He emphasized the command with another thrust against Pete’s backside and a squeeze of Pete’s hand around his cock. "Look at it. Look at what you're holding."
Tears mixed with the shower spray on Pete’s face. He felt trapped, violated anew, not by faceless executives but by the one person he’d thought was safe. The pressure, the proximity, the relentless command… it broke something. His voice was a shattered whisper. "Y-Yes."
"Good," Karn purred. He released Pete’s wrist but kept his hand firmly on Pete’s hip. "Turn around." Pete hesitated, trembling violently. Karn’s grip tightened warningly. "Now, Pete."
Reluctantly, jerkily, Pete turned within the circle of Karn’s arms, still under the pounding water, still covered in slick bubbles. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Karn’s collarbone, unable to look down or up. Karn shifted, pulling Pete fractionally closer. The tips of their erections brushed. A jolt of pure, electric sensation shot through Pete. He gasped, his eyes snapping shut.
Karn let out a low groan. "Fuck, Pete," he breathed, his voice tight with arousal. He shifted again, pressing their trapped lengths together more firmly through the slippery lather. "Seeing you like this…" He trailed off, his gaze raking over Pete’s flushed face, his trembling form. "Completely naked. Blushing like a virgin. It’s… fucking erotic." He ground his hips, the slippery slide maddening. Pete whimpered, the sound lost in the steam.
The intimacy, the blatant carnality in Karn’s words and actions, the feel of him hard against his own cock… it was too much. The violation was complete, deeper than the conference room, because Karn knew him, and Karn was using that. Pete’s legs gave way. He sank abruptly to the slick tiled floor of the shower, curling into a tight ball, his knees drawn up to his chest. He buried his face in his arms, hiding.
"I can't," he choked out, his voice muffled, thick with tears and utter shame. "Too much... too shy... Karn, please..." The steam swirled around his huddled form. He felt exposed, vulnerable, broken beyond anything Jason or Ball had managed. This was Karn.
Karn looked down at him, water cascading over his own body. The predatory tension eased slightly. He sighed, a sound almost lost in the downpour. A soft, low chuckle escaped him, devoid of the earlier malice. "Alright, alright. Shit, Pete." He reached down, his hand landing gently on Pete’s wet hair, a stark contrast to moments before. "Sorry. Didn't mean to tease you that hard. Bad joke." His thumb brushed Pete’s temple almost absently. "C'mon. Up. Let's get you cleaned up for real this time. Properly."
He gripped Pete’s upper arm firmly, pulling him back to his feet. Pete swayed, his eyes red-rimmed and downcast. Karn moved methodically now, grabbing the washcloth this time. He lathered it properly and began washing Pete’s back, his shoulders, with a focused, impersonal efficiency that was almost worse than the earlier violation. He washed Pete’s arms, his chest, avoiding intimate areas. He crouched to wash Pete’s legs, his motions brisk.
He stood, rinsed Pete thoroughly under the water, then grabbed another washcloth to quickly, efficiently wash himself. The erotic charge was gone, replaced by a tense silence broken only by the water. Karn turned off the shower. The sudden quiet was heavy. He stepped out onto the bathmat, grabbing two large, heated towels. He wrapped one around Pete’s shoulders, another around his own waist.
They stood dripping in the sudden stillness of the steam-filled bathroom. Karn ran a hand through his wet hair, his gaze assessing Pete, who still trembled, eyes fixed on the floor. "Right," Karn said, his voice returning to its usual, more controlled tone, though lacking its usual warmth. "Clothes. Can't have you wandering around like that." He gestured for Pete to follow and strode out into the bedroom.
Karn went straight to his vast walk-in closet. Pete hovered near the doorway, clutching the towel tightly around himself, water dripping onto the expensive rug. Karn surveyed his meticulously organized racks, pulling items without hesitation. He tossed a pair of dark grey chinos and a soft, navy blue crewneck sweater onto the bed. "These'll fit okay. Probably a bit long, but whatever." He selected underwear—simple black boxer briefs—and added them to the pile.
He turned to his own selection: tailored charcoal trousers, a crisp white shirt, a deep burgundy tie. Efficient, powerful. He glanced back at Pete, who hadn’t moved. "Get dressed, Pete. We’re leaving soon."
Pete flinched slightly at the command. "Leaving? Where?" His voice was small, hoarse.
Pete stood dripping by the closet door, clutching the towel like armor. Karn barely glanced his way, pulling on the crisp white shirt, the fabric whispering against his skin. "Sean's office." He fastened the cuffs with sharp, precise movements.
"Sean's...?" Pete blinked, water trickling down his neck. "But... it's a holiday, Karn. The Tower's shut down." He remembered the eerie quiet of the streets last night, the deserted lobby. Everyone was gone. Safe. Except him.
Karn turned, his gaze slicing through the steam still curling from the bathroom. "Exactly." He stepped closer, the scent of expensive soap and unresolved tension sharp in the air. "Because it's a holiday." His voice dropped, low and insistent. "So, no witnesses. No interruptions. You’re coming with me."
Karn closed the distance in two strides. He didn't touch Pete, but his presence was a wall. "Look at me." Pete forced his eyes up, meeting Karn’s intense stare. There was that familiar protective fire, but banked with something harder, something vengeful. "Listen," Karn said, each word deliberate. "I need you to believe in me right now. Just this. Trust me. Can you do that?" His eyes held Pete’s, searching.
Believe in him. Pete’s mind raced. The shower’s rough intimacy, the confusing violation followed by that almost-tender washing... Karn’s fury last night, palpable in the car, directed at them – Jason, Ball, Derek, Liam, Anya. Not at Pete. Never truly at Pete. Who else was left? Those ‘friends’ had orchestrated his destruction, filmed it, laughed. Karn was the only one who’d pulled him out. The only one who’d tried to wash it off. The only one who hadn’t joined in. He was all Pete had left.
A fragile certainty settled over the panic. However Karn scared him sometimes, however the rules twisted things between them, Pete knew, deep in his gut, he could trust Karn. Especially now. Especially about this. He swallowed hard. "Okay," he whispered. "I trust you."
Karn gave a single, sharp nod. "Good. Get dressed." He turned back to his tie, leaving no room for doubt.
Pete moved numbly to the bed, dropping the towel. The borrowed clothes felt alien yet infinitely better than the flimsy briefs. The boxer briefs were soft, the chinos surprisingly well-fitting if long, the sweater thick and warm, swallowing him a little. He felt almost human again, hidden beneath Karn’s armor.
Karn finished adjusting his tie, the burgundy silk a slash of color against the stark white. He surveyed Pete. "Kitchen. Now. Breakfast." He gestured towards the hall. "Fridge is stocked. Make something. For both of us."
Pete blinked, the domesticity jarring after the raw tension. "Me? Breakfast?" Cooking. Something normal. Something he knew how to do. A tiny flicker of his old self surfaced. He almost smiled. A gentle, involuntary laugh escaped him. "Karn... you’re always Karn," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "Still hopeless in the kitchen, huh?" The words came out before he could stop them, casual, familiar, like back in their tiny shared college apartment when Karn burning toast was a running joke.
The silence that followed was instant and icy. Pete froze. His eyes widened in horror as the reality slammed back down. Purple Tag. Red Tag. Always Assist As Requested. He’d just mocked a Purple Tag. Informally. Familiarly. He’d forgotten his place. Utterly. Panic seized him.
He dropped. Not a stumble, but a deliberate, sharp descent onto his knees on the plush bedroom rug, eyes fixed on the floor. "Sir! I apologize!" The formality was thick, suffocating. "That was... unacceptable. I spoke out of turn. I deeply regret my disrespect. It won't happen again." His voice trembled, bracing for the reprimand, the reminder of his status.
Karn stared down at him. Pete kneeling. Again. The sight wasn't of submission this time, but of terrified self-preservation. A long, heavy sigh escaped Karn, filled with a deep, weary frustration that seemed to fill the luxurious room. He ran a hand over his face.
"Jesus, Pete. Get up." There was no anger in his voice, just profound exhaustion. "Look, I'm... weirdly happy you remember I'm a disaster with a spatula." He paused, his gaze fixed on Pete’s bowed head. "But this...?" He gestured vaguely at Pete kneeling. "This is what I can't stand. I told you. I want us to be friends. Not Purple Tag and Red Tag. Friends. Just Pete and Karn. Like we were at State. Before all this… corporate caste system bullshit took over." His voice hardened slightly. "I didn't drag you out of that hellhole last night just to throw what we had straight into the garbage."
The words hung in the air. Not an order. A plea. Pete lifted his head slowly, tears welling instantly, blurring Karn’s stern face. The sincerity cut through the fear, deeper than any command. He wasn't just Red Tag Riverton. Not to Karn. Not here. Not completely. He was still Pete. Still Karn’s friend.
A sob escaped him, ragged and raw. Tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down his cheeks as he scrambled clumsily to his feet. "Th-thank you," he choked out, the words thick with emotion. "Karn... thank you. For... for still treating me like... like your friend." The last word was barely a whisper, fragile and precious.
Karn watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nodded curtly towards the door. "Breakfast, Pete. Before we deal with Sean. And… try not to burn the penthouse down." The faintest ghost of their old camaraderie flickered in his eyes, quickly masked. "I'll be in the living room." He turned and strode out, leaving Pete alone in the bedroom, trembling not with fear now, but with a bewildering mix of grief, gratitude, and the terrifying, fragile warmth of being seen.