Someone

Oliver looked down at the water swirling into the drain. Though his anus seemed to scream the loudest about the pain of violation, there wasn't a part of him that didn't ache. He couldn't rationalize that his own teammates would do this to him. Sure, who hadn't heard snickers about wrestlers rubbing so close together and such, but he'd never quite believed it of his comrades. Maybe because though he was gay, no other wrestler had ever propositioned him and he'd been wrestling since high school. He wasn't the biggest boy, but he was quick and his body was well built and lithe. However, when there are three men at the college level of wrestling ganging up on a freshman, there is little you can do, he reasoned.

He was so lost in his thoughts of pain, humiliation, and now musing what it is he should do, he didn't even hear the door open. The wounded athlete couldn't help but gawk at the lean, pale figure who had simply walked in, discarded his towel and stoked the shower spigot right next to him. Not just because Davis Malloy was an enigmatic figure around campus who, despite being a tennis player who spent a good deal of time outside managed to stay nearly preternaturally pale, but because of the other man's complete indifference to Oliver's suffering.

After mouthing wordlessly for a moment, Oliver finally spoke. "Excuse me," he said huskily.

Malloy simply looked down at him. He didn't even try to pretend he didn't notice the man, but simply looked down at the sprawled wrestler blankly. "Yes?"

"Umâ€"" Oliver didn't know what to say. ‘Help me' should have been obvious to anyone, but Malloy seemed to coldly disregard what he was observing. "What are you doing here?" he instead vocalized.

"Was working out. I'm on the tennis team, so I have rights to use the gym," he gestured with his thumb behind him to where the gym was, which had a large window onto the shower area.

Instinctively, Oliver looked back towards the small dank room overcrowded with ineffectual machines and shoddy weights. He'd always thought it odd that the workout room looked onto the open showers that had no stalls. It was almost as if the private college were trying to breed homosexuals. However, his next thought was much darker and he turned slowly to a prick of outrage as he looked back up at the aristocratic Malloy.

"You saw!" Oliver charged.

"Oh, yes. I saw. And then as I was coming in, I heard Stone recounting the deed to Perry and Jamison. I was amused that they stopped long enough to call me a fag," he snorted. It was not the first time that Davis had been accused of homosexuality. He didn't find it particularly bothersome. The truth was no one had really seen the man with anyone: male or female. Though rumors of a girl earlier in the year who had left the school suddenly had been passed around, no one really recalled the girl in particular and was passed over as an urban myth.

Oliver finally looked back to the man standing in front of him as he shifted his hip, feeling another shooting pain emanating from the root of his pain as his torn and violated anus shifted and he gasped out in the pain of it. In the midst of the shock of his reinvigorated injury, he happened to catch motion in the direction of the man and his eyes fixated on the tapered, perfectly manicured fingers of Davis stroking over his perfect, mauve pink erection. Oliver's mouth opened in shock and his brown eyes cast up to Davis's face, which was contorted in bliss just above the spray of the shower.

"You- you-" Oliver sputtered

"I always do this after a workout. It's nothing personal," he assured Oliver breathily as his back arched into the warm water that cast down in soothing tendrils over the flexing muscles of his body. The man's hand balled up around his length and his fingers thrummed over it delicately. His thigh muscles flexed as his whole body exerted the effort of getting himself off.

Not sure if he'd ever seen anything quite so obscenely beautiful, Oliver simply lay there watching. Watching the man's other hand creep over his chest and clutch and finally clutch at the opposing shoulder as his face contorted in concentration. Oliver had never seen another man jerk off, and even when he'd done it, he couldn't recall ever working quite this hard at it, and certainly not getting nearly as much bliss out of it as Davis seemed to. He was at once awed, intimidated and slightly jealous of the man's abilities and felt his own abused erection stirring in spite of himself.

For his part, Davis didn't seem to mind an audience. In fact, he seemed to be relishing it, even going so far as to slightly turn his body so that the raped man on the floor could enjoy the view. "Agh!" he grunted out as his pale lips parted and his cheeks flushed, as did his chest. The muscles on his neck started to strain as his jaws flexed. He was now leaning more into the water and it splashed over his pinched-up face. The water shoved back his shoulder-length baby-fine blonde hair, plastering it down against itself.

Fingers flexing furiously now, hips pumping in an almost wild rhythm, the hot pink head of his erection turned nearly purple as he extended to his longest and fullest length, which Oliver was just now registering to be of quite an accomplished size. Finally, long, thick ropes of ejaculate spewed forth in dramatic spurts against the white tile of the bathroom. The water deflecting off of Davis' shuddering body caught up with the leavings, dragging them down the wall slowly, wiping away all evidence of this performance.

With a few more shuddering breaths, Davis slowed his pulling, moving it to a slower, milking motion, allowing the rest of the ejaculate to ooze out into the raining water and spiral down the drain to join the wrestling team's as well as the slowing blood from Oliver's despoiled anus. After blowing out a long and satisfied sigh, Davis gave a long stretch, raising his hands into the air and pawing at it in a cat-like gesture. Then he simply went on with his shower, soaping himself up and rinsing as if nothing extraordinary had happened, and as if he were alone.

It took Oliver a few moments to collect himself. He shook his head and blinked a few times as he looked back down at the water and the man's perfectly formed feet. He'd never noticed feet before, but the nails were clean and groomed, honed to perfection as the rest of the man was. Again, Oliver had to shake off his thoughts, because there were so many questions in his weary mind. And as beautiful as this man may well be, his actions were dangerously sociopathic.

"Wh-Why didn't you help?" Oliver finally warbled.

"Help?" Davis seemed taken aback for a moment, as if he didn't know who might need help. "Oh… you mean why didn't I help you? Well…" he gestured down to his slender tennis player's body. And it was true. While Davis was well muscled, it was in more of a wiry and stringy way and not at all the bulk and brawn of the three other boys. "And besides, you were so clearly enjoying it, I thought it was consensual."

"WHAT?!?!" Oliver squalled. "I was screaming! You didn't hear that?"

Rolling his eyes as he soaped up his hair with his own shampoo that impregnated the otherwise stale musky air with mint and rosemary, Davis said, "Of course I heard the screaming. I wasn't struck deaf simply because I was working out. But I also wasn't struck blind. I saw your face. You can deny it all you want to yourself, but I know what I saw. Whether you actually wanted those particular men or not, you wanted the brutality. You loved it as much as you hated it." Finishing his speech, Davis turned around and rinsed his hair, closing his cold, gray eyes as he leaned back into the stream.

It took Oliver a moment to respond. Not just because he was shocked at the words, but because he couldn't quite take his eyes off of the water cascading down the man's body, observing the taut muscles straining to hold him in the awkward position and the spent cock against the matted and wet nest of dirty blonde curls. "You're insane!" he finally gasped out.

Moving forward from the water and hand squeezing the liquid from his tresses, Davis gave the huddled man a shrug before turning around and pressing the tap off. "Alright, I'm insane. You enjoy getting gang raped, and I'm the nut. Sure, why not?"

"You're not going to help me, are you?"

Giving a sigh, Davis shook his head and crouched down. He encircled the larger man's chest with his arms, sliding his slender ones through his armpits. Pushing up with his legs, he dragged Oliver up to stand next to him. "Use your legs, damn it. They didn't break any bones!" Davis grunted at the larger man.

Oliver had gone limp with the first touch of the smaller man, as if surrendering to his whims. Perhaps he thought the smaller man was going to carry him, he didn't know. But dangling from Malloy's arms was rather painful and standing on his own two feet seemed like a good idea, so he did it. Soon after he did, Davis moved the man in front of the still running spray of the spigot Oliver had originally turned on to shower himself. Lowering his arms, the pale man gently spread out Oliver's ass cheeks, exposing the injured anus, letting the water wash over it. At first it stung and Oliver cried out against it, but soon it soothed over.

Letting the stream of water do the work of cleaning the man in front of him, Davis pulled himself back a little to look into Oliver's brown eyes. He'd never paid much mind to the freshman, figuring him to be a meathead like every other man on the wrestling team. "I don't know your name. My name is Davis. Davis Malloy," he said. His gray eyes scanned the almost innocent face and the lips that were nearly too full to belong to a man, not to mention the large brown doe eyes and the adorable smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks that you could only really see up close.

"I know who you are," Oliver said and then blushed. "I mean, sort of everyone does, I guess. Anyways, I'm Oliver, Oliver Oakes." He felt foolish, like a star struck child. But on a small campus like this, someone with the wealth, wit and complete unattainability that the enigmatic Malloy had, people tended to notice and to talk.

In response, Davis merely snorted. "I see my reputation precedes me. Well, don't believe everything you hear," he quipped as he backed away from Oliver. "Can you walk?" he asked him.

Oliver took a few uncertain steps. "I think so," he responded but still winced in pain.

"You'll live," Davis said and then turned and headed for the table holding the towels. Grabbing one up, he leaned into it and dried off his hair and then blotted the extra moisture off of him. "I'll see you around," he added before grabbing another towel to wrap around his waist. He stopped to give Oliver another long look over and then turned on his heel.

Standing there uncertainly, Oliver simply watched the simple elegance of the man's movements. He longed to beg the man to stay with him, to help him wash up and take him back to his dorm and stay the night. He could almost feel the way that pale hair would splay over his body as they would cuddle. And then, waking up in each other's arms in the morning, he'd give himself to Davis and he'd fuck him hard, hard like Davis had just fucked himself.

The slam of the door awoke Oliver from his reverie, and he found himself alone. Again the shame of his teammates taking him washed over him and he turned back around to press his forearm against the bright white of the tile wall. His forehead soon followed and he started to shudder in long wailing sobs. And it wasn't just the violation, or the humiliation. It was the realization that Davis was right. He had enjoyed it. He'd enjoyed the roughness, the beating, the loud and wild grunting and being unable to do anything about it. He just didn't enjoy who had done it.

Mark Stone. How he had lingered and lusted over that name up until today. His advances had no doubt premeditated this attack. And Oliver had wanted him, just not the whole team. Maybe his eyes lingered too long for too often over Stone's body. Stone had fucked Oliver a few times over the past few weeks, although he insisted that he wasn't gay. Perhaps that was Oliver's mistake. He'd told Mark he loved him the night before. And now this. Outted. Raped. Humiliated.

Again Oliver let out another long wail of anguish and pain. He was alone and betrayed. His body burned and ached and his mind felt fragile and unwoven. But at the edge of his mind, he could still feel Davis. Holding him. It hadn't been anything other than a plutonic touch. His hands and body's movements were calculated and efficient. Davis hadn't touched him any more than he needed, but Oliver couldn't help but feel connected to the man. Despite his screaming through the attack and everything else, Davis had seen through him. Seen to the very core of his feral need.

The thought of Malloy, his body, his understanding of what Oliver wanted thrilled him and started to slowly and methodically shut out everything else. Getting near the riddle gave Oliver a sudden new focus, a place to put his anguished energies. And slowly the ethereally beautiful face clouded out his other thoughts. He could deal with Mark if Davis were on his side. If he had calm and collected Davis by his side, he could deal with anything. So, with a resolved punch at the spigot to turn the water off, Oliver turned from the showers with a renewed vigor. He would get to the bottom of Davis Malloy.