Rókus
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 4
A Drugged Orgy
The week passed in a blur of sun and soil. Rókus found a simple peace in his work with the city gardeners. The steady rhythm of pruning and planting allowed his mind to wander, to lose itself in the clean scents of damp earth and blooming flowers. It was a welcome change from the turbulent chaos of his last two weekends.
At lunchtime, the small team scattered. Rókus, eating a sandwich on a park bench, was suddenly struck by a thought that felt both obvious and profound: he'd had sex, he'd found Laren, but did he have any sort of a relationship? The question hung in the air, a puzzle without an answer.
His eyes scanned the newly planted flower beds, settling on a young man sitting alone on a nearby bench. Rókus hadn't seen him before. He was tall and lithe, with the long, lean legs of a runner and a gentle round face that seemed at odds with his athletic frame.
"Hi, I'm Rókus," he said, moving to join him on the bench. "I haven't seen you before."
The young man's smile was warm and slightly shy. "I'm new. Tomas. I just started today. I'm from Sorsele, a small town in the north. The council found me a tiny studio to live in."
"Why did you leave your hometown?" Rókus asked, a genuine curiosity in his voice.
Tomas hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands. "It was... a disagreement with my father." He looked up, catching Rókus' questioning look. "It's a long story."
"Sorry," Rókus said, a little flustered. "I'm being too personal."
"No, it's alright," Tomas said, a new resolve in his eyes. "It's the whole reason I left. The disagreement... it was about me being gay. I wanted to be myself, to live my life, and he just... couldn't accept it. So I came here to start over."
Rókus nodded, a wave of empathy washing over him. "I understand," he said quietly. "My dad had no problems at all with me being gay. He only ever wanted me to find a nice guy." The words were an easy confession, a sharp contrast to the secret he'd been keeping to himself. He looked at Tomas, and for the first time in a long time, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter.
At lunchtime on Friday, Rókus sat with Tomas on their usual bench, the afternoon sun warm on their faces. The week's work had been a gentle distraction, but Rókus couldn't shake the idea forming in his head.
"I was wondering," Rókus began, his voice a little shy. "Do you want to come to a club with me tonight? The one I go to?"
Tomas looked up, surprised. "A gay club?"
Rókus shifted, a familiar nervousness creeping in. "Well, it's not entirely gay. It's... mixed. It's fine," he added quickly, hoping to reassure him. "I'll be with you."
Tomas hesitated, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've never been to a place like that before."
He had been watching Rókus all week, a quiet fascination with the sweet, gentle boy who had moved to sit beside him. The honesty in Rókus' eyes, his vulnerability, it drew Tomas in. He had come to Stockholm to be himself, to explore this new life, and here was an opportunity, a chance to face his fears with someone he already felt a connection with.
"I'm not sure," Tomas said slowly. "It's... a lot."
Rókus nodded in understanding. "I know. But it could be good. It's music and dancing. And... you don't have to be alone." He couldn't bring himself to mention the other reason, the one that made his heart pound with a mix of fear and excitement. The possibility that he would see Laren again.
Tomas looked at Rókus, a soft smile spreading across his face. He saw not just a guy he was attracted to, but someone who was as nervous as he was. "Okay," he said. "I'll come. But you have to promise to stay with me."
Rókus' own smile was bright and relieved. "I promise."
Friday night, Rókus waited at the agreed spot, his heart a mix of nerves and excitement. He was pleased that Tomas had decided to come, but when he saw him walking towards him, he was stunned. Tomas was beautiful. He wore a simple white t-shirt that hugged his athletic shoulders and a pair of dark, tight fitting jeans that showcased his long, powerful legs. His hair was styled, falling just so over his brow, and the soft light of the streetlamps seemed to catch the gentle kindness in his eyes.
Inside the club, Tomas took it all in, his eyes wide as he absorbed the pulsating lights and the press of bodies. Rókus led him to the bar and called out to Carl. "Two of your finest," he said with a grin. Carl, recognising Rókus, just smiled and served two of the familiar purple cocktails, complete with their little rainbow umbrellas.
As Tomas nervously sipped his drink, his eyes wandered over the dancers, but they always returned to Rókus. He was drawn to the contrast between Rókus' usual shyness and his growing confidence in this new environment. The more Rókus was drawn into the club's energy, the more attractive Tomas found him.
"You're okay with this?" Rókus asked, leaning closer to be heard over the music.
Tomas nodded, a small smile on his face. "It's a lot. But it's... good. Thanks for bringing me."
"I'm glad you came," Rókus said, his voice earnest. "It's easier with a friend."
Tomas took another sip of his drink, his eyes lingering on Rókus' face. "Yeah. A friend," he murmured, his voice softening. "I've not had many of those."
"Me neither," Rókus replied. "But maybe that's about to change." He raised his glass to Tomas, a silent toast to the night ahead and the promise of a different kind of connection.
As the two boys stood drinking at the bar, Laren's eyes were scanning the crowd. When he spotted Rókus, he immediately recognised him and he noticed just how attractive he was— the innocent, boyish look that had captivated him last time. But tonight, Rókus wasn't alone. A new, equally attractive boy was with him. Laren's mind raced with a thrilling new idea. He crossed the dance floor with a confident stride, his gaze fixed on the two of them.
"Who's this?" he demanded, his eyes devouring Tomas.
Rókus' heart sank. He hadn't wanted this. "This is Tomas," he said, the words feeling foreign and heavy in his mouth. "Tomas, this is Laren."
Tomas felt Laren's stare like a physical weight. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering about the relationship between Rókus and this enormous, intimidating man. Laren, perceptive as ever, picked up on the awkwardness. He smiled, a glint in his pale blue eyes, and slung a large arm around Tomas' shoulder in a sideways hug. It was a calculated move, a power play designed to stir a flicker of jealousy in Rókus and to gauge Tomas' reaction.
Laren ordered another round of drinks for the three of them, ignoring Carl's knowing look as he served them. With the drinks on the bar, he took advantage of a moment when both boys were distracted, scanning the dance floor and talking to each other. He quickly produced a small packet from his pocket and dropped a tiny red pill into each of their glasses.
The three of them moved to the dance floor, and the pill began to take effect. The world around Rókus and Tomas blurred into a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds. The music seemed to pulse through their veins, filling them with a euphoric energy. Laren, a skilled mover, danced with a practiced ease, his hands roaming with deliberate intent. As the beat dropped, he pulled Tomas close, his large palm resting on the small of the boy's back, his fingers tracing circles on his waist. Then, he shifted his attention to Rókus, his hand slipping down to Rókus' rear. The touch was both a promise and a command, a silent invitation to give in to the night's temptations.
Under the influence of the substance, their inhibitions melted away. Laren's soft words, "Let's go somewhere we can talk, a little more private," felt like a suggestion from a friend, not a predator. The two boys, lost in the drug's haze, nodded in agreement. They didn't know exactly what they were getting into, although Rókus maybe did, but he didn't care. They were drawn to Laren's confident swagger, to the thrill of the unknown, and to the intoxicating feeling of being young and alive.
The three of them left the club, a duo of unsuspecting victims and a man on the hunt, a dangerous game ready to begin.
Rókus felt a shiver of déjà vu as they stepped into Laren's flat. The minimalist decor, the low lighting—it was all exactly as he remembered. For Tomas, however, everything was new. His eyes, wide with a mixture of awe and nervousness, darted around the unfamiliar space.
Laren, ever the host, went straight to the bar cart. He poured three drinks, and as he did, he skillfully dropped another tiny, red pill into each glass. He handed one to Rókus and one to Tomas. Unaware, the two boys took their first sip, and a wave of warmth spread through them, intensifying there already detached state and taking them away from the reality of the moment.
Laren settled onto the plush leather sofa next to Rókus, his body radiating heat. He leaned in and kissed him, a long, deep kiss. Then, with a predator's cunning, he gently manoeuvred the two boys, pulling them into a tight embrace. "You two should kiss," he murmured, his voice a low command.
Tomas, lost in a fog of newfound freedom, didn't hesitate. He was deeply drawn to Rókus. Their lips met, and his body responded to the touch, a pleasant hum of desire coursing through him. It was a kiss of pure, uninhibited curiosity, a moment of genuine connection that felt electric and real.
Laren watched for a moment, his eyes gleaming. Then he moved, his hands gliding over their bodies. He pulled off Rókus' jacket, then Tomas', his fingers fumbling with their shirts. He unzipped their trousers, and with a practiced ease, began to undress them both. This is very hot, he thought to himself, a satisfied smile on his face. The scene unfolding before him, two beautiful, trusting boys, was his ultimate fantasy. He was in complete control, and the night was just beginning.
Tomas saw flashes of the scene, a disjointed movie reel playing in his mind. He was engrossed with Rókus, consumed by him, yet there was always someone else there—a giant, a powerful man. He felt like a spectator in his own body.
He found himself naked, spread over the soft leather sofa. His head lolled back, and he looked into Rókus' eyes, which appeared glazed and distant. There was a moment of waiting, a breathless pause, and then a profound shift. It was as if he weren't truly there, but he knew what was happening. He felt the giant of a man entering him, his legs pushed wide apart. The sensations were both vivid and remote, a strange mix of pleasure and violation.
The night dissolved into a haze of drugs, alcohol, and bodies. Laren, the predator in control, moved between the two boys with a calculated grace. He was the conductor of this silent symphony, dictating every touch, every movement. The pills had stripped Rókus and Tomas of their inhibitions, their boundaries, and their will.
Laren kissed Rókus deeply, his hands roaming over his body, while he simultaneously ran a hand through Tomas' hair. He then turned to Tomas, pushing him down onto the sofa with an insistent pressure and positioning himself over him, whispering commands that Tomas followed without question. The rhythmic thrusts were a bewildering experience for Tomas, he was both there and absent at the same time.
The scene shifted constantly. At one point, Laren had both boys on the sofa, their bodies tangled together. He manipulated them as he wanted, pushing one's mouth onto the other's cock, or maneouvering them into a position where he could watch them touch each other and play with them. The three-way felt less like a shared experience and more like a performance designed for Laren's sole pleasure.
Rókus, in his drug induced haze, was more focused on Tomas than on Laren. The feel of Tomas' skin against his, the soft moans that escaped Tomas' lips, was all he could process. He was lost in the moment, clinging to the only genuine human connection in the room.
Laren, meanwhile, moved with a single-minded purpose. He took both boys, sometimes one after the other, sometimes intertwined. He would take Tomas from behind, then have Rókus face him as he pushed into him. The climax, when it came, was a jarring moment of intense pleasure for Laren and a confusing, disorienting experience for the two boys. The pills and alcohol had numbed their pain and sensibilities, but couldn't erase the feeling of being used.
Rókus woke with a groan, his head a heavy fog, his body a map of aches and pains. His arse was sore, a dull, throbbing pain, and he felt the sting of scratches on his shoulder. Next to him, a naked Tomas lay curled up, his face soft and innocent in the morning light. The bed felt cold, and an unsettling quiet filled the room. Laren was gone.
Rókus sat up slowly, the movement a painful reminder of the night before. He looked around the bedroom, but Laren's presence was a distant echo. The bed was disheveled, the floor a mess of discarded clothes. He felt a deep sense of shame and regret, a cold pit in his stomach. He nudged Tomas gently.
"Tomas," he whispered. "Hey, wake up."
Tomas stirred, his eyes fluttering open. A look of confusion, then dawning horror, spread across his face as he took in their surroundings. He sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets to his chest. "What... what happened?" His voice was shaky, laced with fear. "I don't remember anything after..."
He trailed off, and Rókus nodded in understanding. "I know," he said, his own voice raw. "I don't either. But... he's gone."
"Rókus, I..." Tomas's eyes were wide, a silent plea for an explanation. "I... I think he gave us something."
Rókus nodded, the memory of the pills, the same ones Laren had given him before, suddenly crystal clear. "I know."
They didn't need to say more. The silence between them was thick with a shared sense of violation and confusion. They found their clothes scattered in the living room, a trail of evidence of the night's events. They dressed in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. As they reached the door, Tomas finally spoke.
"I need to go," he said, his voice a quiet whisper. "I just... I need to go."
Rókus nodded, his own need to escape overwhelming him. He opened the door, and they walked out into the cool morning air, leaving behind the ghost of a night they would both try desperately to forget.
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