Meat and Fluids (JTHM Fanfiction) (Nny x Me)

Chapter 10

(Roy’s POV)

I saw him get up.

I didn’t have a good weapon, or tranq, and the door was unlocked. Open even! Stupid, he could have escaped! Stupid!

I dropped everything outside the door, chasing after him as he ran up the stairs. He had just made it to the kitchen when I tackled him.

He spat curses at me, screaming and writhing underneath me. For a scrawny little fucker, he was strong as all hell.

When I got him off his feet, he had landed on his stomach, and I intended to keep him in that direction. Amongst the kicking and bucking, he seemed to actually know how to fight, able to get out of different grips and countering attacks. I had to put my full weight on the small of his back just to keep him down, along with using both hands to keep one of his arms down, while the other attempted to reach back and scratch and grab at whatever he could get his hand on. He even tried to kick at my back, but without his boots, it more or less felt like being pet at… just… harder.

It didn’t hurt.

And I kept him here for what felt like an hour. In reality it was possibly a solid twelve, maybe thirteen, minutes of him blurting out all of urban dictionary, and screaming while he clawed at the air, unable to reach me.

Just burning himself out.

When I felt like it was safe enough -- though safety is not a priority right now -- I moved one of my hands to his neck, and it’s like it started all over again, except this time he was able to move both arms, instantly digging his nail into my wrist. With my now free hand, I returned the favor, gripping the wrist covered in bandages. Not painfully at first, but when he refused to let up, I pressed harder.

His one arm was shaking in pain as I continued to add pressure, and he continued to chant ‘FUCK,’ over and over again with each increasing movement.

I bent down, continuing to add weight to his upper body, my hand still pressed hard against his neck. My wrists slowly getting more and more inflamed and red with the scratching of his nails against it.

I’ve had to subdue men twice his size like this, but normally I had a weapon, or something more reliant to make sure I would win. But with Johnny… I didn’t know what to expect.

My forehead hit the back of his skull gentally and his non bandaged hand went right into my hair, ripping at it and pulling, and desperately trying to get away.

“Calm down,” I whispered into his hair, slow and steady. And the swearing stopped, now replaced with huffed panting. The hand I had placed on his neck went to his other wrist, taking it from my hair and pinning it to the ground, next to his head, like the one on the other side. He still struggled, trying to roll offer, or kick at the floor to buck my off. “Johnny… You need to calm down…”

He seemed surprised that I had used his name. Almost as if he had forgotten he gave it to me in the first place.

All movement stopped.

I would have thought he had fallen unconscious if he hadn’t spoken a moment later. Voice emotionless and strained, tensed, “I need to get home… I need to fix it!” His heartbeat was frantic, almost to levels of terror, but the fear was coming from his ideas rather than myself.

I kept with whispering softly into his hair, thinking that it was the only way to get him to listen. So far it was working…

“You have time, remember? You have DAYS left…” I wonder what the wall looked like. A morbid curiosity ran through me at how many people it would take to cover a wall… images of how it would look ran through my head. I imagined thick layers of coagulated fluids caked onto a wall in a thick blackening paste while it continued to dry and chip off in chunks…

“I can’t have you leave just yet…”

His voice got angry at this, “Why!? Because I’m your MEAL TICKET!?” He bucket up again, pushing his arms up and off the floor, finally throwing me off.

He tried for the door, but I had it locked. The doors were almost always locked, if I could help it. Each having an older locking mechanism to it, only openable with the skeleton key I kept. And just about lock pick proof.

He looked at the small window atop the door, and paused for a second. He was going to break it. I slammed my body again his, knocking the wind out of him before he could try. I kicked at his ore ankles, knocking him to the ground, trying to get him back in the other position. Instead, he refused to turn over, staying on his back for more use of his legs and back. He kicked at me while I tried to get back on top of him. Flailing his limbs while I sat on his thighs to keep him from kicking. His arms scratched at my face and neck, almost getting a hold around it. He managed to pull out the key necklace, going slightly wide eyed as he saw it, knowing what it was for. Escape.

I got his hands together, holding his wrists together with both of my hands, and holding them to his chest. He whipped his head back and forth, that being the only thing he was still able to move.

I would have tried to get close again, attempting to keep him warm, calm. A false security he could hold onto while I talked. But I was afraid he would bite my fucking ear off. But I kept quiet still. Kept a hushed voice, only being close enough for him to hear me.

“I can’t let you go…”

“And why NOT!” his voice seathed out through his teeth.

I paused for a second, trying to come up with something believable, something that could get him on my side. But all I could think of was the truth. “Because the client knows who I am…”