Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Henry was terrified of his boss. He was one of the most strict men Henry had the misfortune of working under. Which would have been fine, if it were not for Mr. Afton's… favoritism.

William loved his work. That was the worst part.

In the dead of night, long after closing, the two men were in the parts and service room. They were often alone in here, William fired engineers at a hint of disagreement at his design choices. And even if there was another passing through, only Henry and William were willing to stay long past closing.

There was a distinct absence of children's screams and laughs, no music, not another soul. Just the two men's breath. Henry's mind, his enemy, found itself wandering far away from the internals, and towards his boss in the corner of the room.

Deep down, Henry knew his motivation for staying here wasn't just because of the fact he got paid for doing his favorite hobby all day, or that Afton had promoted him to head project manager/engineer, or that he did enjoy the occasional rotational job as Fredbear's actor. Deep down he knew that, maybe, just maybe, it was simply for the sake of his terrifying boss, and fantasies Henry took bed.

Alone in the darkest, quietest part of the night… Isolated from the rest of the world… no one could stop William from inflicting whatever horrible plans he had in store for his favorite employee. William was a fit man, Henry watched him dance around in the same suits he'd himself would lug around in. Strong enough to take Henry down, especially with a weapon and the element of surprise.

Blood mopped up after the afterglow. the security tapes of the massacre would be deleted– or better yet, stored deep within his boss' personal storage. Henry would die as a fond memory.

His nose, his worst enemy, began to clog.

Absent-mindedly, he reached for the half-empty tissue box next to him.

"You must have the worst allergies– Ever."

Henry startled, glancing at the silhouette of a man in the corner of his eye. He turned his head towards his boss, slightly, and nodded once. He looked into the guts of the animatronic, blankly. What was he doing? He fiddled with some joints and rubbed metal, his other hand still holding the tissue to his accursed nose.

William Afton starts his Statements with a loud inhale, Henry knew this, and his whole body tensed as the boss did so. "You know- It's strange, because," Henry could hear every breath, amused little sighs, "There's no trees… Or flowers. At least not in this entire plaza…"

Henry remembers to pretend to fix something. He was doing something- he was sure of it. But William was creeping closer, interfering with Henry's brain like static.

"It's- My commute here. I guess the pollen sticks to my clothes." He shrugged. He'd give something to satisfy the beast, to get him off his tail.

"Right- yes- It sticks with you allll throughout the day? In the middle of winter?" He snatches it like bait, and pulls Henry overboard.

Henry refuses to look at him, and the smug smile he knew was there. What had he won? The fact Henry was lying about allergies? It's not a common symptom, Henry had enough escapades with both women and men to know that.

"I assume." Henry adds, with no flavor. He manually switches his focus from one blob of machinery to the next, his eyes stay frustratingly blurry.

"And it, mostly, seems to happen at night." He let his words linger, "Or maybe… Just when we're alone…"

Henry stops his manual eye-focus-switching. The idea that William did know, that he was somehow clocking Henry from his malfunctioning nerves and tissue. Henry exhaled, far more shakily than he'd like it to.

"I-" William's voice is in his ear, hot and humid- Henry physically jerks, hands slamming halfway up- William continues with a new bubbly giddiness, "I really do love everything you do here. You've been a big help."

Henry nods, it takes him a moment longer to find his voice, whatever rebuttal he had for William's previous statement completely dissipates. "Thank you. I try."

"And what is this for, again? Your new project?" He vaguely waves at the metal guts in front of him. His other hand is on Henry's lower back.

Henry opens his mouth to breathe before he can speak, "It's just a little… Improvement… On…" He can't remember. He can't think.

"On…. On the spring lock mechanisms." Wiliam fills in, eyes squinting from just how much his cheeks have to work from his smile.

"Oh- Yes. A complete uphaul on how they fit together. And tighter, it should allow for a lot more movement. Faster movement, smaller motions. I'm thinking of, maybe, getting a better suited metal for the job. It works for our situation now, but I'm not sure how it'll hold up with the new stress…" Henry suddenly remembers, and is happy to blabber away, away from unprofessional thoughts and touches.

"Ooh!" William giggles, "That sounds a lot more dangerous."

"It-" A bare forearm is suddenly in his vision. William had rolled up his sleeve, exposing even, intricate scars. Henry knew each pattern. Even if he had not designed it himself, he'd been keeping up with maintenance and repairs before and after the incident. His gut sunk with an almost-guilt, and a surely-something-else.

"If our current design is enough to accomplish this, I wonder what damage that could cause." He was giggling, wistful. "Might be enough to pierce through bone."

Ah. The vague cover of professionality dropped, and Henry's mind plummeted into the gutter.

"But it should be– All together- Safer. It should be able to take a wider range of movements," He reached for another tissue, "Accidents will be a lot less likely to happen."

William's hand was on his lower back.

"And deadly when they do." He purred, it sounded like anything but reprimanding.

"It should go through a few rounds of testing," He took a breath, "before we allow any other employees to wear it."

"Any other employees… I'm sure you'll handle those test runs then, yeah?" William's palm rubbed circles into his spine.

Henry imagined how it would feel to have his bones punctured. He closed his gaping mouth, and swallowed a copious amount of saliva.

"Yeah."

William let the air grow heavy with silent thoughts– Maybe he was thinking of similar things. How he'd corral a dying Henry into this very backroom, away from the possibility of a panicking crowd. They'd be all alone. Could he help? Would he help? Or would he just watch, and quietly whisper bets on what would kill him first; A punctured lung? Blood loss?

But no. Henry knew that this was his own sick, sick fantasy. Unshared, and to be kept forever private. He stared blankly into the guts of an animatronic, and his boss' hand slid down lower and lower…

"I have something to show you." William suddenly announced.

His hand was suddenly gone. Henry blinked.

"What is it?"

"It's one of my own personal projects." William pet Fredbear's guts with his bare hand. "I know we both like to work in private, so I've been using the basement to not interrupt either of our workflows."

"Mhm." Henry, faintly, knew he should wait and let William draw out his wordy explanation, usually a dozen "Mhm"'s and "Yep"'s before Henry had the information he needed.

"I'm a bit stuck. And I need your wonderful head, and your beautiful brain, on it." William gestured his wiggling fingers on either side of Henry's temples.

He imagined William cracking away at his skull, slow and gentle enough to let Henry feel his fingers penetrate his gray matter. He should have asked for more information, let him continue his tale. Instead, he said, "Sure. Should we be able to finish it tonight?"

A quick kill. If William was merciful he'd make it last until the morning.

"Oh, I hope so," He waved dismissively behind himself, "At least, we start on it tonight."

"Sounds-" William clasped his shoulder- His far shoulder- wrapping his arm across his back. "-Good." Henry needed another tissue.

"Let's go," He pulled Henry along before he could grab his tissue, but Henry kept his mouth shut.

The pizzeria's bare internals echoed their steps, Henry took for granted the muffling of carpet of the main area, or even just the furred spare animatronic parts of the Parts and Service room. Worse, at some point he realized William's bare arm was pressed against the back of his neck. Henry decided, firmly, not to reach down and adjust the crotch of his pants.

One of the many hallway doors was now in front of them, William let his arm fall from Henry— He wasn't sure if he'd recognized this door. Wait–

"I didn't know we had a basement."

"Yeaah, You know, It's not a very pleasant thing." William chuckled, as he flipped through his key ring. Henry watched the rabbit foot keychain dangle. "No real use for it. Too hard to lug anything up and down. Buut, it's great for privacy."

William gripped the key between the pad of his thumb and the second knuckle of his index. The golden key dragged along the dingy once-silver doorknob. The sharp tip slid up from the bottom, aligning itself with the keyhole. Sensually, it slid inside, at a slight downwards angle. Click, click, click, click, Teasingly, until William's flesh pressed against metal.

Then he laughed. Like he'd just said a punchline. Henry glanced towards him, hating how he needed to look up. William looked away immediately, still grinning and humming a little tune as smugly.

Henry shut his mouth– which– Oh. His nose had stuffed itself up, causing his mouth to somehow fall open during that little— God. Was the boss really aware of Henry's strange reactions? He didn't have time to think about it, as much as he wished too, as the metal door swung open and William invited Henry to go first with an open hand. Henry did not look at him as he ventured on.

The basement was damp, all stone after the wooden steps. There sat two workbenches, one foldable chair, and one metal– thing. Which must have been William's project, as there was nothing else in the room besides tools.

He noticed the beaten and unpainted Freddy facepiece first, supported with chains to a strange arm-like mechanic, which was connected to a strange sparsely-padded chair.

His back was suddenly warm- William, standing a step above him on the creaky wooden stairs. Henry suddenly felt very, very small. His limbs tensed. The drumming of his heart and William's quiet breaths filled the echoey room. He needed to leave. Reality caught up to fantasy in a sudden rush of adrenaline. He started to turn around, already focusing his eyes Away from where William would be– A hand on his shoulder. A hand that gripped too tight, sending shocks to all the wrong places. He breathed, nearly panting. He could feel the snot on his lip.

"I really need your help on this, Henry..." William drew out his name, dripping like syrup.

He should not be here. In this noise-snuffing room, long past any curfew set in Nebraska, alone with his terrifying boss. In the morning he'd leave here in a body bag– If he'd ever get to leave at all.

And for some reason…

"Come on," William patted him, "It'll only take a second. I promise you'll like it."

Henry reluctantly continued his descent. He hovered near the base of the stairs and let the other man walk in front of him. He went straight to the strange machine, turned towards Henry, and pet the grey Freddy's decapitated head. Henry looked at it a bit longer. It was all welds and uneven metal.

"Well- What are you waiting for? It can't bite." William chuckled.

Henry looked at jagged metal teeth. He inched closer, the world seemed to slow. The real heart of the machine revealed itself. On the internal side of the mask sat several modified saw blades. Henry didn't know what he was looking at. He bent over, craning his neck to face the thing head-on. Gears worked to synchronize the blades, and if he followed it further through the machine, cords leading from the head to the arm, then inside the strange chair. He didn't understand what it could be used for, besides destruction. He looked down at the chair. It was a good size for a human, padding for the head. If it was for demolition, you wouldn't need to keep them safe. Just straps, like the unfolded metal restraints for the chest and arms that were already on the seat. Their standard animatronics would be a bit too large for the seat. Perhaps Foxy, but the whole thing was far more size-appropriate for a human. Henry imagined himself strapped down in it.

He paused. No, No, this was work.

"What is it… For?"

"Awh, Come on, I'm sure you have some good guesses." William paced around behind him, and if Henry let himself imagine, he was coming closer, crowding him like a hunting predator.

Henry did not want to share his guesses. Instead he silently furthered his scrutinization. Tested the arm, which gave to give to his pushing or pulling. Finally he explored the sharp-toothed mask more, moving Freddy's unpainted eyes, lifting it by the chains, and then he leaned in, close to the blades on the inside of the head. He stared, and his gears grinded to find an explanation.

He slowly reached out and slid his finger across one of the blades.

He pressed hard enough to cause it to roll forward an inch, but he quickly pulled back with a hiss. It cut through his finger like butter.

"They're new."

"I see that." Henry mused, looking at the bright red blood, gushing out tenfold more than it actually hurt. His focus wandered to the destructive machine. It was pure torture, it had to be. A machine made to trap, maim, and kill humans; all with a friendly smiling face. Not unlike the same things critics had said to try to defame their wearable suits. But there was no other motive Henry could think of for this contraption. Nothing but torture. Was his dick speaking for him? Fantasy clouded his reasonable judgment. They melded together, forever inseparable.

He looked down at his hand as blood poured into his palm. He imagined it gushing to the floor. Spinning blades that would leave nothing but his teeth to identify him with, spitting them out like bad tasting food. He imagined his unrecognizable face, and the pink matter of his brain. Could this machine break bone?

Hands cupped his own. Henry looked towards William. Silvery blue eyes had expanded to a beady shark-like glare in the unlit room. Cold fingers massaged the underside of his own, rubbing towards his now exposed cut. Henry looked toward the machine again, and it's sparsely-padded chair.

"I think it has a lot of potential." He had to inhale through his mouth before and after speaking. He wasn't sure why he said that. Why did he say that? Ridged fingerprints slid over exposed flesh, and he twitched, forearm tensing as he gave a half-attempt at an escape. His throat constricted tight. Short nails slid into the peel of flesh.

Henry dared to glance back- William met his eyes with a pleasant, toothy smile. He held his hand in a nearly professional way, despite the blood and the ever-tightening grip.

"I knew you'd think so. It's quite inspired by your work here at the company."

His voice left his mouth weakly, muscles moving without his command, "Is that so?" He noticed the slow blinking light by it's reflection off William's glasses. Their only light in the dark, damp room.

"Nowadays, most things here are- directly or indirectly- influenced by you. You're really something, Henry."

"Thank you." He nodded, short and curt. Adrenaline mixed with Want. He needed this, the very nerves in his body were lighting on fire at just the thought. He needed his boss to hurt him. To kill him. To do whatever he pleased, as long as Henry never left this room alive. He squeezed his Employer's hand, blood suctioning them together. A one-way oath. William's smile wavered, and yet somehow Henry had never seen him so happy.

He let go of Henry's hand suddenly, and cold air rushed into his cut, and he gasped wetly. He snapped it shut, ignored his goosebumps and huffed through his clogged nose.

William gestured a bloody hand towards the machine, "Why don't we– Test it out? I'm sure you'll be–" He cleared his throat, "I'm sure you'll get a better grasp on how it works."

Before Henry could answer, he twirled his hand towards the machine and continued on, "Just get yourself situated, I'll get it started."

Henry looked at the grey thing, its lights slowly drumming red.

He jolted awake to loud screeching and cling-clashing of metal. His eyes shot open to red light, then focused to the spinning blades, and then the man behind the whole contraption, standing by the stairs.

He cussed, throwing himself backwards from his slumped position. His head hit the chair's cushioned headrest, and back hitting the much less cushioned back. He exhaled a breath, trying to make himself smaller. He carefully inched forward and slithered downwards in his seat, but found himself trapped within metal ribs and shackles that pressed into his soft flesh, bruising from his struggle. He looked up, at the blades and the rest of the Freddy mask's internal mechanics, following the arm that slowly but surely lowered it down towards him. He could turn it off if he pulled that wire, or jammed that gear– But, alas, as he tried to throw his hands up, he was reminded of his trapped predicament.

Laughter cut through the noise. Henry head was spinning, forced to swallow a confusing cocktail of concentrated hormones. He glanced towards the restraints, straining against the limit of his own eyes as he dared not to tilt his head. He stretched his hand, only managing to tap against the ridge of the buttons. He pawed at anything else he could reach, getting a grip on the bolt holding his hands in, but it was far too tight to remove.

He gasped his mouth open, he couldn't breathe through his nose. Choking on nothing as he remembered to speak, and to scream.

He rasped before he could scream, "HELP!" The mask blocked out the man's silhouette now, and nearly all of Henry's vision. His laughter echoed in the empty room.

"WILL! PLEASE!" Spinning blades screamed louder, and Henry knew he was weak.

Wide red eyes. Blank, not even the shadow of paint to filter through. He felt the wind on his beard.

His vision had gone to static around the edges. Metal ribs pressed into his own with every heavy breath. Skin. A hand over his. Fingers slipped between the metal restraints and Henry's wrist. He twitched his vision over to the side, and half of William's face came into view. He smiled, cheeks and squinted eyes obvious even with the red glare on his glasses.

"Did you like it?"

Henry shut his gasping mouth, then swallowed down thick saliva.

"I'm so glad! I knew you would." William continued as Henry huffed another breath of air.

He was bend over, hands on his knees, half of his face blocked from the mask- But- he could tell the mask was still. And the fact that he was not being horribly mutilated.

"I– Why?" Henry's words could barely be pushed his scratchy throat. In the back of his mind– more accurately, deep in his gut, he knew why. Fingers tapped his trembling arms.

William slowly crouched down lower, right beneath Henry. He followed him with his eyes, then tilted his head just an inch-

SGGHHH– Henry slammed backwards, into the cushion of the seats. Up above his eyes, the saw blade now had a rim of red.

"God-God- Fuck-" It was falling down his face, into his tear ducks, and down the crease of his nose like tears. It shone even redder with the bear's red eyes. This was real. This was real. His gut tied itself in a knot, not unpleasantly so.

"Don't move." William said from below him. "You're in a perfect position right now, no need to change that. Any sort of movement and… Slice."

He thought about pressing his face into the blades. His muscles wouldn't let him. So Henry stared at the saws in front of him, as his cock, not sharing his shame, grew harder in his pants.

"You're going to be good…" A hand on his thigh. Henry tensed, his muscles jerking just an inch. William's hand squeezed his legs through his jeans and he sighed a laugh. "And stay still…"

He squeezed and massaged and rubbed like he was trying to pull meat from bone. Henry closed his eyes shut tight and felt cold metal and wind. His eyes shot right back open, maybe counter productively, and his cheeks were free from the very edge of the blades.

"Fuck-Fuck-" He really couldn't move a bit. The cut ran through his cheeks, right below his eyes. His tears burned them. He wondered how deep they were, he assumed only the first few layers of skin, as the saw blades held no gore on them.

"Ah-Ah-Ah-" William scolded. "You shouldn't be saying that. Do you think our pal Fredbear would talk like that?"

"No– I-I guess not." Henry said shakily. He didn't think Fredbear would be a deathtrap either, but he kept that to himself.

"No need to have our actors cussing on duty… Think of the kids."

Henry decided to not do that, and instead let his mind wander to hot blood and warm hands.

William trailed his way up Henry's thighs. His hands slipped in the crease underneath Henry's pudge, and he massaged deeply. His stomach twisted and his knees inched inwards. William hummed a tune as he scrunched up Henry's shirt and unbuttoned and unzipped Henry's jeans. He tugged them off carelessly, jostling Henry's body.

"Hey- Wait- Slow down!" He cried, keeping the back of his head pushed as far away from his doom as possible.

William gasped, somewhere between mocking and actual surprise. "Oh, wow… I knew there was something wrong with you, Henry… But I didn't know it was this bad"

He palmed at Henry's hardon. A moan escaped his throat.

"I-I think you knew– Very well that–" Henry's rising voice was cut off by a hard, painful squeeze.

"Let me have my fun."

Henry exhaled a shaky breath to try and try to restart his struggling lungs. The air shred to pieces in something that almost sounded like he was breathing into a fan. A very deadly fan.

Below him, William continued humming his tune, in time with the taps of his fingers. A weight slowly lowered itself onto his thigh- William's head, his hair pressing against Henry's stomach. Henry was just aware of the spinning blades as he was the growing wet spot on his boxers. God- He really could fucking die– His cock twitched. William groaned from within his wet throat, and it vibrated throughout Henry's body, harmonizing with the buzzing of the seated contraption. He mumbled something, Henry couldn't hear it, he doubted it was meant to be heard. His fingers pressed right against skin, and slipped underneath the band of his boxers. His cock was exposed. A gentle palm cupped his balls, warm. William's head shifted- Mouth towards his cock-

The air was cold, William's breath was hot, nearly stinging. It was only fair he came closer, and kissed the head of his–

Henry slammed his head back against the headrest, a new slice on his cheek. He stared into red eyes, and an inverse of a smile. His gut knotted with fear and want.

"I feel like you're not even trying to survive." William hummed, with faux disappointment. Henry let out an awful, shaky moan at the thought. His mucus-filled throat tightened, no help with his dysfunctional nose.

He separated from Henry, removing the weight of his head and hands and the warmth of his breath. Henry could hear his hands on the concrete- And then two taps of his shoes.

"...Wait!" He spread his legs wider, as wide as the chair let him. Something slid- clattered- Henry tried to look past the bear mask.

Beep, the whole machine started moving. Henry couldn't even scream. His gut tensed and his cock leaked with just the thought and-

It stopped. It had moved an inch, maybe, likely shorter, close enough that Henry's nose was a twitch away.

Henry gasped, his ears rung. There was a hand on his thigh, and he twitched so hard that he swore he could feel hot blood pour down his face. The hot humid breath was on his cock again, he could nearly cry- Oh- He was already crying. Snot dripped with his tears, and he gasped for air with his lips wrapped tight around his teeth.

"Stay still." William warned, a smirk so obvious in his voice.

Henry had never found it harder to stay still. Tight hot lips around his dick, the fuzz of a mustache, and the hardness of teeth. William rubbed his cock between his molars as much as he licked it. Henry began crying worse. Relief? Disappointment? There was a nice mouth around his cock, but he was alive. Hiccups shook his body, terrifyingly.

Hands pressed and squeezed his body, His thighs and his stomach, his balls and the base of his cock. He even brushed his wiggling fingers over Henry's stomach, like an attempt to make him laugh. His gut tensed and grew tighter with every little touch. He was going to cum.

He gasped. William paused his nearly-tooth-brushing motion. He gripped Henry's thighs, thumbs digging into the soft inner flesh. Then he enveloped him, completely, his facial hair brushing against Henry's equally furry stomach.

Despite how much his instincts tried to keep him still, Henry came twitching. Violent and erratic. He pulled his legs shut and balled his useless fists. His gut tightened and tugged, pulling his body inwards– forward–

"And… There." William tied the final suture in his forehead. Henry groaned- with anything but relief. William had insisted that he handle the stitches- Backing himself up with company and investigations and plenty of other facts that Henry was too frazzled to rebuttal. Now the pain and touching had left his mind in worse condition than when they had started the clean-up, and his cock had, shamelessly, hardened once again. With no jeans to hide it, William stared nearly the entire goddamn time, grinning when it twitched from the pain.

William cupped his face with his bloody hands, spreading the mess further. He took advantage of Henry's wide open mouth, slipping in a thumb.

Henry's legs were weak, his mind like mush. He was stuck to this foldable fabric chair, staring up at a dangerous man.

"I'm–"

William crouched down and flicked at his cock. Henry gasped, mumbling against his thumb. "Fuck-Fuck- No–"

His cock, which hated Henry and all things sensible, nearly instantly began to leak precum.

"Look at that," He giggled like the devil he was. "I think should take care of this mess, too." William lowered down between Henry's legs…

Chapter Text

Henry woke up in near-overwhelming pain. An ache in his body, a dull sting on his face, and a raw cock between his thighs.

Pain that meant he was alive. So, horribly alive. A worse pain ripped through his gut, something more emotional than everything else put together. A pang of longing and grief for what could have been. 

He rolled over onto his back, with a groan and a few shuffles. This was his room, his sheets, smelling of two brands of body soap. He didn't remember driving home, only sharp nails gripping his legs, sharper teeth on his cock. He remembered crying into a well-worn shirt. He remembered the smell, an unhomely cologne, antiseptic, and pine.

He did not drive himself home.

He shot up and, slowly, silently, glanced to the side. A familiar lump lay next to him, wrapped up in their blankets. Legs pulled tight to her chest and hair spread on over her pillow. There was no moonlight to light her face.

With a shaky hand, he touched her shoulder. 

"Mmh? Wha…" a familiar, sweet voice.

 Henry let out a shaky breath. His breath hitched when he inhaled, as if he had just recovered from sobbing.

'Nothing,' Henry tried, but his throat only rasped with the effort. "Nothing," a bit louder, enough to get past his tightened throat. 

"...Mm… 's Saturday?"

"Yeah,"

She pulled the covers a bit tighter, "Sleeepp …"

Henry nodded, though she couldn't see that– a quick pang of panic- Oh god- what did his face look like?

He patted her shoulder, and then carefully broke contact. As he reached over to his nightstand to steady himself, he, instead, blindly slapped something lightweight and plastic. It fell with a loud rattling clatter, and then a softer 'pat' as it hit the carpeted floor.

"Agh- What– what–" Her voice grew increasingly less mumbled. 

"Don't worry-" Henry hurried. He winced as he bent over to scoop up the bottle. His hand wrapped around it to try to muffle the sound of pills rattling inside. Painkillers. Name-brand. Not the bottle from his cupboard. 

"'S okay?" She asked, worried, but so comfy in bed, and still half asleep.

"Yeah. It's good. Don't worry." He hushed, keeping his voice as steady as he could. He kept it wrapped in his palm as he swung his legs off the bed. 

He tiptoed to their shared drawer and set the bottle onto it as gently as possible, then pulled open his clothing drawer. He looked down at himself, nearly expecting his usual sleep not-wear. He already was dressed. At least partially. The clothes were unfamiliar at a glance.

He ran his hand along the unbuttoned seam of the shirt he was wearing. It didn't fit him well, it wasn't a pattern he'd wear, nor the material. It was soft. He bundled the front up and brought it above his chin. It smelled of oil and metal, not unfamiliar. But there was another smell, a sharp cologne, a musky sweat. Another sickly sweet rotting smell that reminded Henry of roadkill. On the next inhale, Henry could hardly get any air through his nostrils.

He looked down over the golden shirt, slightly sucking in his stomach. He was dressed in purple boxers. Thicker fabric compared to his own frayed, thin, grey boxers. He rubbed it between his fingers. He snapped the elastic. They didn't fit well either. The high-quality polymer mix felt like silk on his chubbing dick.

He pulled a fresh pair of loose fitting sweatpants and a slightly-too-long-without-a-wash jacket over the ill-fitting clothes. He scooped back up the pills and stuffed them in his jacket pocket, next to a crumpled receipt.

He fit himself through their barely cracked door. He slipped on his shoes, which where a foot away from their usual place. He left without a goodbye.

The world was gray, dusted with the first hints of the sun. The low clouds blocked any rays from shining through.

Was it too early to go to work? He didn't check the clock before he left. He was swerving right before he realized he'd changed his mind, bumping his tires on the curb(Though he was going fast enough to roll over it,) and into the surprisingly populated parking lot of Sparky's. Right– It was Saturday, but it was only just breaking 6.

He crookedly parked his truck, far away from any potential people to irritate. He swung out with his car door with the physics and attitude of a soddened towel. His spine and legs had suddenly given out on him. He managed to drag his legs out of the car, and plant his boots on the asphalt. He stared down at the floor in front of his shoes until he was stepping on checkered tile.

The waiter greeted him with a sharp inhale through their teeth, abandoning the familiar chime of a 'Welcome to Sparky's, what can I get you?' Instead, he was greeted with a mumbled, "Oh, Darling," And then a slightly louder, concerned, "Are you alright?"

"The Dog's— Yes." Henry stumbled over his thoughts. 'Yes– Why?' He wanted to add. He stole a glance at the waiter's face, their eyes just above his own, flicking to his cheek, then back above— Oh.

"Yes, I-I'm fine. Just took a little tumble." Henry forced out a little chuckle. Holy shit. All the blood seemed to drain from his head, and his legs, rushing to Somewhere Else. He hoped his face was ugly enough to keep all of the attention above-neck. His stomach gurgled with nausea more than hunger.

The employee nodded, giving a little smile, "Oh, yeah, must've been fun."

"... Yeah." Henry wheezed.

"So, The Dog's Bowl?"

"Yeah– Yeah. Uh— Over-hard eggs. And an orange juice. Please." He nodded curtly.

The waiter scribbled something short onto their notepad, with a drawn-out, "Got yaa… Take any seat you'd like, we'll bring your food shortly." 

Henry's eyes shot to the floor again. He stumbled his way into a booth and hunched his head between his shoulders, avoiding any curious eyes. He hadn't seen his own face. How horribly disfigured he must be. He conjured up Painful images in his mind's eye (or maybe that was just the nasty pain between his furrowed brows). He reached for the napkin holder to attempt to blow his clogged nose. His entire face lit up with pain.

He slowly brought his hand to his face, pressing an inch above his nose. He brushed his middle finger against the twine of a suture. He rubbed his finger along it, his raw, bruised skin tugging easily with his twitchy motions. His skin was nearly loose on his face, the flesh that held him together ripped apart. He trailed the path of rough scar, across a smooth patch of flesh, then on raised, injured skin again down his left cheek. His other fingers followed, stretching out to follow each little path as they began to split off. He could twist his wrist and follow the path of the blades. Shredded. 

The mark of the beast– No, of his own selfish, immoral desires. A failed attempt. A denial. A bright red X on his rotting trunk. Injury and sickness made apparent, and he'd be suffocated in the middle of the pack, despite his wishes. He was the perfect prey, and his entire being knew what he should become. He imagined William's hands, and his hard knuckles.

"One Dog's Bowl-

Henry jumped, his hands slapping down onto the edge of the table as if he was caught doing something Wrong. The waiter paused, Henry could not tear his eyes from the unvarnished wood. He did not lift his hands.

The plate- Not a bowl, not even a deep plate, nor dog-themed in any way besides the title- was slowly and gently slid in front of him, a nice ceramic sound on the rough surface.

"... And an orange juice," The waiter continued in a hushed voice, the glass was set down with an equally quiet clink.

"Need anything else, Mister?"

"No– I'm good, thank you." Henry shook his head.

"Have a nice meal." 

He reached for his drink. His hand smeared red against the glass.

A layer of dried blood crackled and tore as he pressed his palms into his squeezed-shut eyes. His truck was quickly losing heat. The hiss of the engine, even after it had been shut off, had long since gone quiet. Any noise from the outside was muffled by his car doors and padded interior. He slid his hands down his face, pressing deeply against scabbing skin and tough stitches. He nearly wished they'd tear open, leak something more than a reddish clear fluid. Claw out his fat and skin until those metallic-tasting hands would slip into his mouth through his cheeks. 

He finally opened his eyes. That friendly bear stared at him. The shining sign, polished, glowing unearthly in the morning fog.

Henry found himself sympathizing with the anglerfish's prey. Surely, that little lure would be a tantalizing treat, when they've experienced nothing but darkness and tasteless, unappetizing food. Surely, with their nearly-unused eyes, they could see the rows of piercing teeth behind it. Surely, they longed for it. Surely, they knew, or at least dreamed. Surely, they'd take any opportunity to fulfill their purpose.

That was where they belonged, after all. Deep in the gullet of a stronger, smarter, more well-adapted animal.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK 

Henry's heartrate skyrocketed. His hand went to his wheel, then his parking break, and then he finally had enough sense to turn his head towards his driver-side window.

Teeth. A wide grin, sharp canines, beautifully framed by deep dimples and a scraggly beard, and a cute little nose. Henry's mind was swirling. It hadn't stopped since last night. His head was going to burst.

His face squeezed itself shut, into a dramatic little pout. He pointed down– Henry's eyes followed his finger, nearly directly above his door lock, unlocked and red. William tilted his head, and bent his knees a bit to drop down. He continued to jab his finger at the unlocked door. Teasing him. He could just rip the door open, crawl inside, press Henry against the cramped interior of his car, and Take him any way he wanted. His purple tie hanging from his neck, unclipped, perfect to wrap around Henry's wrists. He wouldn't escape. No one else would be in this parking lot for at least an hour.

Oh– No– Wait. A dim lightbulb sparked in Henry's brain. He fumbled blindly at the door, until his fingers found the window button. William finally ceased his motions as it began to slide down.

"Finally! Took you long enough!" His hands were slipping inside as soon as they could fit, slightly leaning onto the window as if it would make it move faster. 

Henry failed to find his voice. William didn't mind. He rested his arms on Henry's open window and stared at him. At his injuries.

"You're here early… Any particular reason?" He drawled.

Henry smacked his lips together a few times. William seemed happy to stare in silence at his embarrassing display of dumbness.

"Just– I would like to get started early. Didn't have anything else to do this morning."

"Is that so? Well, welcome aboard," He stood back with a little bounce, his arms spreading wide. His keychain, filled to the brim with unlabeled golden keys, tiny plastic toys of each of the main band, and a fur-and-flesh rabbit foot, spun on his finger.

Henry's gut twisted itself in knots. His legs were jello as he found himself floating out of his car, shutting the door and sticking his key inside to lock it, his eyes never leaving William.

"Awh, don't leave your window open, Henry, your car will get all wet and–Eugh," William teased, his voice wobbly with excitement. He let out a little laugh.

Henry turned around. "Oh. Yea—ah," 

Eyes on the back of his neck.

His joints locked up. Goosebumps cascaded down his arms and back. A horrible, terrifying feeling dripped down his legs like morphine. What a beautiful opportunity he'd presented.

His arms felt faint as he opened his car door, and reached in to shut the window. His usually loud door now muffled to near silence. He could hear William breathe. Sharp, wet. The faintest bit of wind slipped down the collar of his jacket.

The door shut, the key slid in, shifting it to lock it. Kill me. Kill me. Henry squeezed his eyes tight until he felt his scabs ripping apart. Kill me. Fuck me. Do something. Anything.

He craned his neck around, slowly. William's face twisted back into a friendly smile.

"There you go! Alriighht," William cheered, he tossed his keys up with a little flick and smoothly caught them.

Henry could hear the blood in his ears. He rubbed his nose into his jacket sleeve. He tried to make it obvious. Sniffling. His face hurt on the thick fabric.

William just stared. A second later, he was twirling on the ball of his foot, towards Freddy's.

"I don't have much I'd like to work on today– Well I do, Hah hah, but it's mostly general procedures and check-ups. Nothing new," William was striding towards the entrance as he talked, steps in a bit of a skipping pattern, long, short short, long, like a little dance. Fast enough that Henry felt the need to quickly shuffle up to him.

He continued without pause, "I'd like a progress check-up on everything you're up to. Budgets, especially. Keep everything up to date…"

The key slid into the lock without any teasing. William swung the door open, and his arm to welcome Henry inside. Henry shuffled into the dark building.

William let the door fall behind him, and continued striding towards the back of the building, "But uhhh, Not much else! I assume you'd like to stay, uhh, mostly behind closed curtains, For a few days at least, yeah?"

Henry's toe kicked into the carpet, sending him stumbling. William did not look over at him, instead, he slowly browsed his keys, facing toward the Employee Only door.

Henry could not find his words. The other man happily filled up the silence, "Oh, and Chica has a twitch in her right wrist. I need you to help her out at some point, between now and closing." The key slid into the hole, Henry watched his hands for any- Teasing. 

William strode inside, letting the door shut heavily behind him. Henry stared at the space where he once stood. His ears were ringing, ruined anticipation.

Henry took half-a-step. Then he swung around and looked at the curtained stage. Surely it would be a quick fix– Another step forward. He needed to get his tools anyway. He shoved the door open just enough to squeeze through, turn right, and trail against the wall, heading towards the mechanic's office.

He was slammed into the brick wall.

The air squeezed out of his lungs in a silent gasp. He should have been expecting it, maybe his body was, tingling with adrenaline in his legs.

His forehead thudded against the wall. He tried to push back with his palms on the wall, before a chest pressed him back into place. The full force of an adult man, Henry's body was still aching and weak from last night. Henry needed to get away. He tried to side-step away, or bend his arms back to grab at the attacker. Arms wrapped around him, squeezing tight. Fabric shuffled against fabric— His keys fell from his pocket with a jangle, and then his other pocket was searched, and bloodied napkins were tugged out, and finally the pill bottles clattered to the floor. It rolled away with the same rattling sound. 

"Did you tell her?" A hushed, hurried, voice demanded. Wirey hairs brushed against his ear. Layers of presentable behavior pulled back in an instant. A real monster was human in everything but his behavior. Henry had never wanted anything else more than this.

Henry's breath hitched.

"Did she even see you? No, of course not. Fuck, how long have you just been walking around looking like that? Did you go anywhere else?" His boss nearly sounded concerned. Mostly, he sounded irritated, that huffing, hissy, breathy voice he used in the back rooms, when a necessary mechanism completely broke, or when his dozenth prototype failed. 

"--Sparky's-" Henry managed to gasp, despite the tightening grip on his hips, and the blockage of his nose.

"Shit. Do you know how much you could've messed– All of this up? You look like a bear mauled you– Fuck, Henry." Another level of shakiness, uncertainness in his voice. A violent, irrational man. A possessive man, Henry would love to believe, a hungry predator, and his perfect, favorite meal. Alone in this big building, early morning, a perfect time to make Henry pay for whatever transgression he had committed. Wasn't it?

Blunt enamel pressed into Henry's neck, William's lips pulled back in a snarl. He found himself tilting, exposing more of his skin for those teeth to scrape against. The arms tight around his waist were shaking. William was furious. More than Henry had ever seen him. 

He roughly slid his fingers up his body, once, then dragged themselves across his torso. underneath his jacket, under his shirt, to touch bare skin. He slid his shaking fists up to Henry's ribs, and then clawed from his chest, across his stomach, down to his hips, fingers pressing as deep as his skin allowed. Henry moaned with fear and pain.

"I should have never pushed my luck with you. God– Henry, You–" Halfway through another sharp clawing, His hands paused. 

He lifted his touch from his stomach, and instead to the shirt covering it. He pinched Henry's shirt underneath his thumb. then rubbed the fabric, with a much gentler motion than Henry was gifted.

The mustache left his neck, the pressure lessened, and instead William rested his chin on his shoulder. He pulled them both back, far enough away from the wall so that his hands could slip out from underneath his shirt, and make their way to the jacket's zipper. So close to his neck. He noted the faint shadow of blood underneath his nails. Henry's palms stayed flat against rocky brick.

zzziiip,

That golden, ill-fitting shirt was exposed. 

His darker jacket was pushed away, out of view, enough so that William was free to rub his hands down his shirt. Nearly shining in the dim room. He prodded against Henry's shape underneath, feeling the meat on his bones and the pounding heart in his chest. He rubbed his palm against the fresh wounds until blood seeped through. Henry whimpered.

"Afton, h—" 

His hands shot down, so fast, Henry jumped away from them (and into William's chest.) He hardly had time to even proccess the action, as his boss slipped into this pant's waistband and pushed them down to reveal those bright purple briefs.

Once his boss had enough of staring at his own clothes on his employee, he was squished up against the wall again. Their bodies were further sealed together, an added vigor flavoring William's actions. He let his weak arms hold himself up as William groped at his bulge, only one layer of fabric to hold them apart. So smooth, compared to his worn boxers from last night. William's hips pressed against his half-pantsed ass, a grinding motion to push them the rest of the way down. His work pants rubbed a rash on the exposed inch of his bare thighs.

"Oohh, I can't stay mad at you, can I?" William spoke with such a big smile, his strained lips kissed Henry's neck.

There was enough space left for Henry to respond. He didn't. He couldn't even think. He kept his neck open wide- He wondered if William could rip into him with just the strength of his jaw and sharpness of his teeth. Pressure against his ass– Henry's gut flooded with a previously untouched want. To be completely ripped into, totally owned, before he was destroyed. Every possible aspect of himself used to completion, until he was hardly worth being considered a person anymore. Without even really realizing it, Henry was pushing back against his boss's crotch.

"Oh," A near moan, "You were hardly recognizable beforehand… Oh, you don't have any friends, do you? Besides your lovely famil y…  It'll be just fine. Maybe it'll be a bit hard to –…  I'm going to have to spend some time scrubbing your records clean." He rolled his hips against Henry's for emphasis. 

"Mmm… People wander off all the time… But, goodness, your body showing up in some– Dingy alleyway and you'll be all over the news. You've really made a mark on yourself," A hand slid up Henry's face, cupping his jaw and chin. His thumb jabbed into his scar. Henry let out a little whine, and the nail pressed down to scrape, nearly tearing apart the sutures he'd carefully put in place the night before.

"--God-"

"... They'll look into anyone who even dared to brush shoulders with you." William spat, the nail of his thumb pressing even deeper, scraping away the already ruined scabs. Then, he yanked Henry's head into a tilt. He stared at him from above.

"Natural causes… Hah," William mused to himself. He let Henry's head go, and dropped his grip to his hip.

His cock twitched within those silky fabric underwear. He blankly stared at the brick wall in front of him. Was this truly happening? Henry being welcomed into the plans of his own death, the coverup, the general process behind that monster's eyes. Had he killed before? He could nearly get off from just the thought. He shrunk underneath the other man's gaze, smaller and smaller. 

"Oh you disgusting…" He trailed off, squeezing Henry's hardening cock even tighter. Another hard thrust.

"Ah– ah–" Henry's legs were shaking. His mind drifted to the pressure of William's arms on his clawed gut. His shirt rubbed into his wounds.

"Is this what you wanted? Fuck up my simple instructions, then make your ugly mug known to half the town– Sparky's, Really? You're not playing fair, Henry," William sighed, dramatic and whiny. "Maybe I was foolish to assumed you even wanted this– Maybe you just like the thrill, is that it? No care for what I want, for my safety," A rough squeeze, "No real danger… Oh, but look at you… What is happening in that beautiful brain of yours? Is this a game to you? Do you even understand me?"

Henry simply gaped his mouth opened like a true dumbass. A lot, a lot was going on in his brain. A lot. Swirling in his mind, completely to the brim, the drain blocked shut. He wanted the man to stomp his skull out. Let everything spill out through the cracks. He couldn't process his words, his sweet voice merging into nice noises, flavored with anger.

"Fucking–" William bit the inside of his cheek.

His dick was yanked up towards his stomach, Henry let out a horrible little noise. William snapped the boxer's waistband over the head of his dick, then tugged his pants up.

"No jeans…" William mildly scolded, instead tugging the strings of his sweatpants tighter, knotting them in a little bow. A bit too tight around his leaking cock.

William swung him around, Henry's back resting against the wall. He lifted his arms to rest on William's shoulders, appreciating how much of an angle his arms had to bend in. His boss's hands wandered around his waist- It was nearly romantic. He hardly noticed William tugging the golden shirt down. Then he began to zip up Henry's jacket. Henry's brain finally managed to peak through the fog of horniness. He was being redressed.

"Wait-"

"We have a job to do, Henry boy."

"But– Aren't we– Are we not–" Henry didn't have the words for this. His wife wasn't much for dirty talk, and their conversations barely breached the innuendo of 'want to have some fun later?' What was Henry supposed to say now? Aren't we supposed to have some fun? This wasn't fun, this wasn't play, this was the real deal. Training for the inevitable. 

He decided he'd rather just make his intentions obvious, he didn't have the experience to do anything else. With a stranger, a boss, a man. They were already this far, wading up to their necks. 

His hand shot down to his employer's crotch, and squeezed his bulge. It was soft, nearly squeezing through his his fingers. Henry only had a second to even think about why, before his forearm was squeezed tight.

"Oh, you nasty fucker." William said. Simply. An obvious fact. Nothing to react to. He pushed Henry's arm away.

"Sir. I can make it quick. Just–"

"Is this what you really want?" 

Henry blinked. His brain helpfully reminded him of quick clean-ups of a younger version of himself. Strong, salty. William's nails dug into his arm. His brain reminded him the iron taste of nosebleeds, dizzy feelings, and near-crashes. His brain conjured up the adrenaline high, the faintness of blood loss, the closeness of a hairy, strong body.

"Hmm? We don't have all morning. We better get started soon, if you can make it quick."

"... No– It's not. Not exactly."

William's grin widened at that. 

"Well, I guess we'll have to put it off… You can be patient, can't you? Maybe long enough for these-" His hand dropped his arm, and instead pinched Henry's scarring cheek, "Ugly things to heal over, hm?"

Henry squeezed his legs together. Impatience.

"If you think that would be… Optimal." 

William chuckled.

He patted Henry's shoulder. He then reached a little further to the side. Click. The dim lights of the hallway nearly blinded him.

"See you later!" He was already strolling away when Henry opened his squinted eyes.

Art  Based on the Previous chapter, as a treat for getting through this meandering chapter.