'John' was... well, he was a lot of things. Throughout the past few weeks, or hell it could've been months, he hadn't really been... there.
       Sure, he was just fine. Eating, sleeping, doing what was normal for his life. But he was so out of it. Ever since he had seen Rick again, had touched the man, smelt the alcohol on his hot breath, he was out of it. He'd wake up confused, wondering where he was before he'd remember all that had happened. He'd found himself getting dressed to go to the club on one occasion, stopping himself before he was caught by anybody. Often, he would move to Just Dance, missing having his best friend challenging him consistently and pitching a bitch fit because he always lost.
       'John' was tired of his droll life. He wanted more. He wanted the adventures again, wanted the thrill that came with killing a man, the adrenaline rush simply sparked when he was aware he could wield his gun. He wanted the thrill of driving well over 200 MPH on a highway with the best thing to ever happen to him. He wanted it all back.
       But reality came crashing down every time. He'd always settle down, the grin would slowly turn to a frown as the brunet would lay back, trace the tiles in the ceiling as he thought further. 

       "You weren't shit, and you would've been stuck in that hellhole of a house with your fucking family. Maybe you would've actually offed yourself then, huh? And I wouldn't be stuck dealing with your dumb fucking ass."

       The words would always ring in 'John's ears, would always bring reality crashing around him. He would always remember the rest of the story, the hell he'd endured with Rick. The man was a literal psycho, and 'John' longed for the answer to his biggest question: why the fuck had he been so stupid?!
       The truth is, is 'John' knew. He knew the entire time. But he was so head-over-heels in love with the adrenaline that came with the lifestyle. Then, he was free to get away with anything. He was the hot-shot kid with all the power, all the opportunity. Then, he spent his days doing what he loved, his nights spent with an incredible man. He had it all, everything he could ever want. It was all his for the taking. He was the one calling the shots. He was the one saying who did what, behind the loaded gun, screaming for 'more'.
       Now, he was a simple pastor, living a sordid life. It was all mapped out. He was limited as to where he could go. He couldn't partake in most of what he did. Yes, he had the job after much persuasion, but he could lose it all the same if he was found out for being bi, having been with a man, having murdered and never being sentenced. His old lifestyle could get him kicked out and put him at risk of exposure. 
       Which was what really sucked. The brunet had grown so used to adventure, to living with no fucks given. Now, he was monitored, guarded. Under house arrest, on probation, whatever he thought to compare it to.
       He was losing his adventuristic memories. He was losing the scents he used to know. Occasionally, he would pick up on something he almost remembered, something that smacked him with nostalgia. He'd walked beside a man at the supermarket once and smelled cigarette smoke, taking a heavy sniff and practically yearning for the ability to work behind a bar. He smelled Rick's cologne on another individual at the mall and wanted to scream, to tell them that yes, it smelled amazing, but he was not allowed to wear it because that was Rick's thing. Nobody else could have it. 
       The messages were gone. Sam had gotten ahold of 'John's phone, told him it was unhealthy. The brunet threw a punch, snagged his phone back, and practically locked himself in his room. He lost the contacts, too. Now it was just Sam, and Gary in case of emergencies.
       That son of a bitch took everything from 'John'. The brunet was still seething after a month, refusing to leave the house with the man anymore. If he had to suffer just to prove a point, he damn well would do just that.
       He still had the photo. The image of him sitting in Rick's lap for the first time, staged at Gary's. He still had the images Rick had sent to him when he was bored. He had the drunk photos, the images Rick would send him even though 'John' had been right upstairs. His favorite, and he loved this one, was an image of Rick drunkenly angling the camera, his shirt pulled up and held between his teeth. He had been wearing his pajamas that night, shit-faced and happy. His face was slightly reddened, an effect of the alcohol, his eyes shining. It was a downward angle, 'John' always having assumed he staged the image slightly, his pajama bottoms barely clinging to his hips.
       'John' had taken it upon himself to lock the images in a photosafe on his phone, disguised as a calculator. Sam never questioned it, though 'John' let him believe he'd deleted every image. The red-head was on 'John's 'if I have the chance I'll kill them' list, most definitely.

       Now, however, 'John' was putting his angry energy to good use. The church was putting on a circus for the kids of the congregation and 'John' had chosen a very 'him' task. He had dutifully scrawled his name out beneath 'sword swallower' simply because it was the only slot open and you just can't have a circus show without somebody shoving a sharp object down their throat.
       The brunet was a fast learner, that much was certain, but God he was terrified. One slip up and he could kill himself. However, that didn't scare him too much. The thought of him doing something so terrifyingly wonderful made him nearly leap with joy. For once, Sam couldn't advise against something. 'John' was doing this for the church. Sure, he had two days to get the technique down, but he damn well was gonna do it. 
       Even if he screwed it up, wound up wounding himself in a way that got him killed, it was a win-win situation.

*~*~*

       'John' had grown bored after nearly half past four in the evening, having spent nearly an hour upside down on the couch watching Rick's horror show and wondering if the man still watched it. He had hours to kill, and Sam was never home at a time in which 'John' ever saw him until Monday through Wednesday. 
       The brunet gave a dejected sigh, righting himself on the couch. Maybe he should go out and get another pet, simply because he spent so much time indoors. It wasn't right, really. He was a pastor in this town. He should be out there, enjoying life, engaging in activities with the friends he made in church. But no. He was stuck inside under false pretenses, Sam having made up something about 'John' that kept the townsfolk from wondering too much.
       'John' hated his life, in all honesty. He was trapped in the home, doing nothing but practicing for his circus act. It wasn't too difficult. He'd gone through practicing with bent metal, sterile, hangers, as he had been instructed through an online video. Then he'd worked up the courage to try a small knife. He'd moved on until he was using a plastic Nerf sword Sam insisted upon keeping, simply because he, too, could be extremely childish. It had taken the brunet almost a day and a half, but he'd learned nearly a day early.
       Now, however, he had nothing more to do. He couldn't draw, couldn't sing, was bored of Just Dance, and was stuck waiting for an update on his book.
       With yet another sigh, 'John' went through his camera roll again, trying to laugh at a meme or two. Nothing really did much, however, and he wound up looking through his pictures of Rick once again. It was something he did often, usually when he was feeling more than a tad bit lonely. He was very lonesome, spending his days confined to the damned house.
       Some images were straightforward. Simply Rick being drunk and sending 'John' selfies with dumb faces. It was times like this where 'John' would remember Rick could be normal, too. He could be normal, send goofy pictures. He just had to be drunk enough to let his guard down.
       The images were mixed, the brunet flipping through every one of them. He grinned at the more lewd, the nude images being his favorites, obviously. There was one, and only one, where he had a full view of Rick's entire form. The man had jokingly asked the brunet if he wanted a picture when he wandered from the bathroom and accidentally, accidentally, dropped his towel. 'John' had laughed, giving a sarcastic 'sure' to which Rick told the brunet dramatically to hurry up. 'John' had never been one to waste an opportunity and had quickly snapped a photo of Rick standing in front of the bathroom door, the white towel pooled at his feet, one hand on his hip while the other held him up against the door frame. He wore the biggest grin, droplets of water still clinging to his hair. Every little thing about him was so captivating, even the scar in his abdomen, almost parallel to 'John's own. His blue eyes, though. They were so clear in the image the brunet could probably see his own reflection if he had the ability to zoom in without distorting the image. 
       'John' chewed his lip, hesitantly scrolling past. He'd never really taken the time to study the images, but he was now. He knew he should feel ashamed. He was a priest, he reminded himself. Not the same man he was before. But God he'd kill again just to have that life back.
       Almost as though afraid still of somebody catching him even though he knew he was alone, 'John' glanced around. He sighed, running from the open windows and into the confinement of his one-window room. The curtain was curtly drawn and the brunet happily sat cross-legged on his mattress, the bed springs bouncing him up as he scrolled through again.
       Image after image flashed across his screen, each showing Rick in a literal different light. There were some that had 'John' convinced Rick could be a villain for life, while others made him seem almost like the dream husband, the kind that painted the fence white and played with the small dog running after him. There were many that had 'John' practically drooling, shutting his eyes and remembering what it was like having the man move so fluidly through him. There had been a beautiful time when Rick had made 'John' feel so beautiful. He'd felt untouchable, so loved. But where was he now? Stuck in his room, ogling pictures of the only man he'd done so much with, feeling ashamed as he was a priest? That's exactly where he was.
       But his moral compass had been skewed from the beginning, and it wasn't like anybody was watching him. Though he certainly felt like it, glancing around so many times. He was a grown man, he reminded himself. He needed to stop being such a pansy sometime.
       'John' flipped rapidly back to the full-body image, wondering what to do. He could either shut his phone down, or give himself what he'd needed since he'd left a year and a half ago. 
       Even the pastor-esque voice in the back of his mind stood no chance as 'John' tugged himself free to his final layer, remembering how he had done this once and once only another time, the very day he'd moved in with Rick. Perhaps he could simply re-enact that if he could remember properly what he had to do.
       Glancing around, 'John' found his body pillow. The material was firm, only slightly loosened by his constantly cuddling up to it and wishing he could wake up with Rick next to him. Yes, he used it a lot, but it wasn't like the damn thing couldn't be washed.
       Curiously, 'John' slid the material beneath himself, sitting comfortably with the material between his thighs. He sat back on his legs, setting his phone brightness all the way up and leaning the device against his blankets, propped up for maximum visibility. 
       The brunet's eyes scarcely left the image as he checked to be sure he'd shut his window and curtain, the fan blowing and creating enough noise for the brunet.
       Deftly, open palms ran over a shy chest, goosebumps raising wherever the fingers trailed. 'John' gave a curious go at saying the name he hadn't spoken in nearly two years now. "Rick," he whispered into near silent air, loving how familiarly the name rolled off his tongue. It was like nothing had changed right now as he stared directly at the image, hard in an instant as he admired the man's lower half in the image. Tentatively, he pressed his pelvis to the pillow, enjoying the little push it gave back. The brunet tried the technique a few times, still running his hands lightly over his own chest as he slowly worked his hips. He remained in his briefs, being just fine with it for this as the material created friction against the pillow, sending tingles of fear and pleasure through him now. 
        The brunet pressed harder on the pillow, placing his hands to either side of it now. The phone slipped once and he had to readjust it, now hovering over the device and staring into the photographically documented blue he missed. He dragged his crotch over the material, enjoying the feeling. It was something he would compare to striking a match. With a few curious drags, he ignited a fire within himself.
       He moved harshly now, panting lightly as he ground against the material. The friction was more than enough for him as he watched the image on his screen with intensity nearing Rick's own when he would exceed nearly 200 MPH. God the thought of the adrenaline was like nothing before. It drove 'John', aiding him as he moved faster still, creating more friction still as he tried to take all he could. "D-Daddy," he whispered, missing the other name he'd fervently cried several times once upon a dream. It came back to him as he gave a soft moan, breaking the near-silence as he worked himself still, panting harshly as he teetered on the edge. 
       His groin was pooling with heat, the fervent need to release. 'John' could scarcely breathe, drawing what he could as he wished so badly to have the man back with him, to be his again. 
       Almost as though in an effort to summon him, 'John' moved rapidly, releasing abruptly with a sharp cry. "Rick!" he called breathily. He felt the mess he'd made in his briefs a moment later, drawing the pillow away from himself in an almost shameful manner. 
       'John' looked now at his phone again, tapping the screen before it could go dark. He shut the photosafe down, entering his messages.

Going to bed early. I don't feel well. Please don't wake me when you get home. Be careful.

(Sam)
Alright. Feel better. Goodnight.

       'John' would be forever thankful that Sam was required to answer the brunet at any time, shutting his phone down. He didn't feel like he had it in him to shower. He had already exhausted himself with all of his training earlier. Instead, he slipped free from his sticky prison and tossed his briefs to the side, in an area Sam wouldn't find them if he felt like doing laundry tonight. He flipped his pillow over, refusing to sleep with it right now but not wanting Sam to grow suspicious, should he check in on the brunet.
       As he laid down, 'John' was already in tears. He missed the time when he wouldn't have to depend on images to 'feel good'. He missed the time he'd specifically asked Rick to 'make him feel good again'. He just.. it wasn't right, what was going on. He belonged with Rick, but he couldn't be there. God, it was almost two years. Rick should have forgotten him by now, anyway.
       So, with his last bit of energy, 'John' cried himself to sleep, wishing he had somebody to draw him up and tell him everything would be okay. He wanted somebody to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he would be happy again. But he just felt empty. He felt empty beyond words, clutching his fists to his chest and curling in on himself beneath the blankets, wishing he could turn over and Rick would be there, on his phone like always.
        He was hurt. He was hurting, damaged forever because he couldn't ever forget what he wanted to.