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Darius and Camila both figure it out not long after Belos dies. They seem to be in cahoots.
The worst part is that Hunter hasn't even screwed up, aside from a few mild mishaps. The biggest one involved a cuddle session going wrong with Willow, because apparently Hunter's hands weren't supposed to wander down to her lower belly without permission.
She hadn't been mad, though. Or traumatized. Or sad. She responded in true Willow fashion by yanking him away with a trusty vine, and then asking him if he'd ever heard of boundaries.
Hunter has let a few things slip around Luz, but her reactions are always a lesson. There's some stuff he shouldn't say, ever. There's some stuff that's in its own special category, and that stuff should be locked away too tight for even Hunter himself to access it.
But Darius and Camila figure it out.
They're both acting weird, weirder than usual, which is the only reason Hunter eavesdrops. The two of them are in Darius's kitchen, talking across the table, and Hunter is supposedly outside, except he's snuck through an open window. Eberwolf's friendship has opened a million new doors for shenanigans.
He wants to know what's so fucking secret that it can't be said in front of him.
He gets his answer immediately, in the form of Darius's agitation.
"-been raping the kid for Titan-only-knows how long and you think I can-"
...Hunter is now back at the open window. The decision to escape isn't even conscious. It's reflex, instinct. He doesn't want to hear any more of this, and if he freezes up, he'll hear more of this. Best to get out of dodge.
Even through the ringing in his ears, he can already see one huge problem:
It would be a lot less complicated if Belos had raped him.
-
Belos never raped Hunter because Hunter was always willing.
This is how things had gotten messy with Luz: she has a much broader, much more flexible sense of that word. She and Hunter fought about it, pretty recently. She pulled up a bunch of books and websites and organizations and told him that everyone in the world was in agreement that he was being a giant dickhead, and then he told her he didn't really care what a bunch of dumb humans had to say about the matter, and then she froze up completely and said, "Wait - Hunter, have you-?"
...She probably told Camila. That's probably how this all started.
There are certain things about the dynamic that Hunter recognizes now, of course. But those things don't actually change the reality.
Hunter was the only one allowed in Belos's private chambers, but he only ever came when called. And Belos only called him when he wanted something. And-
-
"Easy, Hunter," Belos said. He was dressed down for bed but still clothed. Hunter himself had discarded his armor, but his tunic and his pants and boots remained intact.
Hunter did his best to calm his breathing.
Belos rose from the bed and walked over to him, slow, purposeful. Hunter's breathing spiked again.
But Belos wasn't angry; he never was, on nights like this. Instead he drew Hunter to him, a careful embrace, a firm hand on the back of his neck.
Hunter pressed his face into his uncle's shoulder and smelled sweat, smoke. They were the scents of a witch who hadn't bathed after a long day, not the smell of a curse-monster about to strike.
"No need to fret," Belos told him, ever-so-gently. "You've been very good."
Hunter wasn't playacting the fear. But he was playing a role. These encounters were the only times that the fear was allowed to show. Belos had no patience for cowardice in his Golden Guard; here, though, in the soft light and the quiet room, he had infinite patience for his anxious nephew.
Hunter liked being held like this. He liked being soothed. He liked being reassured. These nights were the only time that Belos ever felt wholly, completely safe. Completely in control.
Hunter had developed something of an addiction to this kindness. Because it was kind. Belos could just as easily have pinned Hunter down, covered his mouth, torn him open. Raped him for real, with all the brute force that entailed. It would be his divine right. That he offered this patience instead was nothing short of miraculous.
Belos was already hard. Hunter could feel his cock pressing into his stomach, through the thin fabric of the Emperor's pajama pants.
(Later, Hunter would realize that this little ritual was what turned Belos on in the first place. He liked soothing Hunter's terror just as much as Hunter liked being soothed. He liked that Hunter was afraid. If Hunter ever stopped being afraid, Belos would find a way to fix that.)
Hunter remained where he was, wrapped in the Emperor's arms, awaiting instruction. He kept still as Belos slid a hand down his back, below the waistband of his pants and his underwear, slipping between his legs.
The Emperor's hand was warm without his gloves. There was nothing immediately erotic about the movement; it was almost clinical. He ran two fingers along the labia, and then he chuckled.
"Already this wet?" he murmured. "Have you touched yourself today?"
Hunter shook his head immediately. "No, no, I wouldn't-"
"Good."
When Hunter's tension didn't abate, Belos said, "Breathe, my dear boy. You're wet enough. There won't be any pain."
Back in the beginning, it had been a lot harder for Hunter to get wet. Too much in his head, not enough in his body. Belos still hadn't raped him, then, but despite the gentleness, Hunter had still bled. More than once.
Nowadays, he started aching the moment Belos sent for him. His body had learned to do that. Like a funny kind of combat training.
As if to prove his point, Belos slipped a finger inside Hunter. The intrusion was swift, slick, and uncompromising. He'd pushed in all the way to the knuckle, the pad of his fingertip searching out a sensitive spot.
Hunter's insides clamped down like they wanted nothing more than to keep Belos right there. His outsides whimpered, a bitten-off cry of distress.
"Easy," Belos murmured again. The hand on Hunter's neck squeezed harder; the hand between his legs continued to move.
He found what he was looking for a second later. Hunter's whole body spasmed, his knees going weak.
Belos hummed, stroking his fingertip in a tiny circle, massaging the nerve.
Hunter made another low animal sound. Never no or stop or don't, please - but Belos was kind, and so he allowed Hunter to express his upset.
Hunter had never liked having anything inserted into him. It didn't matter what the object or body part was; the intrusion always came with a profound sense of wrongness. Something alien in his guts. Something that wasn't supposed to be there.
Belos knew he didn't like it. But Belos liked it, and the Emperor's desires always came first. So he coaxed Hunter through each session with the tender care of a guardian making a child take bad-tasting medicine.
Belos slid a second finger into Hunter, just beside the first, crooking the digits inside him. Hunter's breath caught on a wail - too much, too fast, his brain caught between desperate discomfort and even more desperate pleasure.
"Is this uncomfortable?" Belos asked.
Hunter hissed a yes into his shirt, gasping for breath.
"Pity that you like it so much, then."
But there was a smile in his voice. Amused, not irritated. Fond.
And why shouldn't he be? Hunter might as well have been a child refusing to eat his vegetables. This was a common refrain between them. There had been a few nights when Belos hadn't gotten off at all. Instead he'd laid Hunter facedown in his bed and spent hours just making him writhe. Hunter had cried, more than once, by the end of it, frustrated and exhausted and no longer able to tell the difference between pleasure and pain.
Tonight, Belos seemed intent on pushing him before they'd even reached the bed. It was less than three minutes of these gentle ministrations when Hunter felt heat pool in his belly. He stiffened, pawing weakly at Belos, trying to alert him. "Please-"
"Hold it," Belos commanded.
Hunter would do anything to avoid disobeying a direct command. He also didn't have much time. When he knew he was about to come, the window to stave it off was mere seconds. "Please, I can't-"
"Hold it, Hunter."
The Emperor was not helping him with this objective. If anything, he was massaging harder, a third finger dipping to rub around Hunter's clit, like he wanted him to fail.
Hunter bit down on the fabric of the Emperor's shirt, careful even now not to hit skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating hard, trying to pull himself out of his body and relax his coiled-up muscles. Sweat dripped down his temple.
He whined again, all animal now, a desperate plea for mercy. His god did not relent.
Hunter came hard, spasming around Belos's hand, the shirt still clamped between his teeth. He was crying, but that wouldn't be a problem; Belos never minded that.
The Emperor continued to fuck him for a solid minute after the climax had ended, when the pleasure had turned to punishment, pain pulsing through Hunter's insides. It was only when he finally pulled out that Hunter unclamped his jaw, exhaling a shaky, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, mercy, I'm sorry-"
Belos disentangled himself from Hunter, wiping his wet fingers on Hunter's shirt. He took a step back and scrutinized Hunter with the tired expression of a parent reading a bad report card.
"Oh, Hunter," he said, and the cold disappointment hurt more than a thousand slashing cuts, "what are we going to do with you?"
-
Hunter wakes with the sweaty bedsheets tangled around him. He came in his sleep, he can tell - but the orgasm has done nothing to dampen the nausea or the desire. Sick with longing, he stumbles into the bathroom. And promptly pukes his guts out in the toilet.
The noise must wake Darius, because the next thing Hunter knows, his guardian is leaning against the bathroom doorframe. He already has a tiny abomination scrambling in with cleaning supplies.
Hunter waits for him to say, Gross. Next time do that outside.
Darius doesn't say that, which means he must really be worried. Instead he says, "I thought we agreed old human pizza is not a viable meal."
The last time Hunter puked like this, it had indeed been due to old human pizza.
The problem with Belos and with sex is that Hunter misses both. He'd do anything to have that calm certainty back. To feel that cared for and that miserable and that helpless, all over again.
Hunter can't even count the number of times he's wished that Darius was like Belos. Wished that he could crawl unclothed into his guardian's bed and be greeted with open warmth instead of horror. Let's take a look at you. You do have a lovely physique, Hunter. Here, open up your legs for me-
He's put a lot of thought into it, actually. How he'd bite down on the fear because he doesn't think Darius would like it. How he'd learn not to whimper or whine when Darius touches too deep inside him. How good he'd be, how good he'd be, how well he'd serve and how good he'd be and how he'd sleep naked and curled against Darius like a pet. How he'd wake to a smile and the kind of praise he hasn't gotten since he stopped being the Golden Guard, how he'd-
For some reason, this brings the nausea back in full force. He leans forward and hurls again.
Now Darius enters the bathroom properly, laying a hand on Hunter's sweaty hair, even though he hasn't put his gloves on.
He must be really worried.
"Kid-" Darius starts.
Hunter closes the lid of the toilet and folds his arms atop it, dropping his head.
"I know you know," he says. "I know you know about me and Belos."
Darius exhales very slowly.
"I'm sorry," Hunter adds, and he means it, more wretched and miserable than he's been since he lost Flapjack. "I'm really sorry. It's disgusting. I didn't - I didn't mean for you to know. I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Darius says swiftly.
But that's just because he doesn't understand. Hunter's read a lot of those books Luz pulled up, even though he'll die before he tells her that. He's binged the psychology, the theory. He knows that sexual abuse victims often feel irrational shame, like what happened was their fault, even when it wasn't.
But Hunter isn't a victim the same way as all those people. The sex with Belos was good. It wasn't some final-nail-in-the-coffin, beyond the pale atrocity. Hunter's always been more messed up by the lashing out and the volatility and the cruelty than anything else.
Belos was kind to him when they had sex. What does it matter if he also fucked Hunter until he bled? A little blood never hurt anybody. Those nights were the only time Hunter ever felt secure.
Even now, he wants Darius to fuck him just to prove that he's wanted. I could be so good if you let me. I can be so good.
That seems like something to apologize for.
Darius seems unlikely to accept an apology, though, so Hunter just asks, "Is Camila angry with me?"
"What?"
"I fought with Luz." Hunter lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. It takes all his strength not to crumple as he adds, "It's okay if Camila is angry, by the way. I won't get upset."
Darius sits down on the bathroom floor beside him, leaning against the sink. "No one is angry with you, Hunter. For fuck's sake. We aren't monsters."
"I mean, on a technicality," Hunter says, "you kind of are."
The corner of Darius's mouth quirks. "Thank the Titan. You're still well enough to be an obnoxious pedant."
Hunter tries to smile, but he can't quite make it work.
"More to the point," Darius adds, "you are not disgusting."
This is simply not true. Hunter shrugs. He gets to his feet and steps around Darius to brush his teeth, because he's not confident they can have a productive conversation about this.
"Hunter," Darius says.
Hunter concentrates on his teeth. Best to get the gross taste out of his mouth.
Darius stands as well, folding his arms. "Hunter."
Hunter spits his toothpaste into the sink. "I sometimes wish you were more like him."
To his credit, Darius doesn't immediately freak. He just arches an eyebrow. "In what way, exactly?"
"I wish I could be good for you," Hunter says, and he hates himself for saying it, but the self-sabotage is necessary; Darius will never understand how sick Hunter is if Hunter doesn't tell him. "I wish I could - I wish I could make you happy, and you'd - you'd hold me, and tell me I'm doing good, and that I didn't fuck it up." Now he's crying, which sucks, because Darius will think he's fishing for sympathy, but he can't stop. "I wish I could just do what you want and-"
"Hunter," Darius says, but this time it's soft. No anger, no amusement. It might be the softest Hunter's ever heard him speak. "Come here."
There's barely a step between them in the first place. Hunter turns toward Darius and finds himself pulled into a sudden bear hug. It's warm, and calm, and it feels safe. Darius has a hand in Hunter's hair instead of on his neck, stroking the sweaty strands. There's no hard cock reminding Hunter of future terror, there's no wandering fingers. There's just Darius, hugging him, holding him, expecting nothing in return.
"You're doing great, you little shit," Darius says, still soft, so affectionate that the nickname doesn't even sound mocking. "Hunter. Listen to me. I don't need to be Belos to see that. I don't need to hurt you to see that. You're doing great."
Hunter presses his face into Darius's collarbone and dissolves.