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Title: Bound
Author: Lizzie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: NC-17, methinks.
Content: A little bit of strong language, and m/m sex with exceptionally dubious consent.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and unless I wake up one morning having mysteriously become Vince McMahon, I doubt they ever will be. Damn, that's a scary thought.
Distribution: Not that you're likely to want it, but if you do, just tell me where.
Summary: Someone wakes up bound, and he has no idea how he got there. Or who he�s with. Yup, that�s right, my summaries suck.
Notes: I don�t write third person for a reason, and this is my first for a while. And it�s a pairing I�ve never done before and probably never will again. It just struck me from out of the blue and I had to write. It's a bit odd for me. I have no idea what inspired this.

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Bound
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He�s pinned down and suddenly all his strength counts for nothing because with that weight on his back he just can�t move. He has no idea how he got there � he thinks maybe he remembers drinking, lifting a glass, sitting in the hotel bar, but his head�s so fuzzy he�s not too sure what he remembers. All he knows is he has no idea what he�s doing there and absolutely no idea what to do. And that scares him.

He moves an arm experimentally, tugging at it, trying to pull it in toward his chest, and he starts to feel the panic rising up inside of him when he feels the tie at his wrist. Both wrists. He�s bound there, helpless, flat on his stomach on the bed, cheek pressed down into the pillow. That fuzziness in his head just won�t wear off but slowly he�s starting to become aware of his situation. From what he can tell, this doesn�t look good.

Not that he can see at all because the room�s dark. He tries straining his neck, looking around, but all he sees is darkness, not even a crack of light from underneath the door. He has no idea if this is his room or someone else�s. He doesn�t even know if he�s still in the hotel. He doesn�t know what it is he�s been bound with, only that it�s tight and has his arms at full stretch across the bed. And he has no idea what�s on his back.

Until it moves, and then he knows. It�s someone, not something, and from the weight he�d say it�s a guy. A big guy. And that just makes him feel sick, although he�s not too sure whether whatever the hell he has in his system has a hand in that feeling too. But there�s a guy on him, on top of him, lying there. His bare skin�s warm against his own, and he shudders when he realises he�s naked, that they�re both naked. This can�t be good.

He can feel the movement of the guy�s chest on his back as he breathes, he can feel his breath on the back of his neck and it�s making the hairs stand on end. He can feel the guy�s hair as it pools on his shoulders, drags along his skin a little as he moves. He has long hair, long, soft hair. That�s all he knows. Whoever this is, he�s big and he has long hair. He knows he�s going to sound like a fool telling that to the police, but it�s all he has right now.

The shudder�s completely involuntary as he feels the kiss pressed to the back of his neck. It�s soft and moist and slow, and if he weren�t in this situation he might almost call it loving. It�s been a long time since he was kissed like that, and this isn�t how he imagined it happening again. The soft, warm lips and the long hair trace a line across his shoulders, left to right, slow. And he just catches himself before the sigh can escape his lips. It feels too good.

But then it doesn�t. The weight shifts and he can feel the cool air on his back replacing the warm flesh. He almost groans at the loss of contact but he remembers himself just in time. He�s supposed to be scared, remember? He has no idea where he is or who he�s with. And that thought does scare him. He has no idea what to do. And really all he can do it lie there quietly and pray that this is all over soon.

The sudden penetration as one lubed finger�s pushed inside of him makes him gasp. There�s nothing he can do about it. He wriggles against the bed but it�s useless because the guy�s got his full weight pressed down over his thighs and has his free hand in the small of his back, pushed him down and holding him in place. He�s strong. Big and strong and long-haired. God, how many guys does he know who fit that description? This can�t be happening.

He crooks the finger inside of him, searching around �til he finds the spot that makes him buck up off the bed. The guy chuckles down deep in his throat, and he thinks it sounds kinda familiar but his head�s too fuzzy to place it. All he can do is moan softly as tears spring to his eyes, because he can�t keep him from massaging his prostate ever so gently with the tip of his finger. He doesn�t want this but his body�s turned traitor. It just feels so good. He wishes to God it didn�t but it feels *so* good.

And when the guy pushes a second finger into him, thrusting faster, stretching him out, he can�t keep himself from pushing back against them. His whole mind�s screaming that this is just so wrong, that this is rape, but he hasn�t said no so is it really? He hasn�t said a word. He starts to wonder why but the thought�s cut short by the whimper he lets out as the fingers are removed. He knows what�s coming next. He�s not sure how he feels.

�No�, he tries to say but it comes out choked and pathetic. He tries again, his voice stronger, and again and again until he�s almost sobbing it and he can feel how desperate he�s got without even knowing it, he�s pulling on his restraints, he�s trying to get free, but then he feels big, strong hands settle on his hips, the wide, blunt tip of the guy�s cock pressing to him, and he freezes. There�s nothing he can do now but pray it�s over fast.

Then the guy�s inching inside of him, slowly, painfully, but he�s actually a little surprised how little it hurts. It could�ve been worse. It should�ve. He could have just fucked him, no preparation, no lube at all, split him open and made him bleed, but he hadn�t. He was being almost gentle. It doesn�t make sense. He's being raped and the guy doing the raping is being gentle? That isn�t right. It was supposed to be hard and fast and painful, not like this.

The guy just pushes forward in one long, slow motion until he�s all the way inside, as deep as he can go, and then he stops. He�s being stretched out inside, given chance to adjust, and he�s gripping the sheets, his tears soaking into the pillow. He feels a hand brush the back of his neck, making him shiver. Fingers play in his short hair, caressing him, making him frown and sob. This isn�t right. He doesn�t want this.

�I don�t want this!� he sobs as the guy begins to move inside him. The strokes are long, soft, and make his breath catch in his throat. He doesn�t want it, mentally, rationally, he doesn�t want it, but instinctually he does. His body does. And his body takes over. He presses back into every stroke, moaning, hearing himself and almost hating himself because of it. Everything they�re doing just feels so good. It�s not supposed to feel this good.

It gets harder and faster, almost frenzied. He can feel the sweat on his body in the cool room, the tension building inside him as each stroke brushes against his prostate, as hands and fingers dig into his hips, hard enough to bruise. He feels himself being pulled up, pushed forward onto his knees slightly, just far enough for an arm to wrap around his waist and start to pump him slow but hard. He knows it won�t take long.

And it doesn�t. Maybe fifteen seconds later he comes to his shuddering, moaning release, into the hand of the man who�s still inside him, still raping him. He falls forward, his knees not holding him, every muscle inside him contracting around the guy inside him, who almost roars with his own release. Then he draws out carefully, lying down on top of him, stroking his short, sweat-slicked hair and kissing his shoulder.

He�s breathing hard, heavy, almost restricted by the weight on his back pressing him down into the bed. His wrists are sore and he feels kinda weird inside, but there�s something missing. Pain? Shouldn�t he be in pain? Yeah, but that�s not it. He feels the guy breathing, feels his arms slip under him, around his chest, holding him. His hair tickles his back, his cheeks feels warm against his shoulder. His breathing�s soothing.

Soothing? There�s a guy lying there on his back, a guy who tied him down and raped him, and his breath�s *soothing*? What the fuck is that? There�s this big guy, just as big as he is himself, tall, muscular, lying on top of him, and he knows he should be feeling repulsed. But he isn�t. He isn�t at all. He feels strangely calm. He feels strangely satisfied.

And as he lies there, blinking into the pillow, frowning, something starts to stir inside his head. Something starts to life. The fuzziness clears and he starts to remember.

A drunken conversation in the hotel back with someone a hell of a lot more sober than he was. An admission he never thought he�d make. A fantasy shared. A kiss in an elevator. A shirt torn, wrists bound. He smiles. This is why he feels this way. This is why he knows the guy. This is why he doesn�t feel repulsed. Because this is actually what he wanted all along. He just didn�t know it.

�Could you untie me?� he asks. The weight shifts, the ties are released. He rolls onto his back, rubs at his sore wrists, shifts his legs getting all the feeling back. He hears the bed squeak as the guy lies back down beside him. He smiles to himself, reaches over and flips on the lamp.

He blinks, letting his eyes adjust, and looks over the guy beside him. He�s stunning, lying there on his side, head propped up on one hand, long dark curls falling around tanned, sweat-slicked shoulders. There�s a big, beautiful smile on his face, in his big dark eyes. Naked in this bed he�s even more beautiful than he�d imagined. He�s just perfect.

He reaches out and tucks a stray curl behind his lover�s ear.

�Thanks, Chuck�, he says. �That was amazing�.

�I know�, Chuck replies with a smile, reaching over to stroke his cheek with the pad of his thumb. �I love you, Sean�.

Sean smiles. This is almost too good to be true. �I love you too�.

�Just one thing�.

�Name it�.

�Next time it�s my turn�.

Sean just leans forward and presses his lips to his lover�s. That�s all the answer he needs. And they both know that the night is far from over.

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End
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