Come Hell or High Water

"Pete?" I turned my head to look over at Patrick, who was staring at my waist. "What are those?"

Shit, I'd forgotten all about them. "Oh," I giggled, unclipping the fuzzy handcuffs from my beltloop. "A fangirl gave them to me before the show. It was insane, this little chick that looked like Lyn-Z's kid sister tackled me and slipped them into my pocket. What do you think, should we break them in later?" I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively at Lunchbox, subtle as a heart attack as always.

Patrick just rolled his eyes at me and unstrapped his guitar, handing it off to his tech. "Dude, I can promise you right now that those will never be used." He walked off behind me, so I assumed it was the end of the conversation, unstrapping my own gear. Suddenly though, I heard his cute little "naughty Trick" voice in my left ear. "If I was gonna put you in bondage, I'd be using something more...sturdy..."

With a shudder, I turned to watch him leave for real, hands wedged in his hoodie pockets like he hadn't just molested my ear. That adorable little bastard... just when you think he really is a fallen angel, he does something that makes you wonder if he's hiding horns under that hat...

~~~

It was a hotel night, most thankfully. How I do love adjoining suites; all the closeness to Lunchbox, none of the funny looks from employees. As always, I headed down to the bar with Joe to hang while Patrick did whatever it is he does when I'm not around. I should ask him one of these days.

Sometime around midnight, I came merrily tripping down the hall to my room on the right, perhaps just a tiny bit tipsy. It was my happy assumption that I'd come in through the joint bathroom to see Lunchbox all curled up under the covers, hat and glasses hanging off the bedside lamp, sweet blond hair all askew on the pillow. Christ, I just want to pounce on him and squeeze him into the next lifetime when I see him like that.

However, as I stumbled through the wide-open bathroom, kicking my shoes off on the way, I didn't see his plump figure on the bed. "Lunchbox? Tricky, you in here?"

Just as I crossed the threshold into his room, I was ninjaed facefirst into the wall next to the door, arms yanked behind my back. "What the-" The words got choked out by my face being pressed into the ugly blue paint.

"You took your sweet fucking time tonight..." What the hell? When did Trick start using his "naughty" voice when he's violent? I thought to myself, panic quickly coursing through me. My answer came with his next words. "I go through all the trouble of getting everything ready, and you can't even be bothered to get back here at a decent hour?"

Christ, I got hard just hearing what it was he was implying. Not that I don't love what we usually have going, but sometimes a little danger is a nice change of pace. Patrick, my soft, sweet little cherub, was gonna... Oh God, it was too amazing and unexpected a mental image for my drunken cortex to comprehend. I groaned a little, my mouth open the drywall.

He must've liked the sound, because he pressed closer and made an amused little sound in the back of his throat. I could feel his smirk. "I'll take it you do want it this way, then?" His hand that was holding my head in place slipped down the back of my neck, allowing me to lean off the wall to swallow and nod excitedly. "Tell me what you want, Pete... tell me how you want it..."

I was glad to answer. "Take me rough, Tricky, take me hard..."

Without another word, I was chucked halfway across the room to land face down on the bed, thrilled by the suddenness. Oooooooo, I could tell I was gonna enjoy this new side of my Patrick. The bed shifted as he got on as well, whispering, "Don't fucking move unless I say so, OK? And if I go too far, just shake your head. No real point in having a safe word."

Safe word? Wait, what does he mean by- My head was wrenched back by my hair, and I saw a flash of silver. "Let's silence that pretty mouth of yours for a while, shall we?" I was pretty thoroughly shocked when he ripped off a length of duct tape and wrapped it over my mouth; all I could do was try to gasp through the epoxy.

His breath was on my ear again as he leaned over me. "Don't worry, Pete... I'll pull it off soon enough... I want to hear you scream when you're coming around my cock like a cheap whore..." Holy fucking Christ, I didn't even know that Trick knew words like that. It's such a rare treat to hear him cuss at all, and the filth that was spewing out now was like French champagne.

"Hands above your head, slut..." Trying not to seem too eager (keeping to character, I suppose), I raised them slowly up towards the headboard. Those soft hands grabbed my wrists, soon to be replaced by something rough and scratchy. Curiosity got the better of me, and I lifted my head just enough to see before he shoved my face back into the bedding. Rigging rope... the little evil genius had stolen rigging rope from the roadies.

"Hold the fuck still." I tried my best to stay limp as he tightened the ropes with the sort of force I'd only ever seen him use on his guitar when he was working out stress. He grabbed something else off the bedside table, and a chill ran up my spine as he straddled my lower back and something cold slid into my shirt sleeve. I listened to the snipping sound that informed me Patrick was cutting my tee from my body. My skin tingled when the fabric fell away and his fingers touched me, the tips tracing my barbed wire tattoo and following the line down the center of my back.

Sighing happily behind the tape, I arched my body up towards his once again docile touch. "Do you like it, Pete?" He smirked over me, circling my lower back tattoo, driving me mad slowly. I nodded my approval into the bedspread, only to try to gasp as I felt his tongue run up my spine. "You sound like you like it..." His hips ground down against me, and I felt his teeth nip at my left shoulder, his hot, hungry mouth biting a path up to my ear.

I couldn't help but moan into the tape when he growled into my ear. "I've been waiting all day for this...all during the concert, all I could think about was how I was gonna fuck you cross-eyed tonight..." Those wonderful hands of his slipped down under me and found my nipples, rubbing them hard until I thought I might just come then and there. I held back, though; I did not want this to end yet, not by a long shot.

Thank God, Patrick's hands got tired of my chest soon enough and moved down my torso, playing with the front of my jeans. My cock was already straining at the zipper by the time he finally started undoing them, sliding down off my body and pulling the denim with him. I whimpered quietly against my bonds as I felt the cool air hit my skin, those talented fingertips tracing up the inside of my legs. "Spread for me, baby..." Christ, my thighs fell open of their own accord when he said that. Sad as it sounds...he'd never called me 'baby' before...

He'd also never done what he did next. One moment I'm lying there, breathing heavily and twitching in anticipation; the next, I'm gasping for air as I feel a wetness circling my opening. Those wonderful, incredible hands were holding me spread as his tongue, his tongue, his tongue was licking at me, probing gently and teasing me. When he finally pushed in, I couldn't control myself, moaning like a slut and thrusting back.

Just as quickly as he started, Trick pulled away, my legs still spread wantonly. "Squirm for me, baby..." Two of his fingers shoved in abruptly, straight away working at getting me stretched, and I did as he asked, desperately grinding down against them. I'd never seen him so anxious to get down to it before; he usually takes a little more time to get warmed up. Not that I would ever dream to complain, the guy can go for hours.

"You should see how you look right now..." Trick's voice was rough with hunger, his free hand running over every inch of skin he could reach. "You look like such a little slut, moaning and pushing like that. Do you like it when I treat you like a slut?" I had no reason to lie, I did, so I nodded fervently, looking over my shoulder with glazed over eyes.

That evil little smirk played across his face. "I can't hear you, Pete..." With one swift motion, he reached over and yanked the duct tape off my mouth, making me glad I'd shaved earlier in the day, or it might've hurt a whole hell of a lot more than it did. A weak sob of relief escaped my throat as I was able to breathe again properly. "I asked you a question: do you like it?"

"Yes..." I choked out, thrusting back harder still, more desperate than I'd ever been for it. He was just being a tease now, a dirty, filthy tease.

"Tell me what you want, baby..."

"I want it, Tricky...I want it so bad... I want your cock..." Wow, maybe I really am just a tiny bit of a slut...

Smirking in victory, he pulled his fingers away, leaving me whimpering at the emptiness while I watched him undress hastily over my shoulder. He didn't even get his pants off all the way, just let them slide down his thighs, just enough to let me see what I was begging for. Patrick manuevered under the rope so he was sitting up against the headboard between my bound arms, that delicious cock at full attention. "Come here," he growled, pulling me from the crouched position I was still holding on my knees and onto his lap.

Our hard flesh rubbed together as he forced me into straddling his thighs, hands rocking my hips into his. "You ready to ride me, little slut?" Oh God, I loved him talking like that, my eyes shutting hard and my head nodding of its own volition. His fingers traveled down over my ass and grabbed my thighs, spreading me further. I was shaking from wanting him so badly, but he just grinned evilly, reaching over for yet another toy from the nightstand.

Gasping in amazement, I watched as he fastened a little strap of leather aroung my aching parts. "You bought a fucking cock ring, Lunchbox?" The shock forced me out of character.

For the first time since my meds were properly calibrated, Trick's hand flew out and gave me a well-deserved slap. "Focus, Pete, focus," he said sternly, though trying to hide his enjoyment. "You talk without permission again, and the duct tape goes back on. Besides..." There was definitely something dangerous in his eyes as he grabbed my hips again and lifted me into position. "Tonight, this isn't ending until I fucking say it is..."

As he shoved me down onto his waiting cock, I knew I was in for a long, though fruitful night. I could feel every ridge, every vein throbbing inside me as he slid in with little resistance, and it put me on the very edge already. But of course, Patrick had other plans, immediately setting a slow, steady pace as he lifted and dropped me over and over, the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Letting myself fall back into character, I simply threw my head back and let him move me.

It became increasing harder, however, to forfeit control. Those fingertips were pressing sainted bruises onto my hips, and I could feel that familiar chemical-induced euphoria in the back of my head. The booze might have worn off, but I was catching a new buzz. When his lips, those sweet plump lips closed around one of my nipples, I had no choice but to lose control, using my bonds for leverage as I took over the bouncing.

Through my haze, while I was riding my best friend like a mechanical bull, I became aware that I was slowly but surely getting higher than I had ever been in my life. This was better than Red Bull, better than Sprinkles cupcakes, better than paparazzi baiting and climbing shit and destruction of public property. Shit, it was better than Atavan. Hearing and feeling the way Patrick wrapped his arms around me and groaned into my chest was the sweetest, most addictive thing I could possibly put in my veins.

It took a deceivingly short amount of time before I heard Trick whimper in frustration and start fumbling in my lap, desperate to get the restraint off of me. "Can't have it last even just this once," he moaned as he unsnapped the leather, and I had a small-scale explosion all over his stomach and mine, clenching tight around him as I shook. The squeeze my muscles put on him forced him to reach the same end, and I felt him filling me with his warmth. My spent body hovered unstably above him a few moments, too tired to care which way I fell.

Soon it was obvious that the game was over when familiar, comfy arms reached up and pulled me down closer to him, his nose burrowing into my neck as he cuddled me. "That was...a lot more fun than I'd expected," Patrick chuckled, lips pressing gently against my shoulder.

"I'll say, Lunchbox. This had to have been out of your comfort zone. How did you find the balls to go and buy a cock ring, anyway?"

His cherubic cheeks turned pink when I pulled back to look at him. "I dared Dirty to get it from the sex shop down the street... I doubt he realized that I intended to use it..."

"It is rather unthinkable. So, is there a chance you can untie me now?"

That evil fucking little smirk reappeared as he pulled me forward again. "None whatsoever. You're going to have a fucking post-fuck cuddle with me, and you're gonna like it..."