Author: MistressCyberia aka charlotte ;)
Pairing: AJ/Kevin/Nick...and Brian pops up in parts 3 & 4
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: all authors thrive on it...so Give it to Me Baby! uh huh, uh huh... MistressCyberia@hotmail.com
Notes: This is basically a really long visual. The plot is there so I cram as much smut possible in...so just ignore the plot holes big enough to drive a tour bus through, and look at all the nice smut!! Also, this is completely AU...the Backstreet Boys don't exist, it's just these gorgeous guys. And I have exaggerated some characteristics of the guys for the sake of humor, so please read it with a sense of humor!
Warnings: This is really twisted...so if you're offended by any of the following, I would suggest you not read it: Violence, smut, language, bondage, s&m, rape, gunplay, knifeplay, leather, crossdressing, and poking fun at standardized religion. I may have missed something...but I think you get the idea. This isn't for the faint of heart. lol ;)
Disclaimer: just my own sick twisted fantasies....there's really not much point in suing me, im just a poor student...but they're not mine...yet...but someday i will save up enough to buy them, does anyone know how much they cost?
Chapter 2I’m fairly sure I can move.
I hear car doors slamming and roar of the engine as Richardson and his bitch drive off.
I try to sit up and wave of dizziness hits me. So I fall right back down.
Okay, that didn’t work.
I try again, slower, and am quite proud of myself for remaining upright this time.
I look down and realize my wifebeater is hanging in rags off me, stained with blood, sweat, and come. Damn, and it was my favorite too.
Well, I do have six more just like it, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.
I tug the rags out from under my shoulder holster. It chafes against my bare skin, but the rest of my body is so sore that it doesn’t really seem to matter. Each throb in my head sends spring-fresh waves of wonderful pain in a delightful little rush through my limbs.
In case you didn’t notice, that was sarcasm.
I guess I should at least be thankful Richardson didn’t cut up the holster too. I don’t have six more of them.
I manage to tug my jeans back up around my hips and fasten them.
And now, the real test.
Very slowly and very carefully, I attempt to stand.
Success! Ok, wavering now…but staying upright, and that’s all that’s important. I should probably go to the hospital or something, but the job isn’t done yet.
And you know what they say. If at first you’re beaten, raped, and humiliated, try try again.
Which I will.
Right after I sit down for a minute.
I use my dizzy, falling momentum to stumble a few steps and collapse in a chair while the world alternates between sparkly gray and swirly black.
When my vision finally clears, I spy all my weapons laid out on the table.
Well damn, that was awfully nice of Kevin. Good artillery isn’t cheap, you know. Replacing it all would’ve cost me a small fortune. Only the handcuffs are missing, but I don’t wanna know.
Okay, that’s a lie. I do want to know.
My ass hurts.
Then again, I think I do know.
I slide the Baby Eagle and the Glock back into their respective holsters and strap the knives back onto my forearms. Being fully armed once again does wonders. I feel much better now.
So I stand up and promptly fall back into my chair.
Okay, so weapons aren’t a cure-all. But they are all I’ve got at the moment.
I wait for the dizziness to pass and stand up again, more carefully this time, gripping the edge of the table for support. I slowly let go, and hooray! No falling, no wavering. Just nice, deep breaths, taking it slow.
I spy my trench coat still draped over the back of one of the chairs. I slide it on over my bare torso. Don’t want to catch a chill. Actually I just don’t want people giving me funny looks when I drive around armed and shirtless. Well, I don’t want the cops noticing anyway.
I manage to get outside without falling and the fresh air helps some more. The sharp pains in my head are starting to fade, and I’m not having to concentrate so hard on putting one foot in front of the other.
I slide in the driver’s seat of my blue Toyota. Sitting down, I feel even better. My ass still aches from the Grand Richardson Ramming, but the fuzziness in my head has cleared. I take a peak in the rearview mirror.
Ugh. Can you say butt-ugly?
Dried blood is plastered across my face and there’s some nice, puffy swelling around my eye, and an ugly purple bruise sprawling across my temple.
Oh well, at least it matches my hair.
Still, I pull over at the first gas station I see and clean up a little in the bathroom. I buy a bottle of aspirin and some of that funky new-age fruit juice. The clerk gives me a funny look as I pay.
Gee, I wonder why.
Back in the car, I pop four of the aspirin in my mouth and wash them down with a healthy swig of juice. My tongue twists a little around it. Tangy. Not bad. Washes the taste of blood out of my mouth anyway.
Feeling thoroughly refreshed, I pull back out onto the road and head for Nick’s apartment.
I pull into my little spot in the side alley. Since bursting in the front door would probably not be the best plan, I shimmy my ass up the fire escape and inch my way out onto the ledge outside Nick’s window. It looks into his bedroom, where, surprise surprise, Richardson and the bitch are having a yelling match.
Well, only Kevin is yelling. Nick is curled up on the bed, cringing and shaking his head. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Richardson looks pretty pissed. He grabs Nick by his hair and hauls him up to eye level, attacking the bitch’s mouth with a fierce, possessive kiss. Kevin drops him back on the bed, his beautiful features set in hard, stern lines. He says something else and Nick quickly strips off his clothes. He’s still fully erect. Bitch never did get off, did he? He turns over on the bed, lying down on his belly.
Kevin strips off his shirt and I catch my breath at seeing that gorgeous body. He unstraps the holster containing his Desert Eagle and drapes it over the bedpost. Disappearing for a moment, he returns holding a long, thin rod. He bends down and whispers something to Nick, whose hips convulse against the bedspread in response.
Kevin straightens and brings the rod down across Nick’s ass, leaving a long pink stripe across his buttocks. Nick jumps and squirms as Kevin continues to whip him, crisscrossing the welts across his back and thighs, but paying special attention to his ass.
Nick struggles to hold still under the rain of blows. Richardson is like a furious storm, eyes flashing, tendrils of hair like tiny black snakes, damp and plastered to his sharp bone structure. His sculptured torso gleams in the gray light, his whole body lightly sheened with sweat as he works Nick over with the cane.
I see Nick’s head turn toward me and his cheeks are tear-streaked. His eyes are unseeing, bewildered and brimming with pain. Finally his control breaks and he tries to cover his ass with his hands, shaking his head. Even though I can’t hear, I know he’s begging. Kevin slaps his hands with the rod and grabs him by the hair again, yanking Nick’s face level with his. He backhands him roughly, and shoves the blonde back down onto the bed.
Kevin peels off his pants, revealing his huge, rock-hard dick. Nick has curled up into a tight ball on the bed, trembling. Kevin makes some sort of gesture, but when Nick doesn’t respond, he slaps him open-handed on his cherry-red ass. Nick leaps up and looks at the dark man despairingly. Kevin makes the gesture again, and Nick crouches in front of him, taking Kevin’s cock in between his swollen lips.
Have I mentioned that I’m incredibly hard by this point?
But somehow I think jacking off while balanced precariously on this ledge would not be a good idea. So I just try to ignore it, which is a pretty hard, considering I got that bitch’s beautiful red ass displayed right in front of me. What I wouldn’t give to ram my dick between those hot little cheeks right about now.
So I give up trying to ignore it. It’s fucking impossible not to look, like a train wreck, or a plane crash, or a mime. Or two deliciously hot guys fucking.
Kevin is thrusting hard into Nick’s mouth, exquisite tension dancing in his beautiful features and in his hands, long fingers gripping handfuls of golden hair.
Richardson throws back his head and pushes the bitch back onto the bed, straddling his torso and working his cock with his long fingered hand as he comes all over Nick’s face.
Damn. It’s like my own private porn show.
Kevin picks the blonde up off the bed and takes him out of sight. He returns a few minutes later, alone, and collapses on the bed, pulling the sheets up around his waist and settling in for sleep.
I wonder where he took the bitch. Probably cleaned him up a little and sent him to sleep on the couch.
I suppose it’s better that he’s not here. Despite everything, he’s a sweet kid. Probably seeing his lover’s gorgeous face reduced to hamburger by a couple rounds from my .45 isn’t the best experience for him psychologically.
I wait a little while to make sure Richardson’s really asleep, then slide the window open and drop down quietly inside.
Kevin’s form is bathed in the pale light from the window, all white marble flesh and sculpted shadow. The sheet is tangled around his hips, arm thrown over his head, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.
He looks so ethereal lying there, too beautiful to really be human.
You know, I don’t want to kill him. But a job’s a job, and sentimental bullshit doesn’t get you paid.
I reach into my coat and wrap my hand around the grip of the Baby Eagle.
There’s an excited little yip behind me. “A.J.!”
I whirl around, drawing the gun and leveling it at the shadowy form behind me.
Aw fuck.
It’s Nick, tied to a chair in the corner. And he looks excited to me.
In more ways than one.
“A.J.!” he yips again.
I make a shushing motion and glance over my shoulder at Richardson, who hasn’t stirred. I reholster the gun and walk over to Nick.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
His jubilant expression collapses. Tears fill up his eyes and his voice trembles. “Kevin put me in a time out. He’s mad ‘cause I fucked you.” He bites his lips with a little sob. “He won’t let me come!”
I glance down at his straining erection and notice a tight ring binding it at the root. Cock rings are such a bitch, keeping the blood in your dick so you can’t come but stay hard. It’s damn cruel of Kevin just to leave Nick like this.
Yeah, I can’t help it, I feel sorry for the fucker. He’s looking at me so crestfallen, with a lot of pretty pleading and naive hope in his watery eyes.
I gently slide the ring off his cock. He moans softly as it comes off, head lolling back, eyes closing.
“Please touch me.” he whispers, voice hoarse and deeper than normal.
I reach to grasp his cock, but a strong arm slides around my throat and roughly pulls me up against what feels like a warm rock.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
“Come back for more?” the husky voice murmurs in my ear. It’s like fur whispering against my brain. I feel his fingertips graze my belly, slipping inside my coat, traveling up to wrap around my Baby Eagle, easing it out of the holster. The cool metal brushes my chest, and I feel the barrel slide along my jaw, the muzzle nestling in my hair. His arm releases my throat and his hand trails down my chest, tracing the line of hair that runs down from my navel, briefly dipping inside the waistband of my jeans before unfastening them, then plunging down to caress my throbbing dick.
I groan and shut my eyes, raw lust thudding under my skin. I feel the warm tickle of his breath ruffle my hair and sharp pressure of his teeth biting the cartilage of my ear. He grinds his hips against the Glock in the small of my back.
My eyes flutter open and I see Nick watching us with a pitifully tortured expression and a very hard cock.
I feel for him, I really do.
But I also feel Kevin’s hands and tongue on my body, driving me out of my mind with need. He digs the gun into the bruise on my temple and dull throbbing pain ripples through my head, caught up in the tide of throbbing pleasure, spiraling down deep into my belly where it twists in hot knots of desire.
He steps in front of me, keeping the gun pressed against my head, and slides my jacket off, giving a hard twist to my nipple.
“Lay down on the bed.” he commands.
I hesitate and he slaps me, hard.
Stars dance a merry little jig in front of my eyes as I stumble backwards to the bed and fall onto it. He’s a shadow on top of me, drawing my hands up above my head. I feel something cool and hard slide around my wrists and a soft click.
Ah, so that’s what happened to my handcuffs.
After I’m secured to the headboard, he takes all my weapons off me again, and sets to work pulling off my boots.
I hear a little noise of surprise and look down to see him holding up my Berretta.
“Clever little bitch. I didn’t know you had this one.” He peers at me with shadowy eyes. I can feel his stare like pressure against my skin. He presses the muzzle of the Berretta deep into my ankle and runs it up the inside of my leg, nestling it in the crease of my thigh. His body glides over me and he presses his cheek against mine, lips hovering beside my ear.
“Now if you had this little toy all along, why didn’t you shoot me while I was leaving the warehouse?” he whispers.
I don’t know what the hell to say, so I don’t say anything.
He straightens, straddling my chest, and slaps me again.
Oh look, the friendly little stars are back.
“Why didn’t you shoot me, A.J.?” he demands.
He’s just an ominous shadow above me, made real by the deep, angry voice and warm thighs pressing against my chest.
“I…I don’t know.” I manage to choke out.
He laughs, low and throaty, bending down to capture my lips in a brief, searching kiss.
“I think you do.” he murmurs. He presses a kiss to the bruise on my temple. “I think you liked what I did to you. I think you liked the way I fucked you. Hard. Rough.” He nips at my bottom lip. “Do you like it rough, A.J.?” His tongue slides down my throat. “I think you do.”
He sinks his teeth into the tough flesh of my nipple. I groan and arch against him, and he laughs, low and deep and throaty again and it drives me fucking insane. I can feel his hard cock digging into my thigh, or maybe it’s the Berretta. He grabs the waistband of my jeans and rolls them down over my hips and off of me. His long-fingered hand grasps my cock and begins to pump it slowly.
Ah. Shit. That feels damn good.
His other hand slides inside my crack to finger my puckered opening. A strangled moan claws its way out of my throat as he pushes his long, tapered finger inside of me.
Then I feel his warm, wet mouth cover the head of my dick and I want to scream. I settle for a drawn out, keening moan.
Fuck me, this man’s got a talented tongue. It traces the flare on the head of my cock, sliding up to swirl in the slit, then back down along the ridge on the underside of the shaft, circling the root and sliding back up the front, before enclosing the head with his lips, slowly sucking my cock down his throat.
I feel the head of my dick rub past the hard ridges on the roof of his mouth and then I’m enfolded by the velvety plush muscles in the back of his throat.
Have I mentioned that I’m about to shoot my fucking load inside his mouth?
I thrust between his lips and I feel his teeth surround the root of my cock, raking up the shaft and delivering a sharp nip to the tip.
Ah shit, it burns like a motherfuck!
His finger rocks back and forth inside me, and I’m writhing on the bed, hips twisting, wrists straining against the handcuffs. This guy’s a fucking tease, and it’s driving me out of my mind with mind-bending, frustrating, carnal need.
“Is something wrong?” he asks in an innocent voice.
“Fuck me you bastard! Stop screwing around and just fuck me!” I scream.
He laughs, all low and mocking and slides his finger out of me, starting a slow massage of my balls.
“Beg me.”
“What?” I manage to say.
He slides up my body, and stops when our faces are just a breath apart. “You heard me. I want to hear you beg for it, bitch.” He tongue darts out against my lips. I can feel his hip pressing against my aching dick, his hard cock nudging my belly.
Damnitt, I’m no man’s bitch.
I’m A.J. McLean, and I have a sense of style.
“Fuck you.” I say.
He sits up and grabs a fistful of my hair, then slaps me. He grabs the Desert Eagle out of the holster on the bedpost, and pulls back the slide, chambering a round. He jams it under my chin, and reaches back with his other hand to lightly stroke my cock with his fingertips.
“What was that?” he asks.
I swallow thickly.
Okay, I’m A.J. McLean, and I’m also horny and damn scared.
Fuck style, I’d like to live through this experience, thank you very much. And that means doing whatever the nice man with the big gun asks.
“Um…please?”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me!”
I hear the barest whisper of a creak and I know he’s putting pressure on the trigger. “You didn’t say please.”
“Please, damnitt!”
Yeah, I’m pretty terrified now. I really don’t want to have my brains splattered all over these nice sheets.
“Please what?”
If I wasn’t handcuffed to the bed, I would hit him. Well, if I wasn’t scared out of my fucking mind and handcuffed to the bed I would hit him. But instead I just pathetically whimper, “Pretty please fuck me, with whipped cream and a cherry on top.”
He laughs and puts away the gun. I breathe a deep sigh of relief.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He bends down and captures my mouth with his in a deep, probing kiss.
Yes, this is a definite improvement.
His long, hard body is pressed along the length of mine, naked and so hot I feel like I’m on fire. His tongue is a flame in my mouth, searing me from the inside out. His hand runs down my chest and between our bodies, where he grasps my cock. I groan into his mouth. He leans across my body and opens the drawer on the nightstand, retrieving a bottle of lubricant. He squirts a liberal amount on his hand and smears it in my ass, finger fucking me again. The lube is cool and satiny and feels a hell of a lot better than his massive dry cock shredding my innards. Not that that didn’t feel fucking amazing too.
I watch as he slicks the lube over his own cock, those amazing hands slowly stroking his length, caressing in smooth back and forth motions, touching himself like a lover.
Damn, I didn’t know I could be turned on any more than I was.
But there you go.
I spread my legs for him, fuck that it’s a bitch-like thing to do. I want him inside me, damnitt. Now.
Oh shit and there he is, huge and blunt and sliding into my ass. It feels so fucking incredible, like a fireworks bursting under my skin. All I can do is moan and arch and wiggle and scream like the fucking bitch he’s reduced me to.
And I don’t care, as long as he keeps fucking me like this, long and hard and on and on.
Kevin’s thrusting faster into me, breathing hard and heavy, sweat running in rivulets down his passion-twisted, gorgeous face, plastering strands of dark hair to his long neck, slipping over his sculpted smooth chest, over the hard ridges of his stomach, down, down to where he’s pounding my ass, all the while making those small little moaning and grunting noises which sound absolutely wonderful.
I wrap my legs around his hips and let him ride me. His lube-slicked hand covers my dick, and that’s it. I’m going to fucking explode.
Now.
“Oohh-yes-fu-ahhh-damn-oh-ah-yes-Ahhhh!”
Brilliant. I know.
But I’m quite proud of being that coherent; especially taking into consideration my brain has been reduced to a melted, quivering mass of pulsating sensation, along with the rest of my body.
He pulls almost all the way out of me in one slow stroke, moaning deep in his chest. I contract my muscles around the head of his cock, and with a loud grunt thrusts back into me and I can feel his cock jerking in hot streams inside of me as he climaxes.
Oh yeah. That was damn good.
I feel my come, sticky and thick on my chest.
Fucking spectacular.
And I’m not being sarcastic this time.
He rolls off me and I feel the handcuffs release my wrists. I just let them go limp above my head. Moving takes way too much effort right now.
I do manage to turn my head to look at Kevin. He’s lying stretched out beside me, eyes closed, breathing deep and even. My eyes wander up and I see the Desert Eagle in its holster on the bedpost.
I could do it.
I could shoot him right now.
But any thug could do that, and I’m A.J. McLean, and something about style, blah blah blah.
Yeah, whatever.
I settle my head in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder and close my eyes.