Freshly showered, they lay on the bed together, limbs twined. JC nuzzled at Lance's blond-tipped, disheveled hair and kissed the faint pulse at his temple.
He had to say, he had to ask, even if... "JC, do you think I—do you think I'm, I'm."
"Dirty? No! No way."
"Because I wanted... that?"
"Not dirty, never that. Nothing could ever make you dirty, unless you want to be," JC said, firmly. "I'm glad you told me, I'm glad you could trust me. I told you, it's all good." JC's arms held him tighter. "And you're mine. You're beautiful, and you're mine. I love you."
"I love you, 'C. And—thank you."
"Babe?" JC said anxiously as he opened the back door of the SUV. Lance uncurled himself from the back seat and staggered towards the house. JC grabbed an arm and helped him to walk.
"Oh, oh God. JC. God. Hold me, please hold me." JC dropped his stiff, shiny jacket onto the ground and wrapped his arms around Lance.
"Lance, babe, are you okay? You're not—are you hurt?"
"JC. It was, I was, it was... oh, God, JC."
JC held him tight.
Lance pulled the 4Runner into the small parking bay at the southernmost edge of the lot. He was pretty sure this was the spot JC had suggested, nicely out of sight of the club, where no passing fans would glimpse it. Fans were great, of course they were, but some nights, they just didn't want the attention. Tonight was just for him and JC.
His was the only vehicle in this corner of the parking lot. Okay, Tuesday night, maybe not so many people out here so early in the week. He switched off, got out of the car—wait, was someone there? He thought something moved, in the trees? Lance peered into the shade, but the light from the bright half moon didn't show much. Maybe he should get the flashlight out, to see his way up to the restaurant. Or was that stupid? He was unexpectedly nervous tonight.
Flashlight. Yes. He went around to the passenger side.
He was about to open the door when somebody grabbed him from behind, pinned him against the SUV's tall side with one wrist held awkwardly up between his shoulderblades and his assailant, and ordered him not to scream. Enforcing the command, a hand gloved in black leather slid across his face, covered his mouth and forced his head backwards. Lance's legs turned to water as he felt hot breath against his ear. And the man behind him began to talk.
"Pretty boy like you out here all alone, waggling that ass like you do, just asking for it, aren't you? You're gonna get it, gonna get it good."
The voice was strangely muffled, and when Lance struggled to get a glimpse of the face so close to his own, he realized the man was wearing a black mask. The stranger's body pressed closer, pressed him hard against the 4Runner's door, trapping his arm, kicking his legs wide.
Cold metal against his exposed throat, a blade. "You're going to be good, aren't you. Not a sound. You're gonna do just what I tell you, right, boy?"
Lance whimpered and nodded, his head inclined leftwards, away from the cold metal at his throat.
"Give me your hands." He felt them being tethered behind him, some kind of strap wound several times around his wrists. Trembling against his car, he tried to calm his hurried breathing, tried to keep his frantic heartbeat under control.
The scrape of a zipper, loud in the quiet of the evening.
"On your knees. Suck me off, cocksucker, pretty boy like you, you can do that. Made for it." He was turned and forced down, off balance with his hands tied behind him. A black leather-gloved hand pulled his attacker's half-hard cock from his tight jeans, the other hand wove itself into Lance's hair and urged him forward. No choice, no choice, he had to do this.
He opened his mouth, took it in eagerly, suckled and caressed, licked, coaxed. The cock swelled on his tongue, sweat-sweet and familiar, and the scent of sex flooded his nostrils as he worked in earnest, stretched and straining, unbalanced without his hands, and the cold blade was lying against his neck now and the hand in his hair controlled him, and he was so very, so shamefully turned on, on his knees in the parking lot to a man whose face he couldn't see.
"Stop!" And the hand in his hair wrenched him backwards, and he was hauled to his feet and shoved against the 4Runner, bent over the moon-lit silver hood. Lance moaned as his pants were undone and pulled down to expose his ass. The muffled voice was spilling filthy promises into his ear, and he couldn't struggle, he was helpless. Leather hands on him, two fingers pressing behind his balls, intruding inside him, rough and irresistible.
His pants were jerked down further, so that his own painfully constrained erection was freed and pressed against the SUV's chilly side. And there was a cock at his ass, pushing inside him, long burning thrusts driving him hard against the silver hood, strong hands grasping his hips, and a voice not muffled anymore, telling him his ass was made to be fucked, fucked until he screamed. He wouldn't scream, he didn't dare, but he couldn't hold the sounds entirely inside, and his own groans mingled with the grunts and panted breaths of the man driving into him again and again, who pulled back, paused, then rammed in deep with a hiss of satisfaction.
Lance couldn't move, stayed bent over with his ass slickened and used and his knees weak. He almost sobbed as the cock inside him withdrew, he was so close, so close, but the 4Runner's smooth, barely-warm side didn't give him what he needed.
The man behind him hauled him upright. "You want to come, don't you? Dirty little boy, getting off on it. You got to ask for it. You got to beg."
"Please." He couldn't help but say it. "Please..."
Leather-gloved fingers closed around his cock, and he groaned, and everything rushed up. He came helplessly, spattering the sides of his car, and sagged back against harsh, studded leather.
He hardly noticed the hand groping in his pants for the key, or how the restraint round his wrists was unwrapped. His limbs were boneless, he let himself be pushed onto the back seat of his own car with a growled promise of more, and the door slammed and the man in leathers got into the front seat and started the engine.
Details. It was all about the details.
A blade. Not a knife. A pair of scissors, the ones with the very stiff hinge, and tape the handles together. Wouldn't want them to open up at the wrong moment and do actual damage.
No condoms, but. A pocket-sized tube of lube, get the lid loose, all ready for a quick swipe.
Leather belt, old and supple. Leather jacket, new and stiff, bulky, still smelling of the shop. Intimidating. Unfamiliar. Black gloves, the leather thin and flexible, well-worn.
Planning. Timing. Pick the spot, away from the street lights, veiled by trees, where no-one would see it happen.
JC looked thoughtfully at himself in the mirror. Anything else?
Black hat. And something to cover the bottom half of his face.
A stranger looked back.
The bed was a mess. Lance slithered out and straightened the sheets, removed the pretty silk scraps and dropped them onto the bedroom chair. He climbed back next to his spreadeagled lover, hauled the comforter over them both.
He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "Was that what you had in mind?"
JC looked up at him, wide grey-blue eyes unfocused, and a dopey grin almost sliding off his slack, contented face. "Mmm, yeah. Babe."
Lance kissed him on the nose, and snuggled down beside him. "You know what? I think I'll keep you around. Our sex life's never going to get boring while you can come up with this stuff."
JC gave a small, contented grunt. "Fantasies 're good," he mumbled. "No more jello, though."
Lance grinned, and rolled onto his side, plumped his pillow into submission, and settled in with his butt touching JC's hip, and one foot connecting with JC's ankle. Just to be sure he was there. "Definitely no more jello."
"Babe," said JC, as Lance was drifting sleepwards. "We always use my ideas. 'S your turn. You got any fantasies you wanna play out?"