Games Boys Play (15 page)

Stifled refusal.

Twist.

“
Fuh you
,” he managed to pant.

“Name.”

“Not fu’ing te’ing—
Fuhhhhhhh
!”

And then both hands were gone, and the intruder was walking away, leaving him sucking air through his mouth, his head bent but his eyes looking up, watching the intruder stop at the sliding door, one hand holding the blinds away while he looked out at the night.

Brian had to pry his fingers open from the fists he’d clenched them into. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward.

“I’ll have a name before I leave.” The blinds knocked softly against each other as they dropped into place.

He wondered how much he could withstand on just principle, since they both fucking knew the name the intruder was asking for. He wound his index finger around the rope that stretched his arms and felt along it for a knot he might be able to pick at.

The intruder walked over and watched him trying to get free.

Fuck him.

Staring at the rug, he focused on shifting an ankle closer toward his hand—maybe he could at least get his feet free. He looked back, trying to see where the knot was.

“You know, if you don’t want to sit in that chair, that’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Here.” The intruder ducked behind him. With a tug, the rope that held Brian’s arms came loose. His knuckles knocked against the seat of the chair, relief crawling through his strained muscles

The ankle ropes came loose with a tug as well, one foot dropping like deadweight to the floor, then the other. It took a little longer to unwind the ropes holding his chest, the intruder’s knee bumping his thigh as he worked, Brian trying to squeeze a hand free of the plastic cuffs while Dylan was too busy to notice, but that was no good. Soon he was being pulled to his feet. The intruder put a hand on his chest and backpedaled him against a wall.

He didn’t know whether to attribute the sudden floaty-headed feeling to standing up or to the heat of Dylan’s body so close to his.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” the intruder said. “I know I’m having a good time. I hope you’re not. Don’t move.” He walked away to grab his backpack, tossed the ropes inside, and hiked it over his shoulder while Brian wondered what was next. Was it time already for the intruder to switch out for Dylan?

It couldn’t be; he hadn’t gotten a name out of Brian yet.

With an arm around Brian’s shoulders, the intruder led him away from the wall as if they were buddies. “Let’s go in your bedroom, huh? See what we can get up to in there.”

Brian’s feet slowed. He almost stumbled over one.

The intruder tightened his grip. “Don’t be chicken. The best thing about tonight,” the intruder said as he led Brian along, “is I’m on no one’s schedule but my own, so there’s no need to rush anything.”

At the door, his intruder leaned close to say, “Unless you want to go ahead and tell me your friend’s name and save yourself some trouble.”

Would that get him out of this?

He doubted it.

“In you go.” The intruder gave him a shove, then pulled the door closed behind them.

“I’ll even do you the favor of cutting those ties off your wrists.” He dropped the bag on the end of the bed and pushed a hand into one of the pockets to retrieve a safety cutter. He pulled out a rope too, shaking it free of the others before returning to Brian and turning him so his forehead touched the back of the bedroom door. Before the intruder cut anything, he tied the rope around one of Brian’s wrists, keeping the tail of it in his hand. The plastic cutter slipped between Brian’s skin and a plastic cuff. Just that quickly, his wrists came apart, the cut cuff tickling his foot as it dropped to the floor.

The intruder turned his upper body away to toss the cutter toward the bed.

It was Brian’s chance, and he took it, grabbing the doorknob with his free hand while throwing his body sideways, out from between the intruder and the door. His plan was to get on the other side of the door and pull it closed between them, giving him time—he hoped—to untie the rope from his wrist, but he didn’t make it that far. The intruder stepped sideways with him, grabbed him around the chest, and yanked him away from the doorknob.

Squirming, he twisted and dropped to one knee, sliding out from under the intruder’s grip, his roped wrist hanging in the air.

“It’s gonna be like this, is it?”

Fingers grabbed his hair. He tried to stand, but the intruder dragged his foot out from under him and shoved him to the floor. His teeth banged together as his chin hit.

The intruder hauled him onto his back, sat on his belly, and caught hold of his flailing arm.

He fought against having his wrists tied together again, even if it was in front of him. The pain of the intruder’s shin grinding against his knee made him cry out. He jerked his free hand away again, but the intruder leaned harder onto his leg and forced his arm back. The ropes went around quickly and not nearly as neatly as the earlier rope work. The intruder managed to get a knot tied while Brian spat out a few
fuck you
s and
get off me
s, careful to keep his voice low enough that the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops.

The intruder yanked another knot tight, then another, before throwing Brian’s hands down and climbing off him to drag Brian by an ankle over to the pack, where he fished out another length of rope.

Brian tried to grab hold of the rug as the intruder hauled him to the door.

As soon as the intruder let go of his ankle, he scrambled around and reached for the doorknob, but not quickly enough.

The intruder knocked his hip against the door, holding it shut while he worked a quick knot into the rope he’d brought from the bag.

“Out of the way.” He used a handful of Brian’s hair to haul him away from the door. Inserting his body between Brian and the doorknob, he cracked the door open. Brian lurched for the opening, still on his knees. The intruder kicked him away and pushed the tied end of the rope over the top of the door before shoving it closed, leaving a length of rope hanging from the top.

“Up you go.” He grasped Brian’s armpit and hauled him up, pinning him to the door with his chest. He used the rope hanging from the top of the door to tie Brian’s wrists over his head.

Instead of fighting it, Brian sagged, his eyes closed, the taste of his own sweat on his lips. His chest heaved as the intruder tied two hard knots between Brian’s wrists. He liked the weight of the intruder against him, the sharp dig of his hip. The heat between their bodies and the smell of sweat from both of them.

The intruder backed away, his gaze sweeping from Brian’s wrists down to his feet, not bothering to linger on the moist circle in the fabric where the head of Brian’s cock leaned.

Clearly, by now, after all they’d done, Dylan knew his dick got hard doing this, and he was polite or disinterested enough to ignore it, leaving Brian free to do the same.

Gritting his teeth, he tugged at the rope. It held. He closed his hands around it, bending his knees, putting weight on it.

It held.

“Got that name for me yet?”

He wiped his brow against the inside of one arm.

The intruder walked up to him. “You would save yourself a lot of trouble if you just give me a name.”

Brian sucked a deep breath through his nostrils, tightened his stomach muscles—and hocked a wad of spit at the intruder, hitting him on the shoulder.

The back of the intruder’s hand shot out and whipped Brian’s head to the side.

Brian couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Cause and effect. Shifting his jaw, he could feel where each of the intruder’s knuckles had landed.

The intruder wiped the spit from his shirt and smeared it on Brian’s chest.

Behind another smirk, Brian started working up a fresh projectile.

The intruder turned away, heading to the backpack. When he returned, he had a roll of duct tape around his wrist and a red foam ball in his hand. “Remember this?”

Smirking again, Brian hocked the fresh wad of spit at him. It hit midchest and clung.

The duct tape thunked on the floor. The intruder’s hand gripped his throat. He slammed his chest against Brian’s. His chin dug sharply into the corner of Brian’s jaw.

He wondered with a hitch of panic if Dylan was play pissed or really pissed. Brian grasped the rope and closed his eyes.

The willpower it took not to shift his hips, grind a little…

“We’re gonna put a fucking stop to that spitting right now.” His voice was gruff and low in Brian’s ear.

The foam ball scraped his lips. He bucked, trying to turn his face away. His cock bumped the intruder’s thigh, sending a mix of incredible pleasure and panicked embarrassment through him.

The ball stayed with him, trying to get through his clenched his teeth. Dylan shifted, his hip moving across Brian’s cock.

He pulled at the rope above him, desperate to get his hands free and shove Dylan away. Their bodies bumped again. His toes curled, trying to dig into the floor. He had to open up, let the ball push in, let it fill up the space in his mouth, so Dylan would let go and back the fuck away from his dick.

He made a choked noise as the foam expanded his mouth.

The intruder ran his thumb across the exposed foam between his teeth, making sure it was in as far as it would go.

And then he stepped away and backhanded Brian again.

His head knocked to the side. His fists clenched. He drew air in through his nose, closing his eyes, feeling the sting of the hit start to throb as blood rushed to his face. Somewhere nearby, the duct tape went
shhh-shrip
. He moaned softly as it was pressed across his mouth, just the one strip before the intruder smoothed his hair, hung his hand from Brian’s nape, put his forehead against Brian’s. “What’s the safe word?”

Fuck. Banana split
wasn’t going to work. What the fuck was it? He turned his eyes down to the intruder’s chin. He could smell Dylan’s sweat. The plasticky odor of the blackout makeup around Dylan’s eyes. Dylan shifted, and in his ear Brian heard softly, “Dun dun dun dun da-dun…”

Right.

He joined in for half a measure, pushing the sounds through his nose, enough to show he got it.

“Good.”

He tugged halfheartedly at the ropes holding his wrists.

With a light slap to Brian’s cheek, the intruder crinkled the corners of his eyes and said, “Doing okay? Not too tight? You look worn-out.” He gave the ropes a tug. “Don’t sweat it—you’ll have something to take your mind off hanging here in a moment.” He trailed his fingers up Brian’s arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

Brian tried to shift away when they reached his armpit.

And then the intruder dug his thumb in, making Brian jump and bang his shoulder against the door.

He started to panic at the thought of hanging there helpless while being tickled, but the fingers kept moving downward.

He moaned as the intruder’s thumb and forefinger made a V around one of his nipples.
Not this again
. He shifted his weight. There was nowhere to go, though, with the door at his back. And this time, Dylan could
really
torque him—the foam packing his mouth would muffle his shouts better than a glove over his face ever could.

The brush of the intruder’s thumb over his nipple made his chest hitch.

Short huffs of air came out his nose.
Please, not again.

He turned his face away, closing his eyes.

The intruder tugged, gently. Rolled the nipple lightly under his thumb.

Brian moaned and tried to hide his face in his arm.

“Now,” Dylan said in his ear, “tell me the name.”

Brian shook his head in quick little jerks.

“Remember, you forced me to do this. You had a choice.”

He braced for the hard torque, but the intruder’s hand dropped. He turned his back on Brian and walked away.

Shit. Shit shit shit
. What now?

He slid Brian’s closet door open. Brian’s clothes hanging from the closet bar didn’t seem to interest him. He crouched on the floor, where the boots and shoes were piled alongside cardboard boxes.

Brian’s heart thudded as he watched the intruder carry one of the boxes to the bed and open it. He was pretty sure there wasn’t anything exciting in there: old CDs, including probably a bunch of their own, some cassette tapes, random stickers and ticket stubs. But this was only the start. There was more in that closet than just old junk. There was the bag…

He had to piss.

He had to piss really bad, suddenly.

The intruder took his time moving the items from the box to the bed, opening a few of the CD cases for a closer look, returning everything to the box. He moved it aside and went back to the closet. The second box he didn’t even bother to pull out, just lifted the flaps and rifled through it, Brian trying to recall what was in it. Nothing, though—nothing compared to the bag.

He bit down on the foam and swallowed. Swallowed again. His palms were sweaty and hot, clutching the rope over his head.

Dylan lifted the duffel bag from behind the boxes.

With his gaze flicking between the bag as it made its way to the bed and the rope that tied his wrists over his head, Brian struggled to break free of the door.

The intruder pushed the box he’d left on the bed aside to make room for the bag.

The tip of Brian’s middle finger could just graze the knot between his wrists. It wasn’t very fucking helpful.

The intruder drew the zipper open slowly, a long, soft, teasing sound.

Brian grabbed hold of the rope above him, bent his knees, and hung his weight from it, arms stretched straight, fists pulling at the rope, trying to get it free of the top of the door.

The intruder looked at him, an eyebrow raised, his hand shoved into the bag. He brought it out with two buckled-together cuffs hanging from his middle finger.

Brian’s face throbbed with heat.

It was stupid—Dylan already
knew
about that shit. But knowing that didn’t do anything to alleviate the panic. He turned around for more leverage, actually climbing the door with his bare feet; his wrists, and his full weight, pulled at the rope. If it did let go, he was going to crash down on his tailbone, but so be it—running over to see if he was okay would at least get Dylan out of the fucking duffel bag.