[Fic] Shibari
TITLE: Shibari
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Chris gets to know Sam a little better.
SPOILERS: First Episode.
RATING: Red Cortina for BDSM
WORD COUNT: 2,200
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A follow-on from cuvalwen's Endgame, itself an AU spin-off from The Games We Play, part of the Psycho!Samatic Cycle. Mainly because we couldn't leave the idea of hot sex between our two favourite psychopaths alone. With many thanks to both cuvalwen and jantalaimon for the beta-work, the encouragement and obviously the insanity.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Shibari
Sam awoke abruptly, not knowing where was. His head and muscles ached and he seemed to be kneeling, which was decidedly odd. He tried to move and there was immediate protest from his muscles. He appeared to be tied to something; his arms were folded behind his back, his knees spread wide, his shoulders pressed against metal and wood. A lamp was directed at his face and he could see very little beyond that. He looked down and with surprise noted that he appeared to be naked apart from a complicated mesh of rope tied down his chest, round his balls and, as his struggling moved the ropes he realised, under and between his buttocks.
How had he got into this mess?
A small movement in the darkness beyond the circle of light caught his eye and a familiar chuckle reached his ears.
"Ah, Sleeping Beauty. I'm glad you could finally join me."
His voice harsh, Sam demanded, "What the bloody hell is going on?"
Chris chuckled again. "You really should watch who you let cook for you."
Sam's head fell back, hitting a bar. He remembered. He was in his flat and, apparently, tied to the bottom of his bed. He had asked Chris over for dinner, but the Guv had kept him behind, wanting to 'discuss' Sam's latest advanced procedural offering. By the time Sam had escaped from that bawling out, Chris had disappeared. But, getting back home, he had been inordinately pleased to find Chris in his kitchen and cooking some kind of stew. It had seemed so domestic, so normal. But Chris must've spiked his food or wine with some kind of knock-out drug.
A whispering sound came from the corner as Chris unfolded himself from the chair and his voice floated out of the darkness. "It's called Shibari. The ancient art of Japanese rope bondage." As Chris stepped into the circle of light, Sam could see that all he was wearing was his trousers and was carrying a large glass of whisky. Chris knelt down in front of Sam, eye to eye. "And it is an art. I've been sat waiting for you for the last hour."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Watching you, admiring my handiwork, enjoying the view." He leaned in, his breath hot on Sam's cheek. "and what a view it is."
Sam jerked against the ropes, trying to get free. "Untie me, Chris," he pleaded.
Chris grinned. "And undo all my handiwork? Not likely, boss. I was in the Boy Scouts you know."
He ran his hand down Sam's chest, running his fingers down and around the knotted ropes, leaning in and kissing Sam hard.
Sam jerked back and Chris frowned. "Relax into the ropes. They'll hold you and it won't hurt so much." He kissed Sam again, using his tongue to prise his lips open, demanding and gaining entrance.
Sam leaned into the kiss with what give there was in the ropes. Desperately trying to move his arms he realised they were tied tight, wrist to elbow. He groaned, mouth open, deepening the kiss.
Chris pulled back for a moment, eyebrow quirked. "I do believe you protest too much, Boss. and he leaned back in, nibbling at Sam's lower lip. His hands tracing back up Sam's chest, his neck, thumbs resting gently on his adam's apple, rubbing small circles, fingers carding through the hair on his nape.
Sam shuddered, moaning. Desperate for the connection he arched back into the kiss.
Chris' hand wandered south again, over the ropes, further down, his nails scratching lightly at the almost-healed scars on Sam's chest, left by their last encounter.
Sam's breath hitched, his cock hardening.
Chris looked down and smiled. "Now that's the sort of response I was looking for! But we shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves." He pulled something out of his pocket, a leather thong, and tied it tight, looping it around Sam's cock and balls. "That should hold things off for a while."
Sam, again confused, jerked against the ropes holding him tightly in place. "What's happening?" he demanded.
"Now that's for me to know and you to find out." Chris stood up, removed his belt and disappeared from view; the creaking of the bed springs a moment later indicating that he was sat or knelt on the bed behind Sam.
A moment later the belt moved in front of Sam's face, down, followed by Chris' hand, and the leather nestled at his neck.
Chris leaned forward, hot breath in Sam's ear. "We're going to play a little game. Ten questions. Answer them truthfully and you'll get your reward. Lie to me..." here the belt tightened significantly, "and I'll get mine. Do you understand?"
Unable to breathe, Sam could only nod and the pressure on his neck lessened.
"Good." Chris paused and for a moment all Sam could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears and his own harsh breathing.
"First question. Where were you born?"
Ah, Sam thought. The hard questions first. "Hyde." He held his breath, strangely worried that Chris might know that was wrong. Then he realised that it was probably a bad idea to hold his breath under the circumstances and let it out gently.
Chris didn't seem to notice. "Good. Second question. Where did you go to school?"
Sam shifted, the childhood questions making him feel even more exposed. His legs felt like lead, the circulation sluggish after an hour or so of being knelt in the same position. The ropes moved over his skin and with a shock he realised that there was a knot tied in the rope between his buttocks, just at the right place to rub against his anus. The knowledge, and the friction, made his breath hitch, his cock hardening further against the tightly tied thong.
"St, St. Peter's C of E."
Chris chuckled. "You're starting to enjoy this, aren't you boss? I'm so glad we've got some things in common." He carded his fingers through Sam's hair, pulling his head back and leaning in and over for a lazy kiss. Chris tasted of whisky and cigarettes and of something uniquely Chris. Like bubblegum or boiled sweets, something childlike, something innocent. Chris planted a kiss on Sam's forehead and let go of his hair. "Okay, third question. What was the name of the first girl you kissed?"
Sam smiled at the memory. "Lesley. I was twelve. It's a cliché, but it was behind the bike-sheds at school."
"How far did you get?"
"Not very far. She slapped me when I went to grope her breast."
Chris chuckled. "Not even 'upstairs, outside'. That is disappointing." The pressure let up slightly on the belt and Sam could feel Chris' hand trace a blazing trail down the back of his neck. He felt Chris' lips plant a soft kiss at the top of his spine, a momentary flicker of tongue and the hot wetness withdrew.
"Fourth question. What was the name of the first girl you fucked?"
Sam interrupted him. "Surely that's number five?"
The belt tightened abruptly and spots appeared in front of Sam's eyes. Then Chris eased off the pressure with a chuckle. "Never trust a copper. You're right, of course. Okay. Fifth question. What was the name of the first girl you fucked?"
He could answer that one immediately. "Claire. We were sixteen. She had come round to help me revise for my maths exam. We didn't get much work done."
"Not bad. I'd take fucking over studying any day. Come to think of it, I did." Hot breath drifted over his skin as Chris leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Come to think of it, I still do." He sat back, the bed creaking slightly.
"You know, it's a cliché because it's true more often than not. My first time was behind the bike-sheds at school as well, though I got a bit further than you." His voice became far away and long ago, "Of course I weren't in a mixed school, not then. I sucked off Billy Peterson in exchange for a ride on his moped. Dented the front mudguard first time out. Mind you, he got me back two weeks later when he buggered me senseless over the back of it.
"Of course, that was long ago. Last time I saw Billy, we banged him up for murdering a prozzie and dumping her in the canal."
Sam stilled, shocked and slightly suspicious. "Did he do it?"
Faint amusement was evident in Chris' voice. "That's what the judge and jury said. Of course, he didn't have an alibi or, at least, not one who would testify in court." He paused. "But this is about you, not me. Sixth question. So how many girls have there been?"
Sam mentally changed gears, filing away the information (or the threat, his mind whispered) for later. "Six. Claire, Karen, Sally, Catherine, Lauren and Maya."
"That's not many for a man of your age." Chris paused. "And you've not fucked Annie yet. Why, I wonder?"
Sam started to answer and Chris stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder, harsh nails biting into the skin in the hollow of his collar-bone. "It doesn't matter. I've more important things to ask you at the moment. Speaking of which, the seventh question. What was the name of the first man you kissed?"
Sam hesitated, not actually wanting to answer. To buy some time he looked down his arms, noticing the complicated web of rope running down them, reflected down his thighs. He dully noted that the main reason he couldn't move his legs was not lack of circulation but that each knee was tied to a bed leg, looped in and out, spreading him wide. But he was taking too long to answer and the belt jerked, a warning. He coughed and with a small voice admitted, blushing, "Um, it was you, actually."
There was silence behind him for a moment. "So the fuck in the shower that night, that was your first time?"
Sam blushed again, harder, and whispered, "Yes."
Sam could hear the smirk in Chris' voice. "That's very interesting." He paused, trailing a light finger down Sam's neck and across the top of the belt, then started to ask something else, but changed his mind. "Scratch that. Eighth, no, ninth question. How many girls have you killed?"
Sam paused, momentarily confused by the change in conversation. He shook his head. "I've no idea. Twenty? Thirty? I lost count a long time ago."
"Hazard a guess." Chris pulled on the belt slightly to emphasise the point, the leather shifting, moving and cutting into Sam's throat.
"I really don't know. Twenty-five?"
"It's twenty-nine, actually. But I'll let you off that one as you obviously have no idea. Though, boss, I'm surprised you don't keep a closer count. I'd've thought you'd have every last one filed in a notebook. Or scratched on your bed post." Chris chuckled again. "Okay, final question. First response. Gut feeling. How is this all going to end?"
"Very badly, I suspect." Sam gave a harsh laugh. "And I expect it's going to be worse for me."
Chris stilled for a moment, the sounds of the street filtering into the dimly-lit flat. Then he pulled on the belt one last time, hard, tight, up and in, bruising and crushing. Sam's vision swam and darkened, his blood thundered in his ears and he tried desperately to hold on to consciousness.
Christ, he thought. He really is going kill me. Then, almost as suddenly as it appeared, the pressure was gone, the belt slithering down off his neck and down his chest to fall to the floor between his spread knees, slapping at his engorged cock. Sam jerked, involuntarily, his breathing laboured, his chest aching.
Dimly he heard the bed springs creak again and Chris appeared in Sam's blurred vision, whisky glass still dangling from his left hand. The young man crouched in front of Sam, smiling.
"It looks like you get the reward tonight." And he reached down, untying the thong from around Sam's cock. At the same time he took a mouthful of whisky and, not swallowing, kissed Sam thoroughly, sharing his whisky, some trickling down the side of Sam's mouth. Sam swallowed and the fiery liquid burned his sore throat, making him cough.
Chris looked concerned for a moment. He put the glass down and stroked Sam's cheek. "Hey, take it easy. I don't want you to die on me now. Later maybe, but not now."
Sam chuckled. Through his laboured breathing he remarked, "This isn't a healthy relationship, is it?"
Chris ran his hand up Sam's cock, tightening his grip, his thumb massaging the underside.
"No, but there again it never was." He jerked his hand and Sam groaned. "Come for me, Sam."
Gasping, Sam tilted his head back to rest on the end of the bed, watching Chris through lowered eyelids as his tormentor leaned forward to lick at his nipples, all rough tongue and a hint of teeth. Chris jerked his hand again and again and Sam came, spattering Chris' chest and slumping back into the ropes, both physically and mentally exhausted.
Riding high on endorphins, he barely registered Chris untying him at last from his position at the bottom of the bed and massaging some life back into his limbs or of being half-dragged, half-carried into bed. The hazy sensations of Chris climbing in behind him and, finally, entering him carried him down into unconsciousness.
fin
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Chris gets to know Sam a little better.
SPOILERS: First Episode.
RATING: Red Cortina for BDSM
WORD COUNT: 2,200
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A follow-on from cuvalwen's Endgame, itself an AU spin-off from The Games We Play, part of the Psycho!Samatic Cycle. Mainly because we couldn't leave the idea of hot sex between our two favourite psychopaths alone. With many thanks to both cuvalwen and jantalaimon for the beta-work, the encouragement and obviously the insanity.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Shibari
Sam awoke abruptly, not knowing where was. His head and muscles ached and he seemed to be kneeling, which was decidedly odd. He tried to move and there was immediate protest from his muscles. He appeared to be tied to something; his arms were folded behind his back, his knees spread wide, his shoulders pressed against metal and wood. A lamp was directed at his face and he could see very little beyond that. He looked down and with surprise noted that he appeared to be naked apart from a complicated mesh of rope tied down his chest, round his balls and, as his struggling moved the ropes he realised, under and between his buttocks.
How had he got into this mess?
A small movement in the darkness beyond the circle of light caught his eye and a familiar chuckle reached his ears.
"Ah, Sleeping Beauty. I'm glad you could finally join me."
His voice harsh, Sam demanded, "What the bloody hell is going on?"
Chris chuckled again. "You really should watch who you let cook for you."
Sam's head fell back, hitting a bar. He remembered. He was in his flat and, apparently, tied to the bottom of his bed. He had asked Chris over for dinner, but the Guv had kept him behind, wanting to 'discuss' Sam's latest advanced procedural offering. By the time Sam had escaped from that bawling out, Chris had disappeared. But, getting back home, he had been inordinately pleased to find Chris in his kitchen and cooking some kind of stew. It had seemed so domestic, so normal. But Chris must've spiked his food or wine with some kind of knock-out drug.
A whispering sound came from the corner as Chris unfolded himself from the chair and his voice floated out of the darkness. "It's called Shibari. The ancient art of Japanese rope bondage." As Chris stepped into the circle of light, Sam could see that all he was wearing was his trousers and was carrying a large glass of whisky. Chris knelt down in front of Sam, eye to eye. "And it is an art. I've been sat waiting for you for the last hour."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Watching you, admiring my handiwork, enjoying the view." He leaned in, his breath hot on Sam's cheek. "and what a view it is."
Sam jerked against the ropes, trying to get free. "Untie me, Chris," he pleaded.
Chris grinned. "And undo all my handiwork? Not likely, boss. I was in the Boy Scouts you know."
He ran his hand down Sam's chest, running his fingers down and around the knotted ropes, leaning in and kissing Sam hard.
Sam jerked back and Chris frowned. "Relax into the ropes. They'll hold you and it won't hurt so much." He kissed Sam again, using his tongue to prise his lips open, demanding and gaining entrance.
Sam leaned into the kiss with what give there was in the ropes. Desperately trying to move his arms he realised they were tied tight, wrist to elbow. He groaned, mouth open, deepening the kiss.
Chris pulled back for a moment, eyebrow quirked. "I do believe you protest too much, Boss. and he leaned back in, nibbling at Sam's lower lip. His hands tracing back up Sam's chest, his neck, thumbs resting gently on his adam's apple, rubbing small circles, fingers carding through the hair on his nape.
Sam shuddered, moaning. Desperate for the connection he arched back into the kiss.
Chris' hand wandered south again, over the ropes, further down, his nails scratching lightly at the almost-healed scars on Sam's chest, left by their last encounter.
Sam's breath hitched, his cock hardening.
Chris looked down and smiled. "Now that's the sort of response I was looking for! But we shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves." He pulled something out of his pocket, a leather thong, and tied it tight, looping it around Sam's cock and balls. "That should hold things off for a while."
Sam, again confused, jerked against the ropes holding him tightly in place. "What's happening?" he demanded.
"Now that's for me to know and you to find out." Chris stood up, removed his belt and disappeared from view; the creaking of the bed springs a moment later indicating that he was sat or knelt on the bed behind Sam.
A moment later the belt moved in front of Sam's face, down, followed by Chris' hand, and the leather nestled at his neck.
Chris leaned forward, hot breath in Sam's ear. "We're going to play a little game. Ten questions. Answer them truthfully and you'll get your reward. Lie to me..." here the belt tightened significantly, "and I'll get mine. Do you understand?"
Unable to breathe, Sam could only nod and the pressure on his neck lessened.
"Good." Chris paused and for a moment all Sam could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears and his own harsh breathing.
"First question. Where were you born?"
Ah, Sam thought. The hard questions first. "Hyde." He held his breath, strangely worried that Chris might know that was wrong. Then he realised that it was probably a bad idea to hold his breath under the circumstances and let it out gently.
Chris didn't seem to notice. "Good. Second question. Where did you go to school?"
Sam shifted, the childhood questions making him feel even more exposed. His legs felt like lead, the circulation sluggish after an hour or so of being knelt in the same position. The ropes moved over his skin and with a shock he realised that there was a knot tied in the rope between his buttocks, just at the right place to rub against his anus. The knowledge, and the friction, made his breath hitch, his cock hardening further against the tightly tied thong.
"St, St. Peter's C of E."
Chris chuckled. "You're starting to enjoy this, aren't you boss? I'm so glad we've got some things in common." He carded his fingers through Sam's hair, pulling his head back and leaning in and over for a lazy kiss. Chris tasted of whisky and cigarettes and of something uniquely Chris. Like bubblegum or boiled sweets, something childlike, something innocent. Chris planted a kiss on Sam's forehead and let go of his hair. "Okay, third question. What was the name of the first girl you kissed?"
Sam smiled at the memory. "Lesley. I was twelve. It's a cliché, but it was behind the bike-sheds at school."
"How far did you get?"
"Not very far. She slapped me when I went to grope her breast."
Chris chuckled. "Not even 'upstairs, outside'. That is disappointing." The pressure let up slightly on the belt and Sam could feel Chris' hand trace a blazing trail down the back of his neck. He felt Chris' lips plant a soft kiss at the top of his spine, a momentary flicker of tongue and the hot wetness withdrew.
"Fourth question. What was the name of the first girl you fucked?"
Sam interrupted him. "Surely that's number five?"
The belt tightened abruptly and spots appeared in front of Sam's eyes. Then Chris eased off the pressure with a chuckle. "Never trust a copper. You're right, of course. Okay. Fifth question. What was the name of the first girl you fucked?"
He could answer that one immediately. "Claire. We were sixteen. She had come round to help me revise for my maths exam. We didn't get much work done."
"Not bad. I'd take fucking over studying any day. Come to think of it, I did." Hot breath drifted over his skin as Chris leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Come to think of it, I still do." He sat back, the bed creaking slightly.
"You know, it's a cliché because it's true more often than not. My first time was behind the bike-sheds at school as well, though I got a bit further than you." His voice became far away and long ago, "Of course I weren't in a mixed school, not then. I sucked off Billy Peterson in exchange for a ride on his moped. Dented the front mudguard first time out. Mind you, he got me back two weeks later when he buggered me senseless over the back of it.
"Of course, that was long ago. Last time I saw Billy, we banged him up for murdering a prozzie and dumping her in the canal."
Sam stilled, shocked and slightly suspicious. "Did he do it?"
Faint amusement was evident in Chris' voice. "That's what the judge and jury said. Of course, he didn't have an alibi or, at least, not one who would testify in court." He paused. "But this is about you, not me. Sixth question. So how many girls have there been?"
Sam mentally changed gears, filing away the information (or the threat, his mind whispered) for later. "Six. Claire, Karen, Sally, Catherine, Lauren and Maya."
"That's not many for a man of your age." Chris paused. "And you've not fucked Annie yet. Why, I wonder?"
Sam started to answer and Chris stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder, harsh nails biting into the skin in the hollow of his collar-bone. "It doesn't matter. I've more important things to ask you at the moment. Speaking of which, the seventh question. What was the name of the first man you kissed?"
Sam hesitated, not actually wanting to answer. To buy some time he looked down his arms, noticing the complicated web of rope running down them, reflected down his thighs. He dully noted that the main reason he couldn't move his legs was not lack of circulation but that each knee was tied to a bed leg, looped in and out, spreading him wide. But he was taking too long to answer and the belt jerked, a warning. He coughed and with a small voice admitted, blushing, "Um, it was you, actually."
There was silence behind him for a moment. "So the fuck in the shower that night, that was your first time?"
Sam blushed again, harder, and whispered, "Yes."
Sam could hear the smirk in Chris' voice. "That's very interesting." He paused, trailing a light finger down Sam's neck and across the top of the belt, then started to ask something else, but changed his mind. "Scratch that. Eighth, no, ninth question. How many girls have you killed?"
Sam paused, momentarily confused by the change in conversation. He shook his head. "I've no idea. Twenty? Thirty? I lost count a long time ago."
"Hazard a guess." Chris pulled on the belt slightly to emphasise the point, the leather shifting, moving and cutting into Sam's throat.
"I really don't know. Twenty-five?"
"It's twenty-nine, actually. But I'll let you off that one as you obviously have no idea. Though, boss, I'm surprised you don't keep a closer count. I'd've thought you'd have every last one filed in a notebook. Or scratched on your bed post." Chris chuckled again. "Okay, final question. First response. Gut feeling. How is this all going to end?"
"Very badly, I suspect." Sam gave a harsh laugh. "And I expect it's going to be worse for me."
Chris stilled for a moment, the sounds of the street filtering into the dimly-lit flat. Then he pulled on the belt one last time, hard, tight, up and in, bruising and crushing. Sam's vision swam and darkened, his blood thundered in his ears and he tried desperately to hold on to consciousness.
Christ, he thought. He really is going kill me. Then, almost as suddenly as it appeared, the pressure was gone, the belt slithering down off his neck and down his chest to fall to the floor between his spread knees, slapping at his engorged cock. Sam jerked, involuntarily, his breathing laboured, his chest aching.
Dimly he heard the bed springs creak again and Chris appeared in Sam's blurred vision, whisky glass still dangling from his left hand. The young man crouched in front of Sam, smiling.
"It looks like you get the reward tonight." And he reached down, untying the thong from around Sam's cock. At the same time he took a mouthful of whisky and, not swallowing, kissed Sam thoroughly, sharing his whisky, some trickling down the side of Sam's mouth. Sam swallowed and the fiery liquid burned his sore throat, making him cough.
Chris looked concerned for a moment. He put the glass down and stroked Sam's cheek. "Hey, take it easy. I don't want you to die on me now. Later maybe, but not now."
Sam chuckled. Through his laboured breathing he remarked, "This isn't a healthy relationship, is it?"
Chris ran his hand up Sam's cock, tightening his grip, his thumb massaging the underside.
"No, but there again it never was." He jerked his hand and Sam groaned. "Come for me, Sam."
Gasping, Sam tilted his head back to rest on the end of the bed, watching Chris through lowered eyelids as his tormentor leaned forward to lick at his nipples, all rough tongue and a hint of teeth. Chris jerked his hand again and again and Sam came, spattering Chris' chest and slumping back into the ropes, both physically and mentally exhausted.
Riding high on endorphins, he barely registered Chris untying him at last from his position at the bottom of the bed and massaging some life back into his limbs or of being half-dragged, half-carried into bed. The hazy sensations of Chris climbing in behind him and, finally, entering him carried him down into unconsciousness.
fin