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Curt keeps his breathing steady as the car he’s in slows and seemingly pulls into a building of some kind. He’s been thrown in enough trunks to recognize the feel of the odd jolting bumps.
He can’t remember anything about how he ended up here. One minute, he was in bed at home, about to go to sleep for the night, and the next, he was slowly coming to consciousness in the trunk. It was almost pleasant, the low rumbling vibrations of the car around him, and then the driver had hit a pothole, and Curt’s head had knocked into the floor, forcing him fully awake. He’ll have to check the tire later.
He squirms a bit in his uncomfortable position, his knees drawn up and pressing into the back of the car. The ropes around him dig into his wrists and ankles, and the blindfold stays in place around his head despite his shifting.
At last, the car stops. Curt has no idea how long the drive was, but he’d guess he’d been awake for about the past twenty minutes or so.
The car door opens, and Curt hears footsteps around the car, but they don’t move to him immediately. The sound of leather dress shoes echoes across the concrete floor as they move quickly, then the sound of a garage door being pulled down follows. There’s the clinking of a chain, then the footsteps are clicking further away. They disappear for a minute or two, then return at a steady pace, until they’re right outside the trunk of the car.
Knock, knock, knock-knock.
Two slow knocks, followed by two rapid ones, sound out on the top of the trunk; then there’s a long pause. Waiting for a response. Curt gears up and kicks the side of the trunk with his bound feet, counting out.
One, two, three-four.
The trunk opens, and Curt sees light behind the fabric of the blindfold for the first time since he woke.
“Rise and shine, Mr. Mega. Did you enjoy your beauty rest?” A smooth British voice laughs out, then the man's hands wrap into the ropes and yank Curt out of the car. He can’t catch himself with his feet tied, so he hits the ground hard on his side as his captor slams the lid shut.
“I have to be honest,” Curt grits out, pushing through the pain in his shoulder from the impact. “Your driving skills could use some work.”
The man yanks the blindfold off Curt’s face and points an angry finger at him, fisting the fabric. “I am a perfect driver.” His voice is genuinely tight, and Curt smiles to himself, knowing that he’s struck a nerve.
His captor is a tall, lean man with a scraggly dark beard and an ugly cap over his head. He’s got some grey streaks around his temples and dark sunken eyes that are narrowed on Curt in irritation.
“Agree to disagree.” Curt glances around the storage facility, curious. “Nice digs. Could use some better lighting. Maybe a bit of redecoration?”
The facility looks completely abandoned. The floor is mostly clear, with some construction equipment and wood planks laid out down the hall in front of the car. There are a few hallways on one side with rows of doors. Most of the windows are haphazardly boarded up. About as stereotypical as one of these places can get. Curt finds that charming.
“Yes, well,” his captor digs something out of the backseat of the car, then flashes it to Curt. A knife. “Lucky for you, this isn’t our final destination, hmm?”
Curt grins at him, the nice thrum of adrenaline starting to kick in. “Aww, are you gonna take me out to dinner, handsome?”
His captor gives him a disbelieving scoff, “Is this how to talk to all your kidnappers?” He leans down to cut the ropes around Curt’s ankles. “Or am I just special?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Curt shrugs. “That beard is knocking you down a few points, though.”
The man gives him an amused glare, “You’re one to talk.”
“That beard was sophisticat–!”
“Enough,” the man presses the knife to his throat, and Curt’s words halt instantly. “You will stand now and walk, or I will 'redecorate' the floor with your blood.”
The threat is kind of stupid, but Curt shudders and closes his eyes for a moment, getting an unfortunately vivid picture of his blood dripping down his neck and pooling on the concrete. The knife isn’t pressing too hard, but just a bit more pressure, or a single uncontrolled flick of the man’s wrist, and it could sink into his artery easily.
“Mm, yes,” his captor drags the knife delicately up his jaw, then over his cheek. The sound of the metal lightly scraping across Curt’s stubble makes his hair stand on end. “Now, march.”
The man lifts the knife away and tugs Curt to his feet, then presses the blade into his back, urging him forward. Curt walks blindly forward, mostly focused on getting away from the sharp point.
“Uh, where am I walking to?” Curt glances forward, down the hallway of doorways, some without doors in the frame and some with corroded ones barely hanging on.
He starts to turn to glance back at the man, but then the knife digs into his back slightly harder.
“Eyes forward, Mega,” his captor growls. “Last door on the left.”
Curt can’t hold back a smile, “Is that a switchblade pressing into my back or are you just happy to see me?”
His captor sucks in a breath, then grabs the back of his hair and pulls his head back. Curt moans from the spike of pain in his scalp and has to stumble a bit to regain his balance. The sharp press of the knife returns to his neck, and he swallows dryly.
The man moves in close next to Curt’s ear, “Stop flirting with me like a damn fairy or I’m going to cut your tongue out.”
“You haven’t found out what I can do with my tongue yet,” Curt says. “Seems more like your loss than mine.”
The man grabs the ropes around Curt’s arms and marches him to the door, then he twists it open and shoves Curt inside.
Curt stumbles to prevent himself from falling face-first, and his breath catches as he looks around the room. It’s so bright it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.
It’s covered practically wall-to-wall with cameras and connected monitors. They fill the room with blue light, joined by the small dots of red indicating the cameras are on. There are so many of them that it almost seems like a wall of mirrors, reflecting the room to him.
“Woah,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.
Some of the cameras are facing him at different angles, and there’s a bit of a delay, but dozens of ‘monitor hims’ mouth the ‘woah’ a millisecond later. He looks embarrassingly disheveled, the ropes around his chest and arms are tight, and his hair is all messy and sticking up oddly from the journey. His arms instinctively twitch in their bonds to fix it, but he can do little to smooth it out now, so he forces himself to ignore it.
There’s a table in the center of the room, the base is metal like you’d find in an examination room, with padding on the top and restraints for hands and feet. There are shelves underneath the table as well, with what looks like medical equipment.
Curt’s face flushes just looking at it, already feeling uncomfortably exposed. His cock twitches in his slacks, and because of the cameras, he gets a perfect view of it.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” His captor sighs and steps up behind him. He’s slightly taller, and Curt can watch his face over his own shoulder with the camera monitors. He looks smug as he wraps his arms around Curt’s tied waist and brushes his cheek next to Curt’s. “And it’s all for you, darling.”
Curt shudders and squirms in his hold, feeling completely useless with his constraints so tight. All he can do is pull at the ropes with his arms, barely able to wiggle them back and forth. The man just holds him tighter against his chest, and his itchy beard rubs into Curt’s skin.
“What- what is all this?” He asks, attempting to twist around to no avail. The entire display has completely thrown him off. “Who are you?”
“Does the name…Chimera, mean anything to you?” The man whispers it into Curt’s ear, his breath tickling his neck.
Curt lets out a pained noise, and he watches as the man grins in response, toothy and crooked in the monitors. It’s strange to look at him while also facing the same way.
“Really?”
He makes direct eye contact with the man through the same monitor, and he gives Curt a raised eyebrow in response.
“Really.”
“I know that they’re all dead,” Curt fights to keep his voice steady, and he tilts his chin back. “From the lion’s head to the goat’s body to the serpent’s tail.”
“Hm,” the man hums dismissively and shrugs. “You seem to be missing the dragon wings. Perhaps they flew away, Mr. Mega. Recovered and waited for you to fall into their trap.”
“Uh,” Curt cocks his head, mentally calculating, “So, wait, you’re not even the head of the creature in this scenario? That’s kind of lame.”
The man sighs, “I was choosing the part you left out, bloody idiot. Can you let me finish?”
“Oh, God, please. The sooner we wrap up this villain monologue, the better.”
His captor tightens his grip on Curt’s ropes, then he reels back a hand and smacks him hard on the back of the head. Curt groans.
“Quiet!” The man grips his hair again and forces Curt to look at all the monitors. “With the rest of the company dead, I am the lion’s head now.”
“Sure, man. Head without a body. Very scary.”
The man chooses to ignore him, though Curt can see his eye twitch in irritation on the screens. “And I have a score to settle with you, Mega. There are dozens of cameras and monitors spread out in this room, capturing you at every angle.” He grips Curt’s hair and forces him to look side to side as he pauses dramatically. “And they are all being broadcast live around the world as we speak. Say hello.”
Curt’s heart picks up. He knows the man has to be bullshitting; there’s no way what he says is true, but even the possibility of it makes Curt a bit sick. No secrets, everyone’s a spy.
“They see every bead of sweat, every time your body trembles.” The man releases his tight grip on Curt’s hair, just to pluck a single strand of it straight out of his head. “Every grey hair on your head.”
“Fuck off,” Curt scoffs. Low blow. And he’s one to talk. The man watches his face with fascination in the monitors, his dark eyes scanning him, waiting for him to process it.
Every camera is staring him down suddenly. It’s unbearably claustrophobic and makes him feel as if he’s on stage with no lines. His mind goes blank, and he goes lightheaded with the beginnings of panic. The blue light of the monitors seems to burn into his skin, and every noise he makes seems louder, like it’s giving feedback through a microphone.
The man holds him closer, then starts dragging his hand down Curt’s chest, traveling towards his hips. Curt’s face heats, and he struggles harder, but his efforts are getting more uncoordinated and sloppy as the dread for what’s obviously next seeps into him.
“Crowds of people have paid a pretty penny to watch me take apart America’s top agent.” He bites gently behind Curt’s ear. “Some even know you personally. You’ve made quite a few enemies in your time, I’m afraid. It would be best not to disappoint them.”
Curt’s face burns in humiliation, but his cock has started to harden in his slacks. The tenting fabric is so obvious with the cameras that he wants to melt into the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut.
His captor’s hand finally slides down to palm over his hard dick, and he hums in satisfaction, “Already so eager?” He rubs at it through Curt’s trousers, and Curt swallows down a shuddering moan. “You can hardly wait for me to defile you in front of an audience; it’s pathetic.”
Curt gasps when his fingers reach the head of his cock through his clothes, and he opens his eyes again. He’s met with his own face, flushed and desperate looking, with his mouth dropped open in a moan.
“How many-“ He cuts himself off with a short breath when the man circles a finger over the spot. “How many people are watching?”
“Why would I ruin the surprise?” The man chuckles, “That keen to know how many other people are touching themselves watching you? Fucking exhibitionist whore. All you need to focus on is me.”
At that, the man spins him around and pushes him backwards onto the examination table. Curt can do little else but fall onto it, unable to catch himself with his bound hands.
His captor shoves him down on his back and situates him on the table, quickly strapping his legs down. Then, he takes out his knife to cut away the ropes around Curt’s arms and forces his wrists into shackles above his head.
Curt tries his best to break free, but the restraints make it nearly impossible. There’s leather around his wrists, the same material as the padding, but the inside is lined with chain, unbreakable and secure. All he can do is shift his hips in place as he struggles, which only makes his erection more prominent on the monitors.
He’s attacked with his own image on all sides. Everywhere he looks, his pathetic face follows, with his body betraying his desire plainly. His arms flex uselessly on either side of his head, and the ropes have hiked up his shirt to reveal his stomach in a further sting of exposure.
Once Curt’s been fastened to the table, his captor wastes no time leaping up and kneeling over him, with his knees boxing in Curt’s hips. He stays upright, looking down at Curt with a pleased expression and the knife in one hand.
“Comfortable?” The man slices away the remaining ropes with the knife, then pulls them away and lets them fall to the floor.
“Not especially,” Curt adjusts now that his back is flat against the padding, without the ropes digging into his spine. Reflected to him from the monitors, it just looks like he’s arching his back, and his ears go hot. “Would you be a pal and get rid of these restraints, too?” He wiggles the wrist and ankle shackles underneath the man.
“Gladly,” the man grins and lowers the knife, throwing Curt off for a second. Then, he begins shredding Curt’s clothes down the center, baring his chest. “You’re wearing too many layers, in that we absolutely agree."
“That desperate to get my clothes off, huh?” Curt’s heart picks up, but he tries to keep his face calm. He can see every one of his own micro-expressions reflected back at him perfectly, and he knows that fear is what this man wants out of him. “Remind me who’s the fairy?”
The man finishes ripping open Curt’s shirt, and he takes a moment to slide a hand up Curt’s abdomen, then squeezes his pec. His thumb circles around Curt’s nipple, his hand thin and cold. The touch sends a pleasurable shiver up Curt’s spine, and he immediately feels disgusted with his own reaction.
“I never claimed I wasn’t.” The man leans over Curt further and slides his hand back down, through his chest hair, and unbuckles Curt’s belt with one hand. “Nothing wrong with me getting some enjoyment on top of your humiliation.”
Curt’s mouth goes dry as his belt is ripped open, and the man slides it out of his belt loops. He brings the knife down to the buttons of Curt’s pants, and for the first time, Curt feels a bolt of pure panic work up his throat.
“Wa-wait,” he flinches as the man digs his fingers underneath the waistband and pulls it away from his hips, working the knife between them. It’s so close to his dick he tenses up instinctually, feeling sickeningly vulnerable. “Jesus, careful.”
“Don’t you trust me?” The man frowns mockingly, holding the knife still between Curt’s skin and the fabric of his slacks. “I assure you, the last thing I want is to damage the merchandise on display.”
On the last word, his captor rips the knife up and tears a clean line down to about his mid-thigh.
“Fucking shit,” Curt gasps. The knife never touched his skin, but the pull of the fabric and the sudden release of pressure on his cock made him jump and pull at his hand restraints all the same. He takes a shaky breath, the anxiety and relief flooding his head at the same time. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Hold still,” the man whispers, bringing the knife down to where the tear stops. “If you get cut, you only have yourself to blame.”
Curt tenses and tries to hold still as best he can, but his thighs are trembling now. The man smiles, an uncanny, crazed kind of smirk, then he yanks the knife down and slices through what remains of the leg of Curt’s slacks.
“Fuck…” Curt relaxes and twists his hands around to grip the restraints, just to have something to hold on to. As he tilts his head back, he’s once again subjected to his own face on the screens, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed with arousal. His gut twists, and he forces his gaze back to the man, who’s moved on to ripping open the other leg of his slacks. He pauses for a second to slide off Curt’s shoes, then tosses them to the floor with a clatter.
More and more of Curt’s body is revealed with each slice of the knife, his clothing falling away in shredded heaps. He can’t help the way his breathing picks up as his bare skin is captured on every one of the cameras in the room.
Worse is the way his captor touches every part of his body that’s revealed. His cold bony hand slides up and down his skin, fondling and squeezing his thighs, his hips, his chest as they’re revealed. He purposefully avoids Curt’s dick, which makes the fact that he’s hard and throbbing in anticipation that much more sickening. His thin fingers circle a sensitive part above Curt’s hips, and Curt has to bite back a whine.
“Something the matter?” His captor murmurs. “You want me to touch you somewhere else, perhaps?”
“I’d rather die.” Curt glares at him and turns his face up in a sneer, “You disgust me. You’re sick.”
The man hums and cocks his head to the side, obviously checking them both out on one of the monitors, “Can hardly blame me, can you?” He slides a hand down to wrap around Curt’s hip, his long fingers digging into Curt’s asscheek, then he squeezes.
Curt’s jaw slackens, and his breath hitches as the man spreads him open. He can’t see it, but he knows he’s being shown on one of the monitors now, every inch of him on display.
“You’re so strong, Mega.” The man’s eyes are solely locked onto a monitor behind Curt’s head, but they glow with desire. He groans and shakes his squeezed hand, but Curt tenses his upper thigh to cheapen the effect the man is going for. He looks at him directly again, eyes flashing, “I’ve been waiting for the chance to uncover you like this, take you apart. Look at how perfect you are, on display for everyone. Irresistible."
Curt likes his body. He works hard to maintain it, even in his semi-retirement. He enjoys being strong, being muscular, and, sure, sometimes displaying himself to show off. But that’s not what this feels like. This is his protection and choice being literally cut from him, and it’s fucking humiliating. His strength is being turned back around on him and used to make him feel weak, and everyone he’s used that strength against is watching it happen.
The cameras burn into him. It feels like a crowd of people, his enemies, his friends, his family, are watching and laughing at him as he’s stripped bare. All of his scars are visible now, ones he tells himself are attractive and proof of his resilience, but deep down, he knows they are just tangible mistakes he made on the job. Mistakes that got him hurt, that got other people killed.
“Stop-” he gasps through a wet breath, and realizes with an embarrassed shock that he’s tearing up. “Wait, wait.”
“Fuck, that’s it, cry for me,” his captor groans and palms the outline of his own erection through his slacks. “Look at how hard you’ve made me, Mega.”
The worst part is that when Curt turns his head to avert his eyes and disobey, he sees the man’s tented trousers in dozens of monitors, scattered out over the wall. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead into his arm, his stomach rolling.
The rattle of the man’s belt being pulled open follows, and Curt glances back at him with the noise. He took off his cap at some point, and his shoulder-length hair is slicked back in strands. It’s dark with grey streaks, but the beard is just dark. It looks wrong.
There’s a horrible lurch in Curt’s gut. Everything’s wrong in an off-kilter way.
“I don’t-” he whimpers when the man scrambles to unbutton his own trousers, and tries in vain to push away. He plants his heels into the padding, but the leather restraints dig into his ankles. “Wait, no, I don’t like-”
The man reels back and slaps him hard across the face, and Curt yelps.
“I don’t care what you like,” he growls. The man takes a breath and then hits Curt’s erect dick with the ends of his fingers, in a light slap. “Anyway, it’s quite clear you want this, no matter how hard you resist. Look around. You’re leaking for me, so fucking desperate.”
Curt does look around, and his eyes sting and blur at the sight. His cock is hard and leaking in front of him, captured by the cameras. That’s not what’s wrong.
“No, no,” he shakes his head, struggling to even find the words to explain. “I don’t- the beard, the beard-”
His captor pauses in confusion for a moment and moves, bracing himself with an arm to hover over Curt’s body. He takes Curt’s chin in his hand and forces it forward to meet his eyes. The dig of his fingers hurts nicely.
His sharp eyebrows are furrowed, and for a flash, he almost looks concerned. With him so close, Curt can see his beard in detail, and everything in his body screams that it’s wrong. He can see the disconnect between the dark hair and the man’s real sideburns.
“I’ve barely even touched you, and you’re devolving into a sniveling mess,” the man sneers at him, and the stupid fake beard pulls up with his lip unnaturally. “You need my cock badly, don’t you?”
Running on pure instinct, Curt leans up just enough to grab the beard with his teeth, then he drops back down hard. The hair pulls down, and the glue rips, revealing the corner of the man’s clean-shaven jaw as Curt’s head slams back into the padding.
“Fuck!” His captor winces and sits back on Curt’s thighs in shock, holding the beard back in place with his hand. “What the hell?”
“Mm sorry,” Curt whimpers and squeezes his fists, the glance at his face abruptly centering him. He struggles to catch his breath. “I don’t- I’m serious– I don’t like it- please–take it–take it off, take it off–Owen-”
Owen’s eyes soften for a moment, and he presses his hand to Curt’s forehead, holding him in place against the table. It’s comforting, the steady weight of it, and Curt takes the opportunity to close his eyes and focus on the touch.
“Alright, love, alright,” Owen murmurs and then reaches around to peel the fake beard off his face, cringing slightly at the pull of the glue. He tosses it down to the floor and rubs at his clean face, picking off some stray glue bits. “There?”
Curt’s breathing slows, and his mind clears as he looks at Owen’s face. The angular crooked shape of his jaw, the concerned pull of the corner of his mouth, and the burn scars trailing down the left side of his cheekbone. His dark eyes intensely focused on Curt.
He lets Curt’s breathing even out. He doesn’t check in with him–not verbally anyway–and he doesn’t get off of Curt’s legs. He watches silently, his hand gently rolling circles into Curt’s hip.
It’s appreciated. It allows Curt to even out without completely breaking the mindset he’s in. The spikes of adrenaline still rush through his veins, but in more controlled doses than blind panic.
The off-kilter feeling in Curt’s gut fades. He just wanted to see Owen’s face. His uncovered face.
Curt thinks about latex masks and Cockney accents for a brief moment.
That was probably it. They’d agreed on a minimal disguise, nothing that would change his face too much or make him completely unrecognizable, but it seems even the beard was too much.
Curt takes a deep breath and starts tapping his fingers into the restraints. One, two, three-four.
His captor’s eyes flick up to watch. He sets his shoulders back.
One, two, three-four.
“Are you done?” The man asks, voice low and even.
“Let me go,” Curt says. One, two, three-four.
“That’s not what I asked,” the man says, moving closer to trace his lips along Curt’s face. “Are. You. Done?”
“Fuck. You.” Curt spits out. One, two, three-four. He tosses his head forward in an attempt to headbutt the man, but he’s too slow.
The man leans back dizzyingly fast and smacks Curt across the face again, leaving his cheek smarting. Curt groans and, with his face turned to the side, he gets a vivid picture of the man’s arm crossed over his body in one of the monitors.
“You’ll pay for that, Mega,” the man returns to frantically unbuttoning his slacks, then he shucks them down his hips just enough to work his hard cock out. He flexes his hips up so Curt gets a better look at the way his fist drags across his shaft through the screens. “I think I’ll take you now. You could have been an obedient little cunt, and maybe I would have given you a nice warm-up with my fingers, really made you squirm in front of our audience. But now I see you just want to be eaten out and fucked up the arse like the faggot you are.”
Curt shudders, and his stomach rolls at the word. A wave of odd relief washes through him along with the sickening shock of his captor’s speech. He’s not even sure exactly why. Something about the excessiveness of it fades away a jagged edge in his mind. There’s nothing left up to interpretation. It’s like he’s saying this is what’s going to happen. Whether or not you take it nicely is up to you.
The cameras and monitors are a nauseating kaleidoscope of body parts. In some of them, Curt can see his captor, with his legs spread on either side of his thighs, the man’s slacks loose around his bony hips, revealing the top of his ass and the dark spread of hair above his cock. He sees the curve of the man’s spine through his shirt and the wave of his grey-streaked hair.
In some, he sees his own body, spread out on the table with his arms above his head. His biceps flex in some attempt to break free of his restraints, and his abdomen tenses. There are so many different angles, and amongst them all, not one safe space to look at. It’s all revolting.
His captor is moving, shuffling down to kneel over his calves and somehow exposing more of Curt’s body to the cameras. He wants the man to leave more than anything, but for some reason, him moving away makes Curt feel worse.
“Stop it…I don’t-” Curt blinks hard at the light. He knows he looks disoriented and helpless, because he has a perfect close-up of his face. The tight pull of his eyebrows and the confused, rapid blinking follow him wherever he looks. “Stop, stop.”
“Who are you begging to?” The man asks, almost laughing. His hands grip around Curt’s ankles and force his knees back, fighting against Curt’s weak resistance. “Look at those cameras, Mega. Every set of eyes behind those lenses wants you to scream for help, to beg me to stop. I think you know that, though.” He dips lower, holding Curt’s thighs apart. Curt loses sight of him with his own vision, but he can watch the man’s face move closer in the monitors. “The truth is you want this to happen, don’t you?”
“No,” Curt can feel the man’s nails digging into his thighs tighter with every word of protest, but he can’t stop them from spilling from his mouth either way. “No, I’m- gonna kill you– you fucking-”
The man’s tongue is suddenly flat against his asshole, and Curt’s breath hitches with it, his words cut off. He wants to squeeze his thighs shut, but the man holds them apart and back with firm hands, practically flush against Curt’s chest.
“Fuck…” Curt groans and watches as his eyes flutter halfway shut. He hates his own traitorous face. His eyebrows are pulled in, and his mouth is dropped in a moan like he’s enjoying it. He wants to stop watching, but his instincts are to keep his eyes on his captor, and to do that, he has to keep himself in his peripheral vision. The man spreads his spit against Curt, licking in flat strokes and then working his tongue inside. Curt writhes on the table, pulling at the restraints now, not to break away, but to try to instinctively grab the man’s hair. “Oh fuck, oh my God.”
“Yes, show them all how much you like my tongue up your arse,” the man says as he leans back, then he spits a large amount of saliva directly against Curt’s hole. “Let them see how disgusting you are.”
He doesn’t have a choice as the man’s tongue returns to thrusting inside of him, and he moans, low and drawn out. His eyes close on instinct, but the slight delay of the video still forces him to see his pleasure-tight face the second he opens them.
Curt’s dick is so hard it fucking hurts. It throbs with each ruthless press of the man’s tongue, leaking and twitching for all to see on the monitors.
The combination of his desperation and his own self-loathing voyeurism causes the coiling in his abdomen to tense up embarrassingly fast. He’s never felt more disgusting in his life as he whines and shifts his hips down onto his captor’s face, his only goal to chase the white-hot heat rolling up his spine.
“Oh fuckfuck, wait-“ Curt tries to halt his own movements, but the man doesn’t let up; he keeps holding Curt’s thighs back with a bruising grip and laps into him with vulgar wet sounds. Curt whimpers, “Stop- I’m gonna- I can’t waitwaitnonono-“
The man groans, deep and throaty, just as he licks up Curt’s taint and against his balls, vibrating his entire core with it, then he returns to press into his rim, continuing the low vibration.
“I can’t- I don’t-“ Curt sobs as he’s struck with the inevitability and wrongness of his own orgasm, the fact that he’s about to come untouched on his captor’s tongue. His pitiful attempts to hold it off make it sneak up on him even faster. “Ohmygod, oh fuckfuckfuck-”
He keens sharply and locks up, his thighs squeezing together as his climax pulses out in streaks across his own abdomen. The man’s tongue stutters for a split second in surprise, then returns to double the effort and carry him through it. Curt wails as another pulse of it leaks out of the tip of his cock, never-ending as his legs shake.
It washes through him in electric waves, his eyes closed tightly shut to avoid the view of his own enjoyment at every angle.
The man keeps up the quick pace of his wet lapping until it’s unbearable for Curt. He can’t stop whining and tensing up with each press of his tongue in overstimulation.
Eventually, Curt gasps and relaxes a bit, and the man leans back with a smug grin, finally letting up. He huffs a laugh in disbelief and drags his fingers through the mess on Curt’s stomach, “Fuck, what a good slut you are, coming hands-free on my fucking tongue, and so quickly too. Look at how much of a mess you made.”
Curt shudders through a shaky wet breath and looks at himself, too out of it to attempt to disobey. His thighs are spread obscenely and tremble through the post-orgasmic haze. His stomach twitches with it, covered in his own cum. Worst of all is his horrible face, wet with tears and so tight and disoriented with arousal that it’s difficult to see through the blur.
He flinches again when the man gathers more of his cum onto his fingers and spreads it against his hole, still wet with spit. The man drags his fist up and down his own cock, spreading the slick against his shaft and circling his fingers lightly around the head.
“You deserve a reward for that show, darling,” the man sighs and tilts his head back, his own gaze following the monitors as well, admiring their forms. “And you provided the perfect amount of help for you to take me, hm?”
His captor cleans the last bit of cum off his stomach and spreads it on his own dick, then he wraps his slightly tacky hand around Curt’s bare hip.
“On your stomach, Mega,” he says, slapping Curt’s hip twice.
When Curt just keeps breathing deeply and ignores his demand, he pinches his hip hard enough to indent.
“Stomach, now.” He ducks down to bite hard into the inside of Curt’s knee. “Or I put it in all in one go and make you scream around my cock. Your choice.”
Curt whimpers with the bite and does his best to roll over on the padded table, with the man’s hand helping guide him. His arms cross one another over his head with the short restraints and twist his shoulders painfully. The ankle restraints are long enough for him to straighten out his legs as his captor kneels over him.
As soon as he feels the press of the man’s dick against his rim, he buries his face in between his arms, desperate to get away from the dozens of monitors reflecting his own humiliation back at him.
“No,” the man yanks his hair and forces his head up at the same time he presses the head of his dick in. “You’ll watch.”
Curt blinks hard to clear the blurry tears and whimpers. The man grins and scratches his scalp through the tight grip, making the hair on the back of Curt’s neck stand on end.
The man pushes into him agonizingly slow, the makeshift lubricant of his own cum and the man’s saliva easing the slide partially but not enough to be entirely comfortable. The stretch is incredible, and Curt hates it with every fiber of his being as he forcibly exhales repeatedly to adjust. Both of their gazes are locked onto the same monitor, a direct close-up view of both of their faces.
Curt can’t help the way his eyes flit from his own pleasure-tight face, to his captor’s rapidly shattering one. His sharp eyebrows draw in with a pained look, his mouth drops open in a silent gasp. His eyes are dark and wet as they meet Curt’s through the screen, both devastated and hazy with lust simultaneously.
Owen’s never looked more gorgeous.
Then, his captor’s eyes flicker and he leans over to trace his lips along the shell of Curt’s ear, never breaking eye contact through the screen, “Now everyone can see how perfect you look taking my cock, Mega. You’re ruined for anyone else; only I can make you look like this.”
He gives a harsh thrust, and Curt moans with it, his resolve shaking apart, “Yes…”
“Yes, look at you, you need it,” the man growls and leans up to press in deeper, clutching Curt’s hair with an iron grip. “Tell them.”
“Need it. I need it,” Curt moans and squirms as he feels his dick start to harden again pressed against the padded table.
“Fuck, yes you do,” his captor groans and gives him a slow roll of his hips, finally pressing deep enough that Curt can feel the dig of his opened slacks and belt into his ass. The man seems to notice when Curt’s breathing stutters, and he repeats the motion exactly, watching himself in the monitors. “Only I can make you feel like this. Tell them.”
“Only you, only you,” Curt squeezes his eyes shut with a sob until the man yanks his hair again. “Pleaseplease, fuck-“
The man finally releases his hold on Curt’s hair and grabs his shoulder, picking up the pace of his hips.
“I’m going to fuck you like you need it,” the man pants close to his ear, holding himself up by pressing Curt into the table at his shoulders. “Don’t look away.”
Curt just whines out, too overwhelmed for words. He does his best to keep his gaze on the screen, watching their bodies move through the uncontrollable fluttering of his eyelids.
His captor slams into him hard enough to rattle the table underneath them, and Curt moans loudly with the stretch of it. He closes his eyes for longer and longer with each thrust.
The man’s palm smacks hard enough to sting across the meat of Curt’s ass, and he yelps with the burn.
“What did I just tell you?”
Curt breathes in with a wet sniff, embarrassed to realize his saliva and snot are dripping down his face onto the table as he sobs.
There’s another hard smack across the same stinging area, “That wasn’t a-“ the man’s voice wavers for a second as he thrusts hard, “-rhetorical question. What did I just tell you?” He repeats himself slowly, mockingly, like Curt’s an idiot.
Curt whimpers and mumbles out, “Don’t…look away.”
The man grabs his hip hard and redoubles his efforts, thrusting so hard that Curt’s head spins with each one. The rattle and sharp dig of the man’s belt against his bare ass makes him feel so weak and vulnerable that he can hardly take it. Curt knows he’s making pathetically loud, breathy moans, but he can barely hear as he focuses on the visual in front of him.
Sweat drips down his face, and his eyes are unfocused. He can see the back and forth jerking of his restrained arms and the pull of the cuffs as he’s fucked against the table. Some strands of his hair fall in front of his face and move with him, some stick to his forehead.
His cock is painfully hard and leaking again, sliding underneath him against the padding. It’s a minuscule amount of friction, but his entire shaft throbs with each thrust. The brutal pound of it sends currents through his body, up his spine, and the tension in the base of his groin is unbearable.
“Look at all of them,” his captor groans, his voice tight with every word. His dick is tensing inside Curt, getting close. “Every camera is a set of eyes on you, Mega. Now, beg for me to come on you, mark you up in front of them. Beg for it like I know you want to.” The man loses his breath for a second, and starts muttering, punched out of him with every thrust of his hips, “You want this, you want me. Beg for me.”
“Pleaseplease, come-“ Curt gasps with the command instantly, words cut off by his own breathy moans, “come on me, come on me- I want it-I want it- please-“
The man’s pace grows erratic for a few moments, then he pulls out and jerks himself off, coming a second later over Curt’s ass and lower back in heavy lines. He moans through it with satisfied breaths, pressing himself between Curt’s asscheeks and fucking out another few seconds of his orgasm.
“Fuck…” His clothed thighs tremble on either side of Curt’s hips, and he catches himself with an arm on the table as he tilts backwards. He tightens his hand around the base of his own dick and slaps it against Curt’s ass as it softens. “You’re fucking perfect, love.”
Curt whines and ruts against the slick table, pressing back slightly into the man’s half-opened slacks. He’s so close and wants to chase his orgasm as fast as possible, unsure if his captor will even let him finish again now that he’s done using him.
The man’s thighs squeeze around Curt’s hips, holding him in place a moment later.
“No,” he leans over Curt, still out of breath, and bites his ear, “who’s the only one who can make you come?”
“You.” Curt halts his movements with a shudder.
“And…” His captor shuffles behind him, adjusting his position so he can reach an arm between Curt’s legs. His hand wraps around Curt’s cock and jerks it off slowly against the table. “Who am I?”
Curt’s mind spins with the overstimulation as the man’s pace picks up. He writhes on the table and moans softly as he thinks. What name did he use? He just said Chimera, or- or did he use a name? His brain feels like mush in his skull; he can barely string two thoughts together.
“I-I don’t…do you want me to-?”
The man’s hand twists expertly, his thumb circling over the head of Curt’s dick in time with his fist. He jerks him off at a rapid pace as Curt leaks on the table and tenses.
“Who am I, Curt?”
Oh. His voice goes soft with the use of his first name, and Curt knows what he wants now.
“Owen,” he whimpers, “please, please, Owen-”
“There you go, darling,” Owen’s hand squeezes around his dick, bringing Curt right to the edge. “You’re perfect. It’s alright, you can come. Come for me, that’s it.”
He only lasts a few more tight strokes before he tenses and comes again, spilling over Owen’s fist and onto the table with a shuddering cry. Owen works him through it, his other hand kneading into Curt’s shoulder to calm his breathing and soft noises.
“There you go,” Owen whispers, his voice suddenly so soothing compared to just a minute ago. Curt lets his eyes fall shut to focus on the sound; he feels like his brain has been turned off. “You did so well. You’re alright.”
His hand slows around Curt, dragging out his pace as Curt whines from oversensitivity. Eventually, he lets go, still massaging into Curt’s shoulders and down his back as he comes down.
“So perfect, love. Try to relax for me?” Owen presses his thumbs into the backs of Curt’s thighs, kneading into the muscle. Curt breathes hard against the table and tries to let go of the tension, shaking through the wet sobs still caught in his throat. Owen evens out his own breathing for Curt to mimic. “Very good, that’s it.”
He feels Owen shifting behind him, leaning over the table to reach into the shelves below it with the medical equipment. There’s a soft click, and the room gets much darker, as all of the cameras and monitors power down at once. There’s still a dim glow from an overhead light, but the room becomes much less loud and overwhelming.
Owen places the remote back and returns to massaging the tension out of Curt’s body, murmuring gentle praise and reassurance until Curt’s breathing has calmed.
Curt lets the adrenaline dissipate in the quiet. The crying feels good, a safe way to release his tension, and he knows Owen won’t judge him for it. He still won’t admit it, but Curt knows he likes it when he cries. He gets enjoyment out of bringing Curt to that extreme and then comforting him down from it after, orchestrating his emotions like that.
Owen keeps his hands on Curt’s body, a soothing pressure and reminder of his presence. He circles his thumbs gently into tight spots, keeping his breathing steady for Curt.
After a few minutes, Owen slides off the table and adjusts his clothes, then rummages in the shelves below them again, this time accompanied by a wet dripping sound. He wrings out a washcloth and presses it to Curt’s back gently. It’s cool, but not freezing, a nice soothing feeling over his burning and sweaty skin.
“I’m sorry it’s not warm,” Owen says, dragging it across his lower back and between his thighs as he cleans. “The kettle was supposed to trap the heat, but we’ve been in here a while.”
“Mmm,” Curt hums, too exhausted to think of what to say. He hopes the fact that he’s stopped crying gets the point across.
“The cameras are only connected to the monitors in the room,” Owen explains in a low voice, and although Curt could have figured that out, he’s grateful to hear it anyway. “And none of them were recording or storing anything. Only immediate playback. Just us.”
“Okay,” Curt says. His throat is a bit tight from the crying, which makes his words raspy. “Thank you.”
“Of course, darling,” Owen rubs his back with a warm hand. He runs the washcloth over his dick, incredibly gently, and cleans the table underneath him, then leans down to drop it back in the water to soak again. “I’m going to unlock your restraints now, alright?”
Curt sighs and nods. His joints are going to ache like a bitch tomorrow from the amount of twisting he did during this, but he loves the helplessness of the cuffs, how he can fight and struggle all he wants and get nowhere, completely at Owen’s mercy. Maybe he can convince Owen to give him a real deep-tissue massage when they get back home. He’s always a bit extra-generous and doting after one of these types of trips.
Owen’s hands rub soothing circles into his ankles as he unlocks the cuffs. He moves over to Curt’s wrists and does the same with them, then helps Curt bring his arms down and roll over onto his back again.
He leans back to wring out the soaking washcloth again and wipes down Curt’s chest, pressing gingerly into his chest hair to clean the area thoroughly. Curt watches Owen’s face, brows furrowed with concentration as he takes care of him.
“Owen,” Curt murmurs, and his partner’s attention snaps to him in an instant, “love you.”
Owen smiles warmly and sits back on the table, returning to rubbing gentle circles into his abdomen with the cloth, “Love you too, darling. Do you need anything?”
“Mm,” Curt shakes his head slightly. His head’s too fuzzy to really concentrate enough to answer. He flexes his hands a few times, struggling to regain his mobility. Owen reaches over without a word and wraps his hand around Curt’s, rolling his thumb into the knuckles. Curt mumbles out, “You alright?”
Owen’s eyebrows raise, but he gives a small nod. It had taken a few of these trips for Owen to even accept any comfort at the end, too wrapped up in doting on Curt, and feeling guilty about enjoying it.
Still, Curt knows Owen needs the reassurance, sometimes even more than he does. He taps his thumb into Owen’s hand twice. Kiss me.
Owen hums and pats his chest, “One second.”
He leans back over the table and grabs an empty cup and a bottle half-filled with liquid, then unscrews it efficiently and takes a swig. He swishes the pale yellow liquid back and forth in his mouth then spits into the cup.
“What are you doing?” Curt huffs a tired laugh. The confusion helps bring him back to the room, oddly enough. He feels his brain finally picking up to normal speed after the reset.
Owen returns the items back under the table, then lies down on his side, half-draped over Curt’s body. He pulls him into a deep kiss, combing his hand through his hair. His mouth tastes like medicinal alcohol- oh, mouthwash.
“You trying to get me to relapse with your mouth or somethin’?” Curt asks when he pulls away an inch. “That stuff’s straight kerosene.”
“Better than the alternative, dear.”
He’s instantly reminded of how Owen’s tongue felt between his legs, and he squirms a bit in place.
“Ohhh,” Curt grins, his face heating. He moans low in the back of his throat, “Fuck, that was so hot, how long have you been planning that part?”
Owen presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Since the last time we tried it. You got so close to coming just from that. I knew you could get there in the right mindset.” He works down Curt’s jaw, talking as he goes, “Quite a good alternative for when you’re not behaving enough for fingers, which is never.”
Curt smiles and sighs happily, thinking about the last time they did it too. He hadn’t been expecting it for this one, but it helped loosen him up a lot, along with the impromptu lube. He likes the slightly painful stretch when doing these scenarios, but not so much that it overrides what actually feels good. Owen’s always able to find a happy medium for him.
“I’m sorry about the beard, by the way,” Curt brings a hand up to rub at Owen’s face. “I just got kind of…well, I don’t know. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, no,” Owen shakes his head, “Just surprised me is all. I planned on taking it off before we really got into things anyway, certain things would have been quite difficult with it on.”
“Cool.” Curt runs his thumb over Owen’s cheek, admiring him. “I kinda like your face.”
“How romantic,” Owen deadpans, but he smiles anyway. “Oh, the things you say to me, Mega. It’s a wonder I don’t swoon myself right off this table.”
Curt cracks a laugh, relieved that Owen’s gone back to being snarky so quickly. He can tell Owen’s relieved he’s talking more in turn.
They’ve gotten better at anticipating each other’s needs for trips like these. They hardly ever crash afterwards anymore, after learning the hard way one too many times. Curt still vividly remembers one particularly rough one about three years ago, where Owen had disappeared for an entire week ‘to sort out his head.’ He’d explained later that he’d liked it so much he scared himself, and felt like he needed the separation to snap out of it, but since then, they’ve found they recover better together.
“So…” Curt relaxes and rests his head back, letting Owen comb his nails through his hairline, up and over his ear. “Chimera, huh?”
He glances at Owen briefly to catch the slightly embarrassed, conniving look. Owen bites the inside of his cheek, “Mm, well. I thought it might help you get into the scene, so to speak. A villain with a personal vendetta, an archenemy, perhaps?”
“Nah, the archenemy spot is taken already.”
“Aww,” Owen tilts his head down with a wry smile. “You really know how to make a man feel special, darling.”
“It’s Von Nazi,” Curt replies. “I wanted to kill that idiot myself.”
Owen gasps in mock offense, “That puppet isn’t worthy of archenemy status, Mega. Besides, he’s long dead. Surely it would be the man who stole the kill from you, at least.”
“Mm,” Curt shrugs. “I’ll take it into consideration.”
“Anyway,” Owen bares his teeth in a scowl, an overplayed show of irritation. “I started with the personal vendetta aspect, and went from there.”
This is one of Curt’s favorite parts of their routine, listening to Owen explaining all of his plotting and preparation. He always gets so into it and loves nothing more than a dramatic monologue detailing all his plans.
“So, then I thought, well, Chimera would certainly have some unfinished business with you, had any employees survived. And I figured it would bring out a rather primal emotional response in you.”
Curt nods, still able to feel the cold drop in his stomach at the name, “You figured right.”
“Too much?”
“No,” Curt sighs. He has trouble explaining his thoughts in as much detail as Owen can, so he settles for, “It was good. A lot, but good.”
It’s enough for Owen, able to fill in the gaps himself at this point. He smiles and traces his fingers through Curt’s hair absentmindedly.
“So, I got to planning. Personal revenge, Chimera, worldwide surveillance,” Owen lists, his eyes going a bit unfocused as he gets caught up in his explanation. "Taking my old plan to a new extreme." He pauses dramatically, savoring the silence and closing his eyes. “No secrets. Everyone in the world watches as I take you apart and make you mine.”
Curt shudders underneath him, looking around at the powered-down cameras and monitors again. The entire thing was humiliating, but so fucking hot. The rush of it was insane, the release of their secret. For him, it’s been the worst thing he could think of for so long, but once they’d started, there was nothing he could do anymore to stop it. The only thing he could do was to let it happen, to take it.
“It was overwhelming,” Curt says, trying to put it into words. “It was impressive, I mean. I really…I really felt like it was real for a minute there.”
Owen preens under the praise, getting his satisfied, smug-looking smile. “Good. It took quite a long time setting up this entire room, I’ll have you know. Lots of abandoned storerooms were raided for the effort.”
“Worth it?” Curt asks, already knowing the answer.
“Absolutely,” Owen says, scanning the room in pride. He tilts his head slightly, “Although, now I’m regretting not setting up at least one camera to record for us. I would have liked to watch my own performance again. My best yet, I daresay.”
Curt cackles, “You would. Mail it in to an acting agent while you’re at it, why don’t you?”
Owen presses a tender kiss to his lips, smiling into it, “They would take one look at you and forget I was there, I’m afraid. You looked exquisite, love, no acting required.”
In place of a response, Curt just smiles at him. He silently disagrees, though. In the heat of it, Owen’s eyes on him, his charade breaking as he lost control of his expression in the monitor, his act slipping, that was the most gorgeous thing the cameras had captured.
“Maybe next time,” Curt’s heart leaps up into his throat as he processes what he’s saying. Owen looks down at him, surprise written on his face, so he keeps going, “Uh, I mean, just one camera, okay? And we- we destroy the film immediately after we watch it. It doesn’t leave the building.”
Owen’s eyes go soft, and his lips part and quirk upward in a half-smile, “You exhibitionist devil.”
“Me, the exhibitionist?” Curt laughs, “Don’t think I didn’t catch you checking yourself out in those monitors throughout the whole thing, narcissist.”
“Pot calling the kettle black, darling,” Owen puts on a fake contemplative expression, and Curt knows instantly what he’s about to bring up just from the look. “I seem to recall-“
“Stop, Carvour-“
“Kazan, Summer of ‘56-“
“You asshole-“
“Someone missed his target because he was too distracted fixing his hair in the car side mirror,” Owen continues, repeating it in the same tone he always does, mock clueless, “and then when his partner smacked him upside the head for it and chased after the target, he continued to fix his hair for a solid five seconds before following.”
Curt just groans and shakes his head.
“Now, who would do such a thing?” Owen taps his chin, looking around.
“You messed it up more when you smacked me,” Curt grumbles.
“Oh, forgive me for daring to touch the great Agent Curt Mega’s hair, how could I?”
“Alright, alright,” Curt sighs. He stretches out his legs and arches his back up on the table with a low groan, then glances around at his shredded clothes on the floor. “Fresh clothes?”
Owen traces his fingers over Curt’s bare chest, admiring his naked form. “You don’t want to stay like this for the drive?”
“I’m sure you’d like that,” Curt rolls his eyes, but he’s already sure Owen has the adjoining room set up with everything. He taps Owen’s shoulder with his palm, “Up.”
Owen sits up and slides off the table, stretching his arms out over his head so hard that some of the joints in his back pop.
“Careful,” Curt grins at him. “You don’t want to throw out your back, old man.”
“Oi!” Owen barks with no heat. “Watch it.”
Owen helps him sit up and swing his legs over the side of the table. He ducks underneath the table and holds up a canister a moment later.
“Water.” Owen shakes it, and it sloshes around in the container. He hands it to Curt, “Drink.”
Curt gives him a mock salute, “Yes, sir.”
The look on Owen’s face is priceless, especially as he fights to hide it. His cheeks flush, his jaw tightens, and something underneath the table clatters loudly as he flinches.
Curt takes a swig of the water and laughs, “Really? All this and ‘sir’ is what gets you?”
“Shut it,” Owen mutters, ducking down underneath the table as an excuse to hide his face.
“How about for the next one, I’m a disobedient soldier, and you’re my irritable sergeant?” Curt can’t help but laugh again at the idea. He plays up the innocence in his voice, “Sir, don’t discharge me, I’ll do anything.”
“You’re insufferable,” Owen sighs, but he gently knocks his head into Curt’s calf under the table. “I’ll tie you to a fence post and flog you if you keep talking back, soldier. Ten lashes.”
“Better make it twenty, or I won’t come,” Curt shoots back, just to watch Owen glare up at him. He slips back into the voice, “Please, sir, just one more, I’m almost there!”
Owen huffs a laugh, “Just drink your damn water, Mega.”