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"If you hear any screaming of any kind from this way, no you don't, okay? Goodnight, everybody!"
"No, come on! I hate you—I hate you, ha! Ha, you motherfucker, yes!" Alfred shot his arms into the air. "Yes, oh my god, yes, I finally fucking got you, ha-ha-ha!" He fell backwards, sprawling on the floor, controller still in hand, just to bask in his victory. His little video game boss had been giving him such a hard time, he stopped playing—procrastinated, more like—until he had hyped himself up to give it another try.
Alfred jumped against the carpet as something scraped the side of his cabin. He picked up his head, pulling himself to sit. His eyes wandered to the screen. At long last, he could reap the spoils of getting to the next level, until whatever other big boss would probably wreck his gut.
"Gah!" Alfred nearly leapt right to the ceiling fan as something, somebody (maybe?) tack-tacked on one of his bedroom windows. "Machete-murderers!" He dove onto the floor. Nothing happened. He lifted his head between the two windows, one facing that way, one facing the other way. He crawled to the window beside his bed, in case something was trying to lure or distract him; that way he could dive into his blankets, and everybody knew murderers and ghosties and monsters couldn't penetrate blankets. Alfred rose to his knees, swaying side to side as he peeped at the view of Yao's cabin a good distance away, hedges and sunset in between. There could be killers or werewolves or mutated blobs out there. Alfred gave a few thoughtful sounds, not really considering investigating, and snapped the curtain shut. Everybody knew murderers wanted windows nice and open for them. He slunk back to his game, keeping out a wary ear. This was a new spot he hadn't explored, new colors, new enemies.
Somebody knocked on his front door, just twice. Alfred paused his game and whipped his head around, staring toward his bedroom doorway. There was definitely a somebody and that somebody was creeping. He left off a growl, clutching his controller as his character dashed around in a similar tizzy of the one in his head, deciding whether to go snoop or ignore it. He lowered his controller onto his lap, trying to breathe shallowly to hear anything. It was probably one of the other guys. It was probably one of them snooping in his fridge for any good snacks.
Alfred let off an indignant, "Hmph!" and dashed out of his room. He planted a hand to the wall that turned to his kitchenette. Nobody was raiding his fridge. Nobody was in his cabin. Maybe it could be one of the others dropping something off. Maybe Yao made more of his dumplings, or Arthur said he was thinking about doing that chocolate cola cake, or maybe it was murderers, but it was a fifty-fifty chance and there have been worse odds.
Any murderers wouldn't have the element of surprise, and oftentimes, that could be enough to deter them. Alfred went to the front door and cracked it open, peeking outside. Nobody stood on his porch. He opened the door further, casting a side-to-side glance through the front yard bleeding into the driveway. Dark red leaves blew from the trees, the fall air making him shudder in goosebumps as he was only wearing a tee-shirt and his joggers: naturally not used for jogging.
"Ha-ha, yeah, nice try, ax-murderers." Alfred glanced down, noticing a plastic bag of something sitting right there on the welcome mat. "Hm, nice try." With another glance up, he swooped and snatched the bag and turned back to his house. A trove of chocolate chip cookies—must have been extra; the others spoiled him just like they should.
Something shoved into Alfred. His back hit the wall beside the door. Heavy dark cloth shoved over his head.
The bag of cookies was gone, his cabin was gone, and he was shucked over somebody's shoulder, wrists and feet bound, something over his eyes, something in his mouth, carried through the gravel from the sounds of heavy boots on the grit. Bound and gagged and taken so quickly—it was a distraction. It worked. It worked way too well. Alfred thought nothing of it but snacks.
He writhed, only capable of doing something like an angry wormish dance, his shouts choked on the piece of silicone against his tongue before he was deposited on a bed of blankets. He kicked his legs—inside of a car, most likely, too cramped to stretch. He jumped as the trunk slammed shut. His captor got into the vehicle, the engine already going. The door shut. Alfred grunted, squirming against the blankets beneath him as the vehicle lurched. He bumped into the back of the rear seats, eyes wide behind the blindfold, trying to suck in shallow breaths through his nose as he drooled against the ball pressed to his tongue.
Within two minutes, somebody could grab him and haul him away for whatever they saw fit. The others would never have a clue.
Alfred arched his back, twisting his hands and pulling on his binds, but they held strong. He pressed his forehead to the felt of the back seats, swallowing helplessly against the gag. He couldn't do anything, not now. He'd have to wait until the ride stopped and his captor decided to inevitably open the trunk again. Transported goods had to be removed and moved eventually. Alfred tried to listen to the sounds of the vehicle, furrowing his brow as he took in the scent of Francis' perfume in the air. He sniffed and snuffled a lot, it was all he could do, roll around and rub his face and drool on the soft comforter beneath him, giving a halfhearted wriggle of his fingers, grabbing at nothing but air.
He started as the radio started, punk rock clashing through the interior of the vehicle. Alfred lay on the blankets, giving a last squirm, something both in himself and the back of his mind settling to a coiled spring. The tires rolled over the crackling of pebbles and twigs. They drove for a while, the music, Alfred's pulse, the road thrumming through him.
What would his captor do to him? Alfred didn't know, he couldn't do anything. He had to let it happen, and it sent a strangely intrigued tingle through his groin. It may have been his heart slamming against the blankets. He squirmed again, fear, exhilaration rousing through his blood. He let off a short yell, scorning his captor, but it wouldn't be anything against his gag, the music.
'...talk fast but think so slow!
Yeah, you're a motherfucker
But I want you. So. Bad!'
Alfred quietly keened against the blankets.
Eventually, the vehicle slowed to a stop.
The driver's door opened and slammed shut, sending a jolt through Alfred. He tossed his head around, uselessly, of course, as heavy steps came around the vehicle. He stiffened as the trunk door opened. With another twist of his hands, he tried his binds one last time before his captor grabbed him, his bicep, a big and rough clutch. Alfred sucked in a drooly inhale to scream at them, but it did nothing, it was nothing. His captor shoved him to his stomach, face pressed into the blankets. He turned his head but a hand clamped through his hair, keeping him pinned as the other grabbed his waist, his backside, his ass. His legs kicked up, twitching as that rough hand yanked down his joggers and underwear, exposing him to the cool night air but the back of the vehicle was stifling.
Alfred wriggled, kept wriggling, kept moving, if he could move enough he could slip and run (hop) away, but the vehicle heaved as his captor pulled themself—himself, from the deep grunt—and stuck Alfred's legs down, pinned him to the blankets. He breathed raggedly through his nose, tonguing the gag but there wasn't anything he could do. Cold hands, cold fingertips grabbed, squeezed his ass, plunged between his thighs. Alfred jumped—couldn't—against the blankets with a muffled yelp, barely squirming as they pushed their way inside of him, sudden and cold, wet as they thrusted a few times, rough and as deep as they could go. They forced him to take it but barely had to stretch him. They crooked, prodding—Alfred jerked and shivered, whimpering urgently as his eyes danced behind the blindfold. His captor teased him over again and the sounds kept spilling out of his mouth against the ball gag. He kept squirming, rutting over the blankets, uncontrollably pushing up his knees, his hips rocking against the touch. The heavy breathing above his head slighted into a quiet laugh, pressing, stroking, making Alfred's panting go up and up, shivering over being taken so strongly and certainly. Alfred knew that laugh. He knew those hands, he knew that touch, he knew that chill and how much it warmed inside of him and why his so-called captor reached for it so greedily.
Ivan released him. Ivan, from dithering around and wringing his hands to those same hands gripping his hip and through his hair, digging into him as he draped over Alfred's back. Alfred moaned against the gag, moaning under all that weight crushed him to the blankets but kept his hips crooked up. Something about Alfred, Ivan just couldn't help but want so much he had to take. He had to tie Alfred up and take him away all for himself to have his way with him in the back of a car, and he did, pressing against and shoving himself inside of him. Alfred screamed—probably, not really, nobody would be around to rescue him from such peril.
Nobody would save him. Nobody would pull him away. Ivan all-encompassed him, draped over him, pushing him to the blankets, panting over his head and taking only a few thrusts to get as deep as he could go and fucked him like he would go deeper if he could. Alfred's fingers clawed against their restraints, tangling into whatever top Ivan was wearing, squeezing around him like his own body couldn't help but punish himself, making the stretch sting even more as every thrust burned through such thin layers of clothing to nothing but bare skin against skin.
Ivan still had that hand clamped through his hair, keeping him down, puffing out a shaky laugh above Alfred's ear. "You're such a little whore, little Alfred." Above him, pressed over him like this, "Somebody does this to you," he whispered in that husky voice he only used when they were alone or furious, "You like it."
Alfred's eyes melted into the back of his head. He couldn't do anything. Whatever Ivan wanted from him, he would have. Alfred wouldn't do anything about it.
Not when it was so thick and rough and good.
Half his face was stuffed to the blankets, blistering heat from his cheek down his neck, sweltering, suffocating, moaning much too much than he should being stuffed, over, and over, and over again.
Ivan huffed and pulled up enough—weight, warmth lost—grabbing through Alfred's hair, pulling his head back, gripping him tight as he pounded his hips into Alfred's ass. Tightly there, tightly here, nothing but pain and bliss. Nothing but hot and compliant to be fucked. He was called a little whore when he milked tight whatever cock he could get. Stuffed and blinded and gagged. Nothing, nothing. Nothing. Tight until he couldn't help coming all over the blankets, bounced and rocked and fucked until Ivan was done fucking him.
All that hot weight and strength pushed on him, shaking right through him. Alfred drooled down his chin, all over the blankets, pressing his tongue against the gag, choking himself at the sound and feel of being forced down and claimed. The blankets were wet. Every inch of his skin burned, radiated, made him sweat and limp as the body caged over his lifted off of him, slow and sighing in his ear. Satiated. The hand through his hair gently pulled through his locks before giving him a sharp tug. Alfred moaned out helplessly, gagging against the ball in his mouth. Used.
He shook his head side-to-side and snapped his fingers. His jaw was tingling. The gag was choking him.
The strap loosened from the back of his head and fell away to somewhere else. Alfred gasped out, his head falling to the blankets, licking his lips and rolled his jaw. It was quiet. He must have been a mess. His heart thrummed so fast, it might just spill out of the car.
"Sir," he slurred, tipping his head so his cheek pressed to the blanket. "What're y'gonna do to me?"
His captor was quiet.
Alfred shifted, feeling him behind his legs, doing nothing. "S—Ivan."
"Ssh. Ah, you did...very good, so now I will release you."
Alfred stared at nothing, due to the blindfold, as a hand settled on his hip. It gave him one and two squeezes, a pat-pat, before lifting to pick at his binds. His lips trembled. "I did good?!" He started laughing, cheeks, jaw sore.
"No-" Ivan quietly protested. He sighed. "Please don't laugh."
The binds fell away, and Alfred pulled his hands from his back, stretching and rolling them a few times. Whatever Ivan had tied him up with was strong, but not rough. He may still have some marks in the morning, though, hopefully. He peeled off his blindfold, blinking out the back of one of their family vehicles, a dark off-road SUV with a whole lot of trunk space to stuff a guy. He lay on a bunch of blankets, almost comfortable enough to nap, if they weren't on a back dirt road at nighttime. Ivan was behind him, half-lying, half-draped out of the vehicle, quickly glancing away as Alfred tossed a grin at him. "I did good, huh?"
Ivan only made a short noise. Embarrassed.
Alfred shucked himself to his other side, pausing as the lack of blood flowing in his noggin caught up to him for a moment. "What's wrong, Mister 'Napper? Sure you're gonna let me go that fast?"
Mister 'Napper drew in and let out a great sigh, the kind that tattled a smile he wanted to fight but couldn't, if Alfred could see him better in the darkness. "No." Alfred smiled, wriggling closer, feeling all kinds of things as Ivan brushed his arm, taking the quiet rescue, and pulled him closer. "Maybe I shouldn't." Right to his chest, the best spot, Alfred snuggled and pressed an ear to Ivan's heartbeat still pounding away, one arm over his stomach, the other loosely cupped behind his back. Ivan cusped Alfred's elbow, then down his arm, taking his wrist and squeezing and massaging it like he should.
"Mm, where are we?"
"A little down the road. Deeper into the forest."
"Heart's Rest is just down the road?"
"Yes."
"'s'good."
"Ah, Arthur told me to do this," to the way he rubbed Alfred's wrists.
"Yeah. It's good," Alfred repeated. Those hands, grabbing, crushing, bruising, cupped around his and threaded their fingers together, giving another almost-gentle squeeze, once. He could lie there, draped over a nice, big, warm, manly pillow and be rubbed and petted dotingly, though Ivan's confidence tended to wither as soon as his consequences looked him in the face. Alfred pressed his face into Ivan's shirt, wiping his mouth and snuffing him up and humming contentedly, loud enough they both should hear it. "That was hot, man," he blurted. Ivan's bodily warmth, his breathing, just melted it all away. "Proud-uh-ya. You did good." Then he shook and laughed some more.
Ivan didn't say anything, so Alfred picked his head up, eyes heavy and barely seeing anyway, so he sought to find that face by mouthing his way up Ivan's chin, then his lips, moaning happily as he found what he wanted. The arm draped behind his back shifted once, then pulled him in tighter, then tightly enough their chests crushed together and Alfred breathed in nothing but him until he couldn't breathe at all. Their hands fell away from each other, Ivan clutching him in his arms and Alfred cupping up through his hair, back pressed to the blankets all over again until they both really needed air. They pulled away, curved tightly around the other in the dark, breathing damp and heavy straight to each other's lungs.
"Alfred." A touch strayed up Alfred's arm, and he followed it, too easily guiding the way to his throat. Alfred shuddered at the weight and warmth of that hand there on his neck, blood thrumming for the way Ivan desired all over again. Ivan's fingertips twitched, but he didn't squeeze, he just stayed there, holding him like that as their lips met again several times. If Alfred kept his eyes closed, there would be no nighttime, just the time with the one covering him and keeping him warm from the dark. He cupped the back of Ivan's hand, shakily sighing out as Ivan pulled away to mouth across his cheek, then his neck where his own clutch didn't reach. He shouldn't encourage it like this, but if they both wanted it, if they both burned for it—his hips rolled up, seeking to slot against Ivan's.
The great beast on him rumbled, parting away. Alfred sighed at the weight lifting off his neck. "Ivan..." He reached out, making sure Ivan was still there, and rubbed up and down his arms, up his shoulders, down his chest just to feel him breathe and his heart racing even when he stayed quiet. "Are you sure you're okay?" The question burned Alfred's cheeks. They always said he was needy. Maybe it also meant in every other moment than something like this, too.
"Yes. No, but yes." Alfred's heart dropped so fast. "No, not because of you. Because..." Ivan took a deep breath. Alfred could feel that. "Doing something like this...makes me think...things I have been told not to think."
The possessiveness—first thing through Alfred's mind—caused too many problems than it had ameliorated when they were smashing their way through their clumsy college days. It was a lot long ago now, especially a whole decade into their new life with their other partners, so Alfred didn't want it to cause the same issues when they knew better now, but what he wanted tended to piss life off sometimes. Or it could've been the simple concept hammered into a guy's head, 'Hey, snatching people from their houses is rude.' It could've been anything.
Before Alfred could think to ask, Ivan asked, "Was it obvious that this...kidnapping was me?"
That got Alfred to smile. "Kind of. Yeah. Was it supposed to be a secret?"
"Ah. Oh no. Yes, it was."
"'s why you spritzed Francis' perfume in here and played Arthur's music."
Ivan went quiet again. Alfred nudged him again. "Hey. It's okay. You did good, 'van. I liked it. We should do it again. Maybe like, a naughty lifeguard rescue or something next time."
That got a few chuckles. Nice shaking. "A lifeguard. Oh no. We don't have a pool."
"Pssh. So what? Shouldn't stop anybody."
Ivan let out a short hum, thinking, by the sound of it. "Are you sure I shouldn't be stopped, Alfred? I might like it too much."
"Dude, we had sex. I sure hope you liked it!"
"No, no," another laugh. "Not like that."
Alfred pursed his lips, rubbing Ivan's shoulders all around before shrugging his own, even if Ivan might not exactly see it. "Hey, I liked it, you liked it. We did it to get our jollies off. So-"
"Get—what?"
"So, let's not get into the whole morality thing. You know what I think?" Alfred waited a moment to smile. "You just couldn't help yourself from me, big guy."
Ivan drew in a big breath, swelling with it, and let out a laugh through his nose, his whole body. Alfred squirmed against him, encouraging it. "Yes," Ivan then said. "Shorts you were wearing today. Before you went back into your cabin. Had to have you before the others would."
"Yeah?" Alfred asked, all grins. "I'll wear 'em next time. Maybe we could get the others in it, too. A whole booty-shorts club. Naughty library session."
"Oh. Oh no," Ivan laughed some more. Alfred basked in it. "I...might like that too much, too. Maybe more. Would be fun to watch."
"Ugh! Knew you were gonna say that!"
"What is wrong with watching-!"
"I know, I know, nothing, big guy. I'm just teasing you." Alfred tapped Ivan's shoulder again. "Now, come on. We should probably get back home. It's getting cramped in here."
"I—oh, I'm cramping you."
"No, it's just back here. Gotta stretch my legs out."
Ivan pulled to sit, and Alfred could see him a bit better just enough that he clamped a hand over the back of his neck, doing the motion he did when he lacked one of his scarves. Alfred sat up and gave him a hardy nudge, enough to make him use his hands to stop himself from tipping over.
"I won't be so cramped in your bed, you know that, right?"