Characters: Shane McMahon, Chris Jericho (Chris Irvine)
Content: Mature subject matter, m/m slash, m/m slash, non-consensual sexual situations, mention of substance abuse.
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Title from "To Kill A Stranger" by Fozzy. Lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
Maybe he's finally fallen asleep. Do I dare hazard a peek? Maybe I can turn my head slowly enough so he won't notice.
Shit.
One dark eye, wide open, still following my every move.
So much for restful sleep. Not like I was gonna get it anyway, but still, nobody likes to fall asleep knowing they're being stared at all night. Sleep. Who the hell am I kidding? I'd be happy to just pass the fuck out at this point.
The ropes are so tight it's cutting off the circulation in my wrists a little. If I wiggle my fingers, I can feel them tingling. I'm not light headed anymore but that's just because he quit trying to strangle me. Kind of hard to suck someone's dick when you can't breathe, you know?
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, he didn't tie my feet. Of course, I KNOW why he didn't. Gives him better access to me when the urge comes over him.
Funny, I always thought doing hard drugs was supposed to kill your sex drive.
I really wish he'd stop staring at me and just fall asleep so I won't be so self-conscious. Not that it really matters, since everything he's already done to me tonight was all carefully calculated to strip away what little resistance I might've had.
Cold, conniving bastard.
And to think I actually found him appealing at one time.
I know a lotta guys would've been happier than anything to be in my place. Guys who do this kinda kinky shit willingly.
But not me. I want gentle, tender love followed by some cuddling, some spooning, maybe some corny love-talk.
Yeah, I like that kinda crap. So sue me.
And I've gotten off the subject somehow. I'm supposed to be lying here hating him.
Arrogant shit. How could I have been so stupid? I guess I thought all the whispered stories about him were the product of petty, jealous minds, frustration sprung from jilted would-be lovers. Now that I've found out the truth for myself, you better believe I'll be adding my voice to all the others. That's assuming he lets me go when this is all over with.
Shit, now he's up. I mean REALLY up. Great. Guess this means he's gonna fuck me again. Wish I could be more enthusiastic about it but I'm still sore from the last time.
Maybe if I just don't react at all, he'll lose interest and stop. Then again, maybe he'll see it as some kind of challenge.
Oh well. Ready or not, here we go. And of all times to try to make fucking conversation...
"How's my rock star holding up?"
"Fuck you, Shane."