Denial

Richie had a lot of time to think, being that he was being held hostage by a psycho. Plenty of time to berate himself for being a dumbass, and plenty of time for the fear to build until the darkness under the blindfold was almost crushing him. He had been at the movies that night with some friends. Mac and Tessa never specifically said so but he knew they felt better if he was going someplace specific, not just to his old neighborhood or a friend's house or something. Richie always chuckled as he detailed his plans to the pair. Obviously it had been a while since Mac had been a teenage boy if he thought that would keep Richie out of trouble. Still Richie never really planned to get into trouble; he must just be easy for trouble to find.

There had been a woman, isn't there always. Not for the first time did he curse his libido. She had been pretty, blonde like so many of the women Richie dated. She was older, maybe a little out of his league, but it never hurt to try right? Apparently it did, a lot. He had offered her a ride and a very built man had jumped him on the way to his bike.

He had come to, blindfolded and chained spread-eagled to a lumpy mattress. Very tightly chained and there was also a chain across his waist. Struggling and screaming had brought no one to check on him, until she came. Richie knew that it was the female accomplice by the voice. "Hello Richie."

"Listen you sick bitch…" Richie didn't hear her coming closer until he felt the slap that rocked his whole head to the side. But it only created a pause in his outburst; he continued in a lower voice, "MacLeod is going to kill you, you know? He's good." The sound of her laughter came from right above him.

"Let's not talk about the men; they'll take care of themselves. You should be more worried about yourself." Richie was worried, worried that he wouldn't even see the final blow coming, but he was also worried for MacLeod. Richie hadn't known the couple that long, but they were special. They had accepted and trusted him, worried over him and supported him. Mac didn't deserve this. If he survived and Mac died, he didn't know if he could face Tess.

Richie was surprised by fingers tracing his lips. He could feel her breath on his face when she spoke again. "What should we do to pass the time?" There was a touch of laughter in the question that made Richie tense. Then he felt lips pressing against his own. He scrunched his face, turning away.

"What are you doing?" His answer was another harsh slap accompanied by grating laughter.

"Don't worry, you'll enjoy it." The sound of her voice was really starting to get to him, but he kept his mouth shut. He could feel her hands go underneath his shirt, pushing it up to bunch under his armpits. His attempts to struggle against his restraints were a waste of time; they were so tight that all he could do was flex the muscles in his arms and chest. He could feel her fingertips moving down again, close to his nipples, and then she was pinching them hard in retaliation for his struggles. He hissed in pain, but then went still as he felt her tongue lapping at the abused nubs.

Richie felt like he was hyperventilating. He couldn't tell what the woman was up to, couldn't tell what would happen next, whether her next touch would be painful or soft. It was freaking him out. He felt completely vulnerable and out of control. The not knowing was killing him. The bed moved, presumably with the woman's weight, something brushed against his jean-clad thigh.

The fingers unbuttoning his jeans shocked him out of his stunned silence. "Stop!" He spoke without thinking, but now gritted his teeth and braced for a blow. It never came. The zipper was lowered, slowly, deliberately, her fingers brushing his limp sex meaningfully. He started at the touch, wanted to scream out. It was the fear of the unknown that kept him silent, for the moment at least.

His jeans and boxers were being tugged down roughly. She stopped when they were around his thighs, apparently satisfied. Richie barely breathed. When her hands began to manipulate his sex, he bucked his hips as much as he could at any rate, trying to throw her hands off.

"Oooh eager aren't we?" Her voice was oddly breathless, matching his own gasping rhythm. He couldn't seem to make his brain function enough to respond, but she didn't seem to be waiting one. Her manipulations continued, increased. He thrashed, his head rolling on the bedcovers. He had been fully hard for a few strokes, when the hands drew away.

He lay perfectly still, feeling her move on the mattress again. Without warning his sex was engulfed by something warm and wet, something…

"NO." The word was somewhere between a command and a wail. She moved, up and down on him, pressing him into the mattress rhythmically. All he could think about was Mac fighting for his life, Tessa worrying and pacing in the apartment, a knife plunging into his chest. Her touch disgusted him. He was disgusted with himself for having sex now. How could he even get hard? He felt himself ejaculate, but it was different. He felt bereft, betrayed, numb as she moved again, off of the mattress. He was oddly grateful that she pulled his jeans back up, covering the filth on him.

He lay there feeling helpless and trapped, trapped on the bed and in his own thoughts. Then he heard Mac's voice.