If You Can't Stand the Heat… - Chapter Seven

Author's Note: Arigato, Lovely reviews. I really enjoyed reading them.

Disclaimer: Own nothing, yadda yadda… Shaddup…

WARNING:

Slightly graphic scenes coming up. If you're offended, then please, for both our sakes, turn back now. You don't want to be offended, and I don't want to be reported. Thank you.


'Okay, so we've established the well known fact that cops are useless,' thought Greg, sarcastically.

He had to remain sarcastic. Otherwise he'd break down and cry like a baby.

The bad guys had wasted another four hostages, meaning that four hours had gone by with no further useful contact with the police chief.

"For the love of god, will someone please give these guys a car?!" he wanted to shriek.

Of course, the teenager didn't say anything. He tried to keep his head down, not wanting Boss to have any reason to be near again.

"Boss, they're not going to cooperate," said one of his friends (Greg had given up trying to tell them apart about two hours ago).

"Idiot! You think I don't know that?" he snarled back. "I figured the cops would dick around like this."

Boss lowered his voice to mumble something along the lines of cursing this damn district.

"I don't like it. We should grab one hostage and get out of here." the man said, ignoring the shouts of protest from the group on the floor.

The leader perched himself on the bank counter, left leg curled beneath him. He rested his elbow on his knee, and slouched, giving his body a long, lanky look. He stroked his chin, thinking.

"You might have a point, Mitchy-boy," Boss said, giving him a pointed look.

"I know I have a point! If we screw around here any longer, the cops'll find a way in and shut us down real quick!" Mitch went on. "We got the money, so let's get the hell out of here!"

Boss went quiet again, still thinking. They did have all the money in the bank, as well as the safety deposit boxes, wallets, purses and jewelry of everyone in the bank. There really was no reason that they ought to hang out here any longer.

"All right," the leader finally said, glancing at his partners. "Pack up, boys. We're moving out."

Greg felt the tension in the room ease and heard collective sighs of relief, but Boss wasn't done yet. He got up, holding his gun and glaring at everyone on the floor.

"We'll take the kid with us. He'll enjoy the ride," his last sentence was said to Greg

Greg's stomach dropped and his heart leaped into his throat. Boss hauled him to his feet, as if he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. He ignored his mother's screams no heed

"Roy, Bob, you guys take care of the rest of the hostages. Mitch, get the money, and Doug, you make sure we have a clear path outta here."

Boss gave the orders, clear and precise, as if he'd rehearsed them a couple times. From a large pocket in his khakis, Boss produced a thick roll of duct tape.

"Let go of me!" demanded Greg, struggling.

He let his body go limp, hoping the man's grip would slip. No such luck. Instead of getting away, Boss slammed him to the floor, face-first. The teenager saw stars on impact.

Greg felt his arms being yanked behind his back and something warm and wet was running down his face from his nose. He tried once to buck Boss off of him. The heavier man growled and knocked Greg's head hard on the floor with one hand. Everything went black.


The next time his green eyes flickered open, the first thing Greg saw was three mask-clad faces staring down at him. He was aware of the fact that he was laying on his side on the floor.

"Wakey wakey, kiddo," one of them said.

"Where am I?" he groaned.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" someone said. Immediately Greg recognized the voice as belonging to Boss.

"Where's my mom?" asked Greg, looking around.

"Again, doesn't matter," came the reply.

Boss walked into Greg's line of vision, covered with what looked like blood. The sight made Greg want to gag violently. He began to struggle as the older man got closer, only to find that his hands were bound by the duct tape, as well as his ankles.

"Hold him down," ordered Boss.

At once, three pairs of hands came down on Greg's chest, shoulders and legs. Boss knelt down near his captive's shoulders, holding something in his left hand. After a few seconds, Greg's numb mind managed to process that it was a wallet. His wallet.

Greg opened his mouth to speak as the bank robber rifled through his pictures. He stopped on a particular one and slid it out of the protective casing.

"Who is this?" demanded Boss, showing him the photo of a boy of about Greg's age. He had short, brown hair, brown eyes, and, Greg thought, the cutest smile on earth.

"Trey. He's my… friend," the boy answered truthfully.

"His 'friend'," Boss repeated mockingly. Then he sobered. "What kind of guy keeps a picture of another guy in his wallet? Are you a fag?"

"No! He's just my best friend!" Greg's voice almost broke, but he managed to keep it steady a moment longer.

Boss sneered, "I still think you're a fag."

"I'm not!"

"Boys, leave us. And turn off the lights."

"Sure, Boss. We're gonna get outta here first thing in the morning though, right?"

"Yeah, first thing," Boss replied, leering down at Greg, who tried to make himself as small as possible.

The lights flickered off and they both hear the door snap shut. Then Boss was on him.

His pants were suddenly down to his ankles and the duct tape was being torn off. His arms were crushed uncomfortably under his back. He tried kick at Boss.

Boss yanked the jeans the rest of the way off and unbuttoned his own fly.

"Please, don't do this," Greg said, trying to work his arms free. The only response he received was a hard backhand to his face.

Stubble scraping between his throat and shoulders. Grunting in his ear as Boss thrust into him mercilessly. Hands rubbing over his chest and stomach. Boss's right hand slid down Greg's hip to wrap around him. Greg gasped and tried again to buck the other man of him. Pain shot through him, up to his chest, when Boss thrust particularly hard as punishment.

Lips sucked hard on Greg's throat and he twisted, trying to get away from them. He choked back a sob when Boss began stoking him in tune with his own movements. He pulled hard at the duct tape holding his wrists together. Tension built in Greg's shoulders from the amount of pressure he was putting on the appendages by laying on them. His left began to ache horribly, making him almost nauseas. Finally, it popped loudly and pain flared for a moment before it went numb.

Even Boss started at how loud it was, but he didn't pay it much more attention than that. He groaned on top of Greg as he reached his climax, he made sure Greg came, too, in his hand. He smirked down at him.

"What'd you think of that?" he demanded, pulling out and collapsing next to his captive.

Greg fought the urge to throw up and turned his back on Boss, clawing for his discarded pants as best he could. He ignored how his shoulder felt like it exploded every time he moved it.

"Not so fast," Boss grabbed the younger man's hands and pulled him back. "You didn't think we were done so quick, did you?"


TBC...

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