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Jason's eyes will not open. He's blind and he hears grunting. Moving is difficult; every muscle screams with agony and exhaustion when he tries to bring his arms up, realizing through a painful routine of flexing and shifting that they are pinned behind him. He can tell he's sitting up, his ass groaning from the hard wooden surface he's apparently been occupying for far too long, and he knows that his ankles are secured somewhere down below him, the feeling in them distant.

 

He hears another groan and realizes with a start that it's his own voice echoing, groaning and pleading. "Harder, Liza," his voice is commanding. "You told me you were into this."

 

Now he is desperate, working his eyelids until his lashes excruciatingly rip, the blood fusing them together cracking off and fluttering down his cheeks. He has one eye open and he sees it: Christmas 2011 painted across a whole wall by a projector. Jason hasn't watched this tape in years, but every moment of it is shamefully familiar. There he is again, on the hotel bed with his knees tucked under him. Liza is standing behind with her black leather harness, a bright pink cock bouncing between her legs. She looks so obviously overwhelmed by all of his demands, approaching him with delicate caution.

 

Back when they were in love, when the spark was still there, Liza did everything Jason asked eventually. She put on the slutty outfits, she patiently endured the whips and paddles, she abided by the electric wands and whirring silicone toys. None of it saved their relationship, but it did make it interesting; every week was a scavenger hunt for the perfect storm of kink, and Liza was an unfailing ally when it came to obliging Jason's every whim. 

 

And yet, back in those days, his clearest, most cherished memories were the times he spent alone with a new toy or a sordid idea, his insatiable desire for the thrill as apparent in his bedroom as it was when he was shelling out for all those sky-diving lessons and bungie jumps. His browser history was equal parts extreme sports and extreme fetish. Not Liza -- nor any woman he'd ever met -- could hope to keep the pace with him. He would rock himself into golden oblivion, a massager buried deep inside his ass and the latest fleshtube locked around his cock, soundly leveled by orgasms that inhabited every muscle of his body. Then he'd try to replicate the whole thing with Liza and it would turn into this: a groaning, humiliating catastrophe, more frustrating than exhilarating. Even now, watching her fumble with the silicon cock in her hands, he wants to scream at her. His body aches empathetically. He hears a crunch behind his ear.

 

"This is fucking funny." Another crunch. "Toooooooo fucking funny."

 

If it was anyone else but Vaas, maybe Jason wouldn't have cared so much. But it is Vaas, chowing down on something noisy behind him, fucking with the projector until the image of Liza's cock disappearing into Jason's red little hole is focused and startingly clear. Jason sees her eyes widen as he backs into her hard on-screen and lets loose a long, loud moan. He ends up fucking himself while she just tries to hold on, jerking his cock when she can't get the right angle, when that expensive piece of shit she has in her harness can't stroke him in all the right places. There are a few happy accidents; Jason sees his legs tremble when he moves right and gets pegged right where it counts, his eyes rolling and his back arching. She doesn't follow through, though, and he's chewing on his lip in anger.

 

"Jason. Jasoooon, I know you are fucking awake, Jason." Vaas steps around, blocking his view. He offers his bag of peanuts, and Jason glares balefully. "Suit yourself," he sighs, tossing another handful into his mouth as he turns to see the screen. "You know, I would have never taken you for a fucking maricón."

 

Jason grew up in Cali; he knows that word. His teeth grit.

 

"What's wrong, Jason?" Vaas taunts, leaning over him. He puts the bag he'd been eating from on Jason's lap so that he can plant both hands down on the back of Jason's chair. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. It just means that you'll like it when I sell you to those boy-fucking pieces of shit at the club, hermano. That's good; you should always enjoy your work. What's the fucking point otherwise, uh?"

 

Jason's face burns. It wasn't about that, and had never been. All of this had been about taking it to the next level, eschewing boundaries and conventions in the hunt for the most extreme sexual heights. He'd thought about guys before, sure, had pictured himself luring some anonymous stranger into his room just to see what it would be like, but when it came to the application, men just didn't do it for him. Women didn't either, but they came in more pleasing shapes, all soft skin and pliable, yielding curves. Long ago, he'd decided he was something worse than gay: he was disenchanted.

 

"She is really trying," Vaas laughs. "Cabrón, you aren't giving her enough credit."

 

On-screen, Jason really isn't. He's growling, "Just get the vibrator," wiping a drizzle of lubricant off his thighs, feeding it right back into his greasy hole. This is the only good part of the video, in his opinion. Now, he wishes it didn't exist, especially not with Vaas's eyes intent on the screen, his jaw dropping when he sees the way that Jason seethes at his own hands, desperately rubbing through the muscle he's speared on his finger.

 

"I can suck you," Liza says as she obediently feeds a little curve of steel into him. The moment it's in, the relief is apparent on Jason's flushed face -- for as long as it takes for his head to roll back, anyway. 

 

"No," Jason snaps back. "That'll ruin it. Just get behind me.

 

"The best part of this is I don't know what's gonna happen next," Vaas muses. He hasn't taken back the bag; he's just eating his snacks right off Jason's lap. And at the image of himself sinking back against Liza's plump breasts, his muscles flexing as he clenches around the silver massager buried in his ass, it's a shorter and shorter reach for Vaas every time. "You fucking California assholes are something else, you know?"

 

Jason's only consolation is the way that Vaas's eyes widen when he sees Jason really trying to get there, his knees pressed together, his whole body grinding and rocking and straining as he fucks himself with his own clenching muscles, clamping down hard on that little buzzing gizmo. Liza's hands smooth down his chest and stomach, but Jason looks like he's trying to ignore her. The whole picture doesn't wipe the smile off the pirate's face, but it puts one on Jason's.

 

"Jealous?" he asks.

 

"Fuck me," Vaas snaps. "It can talk."

 

"Are you done?" Jason goes on, sounding angrier than he'd like to. He feels it gives too much away. "I'm not going to be embarrassed because I have a kinky sex life."

 

"Why the fuck is this about you?" Vaas asks. "You egotistical fuck -- this is a learning experience for me. We don't have this kind of shit on my island. We don't need it. Pussy is good e-fucking-nough for me." But his eyes still have not left the screen. It puts a little taunting flair in Jason's tone.

 

"Yeah," he says. He likes how dangerous he sounds. "I thought that too."

 

There's no denying the choked little sounds coming from the speakers, the way Jason's body rolls on screen, enslaved to the rhythm of the massager that he is working inside himself. Jason remembers the tingle of sensation that pools in his stomach and spreads like a fever, possessing his flesh inch by inch, joy-riding through his veins. Jason hears himself breathing hard. He says, "Oh fuck," and then loses his place, groaning when the edge he's been courting drops away. The real Jason groans too, immersed for a moment in the memory of the build-up, the crushing let-down. 

 

"That's never gonna work," Vaas comments. Jason lets a dark little laugh loose, prompting Vaas to wheel around on him. "What's so fucking funny? Huh?"

 

"Okay," Jason replies. "You said it yourself -- you don't know shit. Maybe you should stop talking like you do."

 

"I know things, okay," Vaas insists, tipping Jason's chair back precariously. Over the speakers, Jason is whimpering again, pleading wordlessly. "I know shit that will haunt your pretty fucking head for the rest of your fucking life."

 

"Don't--" Jason protests, and Vaas thinks he means the chair thing, so Jason finds himself suspended at an even scarier angle. But that isn't what he's most afraid of. "Fuck! No, don't... Don't do this, please don't--" And then he feels Vaas's knife at his throat. He's compelled to exhale slowly, saying, "Oh thank god."

 

"Thank god?" Vaas scoffs. "You mean thank god I am going to kill you, instead of raping you?"

 

Jason is silent, but his eyes burn, locked on Vaas's coy expression.

 

"You don't mean that," Vaas coos. "Look at what a fucking slut you are, Jason. Look at yourself."

 

Ignoring Liza is the best thing for him. She's invisible to him, struggling beneath his weight, as his hips grind into the mattress and animalistic sounds peal from his slack lips. Back in reality, Jason's whole face is red. His own body has always turned him on, especially when it's like this, when he's lost in a new sensation, when he's pioneering a new way to make his belly burn and his mind swim. He knows how good it feels. He knows how much he misses it. 

 

"I know how to handle myself," he's saying before he can help it. "You don't."

 

When Vaas rights the chair again for him, he is whipped forward, his neck creaking. Vaas has him dizzy for a moment, which isn't completely his fault; vertigo is hitting Jason hard thanks to the blood rushing to his cock, caught up on a whiplash current of arousal. He can't think of anything but that little bump of nerves inside him, his favorite place to occupy, singing now with burning need. Vaas is right in his face, staring so hard that Jason is paranoid that Vaas can feel his desire too.

 

"I don't get it," Vaas says. He makes a mockery of a lover's caress with the flat of his blade, drawing the cool steel along the hot curve of Jason's cheek. "You think I've never been fucked before, Jason?"

 

Jason's eyes widen, but only because he's the honest one, the blunt one and the dirty one. It's weird to hear it from someone else. "Yeah. I think that," he says. "But that's not the same thing."

 

"California boy has it all fucking figured out," Vaas sneers. The knife disappears, and Jason is surprised when the binding around his wrists loosens. Vaas keeps him pinned, this time by straddling his lap, the snack bag discarded and spilled over the floor. The first thing Jason does with his newly-liberated hands is push Vaas away, but Vaas just holds on tight to the chair and they both get nowhere. "Ah-ah-ah. You keep talking, but I don't believe you, I don't believe a fucking word you say. You think you are so much fucking--" Vaas rolls Jason's head back with a crushing jab to the jaw. "--better than me, that you know so fucking much, but look at you..."

 

He's leaning over Jason's throbbing skull, craning his neck for a better angle on Jason's bigger than life writhing on the screen. His movie self is flushed red like a lobster and dripping with sweat, but Jason knows he's still not anywhere near to peaking.

 

"What do they say? Fucking trainwreck," Vaas says lamentingly. "You should have just found a big cock to fill you up."

 

Obviously, Jason is a glutton for punishment. He rolls his aching jaw and asks, "Is that what you like?"

 

"Sometimes," Vaas confides, leaning in so that Jason can see the full extent of his wolfish grin, "when I'm fucked up, you know, and my dick is hasta luegooo, that's what it fucking takes to get me off. Sometimes I let the boss's men come in here, right, two or three of them at a time to fucking turn me out."

 

Jason is growling, assaulted by the image of Vaas spread wide open beneath Hoyt's privateers. He imagines their twisting cocks cramming into Vaas's bulging, glistening flesh, forcing Vaas to take more than one of them at a time, and his dick twitches at the thought. Vaas feels it, murmuring unintelligibly, and grinds his ass down on Jason's lap, as dedicated and direct as any good stripper Jason's ever had. 

 

"Yes," Vaas purrs. He has such a command of his hips, unerring control over every point of pressure he applies to Jason's throbbing cock as he winds through the air like ribbon. His nails rake his own belly as he lifts his shirt on one finger, exposing his rolling stomach. "You want to see? I have tapes too, motherfucker."

 

"Fuck," is probably what Vaas was looking for. Jason adds, "No," to wipe the smile off his face.

 

"What's the matter, Jason?" Vaas laughs. "I thought you were some kind of sexual pioneer, some kind of fucking deviant. You look like a horny fucking teenager right now."

 

Jason's hands clamp down on Vaas's hips, bearing into the bone. He feeds on the subtle jump he feels under Vaas's skin. "It wouldn't be enough for me," he seethes. He's surprised by the hands on his, at Vaas's expression as he digs Jason's fingers in deeper, his eyebrow lifting, the smile on his face still shining brightly.

 

"I know how he feels," he says, jerking his chin at the other Jason, the one who is gritting his teeth and hating the slow, unending ramp of pleasure, tortured and twisted by his own evasive climax. "I'm disappointed too, hermano. I thought I might learn something from you." Vaas leans over him, and Jason's eyes focus on the necklaces swinging over his chest. One of them is comprised of steel ball bearings that clink when he moves. Jason twists it around his finger and tears it off Vaas's neck with a snap. "Motherfucker," Vaas rages. "What the fuck are you doing, huh, I liked--"

 

Jason elects to answer him with a hand clasped around his throat. He takes a special kind of pleasure in hearing Vaas choking on his own words, straining against his cinched windpipe to go on screaming at him. With the chain wound around his fingers, he snaps the button on Vaas's jeans, and they bulge out wide under the weight of his cock. Jason finds the right angle and squeezes him tightly, just as tightly as he is squeezing Vaas's throat. 

 

"Stop asking questions," he says. Vaas nods, his eyes dim from the lack of air. He removes the hand on Vaas's neck and it's the first time Jason's seen him quiet. He cannot help but to clench his cock harder, ending his silence by invoking a quiet hiss. That isn't all; the calculated, patient way Jason looks over him puts a little tremble in Vaas's shoulders that brings Jason a dark, dark sense of satisfaction. Just like with every experiment he's ever performed, there's the overriding sense of taboo here already getting him high on a rush of adrenaline. This is Jason's first time tugging a cock out of someone else's jeans, after all, so he takes his time with it, locking his fingers around it, letting the sleepy weight of its head droop over his hand. "You're lucky," he says.

 

"You got that right, motherfucker," Vaas is quick to respond, apparently over his vow of silence. Jason gives him a warning look.

 

"You're lucky," he says, snagging Vaas by the foreskin, pulling until it is shiny and taut, "because you have this." He rolls it back, then stretches it out again, Vaas humming overhead. He keeps it pinched, snapping at Vaas when he tries to move his hips forward to alleviate the sting of the stretch, and dips the chain into his mouth. Jason works it around on his tongue until it is good and sopping wet with spit, then slips Vaas's skin down around the head of his cock, revealing his glistening little slit. 

 

"What are you doing?" Vaas asks, watching Jason dangle the chain over his prick. Jason is looking at him too, waiting for the moment it dawns on him. Just as he's suspected, it's beautiful. "Ay que puta no."

 

"Fine," Jason says, knowing that's all it will take. Vaas replies almost before he's done.

 

"Is it gonna hurt?"

 

"Yeah." 

 

"Carepicha," Vaas snaps, dipping his head back. "Fine. Okay, okay. Do it."

 

"Are you gonna do this every ti--"

 

"Shut your fucking mouth." He's pissed Vaas off badly, his cheeks dark, fuming. Jason likes the look on him. "I said do it, do it, fucking do it, okay?"

 

Jason hardly waits until he is done giving his consent. He rolls the first ball in the link over the slit in Vaas's cock, drinking in the wide-eyed way that Vaas is staring. His prick eats the first link and the second sinks in to the curve, and Vaas's shoulders hitch up. Jason stirs the ball inside him by twisting the chain and feels the reaction in Vaas's trembling thighs. 

 

"More?" he asks.

 

"Do it." Vaas's jaw bulges from the strain of containing himself. Jason takes that as permission to shove the next link in and Vaas's cock jumps with every pop. Despite his whimpers, he's getting harder and harder in Jason's hand, his flesh purple around the suspended chain. Soon, it isn't as easy as just feeding the balls through Vaas's slit. The chain starts to bunch, so Jason jerks him hard, and Vaas yells aloud. "FUCK! Ay, fuck... Fuck, fuck fuck--"

 

Jason tries to catch his eye, so Vaas can be privy to his frank stare. "If you're gonna do this every time..."

 

"Don't -- fucking run your mouth, okay? You... You like it anyway," Vaas wheezes. "Sick, twisted motherfucker."

 

Vaas has a point there. Jason checks the validity of it by yanking on the chain so that the balls nearly slide back out, and then he crams them right back in again, deeper this time. 

 

Vaas is absolutely right. Jason feels his wild scream in his loins, tearing through him hotly. When Vaas begs to know, "How much more?" Jason enjoys it too, taking his time with the next ball, rubbing it around Vaas's slit before he snaps it inside.

 

"All of it."

 

"Do you know how long that fucking chain is?" Vaas demands, chewing his palm.

 

"If I don't," Jason replies, pinching the chain, fucking the next ball in and out until Vaas cries out again, "it'll get in the way when I fuck you."

 

Vaas's mind is too hazy to put that one together, and Jason is thankful deep down inside. This is pioneering; he isn't exactly sure how his agenda will work out in reality, though in theory he has everything carefully mapped in his mind. So far, he has no reason to think that anything will go wrong. The chain disappears into Vaas's cock, his fussing the hardest part of the process to deal with. The clasp is the widest part, and Jason has to work it around and around to get it inside, spitting a wad of saliva on the tip to give it a little more ease of passage.

 

He looks up and sees Vaas breathing very, very carefully, his legs spread obediently, his head dipped forward. Jason was thinking it might be a struggle to get hard, but Vaas is doing such a good job awakening this desire he didn't realize that he had, tightening as some internal part of him gloats over the look on Vaas's face. It's beautiful and hopeless; he's in way over his head and knows it. And yet he still isn't backing down. Jason reaches for his cock and ends up shifting Vaas, shifting something inside of him, and the sound that comes out of him is so broken and unnerved that Jason's prick nearly bursts out of his zipper of its own accord. 

 

"Fuck," Vaas seethes. "Fuck, it's coming out."

 

Jason gives his own cock a few hard pumps and nuzzles its head against the clasp protruding from Vaas's slit. His own hole is stretched, of course, and the steel slots right in. It's not enough to get him off, but Jason likes how it looks fucking him, bulging out of Vaas's blood-dark flesh, a glinting peek of silver disappearing and reappearing to the tune of Vaas's gasping breaths. He uses his cock to push it back in then, hearing Vaas's teeth grinding away.

 

"Don't let that happen again," Jason demands, and Vaas is quiet contemplating how exactly to do that. Jason guesses it'll be a long time coming. His attention is on the sheath of skin he's rolling back and forth over Vaas's cock, pulling hard on it again until it slips around Jason's throbbing head, clasping him inside the muggy heat of Vaas's body. 

 

This is new for him, fucking into the thin membrane of foreskin, a pleasure he's all too envious of. He wonders how far it will stretch before it tears and is surprised when he sees his own cock plunging deep beneath Vaas's skin, a plowing bulge beneath the surface. His fingers lock around, pinning the skin in place, and Jason starts thrusting hard. He isn't ready for how good it actually feels. It's soft and hard and wet inside, gooey from the precum Vaas is leaking through the beads. Every time Jason pulls back, the skin sucks him hard, compressing the heads of their dicks together in a way that sends sparks shooting through Jason's limbs. But the best part is watching how deep he can fuck Vaas, seeing his skin all swollen and shiny as Jason stretches it thin. 

 

Vaas is looking too, his fists clenched around the armrests of the chair, his arms shaking. He looks like he'll pass out or come hard or both. Jason helps him to decide by squeezing his chain-heavy dick hard, eliciting a scream from his trembling lips. Jason fucks him for the noise, hard and fast, slamming his cock into that perfect glove of skin until fire flashes in his loins and his whole body constricts, warning him that he's reached his limit. He crams in as far as he can fit and erupts with such force that he can feel the hard wash of cum spitting up bubbles, frothing around Vaas's cock. 

 

Vaas is grinding his teeth and making little, pleading noises. Jason's fingers clamp down on his prick so hard that he can feel the balls buried deep inside while he jerks, that silver clasp drooling out of his slit again, dripping thick with slime. Howling in pain and screaming in pleasure, Vaas comes for him abruptly, each pass of Jason's hand leaking more of that steel chain, more of that pretty white goo, out of his pulsing cock. 

 

Jason is in a much better place than his on-camera self, who is still frustrated, still impatiently bucking on the bed. Whoever that kid is anymore, Jason feels sorry for him. He is wrapped up in his own little world, blind to a darker brand of fulfillment. It is truly a tragedy in Jason's mind.

 

Vaas is still wheezing, head hanging, his mouth open to suck in air that isn't doing him any good anyway. Jason lifts him by the chin, asking, "How long do you think it'll take you to get hard again?"

 

"I don't fucking know about you, Jason Brody," Vaas snaps, slapping his hand away with the back of his knuckles. "Give me an hour."

 

"That's enough time to get some rope," Jason says, crossing his hands behind the chair again. "Maybe some Vaseline or something, too; it'll hurt less, if I can get you wet."

 

"You want a fucking pony while I'm at it?" Vaas sneers, slipping off of Jason's lap to take a stand on shaky legs. Jason's grin bores right into him.

 

"Never tried that before."

 

"Chancho suelto. Okay, okay, I will return to you soon," Vaas sighs, securing Jason's wrists to the back of the chair. Before he leaves, he presses his mouth right up to Jason's ear, and it's Jason that shivers this time when he hisses, "And when I do, it's your turn, motherfucker."