Kidnapped Ch. 08

A/N: And we're here! Last chapter with a little bit more drama and hopefully a tying up of loose ends - and a cutesie epilogue. Enjoy.

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Chapter sixteen

Seb

Luckily for me, Ollie is a night-owl. So I decide to occupy him, keep him up late with some well-aimed flutters and coy glances.

"You okay, Seb?" Ollie puts down his textbook and gives me his attention.

"I want sex."

He laughs. "Okay, Mr Demanding. Sorry if I wasn't paying enough attention. I figured you might not be in the mood with all the head-stuff you've been having to deal with."

"I am. Please." I blush, because I've not asked him for this before, though we've dipped in the shallow end of dominance. "I want you to take me."

"I will, baby."

"No. I mean...take me fully. Own me." I'm bright pink but I hope he gets it. His eyes light up, so I think he might.

"You sure?" I nod. I really am sure. I might have a history but Ollie makes me feel safe, and I will know it's all play. I suspect he likes it when we get a little rough more than he's let on, because he's worried about triggering me in some way. But I want it.

He pushes his book off the bed, grabbing my hips and pulling me down the bed so I'm flat, straddling my thighs.

He whispers, "If it ever gets too much tell me. I love you, Seb."

"I will. And I love you too."

"That's lucky, because you're my sweet boy and everything about you belongs to me." He nuzzles into my neck, kissing, moving to my shoulder and working the flesh between his teeth, scraping and sucking a burgundy mark to my flesh. "Who do you belong to?"

"You, Ollie. I'm yours." Christ, I'm hard, already, the material of my boxers rubbing over the engorged head of my cock.

"Good, as long as you understand that I will do whatever I want with this slutty little body." He bites down again, his words and action making me moan and thrust. "You gonna be a good boy for me, baby?"

"Yes, I'll be good." I'm high pitched but Ollie just hisses as he rubs his body up mine, pressing his hardness against my stomach, then my chest, until he's rubbing against the side of my face, my hands pinned above my head.

He slides his trackpants far enough to release his cock, which slaps wetly on my cheek.

"Oh, baby, you look so good with my cock so close to your slutty mouth. Suck it." He slides closer and I tip my head to take him. His lust-filled grunts spur me on, despite the uncomfortable position. It's okay, this isn't about comfort; it's control. Giving up control to this sexy man who owns me. He doesn't quite know it, not yet, but he will. He keeps thrusting, squeezing my wrists, until I feel his release flood my mouth, so much I can't swallow it all. Ollie dives down and laps the trail from my jaw.

"So fucking sexy, let me taste." He covers my mouth, exploring each crevice with his limber tongue while he grinds against me, already getting hard again. "Such a pretty mouth. Still got to take this perfect hole though, this perfect, slutty hole. Is it aching for me baby?"

"Yes...please..." He slides his hand under the waistband of my loose trackpants, rubbing lightly at the muscled pucker, and he's right, it is aching for him, I open my legs, encouraging him, pushing against his hands.

He flips me so I'm laying on my front, wrapping soft cuffs around my wrist. I'll be asking when he got them later, but right now all I can do is gently fight against them, twisting.

"You gonna fight me, baby, gonna pretend you're not a whore for me?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not going to pretend. I am your whore."

"Oh, yes you are." His voice is a sexy growl. "You're my little fucktoy aren't you baby?"

"Yes, use me, Ollie, please." He spreads me, burrowing his face between my ass cheeks, lapping at my hole until I'm a whimpering, needy mess.

He positions his thick head at my entrance, drizzling lube at the join between us.

"You gonna tell me what you want?"

"Fuck me, Ollie, fill me up with your cum," I whisper into the pillow.

"Louder, baby, I want everyone to hear you're mine." My cheeks are red, but I do it, I tell him just what I want from him. "Fuck, yes, Seb, I'm gonna breed your perfect hole." Sliding into me, so I can feel every inch, and every vein, feel the heat and his desire consuming me, bringing us together in perfection as he flips me onto my back again, owning my mouth as he thrusts me up and over the edge into precise oblivion.

* * * * *

After the first round last night, and a necessary nap from both of us, we talked around in circles about what to do about Leo, and about my father, we had more passionate sex, muffled because it was late by then, because Ollie said it was clear I still needed something to relax me. Well, I got that, several times, and I wince as I slide into my Jeep, cursing Ollie, who seems to think that my relaxation needs to be as rough as possible, although I sheepishly recall I wasn't complaining last night, quite the opposite. But it means Ollie was sleeping peacefully and deeply as I slipped out of bed and quietly dressed.

I'm not leaving my brother in care, not when there are other options. I stop at a mall and pick up a new phone, just stopping to program Ollie's number in. I'll have to get other numbers later, but Ollie's is the most important.

When I get to my father's house it's still early, and I time my arrival for when I know Marcy will be taking the twins to school. My father will be working in his study, it's what he does every morning without fail, including weekends. The only day I ever remember him not doing that is on his and Marcy's wedding day -- he even did it the day the twins were born, insisting he had plenty of time. It had turned out he was right, but I think it was that careless action that really cemented my idea that my father is an evil robot of a man.

I don't know who I expect to be answering the door, maybe the housekeeper, but I nearly fall off the top step when it's one of the goons -- the dark one with a broken nose. He just grins at me, a dangerous gap-toothed grin, and opens the door wide for me to come in. My father steps out of his office, head burrowed in a file, and his face is a picture of shock when he sees me. But then it twists into something else; something that looks almost like a smile, but one that doesn't reach his eyes and looks like it's made of razor blades.

Ollie

I roll over, knowing instantly that I'm alone in bed. I can always sense Seb's calming presence, even when we're not touching, and our bed always feels like a snow-blanketed field when he's gone -- smooth but cold and unwelcoming. It's one reason to get straight up and I wonder into the kitchen, pulling a t-shirt on as I walk. I pour a coffee, greeting Slater with a grunt, but he only grins at me.

"Did you see Seb this morning?" I ask.

"Nope, I've been up for an hour and haven't seen him. Does he have early lectures?"

He doesn't, not today. We normally lay in together, snuggling down into the big bed, losing ourselves in each other, and I'm grumpy at having missed that. I get my phone out to call him, before remembering he gave Leo his phone. Now I'm even grumpier. I just sip my coffee for a moment, but it isn't easing my mood so I get off the bar stool, heading to Mikey's room.

I stand, stunned, in his doorway. He didn't even hear me lightly knock and swing his door open, and now I see why. He's buried deep inside a lean boy, Mikey's own long body covering most of him, his hand on the boy's throat, pulling him back, arching him as Mikey nibbles into his neck and whispers something in his ear, whatever it is having the boy moan in agreement. I can guess, as Mikey rests on his forearms and begins slamming forcefully as the boy's legs spread wider under him. Enjoyable as the live porn is, I quietly back out of the room, to wait for Mikey in the kitchen, which Slater has vacated.

He comes out thirty minutes later, rubbing his hair, wet from the shower, the boy nowhere in sight.

"Enjoy the show?" he asks with a wink. I stare for a minute, confused about his casual behavior.

"Sorry Mikey, I didn't mean to intrude, just wasn't expecting that. Why didn't you tell me?"

I can't pretend I don't feel a little offense. Mikey knew I was gay the day he met me and not because I made a massive deal about coming out to him, or at least I don't think so, I hope he doesn't think that. It just came up in conversation, when my roommate, Slater, introduced me to his cheerful and slightly dopey friend, who immediately dropped down onto our futon and offered me a spliff. We'd had the usual chat and I'd responded to his query about a relationship by saying I didn't have a boyfriend, and that was that. But, for some reason, then, and in the years since, he's never once thought to mention that he's also a fan of cock. Yeah. That hurts.

"Sorry dude," Mikey's soft green eyes are pained; I know he can see that I'm bothered, "I wasn't in a great place with it when I met you. I was dating Yolanda, remember? I'd come out to my dad but he was mad, my whole family was, and when I came here I kinda decided I'd be better off pretending it wasn't true. And then by the time I realized there was no way I was getting away from how I felt, you and I were friends."

"And? Don't friends tell each other that stuff?"

"Dude, look at yourself. You're fucking gorgeous. And I've seen the way you look at me. We'd have fucked, and that would be one of only two real friendships I've ever had in my life fucked up, well three now."

I'm glad for my dark skin; he probably can't see my blush, although I suspect my eyes reveal my shame. He's right, if I'd have known it's unlikely I'd have kept my hands off him.

"Three friendships?"

"Yeah: you, Slater and now Seb. You try being a gay boy in a fancy all male private school where everyone knows your father can have them killed easier than ordering a meal. Making friends isn't the easiest thing. That's another reason why I decided not to go public here. In any way."

"So why'd you change your mind? Unless you've been bringing guys home this whole time in secret?"

"No, I haven't. To be honest, I've been flirting with that guy for months now, just keeping him at arm's length until last night. The mob thing: that was easy, Seb needed me. The gay thing, though? Yeah, I was planning on telling you guys, though maybe not like this," he chuckles ruefully, "but it was because of talking to my brother. I met him in the city to talk about Winthrop senior, and he basically told me that my uncle Andrei has come out as gay, and now we're all super cool with homosexuality," he shrugs.

"Are you okay with that?"

"Of course not. My father pretty much disowned me, my brothers and uncles said some seriously vile stuff, and I hadn't spoken to any of them in two years when I went to Kostya, my brother, about Seb. But I missed them. We were close growing up, especially me and Kostya, and he told me he'd hated having to follow the family that way, and I believe him. It hurt, but I'll get over it."

I'm still not okay with this. Of course, I've always had the idea that Mikey's cheerful naivety isn't entirely natural, and he's proved a lot of times over the last few months that he's good at keeping secrets, but this feels different. And it's selfish of me to even think that, but it's the truth. I was fine with the fact that he had hidden his status as the son of a high-ranking member of the Bratva; I understood why he hadn't wanted people to know -- explained even more by his comment on potential friends being terrified of his status.

Hiding his sexuality from me, though, feels worse. But it shouldn't. If he didn't want to come out, I should be okay with it and I have no right to be anything else. But if he was desperate for friends who wouldn't judge him, I know how that feels. His main concern was who his family were, but he knows mine was my sexuality. I guess it's just a strange feeling from someone who I thought truly had my back.

"Mikey, I love you, first of all. But I'm a little mad right now and I'm going to need some time to process the fact that you kept it a secret. I'm sorry," I'm trying to be extra candid with him, but I hate the look of hurt that passes over his face.

"I get it, Ollie. And I know it won't make any difference, but if I could go back, I would tell you. I know I could have trusted you."

I give him a brief hug to acknowledge his words and head out, to the gym, to take out my frustrations on a punching bag.

A couple hours later I'm feeling better, except for the blanket of guilt across my shoulders for how rottenly I treated Mikey. It was not his responsibility to assuage my mood by coming out when he wasn't ready to, and it isn't his responsibility now to feel remorse because my feelings were hurt. I'm a grown man. I'm just trying to consider the best way to apologize for being a dick when my phone buzzes: a message from an unknown number.

'Hi Oliver Im sorry I left but u need to know its over I made a mistake Im not gay dont try 2 find me Sebastian'

"Shit," I hiss. I know that isn't Seb, don't even consider it, just sprint the rest of the way home.

Mikey looks at me quizzically when I burst through the door

"Don't assume I'm nuts, but I think Seb's been kidnapped. Again," I gasp breathlessly, pushing the phone into his face, which falls as he reads the message.

Slater saunters into the room and I show him the message too.

"Aw, shit man, I'm sorry."

Mikey rolls his eyes; "Dammit Slater, you're meant to be smart. Does that really look like a message from Seb?"

"Well, maybe not. I mean, he never calls himself Sebastian, and never calls Ollie Oliver, and he always punctuates and never abbreviates. And I guess it would be weird if he turned around and said he wasn't gay: the way you guys were going at it last night."

I can't even get embarrassed at that, just turn to Mikey.

"Help, Mikey, what do we do?" I whisper. He just raises a finger, and he's already on the phone to his brother, snatching my cell from Slater's unresisting hand.

As he holds it, the ringer goes and I grab it back, seeing it's Seb's phone calling.

"Leo, what's the matter?" I ask hurriedly.

"Does something have to be the matter?" he asks, but there's a nervousness to his speech. "Is Seb there?"

"He's not, Leo. Tell me," I insist, somehow knowing it could be important.

"I got a weird call last night, and I think it might have been my father. He thought it was Seb so I didn't say anything; he kind of freaked me out, actually. He said his people, whoever they are, had found 'me', and that they'd looked into all the people he was living with. And then he said Stockholm Syndrome wouldn't save him from 'retribution'. He was really angry, and I didn't want him to know it was me, so I hung up. But then, today, when I realized he thought he was talking to Seb, I thought I should let him know. The guy sounded insane."

"Thanks, Leo," I try to sound casual, but my heart is beating like a mouse's, fast and light, making me dizzy. I slump on the couch. "I'll let him know. It'll be fine, Leo. See you soon."

I know I hang up on him too soon, but I feel out of control, only able to quickly relay the information to Slater and Mikey that we're caught. Seb's father knows.

* * * * *

Chapter seventeen

Seb

When I come to, there's a throbbing through my temple that brings nausea forward. I don't know where I am, but that's not down to any woozy amnesia. I can remember perfectly; my father approaching me with a threatening smirk, his henchman behind me, then pain, and darkness descending.

Now here I am, again, tied to a rickety wooden chair, though the bonds are harsher here, rough rope twisted tightly around my wrists, to the point where I can feel my hands being pushed into awkward positions, can feel the burning chafe cutting into the flesh. It's silent in this room, which looks like an office, though clearly abandoned for some time, dust coating the desk pushed against the wall, a battered filing cabinet with empty drawers pulled out haphazardly. I can hear distant sounds, perhaps the beep beep beep of a reversing truck, men shouting instructions, the noises being carried on the wind or on the backs of the seagulls I can hear screaming distantly.

I'm surprised to feel the flatness of my phone still in my back pocket, and that confuses me. Why would he have left me with my phone? Perhaps he feels I'm tied up tight enough that it doesn't matter, but it still feels unnecessarily careless, and my father has never been someone who is careless. I try to think of ways it could be a trap but I come up with nothing that makes any sense.

The building is quiet still and I look around urgently, seeking the red flashing eye of a camera; anything that suggests I'm being watched at all. I can find nothing, even when I shuffle the chair legs, which my ankles are tied to, around until I'm facing the door. It's set in a frosted glass wall, and I realize why I recognize the style, because it's an office in a storage warehouse, and I can imagine the metal gantry just outside; the high metal staircase leading down to a dirty floor sometimes covered in pallets and packing cases, though I suspect that the floor out there contains nothing but dust.

It doesn't help, anyway, because I know my father has many such buildings throughout the city, and I have never had the slightest interest in what they're for or where they are. I huff in frustration at that, feeling prickling tears around the edges of my eyes, wondering if he'd have been a better father if I'd been a better son. I've never been interested in his business, but that's just a front, because I've never been interested in him. I never forgave him for abandoning me, even as I tried to gain his approval. Maybe that's why I didn't get it, and even less so now.

I try to clear my foggy mind a little. Why am I here? I went to speak to him, thinking I could demand answers about Leo, but how had I got to the stage where I'd forgotten just how much his cold, shark-eyed stare scares me, how the thoughts of what he may be capable of terrifies me? I know, really; it's a question with easy answers. I want a life. I want Ollie and I to be able to live together freely without the niggling question about what my father is up to in the background, without second guessing every suited man I see in the grocery store, and without worrying about what my own brother might be suffering in care.

I think Leo is okay, generally. He screams 'smart' and I think he's been looking after himself just fine, in an environment that would certainly break a lesser personality. But there's no doubt that it will be affecting him and I want to save him, in a way I was never saved, even if my prison was empty luxury. Ollie and I talked about it, though I didn't say outright what I wanted to, that I wanted to ask him if we could take Leo in: foster him? Maybe even adopt him. I don't even know if that's possible.

I'm lost in my thoughts, haven't even moved since my dance around with the chair, when I hear the click clack of shoes on metal, see silhouettes through the wall, and freeze, nausea returning. My father strides in moments later, followed closely by his lackey, coming to a stop in front of me with a sneer on his face.

"I can barely believe you were dumb enough to come to my house," he hisses.

"It used to be my house too," I manage to squeak out, but he curls his lip at that, disgusted.

"Get the phone," he instructs Lackey, who fishes it roughly from my back pocket, undoubtedly adding more bruises to my already sore skin. So, he knew the phone was in there? What's he playing at? "Any response?" he askes Lackey, who shakes his head. "Don't worry," my father says to me, but in a way designed to get me to worry very much, "I know your faggot boyfriend has links to the Russian mob. He'll trace your phone. He'll come and save you, and he'll bring his idiot criminal friends with him," he sneers, before turning back to Lackey. "Where's O'Toole?"