Let there be kink, sort of

Alright, Danz went to bed so that means its safe to talk shit about him. Well, not talking shit really, but I know he may or may not appreciate this in the morning. But he's already seen a great deal of it.

So it seems our boy has a little hero worship, and a while ago I threatened more or less to write some fanfiction *shudder* _{oh god} with him and one of his actor heroes. I couldn't do that with a straight face though so I dropped it. It was funny to watch him virtually sweat though.

Then I picked it up again, for whatever reasons, I've been extremely bdsm/kink inspired. Rather than start something totally new I just went back to this. And I still can't keep a straight face while writing it but now that he's gone I may just be able to finish it. What is it you say? Well shoot, read it why don't you?

It's still got some fanfiction-y elements, obviously, but really I'd think of it less as "fanfiction" and more fantasy gone extremely awry. Technically that's all fanfiction is, but you really have to remove any semblance of familiarity from this or I think you might actually go crazy. In short, I'm depraved and I don't care. If I ever manage to finish the whole thing I'll probably just store it in my writing journal, away from you good respectable readers, but for now have a taste of my sick vision.

_{Note: That intro was all in jest, I'm out to scar your mind.}

Warning: Man-on-man relations, kink, bondage, burning, typos, in-jokes


The throbbing noise of the disappointed and hysterical fans outside died in his ears as soon as he stepped in the room. The door shut behind him mere seconds after he crossed the threshold into the crimson-colored room, dimly lit and sparsely furniture. He cynically noted the blatant cliché, right down to the shag carpeting and faint scent of patchouli in the air. Even the lamps were draped. Was this a meet and greet or the set of a low budget 70s throwback porn? It was hard to say.

What set him off completely was the figure in the shadows, lounging on the strangely modernist, sleek black couch. He was swilling a glass of wine in his hand but looking wholly uninterested at the drink, and the bottle currently lying on its side on the table in front of him seemed to attest to this. But there were other things, like a half-heartedly open pack of cigars, a beautifully designed butane lighter, and a silver case with a European dragon carved on the front. Had he interrupted something? The thought made him a little uneasy as he walked across the room slowly as if on glass.

“Mr Craig?” he said gently. The man peeked up a minute with the sort of bored ennui he’d always imagined actors had for their overzealous fans. Or contempt at least, especially when faced with such a forced meeting. For the first time since hacking his way into this little contest he began feeling doubt, and what’s more, remorse. Could he turn back and leave now, and leave everything he’d ever wanted in the world?

Just as he began moving back, apologies already on his lips and head bowed, the man stood up, setting his glass on the table in the process. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and let out a sigh.

“So you’re the winner are you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Was expecting a girl,” Daniel said with a smirk. “They enter these things in droves, fucks up the results.”

“You’ve got male fans too, you know.”

“Right, of course…” Daniel folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. “What’s your name?”

“D—”

“Do you mind if I call you cheap bitch?”

The words died on his lips. His mind was reeling in outrage, a thousand insults bursting between his ears but only indignant squeaks fell from his mouth. He stared in wide-eyed horror as Daniel came at him far too fast, dressed in a white button down that he just realized was wide open, displaying his fine physique. Before he could make another move his wrists were bound in a fierce grip and he was staggering backwards and would have fallen. Instead he was barely kept on his feet by the painful force around his wrists, cutting off circulation to his hands. And then he was on the ground, thrown forcefully and out of breath. He tried scramble up but his fingers were entangled in the shag—it would have been comical if he weren’t so confused, and if it weren’t for the knee currently pressing down on his ribcage.

“As long as you’re in this room, we’ll call you D. You answer to nothing else. Don’t do anything unless I say so. Don’t even breathe.”

A strong hand wrapped around his throat, effectively cutting off his air. His eyes bulged as he clawed desperately at the hand around his throat, but he was quickly getting light-headed. His struggling slowed then finally stopped completely as time slowed and his vision became blurry. After what felt like several minutes, the hand was gone and Daniel no longer in his line of vision. He coughed and swallowed, his mouth dry and lined with cotton as he lay on the floor in a stupor.

“It’s good you’re putting up a fight,” he heard over his head, but the voice sounded miles away. “The past couple of nights have been too easy for my tastes.”

He heard a door open and for a fleeting moment hoped it was he exit, someone come to save him from this sudden lapse of madness. But no one came. Feeling stronger, he sat up and looked around him. His captor was at the end of the room rummaging in what appeared to be a closet of some sort. Daniel popped back into the main room and shut the black door behind him. In his hands he carried a red ball and his glare was mean and heavy.

“Did I tell you to get up?”

“You didn’t tell me to stay down either.”

Another smirk, this one more sinister. “That’s true. You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

Daniel crossed the room again and loomed over his victim. D could see that the ball had black straps hanging down from the sides and suddenly everything clicked in his mind. His mouth opened, prepared to let out a horrified scream of alarm, but he didn’t get much more than a gasp before the ball gag was shoved in his mouth, tied so tightly behind his head he could feel it cutting into the bridge of his nose. A second later and Daniel loosened the straps but not by much, and certainly not enough to make the situation any more comfortable. D still managed to howl around his gag, the sound forcing silvery strands of saliva down his chin.

Daniel gripped his victim’s chin and forced it around to look him directly in the eyes. “You can scream until your blue in the face, no one out there is going to come in and save you. In fact, please do scream, I want you to.”

Another muffled scream followed by a short burst of sobbing before D went completely limp. Daniel threw him down like discarded rubbish and went over to the walls. He began to strip the hanging lamps of their warmly decorated scarves. This didn’t improve the dim lighting of the room D noticed, not that it mattered at present. Daniel was coming back over to him and he numbly registered his wrists behind tied over his head. Then he was being dragged across the floor, his head just avoiding bumping into the steel legs of the table. His wrists were bound to the table, which was either very heavy or nailed to the floor; D couldn’t say which from his perspective.

The actor hovered over him now, cigarette lighter and cigar in hand. D blinked bemusedly at the objects, having a vague notion of what could be done with them but not making the connections in his brain. Daniel lit the cigar and took a long drag off it, staring his victim in the eye the whole time. When he was done he plucked the red ball from D’s mouth and hovered close to his mouth, exhaling. The smoke floated to his eyes and made them water, and the smoke snaking into his throat made him hack and cough. The ball snapped back between his lips, smacking his teeth and making him cry out in pain. Daniel smiled over him, a gesture that would have been described as winning or charming by the press, but in this context it felt so horribly hollow. That smile wasn’t for him, it was for his suffering.

Still smiling, Daniel nudged his captive’s shirt slowly, as if measuring the individual inches, feeling the lightly haired young stomach. His fingers crept on the flesh like a growing vine, making invisible etchings and nonsensical words as he went up. The shirt was pushed until it bunched neatly under D’s chin. Dark nipples peeked at him as he swiped his hands over them, carefully keeping the lit cigar out of the way. He pinched and rolled the nubs between his fingers, pulling them in short jerks. D’s breath hitched in his throat in horror, but something deep in his mind responded, more primal than the utter terror he was feeling right now. Against his will he let out a low moan, pausing in horror and hoping his captor had not heard.

The sly smirk signaled he had.

“Like that do we?” Daniel sneered, slapping his victim’s chest. The cigar briefly met flesh and D cried out in pain. It came down against but stayed this time to eat away at his flesh. His screams became louder but hoarser as Daniel made long, cursive strokes all across his chest. By the time he was done D had tears dripping into his ears, threatening to fill them with their salty remorse. Daniel merely laughed and finished the cigar off, then put it out in the hollow of his victim’s throat, eliciting another painful howl.

His hands returned to his captive’s nipples, squeezing them as if he’d bring forth milk or blood. D only clamped his teeth down on the gag in his mouth, determined not to scream this time. That, and he didn’t think he had it in him to make any more noise, it’d already proved quite futile now.

As if he’d read his mind, Daniel looked down with another charming but hollow grin. “You finally stopped screaming. That’s too bad, the best is yet to come. What shall we do next, hm?”