Title: "Tethered & Chained"
Fandom: "Days of Our Lives"
Rating/Classification: AC, UC, sexual situations, language, mild bondage play.
Disclaimer: The Cordays would kill me. They really would.
Summary: Plot? What plot? Wholly inappropriate 'ship sailing the high seas to Hell, lol.
Her knee hits the tanned base of his spine and he arches back against her, gasping "fuck!" and straining against the handcuffs.
"Stop that," she warns, huskily, "we can't have people thinking you're suicidal, now can we?"
"Fuck you!" he growls, lightly-haired hands flexing against the wrought-iron headboard once but then going still. He remembers, she knows, walking around last week with long sleeved rugby shirts on so no one would see the scars. This time...this time he's learned his lesson.
At least that particular one.
"Say 'please' and 'thank you'," she corrects, whispering against his dark hair, sinuously rubbing her breasts, her flat-hard belly, along his back,. "And maybe you'll *get* to fuck me..."
"Please...fuck off...thank you..." he bites out, mutinously, even as she slides one hand beneath him...strokes him with her fingers, scores his thigh with her blunt, close-clipped nails. "Oh...oh, God..." he pants his prayers, low and fervent, is always so gorgeously religious when she's making him fall from his boyish Catholic grace.
She tastes the fury on his lips when he crushes her to him with all his passionate enthusiasm and curses her wicked mouth. She feels the disgust on his cock when he pulls his truck over to the side of the road at her red and blue flashing insistence...and he steps out, slams her down against the truckbed while she tips her head back and laughs.
But he's so eager...so addicted to her...and when he's under her like this, lean hips bucking back against hers, grinding against her, and she nips at the soft hollow behind his ear, tugs at the hoop in his ear with her teeth, she knows he belongs to her. He looks forward to these secret get-togethers ...he fantasizes about them in the darkness of his dorm room or while he's holding his sweet little girlfriend in a chaste hug. He has grown accustomed to the sharp metal tang of the cuffs against his wrists and the hot brutality of the nightstick tracing the shadowed cleft of his tight ass.
He craves it against his better judgments. Or maybe because of his worse ones.
She's marked him.
He's hers now.
He always will be.
She's always known she was destined to be with a Brady. She never thought it would be the boy she'd known...one who'd worshipped her as a child, and now loathes her as a man. She never thought this lean, angry, eighteen-year-old kid would prove to be so hungry...so very perfect for her needs.
The first time he'd kissed her of his own volition, asking, "Is this what you want? If you can't have my dad, you want ME?", he'd drawn blood.
"No," she'd told her perfect prisoner. "I don't want Bo. Just you, Shawn. Just you..."
"I...hate...you...Billie..." he grinds out as she at last uses the keys lying on the bedside table and then tosses them aside. He doesn't even take a moment to massage the feeling back into his hands. Because he is flipping them over...and she rolls between him and the mattress, locks her legs around his waist and draws him in. Hot. Furious. So furious with her. But he can't resist it. It. Her. *This*.
His even, white, teeth sink into her golden shoulder when he comes.
He marks her.
"I hate you, too," she croons into his damp throat. "I hate you, too."
Because she's his now.
She always will be.
October 17, 2002.