a bitch is a bitch pt. IV - fan fiction
A Bitch is A Bitch Part IV (Final)
[Read First: Pt. I Pt. II Part III]
Pistol Grip Fan Fiction
Stax/Hollywood
Rated Adult for Explicit Sex, Bondage, Discipline, Domination, submission, Sadomasochism, and Hollywoodness.
Hollywood wakes up, face resting against Stax's chest, arms wrapped tight against his sides. Painfully fucking hard. Lifting his head, he glances at the clock - 7:48 am. He slowly turns his gaze to Stax, who is still obliviously resting, peaceful. Hollywood debates for a moment whether it's worth it to wake him early and possibly face his wrath, or if he should let him sleep for another half hour.
Coming to the obvious conclusion, Hollywood drops his head and begins trailing his mouth lightly across Stax's collarbone. Feathery kisses over the bruised skin, up his throat and back down. He's halfway across the opposite collar bone when Stax stirs, slowly encircling Hollywood's waist with his arms. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, accompanied with a small moan, and Hollywood lifts his head again. A tiny but geniune smile passes over his face; a rarity.
"Good morning, Master."
Stax blinks up at him sleepily, wondering how the devil of last night had turned into the angel of this morning, but returns the smile. "definitely good so far," he agrees.
Stax raises his hands to grasp Hollywood's, gently dragging them away from his sides and entertwining their fingers behind him, at the small of Hollywood's back. With his arms pinned behind him, Stax has no trouble pulling Hollywood further up his chest, tilting his head to bite into the soft muscle between his neck and shoulder. Hollywood lets his head fall to the opposite side, giving Stax more access, moaning loudly when he bites down harder.
Freeing one of his own hands from Hollywood's, Stax runs the fingertips down to the curve of his ass and presses his body against the side of his own. The pressure against his straining erection causes Hollywood to moan again, more need in the tone this time. His lips trail desperately across Stax's shoulder, grasping for any skin they might be able to reach. Stax once again presses Hollywood's hips against his thigh before rolling Hollywood onto his back. He redirects Hollywood's arms above his head, lowering himself on top of him carefully.
"You always wake up like this?," Stax queries, pressing his own hips down into Hollywood's, rolling against him and leaving no doubt in his mind what he means by 'this'.
Hollywood throws his head back into the pillow fiercely between his pinned arms, already finding it hard to breathe. He swallows harshly before shaking his head. "Not..." another roll and a gasp "...not usually."
"Good," Stax asserts, biting into his neck roughly before continuing. "I'd hate to think anyone else got this pleasure."
He clamps his teeth around the sensitive skin again and grinds down against Hollywood a few more times before sliding to his side. Unlatching his mouth, he resituates both of Hollywood's wrists between one of his hands and slides the other down the length of his body. His fingers leave burning trails on the pale skin in their wake, slowly making their descent to his chest, pinching and tugging one of his nipples to make him writhe even more.
As his hand moves across Hollywood's stomach, redirecting it's path to the left and his protruberant hipbone, Stax lowers his mouth over the opposite nipple. He closes his teeth over it, tight enough to make Hollywood gasp and arch his back. Running his thumb along the valley between his hip and crotch, Stax savors the distressed, pleadng moans that brush past Hollywood's lips more often than actual exhalations.
Finally he relents, moving his palm flat along the lowest part of Hollywood's abdomen and across his cock. Inhaling sharply, Hollywood pushes his wrists up against Stax's hold, to no avail. Stax only tightens his grip, pressing Hollywood against the matress more firmly as he wraps his hand around him. Hollywood gives up on freeing his hands in favor of bucking his hips toward Stax. Stax moves his hand in deliberately slow strokes until Hollywood lifts his eyelids to peer up at him.
"Please, Master...," he moans, thrusting his hips forward again.
Stax can't help but relent after hearing that voice he knows so well be so persuasively beseeching, his hand running a bit faster as he leans down to capture Hollywood's lips briefly then mutter. "So precious when you beg."
Hollywood tilts his head up to get at Stax's mouth again and Stax allows him to. Sliding his tongue into Hollywood's mouth and dancing across his own, swallowing the moans Hollywood emits as Stax picks up the pace even more. Then he trails his mouth down across his chin, nipping at his jawline and going even farther, tracing the artery in his throat and feeling the blood pound against his lips there. He lifts his head to take account of Hollywood's expression upon hearing him gasp, and in doing so catches sight of the clock.
"Fucking hell," Stax murmurs, rolling away from Hollywood. Hollywood lifts his head weakly from the pillow at the lack of touch, moaning at Stax questioningly. Stax leans back over him, briefly kissing him before muttering against his mouth, "I'm going to be late again, you'll have to finish this yourself."
He darts from the room in favor of the bathroom. Hollywood watches him go before letting his head fall back down onto the pillows, groaning disappointedly. Regardless, an order is an order, he assumes, so he slowly lets his own hand trail down his chest to wrap around his cock, closing his eyes.
When Stax returns to the room he stops in his tracks, gaping at the sight in front of him. Hollywood is sprawled across the bed, one leg slightly bent at the knee, his eyes closed tight, mouth slightly open, one hand run through his hair as if holding his head back against the mattress, the other hand moving swiftly over the smooth skin of his erection.
After standing open-mouthed and watching Hollywood for a few moments, Stax launches himself back onto the bed. He leans over Hollywood and begins covering his neck and chest in small bites and kisses. Hollywood's so surprised by this, not having seen Stax enter the room, that he stops what he's doing, but Stax shakes his head. He grasps Hollywood's right hand with one of his own and returns it to it's previous activity.
"No," he tells him. "Keep going."
Hollywood obliges and after a second Stax retracts his own hand, softly massaging Hollywood's hip with his fingers as his lips continue to wander across his torso. Hollywood tilts his head down a bit, trying to get to Stax's mouth as it passes over his shoulder. Stax lifts his head and grants Hollywood a kiss, his tongue dancing over Hollywood's as his hands move across his skin almost reverently. Hollywood emits a loud moan into Stax's mouth, bucking his hips up towards his own hand.
Stax breaks the kiss, leaning back to look at Hollywood. "Remember, not until I let you."
Hollywood nods quickly, breathless, his hand still moving quickly over his cock. He maintains eye contact for a long moment before his eyes finally fight their way closed. Stax leans down, languidly flicking his tongue across Hollywood's stomach, noticing Hollywood's hand slowing down as he fights to hold back. After a few moments Stax finally relents, moving back up to lick at Hollywood's neck and whisper in his ear.
"Now, pet."
It's all the prompting Hollywood needs before he's arching his back against the mattress, whimpering loudly as he comes. Stax looks on, entranced at the pleasured expression that passes over Hollywood's visage. He entangles his fingers with those of Hollywood's right hand, lifting them to Hollywood's mouth. Hollywood begins to lick the fingers clean unquestioningly until Stax moves them away and drops his head once more to kiss him lingeringly.
"And now I am going to be late," he notes as he moves away.
Hollywood reaches out for Stax as he moves away and Stax allows himself to be drug into the embrace. "Call in sick," Hollywood suggests whiningly.
Stax shakes his head. "I can't," he informs Hollywood, begrudgingly disentangling himself from his arms. "Go clean up, I have to go."
With another petulant look, Hollywood rolls to the edge of the bed and slips off. Stax watches as he begins to pad out of the room.
"No, crawl," he informs Hollywood, grinning slightly as he complies. Hollywood drops to his hands and knees and moves smoothly across the carpet, fully aware of the way Stax is watching him hungrily. As soon as Hollywood is out of sight, Stax slips back off the bed and darts into the living room. After pulling his boots and coat on, he scrawls a quick note instructing Hollywood on what to do while he's gone and heads out to his car.
It's six hours later and Hollywood's accomplished mostly everything on the list, finishing by retreating to Stax's bedroom to remake the bed and collect laundry. As he tosses piles of clothes into the washer, it occurs to him that this is the last day he'll have to do anything Stax asks of him. He's unimpressed to find that he's disappointed by the revelation.
Surely, Stax would be disappointed as well, he thinks. Although Hollywood knows that the entire time he spent here, he wasn't exactly a perfectly compliant pet or even a good houseguest. Regardless he thinks that overall he did a fairly good job, especially for someone who had no idea what they were coming into. Didn't any pet, human or otherwise, require a fair bit of training before they suited their Masters' demands? Then, fast and hard, the fact that Stax has had other pets comes back to Hollywood.
As he dumps detergent into the washer and turns it on, he finds himself wondering how much better those pets had behaved. They had most likely wanted to belong to Stax, and known exactly what 'belonging' to someone meant, so they had that on Hollywood without a doubt. He then finds himself wondering just how much differently he might have acted if he'd known or wanted to belong to Stax when this all began. And then finds himself wondering if that isn't what he wants now.
Returning the the kitchen, he retrieves a granola bar and a can of soda before moving to the living room. He stares at the television blankly as he ponders over his current situation. Though he's only supposed to be here for another night, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, that's enough time to convince Stax that he's a worthy enough pet to keep. He knows that if he caught himself even thinking along these lines a week ago, that he would have been disgusted with his own mind, but that doesn't bug him too much. He is never surprised by his own increasing levels of depravity.
When Stax returns home from work about an hour later, Hollywood is in the bathroom. So, he grabs something to drink from the fridge and wanders into the living room, going through the daily routine of dropping onto the couch and turning on the TV. A second later Hollywood exits the bathroom and, upon seeing that Stax is home, drops to his hands and knees and crawls towards him on the couch. He slithers to the front of the couch before sitting back and looking up at Stax, who's watching him with a slightly amused expression.
"Welcome home, Master," Hollywood says in greeting, sugary enough to raise Stax's suspicions. "I missed you."
Stax finally lets himself grin, amazed at how Hollywood can completely change his personality from one day to the next, though still not completely trusting this sudden twist. "I missed you, too. Did you do everything I asked?"
"Yeah," Hollywood nods, inching closer to the couch inconspicuously. "Your clothes are in the dryer."
"Good pet," Stax says, and Hollywood smiles slightly at the praise. "You want to start dinner?"
"Um...maybe," Hollywood starts hesitantly. "Unless I'm bound to blow something up..."
Stax laughs. "I'll help you," he tells him, standing up. "Come on."
He extends a hand down to Hollywood, who catches it with his own and pulls himself fluidly to his feet. They walk around the couch to the kitchen, Hollywood following unassumingly behind Stax and still grasping his hand until he releases it to pull open the freezer and look over the contents.
"Steak?," he asks after a minute. Hollywood shrugs in response and Stax smirks. "All right, then. Get some potatoes out of the fridge."
Hollywood does as he's told, retrieving two potatoes from the sack in the fridge once Stax has moved away. He looks at them unsurely for a moment then leans against the counter and starts juggling them expertly as Stax pries the wrap from the frozen meat. Stax glances at him over his shoulder and grins.
"Impressive. Now if only you could cook as well as you perform parlor tricks," he says.
Hollywood catches the potatoes and looks over at Stax questioningly.
"Rinse them off, and I'll tell you where to go from there," Stax instructs him, crossing to the microwave to defrost the steaks.
Hollywood is caught off gaurd when Stax moves behind him, leaning over his shoulder to watch him as he rinses the potatoes off.
"Good. Now get a fork."
Hollywood nods once, setting the potatoes down and siddling along the counter. Stax lowers his hands to latch onto Hollywood's hips and follows his every movement, mirroring him from behind. Pulling open the cutlery drawer, Hollywood removes a fork and waits for the next instruction. Stax leads him back to where the potatoes are resting on the counter.
"Now pick one up, and pierce it a few times with the fork."
Hollywood hesitates before picking up a potato unsurely, then stabbing it lightly with the fork. As he does, Stax nips softly at his neck. He continues to do this every time Hollywood drives the fork past the skin of the potato.
"Now the other one," he mutters, replacing his head on Hollywood's opposite shoulder.
Hollywood's tempted to mangle the second potato beyond recognition as Stax follows the same pattern. Lightly sinking his teeth into Hollywood's skin each time he stabs the potato, he stops after a minute. Hollywood pauses, then almost questioningly pushes the prongs of the fork into the vegetable again. Stax laughs quietly.
"I think that'll do," he tells him. "Now, get a baking sheet."
Stax directs him back to the cupboard, letting Hollywood bend down on his own and rifle through the dishes. "No, that's a cutting board. Right - yeah, that one."
Hollywood stands back up, triumphantly clutching the baking sheet and looking expectant. Stax grins at him and relocates himself to the microwave as the timer goes off. While he retrieves the now defrosted meat, Hollywood sets the baking sheet on the counter and somewhat unsurely situates the potatoes on top of it. Stax turns around to look at him and laughs again.
"Yeah, that's right. Now heat the oven to four hundred and twenty-five degrees."
With a bit of difficulty, Hollywood discovers the right knob after turning two of the burners on the stove on and then off, spinning it until it reads 425º. He turns to look at Stax again and Stax nods, so he retrieves the baking sheet and opens the oven to place it on one of the racks.
"Those will take a bit longer so I'll wait to put the steaks on," Stax tells him as he turns around again.
"Okay," Hollywood concedes, glancing around cluelessly. "So what now?"
"Come here," Stax tells him.
Hollywood crosses the floor to where Stax is leaning against a counter, stopping a foot in front of him and waiting patiently. Stax reaches out to curl his fingers around Hollywood's hip again, drawing him closer. Hollywood bows his head respectfully as he steps towards Stax.
"How do you do that?," Stax asks, his tone one of mild amazement.
"Do what, Master?," Hollywood glances up at him briefly.
"Be so fucking callous one day and so sweet the next," Stax clarifies. He lifts a hand and runs the fingertips lightly along the side of Hollywood's neck.
"I was mad," Hollywood admits, shrugging a little. Then he drops his voice slightly. "I...didn't want to sleep alone."
"Is that all it was?," Stax asks doubtfully.
Hollywood shrugs again, not telling him that he won't want to sleep alone tomorrow night, either. Stax slides his hand along his throat to lift his head up, drawing him closer and into a soft kiss. He moves his hand up to cup the side of Hollywood's face as he tilts his head, letting his tongue flick across Hollywood's lips before pulling away.
"You really surprised me," Stax confesses.
"Have I?," Hollywood asks, meeting his eyes.
Stax nods. "But I guess that's nothing new."
Before Hollywood has a chance to question him, Stax slips out from between him and the counter. He hunts down a skillet from the same cupboard that Hollywood found the baking sheet in, setting it on the stove. He starts to season the meat and Hollywood watches him for a moment before sinking down to the floor quietly. Stax pays no notice to Hollywood's eyes on him as he goes about preparing the steak.
Twenty minutes later, dinner is served and they're both in the living room. Stax is sitting on the couch while Hollywood is perched next to his feet, vaguely paying attention to the news as they eat. Hollywood can't help the thought that he was going to be at home this time tomorrow from gnawing at the back of his brain, unaware that Stax is mulling over the same thought.
Once they've finished eating and Hollywood has dutifully cleaned the dishes from the living room, he retreats to Stax's side, handing him a requested beer before dropping to his knees again. Instead of pretending to watch the television, he leans his head against the couch cushion and stares up at Stax beguilingly.
"What do you want?," Stax asks after a moment, his tone and expression bemused.
Hollywood shrugs a shoulder unsurely, not diverting his gaze. Stax smirks.
"Come up here, then," he tells him.
To Stax's surprise, Hollywood does crawl onto the couch but doesn't sit up, opting instead to curl up on the cushions and lay his head in Stax's lap. Stax runs his fingers lightly through Hollywood's hair, now not paying attention to the television either. Hollywood closes his eyes, absorbing the touch and gnawing on his lip thoughtfully.
"Something wrong, pet?," Stax questions after a long moment of observing him.
Hollywood pauses unsurely, then nods.
"What is it?," Stax continues.
"It's...well, I don't want you to get pissed off...," Hollywood starts hesitantly.
"Is it something that'll piss me off?"
"I'm not sure...maybe," he concedes.
"Well, I'll try not to get pissed off, then," Stax tells him. "What is it?"
Hollywood closes his eyes again, not sure why he's asking when he already knows the answer. "Were they better than me?"
"Who?," Stax asks, confused.
"Your...other pets," Hollywood says. "The ones you had before."
Stax blinks in surprise at the query. "That's not plural, I've only had one other."
"Oh," Hollywood murmurs. "Well, was that one better?"
Stax pauses before responding. "He...well, you have to understand that he knew what he was getting into. And he had more time to adjust. I don't think, given this situation, that he would have done much better than you have."
Hollywood nods, not having expect anything more than a 'yes'. He pauses before plunging forward. "Why did you get rid of him?"
Stax is once again caught off gaurd by the question. "He...we had some problems we couldn't overcome."
Hollywood rolls onto his back to look up at Stax curiously. "Worse than some of the ones we've had?"
"Well...yeah, in some ways, worse," Stax tells him. "But it was a totally different situation, you have to understand that. He wasn't here because he lost a bet, and there wasn't a time limit on how long he was going to stay."
Hollywood seems to debate this internally, seeming satisfied with the response, but Stax continues anyway.
"The thing about being in a relationship like this, it's a lot more mutual than it seems," Stax says. "A Master takes on the responsibility of taking care of the slave, even though the slave can't tell Him what he needs. Alternately, the slave takes care of whatever the Master requests of him. And a Master has the power to make a slave's life a living hell, or if you'll forgive the cliche, heaven on earth, depending on the slave's actions and attitude."
Nodding, Hollywood listens intently, having seen in one week that what Stax was saying was true.
"But He can only do that if the slave grants him that power," Stax finishes. "No one can be made into a slave without their permission, at least not a slave in this sense."
"So did he not grant you that power?," Hollywood questions.
"Sort of. We got into a lot of arguments about...things," Stax tells him vaguely. "And eventually he acted like he didn't care anymore what I did. After that I decided he didn't really want to be here anymore."
"Where did you take him?"
"I gave him to someone else. Someone that could devote more attention and time to him," Stax explains. "With work and everything, you've probably already figured out that I'm not at home very often, definitely not often enough to appease someone like him. He had a big issue with the band, too, that's what most of our arguments were about."
"So this was recently?," Hollywood asks, looking up at Stax confusedly.
"About four months ago is when he left," Stax says, nodding. "He wanted to be able to come on tour with us and everything, but Chris was the only one who even knew I had him. I wasn't sure how the rest of you would react."
Hollywood looks away, vaguely surprised that Stax had been able to keep something that was such a big part of his life a secret for so long. After a long moment of thought, he rolls his head back around to gaze up at Stax. "Is that why you haven't gotten another? You didn't think we'd approve of it, or whatever?"
Stax shrugs. "Sort of, I guess. It's also pretty hard to find a slave. I mean, it's just as difficult as finding someone you want to be in a 'normal' relationship with, if not more difficult."
"Were you really afraid we'd think less of you for something like this?," Hollywood asks, disbelief in his voice.
"It's hard to tell how people will react," Stax tells him. "I guess it wasn't so much fearing how you guys would react, but more fearing how he would. He was a pretty jealous person."
"But you miss him anyway," Hollywood states.
"Sometimes," Stax admits, dropping his voice and shrugging. "It was nice while he was here, but you have to know when to move on. Neither of us were happy with each other by the time he left."
Holywood rolls his face towards Stax, nuzzling gently. Be happy with me instead. Stax inhales sharply, causing Hollywood to realize that his face is against Stax's crotch. Very carefully, he tilts his head up, tracing his lips along the outline of his cock through the fabric of his pants. Stax looks down at him, completely taken by surprise in the sudden change, but lifts a hand to run through Hollywood's hair. Raising his head a bit more, Hollywood looks up at Stax imploringly.
Stax shakes his head, sighing lightly. "You fucking tease," he mutters, then grasps Hollywood's shoulders and drags him into his lap. Hollywood moves so that one leg is on either side of Stax's lap, tilting his head back as Stax drags his teeth slowly across his throat. Hollywood squirms closer on his lap, moaning almost inaudibly at the touch. Stax continues to indulge him for a bit, Hollywood gripping his shoulders lightly until Stax pulls away.
Stax taps Hollywood's hip lightly. "Up."
Hollywood glances back down at him, confused and pouting a bit, but obeys regardless. Stax stands up after him and places his hands on Hollywood's hips from behind again, guiding him into the bedroom easily.
"Strip and lay down," Stax tells him, indicating the bed with a nod. Hollywood's only mildly surprised by the blunt request. As he complies, stripping his pants off then climbing onto the bed, Stax watches interestedly. Hollywood pauses a second, looking at Stax unsurely before laying back on the bed and waiting.
Stax follows him onto the bed then, sitting on the side and gazing at him seriously. "Still trust me?"
Hollywood nods before he even has time to question it. Stax nods once as well, then reaches to the left top corner of the bed. He reaches underneath the top mattress, drawing a length of black leather from underneath it.
"Give me your wrist," he says, and Hollywood obliges. He squirms over on the bed some and offers Stax his arm. Stax fastens the leather around his wrist and tightens it, then moves to the other side and repeats the action with Hollywood's right wrist. Hollywood doesn't really question where the leather straps came from, since it isn't the first time Stax has surprised him with something like this.
"Tight?," Stax questions.
Hollywood pulls against the restraints; they don't give at all. Stax nods approvingly before moving over Hollywood's form. He dwells for a moment on the sight of his impervious bandmate bound beneath him, but it doesn't last long as Hollywood squirms impatiently. Stax gives in, dropping his mouth to meet Hollywood's skin. His tongue traces the ridge of Hollywood's collarbones, then up his throat, the touch deceptively soft and careful. As his mouth continues to travel across Hollywood's chest, Stax repositions himself to straddle Hollywood's thighs, a hand on each hip to further restrict his movement.
Hollywood finds the act of breathing becoming increasingly difficult as Stax maintains the torture of barely touching his tongue against the flesh. Descending more, tongue sliding wetly over every inch of skin, nearly worshipping the curve of his ribs and the valley of his stomach as it falls in with his gasped breath. Hollywood moans pleadingly as Stax lingers over one of his hips, sucking feather-softly on the skin covering it. Stax slowly raises his eyes to meet Hollywood's gaze, his eyebrow raising and leading the rest of his body as it raises up away from Hollywood's.
Stax resituates himself leaning over Hollywood, looking down at him. Hollywood peers back at him beguilingly, whimpering a tiny bit after a few seconds of Stax not touching him.
"You don't like being treated like this," Stax says, rather than asks. Hollywood gives no response so he goes on. "You want me to hurt you?"
As Hollywood nods urgently at the question, Stax drops his head to briefly latch his teeth around one of his nipples, tearing at the flesh carelessly. Then he lifts up again.
"You want me to be rough with you?," Hollywood nods again at the question, pulling against his restraints like he wants to reach for Stax.
Stax runs a hand around the back of Hollywood's neck, lifting his head to crush his own mouth against Hollywood's. Hollywood moans loudly into the kiss, fighting his own tongue against Stax's with matching ferocity. Stax leans forward, pressing his own body against Hollywood's roughly and increasing the volume of the next moan that leaves Hollywood's mouth to enter his. He pulls away, clasping his teeth around Hollywood's lower lip briefly before releasing it.
Stax then begins to retrace the path his tongue took earlier, this time using his teeth to make Hollywood writhe more violently with the attention. His short fingernails scratch tiny ruts along Hollywood's sides and over his chest, then across his back, making Hollywood hiss every time they dig into one of the still-healing welts that mark it. When he stops abruptly, Hollywood protests loudly with a growl, his eyes snapping open again to find Stax's.
Stax sits up above him again, smirking sadistically. The intensity of Hollywood's glare softens, and Stax pulls his own shirt over his head, throwing it off of the bed. Hollywood's gaze roams over the exposed skin as Stax undoes his pants, lifting himself off of Hollywood to pull them down. He moves off of Hollywood to cast them aside as well, then moves between his legs and looks down at his captive almost questioningly. As an answer Hollywood wraps his thin fingers around the leather bindings, squirming needingly but enticingly at the same time.
Once again replacing his mouth on Hollywood's skin, Stax showers soft nips across the lower part of his abdomen. He continues down one leg, pointedly ignoring the bucking of Hollywood's hips as he closes his jaw harshly over the inside of Hollywood's thigh. Gasping loudly, Hollywood arches his back as Stax grinds his teeth over the sensitive skin. Still pointedly evading his cock, Stax drags his tongue further up the inside of Hollywood's leg and wraps a hand around the back of his knee, instructing him to lift his legs slightly. Once Hollywood does so, Stax lets his tongue slide down to slowly encircle his entrance then push past the ring of muscle and thrust in and out of him a few times.
When Stax pulls away to look down at him, Hollywood's chest is heaving with his labored breathing, covered in a mixture of sweat, saliva and mingled blood from the times Stax's bites broke his skin. Stax watches Hollywood analytically as he raises his legs, guiding them high around his back as he moves forward. Hollywood tugs on the restraints as much as he can, attempting to push himself back towards Stax. Stax pauses almost dramatically before looking down, lining himself up with Hollywood's entrance and pushing inside of him.
Hollywood's fingernails bite into his palms, still entwined with the leather straps, and his eyes clench shut immediately at the pain. He takes a deep shuddering breath, Stax watching his reaction carefully to decide when to continue. A few more breaths and Hollywood arches his back, driving Stax further inside of him and opening his eyes to look up at him again. Stax takes the unspoken permission, curling his fingers around Hollywood's hips and leaning away from him before driving back into his frame forcefully.
Each thrust is a little harder than the one preceeding it, forcing Hollywood back into the mattress a little further. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes and straining his arms against the bindings, tensing and untensing his muscles. One particularly hard thrust and Stax's cock pushes against that one spot inside of him that makes everything else evaporate, his fingers going slack around the leather as he drives his hips back towards Stax's body.
"Oh fuck, Stax...," he mutters breathlessly.
Stax pauses only briefly at the words. The use of his name. Something Hollywood hadn't done before, something Stax hadn't expected him to do. Making this somehow more real than it was before. Stax recovers quickly, memorizing the angle he's thrusting into Hollywood with to increase the pleasure he's feeling and forcing himself into him even harder.
"Say it again," he growls down at Hollywood.
Hollywood lifts his head to blink at him, clearly confused. He barely has any time to decipher the command as he's thrown back towards the headboard again. Stax continues pounding into him, hardly allowing Hollywood to find the breath to call out his name again, louder this time. Stax can feel Hollywood tensing and untensing underneath him, so he scrapes his fingertips down from his hip to wrap around his cock, urgently moving across the heated skin. Hollywood gasps, arching his back ridiculously hard as he calls out Stax's name a third time.
Stax leans down as much as he can, driving himself even more inside of Hollywood. "Come, pet. Now," he whispers at him in a rough voice.
Hollywood nods weakly. A few more thrusts from Stax is all it takes before he clenches his fingers around the leather harshly, letting himself go. He registers Stax pulling out of him a second later through the haze of ecstasy, coming as well before Hollywood feels the weight of his body on his own. He fights frantically to regain his breath, shaking almost violently as he does. Stax winds his arms around Hollywood's back, breathlessly pressing open mouthed kisses to the side of his neck as he struggles to breathe as well.
Becoming aware of movement he's not sure how long after, Hollywood looks up to see Stax moving above him and unlatching the leather from his reddened wrists. Once finished, he collapses onto his back next to Hollywood and blindly wanders his fingertips across the table next to the bed to find Hollywood's pack of cigarettes. He lights one, taking a long drag before offering it to Hollywood. Hollywood ceases rubbing his wrists, curling onto his side to face Stax and taking the cigarette from him.
"I don't know how I'd put up with you all the time," Stax mutters. "You fucking wear me out."
Hollywood looks down at the words, just remembering that this was likely to be the last time he spent in bed with Stax. "I'm sure you'd manage," he offers quietly.
Stax does not catch the subtle undertone of disappointment and laughs, taking the cigarette back from Hollywood, and doesn't respond otherwise. Hollywood squirms closer to him, winding his body around Stax's and clinging to him, unwillingly allowing his eyes to close.
The morning comes too early, Stax having had a restless night where he awoke every two hours as if to make sure Hollywood is still there. And Hollywood is still here at a few minutes after eight am when Stax finally decides to drag himself out of bed. He moves slowly and carefully, not waking Hollywood with his movements as he leaves the bed and pads out of the room. Perhaps if he sleeps a little longer, if he doesn't wake up, neither of them will have to face reality.
That this was all the result of a bet, it was a joke. And now it's over.
Stax wanders into the bathroom, turning to the sink like every other day as he passes it and expecting to see a mirror over it. He still doesn't see a mirror, but this time instead of shaking his head and sneering at the lack of reflective surface, he smiles a bit to himself. He relieves himself and washes his hands then brushes his teeth. Going through the motions, he enters the kitchen and starts making coffee before he hears movement behind him.
Hollywood slinks languidly out of the room, his movements naturally fluid even this early. Stax forces himself to look away after watching him for a moment, speaking towards the coffee pot in front of him.
"You should get dressed," he says. "Need to leave early today so I can take you back before work."
Hollywood pulls himself onto the counter next to the coffee pot, easily invading Stax's line of sight even after he's redirected it.
"Back?," he questions groggily as he drags two coffee cups out of the cupboard next to him.
"Home," Stax clarifies, bravely looking up to meet Hollywood's eyes.
Hollywood sets the cups down on the counter carefully, focusing on his actions because he's certain they would fall from his hands and shatter if he didn't. "Oh."
Stax forces a smirk to cross his face. "Yeah, congratulations. You put up with my shit for a week. You're free to go."
He turns and returns to the bedroom to get dressed. Hollywood watches him go, finally letting the disappointment flood the oceans of his eyes when he's out of sight, turning them just a bit darker blue. He didn't want to be free any more than he wanted to go, but it was painfully apparent that Stax had made up his mind. He didn't want him here any longer.
The drive back to Hollywood's apartment was uncomfortably silent, irritating each of them, but neither was sure what to say to change it. After what seems an unreasonably short amount of time, Hollywood feels the car stopping and looks up from where his hands are laying in his lap to see the front of his apartment building. He hesitates, though doesn't dare to glance over at Stax, and unbuckles his seatbelt. He climbs out of the car and steps up to the back door, pulling it open to retrieve his duffel bag and guitar.
"Um...thanks," he says haltingly. "For..."
Hollywood trails off and waves his hand around nondescriptly. He backs away from the door as Stax nods, an unreadable expression on his face. Hollywood moves to the passenger side door before pausing again.
"I guess I'll see you at practice tomorrow," Stax finally offers.
This time it's Hollywood who nods numbly. "Yeah, see ya," he says, then closes the door and forces himself to walk calmly away from the car.
Sliding the neglected key into the lock, Hollywood pushes the door open and hears Stax backing out of the parking lot. He steels himself, not looking back as he steps carefully inside the apartment. The door closes behind him and he stands in front of it for a few moments, looking around the room almost like he doesn't recognize it. It takes a few moments before the fact that he's actually back here to sink in. He leans the guitar against the wall and drops his duffel bag onto the floor.
A quick shower and half a pack of cigarettes later, he's laying across his bed and staring at the ceiling hopelessly, the volume of the Murder City Devils coming from the stereo not enough to drown out his train of thought.
Perhaps if he'd not fucked up so many times...
Or maybe if he'd been more obedient the entire time instead of switching back and forth...
Or if he'd just asked if Stax wanted him to stay...
He doesn't imagine it would be kosher for a slave to request anything of his Master. Even if the arrangement wasn't permanent, he'd had no idea how Stax would have even reacted to the suggestion. Probably laughed at him, maybe even taking it as a joke. After a response like that, it would have been even more difficult to swallow his pride and convince Stax that he was serious.
Sighing, Hollywood rolls onto his side and drags a pillow to his chest. Irrritated to find that it doesn't smell like anyone but him. There has to be some way to get past this. However much of a joke this might have started out as, it is pretty apparent that it turned a lot more serious over time. Even Stax wouldn't be able to deny that, he was sure. Though getting him to admit he might have wanted it to be even more serious without prompting would most likely prove to be damn near impossible.
"Maybe I should just make another bet with him," Hollywood mutters aloud, recieving no response from the empty room. Then he snorts at himself. "Yeah, that wouldn't be too obvious. Might as well just walk up to his door and beg him."
Hollywood falls silent again, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. For some desperate reason, that wasn't sounding like a half-bad idea. He sits up suddenly, inspired, and glances at the clock. Stax would be home from work in a few hours. Just enough time for Hollywood to convince himself he had the balls to go through with this plan. Lighting another cigarette, he pulls himself back against the headboard of his bed to plot.
Stax glances up from the television to look at the door curiously. After a moment he realizes that the person on the other side probably expects him to stand up and answer them. Overcoming his lethargy, he pulls himself off of the couch and ambles to the door. The thought that it may be Hollywood hasn't even crossed his mind, he won't allow it to.
But of course, as he pulls the door open, he sees that it is indeed Hollywood. The streetlights from behind him are casting dim light across only one half of his face, making his guant visage that much creepier as he lifts his head to look at Stax. They both watch each other for a moment, neither being sure what to say. Finally Stax breaks the silence, deciding to play it casual.
"Hey," he says. Leans on the open door lazily.
Hollywood mimics his actions, propping himself on his shoulder on the side of the house with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey."
"Forget something?," Stax continues, aiming to get directly to the heart of whatever reason brought Hollywood here. Get him away from the house, and maybe he can concentrate on getting him out of his head.
Hollywood shrugs the shoulder that isn't against the house, looking away. Letting the light hit the rest of his face and seeming a little less exsanguinous and a little more human. He tugs the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt over his hands to fight the cold.
"I dunno," he replies after quite a period of time. "I got bored. My place was pretty empty, and...I dunno...it was just..."
He trails off and shrugs again, looks back at the ground. Stax leans more heavily against the door, swinging with it as he watches Hollywood.
"Well, do you want to come in?," Stax asks. "Or we could go out to a bar or something...I've gotta work tomorrow so I need to get home at some reasonable time to make sure I -"
Stax cuts himself off when Hollywood pushes off the side of the house and falls to his knees in front of him. He lets go of the door, standing up straight and looking down at Hollywood in half confusion, half amazement.
"What are you doing, Hollywood?," he asks blankly.
"I...want to stay," Hollywood starts shakily. He presses himself down more, almost curling into a ball, laying his head against the floor. "I want to belong to you, really belong to you."
"Why?," Stax continues, tone softening.
Hollywood hesitates, thinking about the answer. "Because...the last week felt more right than any however-many-months-long relationship I've had with anyone. I feel demeaned and inferior and used now, but when I was here I also felt safe and cared for and wanted, so maybe that's right too."
Stax looks at him, clearly perplexed, and crouches down carefully. "Do you know what you're doing?"
Craning his head to look up at Stax, Hollywood smirks slightly. "Probably not, but that's nothing new. I thought maybe you could tell me if I was out of line."
Shaking his head in sheer amazement, Stax realizes he isn't irritated in seeing the smirk. He's almost comforted at the familiar expression. He drops his voice in wonder. "No, you're submitting to me willingly."
"Is that...a good thing?," Hollywood questions, looking around unsurely.
"I guess that depends on if you really mean it," Stax tells him. "You can't just walk out of something like this."
Hollywood nods seriously, ready to agree to next to anything. "I won't. Like I said, you can tell me when I'm out of line."
Stax stands up, pacing back from Hollywood consideringly. Hollywood lets his head fall back to the floor. And he's holding his breath just like in one of those stupid fucking movies. It seems like an eternity before Stax finally speaks.
"Come here," his voice is low again, near cautious.
Hollywood wants to leap up and run at him, maybe tackle him to the floor and roll around some. Instead he crawls slowly towards him; Stax notices the way each hip moves gracefully as he switches from one knee to the next and he imagines his shoulder blades are doing the same underneath the material of his sweatshirt. Upon reaching Stax, he sits back against his heels and looks up at him expectantly.
Stax drops a hand and places it under his chin as a signal for him to stand up. As he does, Stax doesn't remove his hand, instead trailing it along the side of his neck to the back of his head. His other arm encircles Hollywood's waist once he stands up, pulling him close. He gently forces Hollywood's head to his shoulder, letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the closeness.
"Thank you, Master," Hollywood whispers as his thin fingers grasp the material of Stax's t-shirt.
Stax shakes his head, not feeling like being redundant and saying 'No, thank you.' Instead he releases his grasp on Hollywood, his hands sliding over his sharp hips as he does.
"Close the door, pet. Let's make this a little more interesting."
If you enjoyed this story, please consider adding my writing journal, iteatsblood, to your friends list. ♥, Nihilism
[Read First: Pt. I Pt. II Part III]
Pistol Grip Fan Fiction
Stax/Hollywood
Rated Adult for Explicit Sex, Bondage, Discipline, Domination, submission, Sadomasochism, and Hollywoodness.
Hollywood wakes up, face resting against Stax's chest, arms wrapped tight against his sides. Painfully fucking hard. Lifting his head, he glances at the clock - 7:48 am. He slowly turns his gaze to Stax, who is still obliviously resting, peaceful. Hollywood debates for a moment whether it's worth it to wake him early and possibly face his wrath, or if he should let him sleep for another half hour.
Coming to the obvious conclusion, Hollywood drops his head and begins trailing his mouth lightly across Stax's collarbone. Feathery kisses over the bruised skin, up his throat and back down. He's halfway across the opposite collar bone when Stax stirs, slowly encircling Hollywood's waist with his arms. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, accompanied with a small moan, and Hollywood lifts his head again. A tiny but geniune smile passes over his face; a rarity.
"Good morning, Master."
Stax blinks up at him sleepily, wondering how the devil of last night had turned into the angel of this morning, but returns the smile. "definitely good so far," he agrees.
Stax raises his hands to grasp Hollywood's, gently dragging them away from his sides and entertwining their fingers behind him, at the small of Hollywood's back. With his arms pinned behind him, Stax has no trouble pulling Hollywood further up his chest, tilting his head to bite into the soft muscle between his neck and shoulder. Hollywood lets his head fall to the opposite side, giving Stax more access, moaning loudly when he bites down harder.
Freeing one of his own hands from Hollywood's, Stax runs the fingertips down to the curve of his ass and presses his body against the side of his own. The pressure against his straining erection causes Hollywood to moan again, more need in the tone this time. His lips trail desperately across Stax's shoulder, grasping for any skin they might be able to reach. Stax once again presses Hollywood's hips against his thigh before rolling Hollywood onto his back. He redirects Hollywood's arms above his head, lowering himself on top of him carefully.
"You always wake up like this?," Stax queries, pressing his own hips down into Hollywood's, rolling against him and leaving no doubt in his mind what he means by 'this'.
Hollywood throws his head back into the pillow fiercely between his pinned arms, already finding it hard to breathe. He swallows harshly before shaking his head. "Not..." another roll and a gasp "...not usually."
"Good," Stax asserts, biting into his neck roughly before continuing. "I'd hate to think anyone else got this pleasure."
He clamps his teeth around the sensitive skin again and grinds down against Hollywood a few more times before sliding to his side. Unlatching his mouth, he resituates both of Hollywood's wrists between one of his hands and slides the other down the length of his body. His fingers leave burning trails on the pale skin in their wake, slowly making their descent to his chest, pinching and tugging one of his nipples to make him writhe even more.
As his hand moves across Hollywood's stomach, redirecting it's path to the left and his protruberant hipbone, Stax lowers his mouth over the opposite nipple. He closes his teeth over it, tight enough to make Hollywood gasp and arch his back. Running his thumb along the valley between his hip and crotch, Stax savors the distressed, pleadng moans that brush past Hollywood's lips more often than actual exhalations.
Finally he relents, moving his palm flat along the lowest part of Hollywood's abdomen and across his cock. Inhaling sharply, Hollywood pushes his wrists up against Stax's hold, to no avail. Stax only tightens his grip, pressing Hollywood against the matress more firmly as he wraps his hand around him. Hollywood gives up on freeing his hands in favor of bucking his hips toward Stax. Stax moves his hand in deliberately slow strokes until Hollywood lifts his eyelids to peer up at him.
"Please, Master...," he moans, thrusting his hips forward again.
Stax can't help but relent after hearing that voice he knows so well be so persuasively beseeching, his hand running a bit faster as he leans down to capture Hollywood's lips briefly then mutter. "So precious when you beg."
Hollywood tilts his head up to get at Stax's mouth again and Stax allows him to. Sliding his tongue into Hollywood's mouth and dancing across his own, swallowing the moans Hollywood emits as Stax picks up the pace even more. Then he trails his mouth down across his chin, nipping at his jawline and going even farther, tracing the artery in his throat and feeling the blood pound against his lips there. He lifts his head to take account of Hollywood's expression upon hearing him gasp, and in doing so catches sight of the clock.
"Fucking hell," Stax murmurs, rolling away from Hollywood. Hollywood lifts his head weakly from the pillow at the lack of touch, moaning at Stax questioningly. Stax leans back over him, briefly kissing him before muttering against his mouth, "I'm going to be late again, you'll have to finish this yourself."
He darts from the room in favor of the bathroom. Hollywood watches him go before letting his head fall back down onto the pillows, groaning disappointedly. Regardless, an order is an order, he assumes, so he slowly lets his own hand trail down his chest to wrap around his cock, closing his eyes.
When Stax returns to the room he stops in his tracks, gaping at the sight in front of him. Hollywood is sprawled across the bed, one leg slightly bent at the knee, his eyes closed tight, mouth slightly open, one hand run through his hair as if holding his head back against the mattress, the other hand moving swiftly over the smooth skin of his erection.
After standing open-mouthed and watching Hollywood for a few moments, Stax launches himself back onto the bed. He leans over Hollywood and begins covering his neck and chest in small bites and kisses. Hollywood's so surprised by this, not having seen Stax enter the room, that he stops what he's doing, but Stax shakes his head. He grasps Hollywood's right hand with one of his own and returns it to it's previous activity.
"No," he tells him. "Keep going."
Hollywood obliges and after a second Stax retracts his own hand, softly massaging Hollywood's hip with his fingers as his lips continue to wander across his torso. Hollywood tilts his head down a bit, trying to get to Stax's mouth as it passes over his shoulder. Stax lifts his head and grants Hollywood a kiss, his tongue dancing over Hollywood's as his hands move across his skin almost reverently. Hollywood emits a loud moan into Stax's mouth, bucking his hips up towards his own hand.
Stax breaks the kiss, leaning back to look at Hollywood. "Remember, not until I let you."
Hollywood nods quickly, breathless, his hand still moving quickly over his cock. He maintains eye contact for a long moment before his eyes finally fight their way closed. Stax leans down, languidly flicking his tongue across Hollywood's stomach, noticing Hollywood's hand slowing down as he fights to hold back. After a few moments Stax finally relents, moving back up to lick at Hollywood's neck and whisper in his ear.
"Now, pet."
It's all the prompting Hollywood needs before he's arching his back against the mattress, whimpering loudly as he comes. Stax looks on, entranced at the pleasured expression that passes over Hollywood's visage. He entangles his fingers with those of Hollywood's right hand, lifting them to Hollywood's mouth. Hollywood begins to lick the fingers clean unquestioningly until Stax moves them away and drops his head once more to kiss him lingeringly.
"And now I am going to be late," he notes as he moves away.
Hollywood reaches out for Stax as he moves away and Stax allows himself to be drug into the embrace. "Call in sick," Hollywood suggests whiningly.
Stax shakes his head. "I can't," he informs Hollywood, begrudgingly disentangling himself from his arms. "Go clean up, I have to go."
With another petulant look, Hollywood rolls to the edge of the bed and slips off. Stax watches as he begins to pad out of the room.
"No, crawl," he informs Hollywood, grinning slightly as he complies. Hollywood drops to his hands and knees and moves smoothly across the carpet, fully aware of the way Stax is watching him hungrily. As soon as Hollywood is out of sight, Stax slips back off the bed and darts into the living room. After pulling his boots and coat on, he scrawls a quick note instructing Hollywood on what to do while he's gone and heads out to his car.
It's six hours later and Hollywood's accomplished mostly everything on the list, finishing by retreating to Stax's bedroom to remake the bed and collect laundry. As he tosses piles of clothes into the washer, it occurs to him that this is the last day he'll have to do anything Stax asks of him. He's unimpressed to find that he's disappointed by the revelation.
Surely, Stax would be disappointed as well, he thinks. Although Hollywood knows that the entire time he spent here, he wasn't exactly a perfectly compliant pet or even a good houseguest. Regardless he thinks that overall he did a fairly good job, especially for someone who had no idea what they were coming into. Didn't any pet, human or otherwise, require a fair bit of training before they suited their Masters' demands? Then, fast and hard, the fact that Stax has had other pets comes back to Hollywood.
As he dumps detergent into the washer and turns it on, he finds himself wondering how much better those pets had behaved. They had most likely wanted to belong to Stax, and known exactly what 'belonging' to someone meant, so they had that on Hollywood without a doubt. He then finds himself wondering just how much differently he might have acted if he'd known or wanted to belong to Stax when this all began. And then finds himself wondering if that isn't what he wants now.
Returning the the kitchen, he retrieves a granola bar and a can of soda before moving to the living room. He stares at the television blankly as he ponders over his current situation. Though he's only supposed to be here for another night, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, that's enough time to convince Stax that he's a worthy enough pet to keep. He knows that if he caught himself even thinking along these lines a week ago, that he would have been disgusted with his own mind, but that doesn't bug him too much. He is never surprised by his own increasing levels of depravity.
When Stax returns home from work about an hour later, Hollywood is in the bathroom. So, he grabs something to drink from the fridge and wanders into the living room, going through the daily routine of dropping onto the couch and turning on the TV. A second later Hollywood exits the bathroom and, upon seeing that Stax is home, drops to his hands and knees and crawls towards him on the couch. He slithers to the front of the couch before sitting back and looking up at Stax, who's watching him with a slightly amused expression.
"Welcome home, Master," Hollywood says in greeting, sugary enough to raise Stax's suspicions. "I missed you."
Stax finally lets himself grin, amazed at how Hollywood can completely change his personality from one day to the next, though still not completely trusting this sudden twist. "I missed you, too. Did you do everything I asked?"
"Yeah," Hollywood nods, inching closer to the couch inconspicuously. "Your clothes are in the dryer."
"Good pet," Stax says, and Hollywood smiles slightly at the praise. "You want to start dinner?"
"Um...maybe," Hollywood starts hesitantly. "Unless I'm bound to blow something up..."
Stax laughs. "I'll help you," he tells him, standing up. "Come on."
He extends a hand down to Hollywood, who catches it with his own and pulls himself fluidly to his feet. They walk around the couch to the kitchen, Hollywood following unassumingly behind Stax and still grasping his hand until he releases it to pull open the freezer and look over the contents.
"Steak?," he asks after a minute. Hollywood shrugs in response and Stax smirks. "All right, then. Get some potatoes out of the fridge."
Hollywood does as he's told, retrieving two potatoes from the sack in the fridge once Stax has moved away. He looks at them unsurely for a moment then leans against the counter and starts juggling them expertly as Stax pries the wrap from the frozen meat. Stax glances at him over his shoulder and grins.
"Impressive. Now if only you could cook as well as you perform parlor tricks," he says.
Hollywood catches the potatoes and looks over at Stax questioningly.
"Rinse them off, and I'll tell you where to go from there," Stax instructs him, crossing to the microwave to defrost the steaks.
Hollywood is caught off gaurd when Stax moves behind him, leaning over his shoulder to watch him as he rinses the potatoes off.
"Good. Now get a fork."
Hollywood nods once, setting the potatoes down and siddling along the counter. Stax lowers his hands to latch onto Hollywood's hips and follows his every movement, mirroring him from behind. Pulling open the cutlery drawer, Hollywood removes a fork and waits for the next instruction. Stax leads him back to where the potatoes are resting on the counter.
"Now pick one up, and pierce it a few times with the fork."
Hollywood hesitates before picking up a potato unsurely, then stabbing it lightly with the fork. As he does, Stax nips softly at his neck. He continues to do this every time Hollywood drives the fork past the skin of the potato.
"Now the other one," he mutters, replacing his head on Hollywood's opposite shoulder.
Hollywood's tempted to mangle the second potato beyond recognition as Stax follows the same pattern. Lightly sinking his teeth into Hollywood's skin each time he stabs the potato, he stops after a minute. Hollywood pauses, then almost questioningly pushes the prongs of the fork into the vegetable again. Stax laughs quietly.
"I think that'll do," he tells him. "Now, get a baking sheet."
Stax directs him back to the cupboard, letting Hollywood bend down on his own and rifle through the dishes. "No, that's a cutting board. Right - yeah, that one."
Hollywood stands back up, triumphantly clutching the baking sheet and looking expectant. Stax grins at him and relocates himself to the microwave as the timer goes off. While he retrieves the now defrosted meat, Hollywood sets the baking sheet on the counter and somewhat unsurely situates the potatoes on top of it. Stax turns around to look at him and laughs again.
"Yeah, that's right. Now heat the oven to four hundred and twenty-five degrees."
With a bit of difficulty, Hollywood discovers the right knob after turning two of the burners on the stove on and then off, spinning it until it reads 425º. He turns to look at Stax again and Stax nods, so he retrieves the baking sheet and opens the oven to place it on one of the racks.
"Those will take a bit longer so I'll wait to put the steaks on," Stax tells him as he turns around again.
"Okay," Hollywood concedes, glancing around cluelessly. "So what now?"
"Come here," Stax tells him.
Hollywood crosses the floor to where Stax is leaning against a counter, stopping a foot in front of him and waiting patiently. Stax reaches out to curl his fingers around Hollywood's hip again, drawing him closer. Hollywood bows his head respectfully as he steps towards Stax.
"How do you do that?," Stax asks, his tone one of mild amazement.
"Do what, Master?," Hollywood glances up at him briefly.
"Be so fucking callous one day and so sweet the next," Stax clarifies. He lifts a hand and runs the fingertips lightly along the side of Hollywood's neck.
"I was mad," Hollywood admits, shrugging a little. Then he drops his voice slightly. "I...didn't want to sleep alone."
"Is that all it was?," Stax asks doubtfully.
Hollywood shrugs again, not telling him that he won't want to sleep alone tomorrow night, either. Stax slides his hand along his throat to lift his head up, drawing him closer and into a soft kiss. He moves his hand up to cup the side of Hollywood's face as he tilts his head, letting his tongue flick across Hollywood's lips before pulling away.
"You really surprised me," Stax confesses.
"Have I?," Hollywood asks, meeting his eyes.
Stax nods. "But I guess that's nothing new."
Before Hollywood has a chance to question him, Stax slips out from between him and the counter. He hunts down a skillet from the same cupboard that Hollywood found the baking sheet in, setting it on the stove. He starts to season the meat and Hollywood watches him for a moment before sinking down to the floor quietly. Stax pays no notice to Hollywood's eyes on him as he goes about preparing the steak.
Twenty minutes later, dinner is served and they're both in the living room. Stax is sitting on the couch while Hollywood is perched next to his feet, vaguely paying attention to the news as they eat. Hollywood can't help the thought that he was going to be at home this time tomorrow from gnawing at the back of his brain, unaware that Stax is mulling over the same thought.
Once they've finished eating and Hollywood has dutifully cleaned the dishes from the living room, he retreats to Stax's side, handing him a requested beer before dropping to his knees again. Instead of pretending to watch the television, he leans his head against the couch cushion and stares up at Stax beguilingly.
"What do you want?," Stax asks after a moment, his tone and expression bemused.
Hollywood shrugs a shoulder unsurely, not diverting his gaze. Stax smirks.
"Come up here, then," he tells him.
To Stax's surprise, Hollywood does crawl onto the couch but doesn't sit up, opting instead to curl up on the cushions and lay his head in Stax's lap. Stax runs his fingers lightly through Hollywood's hair, now not paying attention to the television either. Hollywood closes his eyes, absorbing the touch and gnawing on his lip thoughtfully.
"Something wrong, pet?," Stax questions after a long moment of observing him.
Hollywood pauses unsurely, then nods.
"What is it?," Stax continues.
"It's...well, I don't want you to get pissed off...," Hollywood starts hesitantly.
"Is it something that'll piss me off?"
"I'm not sure...maybe," he concedes.
"Well, I'll try not to get pissed off, then," Stax tells him. "What is it?"
Hollywood closes his eyes again, not sure why he's asking when he already knows the answer. "Were they better than me?"
"Who?," Stax asks, confused.
"Your...other pets," Hollywood says. "The ones you had before."
Stax blinks in surprise at the query. "That's not plural, I've only had one other."
"Oh," Hollywood murmurs. "Well, was that one better?"
Stax pauses before responding. "He...well, you have to understand that he knew what he was getting into. And he had more time to adjust. I don't think, given this situation, that he would have done much better than you have."
Hollywood nods, not having expect anything more than a 'yes'. He pauses before plunging forward. "Why did you get rid of him?"
Stax is once again caught off gaurd by the question. "He...we had some problems we couldn't overcome."
Hollywood rolls onto his back to look up at Stax curiously. "Worse than some of the ones we've had?"
"Well...yeah, in some ways, worse," Stax tells him. "But it was a totally different situation, you have to understand that. He wasn't here because he lost a bet, and there wasn't a time limit on how long he was going to stay."
Hollywood seems to debate this internally, seeming satisfied with the response, but Stax continues anyway.
"The thing about being in a relationship like this, it's a lot more mutual than it seems," Stax says. "A Master takes on the responsibility of taking care of the slave, even though the slave can't tell Him what he needs. Alternately, the slave takes care of whatever the Master requests of him. And a Master has the power to make a slave's life a living hell, or if you'll forgive the cliche, heaven on earth, depending on the slave's actions and attitude."
Nodding, Hollywood listens intently, having seen in one week that what Stax was saying was true.
"But He can only do that if the slave grants him that power," Stax finishes. "No one can be made into a slave without their permission, at least not a slave in this sense."
"So did he not grant you that power?," Hollywood questions.
"Sort of. We got into a lot of arguments about...things," Stax tells him vaguely. "And eventually he acted like he didn't care anymore what I did. After that I decided he didn't really want to be here anymore."
"Where did you take him?"
"I gave him to someone else. Someone that could devote more attention and time to him," Stax explains. "With work and everything, you've probably already figured out that I'm not at home very often, definitely not often enough to appease someone like him. He had a big issue with the band, too, that's what most of our arguments were about."
"So this was recently?," Hollywood asks, looking up at Stax confusedly.
"About four months ago is when he left," Stax says, nodding. "He wanted to be able to come on tour with us and everything, but Chris was the only one who even knew I had him. I wasn't sure how the rest of you would react."
Hollywood looks away, vaguely surprised that Stax had been able to keep something that was such a big part of his life a secret for so long. After a long moment of thought, he rolls his head back around to gaze up at Stax. "Is that why you haven't gotten another? You didn't think we'd approve of it, or whatever?"
Stax shrugs. "Sort of, I guess. It's also pretty hard to find a slave. I mean, it's just as difficult as finding someone you want to be in a 'normal' relationship with, if not more difficult."
"Were you really afraid we'd think less of you for something like this?," Hollywood asks, disbelief in his voice.
"It's hard to tell how people will react," Stax tells him. "I guess it wasn't so much fearing how you guys would react, but more fearing how he would. He was a pretty jealous person."
"But you miss him anyway," Hollywood states.
"Sometimes," Stax admits, dropping his voice and shrugging. "It was nice while he was here, but you have to know when to move on. Neither of us were happy with each other by the time he left."
Holywood rolls his face towards Stax, nuzzling gently. Be happy with me instead. Stax inhales sharply, causing Hollywood to realize that his face is against Stax's crotch. Very carefully, he tilts his head up, tracing his lips along the outline of his cock through the fabric of his pants. Stax looks down at him, completely taken by surprise in the sudden change, but lifts a hand to run through Hollywood's hair. Raising his head a bit more, Hollywood looks up at Stax imploringly.
Stax shakes his head, sighing lightly. "You fucking tease," he mutters, then grasps Hollywood's shoulders and drags him into his lap. Hollywood moves so that one leg is on either side of Stax's lap, tilting his head back as Stax drags his teeth slowly across his throat. Hollywood squirms closer on his lap, moaning almost inaudibly at the touch. Stax continues to indulge him for a bit, Hollywood gripping his shoulders lightly until Stax pulls away.
Stax taps Hollywood's hip lightly. "Up."
Hollywood glances back down at him, confused and pouting a bit, but obeys regardless. Stax stands up after him and places his hands on Hollywood's hips from behind again, guiding him into the bedroom easily.
"Strip and lay down," Stax tells him, indicating the bed with a nod. Hollywood's only mildly surprised by the blunt request. As he complies, stripping his pants off then climbing onto the bed, Stax watches interestedly. Hollywood pauses a second, looking at Stax unsurely before laying back on the bed and waiting.
Stax follows him onto the bed then, sitting on the side and gazing at him seriously. "Still trust me?"
Hollywood nods before he even has time to question it. Stax nods once as well, then reaches to the left top corner of the bed. He reaches underneath the top mattress, drawing a length of black leather from underneath it.
"Give me your wrist," he says, and Hollywood obliges. He squirms over on the bed some and offers Stax his arm. Stax fastens the leather around his wrist and tightens it, then moves to the other side and repeats the action with Hollywood's right wrist. Hollywood doesn't really question where the leather straps came from, since it isn't the first time Stax has surprised him with something like this.
"Tight?," Stax questions.
Hollywood pulls against the restraints; they don't give at all. Stax nods approvingly before moving over Hollywood's form. He dwells for a moment on the sight of his impervious bandmate bound beneath him, but it doesn't last long as Hollywood squirms impatiently. Stax gives in, dropping his mouth to meet Hollywood's skin. His tongue traces the ridge of Hollywood's collarbones, then up his throat, the touch deceptively soft and careful. As his mouth continues to travel across Hollywood's chest, Stax repositions himself to straddle Hollywood's thighs, a hand on each hip to further restrict his movement.
Hollywood finds the act of breathing becoming increasingly difficult as Stax maintains the torture of barely touching his tongue against the flesh. Descending more, tongue sliding wetly over every inch of skin, nearly worshipping the curve of his ribs and the valley of his stomach as it falls in with his gasped breath. Hollywood moans pleadingly as Stax lingers over one of his hips, sucking feather-softly on the skin covering it. Stax slowly raises his eyes to meet Hollywood's gaze, his eyebrow raising and leading the rest of his body as it raises up away from Hollywood's.
Stax resituates himself leaning over Hollywood, looking down at him. Hollywood peers back at him beguilingly, whimpering a tiny bit after a few seconds of Stax not touching him.
"You don't like being treated like this," Stax says, rather than asks. Hollywood gives no response so he goes on. "You want me to hurt you?"
As Hollywood nods urgently at the question, Stax drops his head to briefly latch his teeth around one of his nipples, tearing at the flesh carelessly. Then he lifts up again.
"You want me to be rough with you?," Hollywood nods again at the question, pulling against his restraints like he wants to reach for Stax.
Stax runs a hand around the back of Hollywood's neck, lifting his head to crush his own mouth against Hollywood's. Hollywood moans loudly into the kiss, fighting his own tongue against Stax's with matching ferocity. Stax leans forward, pressing his own body against Hollywood's roughly and increasing the volume of the next moan that leaves Hollywood's mouth to enter his. He pulls away, clasping his teeth around Hollywood's lower lip briefly before releasing it.
Stax then begins to retrace the path his tongue took earlier, this time using his teeth to make Hollywood writhe more violently with the attention. His short fingernails scratch tiny ruts along Hollywood's sides and over his chest, then across his back, making Hollywood hiss every time they dig into one of the still-healing welts that mark it. When he stops abruptly, Hollywood protests loudly with a growl, his eyes snapping open again to find Stax's.
Stax sits up above him again, smirking sadistically. The intensity of Hollywood's glare softens, and Stax pulls his own shirt over his head, throwing it off of the bed. Hollywood's gaze roams over the exposed skin as Stax undoes his pants, lifting himself off of Hollywood to pull them down. He moves off of Hollywood to cast them aside as well, then moves between his legs and looks down at his captive almost questioningly. As an answer Hollywood wraps his thin fingers around the leather bindings, squirming needingly but enticingly at the same time.
Once again replacing his mouth on Hollywood's skin, Stax showers soft nips across the lower part of his abdomen. He continues down one leg, pointedly ignoring the bucking of Hollywood's hips as he closes his jaw harshly over the inside of Hollywood's thigh. Gasping loudly, Hollywood arches his back as Stax grinds his teeth over the sensitive skin. Still pointedly evading his cock, Stax drags his tongue further up the inside of Hollywood's leg and wraps a hand around the back of his knee, instructing him to lift his legs slightly. Once Hollywood does so, Stax lets his tongue slide down to slowly encircle his entrance then push past the ring of muscle and thrust in and out of him a few times.
When Stax pulls away to look down at him, Hollywood's chest is heaving with his labored breathing, covered in a mixture of sweat, saliva and mingled blood from the times Stax's bites broke his skin. Stax watches Hollywood analytically as he raises his legs, guiding them high around his back as he moves forward. Hollywood tugs on the restraints as much as he can, attempting to push himself back towards Stax. Stax pauses almost dramatically before looking down, lining himself up with Hollywood's entrance and pushing inside of him.
Hollywood's fingernails bite into his palms, still entwined with the leather straps, and his eyes clench shut immediately at the pain. He takes a deep shuddering breath, Stax watching his reaction carefully to decide when to continue. A few more breaths and Hollywood arches his back, driving Stax further inside of him and opening his eyes to look up at him again. Stax takes the unspoken permission, curling his fingers around Hollywood's hips and leaning away from him before driving back into his frame forcefully.
Each thrust is a little harder than the one preceeding it, forcing Hollywood back into the mattress a little further. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes and straining his arms against the bindings, tensing and untensing his muscles. One particularly hard thrust and Stax's cock pushes against that one spot inside of him that makes everything else evaporate, his fingers going slack around the leather as he drives his hips back towards Stax's body.
"Oh fuck, Stax...," he mutters breathlessly.
Stax pauses only briefly at the words. The use of his name. Something Hollywood hadn't done before, something Stax hadn't expected him to do. Making this somehow more real than it was before. Stax recovers quickly, memorizing the angle he's thrusting into Hollywood with to increase the pleasure he's feeling and forcing himself into him even harder.
"Say it again," he growls down at Hollywood.
Hollywood lifts his head to blink at him, clearly confused. He barely has any time to decipher the command as he's thrown back towards the headboard again. Stax continues pounding into him, hardly allowing Hollywood to find the breath to call out his name again, louder this time. Stax can feel Hollywood tensing and untensing underneath him, so he scrapes his fingertips down from his hip to wrap around his cock, urgently moving across the heated skin. Hollywood gasps, arching his back ridiculously hard as he calls out Stax's name a third time.
Stax leans down as much as he can, driving himself even more inside of Hollywood. "Come, pet. Now," he whispers at him in a rough voice.
Hollywood nods weakly. A few more thrusts from Stax is all it takes before he clenches his fingers around the leather harshly, letting himself go. He registers Stax pulling out of him a second later through the haze of ecstasy, coming as well before Hollywood feels the weight of his body on his own. He fights frantically to regain his breath, shaking almost violently as he does. Stax winds his arms around Hollywood's back, breathlessly pressing open mouthed kisses to the side of his neck as he struggles to breathe as well.
Becoming aware of movement he's not sure how long after, Hollywood looks up to see Stax moving above him and unlatching the leather from his reddened wrists. Once finished, he collapses onto his back next to Hollywood and blindly wanders his fingertips across the table next to the bed to find Hollywood's pack of cigarettes. He lights one, taking a long drag before offering it to Hollywood. Hollywood ceases rubbing his wrists, curling onto his side to face Stax and taking the cigarette from him.
"I don't know how I'd put up with you all the time," Stax mutters. "You fucking wear me out."
Hollywood looks down at the words, just remembering that this was likely to be the last time he spent in bed with Stax. "I'm sure you'd manage," he offers quietly.
Stax does not catch the subtle undertone of disappointment and laughs, taking the cigarette back from Hollywood, and doesn't respond otherwise. Hollywood squirms closer to him, winding his body around Stax's and clinging to him, unwillingly allowing his eyes to close.
The morning comes too early, Stax having had a restless night where he awoke every two hours as if to make sure Hollywood is still there. And Hollywood is still here at a few minutes after eight am when Stax finally decides to drag himself out of bed. He moves slowly and carefully, not waking Hollywood with his movements as he leaves the bed and pads out of the room. Perhaps if he sleeps a little longer, if he doesn't wake up, neither of them will have to face reality.
That this was all the result of a bet, it was a joke. And now it's over.
Stax wanders into the bathroom, turning to the sink like every other day as he passes it and expecting to see a mirror over it. He still doesn't see a mirror, but this time instead of shaking his head and sneering at the lack of reflective surface, he smiles a bit to himself. He relieves himself and washes his hands then brushes his teeth. Going through the motions, he enters the kitchen and starts making coffee before he hears movement behind him.
Hollywood slinks languidly out of the room, his movements naturally fluid even this early. Stax forces himself to look away after watching him for a moment, speaking towards the coffee pot in front of him.
"You should get dressed," he says. "Need to leave early today so I can take you back before work."
Hollywood pulls himself onto the counter next to the coffee pot, easily invading Stax's line of sight even after he's redirected it.
"Back?," he questions groggily as he drags two coffee cups out of the cupboard next to him.
"Home," Stax clarifies, bravely looking up to meet Hollywood's eyes.
Hollywood sets the cups down on the counter carefully, focusing on his actions because he's certain they would fall from his hands and shatter if he didn't. "Oh."
Stax forces a smirk to cross his face. "Yeah, congratulations. You put up with my shit for a week. You're free to go."
He turns and returns to the bedroom to get dressed. Hollywood watches him go, finally letting the disappointment flood the oceans of his eyes when he's out of sight, turning them just a bit darker blue. He didn't want to be free any more than he wanted to go, but it was painfully apparent that Stax had made up his mind. He didn't want him here any longer.
The drive back to Hollywood's apartment was uncomfortably silent, irritating each of them, but neither was sure what to say to change it. After what seems an unreasonably short amount of time, Hollywood feels the car stopping and looks up from where his hands are laying in his lap to see the front of his apartment building. He hesitates, though doesn't dare to glance over at Stax, and unbuckles his seatbelt. He climbs out of the car and steps up to the back door, pulling it open to retrieve his duffel bag and guitar.
"Um...thanks," he says haltingly. "For..."
Hollywood trails off and waves his hand around nondescriptly. He backs away from the door as Stax nods, an unreadable expression on his face. Hollywood moves to the passenger side door before pausing again.
"I guess I'll see you at practice tomorrow," Stax finally offers.
This time it's Hollywood who nods numbly. "Yeah, see ya," he says, then closes the door and forces himself to walk calmly away from the car.
Sliding the neglected key into the lock, Hollywood pushes the door open and hears Stax backing out of the parking lot. He steels himself, not looking back as he steps carefully inside the apartment. The door closes behind him and he stands in front of it for a few moments, looking around the room almost like he doesn't recognize it. It takes a few moments before the fact that he's actually back here to sink in. He leans the guitar against the wall and drops his duffel bag onto the floor.
A quick shower and half a pack of cigarettes later, he's laying across his bed and staring at the ceiling hopelessly, the volume of the Murder City Devils coming from the stereo not enough to drown out his train of thought.
Perhaps if he'd not fucked up so many times...
Or maybe if he'd been more obedient the entire time instead of switching back and forth...
Or if he'd just asked if Stax wanted him to stay...
He doesn't imagine it would be kosher for a slave to request anything of his Master. Even if the arrangement wasn't permanent, he'd had no idea how Stax would have even reacted to the suggestion. Probably laughed at him, maybe even taking it as a joke. After a response like that, it would have been even more difficult to swallow his pride and convince Stax that he was serious.
Sighing, Hollywood rolls onto his side and drags a pillow to his chest. Irrritated to find that it doesn't smell like anyone but him. There has to be some way to get past this. However much of a joke this might have started out as, it is pretty apparent that it turned a lot more serious over time. Even Stax wouldn't be able to deny that, he was sure. Though getting him to admit he might have wanted it to be even more serious without prompting would most likely prove to be damn near impossible.
"Maybe I should just make another bet with him," Hollywood mutters aloud, recieving no response from the empty room. Then he snorts at himself. "Yeah, that wouldn't be too obvious. Might as well just walk up to his door and beg him."
Hollywood falls silent again, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. For some desperate reason, that wasn't sounding like a half-bad idea. He sits up suddenly, inspired, and glances at the clock. Stax would be home from work in a few hours. Just enough time for Hollywood to convince himself he had the balls to go through with this plan. Lighting another cigarette, he pulls himself back against the headboard of his bed to plot.
Stax glances up from the television to look at the door curiously. After a moment he realizes that the person on the other side probably expects him to stand up and answer them. Overcoming his lethargy, he pulls himself off of the couch and ambles to the door. The thought that it may be Hollywood hasn't even crossed his mind, he won't allow it to.
But of course, as he pulls the door open, he sees that it is indeed Hollywood. The streetlights from behind him are casting dim light across only one half of his face, making his guant visage that much creepier as he lifts his head to look at Stax. They both watch each other for a moment, neither being sure what to say. Finally Stax breaks the silence, deciding to play it casual.
"Hey," he says. Leans on the open door lazily.
Hollywood mimics his actions, propping himself on his shoulder on the side of the house with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey."
"Forget something?," Stax continues, aiming to get directly to the heart of whatever reason brought Hollywood here. Get him away from the house, and maybe he can concentrate on getting him out of his head.
Hollywood shrugs the shoulder that isn't against the house, looking away. Letting the light hit the rest of his face and seeming a little less exsanguinous and a little more human. He tugs the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt over his hands to fight the cold.
"I dunno," he replies after quite a period of time. "I got bored. My place was pretty empty, and...I dunno...it was just..."
He trails off and shrugs again, looks back at the ground. Stax leans more heavily against the door, swinging with it as he watches Hollywood.
"Well, do you want to come in?," Stax asks. "Or we could go out to a bar or something...I've gotta work tomorrow so I need to get home at some reasonable time to make sure I -"
Stax cuts himself off when Hollywood pushes off the side of the house and falls to his knees in front of him. He lets go of the door, standing up straight and looking down at Hollywood in half confusion, half amazement.
"What are you doing, Hollywood?," he asks blankly.
"I...want to stay," Hollywood starts shakily. He presses himself down more, almost curling into a ball, laying his head against the floor. "I want to belong to you, really belong to you."
"Why?," Stax continues, tone softening.
Hollywood hesitates, thinking about the answer. "Because...the last week felt more right than any however-many-months-long relationship I've had with anyone. I feel demeaned and inferior and used now, but when I was here I also felt safe and cared for and wanted, so maybe that's right too."
Stax looks at him, clearly perplexed, and crouches down carefully. "Do you know what you're doing?"
Craning his head to look up at Stax, Hollywood smirks slightly. "Probably not, but that's nothing new. I thought maybe you could tell me if I was out of line."
Shaking his head in sheer amazement, Stax realizes he isn't irritated in seeing the smirk. He's almost comforted at the familiar expression. He drops his voice in wonder. "No, you're submitting to me willingly."
"Is that...a good thing?," Hollywood questions, looking around unsurely.
"I guess that depends on if you really mean it," Stax tells him. "You can't just walk out of something like this."
Hollywood nods seriously, ready to agree to next to anything. "I won't. Like I said, you can tell me when I'm out of line."
Stax stands up, pacing back from Hollywood consideringly. Hollywood lets his head fall back to the floor. And he's holding his breath just like in one of those stupid fucking movies. It seems like an eternity before Stax finally speaks.
"Come here," his voice is low again, near cautious.
Hollywood wants to leap up and run at him, maybe tackle him to the floor and roll around some. Instead he crawls slowly towards him; Stax notices the way each hip moves gracefully as he switches from one knee to the next and he imagines his shoulder blades are doing the same underneath the material of his sweatshirt. Upon reaching Stax, he sits back against his heels and looks up at him expectantly.
Stax drops a hand and places it under his chin as a signal for him to stand up. As he does, Stax doesn't remove his hand, instead trailing it along the side of his neck to the back of his head. His other arm encircles Hollywood's waist once he stands up, pulling him close. He gently forces Hollywood's head to his shoulder, letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the closeness.
"Thank you, Master," Hollywood whispers as his thin fingers grasp the material of Stax's t-shirt.
Stax shakes his head, not feeling like being redundant and saying 'No, thank you.' Instead he releases his grasp on Hollywood, his hands sliding over his sharp hips as he does.
"Close the door, pet. Let's make this a little more interesting."
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