joey and chris, a little bit of bondage, d/s, and rock and roll.

The boom boom boom of the bass beat slipped in right under Chris's skin, like the way the rope harness felt against his chest. He wondered, looking around him, whether or not anyone else in the club could sense the knots circling around his abdomen, the ropes crossing back and around and under his nipples. Fuck, and where had Joey managed to figure out how the hell to truss someone up like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey, anyway?

He sipped his drink and looked around himself casually, drinking in the sights of all the beautiful people gyrating back and forth. The club was having an 80s night, and Chris felt almost like he was back in high school, listening to the lead singer of Def Leppard exhorting his listeners to pour some sugar on him. I'd like for someone to pour some sugar on me, Chris caught himself thinking, and struggled against the images that brought to mind, of Joey slipping into his room right while they were getting dressed with eighteen feet of silk rope coiled around his elbow and shoulder.

Joey was across the room, on the dance floor, half-wound around some stacked redhead who was wearing less clothing than would have passed for decent on a nude beach. He met Chris's eye and licked his lips, slowly. Chris shifted his weight and surreptitiously pressed his legs together, fighting against the arousal, and promised himself that when Joey came calling that night, he wouldn't say no.

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