by Kevin H. Robnett
NewTrek RPS PWP NC-17 Gay Erotic Fiction (Slash, if you prefer)
Chris Pine/Karl Urban/Sasha, the glistening pink butt plug of doom
Karl Urban was a bastard.
A sneaky, sadistic little bastard with a perverted little mind and a wicked little smirk. And a little dick.
A tiny little dick.
And a lot of rope.
Which, of course, he knew how to use. Really, really well.
Maybe he'd been a Boy Scout, or whatever those Aussies had.
Wait, wasn't it lifeguards? Isn't that what all the good little Aussie boys did after school? Dress up in speedos and funky little swim caps and jump into the pounding surf to rescue dogs and race each other and then stand on a pristine beach holding that freaky looking oar thingy gazing artistically out at the ocean as the sun set?
Karl in a speedo. Young Karl in a speedo. Dripping. Wet.
Owww, fucking ouch god damn it!
Karl Urban was sneaky little bastard.
Maybe he should have been a Boy Scout. Maybe then he could reach the god damned knots. No, he'd need to be a gymnast to reach the fucking knots, he'd need to be a Boy Scout to untie the knots and then he'd need to be stoned-out linebacker to beat fucking Karl's head in with a shovel and piss down his neck.
He'd heard that in a movie somewhere.
Too bad he'd never heard what a sneaky little aussie bastard of a cunt Karl Urban was in a movie. Or in one of those interview shows on TV. Or, you know, on a blog somewhere. Wasn't Harry Knowles supposed to know shit like this? "Do not tease Aussie bastards as they are mean little bitches and think tying you up naked and leaving you in a closet while they go out to get drunk before coming back and fucking you senseless is a fun evening. This especially means you, Chris Pine. Go play hide the tricorder with New Spock instead. You'll be better off at the end of the day."
No, instead he had to go and fall for the accent and the facial hair and the smile when they met, and then fall even more when they filmed their scenes and hung out and drank each other under the table. There was something incredibly hot with Karl spouting off "disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence" in his "Bones" accent and demonic scowl in take after take and damned if that didn't make him harder than hell, and wasn't that a prophetic turn of phrase he was too stupid to run far, far away from. That smile? That eye fuck/twinkle? How could he say 'no'? How could he say anything but 'yes'?
"Um, Pine. I'm heading over to catering after this scene. You want anything?"
"Say, Chris, got plans for tonight? Wanna go grab a handle in the bar and watch the footie?"
"It's just a piece of rope, Mate. Drop your gear and I'll show you a trick Viggo taught me."
"Hey, Bro, got a little wrap pressie for you. Thought you'd look pretty hot in a collar."
"Easy, Chrissy, let me just lock this cage on your dick before you get too excited. Don't want any accidents, do we?"
"Here, Bitch. Assume the position and wrap your laughing gear around this!"
Fucker.
Ouch! I know you're "Kiwi", God-damn it! Stop hitting me with that thing!
Knees!
Floor!
Feet!
Together!
Thighs!
Spread!
Fingers!
Laced!
Hands!
Behind my head, Sir.
Elbows!
As high as my ears?
*crack*
Elbows!
UP AND BACK, SIR
Chest!
Out!
Abs!
Tight!
Keep that ass off those heels!
Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!
So maybe Lord of the Rings was his favorite movie of all time. Maybe blond elves with pointy ears and Aragorn, son of Arathorn kept his eyes glued to the screen for twelve hours straight. Maybe dark, angry, frustrated sons of kings barking orders made his toes curl. Maybe he was fucking in lust with Karl "Eomer of Rohan" Urban even before he knew they were casting for a new, "reimagined" Star Trek. What were the odds? Maybe he jerked off twice the night before the first meet-and-greet and then the morning of and again right before he left the house and then once more ten minutes after shaking his hand and giving him a "Hiya" and "loved you in Rings" and "great to be working with you" and "see you tomorrow". He'd run to the bathroom and barely got his zipper down before he exploded all over the stall wall and John Cho was laughing his ass off. Bastard.
Six months he's known the man, now, and he's still hard in seconds just thinking about the Kiwi.
It was the scowly face.
Or hair.
Or maybe the accent.
Mmmm, that accent.
Ouch. Fuck. Assinine cock cage.
Thank God the dickhead's going back to New Zealand for a quick visit. He's got to leave me the key. I can't stand being in this damn chastity belt for much longer. He hasn't let me jerk off in days. He wouldn't....
Fucker did. God damn it! Thank God he's coming home soon.
It's been two weeks. He's got to be coming home soon.
Asshole. Two God-damned months. Why the hell is he still Down Under?
Karl, where the fuck are you?
"Hey, it's Chris. I'm not available to take your call. I'm out getting wasted somewhere in West Hollywood. Or trashed off my ass in my bedroom. Either way, leave a message and my PA will get back to you. As soon as I get a PA. Later!"
Beep
"Chris."
Oh, God.
"If I turn my webcam on, will you be where you're supposed to be?"
Yes, damn it! I'm in position. Even though it's 2 am in California and my knees are killing me and it's now my birthday and you're in god damned fucking New Zealand!!
"Do you know what I found in my inbox this morning?"
Fuck, no.
"Simon sent me pictures of you running around town wearing that ridiculous red flannel shirt I thought I told you to get rid of. Wasn't that what I said, Chris? To get rid of all those nasty, tasteless shirts you like to wear? Get rid of them, since whiney little bitches don't get to wear shirts any more? Wasn't that what I said, Chris, not to wear those shirts any more? Did you think I was joking?"
Please, Karl.
"Do I need to be more forceful? Would that get you to take what I say more seriously? Since you can't follow a simple little order, do I need to take away all your clothes? Let you walk around naked all day, every day? Would that break this nasty little habit of not doing what I tell you? Would you walk around town for a cup of crappy coffee with just that cocky little smile on your face? Or would you have everyone come to you, you pathetic, selfish prick? Do you want to answer the door, just like you are now? Let everyone see you in that tiny little cage? The mailman, the take-away guy, your drinking buddies? Think Zach would get a kick out of that? His hot young co-star answering the door naked, locked up and horny."
I'm sorry.
"He's already panting after your tight little ass. Should I let him have you, Chrissy? Let him bend you over that expensive dining room table your mother bought you and fuck your tight little hole until he comes up your ass? Would that get you to listen to me? Because I'll do it, fucker. I'll have him bring all his pervy faggot friends over and let them have a go at you all day until just sticking a finger up your arse makes you scream in pain. Remember the last time I fucked you so hard you couldn't stand to be touched down there? Multiply that by twenty. Slut like you would probably enjoy a gang-bang. Should I give him a call, Chris? Should I get him and his pals to stop by and take care of your whorish little needs?"
Please, Karl, I'm sorry. What ever I did, I'm sorry.
"Bugger, did I just see your lips move? Are you fucking talking back to me, you shit-brained fucker? Do I need to teach you some fucking manners? Will a night on the dildo pole teach you to keep your fucking mouth closed unless it's wrapped around my dick? I can have you dancing on your toes in an hour, Captain Pussy-Boy. All it would take is a phone call. And my mates wouldn't be gentle with you, Chris. You try and fight them, and they'd hurt you, bad, and force you to do anything they wanted and then stuff you on that plastic dick like a bug on a pin. Would that be enough for you? Eight hours, dancing on your toes, skewered up the ass?"
No, please...just....
"Are those tears, you little fucker? Are you crying, boy? STOP SHAKING, you pussy whining CUNT!! Can't you even kneel in position without fucking up? Do you need another round of cropping? Do I need to whip your pretty pale skin until you remember how to keep still? Can't you do anything right, you sloppy little prick? Or are you acting up just to piss me off? Is that it? Do you need it so bad you are screwing up on purpose? Making me angry enough so I punish you?"
No. Please. I'm not.... Just don't...please don't...
"Look at you, dripping like a fountain, cock hard and needy and bulging out of that tiny little cage. Look at it, Chris. OPEN YOUR GOD DAMNED EYES AND LOOK AT IT, CHRIS! Look how fucking hot and needy you are, you little slut. How long has it been, Chrissy? Cry-baby Chrissy. How long since the last time you got to shoot your load and moan my name and just enjoy a mind numbing screw without being in agony? How long? How long since you stood up to pee? How long, Captain Pussy-whore, since you were even close to being a man?"
Seventy-three days. Two and a half months since Karl had fucked him into the floor, gotten on a plane without so much as a goodbye and flown out of his life, giving him orders from so far away, a voice cussing on the phone, spying on him via webcam, teasing him unmercifully night and day. Running him ragged and then leaving him to wait. Just wait. Punishing him, no, making him punish himself for each mistake, each screw up, imagined or real. Whispering horrible, dirty things to him over the phone and over the internet, whispering less, calling less, spying less, needing less, wanting less. Drifting further and further away each second, each moment, each breath, each beat. Seventy-three days since anyone had touched him. Anyone at all. Please, Karl. Please, God, don't fucking leave me here alone....
"How bad do you want it, Bitch? How bad do you want a hot, hard dick up your ass? How much are you willing suffer just to know I haven't forgotten about you. How many men can I have screw you as you scream and beg me to make it stop just so I won't ignore you? How many dicks will you suck and swallow just to hope that you can worship mine again? How low will you sink just so I won't throw you away like the trash whore you are? Slut. Cunt. Dick. Bitch."
A hand roughly grabbed his hair, yanking hard, jerking his head back until he was looking up into the light, looking up at Karl looking down at him with such want and need and desire. He'd never heard the door open, never knew the bastard was even in the country. Fucker. Dropping the cell phone to the floor, Karl's suddenly free fingers pried open his mouth, fucking his face held painfully still. Using him like he so desperately wanted to be used. Touching him as he needed to be touched.
He knew he was still crying. He couldn't help it, couldn't stop. Weeks of repressing and worry and fear and sleepless nights and throwing up his food and this heavy lump of despair in his guts all gushing out in a hot torrent of tears. Scalp aching, neck strained, back arched and desperate to come, knowing it could be another forty-eight days -- if not longer -- before he'd even get a hint of relief, of hope, of *Karl*, there was only one thought in Chris Pine's head. One glorious, needle-sharp point of focus. The only words he could ever say.
Yes, Karl. God, yes. Anything you want. As long as I can stay.
"Tell me, Chris. You have to say the words."
Maybe it was the hair. Or the horse. Or even the leather that made him lust after Karl. But he loved the man, the hot and horny bastard that listened to him, really listened, and gave him everything he wanted or needed, things he couldn't even ask for. Not yet. And he hoped he gave that insufferable cunt everything he wanted or needed or desired, too, because Karl-Heinz Fucking Urban deserved it just as much as anyone else on the planet, if not more. And he was the perfect man, the perfect lover, the perfect everything to give it to him. I love you, he wanted to say. I need you. I want to be with you forever. He didn't think Karl was in any place to hear those words. Or even if Karl would ever want to hear those words. So he tried to convey his love in other ways. Maybe someday....
"Fuck me, Karl. Fuck me hard. Pound me into the carpet until I pass out from the pain. Screw my mouth until I'm too hoarse to scream your name. Make me your slut, your whore, your..."
With a roar, Karl threw him flat on the ground, mounting him like a bitch in heat. Thank God he had taken the time to stretch and prepare himself, only hoping he'd be allowed to fuck himself with a dildo sometime tonight. To have Karl here, now, fucking him instead, was a dream he didn't even think possible. He cried harder, even as Karl pounded into him, unable to stop, hoping he never woke up, and this was truly the last thing he ever remembered. He didn't want to go back to being alone. He didn't want Karl to leave. Don't leave me, Karl. Please don't leave me. So alone....
He came to in the bed, wrapped in soft cotton sheets he'd never had the chance to sleep on. Sunlight streaming in the windows, warming the white sheets. He was clean, and dry, and for the first time in a long time his dick was hard and erect. Karl was wrapped around him, arms holding him tight, gently rocking him, silent tears sliding down wet cheeks from closed eyes as he whispered words into Chris' ear like a ghostly visitor.
"I'm sorry, so sorry. Please forgive me, Chris. I'm sorry, so so... Forgive me, Chris. I didn't know you felt that way. I'll never leave you again, I promise. So sorry, Chris. I'm so sorry I took so long. I'm sorry I didn't hear you. I love you, Chris, so much. I God-damned fucking love you...."
The corners of his lips curled up, the barest ghost of a smile. No need to get overly sentimental, not after finally hearing the words he'd been hopelessly waiting for. They weren't going to talk about their feelings with each other like a pair of girls. He had an image to maintain. Chris Fucking Pine. After all, he really was an insufferable cocky bastard, even before playing Kirk. But that didn't mean he couldn't bask in the moment, enjoy each word and syllable tripping out of Karl's mouth, whispered softly into his ear. Soak up the heavy weight of his lover covering him like a thick blanket. Warm, comfortable, ass aching pleasantly, feeling safe, protected and definitely loved, Chris drifted back into sleep. He needed the rest. They were about to have a very busy week. Karl was here now, and he was never letting him get away again. He fondly hoped he'd remembered to stock up on rope.