Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

Jack/Vaughn, part 3

It needs a title, doesn't it. Any suggestions?



III.

He'd never minded calling Jack "sir" before--he was a senior agent, after all--but he was damned if he'd do it in this situation.

"You should be rebellious, but stoical--as if you're expecting rescue."

"Jack, I know how to act." He stood in front of the closet door's full-length mirror scrutinizing himself. He looked stupid. He tried to find an upside to his outfit, but all he could come up with was: no leather pants. Instead, Jack had found him a pair of low-slung faded jeans. And that was it. Collar and jeans. It was fucking chilly, too.

I have nipples, he thought, staring at himself despairingly.

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

Having cut his lecture short, Jack seemed more relaxed. Jack relaxed was a gun with the safety on. "I assure you, Agent Vaughn, that I am not 'loving this'. You would not be my first choice of sexual chattel."

"That is so not the point."

"Are you ready?"

"I'm fucking freezing, you know that, right?"

"Don't whine." Jack said this with a perfectly straight face, but the asshole *was* enjoying this, Vaughn could tell.

He remained stiff while Jack cuffed his hands behind his back, and gritted his teeth as he trailed the other man out of the hotel room. It was a discreet hotel, catering to an ultra-rich clientele with a variety of specialized tastes. As they passed a maid at her cart, she nodded deferentially, not even blinking twice at the sight of a shirtless, barefoot man in a slave collar and handcuffs.

In the elevator, they stood next to each other, each of them staring straight ahead. Vivaldi lilted from the speakers, setting a weirdly jarring mood.

"Maybe we should talk about how much of this is going in our reports," Vaughn said, bringing up what had been on his mind since last night.

"Maybe you should stop talking."

They said nothing else as they descended to the lobby. The indignity of walking across the marble tiles half-naked and barefoot in full view of staff and guests made his skin itch and his face heat. Only in a place like this would everyone assume that he was a fully willing prisoner. It wasn't as if he wanted civilians butting in to offer help, but it kind of freaked him out knowing that no one would.

Sydney and Weiss were waiting with Mislov in the limo. They sprawled in the seats with the air of the entitled rich, Sydney holding a water bottle, Weiss a glass of what looked like club soda. Mislov had his customary vodka. Jack pushed Vaughn into the limo with no gentleness, landing him on the floor between the seats and then climbing in after him. The gesture smarted; he compressed his lips to keep from mouthing off--he'd do that when he had better reason to.

"How is your prize this morning?" Mislov greeted Jack.

Comfortable in his seat as the limo pulled out, Jack yanked Vaughn back against his knees by the collar. His fingers were hot between neck and band and Vaughn didn't have to pretend very hard to shudder.

"Cranky," Jack said, lifting his hand to thread fingers through Vaughn's hair. "He feels unjustly used."

Mislov threw back his head and laughed hard at that one. Sydney giggled along and even Weiss laughed. Hilarious, Vaughn thought in irritation, but he recognized that it had just gotten more serious. At this point, a normal man would be traumatized and desperate--reactions that Jack had already gone over with him in what had been an interminable twenty minutes or so.

Keeping this in mind, Vaughn lowered his head and clenched his fists, trying to look like a guy who'd been raped the night before. Jack stroked his hair.

"Is he worth the trouble, do you think?" Mislov had a way of sitting with legs apart, to allow his paunch to rest on his thighs. Vaughn had an eye-level view of things he would rather not envision.

"Oh, yes." Jack slid his hand around Vaughn's head and cupped his jaw, lifting it up as if to give Mislov a better view, or maybe just to make a possessive gesture. "He's very...biddable."

Vaughn twisted his face in mock rage and tried to wrest his head from Jack's grip. "Fuck you," he said in a furious tone.

"Would you like the gag again?" Jack asked, the question almost polite. "I brought it with me."

Sulkily, Vaughn clammed up, but Jack wasn't done.

"Answer me," he said, "or I'll make you do things in front of my daughter that would shame a civilized man such as yourself."

Genuinely shocked at how close to home that struck, Vaughn couldn't stop himself from looking at Sydney. Her face betrayed a flash of dismay before she masked it.

"I don't want the gag." He paused and then made himself say the word: "Sir."

"Good boy," Jack said in a pacifying tone, and stroked Vaughn's head again as the limo rolled through the streets of Prague.
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