Chapter Text
Of course, there was fear the moment Style woke up, half-naked, his arms and legs bound tightly with a soft cord. Immediately, he began trying to wriggle out, the binds becoming impossibly tighter the more he struggled. Being bound was a turn-on, but not when you were kidnapped.
"Help!" he shouted, looking around, trying to gauge where he was. He sat upon an old diving block, and in front of him was a drained outdoor pool, the cracked concrete stained white from the sun.
"Somebody! Help me!"
And if he shrieked the words a few more times. hysterically, well, it wasn't for no reason, right?
More moments passed by in a panic, his breathing turning into short, sporadic gasps. And just as Style tried again to wiggle out of his binds, his heart hammering against his ribs, he stopped when a low, pissed voice spoke over the cloud of fear that made his vision go blurry. "Stop shouting and shut up."
Style stiffened and immediately ceased his struggling, and he held his breath longer and longer just to keep himself from shouting "why?" over and over again.
Slowly, he turned his head, and there was Fadel, already lifting his arm to point a gun at his head. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, and you guessed it: fuck.
"No one can hear you here."
Style's heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. Shit, Kant was wrong. He wasn't safe, and Style was right all along; Fadel absolutely would chop him up into little pieces once he found out. And it was clear Fadel knew about his and Kant's secret now. Their little conversation they had the previous day during the BB gun game had Style feeling as if Fadel already knew then. Well, clearly, he did. And now Style was going to die at the hands of his boyfriend.
... They were still boyfriends, right?
"What are you doing, Fadel?" he panted out, trying his best not to freak out, feeling little shocks of fear that made his limbs feel numb and his head cloudy. "Why did you tie me here half-naked?"
Fadel moved in closer, his eyes hard and not revealing any of the sweet warmth that had been there for Style before. His throat worked and his nostrils flared in barely disguised anger. Betrayal. "I'm making you talk. Tell me the whole truth."
"What truth?" Style blurted out, feeling as if his heart was going to break into two. If he felt like this, he couldn't imagine what Fadel was feeling. He wanted to say he wasn't working with the cops but if he did that, then Fadel would think he was lying and kill him faster.
"Style." Fadel stepped into his personal space. Style could smell him. Sweat and heat and him. His fingers tightened on the handle of his gun as if to make sure Style knew that, if it came to that, he would not hesitate. "Quit the bullshit. You and your friend have been fooling me and my brother." The next words that came from his mouth were practically spat in Style's face. "You work for the police."
Style shook his head, unwanted tears welling in his eyes at the tone. Fuck— that tone was enough to make him fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. "Fadel, listen-"
He pushed the muzzle of his gun to Style's temple, and Style whimpered. He had no other choice but to tell his boyfriend the truth. "So tell me the whole thing," Fadel hissed. "You will talk, even if it will be the last thing you'll ever do in your life."
There was a sudden feeling of wanting to die right there. Style felt like he deserved it. It was clear he would at the hands of Fadel's anger and hurt, but he couldn't leave with Fadel thinking he worked for the cops and that everything was fake.
His love wasn't.
"Fadel, I don't know anything about those cops." A deep breath from Style, and Fadel seemed to be listening intently, so Style hurried on to explain. "Kant asked me to take you out, so you could leave him alone, and so that he could freely investigate you guys."
Style realized that those words probably didn't sound good and scrambled to fix it, but Fadel was already interrupting him with a stern voice, one that he would use for scolding him. And, shit, that was sexy. But not now. Not with a gun pointed at him.
"What did he get out of it?"
A pause, in which the wind whispered around the empty pool, the slight whistling not helping soothe Style's frayed nerves. "He didn't say; I don't know," he answered shakily, yet, since this was Style, there was a bit of sass embedded in the last few words. "I agreed. That's it. The truth."
Fadel just tightened his grip on the gun. "Where did your friend take my brother?"
Style felt a little bit of his fear leave him, which he was grateful for. Fadel didn't seem to be above torture, so he was just glad Fadel hadn't yet shot off his balls or something just as drastic.
"I'm looking for him, too." he replied sassily, flinching when the barrel pressed closer.
"Stop fucking lying," Fadel hissed, and oh, that tone did things to Style's body. He felt himself flush, completely unbidden. Fadel being all hot and pissed did something for him. He needed help. Fuck, and lots of it.
"I'm not lying!" he insisted, panting a little. "Some nurse said your brother took him and ran away."
Style held Fadel's fierce eye contact and prayed that he'd believe him and take that fucking gun away. The sight of the gun on him was thrilling, in a absolutely terrifying way, but Style couldn't dismiss the way his blood both ran cold and burned hot at the sight.
Fadel didn't move, but his expression flickered with a thousand different things, his jaw jumping in frustration. Yet, the gun remained pointed on him. Style didn't miss the way the fingers on Fadel's other hand flexed angrily, his broken arm laying limply in the cast, useless. Completely unsolicited, Style reminisced just how good that hand had felt all over his skin, and just how those fingers would feel buried knuckle deep inside his tight—
He didn't allow himself to finish that thought, so he took his sinful eyes away from Fadel's burning stare, glancing away, squeezing his eyes shut, in hopes it'd lessen the effect. But, goddamn it, it was difficult.
"Don't hurt me, Fadel," he said, his voice a near whine and— fuck, it sounded like he was about to beg. For what? For Fadel to stop? To get on with killing him? Or to keep doing this because, apparently, it was turning Style on beyond what was socially acceptable? "I know I worked for the police." Fadel's eyes flashed dangerously as Style dared to glance back again, so Style hurried to continue.
"But that was before I knew who you were." Style's voice had calmed some, though the breathy tone that underlined those words was unmistakable and Style hoped to whatever gods above Fadel didn't notice. "Now that I know you—" Fuck, might as well say it, he's probably going to die, anyway. "—I love you, Fadel."
Fadel's eyes revealed so much and so little at the same time, but those words made a look of pure agony spread over his features. He reacted, placing a foot up and onto the diving block, leaning in threateningly, and the sudden movement startled Style into snapping his mouth shut with an audible click. "Shut up! Say you love me one more time, and you'll be at the bottom of this pool."
Fuck, there were those words, threatening with murder and Style still felt his mind go dizzy with a strange mix between fear and arousal. The sudden proximity didn't help, either. Fadel didn't believe his feelings. That made his chest squeeze, but the prospect that Fadel was so pissed off was so fucking attractive that it wasn't fair, and, really, it wasn't Fadel's fault that he didn't believe him. If this were to happen to Style, would he believe the words, too? Or would they sound fake as well?
"I'm telling you the truth, I promise." Fadel had heard those words several times in the past, well, however long they were there for. Yet Style still pressed on, because, surely, if he said it enough, then it'd have to sink in. "I wouldn't lie with a gun to my head like this. Believe me. Please. Untie me and I'll help you look for Bison and Kant."
There was something vulnerable there in Fadel's face, as if he wanted to but didn't. After a few beats of him studying Style, Fadel's grip loosened just slightly, but he didn't lower his gun.
"I hope you know I don't believe you. I'm not stupid, and I won't allow myself to be blinded by what we had," Fadel hissed, before continuing in an even darker tone that sent chills down Style's spine. "And when we find your friend... I'll kill him, and after that..." He leaned closer, their faces inches apart, the gun nearly touching the flushed skin of his face. "...and then you."
And as he said those words, Style felt his face burn further. The ever-witty Style was too full of a piercing fear—one that gripped his soul and thrashed it around—to blurt out a sassy or joking retort. There was also an exhilarating spark that zipped through him as he took in Fadel's fierce eyes. Though this situation was dangerous, he couldn't deny the arousal pooling low in his belly. Oh, god, not the time, Style.
Fadel didn't seem to notice, too busy glowering threateningly. His next words were chilling, spoken so low and full of dark promise, Style thought they could send ice skittering down the bones of even the most experienced serial killer. "You chose the wrong man to fool, asshole."
Style didn't think he'd enjoy hearing an insult like that come out of Fadel's mouth, especially with such venom, and especially especially considering the current circumstances.,
Despite knowing fully well that he'd most likely end up dying here, Fadel looked like sin right about then. He looked sexy and menacing, and his eyes burned so brightly, making Style unable to hold eye contact. Instead, he flickered down, landing on Fadel's lips that were currently pulled into a furious grimace.
But he could recall just how soft they'd been when kissing him, and how he'd sometimes nip at his lips, just so that Style could gasp and let Fadel's tongue snake in like it belonged there—
Damn, his dick seemed to enjoy the danger. At least he still had his boxer briefs on. Thank the lord.
"I can't stand looking at you," Fadel spat, tearing Style out of his reverie. I should shoot you right now, were the unspoken words Style knew Fadel was currently thinking. The pain in Fadel's eyes and words made his chest clench. Because Fadel had every right to hate him and want him dead, and nothing Style said was going to change that. Maybe. He'd betrayed his boyfriend, hurt him like no one else ever had, and Style wished he had a damn chance to prove that all of this had been real. That he still loved him, and all that time they had spent together meant more than anything.
"Well, I can't stand you waving that thing in my face," he hissed instead, all his previous feelings of gripping panic and distress slowly melted away, leaving him feeling a little hollow and more than a little bit defiant. He raised his chin in said defiance. But he hadn't anticipated that Fadel would press the gun closer to his cheek, nearly knocking his head askew with the force of it. Ouch.
"You think you're funny?"
Yes, he was very much aware of his comedy talent, thank you very much. Except, now, Fadel's expression was downright murderous. It made Style swallow thickly, trying to calm his erratic breathing. This was it. He was going to get a bullet in his skull, Fadel would be rid of his betrayal, and everything would be okay for him, minus his broken heart.
"I might," he murmured weakly, averting his eyes from Fadel's intense gaze again.
"Look at me."
His head snapped back up, looking right into Fadel's furious stare. A spark of electricity passed through Style at the harsh command. What was he doing to him? In any other circumstance, this would be fucking hot, but the fact that a gun was threatening him kept any more heat from gathering in his groin.
Shit, who was he kidding, if there were any more blood rushing south, he'd likely pass out. But he was aroused, regardless. Goddammit.
He was doomed if Fadel noticed the growing bulge in his briefs.
"Please don't shoot me, Fadel." A beg, a plea. And something within him—maybe instinct or something more—urged him to keep going, to talk. Because, right now, Fadel's finger was twitching against the trigger, which had Style both feeling hot and also fearing for his life.
But did Fadel really hate him enough to put a bullet through his head? What about all their times together? Did it mean nothing? He knew Fadel thought it was all a ploy, that it was all lies and deception on Style's end, but it wasn't, so, fuck, maybe he needed a reminder.
As those thoughts flooded his mind, the following words simply rushed out of his mouth. "Don't you remember our dates? The kisses we shared? That was real love I showed you, you know. I wasn't faking it."
An agonized, angry groan slipped past Fadel's lips, the gun trembling a bit more as Fadel's nostrils flared and he drew in a deep, shaky breath. "Stop talking."
But Style grew bolder despite the weapon aimed directly at his forehead, now lightly brushing against the slick skin. His adrenaline was spiking, keeping him on edge. Keeping him turned on unwittingly.
"All the times we fucked—"
The abrupt movement made Style's sentence cut off with a pathetic little noise as the muzzle was pressed harder against his face. Fuck, it stung, but it didn't quell his desire one bit. Shit, that wasn't good, but then Fadel was growling right in his face, his words sending more—Pleasant? Fearful?—shivers down his spine.
"Don't test my patience, or I'll shoot your dick first and watch you suffer as you bleed to death."
It seemed like something straight out of a movie, only this was real life and the threat felt like another stab to his heart, and yet Style just got turned on even more, the mix of arousal and pain somehow working in the oddest ways for him. Before Style knew what he was saying, the following words burst forth and they were no less incriminating.
"Oh yeah? Come on, pull the trigger, Fadel," he challenged, lips quirking into a lopsided smirk, which turned into a slight grimace as Fadel tapped the gun lightly against his face, but he wasn't about to back down. Not now. He was riding this new wave of defiance, hoping it was enough to show Fadel he wasn't afraid anymore.
So, when Fadel placed the muzzle of the gun back onto his forehead, Style lifted his chin higher, leaning his head into it, while holding Fadel's hard stare. And, boy, was Fadel's face close, so close and deliciously handsome. Now if only Fadel didn't plan to shoot him where he sat. And he hoped Fadel still felt something, something akin to love or respect so that he wouldn't shoot.
"I do love you," Style whispered, a bit of fight leaving his body slowly, making him feel pliant and vulnerable under that scrutiny. His smile dropped and left behind something much more sincere. "I told you this is real. Like I said, I'm not gonna lie, especially when you have this—" he looked up with his eyes, which crossed a bit from the action, jerking his head a little as he did so before looking back forwards into Fadel's steely, expressionless gaze. "—pointed in my face."
Another beat of silence passed by them, Fadel's jaw working as he stared Style down, but his resolve seemed to be weakening because, for just a moment, his gaze dropped to Style's lips.
"I won't make it easier for you." Style let those words hang there for a moment, their intent crystal clear. If Fadel was going to kill him, then he was going to be stubborn about it. "I'll sit here until you untie me so we can go find Bison and Kant. If you don't kill me. That's what I'll do." When Fadel's hand visibly faltered, just slightly lowering the gun, Style continued in a firmer voice. "You don't scare me anymore. Do whatever you want; I'm not gonna say anything else."
And, really, there was a thrill when Style saw the way Fadel's eyes glowed with a heat that matched Style's. His mouth opened a couple of times as if he was going to speak before closing again, lips pressing together into a firm line.
"I'm waiting, baby." Well, so much for not saying anything else. But the words had bubbled up his throat before he could catch them. The following seconds where Style could barely breathe felt like hours upon years as he watched the subtle play of emotions flicker over Fadel's face.
"Untie me," Style requested with just a slight tremble to his voice, as he felt sweat start to gather across his brow, adding to the thin sheen that was already there. And then he added one final plea. "Please."
And Fadel blinked, once, twice. Then, slowly, he lowered the gun, eyes staring holes into Style. It was like he didn't trust himself to speak and, frankly, neither did Style, but at least that fucking thing was no longer pointed at him. It was starting to make him less scared and more aroused, which definitely wasn't a good combination in these situations, he should imagine.
They studied each other in a heavy, tense silence for what felt like forever, but after a moment Fadel pushed himself away from the diving block and motioned with the gun for Style to come closer.
Confused, Style wriggled where he sat, trying to find leverage to scoot back, but with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied in front of him, dangling down towards the empty pool below him, there wasn't a whole lot of leverage for him to find purchase.
"Move, come here," Fadel hissed, sounding a little impatient.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Style asked incredulously, a little bratty, earning him a fierce glare that definitely did not send another wave of arousal through him, nope. Style kept wiggling backwards, moving a few centimeters closer to the edge where the old concrete met the old diving board. "My hands are literally tied here, babe."
Style ignored the way Fadel's eyebrow did that adorable little twitch, and continued shimmying closer towards him, trying to ignore the gun pointed in his general direction. Eventually, Fadel took pity on him and grabbed onto the center of the cord around his bound wrists with the hand still holding the gun, dragging him back and off of the concrete block, causing him to fall unceremoniously onto his ass, which hurt more than a little bit.
A groan escaped his lips as Fadel forced him into a sitting position, Style's back facing him as he kneeled behind him, cutting the ties around his wrists with what was most likely a hunting knife. As soon as the cords fell to the ground with a light thud, Style brought his arms forward and rubbed at his wrists, the skin a tad raw from the chafing caused by his struggling against the tightness. He vaguely registered Fadel cutting the binds around his ankles.
He also couldn't ignore how sensitive his skin was, tingling a little more from the rope burn, and a flash of an image came to him: him being held down with Fadel looming over him, holding a whip or a paddle of some sort, leather most likely. Him moaning, begging for—
O-kay
Oh shit.
It seemed, despite almost having been murdered and still probably was going to die a gruesome death, he was very much still a horny Style, and a horny Style meant he was a bratty Style, and bratty Style had a lot of nerve. And even though Fadel would probably see the evidence of his arousal in about 0.5 seconds the moment he turned around, that bratty side of him was overriding every logical response telling him to not act on his impulses.
He could already see it: Fadel forcing him to turn around, seeing just how hard he is, and fucking him into the hard concrete, muttering praises and litanies of filth, only to finish inside him... or on him. Wherever Fadel's cum would land, Style would be happy all the same.
Still stuck in his fantasy, Style could practically hear Fadel's words. 'I believe you, Style, I still love you,' and then Fadel would kiss him into oblivion, thrusting into him without mercy, and oh—
The sudden brush of Fadel's fingers along the top of a shoulder reminded Style of exactly where he was and who he was with, and he forced himself to breathe deeply.
"Do you believe me?" he blurted suddenly, feeling Fadel stiffen behind him. A small sound caught in his throat, and he hoped he wasn't treading on ice too thin and about to plunge himself into a lake so cold it would cause immediate hypothermia.
"No," came Fadel's immediate reply, and it was so honest and full of hurt, that Style felt like crying for having caused such pain. So he spoke before he could stop himself.
"But I do love you—"
"You don't have to say it again!" Fadel yelled, voice echoing across the concrete, the sounds reverberating around in Style's eardrums, repeating again and again in his head. "Turn around."
The sudden command had Style's stomach swooping with arousal, even while his chest seized up with guilt and regret.
"What—"
Style was practically manhandled, which was impressive considering Fadel was using only one hand, which still held a gun within its grasp, and Style's ankles were still useless.
"Say that again. I'll shoot you right now. Right. Here." he emphasized his words with two harsh taps to Style's temple. There was an unmistakable power and control oozing off of Fadel, and, god help Style. He was about to be murdered, and still felt his cock twitch in the confines of his briefs. They were tented, blatantly showing how aroused he was.
Breathing through the sudden pain, Style's lashes fluttered as he panted, meeting Fadel's heated stare through pain-squinted eyes. It took a long moment for him to think of a reply, but when he did, it poured from his lips before his internal filter could, well, filter it.
"Yeah? Then do it," he dared, head raising up defiantly as he watched Fadel's expression twist in anger. "If you want to kill me so bad, don't hesitate, go ahead. I'm right here. I don't think you will, though."
Oh, he should not have added that last part, because Fadel looked downright furious. A sneer stretched Fadel's lips, eyes burning so brightly they sent shocks right to Style's core, which did a number on his ability to breathe.
"You don't think I will?"
The words were cold, surprisingly devoid of emotion, despite the clear anger on his features. He made his point more clear, slowly clicking the safety off and placing the gun teasingly against Style's cheek, smushing his face to the side just a tiny bit.
Style's mind spun rapidly, fiercely, because the safety clicking either meant Fadel never intended on shooting him this entire time, or maybe something he said placated Fadel enough to make him place the safety back on at some point during their heated conversation. Maybe? His mind struggled to pinpoint an exact moment, but none came forth.
He licked his lips, tilting his head up a little more, forcing himself to meet those blazing eyes without flinching away, even as his insides squirmed, but it was far from fear.
It took a beat for Style to find his words, but when he did, they spilled out of his mouth without reserve.
"I think you won't because—" He cut himself off, unsure of what he was about to say. But he forced the words out because he knew they'd push all the right buttons. "Because you're all talk."
"I'm all talk?"
"Yeah."
"Huh," Fadel mused, clicking his tongue. He moved his hand, finger tensing on the trigger, and with a flash of pure terror going over Style's face as his eyes widened, Fadel pulled his finger back.
There was a loud bang.
A very loud bang.
Style had already flinched, but luckily his face was still intact and he was very much not bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to his temple, which was a nice surprise.
Blinking almost lethargically, Style forced himself to look at Fadel, his ears ringing loudly from the gunshot. There was something in his gaze he couldn't pinpoint, so he left the burning stare and let his eyes drift downwards a bit. Fadel's arm was aiming past his head, out over the vast expanse of the empty pool basin. Smoke was lazily drifting into the air from the barrel.
Well, then. Was that a warning or did Fadel really not want to shoot him?
His brain short circuited and tried rebooting itself as the situation began to catch up with him. His head was still intact, he was not bleeding anywhere, and Fadel was right there with him, all hot, sweaty, angry, and just Fadel. Style's lips curled up into a weak half-smile at the thought that came to mind. His heart hammered against his ribcage. It grounded him. Just for a second.
"If that was supposed to scare me, you failed. It just turned me on even more."
Fadel blinked.
And blinked again.
Style thought maybe he had stunned the other man, which would be quite amusing in any other situation, but as it were, Fadel had a dangerous weapon in his hand, so he didn't dare laugh and press his luck.
Then Fadel reacted, his eyes flashing dangerously. He surged forward, pushing Style back onto the hard ground and pinning him there with the weight of his body, hovering over him in such a menacingly domineering way that it made Style's dick twitch happily. His wrists were held down firmly by Fadel's lone functional hand, the hard metal of the gun pressing uncomfortably against the small bones there. His grip was unrelenting, keeping his wrists above his head, his legs accidentally spread wide apart. Fadel stared down at him with so many emotions swimming in his gaze: want, anger, hate, betrayal, sadness... love?
Fuck, this wasn't good at all. It shouldn't have made Style feel so exhilarated, but it did.
"So you wanna get scared, huh?" Fadel taunted lowly, eyes boring into Style's.
But Style didn't falter, even if his breathing was noticeably uneven. Instead, he pushed into the touches more and leaned his face up to Fadel's, which were inches apart now.
"I want to be terrified of you." Their noses brushed briefly as Style tilted his head upwards in invitation. The next words came out in a needy, sultry whisper, a beg: "Fadel."
With his heart beating so loudly that he was sure Fadel could hear it, Style didn't care about his current position of still being partially tied up, lying underneath the one person who wanted him dead but also wanted him badly, evident by the hard shape digging into his hipbone.
Fadel gave him a look, a look that stole his breath right out of his lungs. It wasn't tender nor sweet, it was hungry, desperate, hateful. Like he wanted nothing more than to devour Style and leave nothing behind. And maybe that is exactly what he would do. It sent a chill down Style's spine and sparked a fire in his lower stomach.
"Then so be it."
