Uh... Steve?
Chapter 2 - Too Much Time on His Hands

Jonathan awoke to a pounding headache. Disoriented, he allowed himself a few moments to figure out where he was and why. He was laying on his back atop some sort of hard surface. He turned his head to see what it was. A table. Hard wood and tiles. He'd never seen it at Steve's before. He tried to sit up and found that he couldn't move his arms or his legs. He twisted his wrists and legs frantically and found that they were tied to the table with heavy rope. He felt a breeze across the top of his body and realized with a shock that he was naked. Neal was nowhere in sight.

Jonathan turned his head in the direction of the breeze and saw Steve closing the door to the deck. He must be in the rec room. He remembered it from the days when they had still been on speaking terms. The whole wall on the side that led to the deck was made of glass, as was half of each connecting wall. It created the effect of there being the mother of all bay windows on that side of the room. Great, Jonathan thought. Not only am I naked and spread-eagled on a table, but I'm in a fish bowl.

Jonathan was about to ask Steve what the hell was going on when Steve turned to face him. Gone were the dark jacket and shirt he'd been wearing in the coffee shop. Instead of the tasteful black slacks were slick, tight black leather pants. But the sight that bothered him the most was the riding crop Steve carried. Steve walked lithely toward the table and looked down at Jonathan with a sweet, sensuous smile on his face. "Sleep well?"

"What are you doing?" Jonathan asked.

Steve cracked the whip on his chest causing him to cry out. "Tsk tsk," he chided, his tone still sweet. "You didn't answer my question." Without warning, Steve licked the red stripe he'd put on Jonathan's chest. He straightened up and asked again, "Sleep well?"

"Y-yeah," he replied shakily.

"Great," Steve said brightly. He walked away in the direction of the bar and rooted around for something. When he returned, he had a bucket of ice with him. Steve climbed up on the table and knelt between Jonathan's spread legs.

"Uh... Steve?" Jonathan asked, trying unsuccessfully to scramble away. "Steve, what are you doing?"

Steve didn't answer. Jonathan heard the clink of ice being moved. He was about to ask again when he felt strong fingers under his thighs. Startled, he tried in vain to scoot away, but Steve was holding him firmly, inching up to his butt, digging in places Jonathan didn't know existed. When Jonathan thought he couldn't stand anymore, he felt the shock of a large piece of ice being shoved unceremoniously up his ass. If he could have jumped off the table and run all the way home naked just like that, he would have. As it was, all he could do was scream bloody murder. Steve stayed between Jonathan's legs a moment longer, then climbed over his straining body to sit on his shoulders. He smiled that oh-so-sweet smile. "Now I have to check on my other guest," he cooed, slowly drawing one finger down the side of Jonathan's face. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't you go anywhere, beautiful. I'd be mighty upset if you did." Steve smiled again, laid the whip against Jonathan's chest, then jumped off the table, slipping outdoors to the deck again.

Steve walked over to the center of the backyard where he'd left Neal. He lay on his side, gagged, completely naked, with his wrists and ankles tied together behind him execution style. He was just starting to come to. Steve got the garden hose and brought it back to Neal, making sure he had plenty of slack. He raised the hose above his head and brought it down with all his force. Neal gasped, practically choking on the gag. Steve hit him again and Neal gave a muffled shout. He squirmed away from Steve. Steve watched, letting Neal get about a foot away. Then he said, "Neal, you're tied up, ass naked in my backyard. Just how far do you think you're going to get?" Neal lay still, panting.

Steve put the hose down on the ground so that the nozzle pointed at Neal's face. Then he went and turned it on full blast. He picked up the bucket he had set ready and brought it over to where Neal lay, sputtering and trying to get his face away from the hose. Using his foot, Steve turned Neal over so that he lay uncomfortably on his back. Leaving his foot on Neal's chest to hold him in place, he said, "Do you know what you are?" Neal stared at Steve without answering, wide eyes registering confusion and fear. Steve stomped on Neal's stomach. "I asked you a question, God damn it! Do you know what you are?!" Neal shook his head quickly. "You're a dirty bastard, that's what you are," Steve hissed. "And I'm gonna get you clean if it takes all fucking day."

Neal's eyes widened even more and he tried again to squirm away. Steve stepped back and picked up the hose. He set the nozzle to spray a hard stream and hosed Neal down. Then he reached into the bucket, which he'd filled with lemon juice, and pulled out a scrub brush. He'd bought it only a few days ago, so the bristles were still good and stiff. He proceeded to scrub Neal down. He ignored Neal's muffled cries, his head-shaking and (eventually) his tears, scrubbing vigorously until every inch of him was raw and red. He blasted Neal with the water hose again. Then Steve stood over Neal with his hands on his hips. He shook his head. "Still dirty," he said. He poured the remaining lemon juice over Neal, making him scream in pain, then scrubbed him again just as thoroughly. He hosed Neal again, then nodded, satisfied.

Steve looked down at himself. He was wet all over, even on his fine leather pants. "Look at these pants!" Neal wasn't paying attention. He was edging away again. Steve kicked him hard in the face. "Look at these fucking pants! This is your fault, you filthy bastard! You're gonna pay for this, you hear me?" He kicked Neal again. "You're gonna pay!" Steve stalked back into the house, ignoring Jay's shouts. He went to the kitchen and pulled out the 25 pound bag of salt he'd bought at Sam's Club. He took it out to where Neal was busy worming his way toward the gate. He stopped the moment he saw Steve. "See this?" Steve asked, holding up the bag. "This is what you get for fucking up my pants."

Neal shook his head vigorously. He made unintelligible sounds that Steve assumed were pleas for mercy. Not that he cared. He ripped open the bag and poured the salt all over Neal's naked form. Neal screamed loud enough to be actually loud despite the gag. Steve stood and watched, arms folded, while Neal continued to scream. Then, when the guitarist started to roll around in the grass trying to get the salt off, Steve rolled his eyes and hosed him down again. Neal lay there, shaking and crying on the ground. Steve knelt down near his head and leaned in close to whisper in Neal's ear. "I'll be back in a little while. If I find you've been a good boy, I might let you come in the house. If not... well, you'll find out, won't you?"

Now. Time to attend to Jonathan. Steve walked slowly toward Jonathan. He was quiet now, looking frightened. "What... what did you do to Neal?" he asked.

Steve shook his head and held a finger to Jonathan's lips. "Shh," he crooned. "Don't you worry about him, beautiful." He stood back from the table so that Jonathan could see him take off his spoiled pants. He tossed them into a corner and climbed onto Jonathan's chest. He leaned forward and licked Jonathan's face from his jaw to his hairline. Jonathan gasped and turned his head, trying (and failing) to escape Steve's attentions. "What's the matter, baby?" Steve asked. He ran his hand through Jonathan's hair, stopping half way through to tightly clutching a handful and squeezing hard. "You don't like me?"

Jonathan's mouth worked nervously, but nothing came out. Steve's somewhat stern expression transformed into one of disgust and Jonathan began to look even more nervous. "It's ridiculous!" Steve cried, suddenly flinging Jonathan's head away so that it struck the table. "You've got such a handsome face! But I just can't fucking stand this THING!" He pinched the small square of hair on Jonathan's chin and yanked at it. Jay winced. Steve pursed his lips. "It's got to go. Now."

Jonathan watched Steve walk away, lifting his head so he could see over his outstretched arm. When Steve was out the door, Jonathan laid his head back down slowly. It was throbbing even more now since Steve had let it bang against the table. Damn tile. Who's idea was it to put tiles on tables anyway? And his chin hurt. He didn't know why Steve had a problem with his little tee, but he wasn't going to argue with him over it. Steve had obviously lost all sense of perspective and reasoning. He heard the door open and looked up again. Steve was back. He was still naked and Jonathan could see that he had the beginning of an erection. Jonathan's eyes widened in alarm. Then he felt the telltale signs of arousal in his own body. Steve grinned, apparently pleased. Thoroughly ashamed, Jonathan closed his eyes. He could feel himself starting to blush.

When Jonathan opened his eyes again, Steve was standing next to the table, looking down at him with his hands behind his back. "Now, Jay. I've had enough screaming for one day, so I don't want to hear any more noise. If you don't cry out, I promise I'll make it all better when I'm through."

Before Jonathan could ask why he should even be worrying about crying out when all he was getting was a shave, Steve moved behind the table. He leaned over Jonathan's head, his long black hair falling gently around Jay's shoulders and chest. Jonathan shifted and smiled a little, tickled by Steve's hair. Steve smiled back. "That's right, baby. You've got a pretty smile. I'm gonna make it prettier." He gently touched the underside of Jonathan's jaw and stroked him a little. Without warning, Steve took Jonathan's jaw in a vice-grip. Jonathan's smile faltered. Steve clucked and shushed him as if he were a fussy baby. "Where's my pretty smile, Jonathan? I'm not gonna hurt you. Much."

Jonathan's eyebrows shot up. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?? Suddenly, there was a sharp pain under his lip. He gasped. There was another sharp yank, and without thinking, Jonathan yelped. Steve frowned, sighed, and shook his head. "I thought I told you I didn't want any noise. Now I have to punish you." Still shaking his head, he brought a pair of shiny tweezers into view. "I should do this anyway, you know. It's been bothering me for years that you wouldn't groom yourself any better than this, sweetheart." If Jonathan could have melted through the tile, he certainly would have. His eyes crossed as he tried to maintain sight of the tweezers. Then he felt an awful yank in his nose. His eyes watered, only partly involuntary reflex. He tried to push Steve away, forgetting about his binding. Steve went on plucking his nose hairs as if he couldn't feel Jay straining against him. Jonathan tried shaking his head to get Steve out of his face, but Steve just dug his nails into Jonathan's face. "Stop it," Steve warned through clenched teeth. "Or I'll head south with these." Jonathan stopped instantly. "Good boy," Steve whispered, his cold expression belying the sweetness of voice.

Steve finished in Jonathan's nose and returned to plucking his chin. When Jonathan thought he couldn't take the pain any longer, Steve stood up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "All done! And since you were such a good boy after our little talk, I'll give you your reward anyway." Steve strolled to the other end of the table and picked up the bucket of now-melted ice. He smiled and drank some of the cold water, letting it dribble down his chin and chest. When he finished, he put the bucket on the floor and climbed on the table. He crawled over Jonathan and sat on his chest, the same naughty smile on his face. Jonathan started to ask what kind of reward didn't involve untying him when Steve opened his mouth, showing him a small piece of ice. Uh-oh, was all Jay had time to think before Steve bent down and licked the now bare patch underneath Jonathan's lip.

"Whoa! Yeah, okay, good, thanks!" Jonathan spluttered, wishing very much that the phone would ring or the mailman would come or the fire department would come and declare the house unfit shelter or China would start World War III or anything to get this fucking nymphomaniac the hell off him.

"Oh, no, beautiful. Not nearly good enough. You deserve much more than that. You always stood by me in my time of need, no matter what the crowd thought. And that's good, baby. Cause the crowd ain't here now, right, baby?" Steve scooted back until he was sitting on Jonathan's erect member. Steve wriggled a bit, as if checking for the proper fit, then leaned forward again to lick his unwilling partner's chest. Jonathan twisted his hips around, trying to get from under Steve, but Steve just arched his back and pressed harder. "Yes, sweetheart, keep doing that. I like it when you fight."

Jonathan tried a new tactic. Then you won't like it if I don't fight. He lay still, ignoring the urge to struggle. Sure enough, Steve reacted with dissatisfaction. Steve rolled his hips, trying to get a reaction, but Jonathan resisted. Finally, Steve stood up and put a foot on Jay's groin. Oops, Jay thought, wrong move...

"I thought I told you to keep DOING THAT!" Steve pressed just a little, not quite enough to hurt. "You know what? I don't think you deserve to be in here anymore than that dirty fuck in my backyard. I think you're worse than him. I think you're a two-faced sonofabitch. And I also think you should never, ever try reverse psychology on me. Wanna know why?" Jonathan nodded, not wanting to risk anymore pressure between his legs. "Because it works, beautiful." Steve lifted the other foot, putting all of his weight on Jonathan.

Neal could hear the scream outside. Oh, God... He wasn't so sure it was any better inside if that's what Jay sounded like. Neal inched toward the house, trying to get himself situated so he could see inside. After a few tedious moments, he saw Perry standing on a table, where Jay was stretched out on his back, screaming his head off. It took Neal a few moments to register what he saw. Oh, GOD!! Outside definitely works.

He flopped around, trying to find something sharp enough to cut through his binds. He'd been searching fruitlessly for a few minutes when he heard the door close behind him. "And just who the fuck told you to come look at us?"

Neal froze. Fuck! He lay still, hoping irrationally that Perry would cease to notice him. Instead, he felt cool fingers on his back, a surprisingly gentle touch after the lemony-fresh scrub-down. Maybe if he held his breath...

"Do you wanna come in?" Perry asked gently. "I think Jay's lonely. I know he doesn't want my company. Maybe he'd like yours instead." Neal felt the backs of Perry's fingers against his cheek, as his captor whispered in his ear. "Yes. I think he would. I know he'd like your company better than I would. You're just too fucking dirty for me." Neal shut his eyes, afraid of another 'bath'. Instead, he felt the gag ripped out of his mouth, swiftly replaced with the yucky taste of cold, wet grass and muddy topsoil. "See? You even like to eat the stuff," Perry said, grabbing more dirt and shoving it in his mouth.

Neal choked and spit, trying not to swallow, and hoped like hell he wasn't going to die there. Of course not, he thought, Perry has a career to think about. If he ever gets off his ass. Perry got up and trotted over to the shed in the corner of the yard. Neal watched him go in, could see one of Perry's legs stick out the door while he leaned over for something, then watched him come back with a wheelbarrow. The singer jogged over to the other end of the yard, retrieved the garden hose, and turned it on. He hosed the wheelbarrow down, then himself, then turned the hose in Neal's direction. "Hold your breath."

Neal closed his eyes and waited for the spray. Maybe I get to go in the house now, Neal wondered. He knew Perry liked his house super neat. Always so fucking particular. Neal thought about the number of times Perry had gone ballistic over spilled juice in his trailer or cracker crumbs in the car. The last time he'd gotten all worked up was when they were shooting the video for "When You Love A Woman". Perry damn near fell on his ass he was so worked up over some fucking spilled soda on his red sweater. They'd had to change his outfit then and there because he would not wear that dirty shirt if he had to work in so much pain.

Pain. He's not in pain. He's not in pain. He's not in pain! Neal's mind became a broken record. When the hell? What the hell? When? What? He's not in pain?! Huh? Did I miss something? When the fuck?? Neal was so concerned with the impossibility of Perry's complete recovery that he hadn't noticed being dragged into the wheelbarrow until he was asked what the fuck did his wife feed him. Neal opened his eyes and saw Perry standing a few feet away, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. "You're not in pain," was all Neal could say.

"Wanna bet?" Perry straightened up and stretched, arching his back. Neal wasn't sure if it was to work out the kinks of old age, get him hot and bothered or both. Perry sauntered back toward the wheelbarrow, looked at Neal, laughed, and went behind him. Neal felt the wheelbarrow tip forward a little bit, then saw the house get closer to him. He was glad the crazy man behind him wasn't dragging him unceremoniously through the grass. He'd just started to relax when the wheelbarrow was tipped completely forward, dumping Neal face first on the deck.

Steve dragged Neal the rest of the way into the house, finding a perverse satisfaction in the way Neal winced when his still-raw skin scraped against the wood. Jonathan was still whimpering when he entered the rec room. Steve scowled, remembering the way Jay had refused to respond to him. There was nothing he hated more than indifference. "Stop whining, you sorry little bitch." With his free hand, he smacked Jonathan across the face hard enough to leave a red hand print. "There's nothing wrong with you!"

Jonathan gasped and Steve could tell he was trying not to cry. "Steve, please. Why are you-"

"Shut up!" he shouted, slapping him again. "You're out of favor right now, Jay. I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut. However," he said, softening his voice a little, "I'm not a complete monster." He went to the bar, found a knife and took it over to Neal. The guitarist edged away, but Steve yanked him back. He cut the rope that attached Neal's wrists to his ankles, then pulled Neal up by the hair so that Jonathan could see him. "See? I brought you a playmate. But I have to get him ready first." Steve smiled at Neal, then dragged him out of the room.

"You need a bath, Neal. If you think for one minute I'm gonna make love to you in that disgusting state, you have another thing coming." Steve dragged Neal into the bathroom and locked the door.

"Wait! Wait! You don't have to do this, Stephen, wait a minute, please, don't hurt-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Steve was shaking with fury. He got in the bathtub, pulled Neal in, and got back out. He reached back in the tub to turn the hot water on, and went over to the cabinet to find some soap. Don't hurt me. Oh yeah, like you're so fucking kind. Dirty fucking bastard sonofabitch. He went back to the tub, where a whimpering Neal was curled in a ball at the far end of the tub, trying to avoid the steaming water. "Dirty fucking bitch! Get in the goddamn water! Water never hurt anybody, you stupid fuck! Get in the fucking water!" Steve was hysterical, yanking Neal's arms to unfurl him, punching and scratching in his fury. When Neal tried to fight, Steve pushed his head under the steadily rising water. "Get in the water! Dirty, dirty, dirty bastard!!" he screeched, pushing Neal's head deeper with each word. He let go to catch his breath and turn the faucet off, and Neal popped up, gasping for air. When Steve cut his eyes to Neal, the guitarist crouched down in the too-hot water, just keeping his nose above the water level.

"Good boy. Maybe I can get you clean enough to touch after all." Steve looked at the bottles of cleansers and soaps he'd dropped when he turned back to the tub. He selected the largest bottle and opened it, holding it away from his nose. "Phew! I hate the smell of bleach!" He poured all the bleach in the tub, waving his free hand in front of his face. "Man, that's awful! Believe me, Neal, I wouldn't even bother, but they say nothing kills germs like chlorine, right?" Steve smiled cheerfully at an obviously panicking Neal. "Now, you sit there and soak, okay? I need to check on the whelp." Steve stood and pivoted on his heel, unlocking the door. "Oh, and Neal? Don't try anything. m-Kay?"

Steve padded back to the rec room. He found his knife and cut the rope holding one of Jonathan's legs. When he turned to start on the other leg, Jonathan kicked Steve in the face so hard he saw stars. Steve staggered back, trying to keep his balance. He's gonna make me kill him. Steve returned to the table, avoiding Jonathan's free leg. He put the knife on the floor and put his hands on either side of Jonathan's face. "Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid you are? C'mon, pretty baby. Guess." Before Jonathan could attempt an answer, Steve lifted Jay's head as high he could and slammed it on the table, knocking Jonathan senseless. Idiot. Steve went back to cutting the ropes as if nothing happened. He tied Jay's ankles together, then wrapped more rope around his legs so he looked like a giant worm. Kick me now, you stupid fuck. He tied the pianist's wrists together, leaving extra rope so Steve could pull him around by it. Maybe I can pull your arms out of their sockets or something. See how you like it when that dirty fuck kicks you out of the band. Steve pulled Jonathan down the hall, past the bathroom, and stopped in front of the linen closet. Steve pulled out his black satin sheets, stuffed Jonathan in the closet and shut the doors. He looked around for something to barricade the closet doors with, and spotted his cane on the floor in the front hall. Steve grabbed it and slid the thing through the handles. Steve went upstairs to make the bed, checked the room twice, and headed back down to Neal.

He expected to see any number of things when he opened the bathroom door. Neal hanging over the bathtub with his head in the trash wasn't one of them. Steve sighed and crossed the room to open a window. "How convenient of me to leave that for you," Steve sighed. He reached in the tub and pulled the drain. "Stinks in here, doesn't it?"

Neal looked up weakly, nodded slightly, then lay back in the tub, eyes closed. His skin looked awful. Steve looked away, shoving down the twinge of guilt threatening to rise. He's not my friend anymore. Swallowing, Steve reached for the cold tap to rinse Neal down with. Neal jumped under the frosty spray, but he didn't object.

"Okay, that's enough pampering, you dirty bastard. It's time to soap up." Steve grabbed an economy-sized bottle of liquid hand soap and dumped it over Neal's head. "What are you crying for now? It's just soap. That never killed anybody, either." Steve was gentle this time, using his bare hands to smooth the slippery stuff over Neal's body. Neal shifted when Steve touched his chest. "Don't try to run, Neal. You know you want this. You just wouldn't ever take a bath."

"Just do what you're gonna do, Steve," Neal begged.

"I am. Can't help it if it takes all night to finish." Steve turned the water back on and rinsed Neal off yet again. Steve pursed his lips. I ought to send him my fucking water bill. He patted Neal down gently, mindful of his red, chaffed skin. "Do you want me to take the ropes off?"

"Please, Steve. I wanna go home," Neal whimpered.

"That's not what I fucking asked. Do you want the ropes off or not?" Steve felt his patience slipping away again.

"Yes. Uh, please."

Steve glared at Neal for a long moment before cutting through the ropes. He placed a hand on Neal's butt, and tried to look as severe as he could with his hand there. "Don't try anything funny, or I'll scratch you good." Neal's face registered disgust, then horror, then acceptance. "Good. Out." Steve let Neal out of the bathroom and, letting go of his derriere, led him upstairs to the master bedroom.

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