Helping Hands

Chrys has been dropping hints about wanting to do something different. Leaving magazines around for movies he's never seen, places he's never visited, or recipes for things he's never eaten. He's still doing something of a detox, but in the summer heat, he's a bit irritable. He's been complaining since the thick, cotton sheet found its way over his head-- and though he was certain this had something to do with his birthday, he was still putting pieces together.

“It's not the first time I've been kidnapped, asshole.”

He can't really move for his phone with his hands bound behind him, so he's quietly bellyaching about wherever it is he's been taken. Since being 'abducted', he could only pick up the subtle jingle of metal links rubbing together, what sounds like the shuffling of duffle bags?... and footsteps from hard-heeled shoes, before he feels himself shoved haphazardly into a car--or at least he thinks it's a car.

He can hear the engine, purring like a kitten, and struggles on his belly to right himself despite the lack of his arms. He squeaks as one of the heavy duffles collides with the back of his head, dazing him. But he can hear a rather sadistic chuckle… soft, but hard to pinpoint with the ringing in his ears and the slamming of the car door.

Chrysante wakes up a short time later to a slap on the cheek. Not too hard… but very familiar. He'd been slapped like that a few times, by a few different people and instinctively he strikes back with bound hands and remembers that he's immobilized by… handcuffs? 

He feels a playful scowl on his lips. 

This has Flair all over it and Flair’s easy to provoke. If he's smart about it, maybe he can get him to loosen the cuffs, or at least let him sit up.

“Hey uh… the sauna was fun and all, but this occasional, random kidnapping shit ain't gonna fly. I've done this wayyy too many times to get all hot and bothered by it, and we ain't fuckin again. I told you I'm over it.”

He hears something of a snort, but doesn't really get a response. Hmm... not taking the bait? That's not like Flair at all.

Chrys mulls over a second retort, but his ears immediately perk up, and a cold shiver runs down his back as the response finally comes-- in a nice, deep bass.

“You sure about that?”

The car stops as if cued, and suddenly, Chrys recalls the plush seating of his boyfriend's car. His blood runs cold, and the curse slips past his slips before he can reel it in.

“F-…. V?”

Chrys hears the car doors opening, and slam shut-- twice. He's moving the bags….

All at once he's aware of the awkward silence and reminded just how much he hated those. 

Before he can stew in his confusion, he's yanked out of the vehicle by his tail and thrown over a stiff shoulder like a ragdoll. He's certain it's Vance now. He can feel the nice material he always wore, and smell the conditioner in his hair as his face is suffocated by it. 

He loved that smell and despite the unease of his precarious predicament, he's practically melting into his perch. He enjoyed being carried like this.

“You almost sound scared.” Vance's voice is ominous as it trails, baiting a reply.

His steps are quiet and deliberate… only made slightly uneven by the assumption that he's carrying the duffles in his other arm.

Chrys silently kicks himself for not realizing it earlier. 

“Just a little. That obvious, huh?” He chuckles, still uncertain by the lack of ambiance. Everything was quiet now. No people. No cars… no anything in the background. Nothing to estimate a location except the sound of a key and the inevitable tumble of a lock. They were… somewhere. 

Chrys's rounded ears are pert again as the heavy door swings inward…

Everything smells… clean. Sanitized. But he's not at home; he'd have heard Tinker greet him… and Vance kidnapping him to bring him home would be anti-climactic.

That's Vance's style, sure… but not today. He was always a little bit extra with festivities.

“Not as obvious as I was hoping, no.”

Chrys heard the tone of his boyfriend's voice shift just slightly. Was that… disappointment? 

The civet flinched as the duffle bags dropped in a heavy heap on the floor. Still unnerved by the fact that he brought ‘that’ up around Vance, he was antsy. Nervous but not quite scared.

Vance had made it clear once before that the tryst wasn't something that troubled him as much as it could have. Chrys was relieved but still tiptoed around the subject with that healthy lump of guilt weighing on him. After all, he was the one to bring up exclusivity, even if it wasn't really finalized at the time.

“But we'll change that.

“We?” Chrys whispered.

“Blacklight?”

“Blacklight.”

“Blacklight?!”

Chrysante practically jumped out of his skin at the contented purr that was Flair's voice. The only thing keeping him steady was the arm wrapped around his midsection--the one that tightened very noticeably to keep him from hitting the floor from 4 and a half feet up.

“Do me a favor and get the birthday boy settled in. I'll inspect the room.”

“Mmmkaaaaay…”

Flair's mewling was always most concerning when he was out of sight. Chrysante could practically see the Cheshire grin through the fabric of his cotton hood, but struggled to identify his orientation when he was thrown once again onto an unidentified cushion.

This one was a bed, it seemed. A fancy one. His muffled landing drowned itself in the silk sheets.

Okay, now he was actually getting scared…

He could hear the zipping--or unzipping of a duffle bag first. While at first, he figured it to be Vance, the subtle purring made his mane go stiff.

“Oooohhh we're definitely gonna need one a’ these.”

“Ha. Okayy. Nice.”

“Hey!” Chrysante flinched abruptly as Flair began shouting.

“Hey Vance, where's MY stuff?”

Wherever they were, it was empty and large enough to reverberate noise. What stuff? The bags?

“Back pocket. With the other trinkets.” He heard Vance reply… from somewhere. He guessed maybe 50-100 feet away by the way the hyena’s voice carried. A 50 foot room… with a bed. It was a hotel. Had to be… 

A suite.

“Alright birthday boy, up and at em’. Time to get dressed.”

He felt paws around his hips, and immediately began floundering around, kicking his legs and flailing about like a fish on a line. It seemed to amuse Flair, who could be heard laughing as he ripped and jostled the purple pants from around his captive. It took him very little time, and Chrys pulled his legs up instinctively to hide his periwinkle boxers.

“Aww c'mon, nothing I haven't seen before.” The sweet scent of doughnut glaze got slightly more intense as the lynx leaned in close. “Quit teasin’”

Chrysante's breath caught in his throat as claws scuttled along his calves and snatched them out of the way. Before he could speak, his boxer briefs were whisked out from under him, and that subtle draft wafted in. He felt his face grow warm despite it.

“There we go. All dressed.” 

“Just in time, slowpoke. Took ya long enough.” His voice was directed elsewhere.

“Everything I requested is here. No issues. Let's get started.” Vance had since rejoined the duo, and passed something off to Flair. The subtle silhouettes were difficult to make out past the pesky blindfold, but Chrys had a hunch it was the blacklight mentioned before…

Chrys crossed his legs to hide himself and the sudden twitch of his nethers. Vance was here. Flair was here. They both knew about the other and the only reason they'd have to be together with him…

Chrysante swallowed a whimper.

Things could only go well, or go disastrously from here.