No Place I'd Rather Be...

Jonathan blinked awake some time later and found himself wincing in pain. His head throbbed with pain. He blinked and found his arms tied down tightly to the arms of a wooden chair. Across from him, he saw Patrick, once more gagged with black tape. The poor blond was completely stripped nude now, but still bound the same way, at the wrists and ankles and on his side on the couch.

The centre for the Blackhawks tried to speak to his friend, but his ears picked up the same pitiful humming sound like a bee trapped in a jar that his friend was making. His was lower in pitch, but equally distressed.

He found that he was also gagged with the black adhesive and...in shocking horror...found he was also stripped naked. What was going on??

“Oh good, both Hawkies are awake, now we can have some fun. I mean, Fred and I wanted to just fuck up blondie, but I have had a better idea,” a voice snarled. “So here’s how our last killing is going to happen. First, We’re going to lock you both in a room and humiliate the shit out you, by having you both fuck one another. Then, we’re going to carve some nice scars into blondie’s skin with our handy knife tool and repeat what we did to MacKinnon. And then, we’re going to let him recover a little bit, putting you, Jonny Boy, in solitary. Once you’ve had a few hours of the delicious memory of us slicing into your boy toy, we’re going to bring you back, slice Kanerboo’s throat open and leave him to bleed out in your arms. By then the cops should be here, but we’ll happily be arrested, knowing that you were just so close.” There was wicked laughter that followed.

“So, let’s get started, eh?” another voice chimed, eagerly.

Why did this sound so personal? It was freaking Jonathan out. His eyes rested on his friend’s scared baby blues. He tried to be brave and make his eyes soft and communicate that everything would be alright. Patrick wouldn’t be killed.

Both men came forward out of the shadows. One was a buff man with tattooed arms and brownish hair. He looked like a hockey goon or someone who worked out a lot. The second man wasn’t as muscular. This second guy had blue eyes and curly brown hair. He looked really creepy.

The creepy curly haired guy spoke first. “My name is Frederick Crosby and I am the one who stalked and captured Patrick.”

“And I’m Keith Ballard, the brains and the actually serial killer, as I’m sure you both know,” the muscular man spoke. “Fred likes conducting sexual acts, so I’m going to let him handle you two and have the fun. I’m going to get my knives ready.”

Jonathan and Patrick shared a look with one another, their eyes going wide with horror. They both attempted to scream and express their displeasure, but could not, because of the awful tape wrapped around their mouths. Fred walked over and seized Patrick under his arms and dragged him from the couch.

The poor blond’s muffled and terrified screams faded away, as he was carried off to a room in the house. He was thrown onto the bed, where he squirmed around and cried. Fred patted him roughly on the cheek.

“C’mon, Patrick, I know you and Jonny fuck all the time!”

Then he exited the room and seized Jonathan, dragging him in the chair, into the room. He was left tied to it, as the door was closed by the assistant and locked. Then he was pulled into the center of the massive master bedroom. He was stuck there.

The next thing he saw was Patrick squirming in the hold of Fred, as the man dragging him over. He halted, wrapping an arm around his neck.

“Okay, so you two are my live action dolls and I’m the puppet master, so let’s have some fun then.”

Fred tore the tape from both their mouths and flicked both adhesive strands to the side. Then he positioned the blond on top of the brunette. He made sure to stick each of Patrick’s legs through the area between the arm and the sitting part of the chair. And then moved him, so that their cocks touched each other. They both flinched at the bizarre touch, normally not minding...but this was different.

Their faces were shoved together and their lips met. But they just froze in place.

“Kiss, make out, go on!”

They did as told, scared not to. Jonathan stuck his tongue in, trying to just think of this as another love scene between them and that they weren’t being sickly forced to have sex with one another. Patrick did the same and soon they were moaning and hungrily devouring each other’s mouths.


Fred shoved Patrick into Jonathan and made him lose Jonathan’s mouth in the process. He gasped in shock and horror. He could feel Jonathan’s cock press against him and he shivered with excitement. The man sliced one of Jonathan’s hands free and moved it onto his right cheek, where he held the blond’s ass in place.

Patrick tried to move his head, but couldn’t. He remained with his head on Jonathan shoulder, while, Fred moved his hand to a different positioned, putting it onto Patrick’s cock. They both froze, not speaking. They were unable to.

“Go on, wrap your fingers around your man and fuck him!” Fred snapped.

Jonathan hesitated. “I don’t want to.”

“DO IT!! OR YOU’RE DEAD!”

“No! Just do it Jonny. I’m not losing you!” Patrick screamed.

“I don’t want to hurt you Peeks.”

“You won’t. I’ll try to not be hurt by it.”

Fred took out a gun he had in his cloak and pointed it at Jonathan’s head. “Fuck Patrick Kane NOW!”

Jonathan closed his eyes and felt his hand shaking, as he grabbed Patrick’s cock. In his left ear, he could hear the blond sobbing and it broke his heart, but he gently caressed his friend, as Fred removed the barrel from his temple and pocketed the weapon.

“Good, Blackhawks…” He rounded them, watching them keenly and then snapped. “That’s enough, ram him!”

Jonathan swallowed hard and took his shaking hand from his caress, he slowly got his index finger ready, but suddenly a hand grabbed him and forced his index finger roughly into Patrick, who screamed in shock and pain. The Blackhawk Captain’s eyes flew open and his mouth gaped open in shock. He saw the second serial killer leaning over him, his hand gripping tightly to Jonathan’s hand, keeping it in place, so his finger stayed inside of his friend. Soft squeaks came from his mouth.

“Stop fucking around, Jonathan. The more you think about it and hesitate the worse it is and the more irritated I become.”

After Jonathan was finally able to remove his finger, Fred had found a roll of black duct tape and had it on his arm. He dragged Patrick off of the chair and his friend and shoved him back onto the bed, where he continued to cry. The serial killer returned to Jonathan and sliced his other hand free but rapidly taped his wrists together in front of him. He cut his legs free from the legs of the chair and then yanked him to his feet. He led the brunette man over to the bed, but ordered him to stand a few feet away from the edge. He reached over and yanked Patrick up and forced him to stand, facing Jonathan, who glimpsed the cloudy, tear-stained blue eyes of his friend.

Fred grabbed Jonathan’s arms and lifted them up and then lowered them over Patrick’s head, so that they looked like they were in the middle of a slow, romantic dance. Patrick’s legs remained taped together, so they probably weren’t going to dance.

Jonathan couldn’t help himself though, he leaned forward and pecked Patrick on the lips. He murmured, “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this, Peeks.”

They broke apart and then blond gazed up into his friend’s brown eyes and nodded. But suddenly, Jonathan lost his balance and fell forward, onto Patrick, who was squashed beneath him. They both yelped in unison, but Jonathan’s arms let go of Patrick’s head. He struggled up, feeling their cocks brushing together.

Suddenly the Blackhawk Captain was grabbed by Fred and yanked upward and dragged down Patrick’s body. He was sat to the side of the body, while Patrick was rolled over and his legs were spread apart. Then Jonathan was flung into the free space and his hands landed on Patrick’s ass. He was startled and could see the blush that appeared on the blond winger’s face.

Fred grabbed him again though and moved him into the desired position, lying Jonathan, so that his cock was in the center of Patrick’s ass and then Fred forced him into his friend again, roughly jamming him into place. Patrick screamed again and jolted on the ground. He wriggled in place in discomfort, but Fred made Jonathan come and it made the younger superstar scream at the top of his lungs in agony.

Then Fred shoved Jonathan backward and narrowly made him miss hitting his head on the nightstand. The Captain rolled to the side, heaving and gasping for air. Patrick squirmed as Fred unzipped his pants and jammed himself in place, to relieve his stress and satisfaction. It made Jonathan crazy mad though. He lunged forward at the serial killer and knocked him to the side.

“You sick pervert, don’t you dare do that again!” Jonathan snapped. “Stay the hell away from him!”

Fred recovered, cackling and seized Jonathan by his hair and dragged him back toward the wall, where he flung him against it. “Don’t tell me what to do, Jonny Boy. I’m in charge here, you aren’t. But I think we’re done fooling around. After all, that was the last time you’ll EVER get to fuck up Patrick Kane again.”

“Go to hell!”

Fred grabbed the roll of tape and wrapped it around Jonathan’s mouth. “Shut up, Jonathan Toews.” He ripped it and pasted the end in place and then walked back over to Patrick.

Jonathan squirmed on the floor, trying to get his hands free from the strong tape, as he watched in horror as the evil man yanked Patrick to his feet and slapped him hard on the ass, giving him a nice red mark. Then the man made out with the blond winger’s mouth, while groping him roughly and grinding against him.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes and muffled an angry comment at Fred, working twice as hard to get the adhesive off of him, so he could save him friend.

But before he was almost successful, Patrick was once more on the bed and gagged with the tape again. He was whimpering and his chest was heaving up and down. Fred wrapped some more tape around Jonathan’s wrists and then around his upper arms and breasts. He was also dressed once more, in his boxers and jeans and dragged back to the chair. He was sat in it and taped to the back of it, while his legs were taped to the legs of the chair as well.

He was dragged from the room and back to his spot in the main room. He continued to struggle to get free, but soon saw Patrick being dragged back out of the room. The blond had his pants on once more, but his ankles bound together. He was dumped onto the couch on his side again.

“It’s Keith’s turn, boys. And you’re a good fuck Patrick Kane...damn!” Fred sneered, as he grabbed Patrick’s crotch and purposefully squeezed him hard in front of his friend. “You have good tastes, Jonny Boy.”

Fred walked off and vanished from sight. There was some awkward and horrifying moments of silence, before Keith Ballard walked in, carrying his knife, which he clearly meant to terrify them both with, as he slid it across the sharpener once more. It’s sharp blade glistened in the dim light, as the man set the sharpener to the side of where Patrick’s head was.

Keith whistled a catchy tune that sounded like “Be Prepared” from The Lion King. He placed the knife blade against Patrick’s face and leaned down. “Alright, let’s see, where to start my picture. Hmmm...let’s ask Toes, should we?” He spun around, gleaming. “Hey, Toes, where should I start? I can make a nice scar on his cheek, or maybe his forehead...or...I could start on his chest.”

Jonathan shook his head and tried to muffle something like, “Don’t hurt him.”

“So, you want me to start on his chest then? Okay.” Keith spun back and lowered the blade. He quickly slashed Patrick’s skin on his right breast, drawing blood. Then he slashed him again at the neck and clavicle and then a third time under his left breast. “Looking gorgeous.” Keith stopped and wiped some of the blood with his finger and then licked it clean. “Not bad. You got some good tasting blood there. Man, Patrick Kane, you are some special man! You’re the best little hostage to date!” He grabbed Patrick’s chin and jiggled his head around a little bit, before taking the knife back into his hand.

Now he sliced Patrick’s cheeks and then slashed the corner of his eye, careful not to jab him with the blade. And before long, blood trickled down the blond, covering him in a crimson paint. It dripped onto the couch and the floor and even Keith.

Jonathan was horrified, but unable to keep from watching.

Keith made one final laceration, slicing Patrick down the arm that was up to him...his left. Then the serial killer put the knife to the side and walked back out of the room again. Patrick groaned and wriggled in place in discomfort. His eyes were closed tightly and Jonathan could see the red droplets trickling down his face and over his eyes and nose and even taped mouth.

Poor Patrick, Jonathan thought. He had to help him, but how?

He didn’t have much time, before Keith returned and had a smoking curling iron like it once belonged to a woman and he’d stolen it. He began to burn Patrick, which made him squeal and squirm more. His feet bucked, as he desperately tried to free them, so he could kick Keith or escape, but the tape held him in place.

When the awful burning was done and Jonathan was to the point where he had had enough, screaming at Keith and struggling violently in the chair, the lead serial killer put his items away finally and then dragged the Blackhawk Captain and the chair toward a different room. This one was smaller and almost like a closet or a small office room. He was hauled inside and then shut in there in the dark.

There, he left Jonathan for his isolation part of the killer’s plans. And as he sat in the dark, softly whimpering and crying for Patrick, his poor blond friend, he began to realize that they didn’t have much more time left to live. When Keith returned, the man he called “Peekaboo” would be murdered.

How could they escape now? They were done for. Chicago was going to lose them and it was all Jonathan Toews’ fault. He had fallen for the trap. The killers knew him too well and knew how to make him mad and because of that stupid email, he yelled at Patrick and hurt him. And he had pretty much set the trap for Patrick and for the killers to capture him. It was all Jonny’s fault.

“Peeksy,” Jonathan muffled the sad name into the tape and dropped his head in defeat.

Notes

Poor baby Blackhawks....it's almost over though.


Next up: The Rest of the Awful Torture.... :(