Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: William Brandt/Victor VonDoom, William Brandt/Ethan Hunt
Work-safeness?Warnings: NSFW, slash, non-con, orgasm denial
Summary: When Ethan insists it's his turn to seduce the rich guy, that's not how Brandt expected to spend his birthday. Especially when it all goes south. They can keep the card and presents, he'll settle for them coming to get him. Right. Now.
Notes: Victor VonDoom showed up because he was the first one who came to mind when I thought of "evil international rich guy"--and because the idea of Julian McMahon snarking and smirking his way through this scene was too delicious not to write. Hope you enjoyed it!
Brandt knew his mission had gone pear-shaped when the room started spinning. Yeah, his drink had tasted a bit off, but his host was drinking from the same bottle, so he’d chalked the odd flavor up to the peculiar brand of Latvarian whisky…his last thought as the world faded away was that Ethan would never let him live this down.
When Ethan told him his objective was to seduce the wealthy head of a small European principality, Brandt had been delighted. Hell, once he’d seen a picture of the guy—cold blue eyes, dark curly hair, an arrogant smile—he’d been hooked. The fact that the IMF’s schedule had him meeting the target on Brandt’s birthday, well, that was just the icing on the birthday cake, so to speak.
Slowly, his eyes come back into focus. His quarry—still fully dressed, damn it!—stands nearby regarding him. Being chained naked to a wall in an actual dungeon isn’t his idea of fun. He should probably be alarmed; this isn’t at all how things were supposed to go, but instead Brandt feels warm, maybe a little drunk, and he smiles.
“Is this your idea of foreplay?”
VonDoom raises an eyebrow. “Foreplay? Let me get my whip.”
“Kinky,” Brandt responds, and tries none-too-successfully not to smile. He has to remind himself that this isn’t the kind of scene with safewords and that Victor VonDoom has left a trail of bodies in his wake as an international arms dealer.
“You were planning to seduce me?” Victor asks, moving a little closer.
“Yup, that was the plan. See, today is my birthday, and I thought it would be a nice bonus. Bring a bad guy to justice, get a little something-something on the side.”
Oops. He’s guessing there was a little truth serum in whatever that hell-brew was, because that was definitely giving away TMI.
“Really?” VonDoom produces a passport—Brandt had had it in his jacket pocket, along with his Latvarian visa and condoms—and studies it. “So it is. Not exactly the surprise party you had in mind, eh?”
“I’m still having a better day than Kenny,” Brandt tells him. This isn’t something he usually discusses…must be that truth serum. “My twin brother. Identical twin.”
“Is he an evil twin?” VonDoom asks, sounding almost playful.
Brandt sighs. “No…see, our folks split up when we were five, and I never saw him again. Later on, I Googled him to see if I could find him, and it said he died in Iraq. So, I may be having a bad day, but I’m still having a better day than he is.”
“How heart-warming. You should sell that story to Disney…although they’d probably have to leave this part out….” Victor wraps a hand around Brandt’s cock and strokes it. Brandt enjoys a moment of confused pleasure as the other man stares up at him, frosty blue eyes studying his reaction to the caress. Then he squeezes a little too hard. Brandt winces.
Victor loosens his iron grip and coaxes Brandt to full hardness. Squeezes again. He repeats the cycle until Brandt is whimpering, and honestly isn’t sure if it’s from passion or pain. There’s enough play in the chains that he can rock his hips, pumping into the fist that controls him. His orgasm is building, pressure begging for release, but VonDoom isn’t going to be so merciful.
“Please,” Brandt begs. “Please—let me—I need—“
“Please?” Victor echoes, leaning against his victim, eye-to-eye, fingers clamped around the base of Brandt’s cock. “For someone who was going to ‘bring a bad guy to justice’, you have a lot of nerve, asking me to satisfy you.”
“I did mention I was going to seduce you first, right?”
“So you were going to seduce me, then lock me up. Instead, I’ve locked you up, and make no mistake—this is not a seduction.” Cruel pressure underscores his words, followed by fingers lightly circling the head of Brandt’s cock.
He’s going to have bruises, if he lives long enough. This is some of the roughest rough trade he’s had since a certain unsanctioned mission in Amsterdam and he’s torn between hoping the team will come crashing to the rescue because he’s missed his check-in and that rescue or no rescue, Victor will allow him one final climax.
It’s too bad he didn’t get Victor into bed, because if his foreplay is any indication, he must be a virtuoso cocksman. His other hand has gone to work cupping Brandt’s ball-sac, and the helpless agent shudders. There’s teasing and threatening, raising him toward an orgasm than he denies with a ruthless grip from his other hand.
Periodically, VonDoom leans against him, promising worse things to come, torments that are simultaneously terrible and arousing. Victor himself only fuels the fantasy, handsome and aristocratic in his perfectly tailored suit, giving off a heady aroma of expensive cigars and a bespoke cologne that smells like honey and brimstone. From time to time, he even rubs his crotch against Brandt, the friction of the wool suiting fabric like sandpaper against his hyper-sensitive cock.
Time stands still. Brandt isn’t sure if it’s even if it’s the same day. It feels as if he’s been suspended on the verge of unspeakable pleasure forever. He aches in a way he never has before, worse than any beating he’s ever taken. He isn’t even sure cumming would relieve the pain, at this point—but he’d really like to find out.
His balls are throbbing, his cock is tender and everything in between is a raw nerve where Victor’s been mauling him. And then…Victor stops. Stops stroking, fondling, gripping. Stops the teasing dry-hump, the intimate press of contact, the vivid litany of abuse.
“Oh dear,” Victor says, looking at a red light that’s glowing on a panel beside the door. “I’m afraid play time is over. So sorry. I was enjoying that.”
“No! You can’t—wait!”
VonDoom is already at the door. “Happy birthday to you,” he croons and blows his prisoner a kiss, departing the dungeon with a wicked grin. Brandt swears inventively. If he could will himself to orgasm, he would. Failing that, a very long, very cold shower would be good.
There’s a commotion somewhere down the corridor, and a moment later, Ethan appears in the doorway. He pauses, appraising the scene before him. Usually, he’s got a perfect poker face, but Brandt can see his colleague is fighting a laugh. And what’s he going say, “This isn’t what it looks like?”—because it totally is. He finally says, “Think you could give me a hand here?”
Ethan applauds, chuckling. Brandt glares at him.
The team leader saunters into the dungeon, smiling as he studies the situation: the chains, his bare-assed colleague with an erection straining upward and leaking pre-cum. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” he comments.
“No shit. What time is it?”
“You missed your check-in two hours ago.”
They’d had drinks, and he’d scheduled four hours for the seduction that hadn’t exactly happened. Allowing for being unconscious…”I’ve been like this for about five hours,” Brandt groans. “You want to get me out of these damned chains?”
“I have the impression you like being chained up. I heard about Amsterdam.”
You’d think blushing might relieve some of the discomfort he’s feeling, what with the blood flowing to his face, but it doesn’t.
Coming closer, Ethan rubs his hands together vigorously. He checks his watch. “I have eight minutes to rescue you before Jane comes in to rescue us.”
“It isn’t going to take that long, believe me,” Brandt says. “Pick the damn locks and—what are you doing?!”
Ethan’s hands wrap around his hips. They’re cooler than Victor’s hands, and Brandt shivers as they glide up his body, getting him accustomed to the touch of a very different partner. “Please,” he whispers, eyes closed. “Please….”
It doesn’t take much. When Ethan cradles his balls, Brandt moans and a flurry of practiced strokes brings his release. A hoarse cry echoes from his throat. It’s wonderful and excruciating at the same time and it seems to go on and on until he’s exhausted.
He’s hardly aware that Ethan has used some gadget from his pocket to snap links of the chains binding him to the wall he’s sagging back against. When Ethan produces a coverall and helps him into it, Brandt doesn’t waste neurons trying to figure out how he’d known it would be needed. It’s all he can do to walk, leaning on his team leader, as they make their way to the van at the extraction point outside Castle VonDoom. He takes a seat very gingerly indeed, closes his eyes, and doesn’t remember anything else about their getaway.
When Brandt awakens, he’s in a bed—he recognizes the penthouse suite of the Grand Latvaria Hotel—and he feels rested. A little sore in places, but nothing that’s going to slow him down for long. During his nap, the dangling cuffs have gone from his wrists and ankles. He stretches.
Distantly, there’s a knock at the outer door of the suite. Ethan’s talking to someone, and then the voices get close enough for him to hear.
“You were supposed to let him seduce you, you idiot!”
“Details, details,” Victor says. “I don’t think he was too disappointed.”
Oh really? Brandt rolls out of bed—he’s still wearing the coveralls—and retrieves something from his luggage. He stalks into the other room, where there’s a hanging banner reading: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! and a fancy cake on the table by the window. The usual suspects—Jane, Benji and Stickell—sit frozen in a tableau as he prowls past.
“Excuse me,” he says to Ethan and grabs Victor’s arm. He’s slapped on the handcuffs before the other man has a chance to protest. “Start the party without me.”
With the bedroom door closed behind them, Brandt flings Victor back onto the bed. “Let’s get something straight,” he says, peeling off the coverall. “This isn’t a seduction. You already passed on that. This is payback.”
“But I’m not the bad guy you thought I was,” VonDoom objects.
“Bad enough,” Brandt retorts, stretching out on top of him. Victor had him for five hours? Payback is worth at least ten.
Brandt is already planning how he’s going to reduce that expensive suit to rags to get to the man inside. It’ll be like tearing the wrapping paper off of a particularly enjoyable present. Yes, it’s definitely going to be a happy birthday….
From a prompt: http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/