Deathtrap

by L. M. Somerton

  “Fuck, these are good,” he moaned. “I don’t know what is you do to make them taste different from anyone else’s, Orlando, but don’t stop doing it. My tongue is having an orgasm.” Rogue took another huge bite and chewed slowly.

  Orlando’s dick stirred. Rogue was sexy as fuck and every atom in Orlando’s body screamed at him to get on his knees and worship the man right there and then, at the table, in front of everyone.

  I should hate him. I should. I can’t believe that watching him eat is making me hard. “Well I’m glad one of us is feeling satisfied, ‘cause I sure as fuck am not.”

  Crow spluttered, and Shelton thumped him on the back. Hatchet grinned. Rogue just smirked and carried on eating. Orlando pushed his food around his plate, his appetite gone. He felt petulant and sulky. He gasped when he was grabbed and pulled into Rogue’s lap. He fought and squirmed, but Rogue held him tight until he gave up and went still.

  “Feeling frustrated, sweetie?”

  “What do you think?” He really wished he could get a good kick to connect with Rogue’s shin.

  “I think you’re a brat, but you do make good burgers…so I suppose you deserve a reward.”

  Orlando gasped as Rogue slipped a hand beneath his waistband.

  “Wha…what are you doing?” His voice rose an octave. Rogue wrapped his fingers around Orlando’s cock and squeezed.

  “Hmm. This is firming up nicely.”

  Orlando squirmed while Rogue played with his aching dick. He buried his burning face against Rogue’s shoulder but didn’t protest. Despite the audience, he didn’t want Rogue to stop.

  “That’s our cue to be elsewhere, Shel.” Crow slung an arm around Shelton’s shoulder and they both made a hasty exit, carrying their plates, quickly followed by Hatch, who stole the last burger on his way out.

  Orlando didn’t resist when Rogue undid his pants. He lifted up so that Rogue could push them down his thighs, leaving him exposed.

  “You think I didn’t notice that slogan on your T-shirt? Bored, are you? I thought your punishment this morning might have put you in a more cooperative frame of mind.” Rogue kept stroking, applying steady pressure.

  “I… I just… Fuck! I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

  “That’s the general idea. You think too much. You should concentrate on doing what you’re told and maybe you’ll carry on breathing a bit longer. Turn around.”

  Orlando slid off Rogue’s lap, toed off his sneakers then dropped his pants. By the time he’d straddled Rogue’s thighs again, Rogue had undone his fly, released his straining dick and gloved up.

  “Salad dressing’s nice and oily,” Rogue stated calmly.

  Orlando reached back for the bottle and smeared some on his fingers. He slammed the bottle back on the table, not bothered if it tipped over. He prepared himself quickly. He needed Rogue’s fat shaft piercing him as quickly as possible. A little burn would just make it better. Rogue gripped his hips and pulled him into position. The tip of his cock, slick with pre-cum, rubbed against Orlando’s hole. Orlando gasped as the head breached him but then Rogue stilled and held him in place.

  “How much do you want this? Tell me,” he demanded.

  Orlando whimpered. “Please! Please… Need you. Need you in me now.”

  “It’s up to you. Fuck yourself on me. Put your hands behind your back. If I come before you, you don’t get to come at all.”

  “What? No! You son of a bitch.”

  Orlando dropped onto Rogue’s rigid cock so fast that a shard of pain sliced through him. The ache blossomed into pleasure. He rose and fell frantically, using the chair rungs for leverage because his feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Behind his back he gripped one wrist with his other hand so hard he was certain to have bruises. Rogue grunted and threw his head back. His breath came in short gasps. Orlando knew Rogue was close, but he was closer. He moved faster, rotating his pelvis so that his prostate got some action. A tremor started at the base of his skull and crawled the length of his spine. He screamed. Fire shot through his cock, and he came in a rush, splattering Rogue’s shirt with his cum. He sagged, exhausted, but Rogue held him and drove into him, bucking his hips until he too, tipped over the edge into release.

  For a few moments they sat, joined together. Orlando relished the feeling of being held in Rogue’s strong arms even though he knew the hint of tenderness couldn’t last. A pat on his bare ass signaled the end of the interlude.

  “Up you get, sexy.”

  Orlando extricated himself from Rogue’s hold. He retrieved his discarded clothes while Rogue disposed of the condom, then zipped up. Orlando wanted to say something but couldn’t summon appropriate words. Instead, he gripped the edge of the sink and steeled himself for the disappointment of Rogue leaving without a word. Rogue’s hard body pressed against his back. Orlando drew a sharp intake of breath as Rogue sucked on his neck, marking him.

  “Mine. Remember that.” Rogue dug his teeth into Orlando’s sensitive flesh. “Behave yourself this afternoon. I have to take a ride but I’ll be back this evening and I’ve got plans for this.” He gave Orlando’s ass a whack.

  Orlando gasped. The slap revived the ache in his ass. He’d be feeling Rogue for the rest of the day even if he weren’t around.

  * * * *

  Orlando cleaned up the kitchen because he had nothing else pressing to do. Crow, Hatchet and Rogue had departed in a spray of gravel and dust. Shelton remained in the communal living room but was so intent on his computer that naked porn stars with twelve-inch cocks could have been mud-wrestling in front of him and he wouldn’t have noticed. Orlando sat at the kitchen table and longed for a window. A view. Some sense of the world outside. Of freedom.

  The Wyverns HQ was a perfect base. Abandoned by the DEA, it was buried in desert rock. Other than the front access, the rambling maze of rooms was constructed underground. There were no windows. No natural light. Orlando tapped his fingers on the edge of the table and made a decision. He grabbed a cool bag from the store cupboard and stashed three bottles of water inside. He added a tube of high-factor sunscreen and a couple of apples.

  “A walk. That’s what I need. Surely even Rogue can’t object to that. I’ll just stretch my legs for a couple hours and be back before anyone even notices I’m gone.” He just had to get out of the place, and that meant sneaking past Shelton. He bagged up the kitchen trash, knotted the plastic sack, then stuck it inside a second bag. His cool bag fitted in on top of the first rubbish bag. He twisted the top of the second sack and threw it over his shoulder then pushed through the kitchen door.

  “I’m gonna put the trash out, Shelton.” Not that there was a collection out in the desert, but one of the gang would transport it to a dumpster next time they were out in the truck.

  Shelton looked up briefly. “Sure.”

  “Okay if I sit outside for a few minutes and get some air?” Orlando felt a little guilty about deceiving Shelton, but he really wanted out.

  “If you want to. It’s a nice day. Well, less like a fucking furnace than normal, anyway.”

  Orlando couldn’t believe how easy it was. He walked out of the door. He retrieved his hidden supplies then dumped the trash in the covered bin. He glanced around. He couldn’t follow the track that led away from the front of the property because he had no idea when Rogue, Hatchet and Crow would return. Teddy was out on the perimeter somewhere. Far enough away that Orlando would have to be unbelievably unlucky to run into him. Bull and Artie weren’t due back until the evening.

  Orlando followed the adobe wall of the building up to where it merged with the rock, then clambered up a short slope to take in the view. The sun had passed its peak, but it was still very warm. It hadn’t rained for some time and every step Orlando took kicked up little puffs of reddish dust. The land undulated in front of him. A rippling plain rose toward a distant outcropping of rock. Each day it changed—subtle differences in the lie of the land created by the weather. Every fresh storm moved the sand and deep
ened channels in the soft rock. Here and there, huge saguaro cacti dotted the landscape. There were some scrubby thorn bushes and grasses that scratched his skin when he brushed against them. Small, vicious-looking insects scurried from beneath dislodged rocks around Orlando’s feet.

  He hefted his bag and made up his mind to head for the distant rocks. It was good to have a defined target to aim for even if it was a little indistinct. The air shifted in front of his eyes, a heat haze causing the view to change from one minute to the next. The warm air felt good on his skin, though, and the sky was a perfect shade of bright blue. Orlando regretted that he hadn’t thought to borrow a pair of Rogue’s sunglasses. He tried not to squint into the brightness.

  “Don’t want to get weird lines around my eyes. I’d get no end of shit for that.” He glanced around, searching for clouds of dust that would betray a vehicle, but everything was still. Confident that he wasn’t about to get found out and dragged back inside by his hair, he set off with a steady stride.

  His muscles stretched and warmed as he walked and the exercise felt good. There was a small but well-equipped gym inside The Wyverns HQ but Orlando rarely ventured in there. It was an okay place to kill some time if he could watch Rogue as he worked out, bare-chested and glistening, but if any of the others were in there he just felt small and puny. Teddy in particular sported bulging muscles and could most likely bench press a baby elephant. It was all a bit intimidating. Being able to stroll outdoors, at his own pace, was liberating. He would prefer to be swimming, but his chances of getting to a pool were slim to none. This was the next best thing.

  Orlando hummed as he walked. The depression that he’d been feeling for days sloughed off like a snake shedding its skin. That image made him think. He definitely did not want to come into contact with a snake. Or a scorpion. Or anything wriggly that might view him as a potential snack. Rogue would find a pile of bleached bones and a few stray sequins. On one of the rare occasions that Shelton had let Orlando surf the web on his computer, Orlando had done a bit of research about the desert flora and fauna. It made for scary reading. He couldn’t recall exactly how many poisonous snakes inhabited southern Arizona, but there were far too many for his liking. There were also lizards, spiders, centipedes and scorpions. None of them were in any way appealing or cuddly.

  He pulled a bottle of water out of his cool bag and took a few sips. The bag did its job well—the liquid was still icy cold and refreshing. He knew it was easy to become dehydrated and he couldn’t risk the disorientation that came with it. He planned to hike to the rocks, take a break then retrace his steps. He swiveled and peered back the way he had come. There was no sign of The Wyverns base and no familiar landmarks at all. That was strange. It was as if the land had closed in behind him. He turned back to face the rocks, glad to see that they were still there and hadn’t done some magical disappearing act.

  He walked on with renewed determination. The outcrop was farther away than he’d judged and he debated heading back. But that would be giving in. He wondered if Shelton had noticed that he’d gone yet.

  “Probably not. Once he gets his head buried in computer code, he’s completely oblivious to anything else. I’ll be fine for a while longer.”

  He strolled in silence, carefully avoiding the brambles that twisted across the ground. He checked his watch and found, to his surprise, that he’d been AWOL for well over an hour. He must have covered around three miles in that time. The rocks he was heading toward were looming higher. From a distance they had appeared to be a few lumpy boulders, but as Orlando drew closer, he realized that the feature was more of an escarpment.

  After another half an hour, he was starting to get tired. His sneakers were not designed for long-distance trekking over rough terrain, and one heel was rubbing up what felt like a blister. He had no hat and the heat was beginning to make his head ache. It was a huge relief to reach the base of the rocks. Orlando gave a small cheer of celebration. He was quite pleased with himself and his perseverance. He hunted for a shady spot, skirting the base of the slope until he came across a deep fissure that looked cool and inviting.

  “This is an ideal place for a nap.” He squeezed beneath a couple of boulders and sighed at the respite from the heat that came with the shadows. He dropped his bag and massaged his shoulder before pulling out some water and taking a long drink.

  “Oh, that’s good.” He poured a bit into his cupped palm, then splashed it over his face. He rubbed the back of his neck with cold fingers. “Must put more sunscreen on in a while.” He dug out one of his apples and took a bite. The tart sweetness spread over his tongue and he moaned happily. “Just gonna close my eyes for a few minutes.” He checked the ground for anything that might bite. Satisfied that his ass was safe, he sat with his back to a smooth rock face and finished his apple. Wearily, he closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  Orlando awoke to the absolute certainty that he was not alone. Something had jerked him away from the dream he’d been enjoying where Rogue had tied him over a spanking bench and was giving his plug-stuffed ass a good spanking. The chilling sound of a rattle told him that it wasn’t one of The Wyverns who had found him. He opened his eyes slowly, his stomach roiling with nausea at what he was going to see. To the side of his stretched-out legs, inches from his bare ankle, a snake, piled in coils, gave him the evil eye. Its forked tongue flickered in and out as it tasted the air, and the percussion instrument on its tail sounded another warning.

  Orlando bit back a sob. It was all he could do not to scream. He was trapped in a confined space with a bad tempered rattler and couldn’t see a way out.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God…make it go away.

  He couldn’t think. He hardly dared breathe. He scanned the ground to see if there was a stick or loose stone within reach. Perhaps he could scare the beast away. He spotted a small shard close to his hand. Moving in the tiniest increments he could manage, Orlando edged his fingers closer to the potential weapon. Just as he was about to take a chance and grab it, some fragments skittered down from above him. Perhaps the wind had dislodged something or an insect had moved across some loose chips, but the movement was enough to bait the rattler, which reared and struck at Orlando’s unprotected flesh. Orlando screamed and recoiled. He grabbed the rock and threw it as hard as he could, but the snake had already gone, slipping at speed out toward open ground.

  “Fuck! It bit me… Oh, and it hurts.”

  Orlando bent over to examine the wound. The snake’s fangs had broken the skin just above his ankle. The puncture wounds were not neat little holes either—the skin was torn and bloody. The surrounding skin was already puffy and Orlando’s entire lower leg ached.

  “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  Tears rolled from Orlando’s eyes. His rudimentary knowledge of first-aid did not stretch to the treatment of snakebites. He could hardly suck on the wound and he wasn’t even sure if that was just a myth from the many old westerns he’d watched. He flushed the wound with some water from one of his bottles, thinking that might help.

  “I should probably keep still, movement will make the venom spread quicker, I think.”

  He checked his watch. In two hours it would be dark. There was no way he was going to attempt the walk back. He had no idea what kind of rattlesnake had bitten him or how venomous it was. He tried to memorize the markings, thinking it might help if he was eventually found.

  “I am in so much fucking trouble…” He closed his eyes and tried to blank out the throbbing pain in his lower leg. “If the snakebite doesn’t kill me, then Rogue probably will.”

  Chapter Three

  Rogue kicked his bike stand into place then swung his leg over the saddle. He stretched and scrubbed a hand through his gritty hair.

  “You’re more gray than blond now,” Hatchet noted with a grin. “You wouldn’t have that problem if you went smooth like me.” He rubbed his own shiny crown.

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Rogue snorted.

/>   Crow rolled his bike beneath the awning that served as a makeshift shelter for their machines. He put his own stand down.

  “I don’t know what you see in Smith, Hatch. Sure he’s pretty, but he makes my fucking skin crawl.”

  “That’s because you have a guilty conscience, Crow. He is pretty and one of these days I’m going to find out if he stays as cold when he’s bare-assed naked and taking a spin on my cock.” Hatchet clutched his groin and did a few pelvic thrusts.

  “My eyeballs are burning.” Crow fake-vomited into the dirt.

  “Lightweight. Get inside and find out what Shelton’s up to. Probably cruising porn sites on the web for something a bit more inspiring than you.”

  Crow gave Hatchet the finger and stalked inside.

  Rogue pulled a rag from his back pocket and gave his bike a cursory rub down. “Hatch, don’t ever accept a post in the diplomatic core.”

  Hatchet grunted. “My natural charm would get us a hell of a lot further than all those pansy-assed politicians smarming their way around the world. Nothing wrong with some calculated intimidation if it gets things done.”

  “Well, despite what Crow thinks of the charming Mr. Smith, it was worth the trip to meet him.”

  “He’s certainly given us the intelligence we need to take the fight to Bellazi, which suits me,” Hatchet said. “If the drug exchange he told us about really is going down the day after tomorrow, we’ll be waiting.”

  Rogue spat out a gob of dusty saliva. “Bellazi will be expecting trouble from The Jackals. Doing business with them is insanity.”

  “Even better. None of them will be on the lookout for us because they’ll be too busy waiting to see who draws first. That location is the ass end of nowhere too—no chance of witnesses and plenty of places to hide the bodies.” Hatch’s grin was feral.