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A small painting of a flowery field hangs on the wall of a Middle Eastern hotel room. The door to the balcony is wide open, and the air outside is hot and still. The room is cramped, and small, and reeks of cigarette smoke.
There’s music playing outside--some grating hard rock song blasting out of a window on one of the upper floors--and a handsome American cowboy leers out from his spot against the wall. The rope around his wrists leaves small red marks as he struggles.
“Don’t bother,” comes the other man’s lazy French accent, muffled around the butt of a cigarette. He’s reading a magazine, and doesn’t take his pale eyes off of the page.
“Fuck you,” the American replies venomously, continuing to fruitlessly push against his restraints. Some of the blood from his nose drips into his mouth, and he spits it onto the floor. “Once I get outta these, I’m gonna use your skin as a rug.”
That makes the Frenchman, Jean Pierre Polnareff, look up, his lip curling under his pointed nose. He smashes his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside table and sighs. “That’s gross. I’d rather you stuff me and mount me on a wall,” he jokes, flicking the magazine open again, “but I suppose, as long as I’m beautiful, it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, I’ll stuff you, alright.”
Polnareff scoffs. “At least buy me dinner if you’re gonna talk to me like that.”
“What are you waitin’ for? Your friends? You wanna put on a show and kill a man who can’t move? Real brave. Maybe when you get down to Hell they’ll give you a trophy for that.”
Polnareff glances at him, unamused. “Shut up. You’re annoying.”
“And I fuck like a champion. Or so your girlfriend tells me.”
“Is that the best you’ve got? I could poke you full of holes where you sit and you come back with that . What are you, in primary school? Get it together.”
“How about I poke your holes?” Hol Horse asks with a smirk.
Polnareff lets out a sarcastic laugh and rolls his eyes, smiling condescendingly. “I see what’s going on here. You’re doing that thing where you think that if you talk like a brute, I’ll get annoyed and, like, stab you or something.”
And Hol Horse groans as the tip of a cup-hilt rapier pierces his upper arm. He shuts his eyes, white-hot pain shocking through his neck and up into his face. Everything goes numb--fuck, that bastard hit a nerve. His eyes fly open again, and Polnareff is leaning over him, scowling. The edge of his Stand’s sword slides out with a soft sshlck, and blood oozes from the wound. “You were right. How smart you are.”
“Oooh,” he mocks, “big scary man with a sword thinks a li’l pinprick is gonna break me. You think I haven’t been interrogated before? ‘Hold-Out Hol Horse’, they call me.”
“Nobody calls you that.”
“Except your girlfriend.”
“Enough with the girlfriend shit! I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh, duh, of course you don’t. You’re a friend of Dorothy, aren’t you?”
Polnareff pretends he understands that particular epithet, gets up, and starts pacing around. The old man said they were headed back. What’s taking them so long? He pulls his box of cigarettes out of his pocket and brings another to his lips.
“Hey,” Hol Horse says genuinely, “can I have one?”
“Fuck off.”
A little surprised that the cowboy doesn’t have some quip to fire back, Polnareff inhales a deep lungful of smoke, pushing it back out through his nose. He needs to relax. They wait for a few more minutes, then Hol Horse breaks the silence again.
“Ya like sports?”
“Oh my God, do you ever stop talking?”
“I’m just trying to make conversation, that ’s all. You wanna talk about something else? How about the kind of bullet I’m gonna put in your head?-”
“Shut the fuck up! No wonder Dio doesn’t care if you live or die.”
“Ouch. Too bad I ain’t workin’ for Dio anymore.”
“You mean because you’re a coward who’s happy to abandon allegiances as soon as he sees the other guy’s got the upper hand? Piece of shit.”
“Oh, you and your friends are still gonna lose. I ain’t bettin’ on you fuckers either. I have no doubt that Dio will cut off all your heads and mount them on pikes, or drink your blood and turn y’all into vampires, or put those weird tumor things in you and ride you around the palace like horses, being able to see yer dreams and what not. Hey, how’s about a smoke, man? C’mon.”
“Wait.” Polnareff stops pacing and turns to stare at him. “How do you know about those?”
“About what?”
“The parasites, asshole!”
“‘Cause Dio’s predictable. And because he tried to give me one, but I said no. Lemme guess: he threatened you?”
“No.”
“So he promised you something? What was it? Money? No…” Hol Horse’s mouth quirks to one side as he looks Polnareff up and down. “No, not you. You don’t fight for money. You’re too soft for that. Did he tell you he was gonna make somethin’ right? Make someone pay? It had to be personal.”
“Shut up.”
“No, not that either, huh? Ohh, I know! He seduced you, didn’t he?” The cowboy grins. “Yeah, that’s it. I bet he didn’t even hafta convince you much. Can’t deny he’s a looker. Hey, is it true that French guys like it up the aAAARGH!” He thrashes, howling in pain as the lit end of a cigarette sears a circular burn into his exposed collarbone. Polnareff tosses the burnt out butt aside, leans forward, and icicles hang from his teeth.
“If you talk to me like that again, I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to you.”
“Y-You know,” he gasps, his eyes tearing up, “he told me you were a pretentious little shit with a bad attitude, but I didn’t think you’d be so...nasty.” With what resolve he has left in his shaking body, Hol Horse tilts his chin up and spits directly into the other man’s eye.
“FUCK!” Polnareff staggers back, holding his face with his left hand and winding back his right. Open-palmed, he swings his wrist and slaps Hol Horse so hard across his cheek that his ear starts ringing. “You bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!”
“No you won’t,” Hol Horse grits, his courage building in his gut, “because like it or not, you need me alive. You and your friends want to interrogate me because I’m the only man alive who knows where Dio is. I know how to play the game. And if you’re dumb enough to act on the hate that’s eating you up inside, you’re dumb enough to lose. ”
Got him.
Polnareff’s shaking, breathing heavily through his nose, and slams his huge hands on top of Hol Horse’s arms. He starts squeezing, strong enough for the cowboy to lose some circulation, and stares at him. His right eye is a little red.
“You’re lucky. But there’s nothing against roughing you up a bit, is there?”
“Oooh,” Hol Horse coos, running his tongue over his teeth, “you like roughin’ up men like me, huh?”
“SHUT UP!” Polnareff’s hand flies up, grips him around the neck, and he leans even closer. “You’re a pathetic, immature waste of air. I’ll take so much pleasure in cutting you to pieces.”
Hol Horse shouldn’t feel as good about what Polnareff is saying as he is. He doesn’t really like to be insulted , per se, but there’s something about not being able to move while a six-foot, two-hundred-fifty pound French swordsman with a great rack chokes the life out of him that makes him a little heated. He squirms a little and tries to press his legs together in a way that doesn’t look conspicuous.
“Why don’t you, then?”
“What?”
“Rough me up. Or cut me to pieces, or whatever you say you’re gonna do to me. I like a man who’s true to his word.”
“Oh, I will,” Polnareff snarls, “but not because you asked for it.”
“So we’re just gonna sit here, then? You wanna play poker? Maybe you can untie me and I’ll show you how to use a lasso. It’s perfect for keeping big studs like you in line.” Hol Horse winks.
“Why are you flirting with me? Are you trying to charm me? It’s not working.”
“Clearly it is, seein’ as how I ain’t dead.”
Polnareff’s voice simmers. “That can change.”
He rolls his eyes, but fear is crawling underneath his fingernails; if he could reach them, he’d have chewed them off by now. Arrogant and childish though he may be, that French fuck is pretty intimidating. And as Hol Horse’s eyes start wandering, they find muscle after muscle. His arms are thick, his barrel chest is home to some of the biggest pecs he’s ever seen...God, he’s got a bit of a gut-
“Hello?”
“Huh?”
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Polnareff winds his arm back. “Should I slap you again?”
“Only if you promise to make it hurt.”
“You know,” he bites, “Monsieur Horse, if you want to make an object of me with your eyes, I suggest you pay me.”
“How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A hundred dollars. I’ll even take off my top.”
“Deal.”
“I--” Polnareff’s haughty little smirk flickers as he considers that Hol Horse might be serious. The cowboy leans forward a bit. He’s getting a headache.
“How much for a cigarette?”
“I don’t know,” Polnareff says again, “a hundred dollars.”
“Will you light it for me topless?”
And then he does something Hol Horse isn’t expecting at all: he blushes. “You’re weird.”
“Will you?”
A little hitch of breath, and Polnareff gets closer. He pulls a cigarette tin out of one of the little leather pouches resting on his belt, and Hol Horse opens his mouth. He’s right there, he could lean in and kiss him…
But that awful smirk comes back and he lights it for himself. Laughing at Hol Horse’s disappointed expression, he unzips his pants. “Aww, don’t worry. You can keep your mouth open. I’ve got something else you can wrap your lips around instead.”
Hol Horse’s jaw snaps shut, and his eyes widen. “What are you doing? That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Like you have a hundred dollars,” Polnareff mutters as he pulls on Hol Horse’s chin. “Come on. Open up.”
“I know you don’t have another cigarette in there.”
“Shut the fuck up, dog!” he shouts suddenly. “Do as I say!”
God, that’s hot. A lot hotter than Hol Horse was expecting. His eyes start wandering again, and so does his mind, and all of his thoughts come back to how badly he’d like to see what it is Polnareff does have in his pants. With reserved excitement, he opens his mouth.
Polnareff’s smirk has become a full-on grin as he straightens his back and stares down with cruel superiority. He grips a hold of his cock and licks his lower lip as it bounces out into the air. Good Lord, he’s uncut. And he’s big. Just like, Hol Horse thinks as he forces himself not to start drooling, the rest of him. How did they end up in this situation again? Whatever, he’s got the tip of Polnareff’s cock up to his mouth. He can’t refuse-
Suddenly, he feels a hand in his hair and his head being yanked forward. He gags, and the laughter that hits his ears makes him sickly, shamefully aroused. “What’s the matter, Hol Horse? Never sucked a cock before? I’m surprised. You look like a guy who loves to swallow whatever’s in his mouth,” Polnareff derides as he starts rocking his hips. “And you definitely seem like a guy who’s been skullfucked stupid. Brainless bastard.”
“A-aahhngh-”
“Moaning for more, are we? Cute. Maybe later, if you’re good, you can…Ride ‘em, cowboy.” He laughs at his own joke and grips the back of Hol Horse’s head.
He doesn’t say much more after that, aside from the occasional “fuck” and “that’s it.” Hol Horse completely gave up on struggling a few minutes ago. It feels good to have someone tell him what to do, even if it is Polnareff, who’s finally pulling back. The cowboy coughs, spitting on the floor, and in a second, he’s staring into eyes the color of storm clouds.
“You like that, dog?”
“I ain’t your fuckin’ dog, pal,” Hol Horse says, but his act is disintegrating. He could be a dog. He could be whatever, so long as he’s spared another cigarette burn. Polnareff reaches down and starts groping him under his shirt. His hands are surprisingly soft...It feels so good....How long has it been since he’s felt a touch like this?
The Frenchman tweaks his nipple, and he moans. It fills him with more shame, makes his cock harder-
“Oh, and you like when I play with your big tits. Don’t you?”
“I-I--”
“Well, why don’t you tell me…” He pauses for effect and climbs into Hol Horse’s lap. With one hand, he pulls down the black nylon of his top and exposes his chest. He runs his tongue over his teeth, grins, and leaves a kiss on the other man’s temple. “...How much you like tits.”
“You...what?” Hol Horse is light-headed. He’s never seen a man with a chest like that. How much does he work out? Polnareff could crack his spine like a fucking glowstick. Oh no, he’s laughing. Why is he laughing? Please, he thinks, please shove my head right between your-
“Hey now,” the swordsman teases, “you had so much to say earlier. Why so quiet now? Don’t you want to tell me how beautiful I look?”
“You look,” the gunslinger retorts, “like a self-obsessed, pompous, snooty French bastard. Just because you gotta fat pair’a honkers, you think you can just--”
“I have what ?” He’s laughing harder.
“Tits! You have big beautiful tits and I wanna put my dick between ‘em!”
That arrogant snickering dies down to a low chuckle. “I don’t trust your filthy cock anywhere near me. But perhaps I can let you have a closer look, dog.”
“I told you, I’m not--” Whatever he’s going to say is muffled as his face is shoved against Polnareff’s chest. He moans, closing his eyes. They’re denser than a woman’s breasts, rougher...But they’re smooth, and heavy, and fuck it feels so good oh God it feels divine-
“There, see? You see what happens when you’re a good boy?” He’s kept there for a few minutes as Polnareff runs his fingers through his hair, letting him closer to his nipple. Just as Hol Horse is close enough to take it in his mouth, however, he pulls back. The cowboy groans with frustration.
“Fuck you, lemme get off,” he mumbles, and earns another slap in the face.
Polnareff pulls the chair around so Hol Horse can face him, and sits down on the bed. He’s still got his cock out, and slowly starts to touch himself. It makes them both sweat.
“Please,” he whispers, but Polnareff snaps his fingers. Silver Chariot appears, and Hol Horse suddenly tastes metal as the Stand places its hand over his mouth.
“Now now, dog. No barking.”
“Mnnh-”
“Huh? What was that?” Polnareff laughs and speeds up. “I can’t hear you! I think you’ve got something on your mouth.” He looks down at his lap, soft pants escaping his lips, and he closes his eyes. “Ah.… Ahh…. Fuck….” It’s been so long since he’s properly jerked himself off: too many nights in hotel rooms, close to men he would prefer not hear him cum has made him cranky. But it’s Hol Horse. He doesn’t care what Hol Horse sees.
Hol Horse is nobody.
Hol Horse is just a weak, cowardly little American prick, squirming in his chair for the chance to taste his dick again.
“Mmn…” The thought of slamming said coward against the wall and fucking him like the dog he is is making Polnareff’s head spin. He grips the base of his cock and shakes it a little. Across from him, Hol Horse struggles. He closes his eyes, but Silver Chariot’s hand flies from his mouth to his chin and forces his head forward. It makes him whimper, and that makes Polnareff smile.
“I didn’t say you could look away,” he murmurs.
So Hol Horse sits, restrained, forced to watch as the Frenchman works himself to climax. Little gasps and “oh, ohhfuck”s rise into the dry air, and it makes his cock leak in his canvas pants. He wants to touch himself so badly. He wants, more than anything, to snap free of his bind, grab Polnareff by his stupid hair, and fuck him raw.
But he can’t. He can’t do anything but watch.
“Oh, God, ahh--!” Polnareff cries, throwing his head back. “I’mgonna--fuckIthinkI--ah! Ahh!”
Hol Horse’s heart is racing. With a dry throat, he swallows and whispers, “just fucking cum.”
Those hurricane eyes find him again. “Who’s a good little dog?” Polnareff demands cruelly, his huge arm tensing as he tightens his fist.
“I am,” the cowboy replies without thinking.
“FUCK!” Polnareff throws his hand over his eyes and cums hard, arching his back. Some of it splatters on Hol Horse’s face, drips into his mouth, and it makes him gag. No one has ever done that to him before. In fact, come to think of it, no man has ever jerked off in front of him before.
But he kind of likes it. Why does he like it?
God , he thinks as Polnareff blindly starts fumbling for something to clean himself with, it tastes terrible . Oh fuck, did it get in his hair? Maybe if he throws up, that would disgust Polnareff enough to let him go.
“Hey, asshole,” he groans, spitting on the floor, “I’m sure you’d love to sit there and catch yer breath all day, but you got...uh…”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have opened your mouth. That seems to be all you’re good for. Maybe next time I’ll make sure it all goes down your throat.”
“You think I’d willingly let you get your nasty cum in my mouth?”
“I think you’d lie back like a cheap whore and let me do whatever I wanted to your pretty face.”
There’s a knock at the door. “Polnareff,” Joseph calls from the other side, “how did you make out with Hol Horse? Everything alright?”
Zipping up his pants and smiling, Polnareff crosses one leg over the other. He winks, and glances to the door. “Wonderfully!”
“Do you think he’ll talk?”
“Oh, I think he’ll have a hard time keeping his mouth shut.”