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The Trouble with Fanfics	By : FoxTyler Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Bon Jovi Views: 1613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Bon Jovi. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Trouble with Fanfics
- 1
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Wouldn’t hurt ‘em if
I could.
~~~

“Hey.” Jon rested his hands on Richie’s shoulders, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the computer screen. “What’re you reading?”
Instantly, the internet screen minimized. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Jon pried Richie’s fingers off the mouse, and reopened the window.
“It’s just crap, you know…” Richie shifted, trying to squirm away, but Jon’s hands held him in place.
The singer studied the screen, eyes running down the paragraphs. “Oh my God.” He felt a familiar heat trickle downward within him. He turned an accusing look on Richie. “You’re reading fan fiction about us again. That’s pathetic.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Richie’s face was red. He snuck a glance upward. “Don’t you want to know what people are writing about you?”
“What’s it matter?” But his gaze returned to the screen, lips quirking up into a half-smile. “It’s not true. Well, at least not the part about me wearing a red leather G-string.”
Richie snorted. “Yeah, you’re much too classy for that.” He jerked when a wet tongue swiped his neck.
“I’d make you wear it,” Jon murmured into his ear, before pulling away and scrolling down the screen. “This is interesting. Hilarious, but interesting. Hmm. A whip. I never thought of that.”
“Well, don’t start thinking about it now. There’s no way in hell you’re getting near me with a whip. '> Or a cock-ring, or a dildo, so just forget it.”
Jon laughed softly, hands kneading his lover’s shoulders. “Trying to turn me on?”
“Huh?”
“Mmm.” He leaned down again, nuzzling Richie’s neck, flicking his tongue out to taste the skin. “Talking about dildos and cock-rings.”
  “When did you get all kinky?” But he turned his neck to the side, giving Jon better access.
“Since I’ve been reading about my fan fiction’s alter-personality.”
“I told you they were a bad influence.”
“Look who’s talking. I’ve never caught you reading any nice PG fanfiction. It’s always gotta be NC-17.”
“The PG ones are boring.” His hand crept up to tangle in Jon’s hair, pulling him closer.
“Aw, you don’t want to read about me confessing my undying love for you?” His mouth settled over Richie’s neck just where it curved into his neck, and he sucked hard, knowing there’d be a mark there.
“Who says it’s you?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ve read a dozen so far where ye hoe hooked up with Tico.”
Jon snorted. “As if. His ass isn’t hot enough.”
“Are you saying I have a hot ass?”
“Maybe.” He nipped an earlobe playfully, eyes straying back to the screen. “You want to try that?”
He felt Richie still. “You’re not serious. I told you, there’s no way I’m letting you near me with a whip.”
spanspan> “Yeah, fuck the whip.” Jon grinned against his neck. “But I wasn’t talking about you.”
Richie twisted abruptly in the chair so that he was staring at Jon, searching his eyes. He shook his head slowly at the other’s grin. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Is it turning you on?” His hands slid along Richie’s sides, down to knead his hips, then slipping one hand over the crotch of his jeans to squeeze gently. “Thinking about me kneeling in front of you, naked except for a dog collar, and you’re holding the end of the leash? Yours do do with whatever you want, yours to command, yours to fuck…”
Richie pushed up against Jon’s hand, glancing back at the computer screen. “So…you got a dog collar?”

  ~~~

Not half an hour later, they stood in the bedroom, Richie still fully clothed and holding the end of a red dog leash. On the end, neck enclosed by another band of red leather, Jon sat, knees bent under him, hands resting on the floor in front of him. Aside from the collar, he was naked.
  Richie eyed him dubiously. “So…doggie…what am I supposed to do with you now?”
  Jon rolled his eyes, and didn’t answer, aside from a deep-throated whine.
“We could go for a walk in the park, but you seem kind of slow.”
Jon glared. “You try running on your hands and knees.”
“Hey.” He jerked the leash lightly. “Do I look like Dr. Doolittle to you? No talking.”
Jon peeled his lips back and growled.
  “Good boy.” Richie stared at him for another minute. “Doggie want a scratch?”
Jon gave a yip, and stood on all fours, wiggling his body as much as possible.
  “What the hell are you trying to do?” Richie asked, perplexed.
  Again, the glare. “Do you see a tail? I’m compensating. And if you jerk the leash again, I’ll bite you.”
“Jesus, you’re the one who wanted to do this shit.”
Jon sat down right in front of him, and buried his face against Richie’s jean-clad leg, whining an apology.
“Yeah, all right, I’ll still scratch you.” He squatted down and ran a hand through Jon’s short hair, fingers carding through the light brown strands, rubbing gently at his scalp. “You like that?”
Jon gazed up at him contentedly, letting his eyes drift half shut in answer. They opened again when Richie’s hand moved, slipped down the back of his neck, then slid around to his front, palm rubbing over his chest. He growled softly when calloused fingers grazed his nipples.
  “Good boy,” Richie crooned, his other hand coming to stroke down Jon’s side. “Good dog.”
  He hadn’t expected this to be so erotic. Jon whined, craning his neck to look down at himself, then up to meet Richie’s eyes, keeping up the plaintive whine.
“What’sa matter?” Richie’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. Doggie has a problem, doesn’t he.”
Jon rolled his eyes again, then widened them when a warm, rough hand closed over his hard cock. He whimpered again, and tried not to thrust. He wanted to purr, but settled for growling.
“Are you growling at me?” Richie’s hand stopped its motions, drawing back. “Bad dog.”
Jon glared at him, showing his teeth.
“I said, bad.” Richie’s open hand smacked across his face. It wasn’t gh tgh to hurt, but it surprised Jon, and he sat still, staring up at Richie. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s your own fault.”
Jon’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move, just sat still and silent.
“Wanna show me what a good doggie you can be?”
  He whined once more, though hesitantly.
“Instead of fetching my slippers, I want to get rid of the shoes. But I don’t think you can do that—you don’t have any fingers—” He kicked off the shoes and socks— “So how about just getting rid of my jeans? That’s easy enough, huh, Fido?”
Jon nodded once in understanding, and climbed onto the bed beside Richie as he sat. But he jumped when the end of the leash tapped him lightly on the rear. He turned just in time to see Richie reaching for him, and then he was being shoved off the bed, tumbling to the floor.
  “Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture,” Richie said lightly.
He was so fucking going to pay for that. But Jn> Jon picked himself up with not even a growl, and knelt instead between Richie’s spread legs. He rose up on his legs, resting his hands on Richie’s thighs for balance, watching his face closely to be sure this was allowed. Apparently it was, as there were no further hits, and he fell to his work. No hands, Richie had said, so he’d have to use only his teeth. A warm thrill shivered through him, coiling in his stomach, and his dick. He lowered his mouth.
Richie moaned as Jon undid the button, then took the zipper delicately in his teeth and tugged down. He lifted himself slightly, letting Jon grab a mouthful of jean cloth and pull it down. It took him a few minutes to maneuver the fabric down Richie’s legs and off his feet. When he did, Richie sat on the bed wearing nothing but his underwear, which looked distinctly misshapen in the front.
When Jon came back and tried to gather the waistband of the underwear in his mouth, Richie pushed him back. “That’s enough. You’re forgiven.”
Jon settled back on his haunches, watching.
  “You look real cute in that dog collar, I gotta say.”
  He wiggled slightly.
“Still got that problem?”
More wiggling, and a loud whine.
“Can you take care of it yourself?”
Jon eyed him mournfully.
Richie laughed. “Not like that. Come on, when dogs aren’t eating, what are they doing? Licking their ass.”
  With a last soft whimper, he set out to attempt it. He doubled himself up, tongue stretching out at far as it could. Not quite far enough. He grabbed his knees and tried to pull himself into a smaller, tighter ball. He lost his balance and fell sideways, never releasing his knees, still straining. God, he felt like a dog chasing his own tail. If he wasn’t so intent on his task, he might have started howling with laughter.
“Aw, poor mutt. Can’t reach, can you?” Richie was still chuckling. “And here I thought you were so flexible.”
With a snarl, Jon released himself and bounded onto hands and knees.
“You must be getting old,” Richie’s commented.
That was it. Jon leapt at him, grabbing Richie’s knee with his hands, and started humping against his leg.
“Hey, what the fuck?” Richie stood up, pushing at him, shaking his leg. “Get off!”
The end of the leash landed on his ass, but Jon only grunted, clinging to Richie and thrusting faster.
“Fucking fleabag! Jon, you’re starting to scare me. Jon!”
The air whooshed out of Jon’s lungs as Richie’s foot struck him, and he fell back, panting.
“Shit, I’m sorry—”
Richie’s voice was cut off as Jon jumped at him once more, aiming high this time, knocking him flat on the bed. For second he paused there, with upraised eyebrows, showing Richie just how “on the furniture” he was. Then—yanking Richie’s underwear down with one hand, he flipped him over onto his stomach, and hovered above him.
“You’re cheating,” Richie complained, though he didn’t struggle. He paused while Jon slid low, crouching between his spread legs. “What are you doing?”
  Biting back a grin, Jon nipped lightly at one ass cheek before ducking further down. Richie shuddered under him when he pressed his face against the crease of his ass.
  “Oh, fuck, Jon…”
He licked. His hands held Richie down when he bucked, and his tongue pushed into the tight entrance, simply licking at first, then thrusting in and out, tongue-fucking him, opening him up. Richie moaned, starting to writhe.
Jon pulled back, licking his lips. He let go of Richie, taking his cock in his hands instead, smearing the precum over it. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember where they’d hidden the lube.
“Jon? You’re not—”
He slid up over Richie’s back, at the same time thrusting into him in one smooth stroke. They both moaned, but Jon didn’t move, holding still, buried deep inside the other.
“Jon?” Richie sighed. “I’m fine. Are you gonna fuck me, or just lay on top of me cutting off my air?”
Jon caught himself before he could let go of the breathless laugh, and growled instead. Teeth clamping down on Richie’s shoulder, he began to move, drawing back and sliding in again, his rhythm steady but not slow, instead, fast and hard.
In moments Richie was moaning again, bucking aga against Jon, shoving forward into the mattress. Jon grunted, pounding into his ass, teeth digging into Richie’s skin, threatening at every moment to break the skin. Somehow, Richie had gotten hold of the leash again, and held it tight.
“Shit,” Richie gasped, turning his head to the side so he could gulp in breaths. He gripped the leash tighter, until Jon was choking for breath. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
  Against the pressure at his neck, Jon reached up and grabbed a pillow from the bed, wrestling the pillow case off with one hand, still slamming into Richie. He shoved it under the other’s belly then, wrapping it around his swollen cock like a ridiculously oversized condom. He squeezed.
With a cry that was dangerously near a scream, Richie came, arching back, while his come pumped out into the pillow case. His ass tightened on Jon, who swore around his mouthful of shoulder.
“Jon,” Richie murmured, drifting down.
“Richie,” Jon growled, voice muffled, and bit down hard as he came, so hard that the skin did break, and he could taste warm, sweet blood on his tongue. The taste only sent him rocketing higher, until at last he collapsed over his lover’s back. He lay still, panting, nerve-endings still jittering with the feel of Richie’s hot, spent flesh beneath his own.
For long moments they lay there, neither caring to move. Finally, it was Richie who said, softly,” You’re a very bad dog.”
Jon grinned, exhausted, and rolled to the side, grabbing the leash away from Richie and untangling it, breathing deeply. “Next time you can be the dog.”
Richie snorted. “Says who?”
“Says me. But we have to plt out out better,” he said, picking up the wet pillow case. He bent down and kissed Richie on the lips, deep and slow. “Come on. Take a shower with me, and I’ll bandage up your shoulder. Then I want you to show me where you find all this fan fiction.”
“Oh, God,” Richie groaned. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”
- 1
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The Trouble with Fanfics