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Still Standing Tall	By : AEMorgan Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Bon Jovi Views: 2795 -:- 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.

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Jon exhaled slowly, rolling his neck and shoulders to try and release some of the tension that had settled in his muscles. Relief flooded through him; that had gone much better than he thought it would. He'd expected to come out of that particular meeting in a much worse…
His trail of thought was broken when his arms were wrenched hard behind his back. He struggled but couldn't break the grip of the men holding him. Twisting to look at his captors, he shook his head at the stony expressions on the face, the colour draining from his face. He looked back around to where the pin stripe suited man had pulled up a hard-backed chair from the desk and was watching him intently.

"Hey, c'mon man. What's going on here? I already told you I wasn't interested in your girl. Call your goons off!" There was a definite note of panic in Jon's voice as he pleaded, but the other man never even blinked. Jon cried out as one of his arms was twisted up again his back. He stumbled forwards, but stopped struggling for fear of having his arm broken. "Fuck! Ok, Ok, I got it; I really got it, man. Your girl is completely off limits. So, c'mon, what you say? Get these two to let me go and we can all just get on with our lives. Or not," he noted, eyes widening as one of the black-clad men in front of him rolled up his shirt sleeves and cracked his knuckles. "Oh, God, no. Please, no…"

Jon's begging was cut short by a fierce volley of blows to his stomach that left him winded and doubled over, held up only by the grip on his arms.

"Don't do this…" A sharp blow to his chin knocked his head back and left him seeing stars, the impact causing him to bite his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the punches that were coming at him almost continually. Every time his head dropped down against his chest, it was knocked back as the blows continued, his stomach, chest and face targeted.

He was dropped to the floor, his legs buckling after a brutal kick to the backs of his knees. A thump to the centre of his back left him feeling nauseous, his head spinning after a blow to the back of his skull. More blows and kicks rained down on him as he curled into a ball on the floor, trying his best to protect himself.

The assault ended with a harsh kick to his kidneys, the foot pushing him onto his side so the man in the pinstriped suit could see the result of the attack. His face was covered in cuts and would be very bruised by the morning, one eye was swollen shut and blood trickled from his nose. He ached from head to foot and felt sick to his stomach, his head still spinning from the blows to it. Jon rolled back on to his stomach, arms wrapped around his body, resting his throbbing forehead against the carpet.

"He ain't so pretty now, boss," one of his assailants commented.

"What did you say?" he asked, as he crouched down next to Jon.

"He… he ain't so pretty no more," came the repeated, slightly unsure reply.

With another cold smile, the ringleader pulled at Jon's hair, tugging his head around to face him. It took all the effort Jon could muster, but he spat in his face, making the other man laugh, before dropping Jon's head back down, laughing as it hit the floor with an audible thump.

"You're right, he is a pretty one. I hadn't noticed. Why didn't I notice?" the question was rhetoric and his men knew better than to answer. "And we all know the one thing pretty boys excel at above all others…." He stood and turned to one of his men. "You know what to do," he told him as he unfastened the zip on his trousers.

Jon's stomach sank; he'd been hoping his ordeal was over, but it was starting to look like they were only getting started. He tried to curl into an even tighter ball but it hurt too much, so he just lay there, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. He grunted in pain as one of the henchmen pushed their knee into the small of his back, winding him.

"Give me your arms, pretty boy," he snarled into Jon's ear. When Jon didn't respond, his pushed his knee harder into Jon's back, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head up. A knife was pressed against Jon's Adams apple, the blade sharp and cold against his skin. "I said, give me your arms."

Feeling sick, Jon slowly unwrapped his arms from around himself and placed them behind his back, groaning as the movement stretched his already aching muscles. The pressure on his back eased as the other man stood, pulling two lengths of rope from his jacket. Jon struggled weakly as his wrists were tied together, the fight draining out of him as he accepted the inevitable; he was in no fit state to go up against these men who were armed and outnumbered him six to one. He whimpered as the knots were tightened, the rope cutting into his bruised skin.

Another rope was tied around his elbows, pulling his arms back awkwardly, the strain almost unbearable on his shoulders. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed against the pain. A hand tangled in his hair and he was roughly tugged to his knees, moaning as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Opening his eyes, Jon blanched as he saw the man in the pin stripe suit saunter over to stand in front of him, cock hanging out the open fly of his trousers.

"I think you know what to do," he told Jon

Jon turned his head to the side, breathing heavily through his nose. The other man sighed and reached out, grabbing Jon by the chin, forcing his head back. Jon refused to look at him, closing his eyes instead.

Placing one hand on Jon's already tender shoulder, he braced himself on the joint as he leaned over, reaching into the pocket of Jon's jeans. He drew out his wallet and stood back again, flipping through it. He pulled out a photograph and smiled to himself.

Gripping Jon's chin tightly in his hand, he held the photo out to him. "This your family?" he asked conversationally. Jon swallowed and opened his eyes, looking at the picture. "I'm guessing this must be your little girl. She's a pretty child. How old is she, John? 9, maybe 10, I would say."

"Leave her alone," Jon spat.

Laughing, the man in the pin stripe suit ripped the photograph up into tiny pieces, letting them scatter to the carpet. "If you behave yourself, your family remain unharmed. If, on the other hand, you don't…" he trailed off, the unfinished threat hanging heavily in the air between them.

"You bastard," Jon whispered. "You fucking bastard!" He pulled himself to his feet, but was knocked back down to the floor by a punch to the side of the head. He was hauled back to his knees, swaying slightly as his head reeled.

Running a knife down the side of Jon's face, the man in the pin stripe suit moved to stand in front of him again. "Now, are you going to do as I asked?"

Jon swallowed heavily, the heat rising in his cheeks. His tongue flickered out to wet his dry, swollen lips as his eyes trailed down the other man's body to his cock. He closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

With a satisfied smile, he sat back down in the chair, watching Jon expectantly. The singer looked ashamed and disgusted as he shuffled forward on his knees. Jon paused as he reached him, rocking back on his heels and looking up.

"Please," he begged. "I can't… Not this, please."

"You can and you will." He reached out and cupped the back of Jon's head, jerking his head forward. Jon grimaced as his lips touched the head of the mafia leader's cock, tongue flickering out hesitantly to taste it. Screwing his face up, he took the tip of it into his mouth, sucking gently. The other man gasped at the contact, before taking control of the situation once more. He pushed hard into Jon's mouth, his cock brushing the back of Jon's throat.

Jon gagged, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to breathe, trying to pull back but the grip on his head was too strong for him to twist away from. He tried to relax as the other man brutally fucked his mouth. His insides twisted, the laughter, jeers and cheers of the other men ringing in his ears.

He collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath when he was pushed away by the other man. He'd barely had time to recover from the oral assault when he was pulled up by a tight grip on the back of his neck. He was propelled over to the bed and pushed face down over it from the waist. Panic coursed through him as he realised what was happening and he started struggling with all his might, kicking out at his captors. The grip on his neck tightened as his jeans were stripped from his body, his legs kicked open.

"Oh fuck, no! Get off me, stop it, get your fuc han hands off me. You can't do this, don't do this, please, no" Jon's protests were muffled as they forced his face against the bed sheets.

He froze as he felt the cold steel of the knife blade pressing against his balls. "Shut up and stay still, or lose these."

Jon whimpered but stilled, sobbing with each breath. He cried out when he felt the head of a cock pressing against him. He bit down on his bottom lip, tears coursing unchecked down his face. His hips were grabbed in a bruising hold and his assailant entered him in one hard push, tearing the sensitive muscles.

Every thrust was sheer agony that left Jon screaming into the sheet, welcoming the darkness that enveloped him as he slid into unconsciousness.
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Still Standing Tall