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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.

Chapter List
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Richie glanced down at his watch again and frowned; what was taking Jon so long? He'd only gone to his room. He shook his head and sighed, signalling the bartender and paying their tab in cash, before slipping his jacket off and wandering in the direction of their rooms.
No doubt something had distracted Jon; it wouldn't be the first time it had take Jon forever to complete a simple task, but for him to not turn up at all was a new one on Richie.

He stopped, fin fingers on the door handle of Jon's suite; the door was ajar. Why would Jon have left the door open? Shrugging his shoulders, Richie pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Calling Jon's name softly, he blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. Glancing around the room, he called Jon's name again. No reply. His gaze landed on the bed and he smiled fondly to himself; the adrenalin had worn off and Jon had crashed, falling asleep where he landed.

Opening the door again, Richie had just stepped out into the corridor when he stopped. Something didn't feel right. Yes, Jon had a habit of crashing when the adrenalin wore off, but it wasn't like him to just disappear. Especially not when they were in the middle of something, and not without saying goodnight. And since when did Jon sleep curled up in the centre of the bed? He usually sprawled out, taking up as much space as possible.

Richie bit his lip indecisively. He knew he was probably worrying over nothing; Jon was a grown man, after all. But he couldn't help the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

He sighed and opened the door again, fingers reaching for the light switch. Jon was gonna kill him for turning on the lights and disturbing his…

"Fuck!" Richie ran across the room to the bed where Jon laid face down, blindfolded and gagged. His arms were tied behind his back, ankles lashed togethAnotAnother rope joined his wrists to his ankles, pulling his back into a harsh arch.

Crouching down, Richie gently turned Jon's head to the side, ripping off the blindfold and throwing it to the floor. Jon's face was pale beneath the blood and bruises, his eyes closed, one swollen shut.

"Jon? Jon, it's Richie. Can you hear me? Come on, Jonny, open your eyes for me." Richie begged as he pulled the ball gag out of Jon's mouth, wincing at the marks the leather straps left on his skin. "Oh, thank God!" The breath Richie didn't know he was holding left him in a whoosh as Jon's good eye slowly flickered open, one bloodshot blue eye meeting his own.

Jon licked his swollen lips, swallowing convulsively, heat flooding his cheeks. He squeezed his eye closed, refusing to look at Richie. He opened his mouth to speak, but Richie placed a finger over his lips.

"Don't try and speak, Jon," he told him as he stood, fingers clumsy as he worked the ropes, freeing Jon. He gently lowered Jon's legs, wincing as the joints cracked from having been in the same position too long. He quickly untied Jon's ankles and turned his attention to his arms.

Jon's shoulders were red from being pulled back so long, his hands cold. Richie bit his lip as he struggled with the knots around Jon's wrists and elbows. He took a deep shaky breath and ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to calm himself. His fingers were trembling, but he managed to undo them, throwing the ropes to the end of the bed. He gently massaged Jon's arms helping stimulate thood ood flow, closing his ears off to his friend's moans as the feeling returned, pins and needles rushing through his arms.

A flash of something caught Richie's eye and he turned to look, the colour draining from his face at the sight of the dildo sticking out of Jon's ass. Richie's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat, but he forced it back down; now was not the time to fall apart, he had to make sure Jon was OK. Well, as OK as possible, he realised.

He knelt down next to the bed again, waiting for Jon to turn his head to face him. His heart all but broke at the misery etched on Jon's face, the silent tears tracking down his cheeks. "Oh, Jon…" he breathed, gently brushing the tears away, relieved when Jon didn't flinch away from him. Jon shifted on the bed slightly with a moan, wrapping his arms around himself, moving his weight onto one hip. "Jon, I need… I need to take that… that thing out. You gonna let me do that?" Jon blushed even harder, but nodded, still not looking at Richie.

Jon whimpered, tensing as Richie's fingers brushed over the dildo. Richie jerked his hand away and rubbed his face, shaking his head. His voice was soft as he spoke to Jon again. "I can't believe I'm actually gonna say this, Jon, but you need to try and relax."

Jon snorted, a cross between a dry laugh and disbelief. Richie smiled to himself; that was the response he'd been hoping for. His hands moved to Jon's lower back, rubbing in what he hoped were soothing circles. Relief flooded through him when Jon still didn't flinch at his touch, his head dropping forward with a gentle sigh.

Slowly, Jon's muscles started to relax under Richie's ministrations. Still rubbing Jon's back with one hand, Richie's finger slid around the dildo and he pulled it out as smoothly as possible.

Jon grit his teeth, gasping loudly through the pain but it was too much and he slid back down into unconsciousness. Richie pulled the dildo all the way out, dropping it to the floor, frowning at the trickle of blood that seeped down the back of Jon's thigh. He wiped it away with his fingertip, anger coursing through him, burning away the blanket of numb shock that had descended over him.

He perched on the side of the bed, running his fingers through Jon's sweaty hair, trying to calm down. He frowned and pulled his fingers away; they were sticky with blood. Richie's eyes narrowed - they'd hit him 'round the back of the head, and hard from the looks of it. Swearing under his breath Richie started to check his friend out for injuries, his anger growing with each discovery.

Jon had rope burns around his wrists, ankles and elbows where he had struggled against his bonds. His shoulders were red and slightly swollen from being pulled back so hard. His back and sides were a catalogue of bruises.

Richie rolled Jon over as gently as he could so he could check the rest of him. He stumbled back a step, letting out a string of curse words he hadn't even realised he knew. The bastards had wrapped sandpaper around Jon's cock, using elastic bands to hold it in place. And the way they'd tied him, his whole weight would have been…. Richie felt the bile rise in his throat again. Oh, God - Jon must have been gonygony.

For the first time, Richie was glad that Jon had passed out as he slowly removed the torturous device. It fell to the floor from his nerveless fingers. He took a deep breath, reluctantly looking back at Jon's cock. The flesh was covered in weeping grazes where the harsh material had abraded the sensitive skin. That would need cleaning up, Richie realised.

Stepping away from the bed, Richie winced as he saw the clamps tightly gripping Jon's nipples. For fucksakesake, hadn't they done enough to him already?

"Jon, this is gonna hurt like hell," Richie told him as he pulled the first clamp off, a drop of blood welling to the surface where it's teeth had bitten in. Even unconscious, Jon whimpered, pulling away when Richie's fingers moved to the second clamp. Richie could imagine Jon's screams ringing in his ears as he pulled it off.

His legs gave out on him and he sank to the floor. Who had done this to Jon, and why? Richie's eyes widened; how long had Jon been lying there before he found him. Richie moaned. This was all his fault. If only he'd insisted on paying for their drinks then Jon wouldn't have come back to his room. If only he'd looked for him sooner…

His stomach churned again and he scrambled to his feet, only just making it into the bathroom, as he was sick, tears of guilt streaming down his face.

He turned, using the sink to haul himself to his feet. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, narrowing his eyes, fingers clenching hard on the porcelain. If he ever caught the bastards that did this to Jon, he'd make them wish they'd never been born!
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Still Standing Tall